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stratossphere · 2 years ago

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If you were interested in making a cheater part two I’d be all over that omg

cheater cheater pt. 2 | j.k

johnny’s got a fucking attitude again, and you’re getting really sick of it (pt. 1 here!)

warnings: smut, reader smokes, knoxville is an asshole in this one, mentions of drugs, a lot of arguing, protected sex, rough sex, hair pulling, light spanking, no happy ending

word count: 5.9k

a/n: this one has been sitting unfinished in my drafts for a long time, and i found a new love for it again and finished it :) once again, i in no way see johnny as a cheater at all, and this is just a fictional scenario!

tags: @asskickedbygirl @kristinee @lizey-thornberry @faceache111 (lmk if you want to be added!)

— —

You and Johnny were at it again. You’d been starting to slowly ease up on each other the month before, and things had even started to look up for you a little bit, but that was until he decided to stay with his stupid girlfriend while continuing to try getting in your pants at every available opportunity.

So, you were right back to fighting during almost every single interaction you had, and it wasn't like you were letting up now. You were all staying in a hotel in Rockford, Maine after getting pinched and fucked with by giant lobsters all day, and everyone had slowly made their way down to start their night of mind-numbing intoxication at the hotel bar.

"This is dumb. Why are we doing this." Ryan grumbled as you and him drank on the steps that led down to the bar despite the fact that everyone else was in an actual group playing pool just on the other side of the wall. Bam wasn't there yet, and had left to go make a drug deal after losing at rock, paper, scissors, so it was just the two of you for now.

"I told you already. PJ is really mad at me because I shouted at him on set, and he told me we'd 'talk about it later', so I'm hiding from him." You re-explained, sighing woefully as you glanced up at the NO SMOKING sign for the millionth time. You really needed a cigarette, but not bad enough to get lectured by hotel staff. You were already pushing it by technically drinking outside of the bar.

"Why the fuck do you care? All you two do is scream at each other. You love arguing." Ryan shot you a look, because he clearly wasn't having fun being away from the group, which made you thankful that he was sacrificing his night to stay with you. You shrugged.

"Because he keeps screaming in my face about everything that I do and it's annoying me." You took a long drink of your rum and coke at that thought, because one could only take so much first-come-to-mind insults about their romantic habits before they started to get a little sick of it. Ryan sighed.

"I told you I'd talk to that fucker about that. If anyone deserves to get their shit rocked right now, it's him." Ryan gave you a serious look, because you knew he definitely meant it, while you just waved him off.

"Hey. If he wants to bury his face in some blonde's fake tits and cry about how much he misses me, I'm not gonna stop him." You sighed, referencing his girlfriend, who you'd discovered was named Mandy. "I mean, she knows that we hook up sometimes. It's not like they're on the heavenly path to marriage."

"I don't know, man. Do the goods even outweigh the bads with him anymore?" And here Ryan went with his 'let's ponder your shitty situation and bad decisions' talk again like you wanted to think about any of that shit. Thankfully, at that exact moment, someone interrupted you from behind.

"What up, you fuckin' losers?" Bam was, for once, your savior in that moment as he trampled down the stairs, a lit cigarette between his lips as he almost stepped right on you getting down to the step in front of you. "Why the hell are you sitting out here?"

"Y/n’s afraid of Knoxville." Ryan said immediately, handing Bam the beer that he’d saved from the bar for him as he plopped down on the step below you. Bam groaned.

"Dude. I don't want to listen to this anymore. You two need to like, officially separate." He said impatiently, passing his lit cigarette over to you once he glanced up at the NO SMOKING sign right in front of your faces.

"That's what I s—"

"Guys! Shut up! I'm not scared of Johnny, and we are separated." You snapped, shooting both of them a look that dared them to speak another word. "I'm a fucking adult. I can make adult decisions and deal with the adult consequences without your opinions."

"You can't be completely separated if his dick's still in you." Bam tried to mutter that little tidbit quiet enough to where only Ryan heard it, but he'd always been bad at whispering. And, unfortunately for you, that was kind of funny, so you found yourself laughing at his insult.

"Alright. I'll give you that one." You caved, making both of them laugh in turn as you took a drag off of Bam's cigarette. If it was already lit, you weren’t going to waste it. "Okay. We can head down. But no instigating, and I want my weed first."

—

Yeah. That lasted about as long as you could've expected.

"Can you get the fuck out of my face? Jesus. What the fuck are you on?" Johnny started it, alright? Those words were the ones that set you off. Not you, like he always tried to tell everyone. You slowly turned in his direction, pool stick held tightly in your hand.

"It was my turn to shoot, dipshit. Get the fuck out of my face." You said through your teeth, harshly shouldering past him to get to your beer on the table behind you. Bam watched this entire encounter, snickering the whole time.

"You two are such shitheads, man. Stop ruining the fucking game." He groaned, starting to laugh again when you shoved him. He had, once again, lit a cigarette, and after about ten minutes of no one saying anything to him, you’d all followed suit, resulting in a bar filled with a stale mix of different cig brands.

"I'm gonna kick his fucking ass in a second. I'm not joking." You weren't together, so it wasn’t like you’d get a domestic violence charge. You weren’t sure if that would’ve stopped you, anyway.

"I'll put money on you if you do." Pontius interjected where he was taking his beer off of your table, chuckling as he looked between you and Johnny. You high-fived him, thankful that someone was consciously aware of the fact that you would no doubt ream Johnny's ass would things ever get as far as physical between the two of you.

"Yo! You're up, fuckface." Steve-O called from the other side of the pool table. He'd missed his shot once again, and with Johnny also missing most of his, you knew you were going to win against them. Their suckage was probably only feeding into Johnny's little temper tantrum, if you knew him at all.

"Yeah. Give me a fucking second." You set down your beer before stepping back up to the table, giving Johnny a dirty look where he was standing close to your left. And apparently he was feeling frisky tonight, because instead of just shooting a look back like you had expected, he opened his mouth.

"The hell are you lookin’ at?" He snarled loudly. You would've been fine if he would've muttered it to you in passing, because you’d said a lot worse when it was just the two of you pissed off at each other, but he was blaring your joint animosity towards each other out to the entire group, and you could tell that it was starting to piss everyone off, which in turn pissed you off.

But you ignored him, taking your shot and sinking in your ball. And then another. And then another. If you couldn't argue, you could certainly embarrass him, which was actually about ten times more effective. Steve-O groaned with every ball that went in the pocket, and then looked close to throwing his stick when you called your pocket and sunk the 8-ball in with six of their balls still left.

"You're such a dick. Stop smiling like that." He complained as you basically showboated in his face, dancing around with your pool stick held in both hands while you hummed in triumph. Whilst doing this, you accidentally brushed against Johnny, and then were promptly shouldered harshly away from him. You spun around on your heel at the fact that he had basically just fucking shoved you.

"Hey. What the fuck is up your ass?" Okay. So it might've not been very helpful to smack his shoulder close to as hard as you could, but he was really getting on your nerves. You immediately felt a hand on your arm, and you glanced back momentarily to see Bam giving you a warning look that essentially said don't start a fistfight with your ex boyfriend. You ignored him.

"Nothing." That was Johnny's response. After almost knocking you into the pool table with how hard he'd slammed his shoulder into you when you’d barely even brushed by him, apparently nothing was wrong with him. Everyone else started to rally over who was next up for the pool competition to escape the awkwardness that was standing in between you and Johnny’s fight, and you took that opportunity to scoff loudly.

"You expect me to believe that bullshit? You're acting like you're not the one that's been a fucking dick to me for the past...you known how long." There was no way in hell you were going to let him pin this whole recent situation on you and say he was acting completely normal and you were the bitchy one. Especially not when he was acting like he was. "If me being here pisses you off that much, then go fuck off somewhere else."

"You've got a real attitude for how you've been acting lately." This man was fucking insane. Sure, you’d been a little snippier with him than usual, but to give yourself some credit, it wasn't exactly fun for you to watch him shove his face in his fake-ass girlfriend's tits every time she came around your sets (which was becoming more and more often) and then come looking after you the second she had to go back home. Especially not when it was common knowledge between basically all of you that his girlfriend knew about you and him but was staying with him because she was in basically every TMZ article of the week when she was with him.

"I could say the same to you. You just fucking shoved me." You threw a hand in the air at his inability to blame himself for anything, feeling yourself reaching the level of seething as he stared back at you with mockingly carefree eyes.

"God, you never shut the fuck up when you're not having the bitch fucked out of you." It's like he had no shame. You just stared at him for a second, unable to process that he'd actually just said that about three feet away from your friends, who thankfully were no longer paying attention to you, before setting your jaw.

"Fine. You want to play that game? Go upstairs." That was a very bad idea, and the challenge you were presenting him with was definitely only going to make things worse, but you had never been one for smart decision making. And he was pissing you off way too much for you to consider just letting this slide.

"I'm not just gonna leave—"

"I'll be right behind you. Go. Upstairs." You repeated, staring him down and motioning towards the stairs with a tilt of your head. His eyes suddenly clicked with understanding of what you were insinuating, and he glanced back at the group momentarily before back at you.

You could not have described the satisfaction that filled you when he marched his happy ass right to the stairs and then up and out of view. Without a single word to you or anyone else in the group. However, they definitely noticed him leaving, and immediately turned to you for an answer.

"I figured you wouldn't want a screaming match here, so..." You explained, praying to heaven above that they didn't immediately see through your bluff. Although you weren't technically lying, because there could've very well been a screaming match waiting for you when you made it up to Johnny, Pontius, and Steve-O's hotel room. However, Preston, who was closest to you, quickly gave you a look that told you he was calling bullshit.

"You're not just going up there so no one will see you beating the shit out of each other, are you?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, you internally sighed in relief. You were honestly much more comfortable with everyone assuming you were getting into a fistfight over having sex. Unfortunately for you, that didn't last long though, because then Ehren opened his mouth.

"No, dipshit. She's going up there to fuck him." He said it like it was obvious (which, let's be honest, it kind of was), wrinkling his nose as he spoke. You groaned.

"I'm not! Do you think I want to be anywhere near his disgusting dick after Mandy's been on it?" You made sure to sing her name sourly, because you’d made it very clear how much you didn't like her, before immediately realizing how suspicious that made you sound. You sighed. "If you're all so worried, I can bring his stupid ass back down here."

"No." Dave and Wee-man spoke at the same time, both making an identical, 'I don't want to listen to your shitty-relationship bullshit' face at your proposal. You snorted.

"Yeah. That's what I thought. So, I'll see you in about ten minutes when he starts pouting and kicks me out so he can rage in his room alone." You were definitely going to take more time than that, but they didn't need to know that. It wasn't like you and Johnny had a habit of short and sweet arguments, anyway.

With that, you turned back towards the stairs, ignoring Ryan and Bam's looks because you knew they knew better than everyone else in the group, before making your way up the stairs after Johnny.

—

Johnny had the hotel door open before you even got the chance to knock. It made you feel a little pleased with yourself knowing he had been waiting for you, but you masked that with a flaming glower as you pushed past him into the room while he closed and locked the door behind you.

You knew he didn't want to do any talking, and expected you to just lay down and open your legs, but he'd been on a different fucking level all night, and you weren’t quite done with citing your grievances.

"What is up your fucking ass today?" You snapped as soon as the door was shut, turning around and crossing your arms. He didn't look surprised that you’d brought it up, just extremely annoyed.

"I'm just not in the mood for your bullshit. You always have something to say about everything." He didn't even raise his voice which, in a way, made you even more annoyed. You raised your eyebrows, because he was one to talk, before throwing a hand in the air.

"You're the one that's got something to say every time I even breathe in a man's direction despite the fact that you have a girlfriend." You shot back, glad that he was standing so far away from you for fear of what you would do if he came any closer. "And you know what? Despite the fact that you're cheating on a girl that couldn't give less of a shit about anything but your fame with a girl that did give a shit about you, I've kept my mouth shut about all that garbage. If you want to keep fucking it up for yourself even more, go right ahead."

"You don't know anything about us. Stop sticking your nose in everyone's business." At your words about Mandy, Johnny's voice immediately shot up in volume, and you couldn't help but laugh humorlessly at the fact. It also didn't help that he was just spewing worthless bullshit that didn't even mean anything in a senseless stream.

"I don't stick my nose in anything. You shove everyone's nose in that fucking bullshit every time you bring Mandy around an hour after we just fucked in your trailer." Her name felt like poison on your tongue, and you hated yourself for how much you felt jealousy burning inside you at having to bring up his 'girlfriend'. "Do you think everyone is stupid? Do you think they don't see all of this?"

"I don't give a shit." That was his class A, well thought out retort to your calling him out on all of his garbage. He just brushed it off with a careless shrug, so you continued.

“Clearly do you, considering you won’t shut the fuck up." You hadn't come up here to fight. You’d come up here to fuck. And you were getting what you wanted.

"Sometimes I think you like fighting. You never shut your goddamn mouth long enough to stop." He was really fucking pushing it. He had a chronic habit of pushing it, but tonight he was really on a different level. Johnny Knoxville himself telling you that you never shut your mouth was gold.

"Yeah? If you're such a little fucking angel, then why don't you come shut it for me, bitch." You goaded in response, standing up off the bed and opening your arms like you were inviting in his best shot. Which, in a way, you were. His jaw clenched, and he stared at you for a second before he was kicking his shoes off messily by the door and stomping after you.

You were almost knocked back when he reached you and immediately crashed his lips onto yours, the only thing saving you being his hand that settled to hold a painfully tight grip on your hip. You weren't taken aback in the slightest, however, and you reached up to fist a hand in his hair that went just as tight, forcing his head closer as you deepened the kiss.

It wasn't long before Johnny's fingers were at the hem of your shirt, only taking a second to rip it over your head as his lips fell away from yours and down to your neck. As he kissed and sucked harshly (which you tried futilely to push him out of considering you did not want to have to explain hickeys to the rest of the crew), his hands found the button of your jeans, and he quickly fumbled it open before getting the zipper down after it.

“Do you have a condom?” You were making a few mistakes, but unprotected sex with someone who was clearly fucking someone else at the same time was not going to be one of them. He scoffed, and you knew that it was because you hadn’t had the same conversation in the past. People fuck up sometimes, alright?

“Suddenly you have fuckin’ standards about everything?” He motioned around the room, as if to reference the situation that you were currently in. You stared him down furiously as you kicked your jeans off, biting back a lot of words that would’ve absolutely ended this little session and turned it into a real fight. Instead, you settled on something a little more toned-down, yet still incredibly offensive.

“If you’re gonna stay with that stupid skank, then you’re gonna keep wearing a condom.” You really didn’t think Mandy was a skank, nor did you really have any serious ill feelings towards her (those had all been redirected towards your stupid shared piece of ass), but you knew it would rile him up. He just clenched his jaw before stepping away from you to rummage through his suitcase next to his bed, coming up with a small foil package before turning back to you. You wondered if he realized that you were winning.

As you let him come towards you before he stuck his index fingers in the waistband of your underwear and yanked them down, you glared at him and diverted his mouth away when he tried to go for your neck, instead helping him get his shirt over his head before working at his stupid KNOXVILLE belt as he kissed you again.

You knew you were making a mistake. You knew that good and well, and you absolutely knew that you were going to regret fucking him in the current mood you were both in when you were feeling a little smarter and more common-sensical later, but you’d made worse mistakes before. You would survive a little bit of shame once you were out of his hotel room.

Johnny could act like he hated you all he wanted, but nothing could cover how hard he was when he finally stepped out of his Dickies and boxers. You let a smirk play on your lips at the fact, and when you looked back up to his eyes, all he was doing was glowering down at you in response.

"Don't fucking say anything." He warned, sounding as if he was almost speaking through his teeth as he watched you slowly move to lay down on the bed in front of him with your legs coyly spread. You, however, were never one for following demands, and the first thing you did was open your mouth.

"Will you just shut the hell up and fuck me? Jesus Christ. You just keep going." That was definitely on purpose as a way to get what you wanted, and you saw that fiery look flaming up in his eyes as he moved to kneel on the still-made bed in front of you.

"Get on your hands and knees. Now." He was so easy to play. If all else failed, you could always trust that Johnny's insolent temper would always betray and overpower his common sense.

You did as he requested despite the fact that you knew it meant you’d probably be leaving the hotel room with legs that you could barely walk on, only wincing slightly when his warm hand on your back pushed you down into an almost uncomfortably-deep arch. Your face was already pressed into the mattress, and you couldn't help but feel excitement fizzling up beside your temper inside of you. That and a burning need for him to hurry up and put his cock in you.

"Suddenly you don't have anything to say. Figures." Funny, coming from him. You twisted your head enough to shoot him a venomous look, eyes full of a hatred that was teetering on the edge of being real by this point as you watched him roll on the condom. You were trying to ignore how incredibly hot he looked from the angle you were in.

"Fuck you, Knoxville." You said it with all of the sincerity you could muster; half because it was definitely what you were feeling inside and half because you knew fully well that calling him ‘Knoxville’ instead of PJ like you normally would’ve would hurt him. Or anger him, at the very least. He only chuckled sourly.

“Y’ already are, sweetheart.” He used the pet name in an equally-hateful tone, and as he spoke, he pushed into you. He didn’t give you much time to adjust, which you knew was both because he was impatient and because he was pissed, but you didn’t really give a shit either way. You obviously weren't going to let it show, but you were just as impatient as he was. You needed to blow off the steam that had been building between you lately somehow, and you weren't going to pass up an opportunity regardless of what form it presented itself in.

Although he didn’t give you time to adjust, Johnny started out thrusting shallowly into you, both hands tightly on your hips as he pulled you back on his cock.

“Go fucking faster.” You knew you were just making things worse for yourself. In fact, you knew that more than very well. But you just couldn’t help it. Tension between the two of you had been building for too long, and you were ready to let it loose in the only way you both truly know how.

Out of nowhere, a hand smacked down on your ass. Hard.

“Shut the fuck up and take what I give you.” Exactly what you fucking wanted. Despite his snapping at you, Johnny’s pace gained power then, his cock beginning to piston into you harshly with his hands back on your hips to keep you from being able to do anything besides just take it. You moaned softly, arching your back a little further just to entice him as you (secretly) relished in the sting of where his hand had smacked your ass.

Usually during these moments where you were locked away in a hotel room or in the secret privacy of someone’s guest bedroom together, Johnny was quiet. He stayed almost silent, and usually he made sure you were pretty close to the same. But now? He was grunting and groaning with every thrust of his hips, pulling higher and higher pitched moans from your lips as he angled his hips to hit that sweet spot inside of you.

“All this backtalk, and yet you’re always whining like a bitch on my cock by the end of the night.” Johnny said condescendingly when you let out a particularly loud cry, hand moving from your hip to grip your ass harshly. You knew you were going to have bruises on your hips by the time you woke up the next morning, and arousal only thrummed hotter inside of you at the thought. “Ain’t mad at me all of a sudden, or what?”

“Shut the fuck up and just do what you’re good for.” You snarled back, praying that your voice didn’t come out as shaky as your legs were. He really never knew how to shut his mouth when he really needed to. If you had been in a different position, best believe you would’ve been pulling harshly at his hair by now. Your comment did not sit well with him, apparently, because suddenly you felt a burning sting in your scalp, and then you were literally being yanked backwards by your hair until you were bent at an uncomfortable angle while still laying with your back arched for him.

“You have a real fuckin’ mouth, you know that?” Once again, Johnny’s tone had gone completely calm besides the occasional rasp due to the fact that he was still slamming into you mercilessly, and you were stuck between being deeply turned-on and a little worried for your own wellbeing. “You wanna know what I think? I think you rile me up on purpose just so that I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk. Clearly you need cock so bad that you have to act like an asshole all the time just to get it.”

You bit back a moan then, because there was no way you were giving him the satisfaction, before you steadied yourself past how good he was fucking you so that you could respond.

“All you do is beg to fuck me. If either one of us is desperate, it sure as hell isn’t me.” Sure, it was actually pretty even on the scale of who-asked-who, but you waited for inconspicuous moments. Johnny essentially tried to stick his hand down your pants every time not every person in the room was looking at the both of you.

“Not like you’re complaining.” He grunted in response, pulling a little tighter where he had a handful of your hair. Soon you were moaning again, starting to feel the effects of his pointedly targeting your g-spot as your legs lost the strength they had started out with. The slide of his cock inside of you was making your head spin, and all you could do was fist your hands tightly in the sheets as you tried to hold off for the sheer effect of making Johnny wait.

You could tell that he knew you were getting close, and just as you began to think that he was going to let your hair go to soothe the ache building in your neck, he suddenly pulled harder. You yelped just as his other hand circled around your hips before he was pulling you up, your back hitting his chest all while he continued to fuck you the entire time. His lips then brushed your neck.

“Who’s fucking you this good, dollface?” If there was anything to be said about Johnny, it was that he liked to play games. Infuriatingly shit-starting games. You learned further back against his chest, instead just moaning instead of answering him because, once again, you weren't going to give him the satisfaction. However, when his hand suddenly snaked over your hip and down before his fingers began to circle slowly over your clit, you lost a little bit of your inhibitions. And he noticed. “Answer me. Who fucks you this good?”

“Fuck, PJ. You.” You caved in a whimper, rolling your hips down on his cock along with his thrusts as his fingers quickly found purchase on your clit. The added pleasure was almost overwhelming, and you reached a hand out to press against his thigh for a false sense of stability. He chuckled breathlessly.

“That’s what I thought.” His chin rested on your shoulder as his arm stayed wrapped tightly around your hips, still holding you in place to his thrusts despite the change in position.

“I’m gonna cum. Don’t stop.” You gasped, your free hand wrapping around loosely around his wrist where he was still rubbing your clit languidly. He only groaned in your ear, hips not losing power despite the fact that you could feel him beginning to switch inside of you. He had always been able to keep it together a little better than you could.

“Cum for me. I know you want to.” He encouraged, thrusting up into you particularly hard so that his tip was hitting right against your sweet spot so directly that you let out an involuntary cry despite the fact that you were trying to control at least a little bit of the sounds that were coming out of your mouth.

Your legs shook hard as you came, your nails digging deep into his thigh where your hand was still pressed down as your back arched against his chest and your head pushed against while you moaned embarrassingly loud. You knew that you were going to replay this moment in your head over and over again a few hours later, hating how much you’d let yourself give in to his charm, but for now you couldn’t have forced yourself to focus on that thought if you’d even cared enough to try.

Johnny came soon after you, his hips stuttering as he continued to fuck you through the moans that fell from his lips while his hand tightened painfully on your hip. You felt another, post-orgasm, shoot of arousal at the sounds of his moans in your ear, and you leaned back as far as you could go against his chest as you slowly fucked through your climaxes before starting to come down.

Johnny let out a satisfied sigh, his grip on you loosening as his hand pulled away from where it had been between your legs. As your mind started to come back to you, awareness also started to come back to you, and you let out a sigh that was for a much different reason than his as you gently pulled off of him and out of his arms.

You knew he was watching you as you crawled off of the bed, and you tried to ignore it as you picked your underwear up off the floor and walked into the adjoining bathroom to clean yourself up. You could hear him get off the bed too, but you didn’t look back.

As you cleaned yourself up and wiped running mascara and eyeliner from your cheeks, you bit back the urge to get angry again; both at yourself and (more) at Johnny. It had happened, and it was probably going to happen again, so there was no use in getting worked up about it all over again.

“Are you staying?” You couldn’t see Johnny as he asked, but you could tell by the tone of his voice that he was probably feeling the same way as you were. You hoped that he was feeling at least a little bit of shame while he pictured his blonde little girlfriend back in LA. You scoffed, not caring whether or not he heard you.

“No.” You would go right back down to the bar, act like you hadn’t just gotten fucked within an inch of your life, and then ignore all the knowing stares when Johnny came down approximately two minutes after you. It had become routine by this point.

“You gonna go back down there and give Dunn and Bam a play-by-play?” There was a hint of sourness in his tone, and you chewed on the inside of your cheek at the fact. You walked back out of the bathroom once you had finished putting on your underwear, met with the sight of him laying on his bed in stark-white boxers.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ve said worse.” You knew that he talked about the two of you’s relationship behind your back. Especially nights like these where, to him, it appeared as if he had won this unspoken fight that had been raging between the two of you for the past few months. “Take a fucking pill or something before you go back down there. You’re ruining everyone’s night.”

“If that’s what you wanna call what we just did.” He still sounded cocky, but he was also more relaxed now, reclined with his hands behind his head and his eyes barely half-open. “Same place tomorrow night?”

“Sure. Stick your head a little further up your ass and then just wait for me.” You said snidely, still chewing your cheek as you pulled on the rest of your clothes. You refrained from glaring at him like you wanted to knowing that it would only encourage him, instead avoiding looking anywhere near him at all as you finally pulled your shoes on.

He said nothing then, but you knew he was staring at you, his foot tapping repeatedly against the mattress like he was waiting for you to either say something or leave. Luckily for him, you were choosing the latter.

Then, just as you got to the door, he decided that he wasn’t done.

“Y/n.” He called your name almost as if he was scared of you, the sound of him moving on the bed causing you to look back and see that he had sat up almost straight. You took a deep breath, trying to will yourself to have some patience where it was wearing thin into almost nothing.

“What.” You were giving him 30 seconds at most. Usually, if he was using that tone, his guilt had set in, and you had no sympathy for his feelings at this time and point in your relationship anymore. No sense in helping him tuck himself into the bed that he had made.

“I’m breaking up with Mandy. When we fly back home.” Fucking Christ. It’s like he craved your reaction to every single move he made. You felt your heart twist, and you just stared at him for a long moment, trying to soothe the sea of different emotions threatening to hurl itself up into your chest.

You didn’t need him. You didn’t need him, and you didn’t want him.

“Okay.” And then you were out the door.

#johnny knoxville #johnny knoxville smut #johnny knoxville fic #johnny knoxville x reader #jackass #jackass imagine #jackass mtv #jackass movie #ryan dunn #bam margera #steve o #preston lacy #danger ehren #asks <3

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jungshookz · 4 years ago

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hwayoung’s two now and y/n’s allowed to be emotional about it, okay?

➺ genre; ceo!yoongiverse!! a little bit of yoongi and y/n being mushy for each other!! fluff!! cutest drabble for the cutest girl!! jungkook and jimin bickering like an old married couple as per usual!!

➺ wordcount; 3.2k

➺ p.s. this drabble is approximately five months overdue and it’s basically been collecting dust in my drafts so i figured i’d finally release it into the wild since it’s mother’s day today and i thought it’d be nice to read something sweet on this special day!!!! happy mother’s day!!! give ur mom a big ol hug and a kiss on the cheek :-) and if u don’t celebrate mother’s day that’s okay you can still read this for a small boost of serotonin wahoo :D

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“i’d just like to inform you that if it wasn’t for the fact that today is hwayoung’s birthday, the idea of having cake as part of breakfast would definitely be off the table.” yoongi pauses before turning his head to look at you pointedly, “in fact, it wouldn’t even had made it to the table in the first place.”

“trust me, you’ve made that clear multiple times-” you roll your eyes playfully before offering yoongi a half-hearted shrug, “it’s not a big deal! we’ll just give her a tiny little chunk that’ll fit in her tiny little hand and then we’ll save the rest for later!”

“yeah, right-” yoongi snorts, making his way over to you to hand you a balloon, “you’re probably going to sneak an entire slice of cake into her mouth while i’m not watching-” he teases, digging his fingers into your sides playfully before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back against his chest, “you think you’re so sneaky-”

“hey-!” you giggle, squirming in his grip when you feel him starting to nip at the side of your neck, “this is not a very productive use of our time, boss-”

“hey, you two! are you just going to stand there making out all day or are you actually going to help me with the decorations?”

both you and yoongi peer over the edge to see jimin standing by the bottom of the spiral staircase looking very unimpressed and you flash him a sheepish smile

“we’re not making out-”

“yeah, well you might as well be-”

“we’re helping! we’re almost done tying balloons to the banisters-” you argue, holding the balloon in your hand up before flopping it around enthusiastically, “we-” you jolt when you accidentally let go of it, watching with wide eyes as it rockets around the ceiling before poot-poot-pooting pathetically and landing on the ground by jimin’s feet

whoops

“…yes, that’s very helpful, thank you.” jimin mutters to himself, shaking his head as he bends down to pick up the sad, spitty balloon up off the ground with a grimace, “when you’re done, come down and help me because this balloon arch isn’t going to make itself! chop-chop, people-” he claps his hands together as he wanders back to the living room to the half-constructed balloon arch

“you know, you’d think that hwayoung was his daughter-” yoongi murmurs lowly, twisting his neck to give your cheek a quick kiss before pulling away

“mm, tell me about i-”

“she’s mine when the two of you drop dead!”

you jump in surprise at the sound of jimin’s voice snapping at you from below and you and yoongi exchange glances before bursting into quiet giggles

“i feel like i should be more concerned that jimin seems to be very eagerly waiting for our deaths.” you joke, reaching for the bag of balloons and pulling out a handful of them

as much as you love your daughter you weren’t planning on having a super big birthday party for her just because..,., well, she’s probably not going to remember most of it considering she’s two and also it’s just the five of you celebrating at home, so you thought that a cake and a bunch of presents would be good enough of a celebration

of course, when you told jimin about these plans he looked like he was ready to bury you alive which is why he insisted that he’d take care of the food and the drinks and basically the entirety of hwayoung’s birthday party and told you that all you and yoongi had to do was sit back, relax, blow up a couple of balloons and also choose a cute birthday outfit for hwayoung

(jimin actually ended up taking over that part as well. he bought her a new birthday dress and a brand new pair of shoes to go with it.)

“everyone can relax! the star of the show has now arrived!”

the sound of the front door slamming shut suddenly shatters the silence and you smile lightly when you see jungkook sauntering in as if he owns the place

“good morning, kook.” you hum, jungkook looking up at you before offering you a lopsided grin, “actually, the star of the show is still fast asleep in her room.”

“oh, right-” jungkook snorts, dismissing you with a flick of his wrist, “i mean, yeah, of course this is hwayoung’s special day- but check it out! i picked up her birthday cake and brought it back here and i didn’t accidentally ruin it somehow!” he raises the big blue box in his hand with a beam, “i’m incredible!”

“that thing looks huge, jungkook!” you frown lightly, “i told you not to go crazy-”

“please tell me you didn’t max out my credit card buying a giant cake for hwayoung.” yoongi chimes in, leaning over and folding his arms atop the banister, “i hope you realise it’s just going to be the three of you having to eat it all-”

“it’s hwayoung’s birthday, i had to splurge! you know that ‘everything is cake’ trend? i ordered a custom cake and asked them to make it look like a giant cookie! but i also ordered a dozen chocolate chip cookies just in case she’s not into the cake.” jungkook smiles proudly before pausing, “…of course, knowing hwayoung, she’s going to love the cookies and the cake, so i’m not too worried. i’m going to see if i can shove these into the fridge-”

“what’s wrong?” yoongi nudges your side to get you to look at him, “you look like you’re thinking, which is never really a good thing-”

“hwayoung’s two now.” you blink twice before turning to look at yoongi, “she’s two.”

“yes. you’re very good at keeping track of our daughter’s age.” yoongi coos, reaching up to pinch your cheek playfully, “good job, baby.”

“two years old!” you gasp, turning around to lean back against the railing before shaking your head, “my god, she’s aged.”

“oh my god, you’re right. the ripe old age of two.” yoongi teases before gasping dramatically and reaching over to grip onto your forearm, “soon, we’ll be thinking about what elementary school to send her off to... and then the next thing you know, we’ll be helping her look for her own apartment when she’s off at university... and then you’ll be going wedding dress shopping with h-”

“stOP stop stop stop-” you wave your hands before covering them over your ears, yoongi laughing lightly when you frown at him, “i don’t want her to turn two! because that means she’s going to turn three… and then she’s going to turn four… and then five, six, seven, eight-” you pause and your eyes suddenly widen in horror, “she’s going to be a sixteen year old one day- what if she turns into a bratty sixteen year old?? because i was a really bratty sixteen year old and i don’t want her to turn out like me! do you know how hard it’s going to be if she turns into me? i used to sneak home at four in the morning-”

“let’s keep in mind that hwayoung is also my daughter and i was not a bratty sixteen year old,” yoongi interrupts calmly before giving your arm a reassuring squeeze, “she’s gonna be fine! and you turned out great, so give yourself a little bit of credit-”

“i just want her to stay two forever.” you pout, crossing your arms stubbornly as you look down the hallway towards her room, ��is that too much to ask for??”

“when the terrible twos hit, i guarantee you’re probably going to feel a little different.” yoongi teases, pushing himself up off the banister before gesturing for you to go and join jimin and jungkook downstairs, “why don’t you help jimin out with the balloon arch while i go and wake our little miss two year old up?”

»»————-　🍰　————-««

yoongi presses his lips together tightly as he twists the doorknob, being careful not to make too loud of a sound to accidentally shock hwayoung awake

the last thing he wants is for to burst into tears at the start of her special day

he peers into the bedroom, smiling fondly when he sees a little lump under the covers shuffling a little

a chubby sock-clad foot pokes out for a second before it disappears again

“이게 누굴까요? [hm… who’s that]?” yoongi asks quietly, the lump suddenly freezing in place, “드디어 일어나셨네요… [i think someone’s finally awake…]”

he tilts his head when a messy head of hair pops out from under the covers, the corners of hwayoung’s mouth immediately lifting in a bright smile when she spots him, “우리 공주 좋은 아침입니다! [oh! good morning, miss min!]”

he lets himself into the room and reaches over to click the white noise machine off before starting to quietly pad his way over to her, his heart melting in his chest when her mouth opens up in a quiet little yawn

“잘 주무떠뜹니까… [gub moming…]” hwayoung murmurs, eyelids fluttering slightly as yoongi reaches down to push some of her hair out of her face

“잘 잤어? [hi, baby… did you sleep well?]” yoongi asks, leaning down to scoop her up, “우리 화영이 생일 축하해… 밑에서 다 기다리고 있어... [happy birthday, my darling… we’re all waiting for you downstairs...]” he whispers, rubbing circles into her warm back when she immediately clings to him, “머리에 물 좀 묻히고 내려갈까? 머리가 아주 산발이네. [why don’t we freshen up a little, hm? the birthday girl can’t take pictures with a bird’s nest on her head.]”

“딴바. [birb’s ness.]”

»»————-　🍰　————-««

“i hope she likes the present i got for her.” jungkook mutters, his foot tapping anxiously against the ground as he looks up towards the top of the stairs in anticipation of hwayoung’s arrival, “i mean, if she doesn’t like it, there’s a receipt in the box so i can return it and get something else for her… but i really hope she likes it.”

“jungkook, she’s two. i gave her a wooden spoon to play with the other day and she was ecstatic.” you snort, peeling an eye open to look at him from where you’re lying on the couch before shutting it again, “i’m sure she’ll love whatever you got for her.”

“what’s the matter with you?” jimin hums, glancing at you for a second before focusing his attention back on sticking the bright pink ‘2’ candle onto the cake, “you look a little out of it today.”

“gee, thanks.” you snort, blindly grabbing one of the throw pillows before hugging it to your chest, “no, i’m fine, i just- i was feeling a little mopey this morning about hwa turning two and now i’m just thinking about how time has just flown by…”

“mm. it seems like it was only yesterday that i was holding your hair back while you violently puked your guts out into the toilet bowl.” jimin jokes, holding a hand to his chest before spinning around to face you and jungkook, “ah… fond memories that i’ll look back on for the rest of my life.”

“you know, i should’ve told yoongi i was pregnant in another way.” you suddenly change the subject, propping yourself up onto your elbows with a frown, “all i did was give him a tiny cookie. how lame is that?!”

“to be fair, you didn’t know how he was going to react, so maybe it was a good thing you went for something so simple!” jimin shrugs, making his way over to you before sticking his hand out for you to take, “c’mon, miss mopey. hwayoung probably doesn’t want to see you throwing yourself a pity party on her special day when she comes down here.”

»»————-　🍰　————-««

“-화영이가 엄마한테가서 이쁜짓 해주는 거 어떨까? [-now, mama is feeling very emotional today, so i think it’d be a really good idea to act extra cute, okay?]” yoongi whispers to hwayoung, planting a quick kiss on her cheek while slowly making his way down the stairs, “of course, that probably isn’t going to be a problem for you, seeing that you’re adorable 24/7-”

“i adowbo.” hwayoung murmurs, leaning down and squishing her cheek against yoongi’s shoulder, “졸려. [i seepy.]”

“졸리다고? [sleepy?]” yoongi pauses on the steps, reaching up to adjust one of her pigtails with a smile, “이거 큰일났네, 졸리면 어떡해! [you can’t be sleepy for your morning conference. look alive!]”

“is that the sleepy little birthday girl?”

yoongi looks down to see you waiting eagerly at the bottom of the stairs, your hands clasped together and your eyes glued on hwayoung, “good morning!”

“mama!” hwayoung immediately twists around in yoongi’s arms at the sound of your voice, reaching out for you with a teethy grin as soon as yoongi gets close enough to you

“oh, happy birthday, my sweet little baby!“ you coo as you take her into your arms, squishing multiple kisses to her chubby cheek as you hold her close, “happy happy birthday, my beautiful girl…”

“ahppa bouday!” hwayoung giggles, little hands patting against your face

she leans in and smushes her nose against yours before giving you a drooly kiss on the cheek and you can’t help but laugh at how affectionate she’s being with you

see??

you want to keep her like this forever and it sucks to think about the fact that one day you’re going to set her down on the ground after carrying her and you’ll never pick her up again because she won’t need you to pick her up again

:-(

“oh…” you sniffle, suddenly feeling your nose prickle and your eyes starting to get a little tingly, “i love you so much…”

you don’t get much of a chance to say anything else before hwayoung’s suddenly being plucked from your arms, both jimin and jungkook immediately starting to fawn over her as per usual

“우리 화영이, 공주님이 따로 없네! [look at how beautiful you are in your dress!]” jimin exclaims animatedly, hwayoung clapping her hands together in response

her dress is sage green and gingham and it even came with matching ribbons for her hair and you have to admit that jimin made a pretty good choice with this birthday outfit

you probably would’ve stuck her in a pair of overalls or something

“see, what’d i say?” jimin smiles proudly, smoothing down the back of hwayoung’s dress before looking over at jungkook, “i told you the sage green was cuter- 아니 빨간 걸 왜 입혀 뭐 애를 도마로 만들 생각이니- [the red one that you wanted to go with would’ve made her look like a picnic blanket-]”

“아니 도마라니! [red gingham is classy!]” jungkook argues, trailing behind jimin while making faces at hwayoung to get her to laugh, “입혀보지도 않고- [you didn’t even give it a chance-]”

“난 그딴 거 염두에 두지 않는다 정국아- [i don’t need to give tacky garbage a chance, jungkook-]”

“hey, are you okay?” yoongi gives you a quick hug and kiss on the side of your head when he suddenly notices a tear running down your cheek, “she’s just turning two, y/n... she’s not moving out of the country-”

“i know, i know-“ you sniffle, reaching up to quickly wipe at your tears before chuckling, “i guess i’m just feeling extra emotional today-”

“c’mon, parents!” jimin calls out for you two while setting hwayoung down in her high chair, “the candle is melting and this cake is too expensive to get any wax dripped on it-”

“gookee!” hwayoung points to the cake and claps her hands as she bounces up and down on her seat, “gookee, mama!”

“yeah! cookie!” you mimic enthusiastically, smiling widely when she suddenly lets out a high-pitched squeal of excitement, her nose scrunching particularly cutely, “i’m glad to see that you inherited my love for cookies and not appa’s love for muesli.”

yoongi immediately scoffs and reaches down to give your bum a quick swat

“i know she’s saying cookie, but i’m just going to go ahead and say that she’s actually saying the name of her favourite uncle-” jungkook sighs, reaching down to pinch hwayoung’s cheek, “화영이는 꾹이 삼촌 제일 좋아하- [uncle gookee is your forever favourite-]”

“어 응 뉘에- [yeah, okay, whatever helps you sleep at night-]” jimin snorts, shoving the camera into his hands as the four of you stand in front of hwayoung, “okay, don’t touch the cake yet! let’s get some pretty pictures of the birthday girl first!”

“hwa, look into the camera!” jungkook coos, snapping his fingers to get her to look up at him, “그래 삼촌 한 번만 봐 봐- [look at uncle goo- yeah, there we go-]”

you watch hwayoung fondly as she continues to ham it up for the camera, her little legs kicking in anticipation under the tray

“good girl, you’re being so patient.” you hum before reaching over to pluck a cookie from the open box, “ooh, i’ve been dying to sink my teeth into one of these-”

“i had one earlier, they’re pretty good!” jimin nods, brushing past jungkook to get to you, “the bakery i ordered them from has, like five out of five stars one google review- hey, what’s that face for?”

“eugh- do the cookies taste a little funky to you?” you face screws up as you swallow the bite before holding the cookie up to take a closer look at it, “it’s just chocolate chip, right?”

“yeah- hold on, lemme try-” jimin frowns, reaching over to steal your cookie before taking a bite of it and chewing thoughtfully

“maybe you just got a weird one?” yoongi suggests, peering into the box with a frown, “all cookies taste funky to me, so my opinion probably isn’t valid here-”

“it’s fine, i’ll try another one later-” you dust your fingers off before perking up and clapping your hands together, “hey, should yoongi and i hop in for some pictures before hwa completely destroys the entire cake?”

“yeah, it… might be a little too late for that.” jungkook clears his throat and the three of you look over to see hwayoung’s tubby arms shoved elbow deep into the cake, “i gave her the green light to go ahead and eat. she just looked so sad and hungry, i’m sorry!”

hwayoung cackles in glee as she continues slapping her hand against the cake, her grubby little hands now sticky and her new dress stained with globs of frosting chocolate

“oh my god.” you stifle a laugh and reach up to cover your mouth so that you don’t burst out laughing at the fact that both jimin and yoongi look absolutely appalled

“i spent, like, ten minutes doing her hair-” yoongi whines, gently nudging you aside so he can hurry over to hwayoung and try to salvage the neat little pigtails he spent forever working on, “and now there’s frosting everywhere!”

“that dress was expensive, jungkook!” jimin snaps, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was about to burst into tears, “and i didn’t even get any nice pictures with her before she- come on, man-”

“i’m sorry!”

“ahppy bodday!” hwayoung shrieks in delight and flings her arms up, chunks of cake and specks of frosting flicking out from her hands, “i adowbo!”

👔click here for more ceo!yoongi content (+ hwayoung!)

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writingabouteverything · 3 years ago

Text

The Perfect White Flower--and Other Nonexistent Things

a/n YALL THIS IS PROBABLY DUMB BUT I HAD THIS IDEA ABOUT A HARRY STYLES X READER FIC THATS BASED ON THE PLOT OF JANE THE VIRGIN AND I WANTED TO WRITE IT SO BADLY I MADE THIS ACCOUNT

disclaimer--wont follow the show exactly

Pairing: Harry Styles x latina! reader (a key factor of the show revolves around the lead being latina, and im latina and honestly love writing for us but anyone can still read and understand/hopefully enjoy and the fic doesn’t involve any physical descriptions:))

Series Summary: Y/n l/n has had the world figured out since she was a child. She won’t be a writer because it’s risky, she’ll just focus on school and becoming a teacher. She’s never been a child, because her mother had her at sixteen and hasn’t aged a single year since. That’s part of the reason the promise she made to her grandmother means so much to her--if she doesn’t have sex before marriage, her child will never have to grow up as quickly as she did. And Harry Styles is at the top of the world--his music has never been more successful, he has a lovely girlfriend, and he’s never been more in demand. He has everything in the world...except a child, and through a series of unbelievable events--y/n might be his only chance to have one. Ever.

Chapter One Summary: Who knew getting a pap smear on two hours of sleep and three cups of coffee was as bad as having unprotected sex?

There’s something dangerous about taking public transportation in LA. And no, I don’t mean it in the ‘there are bad people in the world’ type of way. I mean it in the ‘I live in one of the casual influencer, celebrity, tourist hubs of the world and each time I step onto the bus I find myself mesmerized by all the stories I see in them’ way. Kind of pathetic, I know, but sometimes a child with blonde pig tails or a woman streaming on instagram live will catch my eye and the urge to pull out my lap top and start something I’ll never finish.

I know that writing isn’t some kind of disease. But I can’t let myself fall in love with it the way I want to. There’s nothing wrong with writing a short story or two, but trying to write a novel? That’s impractical. It will distract me from school, from the four year plan I’m almost done with.

Sighing, I brave taking at my surroundings. I deserve this today, after the anonymous, rude costumer at the hotel today, I need positivity. No one is particularly inspiring. The bus stops and I watch out the window. At first the crowd is ordinary, and then i see them...paparazzi. Flashing cameras from all angles, grown men violating all rules of personal space. It never sits right with me, but I guess it’s just part of living in LA. The bus starts moving again. When it stops again, I see even more paparazzis, but their cameras aren’t flashing. Good for whoever escaped that.

The bus door opens and I snap my attention back to my computer screen. I rub my eyes as I stare at my word document. How is there more that needs to be edited? This professor is the harshest grader I’ve ever had, and my friend, Gisa, is kind for giving me even more notes. But I’m exhausted. Two tests and an essay due before 12:00. And it’s...11:38. Great--I have to upload it the second I’m at my doctor’s office and have WiFi again.

I spend some time highlighting and rewording sentences, and once I’m done I reward myself with more people watching because I deserve it and I can’t fall asleep here. I’m kind of invested in the girl live streaming her bus ride...maybe she’ll say her instagram handle.

But when I look up, she’s not on the bus anymore. Almost no one is. An elderly couple is sitting towards the back. A woman with a toddler sit two rows in front of me...and there’s now a man directly across from me. I blink for a moment, imagining a story for someone who’s face I can’t quite see beneath such dark sun glasses. His dark waves and strong jaw do most of the imagining for me--he deserves a mystery, a dramatic one with a happy ending and just enough romance to keep the people interested. A good romance, too--not too sappy. Enemies to lovers, maybe. A mysterious stranger that’s not really a stranger because something about him is just...familiar.

He turns his head and I drop my gaze immediately. There’s no doubt he caught that, but I still pretend to edit the title of my essay. “You’ve been typing stubbornly since I first got on the bus.” There’s an accent--of course he’s english. But it’s more than that, I’ve heard that voice before. I’ve been...soothed by it. And--oh my god, I’m sitting across from Harry Styles.

Okay, don’t freak out. Don’t freak him out. He’s probably on here to escape the the whole ‘oh my god, you’re Harry Styles!’ thing.

“What are you writing?” Harry Styles just spoke to me. I greeted my one direction poster every single day in middle school, and Harry Styles just spoke to me. Okay--relax, breathe--it’s only weird if you make it weird.

There’s a kind of curt curiosity to his question. He could have been ruder, considering how blatantly I was staring at him. “I um...an essay.” I’m temped to turn the screen so that he can see I’m telling the truth. Though he wasn’t hostile, a part of me is paranoid that he thinks I am writing about him. It’s a fair assumption, for all he knows I’m drafting a tweet about who I saw on the bus this morning or preparing to send something in to some gossip girl-esque blog. “It’s due today at noon and normally I’m way more on top of things, but I had this last minute doctor’s appointment rescheduling because my usual doctor is out of town and--” I cut myself off before I can tell Harry Styles that I’m ovulating and that if I don’t go to my OBGYN now, I have to wait an entire month and I’ve already been off birth control longer than I’d like. I might not have actual sex in my near future, but my cramps have been extra terrible. “An essay, I just finished an essay.”

He nods once. Maybe he feels bad for so thoroughly startling me into such a rambling, because the corner of his mouth tilts upwards. A soft smile adds even more grace to his features, I focus on the dimple that appears in his cheek. “An aggravating essay, I take it, considering the death glares you’ve been giving your laptop screen.”

I smile at his polite humor. “It’s for the harshest grader on campus. She took three points off of my first essay freshman year because I spaced my bibliography wrong.”

He cringes in sympathy. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I hum, proud of myself for not letting him know that I know who he is. The bus stops, I can see my doctor’s office behind a few paparazzi. “This is my stop.”

Harry nods once, ducking his head slightly. A tiny part of me feels sympathy for him; from what I’ve gathered, he genuinely loves his fans and the relationship they have, but it must be draining to never have a moment of privacy. Especially when it’s people who care more about selling your picture than your mental health.

I linger on the bus’s step, watching the men with large cameras look around. “Excuse me, are you guys looking for Harry Styles?” Most of the men disregard me, but one looks at me. “I know he’s near here because I’m a really big fan and my friend just texted that she saw him.” This gets me the attention I wanted. “He’s at Northfield--a cafe like three blocks down. I just know that if she got a picture with Harry in like a magazine or something she’d totally lose it--in a good way, and she’s been having a bad time so if you see her can you try to make it happen? Knowing her she’ll be at his side, she’s blonde, shortish hair.”

The men seem skeptical, but I guess they realize that this is the best lead they have. I think the fact that I gave a reason to justify selling Harry out for no reason helped. They disperse together, heading at least three blocks away from Harry. I don’t know if I’ve actually helped him, but I hope I have.

“Essay girl.” I freeze, half cringing. Did he hear that? That’s embarrassing. I consider darting away, but decide that would just make me cringe more. So I turn on my heels. “You...you forgot your phone.”

He just saved my life. “Thank you.” I take my phone from his outstretched hand, ignoring the slight thrill that runs through me when our fingers brush. “You’re my hero--the last thing I needed today was to run all over the city searching for my phone.” I finish the awkward admission with a partial laugh.

“Least I could do,” he mumbles, “especially considering what you just did.”

...He did see that. “Oh um--it was nothing, I just kind of made a connection and assumed the only reason you’d be on a public bus is because you were trying to avoid some things, and you make really great music and a lot of people happy, so you deserve that break.” Why does it feel like I’ve been talking forever? “Anyways, thanks for the whole phone thing, and I hope I got them off your tail.”

My joke seems to somewhat land. His lips part, like he’s planning on saying something else. A timer on my phone interrupts him. I instinctually look down--great, the alarm on my phone warning me that I’m only ten minutes away from being late. “I’m late.” I turn towards the bus’s exit. “I gotta go, but thanks again, and I hope you have a good day.”

I disappear after that, still not sure that that whole thing wasn’t some kind of hallucination. Did I just meet Harry Styles? He...he gave me my phone. Harry Styles has touched my phone. I can’t wait to tell Gisa, she’ll lose it.

I’m still thinking about Harry Styles when I finally reach my OBGYN’s office. When I get there, things are a lot more hectic than I thought they’d be. Many people crowd the waiting area and the receptionist’s desk is clearly understaffed. Two young girls are trying to address multiple upset pregnant women and take phone calls at the same time, all while practically buried in a sea pf paperwork. Wow, I didn’t realize that transferring was such chaos. One of the girls waves me over and barely checks my name before shoving a form towards me. I fill out as quickly as possible.

I upload my essay quickly after checking in. Who knows, maybe Harry Styles’s blessing will get me an A? A third person in scrubs emerges from the back after a moment and ushers me into a room. I tell myself to focus on going over the facts I need for the test I have to take in a little over an hour. Or to focus on the fact that I just met Harry Styles. But instead, I feel my heavy eyelids fall shut.

I don’t know how long I sleep, but I know that I wake up during the middle of a doctor’s sentence, “...I know I’m not your usual, so I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“Hm...Yeah, yeah I’m comfortable.” She nods once, her wide eyes slightly red. “But I do have a class today in like an hour, so I was wondering if this was going to take longer because of the office’s move?”

“Oh, no,” she shakes her head. “Just because Dr. Rodriguez gave us no notice before deciding that she no longer wanted to work here...or in the country. Or even live in the US, despite the fact that we just signed a lease on a place together...” Tears well in the stranger’s eyes, pity settles in my stomach.

“That sounds incredibly complicated, I didn’t mean to rush you.”

She blinks twice, her expression blanking as she fights against the pain of what’s clearly a terrible break up. “No, no--you have every right. Today is your day and if..honestly, if you’re strong enough to go to a class after this, and do what you’re about to do by yourself, then I’m strong enough to get through today.”

Um...didn’t realize a pap smear counted as something that needs moral support, but I’ll chalk it up to her heightened emotions. “Thanks.”

She snaps on her medical gloves. “No, thank you for your patience. Now lay down.”

I do as told, preparing for a sensation I haven’t often experienced. A moment passes and I know she’s started. She’s moving away from me much faster than expected. Oh--I guess pap smears are a lot shorter than I expected.

“That’s it?”

“Yep,” she hums, pulling her gloves off. “Now just take it easy, and hydrate.”

Weird...but that’s like general doctor advice. “Thanks!”

I’ve never wanted to keep a secret from Gisa, but sometimes I really regret telling her I met Harry Styles. It’s been almost a month and I find my mind wandering back to the moment in which our fingers brushed more than I should. Sometimes I let myself wonder what he might have said if my phone hadn’t rang. I was probably just imagining the way his lips parted, but my ind refuses to let it go.

“...You know it’s kind of sad, I read an interview in which he spoke about the fact that he has some genetic condition that makes it hard to have kids. He has so many godchildren, and I feel like he’d make such a great father.”

I try to keep up with Gisa’s words, but the dull ache in my head makes it feel so far away. “Yeah...he seemed really patient.”

Gisa nods, turning to face me. “You alright, you’re looking kinda green?”

“Yeah...” I reach for my canvas bag. “I think I just...I probably just need some water.”

My hand grazes the metal of my water bottle and then the corners of my vision blur into blackness. I sway, Gisa’s hand is on my shoulder...and then it all goes black.

I sit uncomfortably on the hospital’s cot. Gisa is a traitor for telling my mom that I fainted. I knew she’d just drag me here--hispanic mothers, they either believe they can cure you with vic’s vapor rub or they want you in the ER. No in between.

“I know you didn’t want another test, but you’ve been throwing up in the morning for days and now you’re fainting.”

“Fainted,” I correct, “it happened once.”

“C’mon, mija, it’s just one doctor’s appointment.”

Speaking of, an ER nurse returns. “Fainting and nausea spells explained,” he says, glancing at his clipboard, “you’re pregnant.”

My mom and I can’t help but exchange a look before bursting into laughter. Pregnant. If I’m pregnant then the second coming is here. “That’s impossible, I’m a virgin.”

He glances at my mom, “maybe we should have this conversation in private.”

“No, what you say in front of me you can say in front of my mom.”

My mom raises an eyebrow. “Y/n, did you and that guy from your english class--”

“No! No, we did not. I am a virgin and there’s no way I’m pregnant.” I glare at the nurse.

He then ushers me to a bathroom so that I can provide a urine sample. After I’m finished, he shows me a pregnancy test strip. “Pink means pregnant.” I bite my tongue as he tests the strip in my sample. He pulls it out and it’s...it’s bright pink.

“I’m calling my doctor, because this has to be a mistake. It has to be like a hormonal thing.”

“Exactly, pregnancy hormones.”

I glare even harder, calling the doctor that I saw last week. “Hello, Dr. Ash? I was wondering if I could get a consultation because I’m in the ER and some crazy doctor is trying to tell me I’m pregnant.”

Silence on the line for a long second. “...I actually cleared my calendar for you.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #jane the virgin #jane the virgin AU #lot #hslot st louis

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justplainwhump · 3 years ago

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#9 for Dany 😈😈

9: strangle my muse

This is not going to be what you expected. More action than whump, and of course really high on the angst. (If you ask me, it's really good)

And Dany surprised me in more ways than one.

Content / warnings: Lady whump, failed escape (?), some red flags of abusive relationships in the beginning, gun violence, strangling; references to dubcon, conditioning and pet whump; strong language (Dany gets emotional)

Ridley Lordin, B and referenced Leo Luciano are @what-a-whump 's wonderful characters and used with permission.

Thank you so much for asking this, @distinctlywhumpthing , because wow, character development.

[Dany Masterpost]

[Prompt list (still taking them for all my characters)]

Scene (1,500 words) under the cut

I look fabulous. I don't even need to look at myself in any of the dozens of mirrors decorating the ballroom. He wanted all eyes on me. And he gets what he wants.

Ridley's hand is resting on the back of my neck, fiddling with the thin white leather strap that he has me wear instead of the usual collar. It's somewhat reassuring. It means it's not that kind of a party.

My dress is tasteful, short but not revealing, tailored to fit so perfectly it doesn't matter that it's too white for my pale skin. It's summer. I should be tanned from days spent in the park, on the tennis court, by the sea. That's not what my days are, though. I spend them inside, nowadays, locked up in the bedroom of Ridley's penthouse, and I can earn the privilege of open curtains.

Sometimes, to my own shame, I do.

He presses a kiss against my neck. "Smile, princess", he breathes into my ear, his fingers lingering on my throat for a moment too long. "You know how Daddy likes you."

Pleasant. Pretty. Pliant. Have I ever been anything else, I wonder? Or have I only ever played roles others wanted from me, anyways?

I force my lips to curve into a smile. Of course I do. I'm tired of fighting. Ridley hums contently, before his gaze is caught by something - someone - else, a middle-aged woman in a red pant suit. Governor Hawkins. I know her, I know them all, the rich and powerful, from the events I've attended by my father's side, and I hate how they don't seem to spend a second thought on how I'm suddenly with this man they all must despise.

"I'll be right back, baby girl", Ridley purrs. "Don't move. Bee Bee?" He snaps his fingers. "Come."

B casts me a short glance, as if unwilling to leave me, before his eyes turn flat again and he trots past Ridley, scanning the crowd for potential threats.

I feel oddly uncomfortable around them, alone among hundreds of people. How many of them know? And how many just refuse to see?

A hand on my back makes me flinch. "Danielle", someone says into my hair. "Let's get you out of here."

Instinctively, I pull away and look over the crowd for Ridley. He doesn't like others touching me. Fuck, I don't like anyone touching me.

"Shhh", the man hushes and grabs my arm again, and only now do I turn to look at him. Matthew Carlson. My father's finance guy. There's a deep frown on his face and a pressed urgency in his voice. "We'll get you away from him."

"I-" I am cut off by a hand over my mouth from behind.

"Hurry", Carlson hisses.

An arm closes around me, drags me back through a door to the kitchen. White tiles and metal surfaces, some employees that seem to have been paid to look away. I struggle against the person holding me, try to bite the hand in front of my face, but they seem to know what they're doing, and I don't.

I want to get away from Ridley, I don't want him to see this. I want to be good, and I want to be free.

"Don't fight, Danielle, this is all for your father's best interest", Carlson says behind me. "You're his legacy."

Ridley will kill me for leaving my spot. Somehow Carlson and his man don't make me feel safe at all.

A cool draft brushes past my naked legs, as someone pushes open a door and they guide me outside into some back yard, stumbling down the flight of steps in my high heels. There's another man waiting near some dumpsters, under a flickering lamp. He's dressed entirely in black and looks me down with a cold frown.

Somehow, nobody hurries any more. There's no car waiting to get me away, no explanation, just silence and the damp darkness of a muggy summer night.

I step back towards the back door, but the man behind me doesn't move.

I turn to Carlson and lift my chin. "Please, leave me alone", I say firmly. "I don't know what this is, but I don't want it."

"Hmmm", Carlson hums, and there's a coldness to his tone that lets me shiver. "I bet you won't, but it's too late for that. You're a liability, Danielle. Your... involvement with Lordin, with Luciano, these... videos, they don't make you look good. You weaken your father's position. Or rather, ours, trying to save what is left of it."

"I'm a fucking prisoner", I hiss. "You fucking know what happened to me, because you let this shit happen to my father, and now I'm the one being sold and tortured and paraded around and hurt, while you fuckers think about your business? This is my life, you-"

"It won't be any longer", he cuts me off harshly, and nods to the man behind me. "Sorry, Danielle, it's not personal."

Something wraps around my neck from behind. Thin and soft and raw at the same time. I scream, but all that comes from my lips is a garbled whine.

The man pulls the rope tight and yanks me back. I thrash, my limps flailing uselessly. Desperately, I fight for air, but there's nothing. Nothing but pain and dread and a dawning understanding. I will die. These fuckers are killing me. My fingers cramp around my neck, fingertips brushing over rough rope, unable to grasp it, buried too deep into my skin.

A shadow moves in the corner of my eyes, a blur within a larger blur. I hear a sharp snarl, a muffled impact, a scream, as I tumble back, fall, landing on something soft. Air floods my lungs, and I inhale greedily, my breath coming out in ragged huffs.

"Do not touch her", B growls at my side, and lunges at the other men.

He came for me.

Under me, the black-dressed man is struggling, whining as he grips his hurt arm and struggles against my weight on top of him. Fucking asshole. I clench my teeth and steady my hand with my other arm, as I ram my elbow into his throat. He stills once more.

Something solid is pressed into my back. His gun, tucked under his jacket. Still coughing, I roll over to my side to grab it. Should've just shot me, I think grimly. Stupid gangsters, trying to make a show of everything.

I struggle to get to all fours and cast a glance over to B. Carlson's guard is laying on the ground, unmoving. Carlson himself is down as well, B sitting on his back, wrestling back his arm, growling something low and inaudible, until the arm snaps.

He doesn't see the guard move beside him. A knife flashes in the guard's hand.

I shoot. Once, twice, three times, all aimed steadily at his chest, from a close distance.

Never stop after one shot, Dad has taught me, years ago. You shoot to kill. Make sure they stay dead.

This one is.

The silence after the shots is deafening.

"Oh, princess!", Ridley exclaims behind me, from the kitchen door, his voice perplexed, almost delighted.

Another fit of coughing shakes me, before I turn around, weakly. Ridley is standing in the doorway, upright, his too familiar silhouette framed by light, arms folded, as he is taking in the scene, smug and confident as always.

My eyes are trained on his chest. Carefully, almost tenderly, I lift the gun once more.

A shadow falls over me, blocking Ridley from my view. B. I haven't even heard him move. But he's standing there now, right between my and my target, wordlessly looking down on me from unreadable eyes.

"Please", I breathe. "Please, B." B knows, knows what Ridley does to me, asks of me, of him. He knows he deserves to die.

He doesn't step aside. Instead, he extends an open hand. I hate him. I hate myself. My stomach drops, as I secure the gun and rest it into his hand.

Wordlessly, B steps back and hands the gun to Ridley. "Nice try, baby girl", Ridley mumbles, as he checks the gun. "Wouldn't hurt Daddy now, would you?"

Casually, he steps down the stairs and considers the two men, groaning on the ground, me, kneeling next to them in my now stained white dress.

With his free hand, Ridley gently brushes over the fresh marks on my neck. "Which one did this?", he asks calmly.

I look aside, at the man in the black clothes, and Ridley steps over, lifts the gun, points it right between his eyes.

Another shot rings through the yard.

A strangled sob escapes me.

"B, tie that other guy up", Ridley says, but his eyes are on me. "Leo will deal with him, later."

He gets to his knees in front of me, pulls me into an embrace, the gun still in his hand. I sink against his chest, trembling with silent sobs, each breath hurting in my throat.

I had almost been free. One way or another.

"Shhh, now, baby girl", he whispers, as he gently cradles me against his body. "You're safe with me. I've got you."

#whump #whump story #lady whump #femwhump #prompt fill #strangling #dany #ridley #b #intimate whumper

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redwinterroses · 3 years ago

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may i ask you abt tumblr ettiquette? what are likes for? i see people say stuff like "dont just like something reblog it as well" but you and a few other people i've seen say you use likes as a way to remember to reblog a post later but i thought that was what drafts were for? and other people like nearly every post they see? idk what theyre meant to be for.

right so: part of tumblr etiquette (in theory) is answering asks in a timely fashion, and I have no idea how long this has been sitting in my inbox but it was buried under a few other things so I missed it for who-knows-how-long. Sorry! >.<

On the likes... it depends on who you ask. And tbh it's changed over the years. Used to be that a heart was just like on any other social media site -- showed that you, ya know. Liked something. Nothing more, nothing less.

But because tumblr doesn't work like other sites, likes don't get you any sort of engagement with a wider audience, so people quickly started saying "Please don't just like my posts, reblog them so other people see them."

Which is valid. BUT we creators also need to remember that just because someone enjoys something we put up doesn't mean they necessarily want it on their blog, and that's valid too. But yeah: you'll see some people get real militant about "don't like spam!"

(and, granted -- going into your notifs and they're just full of one person going through and hearting everything you've posted in the last 48 hours is... a little obnoxious. But you CAN filter your notifs and hide likes so it's not as if it completely ruins your ability to find reblogs and comments and stuff so... annoying, but not the end of the world.)

But if someone constantly posts "Reblogs over likes!! Reblog with comment, don't just like!!" I'll be honest: I'm going to be less likely to reblog at all, even if I do genuinely enjoy the content. Don't tell me what to do, lol. Maybe I want to show you as an artist that I appreciate your effort and work, but I don't actually want to show everyone else the thing? If I reblog something it's because I want my followers to see it to, and that doesn't necessarily apply to every single thing that I see and think "Oh cool/pretty/neat!" about.

So personally, I use likes as a bookmark to go back and find things later. Sometimes I use drafts, but only if it's something I know I'm going to want to add to -- otherwise, it's way faster to just hit the like button and keep scrolling. If I've got time to save it as a draft, I've got time to put the tags in (...I tag everything. Everything. If I didn't, I'd like less and just reblog more.) If I'm in a hurry or on cursed mobile, I don't want to bother with tags, so I hit "like" and come back to it later when I'm on desktop.

And these days I sometimes just use likes as... ya know. A like. Because I LIKE something. Which seems. Obvious. But tumblr culture means it's not or we wouldn't be having this conversation.

so... tl;rd -- use the hellsite (affectionate) however you want. It's your experience. If you think something is cool but you don't want to actually reblog it, like it. If you want to come back and find it later, like it. Or save it as a draft. Or reblog it with #tag later. Or literally whatever you want. Maybe don't go on like-spamming sprees of individual blogs? Especially if you then don't reblog anything or at least give them a follow? But even then -- who cares. You still showed appreciation for the content. As long as you're not re-uploading stuff, you're fine.

#redwinteranswers #look i know as much as the next creator: I love reblogs #reblogs with tags? gapples to my heart #but someone liking my posts still means they saw it and appreciated it and that's good too #if you're the kind of person who's constantly shouting REBLOGS > LIKES #then... i mean good for you but maybe chill a little #if you want a wider audience tumblr isn't the place for that anyway #we're all just a bunch of awkward nerds shoving things at each other and going HEY LOOKIT THIS #in our own tiny little circles and cycling posts through between ourselves until it shows up 30 times on every dash #you want a broader audience -- go to twitter and deal with their garbage lol #the only really bad thing you can do is rePOST (twitter refugees: reposting is different than reblogging please calm down)#other than that: engage the hellsite on your own terms #this is your blog. your dash. make of it what you will.#long post

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secret-engima · 4 years ago

Text

Team Gremlin verse: The Reunion

(So this is ... a very rough draft so to speak of what I wanna do for the reunion scene with Oscar and Ozpin. I’m not dubbing it ‘canon’ yet because I’d have to wait for the actual fic to catch up and then tweak accordingly but so far- this is what is in my head and I figured I should let others enjoy the angst :D)

...

Ozpin slipped away from the crowd exiting the tent with a pounding heart. He could feel his fingers shake on the hilt of Long Memory as he managed to duck into the shadows outside the large emerald and gold tent. He had found him. All this time searching, all this time praying and hoping and looking only to be too late and he had found him. He had sat in the stands and seen the boy in action, heard the music and seen the magic both fake and real, and felt the sheer energy and joy the little Ringmaster felt in his performance like lightning in Ozpin’s own bones. And then- the song. The final song. Because Oscar always rounded off with a song, ones not meant for spectacle, but instead for the heart. A sincere wish and message for those fortunate to sit beneath the ceiling of the Emerald City for the night.

The song alone could have brought him to tears. But to hear it sung by the little boy in the ring, the impossible, wonderful, miracle child who had every right to lash out at the world in hate, yet instead chose to fill it with wonders … it had been all he could do to keep from crying with there in the stands. To not try to climb down the makeshift seating and into the ring because all he’d wanted was to hold him.

His son. The son he had never seen outside of grainy photos and shaky recordings, who he had tried desperately to find the more he learned what the child had lived through. And now Ozpin had found him. Now Ozpin had a chance to meet him. He just had to get backstage.

It wasn’t hard to escape the eyes of the crowd, and it wasn’t much more difficult to slip through the shadows to the little ring of emerald tents set up behind the big top, the tents where the various performers of the rare and popular Emerald City act stayed. He hesitated on the boundary, trying to pick out which one of the colorful, green-themed tents belonged to the Ringmaster —his son, his child that he had never gotten to meet, would never have known about save a series of accidents—. He heard laughter and activity behind him, the performers returning to their temporary homes, and he ducked forward into the shadows of a tent at random. They would run him off if they found him, he was certain of that. He was a stranger to them at best, or worse, a known player in the war that had created the boy he hoped to meet, that had no doubt hurt many of those who followed him —such as Hazel, and how the man had ever been swayed from Salem’s promise of revenge, Ozpin could not fathom but did not want to test—.

He heard no activity from the tent he was hiding behind, and while the air whispered with hints of magic, it wasn’t coming from this tent, so he moved on to another. This time, he dared peak into the tent flap, but saw nothing but the vague shadows of personal belongings. No sign of the little Ringmaster —his son, his child—.

Ozpin backed away from that tent, heart drumming anxiously in his chest. Then he turned and froze.

The massive Grimm, the strange one that Qrow called Hound. The monster that for some reason Ozpin never wanted to contemplate —but had spent many hours doing just that— followed his son everywhere. Behaved like it was tame and natural rather than a creature of Darkness that longed only for destruction. It stood just a few feet away, so large it’s head was even with Ozpin’s chin as it watched him with flat, glowing red lights for eyes.

His fingers tightened on the hilt of Long Memory, lifetimes of instinct screaming to raise his weapon and attack first before it could kill him or anyone else here. But he had seen recordings of this same Grimm, dressed up in ridiculous costumes to hide its true nature from unpracticed eyes, parading around in the circus ring like a big dog. He had seen his son ride on its back and balance on its head and Qrow had recounted more than one instance of Oscar and the other children escaping on its back. It hadn’t been present for this particular show, but he had seen multiple recordings of previous ones where it entered the ring and no one had been harmed. Of course, Ozpin’s son —Salem’s son, for all the second half of that coin tore at his guts— had been close by all those times, but here there was no one in sight but the two of them.

The Grimm tilted its head slowly to one side, a ragged ear pricking like an actual dog’s. It wasn’t attacking. Even though Ozpin knew he must stink of so many different types of fear he could attract an entire pack of Beowolves all on his own. It just … studied him.

Slowly, it’s jaws opened, and Ozpin prepared to dodge some attack. Instead, the large, blood red tongue slid out from between massive teeth and lolled there, a slow, thoughtful trio of pants before it licked its teeth and shut its jaws again. Without any further reaction, it lowered its head and turned away, walking slow and ponderously toward one of the tents that had light peaking through the bottom. Ozpin watched it leave with a blank, confused mind, then startled when it stopped and twisted around to look over its shoulder at him.

It looked like it was waiting.

It looked like it wanted him to follow.

Inhaling raggedly —this was the stupidest thing he had done in lifetimes he was sure—, Ozpin started following in the Grimm’s footsteps.

It led him to the tent farthest from the bigtop, nudged open the flap with something like practiced ease, and shouldered its way in. Ozpin lingered outside, suddenly too afraid to go a step further. There was a Grimm in there, but somehow, the realization that his son might be in there was even more terrifying than that. If he stood out here too long, he would be caught, he knew that, and yet…

“Hey, Sondor,” murmured a voice through the tent fabric and Ozpin’s world crystalized, “Everything alright? You left in a bit of a hurry.” A deep rumble, inhuman and bass and … oddly content sounding. The voice —a child’s voice, a gentle voice, a voice he’d just heard laughing and waxing dramatic for a show of fake magic and real mysteries— laughed faintly, “Checking on someone then? You know everyone has to stay up late on performance nights.”

If he held on any tighter to his cane, he thought it might shatter, but the feel of it grounded him like it always had, and with the last bit of courage he possessed in this lifetime, he pushed the tent flap open and slipped inside as the voice —his son— finished saying, “We’ll be sure to take long naps in the morning.”

Ozpin was here. He was standing in the same space as his child, without a crowd to be wary of or a performance to keep them apart. He was standing in some kind of makeshift workshop, with a cot on the floor on the far side and the vast majority of space taken up by a battered, foldable metal table that seemed to be a desk and all the tools of a magician’s trade. Cards and wands and hats, gloves and fanciful outfits and a hundred thousand other things that didn’t matter, because amid all the mess, with his back mostly to the entrance and a massive Grimm lying contentedly next to his feet, was the Ringmaster.

His child.

The Grimm raised its head again to stare at him, a low noise he’d never heard the monsters make before rumbling from its chest, and the boy tilted his head toward the tent entrance absently, still not looking away from the Dust gem he was setting in his elaborate cane, “Hey Neo, you’re back early. I thought you were still scoping … out…” he finished setting the Dust in his cane, looked up and saw Ozpin standing there. Neither of them moved. Green-gold eyes in a young face —he looked ten had Qrow really been correct on estimating his age closer to twelve or thirteen?— went wide, and the magic passively swirling through the tent shrunk in on itself until he couldn’t feel it.

It occurred belatedly to Ozpin that while he had essentially been stalking his son for the last few years in an attempt to meet him and make sure he was okay, the boy wouldn’t know him at all. Or worse, had only heard of him from people who hated him —from Salem herself even—. And now Ozpin had just shown up in the boy’s living space without warning or invitation.

Terror and nerves tangled up all the words he wanted to say, all the ones he’d longed to say, and instead he found himself folding both of his shaking hands on the pommel of his cane and bleating out the first, most habitual line currently living in his brain, “Hello, I’m Professor Ozpin-.”

A shout, loud and gutted, and all his words died in his throat again as the boy threw himself off his little camp chair and at Ozpin. Long Memory clattered to the ground unnoticed as Ozpin instinctively raised his hands to wrap around the little body that collided with his waist, slender arms tightening like a vise around him and Ozpin couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe-.

Had he really said-?

A hiccuping sob from the child in his arms, a fully body thing that shook him from his tousled black hair to his shoes while that word spun endlessly in Ozpin’s mind, haunting him and confusing him because he couldn’t have heard that right. He couldn’t have heard…

“Dad.”

The word echoed between them again, muffled by a young face buried in his suit jacket, and Ozpin felt his own breath start to stammer as he clung tighter to the boy in his arms, sinking down to his knees despite the screaming in his leg and burying his face in flyaway black hair, “I’m here.” He choked out, “I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re alright. I’m right … I’m right here.”

Magic pressed against his skin, burrowed into his soul, needy and desperate and fearful in a way his daughters’ had never been until the very end —until the moment his shield broke and he could no longer protect them—. It begged him and Ozpin forgot about everything else, forgot every other concern or person in the world as he let his own magic unspool and twine with the younger, needy magic begging him for comfort. Behind his closed eyelids he could see it, the colors spinning and twisting in the space between their souls. His ever-dwindling green wrapping around a younger, deeper, stronger wellspring of emerald laced with snapping red, whispering black and dancing flickers of purple, gold, blue, and white.

The younger magic coiled tightly in his, desperate and pained, crying in relief and fear just as loudly as the sobs that shook his son’s body. It was open to him, painfully open and raw, trusting despite how this boy had every reason to fear another’s magic. In the breath between crying and comforting and accepting, Ozpin’s magic brushed up against what could only be called a crack in his child’s soul. A jagged old wound that had never properly healed. Glass sharp and weeping and-.

Pain-pain-pain-fear-fear-please-pleasedon’tleavedon’tleaveme-.

Magic, green and old, bodiless and desperate and half-mad with agony sinking inside and locking in place in a message that screamed all the way down to bone marrow and soul fiber.

Mine-my-child-I-love-you-I-loveyoumychildmy-

“Oscar.” Ozpin choked out, struggling to shake off the remnants of memory hidden in soul shards and old wounds. Realization reeled, pulled at the fabric of reality beneath his feet. “Oscar,” he repeated, rolling the name of his son over his tongue and wondering at the sensation of right, of familiarity even though he had never met this child before. He had, of course, known his name. The boy made a little joke of it at the beginning of all his performances, but now the name had weight. Had an echo of knowledge to it that he couldn’t quite grasp.

Even though, somehow, his son knew him. And perhaps that should terrify him. Because his son was a child still, yet somewhere in the spaces between incarnations, or in the moments between life and death and dreams, his child remembered him and clung to a message of love even though it had been tangled up in so much pain.

“I tried,” Oscar sobbed into his chest, “I tried, I’m- I’m so sorry-.”

Ozpin hushed him, ran shaking fingers through his son’s hair and ignored the way his glasses had completely blurred over from the tears they caught, “I know. It’s alright. You’re alright. You’re alive, Oscar.” He guided his son’s face to his scarf and pressed his cheek against the top of Oscar’s head, “You’re alive. That’s all that matters to me.” He inhaled raggedly and set aside the spinning theories trying to take root, the odd mix of age-youth-age and time-turned-back in Oscar’s magic that made him wonder. He had long assumed that Oscar’s aging was … strange, a byproduct of being the child of two immortals. Yet feeling Oscar’s magic, the soft echo of bells and clockwork gears hidden inside it, he couldn’t help but remember that gravity and its magic was an aspect of space and space was a partner of time. There had been spells that toyed with time long ago that left impressions on the souls that used them, though never on such a large scale as what Ozpin was contemplating.

But if anyone could reinvent a way to turn back the hands of the world’s clock, it would be the child of Ozma and Salem, surely —had his son known a previous incarnation, or had his son met Ozpin himself in the future, had he lived a prisoner of Salem until he was a teen or even an adult, only meeting his father to see him die in agony at his mother’s hands, had a single dying message of love amid a lifetime of darkness truly been enough to make him fight time itself to make things right—.

But that didn’t matter right now.

He was here. Oscar was here. They were both alive and safe and his little boy was tucked trustingly in his arms, and that was what mattered right now. It mattered more than anything else in the world.

“I love you, Oscar,” he whispered into his son’s hair as he rocked them back and forth, uncaring of his jacket and scarf becoming soaked with tears, or the way Oscar’s magic coiled around his soul so tightly it was almost burning, “I love you. I’m here.”

“I missed you,” Oscar choked out between sobs, another piece to Ozpin’s puzzle set aside for later times, “I love y-you t-too.” A hiccup, loud and ugly, a shiver in Ozpin’s arms, “Don’t go.”

“I won’t,” Ozpin promised, hand cradling the back of Oscar’s head, trying to shield him from the nightmares he could sense lurking within, “I won’t go. I’m right here.” He exhaled wetly, “I’m right here.”

#Secret Engima Rambles #Melodies and Manuscripts #Team Gremlin verse #the song oscar sung in the circus this time #was Home by Jeff Williams #in case ya'll wanna break your feels

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icharchivist · 4 years ago

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A3 x Sleeping at Last

I have a fondness for the musician Sleeping at Last and i decided to have fun associating at least one of his song per A3 Characters. Under the cut are songs as well as some highlight lyrics to justify my choice. Some of them i feel more strongly than others so anyone with a comment is welcomed as well.

Thus here i go:

& Spotify playlist of all those songs in order if you want to go through it

Mankai Company : North

We will call this place our home, The dirt in which our roots may grow. Though the storms will push and pull, We will call this place our home. We’ll tell our stories on these walls. Every year, measure how tall. And just like a work of art, We’ll tell our stories on these walls. Let the years we’re here be kind, be kind. Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide. Settle our bones like wood over time, over time. Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine.

Spring Troupe: From The Ground Up

It took me 27 years to wrap my head around this- To brush the ashes off of everything i love. Where courage was contagious, confidence was key. Right as rain, soft as snow, It grows and grows and grows, Our home sweet home.

We'll try to document this light, With cameras to our eyes, In an effort to remember What being mended feels like.

We're home sweet home.

Sakuya Sakuma : The Projectionist

When I was young I fell in love with story, With the eleventh hour, with the blaze of glory.

When hands are tied and clocks are ticking An audience convinced, we're leaning in, holding our breath again Just when we thought the game was over The music lifts and our dying soldier lives And we breathe a sigh of relief The theater lights dim and all goes quiet. In the darkest of rooms, light shines the brightest.

We’re leaving, we’re leaving our shadows behind us now. We’re leaving, we’re leaving it all behind for now. But even dust was made to settle And if we’re made of dust, then what makes us any different? I guess we give what we’ve been given: A family tree so very good at giving up When we’ve had enough. Though truth is heavier than fiction, Gravity lifts as the projectionist rolls tape. And it makes us brave again

Masumi Usui : Venus

At first I thought you were a constellation. I made a map of your stars, then I had a revelation: You’re as beautiful as endless, You’re the universe I’m helpless in. An astronomer at my best When I throw away the measurements.

I was a billion little pieces 'til you pulled me into focus. Astronomy in reverse, It was me who was discovered.

Tsuzuru Minagi : Page 28

Have you read the script? Could you picture it? ... is it worth the risk?

Here in the second act I'm living in repair. Strange how the heart adapts when its pieces disappear. And there, on page 28, I'm so tired of drying glue, I begin my grand attempt at building something new. Though I tend to write the epiphany more immediately, I guess I'm trusting that there's such a thing as elegance in dissonance. God, I'm skeptical of pulling scenes. Was it something that I said? was it something that I did? Please don't get me wrong - I still need your help As history repeats itself Here in the aftermath, I'm pulling at the seams. Strange how the heart adapts in the absence of routine. And there, on page 29, I find “new” and make it mine. But I can't help casting shadows on all I leave behind. Maybe I could afford to change a bit... Even let go of the reigns? Every torn out page was worth the risk Now that the stakes have been raised. So here in the final draft, I've given all I have. Strange how the heart expands in the absence of a plan. There's nothing left on the page, but I'm okay with that, For I found my resolution Was designed for stronger hands.

or Body

There's magic in our bones, A north star in our soul That remembers our way home. There's magic in our bones. No, I don't have a script for this. But I know the right words exist Somewhere, And I just need more time. I know, I know, I'm asking for the moon, But I must listen to intuition Believe me, I only want what's right.

Itaru Chigasaki : Pluto

I woke up from the same dream: Falling backwards, falling backwards ’Til it turned me inside out. Now I live a waking life Of looking backwards, looking backwards; A model citizen of doubt. Until one day I had enough Of this exercise of trust. I leaned in and let it hurt, And let my body feel the dirt. When I break pattern, I break ground. I rebuild when I break down. I wake up more awake than I’ve ever been before. Still I’m pinned under the weight Of what I believed would keep me safe. So show me where my armor ends, Show me where my skin begins. Like a final puzzle piece It all makes perfect sense to me… The heaviness that I hold in my heart belongs to gravity. The heaviness that I hold in my heart’s been crushing me.

Or East

I set out to rule the world With only a paper shield and a wooden sword. No mountain dare stand in my way, Even the oceans tremble in my wake. The tide is brave, but always retreats. Even the sand, it cowers under my feet. My kingdom towers above it all, While I sleep safe and sound in my cardboard walls. Now I bear little resemblance to the king I once was. I bear little resemblance to the king I could become. Maybe paper is paper, maybe kids will be kids- Lord, I want to remember how to feel like I did. So I draw my sword with the morning sun, I summon the moon as soon as the day is done. The clouds march on, on my command. Even the rain, it falls according to plan. The trees bow down and give their leaves. I humbly accept their offerings of peace. The years wore on and changed my heart, The leading role for a smaller part.

Citron : Noble Aim

Chances are we are the same, against the odds, against the grain We lean, like gardens toward light but we wait, Like evening for night, Don't we? Chances are we are alike, against what better judgement writes We ache, like children for love For a purpose worthy of such a noble aim as love.

Chances are we bruise the same; a family tree desperate for rain. A thirst only deserts know best. a hurt so at home in our chests. Call it stubbornness or bravery, To let our branches continue to reach, With such a noble aim, With such a noble aim as love. Every broken branch and loosened leaf that we've grown to ignore, Is now a part of something greater than before. Every nest that rests upon our limbs, Seeking shelter from the storms, Is a purpose worth being broken for.

Chances are we are the same, against the odds, against the grain We lean, like gardens toward light, We reach with all of our might For such a noble aim as love

Chikage Utsuki : Neptune

Pitch black, pale blue, It was a stained glass Variation of the truth, And I felt empty handed. You let me set sail with cheap wood. So I patched up every leak that I could, 'Til the blame grew too heavy.

Stitch by stitch I tear apart, If brokenness is a form of art, I must be a poster child prodigy Thread by thread I come apart If brokenness is a work of art, Surely this must be my masterpiece

I'm only honest when it rains If I time it right, the thunder breaks, when I open my mouth I wanna tell you but I don't know how

I'm only honest when it rains An open book, with a torn out page, and my inks run out I want to love you but i don’t know how...

Or South

Some truths, over time, can learn to play nice. Some truths are sharper than knives. Some truths we only see in the corners of our eyes. Some truths we wish we could hide. Some truths can save us, Some take our lives. Some truths are fire and some truths are ice. No matter what category you fit into, Truth’s got its sight set on you. If truth is north, then I am true south. I can’t figure it out- God knows. Always looking up 'Til my eyes give up. That’s how I lost touch of who I am and who I was.

Summer Troupe : Joy

The clumsy start of adolescence, The glue that mends our broken remnants, An overwhelming sense of reverence, It's a glimpse of light in a mine of gold. A silver lining spilling over, The rumor of buried treasure, The starting line of an adventure, It's a glimpse of light in a mine of gold. It's an afterglow, it's an echo Still ringing out in spite of me. It's the faint outline of the divine In the hiding place of my periphery. So I let go and in this moment, I can breathe. I can breathe. The countless stars we're sleeping under, It's the brightest sparks that we remember. When our eyes are closed, we still see embers, A glimpse of light in a mine of gold. It's a glimpse of light in a mine of gold.

Tenma Sumeragi : Three

Maybe I've done enough, and your golden child grew up Maybe this trophy isn't real love, And with or without it I'm good enough Maybe I've done enough, Finally catching up For the first time I see an image of my brokeness Utterly worthy of love

And I finally see myself, Through the eyes of no one else. It's so exhausting on this silver screen Where I play the role of anyone but me. I finally see myself, Unabridged and overwhelmed, A mess of a story I'm ashamed to tell, But I'm slowly learning how to break this spell. And I finally see myself. Now I only want what's real, to let my heart feel what it feels. Gold, silver or bronze hold no value here, Where work and rest are equally revered. I only want what's real, I set aside the highlight reel, And leave my greatest failures on display with an asterisk; Worthy of love anyway.

Yuki Rurikawa : Hope

There is hope in our eyes when we truly see each other Like the light of countless stars We are not afraid of the dark 'Cause there is hope in our hearts And every single beat, we feel it To the ends of the earth, our echo carries on We are sacred, we are strong, We are beautiful, we belong Please hear our unheard song There is hope in our voice when we listen to each other Barriers disappeared with every story told We are sacred, we are strong, We are beautiful, we belong Please hear our unheard song There is hope in our eyes, When we truly see each other We raise our flag, lift our voice This is our moment, We are sacred, we are strong This is our moment, We are beautiful, we belong This is our moment, We are worthy, we are true This is our moment, There are no borders from this view Please help us raise our flag There is hope in our eyes when we truly see each other

Muku Sakisaka : Daughter

I want to see your happily ever after, That you know in your heart that you matter, That you are royalty. This is your kingdom, This is your crown, This is your story. This is your moment, Don’t look down.

You’re ready. born ready, And all you gotta do is put one foot in front of you. Our ceiling is your floor, And all you gotta do is put one foot in front of you. If only you knew

Misumi Ikaruga : Seven

How nice it'd be if we could try everything? I'm serious, let's make a list and just begin What about danger? So what, what about risk? Let's climb the mountain before we cross that bridge! 'Cause I'm restless, For whatever comes next

How wonderful to see a smile on your face It costs farewell tears for a welcome-home parade A secret handshake between me and my one life: I'll find the silver lining no matter what the price 'Cause I'm hungry, For whatever comes next Let me tell you another secret of the trade- It feels like sinking when I'm standing in one place So I look to the future and I book another flight When everything feels heavy, I've learned to travel light But I want to be here, Truly be here To watch the ones that I love bloom And I want to make room To love them through and through and through And through the slow and barren seasons too

I feel hope deep in my bones... And tomorrow will be beautiful.

Kazunari Miyoshi : Nine

Who am I to say what any of this means? I have been sleepwalking since I was fourteen Now as I write my song, I retrace my steps Honestly, it's easier to let myself forget

Still, I check my vital signs, Choked up, I realize I've been less than half myself for more than half my life

It looks like empathy to understand all sides But I'm just trying to find myself through someone else's eyes So show me what to do to restart this heart of mine How do I forgive myself for losing so much time?

A little at a time I feel more alive I let the scale tip and feel all of it It's uncomfortable but right We were born to try, to see each other through To know and love ourselves and others well Is the most difficult and meaningful work we'll ever do

Kumon Hyodo : Intermission

I'm so tired but I can't sleep. My mind is full but I can't speak. Among the dust of the hard-to-reach, I'm stuck Right here, somewhere between side a and side b. I could call it compromise, or just an intermission. Some kind of consolation prize for the race I never finished. I want to turn these tired gears. I want to feel the follow-through, Some kind of equilibrium... Something to set my watch to.

I'm here, somewhere between victory and a white flag. Caught in this purgatory dream, I'm stuck. But I want to set the record straight, I want to retrace my every step. If I could just rewind all the tapes, Then maybe I'd find my loose thread. Call it a compromise, or just an intermission. Some kind of consolation prize, so close, but never finished. I want to turn these tired gears. I want to feel the follow-through, Some kind of equilibrium... Something to set my watch to.

Pluto works for him too

Autumn Troupe : The Sea of Atlas

We once felt safe, like no cure was needed. Our vocabularies had no room for “defeated,” But we grew up quick and became connoisseurs of it. There's a fine line, a fine line in between Our progress and our instability. We can't help ourselves but hunt for more. A design flaw? or the olive branch that proves the shore- The catalyst we've waited for.

Banri Settsu : One

Hold on for a minute, 'Cause I believe that we can fix this over time That every imperfection is a lie, Or at least an interruption Now hold on, let me finish, No, I'm not saying perfect exists in this life But we'll only know for certain if we try

The list goes on forever of all the ways I could be better in my mind As if I could earn God's favor given time Or at least congratulations Now I have learned my lesson The price of this so-called perfection is everything I spend my whole life searching desperately To find out grace requires nothing of me I... I wanna sing a song worth singing I'll write an anthem worth repeating I... I wanna feel the transformation A melody of reformation I hold it all more loosely, and yet somehow much more dearly 'Cause I spend my whole life searching desperately To find out that grace requires nothing Grace requires nothing of me

Juza Hyodo : Taste

I am alive, I am awake. I am aware of what light tastes like. The curtains drawn, the table's set, I wanna be, I wanna be, at my best.

I'm on my knees and only scratch the surface.

Out of the woods, out of the dark. I’m well aware of the shadows in my heart. I wanna feel, tectonic shifts; I wanna be, I wanna be, astonished. I wanna be astonished. So I propose a toast: To fists unraveling, to glass unshattering. To breaking all the rules, to breaking bread again. We’re swallowing light, we’re swallowing our pride. We’re raising our glass, ’til we’re fixed from the inside. 'Til we're fixed from the inside. We're nothing less than a work in progress. Sacred text on Post-It notes. We only speak of a world in pieces. Let's make a map of what matters most: Where every fracture is a running river. Leading us back to our golden coast.

OR Mercury

No one can unring this bell Unsound this alarm, unbreak my heart new God knows, I am dissonance Waiting to be swiftly pulled into tune

I know the further I go The harder I try, only keeps my eyes closed And somehow I’ve fallen in love With this middle ground at the cost of my soul Yet I know, if I stepped aside Released the controls, you would open my eyes That somehow, all of this mess Is just my attempt to know the worth of my life

Made of precious metals, precious metal inside

Taichi Nanao: Sadness

It feels like falling, It feels like rain, Like losing my balance, Again and again It once was so easy, Breathe in, breathe out But at the foot of this mountain I only see clouds

I feel out of focus, or at least indisposed As this strange weather pattern inside me takes hold Each brave step forward I take three steps behind It's mind over matter, Matter over mind

Slowly, then all at once, A single loose thread And it all comes undone

Where there is light a shadow appears The cause and effect when life interferes The same rule applies to goodness and grief For in our great sorrow We learn what joy means

I don't want to fight, I don't want to fight it But I will learn to fight, I will learn to fight 'Til this pendulum finds equilibrium

Slowly, then all at once, The dark clouds depart And the damage is done, So pardon the dust While this all settles in, With a broken heart Transformation begins

or Bright and Early

The sun comes pouring in. Filling glasses up with diamonds, Stirring where I've been But it's all trigger and effect. Dominoes at their best. In the end I'm told, It taught me everything I know. That the wreckage left behind, will somehow make me grow.

In the end I'm told It taught me everything I know. But when the fire took our home, I lost part of my soul. From the ground up I'll keep building houses into homes. 'cause if trust is ribbon, Then patience ties it in a perfect bow.

Omi Fushimi : Aperture

Happiness is somewhere I have been before- A blurry photograph that I have since ignored. I'll carefully adjust the aperture once more, Until I set the record straight. I'll brush aside the dim, make room for the bright. I'll be an editor, no, a curator of light. I'll let my better angels always set me right, Until I even out the score. Until I even out the score. God, it has been quite a year- I've lived a little bit and I've died a little more. I know that I've asked it before, But please let the scale tip here in my favor. What was once the sweetest melody I've heard Is now a memory reduced to little words. I'll tune the orchestra and play the overture, Until I pinpoint every note. Give me the heart of an archeologist, That I may dig until I prove that I exist. A subterranean cathedral in my midst, Where echos come to rest.

Sakyo Furuichi : Touch

When will I feel this as vivid as it truly is, Fall in love in a single touch, and fall apart when it hurts too much? Can we skip past near-death clichés Where my heart restarts, as my life replays? All I want is to flip a switch Before something breaks that cannot be fixed.

Invisible machinery, These moving parts inside of me Well, they’ve been shutting down for quite some time, Leaving only rust behind. Well I know, I know - the sirens sound Just before the walls come down. Pain is a well-intentioned weatherman Predicting God as best he can, But God I want to feel again, Oh God I want to feel again.

Rain or shine, I don’t feel a thing, just some information upon my skin. I miss the subtle aches when the weather changed, The barometric pressure we always blamed. All I want is to flip a switch Before something breaks that cannot be fixed. Down my arms, a thousand satellites Suddenly discover signs of life.

Azami Izumida : Anger

Like wildfire, it starts in my chest The silence grows louder, ringing out in my head

I feel the Earth shaking under my feet I feel the pressure building until I can't breathe And it takes everything

And it all spills out, reckless but honest words leave my mouth Like kerosene on a flame of doubt, I couldn't make it right

Alarms will sound, but it's too late for holy water now Sooner or later the fire dies down, I'll open up my eyes

And I'll try and find the image of God In mountains made of ash and clouds of smoke It's fight or flight, buried in my mind, It's fight or flight It keeps my mind cold

But I feel it break, With just one misstep down a fire escape And suddenly I'm someone that prays, a last minute man of faith But I'll leave behind miles and miles of jagged lines Upon the surface of the Divine, I wish I could set them straight

Say

they impose the endless fight to always be perfect it seems they have been chosen to be above the rest

but the contradiction stands between these perfect lives and the words that they've misread there was no reading say all the things that you really want to say the truest of forms will show finally you'll find your soul

Bonus: Sakyo & Azami: Uneven Odds

I once knew your father well He fought tears as he spoke of your mother’s health I guess a part of him just couldn’t return Forgiveness is a lesson he cursed you to learn As your guardian I was instructed well To make sense of God’s love in these fires of hell No I don’t expect you to understand Just to live what little life your broken heart can Maybe your light is a seed And the darkness the dirt In spite of the uneven odds Beauty lifts from the earth As the years move on these questions take shape Are you getting stronger or is time shifting weight? No one expects you to understand Just to live what little life your mended heart can You’ll always remember the moment God took her away For the weight of the world was placed on your shoulders that day You’re much too young now so I write these words down, “Darkness exists to make light truly count.”

& Heirloom

You try your hardest to leave the past alone. This crooked posture is all you’ve ever known. It is the consequence of living in between The weight of family and the pull of gravity. You are so much more than your father’s son. You are so much more than what I’ve become. Long before you were born there was light Hidden deep in these young, unfamiliar eyes. A million choices, though little on their own, Become the heirloom of the heaviness you’ve known. You are so much more than your father’s son. You are so much more than what I’ve become,

You pressed rewind for the thousandth time When the tapes wore through. So you memorized those unscripted lines, Desperate for some kind of clue:

When the scale tipped, when you inherited, A fight that you were born to lose. It’s not your fault, No, it’s not your fault, I put this heavy heart in you.

You remind me of who I could have been, Had I been stronger and braver way back then. A million choices, though little on their own, Became the heirloom of the heaviness we’ve known. You are so much more than your father’s son. You are so much more than the wars you’ve won. You are so much more than your father’s son. You are so much more than what I’ve become.

Winter Troupe : Homesick

Our resignation only comes on beaten paths When the world was flat we dreamt of its edges If love's elastic, then were we born to test it's reach? Is it buried treasure or just a single puzzle piece? It's poison ivy beneath our brave and trusting feet All revelations come to us in recovery Cry wolf, cry mercy, Cry the name of the one you were raised to believe Cry heart, cry yourself to sleep, Cry a storm of tears if it helps you breathe It helps you, if it helps you breathe

Or Hourglass

We're taking turns at shattering apart. At least we're taking turns. How did we get so good at dismantling these hearts? How did we ever get so good? We dress our best to receive their sympathy. At our worst, we dress our best? “time heals all” According to these greeting cards. Oh how we'd rather time resets. If we could turn the hourglass, we would. If we could move a grain of sand, we would. If we could find our way back, we would.

Tsumugi Tsukioka : Clockwork

There is glass between our touch, phantom limbs of former love... and the truth is that I am so terrified that the callous is deeper than the surface of our skin. and it takes us twice as long, it takes us twice as long to heal. we'll lift up the ground to see the system of roots beneath. gears turn, endlessly, to bring the world back to life like clockwork, when it dies. the cadence of beating hearts, the click of its moving parts grows louder and louder from this restless earth... future gardens wait patiently below and somehow we smell them blossom through the snow.

still unsatisfied, we chase what we're denied. as generations wait, we can't resist the taste of possibility. gears turn, endlessly, to bring us back to life again. like clockwork, we begin.

Tasuku Takato : Porcelain

The door broke when you slammed it shut, and the cracks kept reaching long after you left. through the floorboards, branching towards the hall, like vines that never rest... climbing like fire through the walls. a single spark that claims the whole forest - I know, I know... it's all for the best. but honestly, I would rather be safe from a distance than here... when I fell to my knees to sew the damage shut, I couldn't believe... a bright, staggering light came flooding into me from out of the seams. so I reached deeper in and pulled my whole world wide open, and for each broken mile, a billion miracles happen at once in everything... in everything. but I'm safe from a distance, right here. everything I love was made of porcelain, ready to break. but the bright, staggering light, it anxiously waits inside. like nesting dolls, the secret hides. and like every birth, it was a necessary pain... I know, I know... it's all worth the wait, worth the weight.

or Accidental Lights

On your mark, get set... A million miles past the finish line My heels lift at this imaginary starting line. The trigger slips; My heart was racing well before it's time. Time's running out, it's always running out on me, As the road up ahead disappears. Though it's all been said, and this empty dictionary is all that's left, I'll try to change the world in a single word. My hands are shaking, ready or not. Invisible ink well it's all I've got. So I'll concentrate and pick from these barren trees. Time's running out, it's always running out on me, And every road I discover disappears under my feet - Some call it reckless, some call it breathing. Have i said too much or not enough? Is it overkill or is it giving up, To measure out the distance of an echo's reach? If it's all broken mirrors and a chance roll of the dice, Then I'll risk everything for a glimpse of accidental light. Time's running out, it's always running out on me, And every road I've discovered disappears under my feet - Some call it reckless, I call it breathing.

Hisoka Mikage : Smell

Is this the part when the brain scans show where memories reside? Some ambiguous shape in me suddenly producing light Triggered like a tripwire, every time I breathe it in Isn't it strange that a Lilac tree is what unlocks where I've been? Like a time machine rebuilds the past, our memories return Like remembering the ashes before we burn

It finishes against my will, the light goes out, my heart goes still And just like that, I believe in ghosts

Time and space are at my back, Performing disappearing acts Now I can escape the smell of smoke Research says that the only way to keep memories intact Is to lock 'em away and close the doors to countless years of past I guess that explains why the strangest things can conjure up the past And forgotten time will find its long way back

It doesn't matter, I just know I need more Cause I feel like I've been sleeping through the better part of this Laying dormant through an endless winter that doesn't even exist

It's gravity in an hourglass, responsible for the avalanche And the loudest silence that I've ever heard Memory clear as a bell, A story that I will try to tell Maybe this time without words

Homare Arisugawa : Four

Maybe I'm hiding behind metaphor Maybe my heart needs to break to be sure One day I'll wear it all on my sleeve The insignificant with the sacred unique But I've fallen in love with a ghost I lost my balance when I needed it most And this blurry photograph is proof Of what I'm not sure but it feels like truth I'm stuck swimming in shadows down here It's been forever since I came up for air Flashlight in hand determined to find Authenticity only poetry could even begin to try to describe

What if we already are who we've been dying to become In certain light I can plainly see a reflection of magnificence Hidden in you, Maybe even in me

or Son

Show me Who I am and who I could be Initiate the heart within me 'til it opens properly

Slow down Start again from the beginning I can't keep my head from spinning out of control Is this what being vulnerable feels like? And I will try, try, try to breathe 'til it turns to muscle memory I'm only steady on my knees One day I'll stand on my own two feet And I'll run the risk Of being intimate with brokenness Through this magnifying glass I see a thousand finger prints On the surfaces of who I am

Azuma Yukishiro : Two

Tell me, is something wrong? If something's wrong, you can count on me You know I'll take my heart clean apart if it helps yours beat It's okay if you can't find the words, Let me take your coat and this weight off of your shoulders

I know exactly how the rule goes Put my mask on first No, I don't want to talk about myself Tell me where it hurts I just want to build you up, build you up 'Til you're good as new And maybe one day, I will get around To fixing myself, too I don't even know where to start Already tired of trying to recall when it all fell apart I just want to love you, to love you, to love you well I just want to learn how, somehow to be loved myself

Or Six

What would it feel like to put this baggage down? If I'm being honest I'm not sure I'd know how I want to take shelter but I'm ready, ready to fight And somewhere in the middle I feel a little paralyzed But maybe I'm stronger than I realize I wanna believe - No, I choose to believe That I was made to become a sanctuary Fear won't go away but I can keep it at bay And these invisible walls just might keep us safe With a vigilant heart, I'll push into the dark And I'll learn to breathe deep and make peace with the stars Is that courage or faith to show up every day? To trust that there will be light, Always waiting behind even the darkest of nights

Guy : Mind

First, the ground rules get established: Memory is historically inaccurate. But repetition, repetition sings 'Til finally the melody is sacred, rooted, unchanged.

It overwhelms the nervous system, This fearful constant state of comparison. In our grey matter, all grey matters. An embarrassment of riches in our heads, We gravitate to black or white instead. We were designed to send mixed signals, One image made up of different pixels All subject to interpretation. 'Til binary systems, binary systems run And the vibrancy of everything becomes zeros and ones.

Patterns form and feel important, It's the first brush stroke of a self-portrait.

#'i'll slap relevent lyrics' *slaps 90% of the lyrics for some*#anyway i am posting it before i'm starting to doubt my picks but yeah #some i feel stronger about than others #aNYWAY #ichatalks about a3 #ichablogging music #a3 #a3!#a3! act! addict! actors!

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ginkgomoon · 3 years ago

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Gavin- King of my Heart

Happy blog birthday @cheri-translates! Here’s your present!! Hope you enjoy. 💙 🎉

You honestly don’t know why you were so terrified of chess.

Was it because it was the fear of losing? Or the fear of being humiliated? You would question yourself every time a chessboard appeared in your foresight.

Still, you took out the chessboard that had been casted away in the sad corner of your storage closet and wipe the box clean, sneezing from the minuscule dust particles escaping in the process.

“There are two opposing sides- black and white. White always makes the first move. How you win the game is by checkmating the opponent’s King.”

You lay the board flat on the coffee table in the living room then pour the pieces out, catching them before they roll off the edge. You make sure that everything was in the right order according to the guidebook as you check back and forth for each piece, hazily reciting the rules to yourself as you go. You adjust them carefully so that the pieces were all were staying perfectly aligned in their corresponding squares- white emulating black.

You knew Gavin had spare time during the weekends and so you used this opportunity to offer a game of chess. Surprisingly, he had never touched a chessboard in his life, but you guess it didn’t really matter since Gavin was used to thinking critically and strategically similar to his interactive simulation missions at STF. And of course, Gavin being the amazing man you love, is a quick learner and you have no doubt that he will perform well for a beginner.

“It’s not all about winning or losing, so don’t be so conflicted with the end result. You’re always a winner to me.”

Cookies that you baked beforehand- check. You had made sure not to make it overly sweet with the chocolate and sugar. Your pu’er tea accompanied by a matching Jupiter teapot and Moon teacups- check. You had bought them last week with Gavin and this would be the first time he’ll see it being used. Chessboard, good natural lighting from outside, comfy cushions to contribute to the cosiness and grounding sensation from sitting on the floor- all check. Yourself- check. Gavin... not check- yet.

You glance at the clock, noticing that it had just turned 1:59pm. Gavin should be here in exactly a minute.

You do a final sweep of the room, sighing from the satisfaction of the view being easy on the eyes for once. You know Gavin wouldn't mind the mess, but since you had the time to prepare and clean up beforehand, of course you took up the opportunity to do so and save you from the embarrassment afterwards.

The sound of the doorbell finally rings from outside, echoing through the walls of your home and heart. You feel your adrenaline pick up and dash towards the door to open for the person waiting behind, ready to let him in. Without having to say anything beforehand, you pulled him straight into a tight hug, with your head buried between his neck and shoulder.

Gavin- check, you remind yourself and smile. Nothing is missing.

“Hey,” he murmurs, hugging you right back. He then laughs, his voice sounding through the halls of the apartment complex. “I’m not even halfway through the door.”

You hug him tighter. You feel Gavin secretly smiling as he follows suit.

Being the first to let go, you finally lead him to the assortments of your hard work after he shuts the door behind him.

Gavin obediently sits down across from you on the carpet at white’s side of the board as you hand him the biggest cookie from the cookie platter. You watch him consume everything without hesitation, smiling at the remaining crumbs.

“Chocolate chip cookie made especially for you. Not too sweet this time, I promise. Should I have added chilli to this? Apparently the combination exists.”

“If that’s something you want to try making, sure.” He simultaneously chews while he smiles, his eyes fixating on you after you sit directly across from him.

You then pour the tea equally into the Moon cups and place one in front of him, making sure he could clearly recognise the cups- though not like he could ever forget.

“What do you think?” you exclaim.

He replies immediately with a cough. “It’s cute.”

You help yourself to your own cookie, letting the chocolate bits melt on your tongue. You smile too at tasting something edible that is of your own making, finally something that you and Gavin could eat safely without risking to add it to the long list of one of the “dark cuisine” foods.

“So about today, you said you wanted to teach me Chess?” he asks. You nod vigorously, a spark of happiness coming from within that you are the one now teaching Gavin instead of how it normally was the other way around.

“This piece is the King. It can only move one space at a time.” You point to the tallest piece that holds a cross at the top.

You then point to the piece fixated next to it, the one with the crown. “Next to it is the Queen. She can move anywhere she wants, however many squares she likes. She’s the most powerful piece in the game.”

You then point to the row above the King and Queen. “This row is full of pawns. They can move up two spaces in their first move. After that, they can only move one space up at a time.”

“When you’re older, you’ll find someone else to play chess with... and someone who will be by your side.”

That memory abruptly resurfaces from the depths of your subconscious, like each Chess piece of a chessboard gradually coming together with each piece of explanation you gave to Gavin. The black and white pieces- the good and bad memories, especially the ones with your father. You pause for a bit, before continuing on- before Gavin could notice the split second of hesitation.

“Rooks move horizontally and vertically, and Bishops can only go diagonally. Knights move two squares and one across on either side, like an “L” shape, and is the only piece that can jump over other pieces on the board,” you say, pointing to each corresponding piece. Gavin’s eyes follow your every move, nodding with his eyebrows slightly furrowing. You can’t help but let out a little smile from being able to capture a glimpse of this rarer side of Gavin- Commander Gavin.

“You have a choice to capture the opponent’s pieces if the opportunity ever comes up. The point of the game is to “checkmate” the other person’s King. This means that it is being targeted and has no other places to go. Before that, when the King is in danger but not checkmate, this means the King is in “check” and is forced to move. That’s it! As long as you remember these few rules, you’ll be okay.”

Gavin nods. “Got it," he responds, sternly. He most certainly is starting to look like a Chess grandmaster to you at the moment. You know he has to deduct investigations and complete various missions and STF tasks daily while you struggle to write the first draft for a show proposal. You feel he's way too intelligent, sometimes.

“Since you’re a beginner,” you start, “you can play as white first. White always makes the first move. We can start now if you don’t have any questions.”

Gavin pauses and observes each piece before him. Then, he reaches out for a pawn on the right side of his board and moves it forward two spaces. You move up the pawn in front of your King in response. Both of you slowly exchange moves, and more pieces congregate up in the middle of the chessboard.

“Who taught you how to play Chess?” Gavin finally asks.

“My father. Whenever he had time off set. He taught me a lot, including important life lessons relating to Chess as well. Though, I can't remember much.”

“Oh.” Gavin looks up from his chessboard, his eyes filling with concern. You look back with indifference, but smile, using this opportunity to stare right back. In this moment, you gradually take in the way his hair perfectly falls into place, with the sunlight highlighting the contours of his face and bringing out the shine in his amber eyes.

Your thoughts drift back to that autumn day, vividly reminiscing the ginkgo leaves dancing with the wind, pleasantly surprising you enough to stop your piano playing.

You blink out of that memory, and move your Queen towards Gavin’s King, cornering it with the support of a Rook.

“Checkmate.” You smile, a giggly feeling overcomes you from finally being able to beat Gavin at something, especially with a game that values a lot of strategy and analysing.

“Hm. Very good,” Gavin says, observing where I had cornered him, no doubt archiving this moment to use against me in future matches. Even though he lost, the corners of his mouth perks up at the sight of my joy.

“Let’s have a rematch! One more," you exclaim. Hopefully you could keep this enthusiasm up and form a winning streak.

Gavin helps reset the board without the help of the guidebook. This time, you play white and Gavin plays black. You both follow the same rhythm of how you two were the first time, however you notice Gavin’s movements were faster and more sure, strategically succeeding in capturing a lot of your pieces- pawns and all, though luckily not the Queen yet. The amount of growth he was displaying compared to earlier really shouldn’t surprise you, but it did anyway.

In the middle of the game, you make a bold risk, moving up the black Queen to the adjacent square to his King, certain that you have won this time again. “Checkmate!”

“But… you don’t have a supporting piece for it,” Gavin states, watching your face slowly flush in embarrassment. You observe his slim fingers move the King towards where your Queen was, and captures it. You grab your cup and take a sip of your tea in response, hopefully covering up your disappointment behind your hand. You kick yourself for having completely forgotten about that.

From then onwards, Gavin swiftly checkmates your King with the two Rooks lined up on the board, making it impossible for it to escape. You sigh. You tried your best, at least.

You try to disguise your disappointment in the wake of your defeat again with a smile and grab another cookie to chew on while Gavin studies the board. However, despite the result on your end, you were still admittedly proud of Gavin and allow yourself to feel grateful for being the only one to see this side of him to you.

“You lost a lot of pieces trying to attack. Especially with your Queen- you weren’t hesitant to sacrifice. Your pawn structure was weak and you moved without purpose.”

You stop munching the cookie. “You got all of that from those two games?”

Gavin nods slowly. He nonchalantly takes a sip of his third-time freshly poured tea, its steam floating towards the ceiling. “In STF simulations, you need to take note of every variable. Evol abilities, weather, weapons, and your fellow comrades- especially time. The criminal won’t hand you that much luxury. Every wrong decision would cost you. You need a plan for attack and defence, always. Always have a Plan B. If not, a Plan C. And if none of them will do, always have a Plan Z. Sometimes I’ll need to command nine groups at once. Other times it’ll just be me.”

You look at him blankly, your eyes widening as the only sign of response to his words. His eyes widen as well, not expecting that you would take it that way.

“I mean…” Gavin coughs before continuing, “it always works out. Please don’t worry. We’re highly trained for these operations, remember? I’ll always come back to you. I promise.” His hands reach out to hold yours at the table, meeting each other’s half-way.

"When I got used to holding your hand, buying different flowers for you each occasion, having reserved dinners and looking at the stars with you at night, I knew I couldn't continue the way like how I was before... before I met you again. Like being trapped in a building or apprehending someone and missing out of something that we planned in advance, I- I can't have that. Which is why I'd need to think of alternative operation routes, ones that require less sacrifice however still bear the same effectiveness as before. This is why I am the way I am now."

Who knew back then that this man would be your first love- a man so honest and sincere. Back when you would take a moment to smile at him in the hallways, receive help for retrieving the textbooks on the 2-metre shelves or just those few times when passing by the senior classrooms on your way to the music practice room and see him sleeping or staring outside the window where he sat.

“And you’ll find him. That person who will be with you through all life’s joy and heartbreak. Someone who will never leave you. Your King.”

You recall your father’s words as you squeeze Gavin’s hand a little more tighter. He squeezes right back three times.

You notice Gavin’s eyes awaken with a certain emotion that only you will notice- that something only you will ever know- directed at only you.

You squeeze his hand a little more tighter. He squeezes right back three times.

“Whether life is a game of Chess or not, you’re the only one who can dominate my territory, my pieces and my King. And when it comes to you, I’ve already won... my Queen.”

Closing his eyes, he brings forth your hand to his lips and lightly kisses it, already forever fulfilling his declaration of love.

I haven't posted any fan fiction before, let alone officially write one. This also accounts my first time having written this particular second person perspective, (apart from the Blue Temperature Gavin Empty Arena story) as this isn’t how I usually write. Normally I use first person and more indirect dialogue more than direct dialogue in my creative writing but this was really fun to try! Honestly, I couldn’t help myself but to bring forth some foreshadowing/parallels with the actual main storyline because admittedly, my writing takes need a lot of thought to understand the techniques I use and why my writing is the way it is. So, I won't be completely sure on if this will be received or not HAHA. But apart from everything else, this piece of work was made for this very special case for this very special day for a very special person so I won’t be posting much fan fiction as much as my other current work as I still prioritise my analyses and miscellaneous posts more but if you happen to want to see more, please let me know :) Thanks for reading and let’s all show Cheri much love for her accomplishments and milestone, today!

#I’m cry typing this #End the story with something cheesy like the official mlqc writers YES #was more concerned with this than my assignment LOL #mlqc #love and producer #恋与制作人 #mr love queens choice #mlqc gavin #gavin #mlqc Gavin fanfic #mlqc fanfic #Gavin x reader #happy birthday Cheri

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firstdegreefangirl · 4 years ago

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OK, I have no idea what happened to it ((my guess is that the blue hellsite decided it was snacktime and ate the thing)), but ages ago, @kitkat0723 sent me an ask prompting the following:

May I pleaseeeeee request #11 back hugs and #15 The biggest warmest hugs

This is my fill for that, in this text post, because Tumblr disappeared the ask when I tried to save it in my drafts. Who knows? Anyway, it got much longer than intended, but I'm chalking that up to that it's technically two prompts, one fic. Heads up, there’s some frustratedDad!Eddie in here. Everything is all good by the end, and it’s nothing too severe, but if that’s not your kinda thing, no hard feelings. Other than that, enjoy!

Eddie’s staring at his hands, wrapped so tightly around the edge of the kitchen counter that he can see his knuckles turning white. His back is strained, muscles pulled taut against the effort it takes to support his head right now. When he flexes his fingers, it’s like he can feel the bones scraping together, hear the grinding echoing in his head.

It’s like a garbage disposal, sucking his thoughts down into its spinning blades. Except that the thoughts don’t go anywhere, and he’s still stuck thinking them.

He’s the worst dad in the world, and his kid doesn’t even have a mom to go running toward.

He can’t believe himself, yelling at Chris, sending him to his room without dessert just because he copped an attitude about his math homework.

(Actually, he did that because Chris kept rolling his eyes and calling his teacher a ‘stupid jerkface.’ Eddie met her at conferences; he might not be wrong, but that doesn’t mean it’s OK to say it out loud. Especially when Eddie told him more than once to stop.)

But it’s been a long day, for both of them. Eddie’s coming fresh off of an 18-hour shift, and apparently Chris had a pop quiz in social studies he wasn’t prepared for. So tensions were already running high before Buck cleared the pizza boxes away, turning the kitchen table into a makeshift classroom. (And honestly, what would any of them do without Buck, swooping in with delivery dinner to take at least one thing off of Eddie’s to-do list?)

Then Eddie had spent 45 minutes trying to remember how to divide fractions. Every time he’d tried to suggest something – anything at all, from “let’s look in your textbook” to “I think you flip one of them upside down – he'd been met with a long-suffering sigh and an eye-roll that would make Anderson Cooper proud.

“Why do I have to do this anyway? Math is stupid, and my teacher is stupid, and I’m stupid, and all of it’s stupid!” Chris would shout, or some variation thereof.

And eventually, Eddie had had enough. Enough of trying to rationalize through it. Enough of Buck looking at him helplessly and shrugging his shoulders because he’s no more useful with fractions than Eddie is. Enough of Chris’ high-pitched whine, the way he flopped back in his chair and groaned. Enough reminding him to use his words, that he’s a smart kid, that they’ll get through this together.

Enough of all of it.

“Fine, you don’t want to do your homework? That’s fine!” Eddie had shouted, pushing his chair back from the table with enough force to wobble it onto two legs. “But if you’re not going to work on this, then you can go put your pajamas on and brush your teeth. No TV and no ice cream until your worksheets are done, I don’t care how long it’s going to take. I’m not doing this with you all night, go to your room!”

Chris had stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape in shock, before thinking better of it and running off. The sound of his crutches echoing was enough to shake Eddie from his stupor, but when he’d looked at Buck, who was already looking back, concern etched across his face, he’d snapped again.

“I can’t sit there all night and watch him stare at a piece of paper. I don’t want to hear it from you either, OK? Just …” Buck’s eyebrows had pushed closer together, and the anger bled out of Eddie again. His voice cracked as he continued. “Just give me a minute, OK? Please?”

Then he’d pushed past Buck to go stare out the kitchen window, before he could say anything else to hurt someone he loves.

Which brought him to now, clinging to the countertop like the world might swallow him whole if he lets go. Honestly, he’d probably deserve it, for raising his voice at his son and at his boyfriend, all in one breath.

He exhales shakily, screwing his eyes shut against the tears that are threatening to burn hot, salty tracks down his face.

He’s the worst dad in the world, and he sent his kid to his room, and Buck probably left too, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

But he can’t give in to the anger, can’t let it take over the definition of his day. He remembers Frank saying something about that, how it’s maybe not a bad day, just a bad moment that he’s milking all day. And he doesn’t want to do that, especially not where Chris is involved. So he takes another deep breath, and a few more after that.

He’s still breathing slowly, counting every second of air in and out of his lungs, when he feels a heavy, sold weight drape across his back.

He relaxes into the contact, knows who it is before Buck can even slide his arms around Eddie’s waist. Buck holds him tightly, crouches down far enough to bury his face in Eddie’s neck, waits patiently for their breathing to even out until they’re sharing the same rhythm.

Buck stands there, holding him tightly and long enough that Eddie doesn't feel like the world is going to beat him anymore. He holds Eddie until he feels strong enough to let go of the counter with one hand and wrap his fingers around Buck’s where they’re pressing into his stomach. His wrist won’t turn far enough to tangle their fingers together, but Buck lets Eddie hold onto his hand, squeezes back as best as he can when Eddie tightens his grip.

And after a long moment, when Eddie finally turns himself around in Buck’s arms, Buck is still there. He’s there for Eddie to cling to, adjusts his grasp so Eddie can get his hands high enough to wrap around Buck’s shoulders and fist in the back of his T-shirt. He’s there for Eddie to bury his face against Buck’s chest and let out one last long, shuddery sigh.

And he’s there when Eddie leans back, just far enough to see Buck’s face when he opens his mouth.

“Buck, I--”

“It's alright, I know, you’ve had a long day. No hard--” Eddie cuts him off, before he can supply the word “feelings.”

“It’s not. It’s not alright. I overreacted, and I lashed out, and I’m sorry.” Eddie sighs and leans his forehead back against Buck’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have … I was out of line. You didn’t deserve that. You haven’t done anything tonight but try to help – and you have helped. I don’t know how I’d have gotten through tonight without you. Even if I screwed up royally.”

“You didn’t ‘screw up royally.’” Buck runs his hand up and down Eddie’s back, a hundred times more gentle than he deserves tonight. “You got frustrated, you snapped a little bit, but you backed off before you went too far. Eddie, babe, it happens. Trust me, from having parents who did screw up in a million different ways, I seriously doubt Chris is going to be talking about this in therapy in 20 years.”

“Oh god, Chris.” Eddie rears back again, dropping his hands to Buck’s sides, but not letting go of him. “I … I yelled at him and took away his dessert. Over math homework.”

“Over his attitude toward math homework.” But Buck’s words fall on deaf ears.

“He called himself stupid, and I yelled at him.”

“Eddie, hey.” Buck squeezes Eddie’s bicep gently until he can bring himself to make eye contact. “He’s doing good. I went back and talked with him, helped him get ready for bed. No progress on the math homework, but he’s jammied, and his teeth are brushed, and last I looked, he was working on the latest Captain Underpants book. He was a little worried that you were upset with him, but we talked, and he knows you had a long day, and he was being difficult and --”

“He’s not a difficult kid.” He’s not, truly, and Eddie had long ago promised himself that he’d never make Chris feel like he is.

“Maybe not, but even good kids have their moments. He knows that it’s not his fault, and that we both still love him very much. And you know what?” Eddie hums, but doesn’t say anything. “He asked me to come see if you were OK. ‘Dad must have had a really bad day,’ he said. ‘I think he might need some help with it, but I should stay in here, so I don’t get in trouble again.’”

Eddie sniffles, tears in his eyes for an entirely new reason now. Even after all of the mistakes he’s made – not just tonight, but especially now – he's still got such a sweet kid, with so much empathy, and the biggest heart of anyone he’s ever met. How many 11-year-olds would get yelled at and immediately want to make sure their dads are OK?

He doesn’t know for sure, but he’s willing to be that the number isn’t large.

“I should go talk to him,” Eddie sighs, finally stepping back far enough that he has to let go of Buck.

“I think he’d like that. Want some support?”

Eddie thinks for a moment, then nods. He doesn't know how he’d have gotten through this much of tonight without Buck, and he really doesn’t want to do the next part by himself either. He leads the way down the hall, but Buck catches his hand along the way. This time, their fingers fit together perfectly.

He stops at the doorway to Chris’ room, takes a second to look at his son, lying on top of the covers with his knees bent up to balance his book. He’s completely oblivious to the audience until Eddie knocks gently on the doorframe.

“Hey, Chris,” he starts, then realizes he doesn’t know where the sentence was meant to be going.

“Dad!” Chris sits up and grins. He grins, and Eddie’s heart swells. “Buck said you had a bad day. Do you need a hug?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, stepping forward until he can sit on the edge of the mattress. “Yeah, I think I do.”

The next thing he knows, Chris is all but launching himself at Eddie’s lap. He flings his arms around his dad’s neck and holds on tight. By the time he’s done squirming, he’s situated himself on top of Eddie’s thighs, chin tucked underneath his head.

He’s almost too big to be held like this, but it doesn’t matter to either of them as Eddie hugs him right back. One hand lands on Chris’ head, ruffles through the thick curls for a moment before gently tugging him back by the shoulder.

“Hey, you know how I always talk about setting a good example for the people around you?” Chris nods hesitantly, like he’s not sure where the conversation is going. But Eddie does, and he knows that everything is going to be OK. He takes a deep breath and continues.

“Well, I need to do that too. And tonight, that means that I owe you an apology.”

#katie writes #kw21 #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #911 #911 fox #9-1-1 #9-1-1 fox #911 fanfic #buddie fanfic #katie answers #prompt fill #kitkat0723 #my franns

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olivemac · 3 years ago

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heartbeat | chapter four | b.b.

Summary | When Steve Rogers asks Kate Stark to find the Winter Soldier, she gets too involved.

Notes | Captain America: Civil War re-write, essentially. Starts just after the events of CA: Winter Soldier.

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc, Bucky Barnes x Stark!oc

Genre | romance

Rating | explicit

Story Warnings | mild angst, fluff, romance tropes, so many romance tropes, coarse language, alcohol use, canon-typical violence, smut (m/f), oral sex (f&m receiving), 18+ ONLY

Chapter Warnings | the romance tropes keep coming, angst, canon-typical violence, mild alcohol use, smut (m/f), 18+ ONLY

master list | AO3 link

_____

prev chapter

_____

The months pass slowly, and Kate is content to stay in the little bubble she and Bucky have built. She almost forgets she has to tell Steve about Bucky at some point. Almost.

She wakes one morning in early June with Bucky's arms tight around her. They've been sleeping together most nights, and they’ve both found it keeps their nightmares away. As she shifts her body to rise from the bed, his hold tightens. He buries his face in the curls at the nape of her neck.

“Bucky,” she whines, “let me go.”

He rolls her onto her back and hovers over her, peppering kisses over her face. When his lips finally meet hers, he sweeps his tongue into her mouth and tastes her. She pushes against his shoulders, and he relents, lifting from her.

“Bucky,” she laughs, “I have to pee.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, too, and she loves that rare sound.

"I'm going to shower and start the coffee," she says, slipping out of his grasp.

Bucky flops onto his back and enjoys the smell of Kate on the sheets around him, closing his eyes and listening to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. He’s content to lay like this all day, if only Kate would return to bed. Finally, he stretches, happily, and his hand hits an empty beer bottle he left on the nightstand the night before. The bottle tips and rolls beneath the bed, and Bucky groans. He climbs out of bed and slips his boxers on before kneeling on the floor and reaching for it. As his hand wraps around the rogue bottle and pulls back, he feels something sticking out from under the bed frame. When he draws it out, he can see that it’s a file.

He opens it, and his heart stops. The Winter Soldier. His military photo is staring back at him, along with records of who he was, what they made him do.

A cold rage tears through him. He's been so stupid. He let her get close and now she would turn him over to HYDRA.

The bathroom door opens, and Kate steps out, dressed in clean sweats, her damp hair curling down her back.

"Who are you?" he growls.

Kate sees the open file and the hard look in Bucky's eyes. She doesn’t answer.

"Who. Are. You?" He’s on her before he finishes the sentence, his titanium hand wrapping around her neck and slamming her against the wall. “Who do you work for? HYDRA?"

She shakes her head vehemently and tries to speak through his stranglehold. He loosens his grip.

"No," she says. “I know Steve Rogers."

"What?"

"Steve Rogers asked me to find you."

He drops his hand from her neck, and she gulps in air, her own hands reaching up to touch the tender flesh.

“I work for Stark Industries. My name is Katherine Stark. Two years ago, Steve asked for my help tracking you down. I hacked cameras around the globe and ran the footage through an advanced facial recognition software I designed. When I got a hit on you in Bucharest, I came to see if it was really you. I wanted to be sure before I told Steve.”

“Does he know where I am?” he questions.

“No.”

“You lied to me,” Bucky growls.

“I never lied…I….” She pauses. “It’s not like you were honest with me, Sergeant Barnes,” she digs.

Bucky’s jaw clenches.

"Are you going to tell Steve Rogers where I am?" he questions.

She hesitates, then says, "No."

He nods once, then grabs the rest of his clothes and leaves, slamming the door on his way out. Kate collapses to the floor, sobbing.

_____

Bucky paces in his own apartment. Stark. The name feels familiar, but he can’t place it, and he’s too angry to think straight. He loved Kate – loves her still, despite his anger and this betrayal. He clenches his titanium fist so tightly he can hear metal grinding on metal.

In her own flat, Kate allows herself to sob for a while before pushing herself off the floor. She’s ruined everything. She thinks about calling Steve, letting him swoop in to save the day. She imagines him confronting Bucky, talking sense into him, convincing him that she was only doing what she thought was best. But she knows that isn't true; she wasn't doing what was best, she was being selfish when she came to Bucharest. She thought she could save Bucky and now she's pushed him away. She knows Bucky will run, knows he'll disappear somewhere, and she'll never be able to find him again, but she can't bring herself to call Steve and admit her mistake. She doesn't want to tell him that she found Bucky and then absolutely ruined him.

_____

The day passes slowly. Bucky keeps pacing, angry but unsure what his next move should be, afraid Captain America will knock down his door any moment and he'll be forced to confront his past. And what of his past? He's been remembering more and more, writing everything down. With Kate, he feels like the Bucky he was before the war, before HYDRA, but he can't shake the feeling that the Winter Soldier is still lurking inside of him, so tangled up with who he is that he'll never escape the Soldat.

He thinks about the file Kate has and the photo of him stuck to the inside cover – twenty-six, eager to serve his country and prove himself, completely unaware of the horrors his future would hold, the things he would be made to do. He wonders what Kate saw when she looked at that photo. If she read the file then she knows who is really is, but she still let him get close to her; she still let him into her bed and fucked him every night. Bucky scrubs a hand over his face.

And if she knows Steve Rogers, then she also knows about his past – before HYDRA. He's knocking on her door before he can stop himself. When she opens it, he can see that she's been crying, but he can't let himself dwell on that.

“Tell me what you know about me," he says.

She stares at him for a moment before moving aside and letting him in. There's a suitcase on the floor – half-full – and a bottle of whisky on the kitchen table. She pours him a glass, then refills her own. They sit at her kitchen table.

"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes," she starts, "Born March 10, 1917 in Brooklyn, New York. Father: George. Mother: Winnifred. Sister: Rebecca. Childhood best friend: Steve Rogers. Drafted in 1943. Expert marksman. Captured by HYDRA in '44. Rescued by Captain America. Completed missions with the Howling Commandos. 1945 presumed dead. Captured by the Soviets and used as a weapon by HYDRA. The Winter Soldier."

He knew all of this – bits and pieces of it, at least – but he's gutted by how much she knows, how much she didn't tell him.

"Why are you here?" he asks.

“Steve asked me to find you," she says. After a while she adds, "When my software identified you, here in the Bucharest, I was afraid of what Steve would do, afraid that if you ran again, it would break him. I thought if I could keep Steve in the dark, I could protect him."

"Are you and Steve...?" he trails off, licking his bottom lip.

"He's my friend. I care about him," she says, shaking her head. "But we're not...it's not like that."

"Why did you stay? Why not tell Steve where I am?" he asks.

Kate pauses. She takes a sip of whisky, sets her glass down, and looks him straight in his eyes. "Because I fell in love with you."

Bucky is quiet for a time. "After everything you know about me?" he finally asks.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Kate shrugs. "Because I got to know you – not as Steve's best friend or as Sergeant Barnes or as the Winter Soldier, but as you, just you. You're a good man, Bucky."

Bucky sets his own glass down and stands. Kate thinks he's going to leave, but instead he pulls her to her feet and wraps his arms around her.

"Say it again," he says, looking into her eyes.

"What?"

"That you love me."

Kate smiles. "I love you."

He doesn't say it back, not yet. He wants to, but first he wants to enjoy this moment. So, he presses his lips against hers and tries to convey everything he feels in one kiss.

_____

“What do you remember?” Kate asks.

They're lying naked in her bed, her head on his chest and his arms tight around her.

“Everything. Nothing. It comes back in flashes. The memories sometimes feel like they belong to someone else," he says. “I have nightmares. About the things I’ve done. But not when I'm with you."

She smiles. "I sleep better with you, too."

He turns his head to look down at her.

“I have this dream, sometimes, about the night my parents died. There’s a man standing outside the car window. He’s dressed in all black, but I can’t see his face. All I can see is his chest in a leather tactical jacket and then a flash of silver." She's quiet for a moment before she says, "I was three when it happened so it's not like it's a real memory, just some figment of my imagination to help cope with the trauma. At least, that's what my therapist said."

Bucky is quiet.

Stark. Howard Stark. The super soldier serum he stole. Siberia. The memory hits Bucky like a freight train.

The Winter Soldier stands beside the wreck of the Starks' car. Howard begs for help: "Help my wife, my daughter. Please. Help." The Soldier pulls him up by his hair and stares at his bloodied face. A look of recognition crosses Howard's face. "Sergeant Barnes?" he groans. The woman in the passenger seat is calling for her husband. The Soldier strikes the man in the head, smashing his skull open. He pulls him up and places him in the driver's seat, then walks around the side of the car. The woman is crying. The Soldier kills her, as well. As he pulls his hand away from her throat, he sees the child in the backseat of the car. He pauses. The order calls for no witnesses. She's staring at him, her eyes wide. He turns away.

Fuck, Bucky thinks. He needs to tell Kate the truth. But when he focuses on the soft rhythm of her heartbeat, he doesn't think he has it in her to break that heart. Not right now. He decides the truth can wait. He knows it's selfish, not telling her, but maybe he's always been a little selfish.

So, instead of telling her that he was there that night, that he killed her parents, he turns on his side to face her and traces his fingers over the bruises forming on her neck. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “It was a reasonable reaction.”

"No, it wasn't. I hurt you."

"Make it up to me," Kate says, and she reaches for him.

Bucky slides his hands from Kate's neck over her collarbone and breasts and down to her waist. He rolls them so he's hovering above her. He reaches back up to wrap a stray curl around his finger before letting it go, then presses his forehead against hers.

"I love you, Kate," he says.

She smiles. "I love you, too, Bucky."

Bucky groans as he slides inside of her. Kate's eyes fall shut, and he studies the look of bliss on her face.

"Look at me," he whispers, moving against her slowly.

When she does, she's caught in the depths of his eyes, his pupils blown wide, the smallest sliver of blue visible around black. "I love you," she says again.

Bucky pushes himself onto his knees and shifts Kate's hips upward. "Put your legs up," he says, reaching for her calves and placing her ankles on his shoulders. "Good girl," he murmurs, his hands sliding beneath her knees. Kate moans at the change in position. Bucky turns his head and kisses her right ankle, laving his tongue over the soft skin.

“Say my name, doll," he demands, reaching between them to stroke her.

“James,” she breathes.

He’s taken by the sound of his given name on her lips, and his hips stutter. "Fuck," he groans, and the tight coil of pleasure in his lower belly snaps. Bucky moves through it, keeps his fingers on Kate until she's coming, and then collapses next to her, sighing.

"I love you," he whispers. And he takes her hand in his and holds it over his own frantic heartbeat.

_____

When Kate wakes the next morning, Bucky is gone. There's a note on the nightstand in his neat script.

Gone to the market. Back soon, doll. Don't move.

She smiles and stretches. When she reaches for her phone, she sees a news alert that makes her heart stop: Winter Soldier wanted for UN Bombing in Vienna.

She texts Steve.

_____

next chapter

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #sergeant barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky x oc #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky x ofc #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes romance

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khaotic-kitsunes · 4 years ago

Text

History Repeats Itself

So, new year and no Dabi yet? Problem solved. Bonus though, I’m a moron that saved this to drafts instead of posting it like...eight hours ago? So, yeah...enjoy, let me know what you think and maybe, request a lil’ dab dabi from me?

🥃 AO3 🥃

Cheeky Kitsune 🦊💋

Dabi scowled as he walked into the bar that he often frequented, instantly hating how empty it appeared; he had come to find something to fuck, not to discover how empty the damn place could get during the early hours of the evening.

“Excuse me, we aren’t open yet. I’m going to need you to leave” Your voice caught his attention instantly, causing his hungry gaze to settle on your figure, a low and appreciative whistle sounding out from the scarred man, covering the sound of the lock clicking on the front entrance to the bar. The only soul in the place and you happened to be a previous one-night stand from only god-knows how long ago.

“I’m not here for the booze.” He ignored the way you glared at him as he walked up to you, allowing his eyes to run up and down your figure slowly; not bothering to hide his interest. If he was about to have his knot buried inside you, he wanted you to know it and if you remembered him, then you would know exactly what was about to happen.

“Are you deaf? Get out Dabi.” He grinned savagely when you stepped away from him, reaching out quickly to grab a fistful of your hair, yanking you closer to his body; leaning down until his lips were against your neck, teeth dragging over your tender skin.

“Now, now…no need to be like that baby, I know you can smell what I’m after and I know you can take it too” He chuckled at the way you gasped from his little love-bites, though they were far from loving; unlike most Omegas he had fucked, you liked things a little rougher and the last time he had fucked you, Dabi had given you everything you asked for and more.

“God damn it Dabi…get off of me!” You let out an annoyed growl as you shoved him away from you, stepping back further before he could get close again; refusing to play nice when you had things to do and no time to do them. It didn’t matter that he smelt good to you, he shouldn’t be there and that was that.

“…You disgust me, you know that? All you Alphas that think Omegas only want to have you fuck us and knot us…but that’s wrong! You hear me? I don’t want shit from you except to have you leave MY bar! Now get the hell out!” You bit out your words harshly, glaring at him while he leaned against the counter partially, waiting a few moments before letting out the sort of deep, low chuckle that had you falling for his charms the first time you ran into him.

“You done? Good…because, little Omega, I have news for you” He paused, pushing off of the counter and moving closer to you, backing you up against the edge of the bar that you had just claimed ownership of; hands pressed against the smooth wood on either side of you. A move purposely made so that he could trap you in place; making you painfully aware of how much you enjoyed the position.

Your mind was swimming with memories of how much fun you could have in such a position with the rough Alpha in front of you.

“I don’t think that’s what you want, (Name). I know it is. I can smell your arousal and I bet if I touched you right now, you’d be dripping with slick for me.”

He tilted his head to the side as he leaned down to your level, smirking with a certain kind of smugness that you would slap off of any other Alpha that was stupid enough to speak to you like this; the only problem was that Dabi wasn’t just any Alpha.

“Good, you’ve settled down. Guess you got the idea now” He relaxed as he mumbled out the observation, lowering his head even more to trail a messy line of bites and kisses along your neck; a low growl of approval vibrating through his chest when your head lulled to the side, granting him more access to your skin.

“Much better…I love a good fight baby, but tonight isn’t the night for that bullshit. Maybe later.” You gasped out as he grumbled against the sensitive flesh of your neck, his hands dropping down to your hips for a moment before turning your entire body away from him; the position allowing him to pin you down against the counter with your arse sticking out for him.

“Hey…Dabi! You can’t do this here; we’re supposed to open soon!” He snickered at your whined-out protests, slapping a hand against your arse roughly while his other hand returned to the bar-top; balancing his weight so that he didn’t crush you beneath him.

“Door’s locked and you’re beneath me. I ain’t got a reason to stop, baby girl” You frowned back at him, annoyed at how confident he sounded from back there, though also not having any way to argue his point. For someone about to enter his rut, he had thought this encounter out surprisingly well; if you didn’t know any better, you would say that he had planned to come here seeking you out with this in mind.

“Well look at that…I was right, wasn’t I? Dripping with slick, just for me and my cock”

Your cheeks burned from his statement as you yelped, Dabi having torn your dress away from your body while the hand on your hip dropped down to push your panties out of his way, too lazy to properly remove them.

“Stick your ass out more…hurry it up (Name)!” He snapped out the instruction, moving his hand to yank his own pants down, not bothering with the time-consuming task of stripping completely; he could do that in a few minutes. First, he wanted to make sure you knew that you were his little Omega for his rut; the entirety of it.

“This is stupid…” You grumbled out under your breath as he gripped the base of his aching dick, rubbing the tip along your folds as you pushed your butt out towards him more; biting your bottom lip firmly to resist the sudden urge to moan. There was no way in hell you were going to admit how much you wanted this, you were still mad that he ignored your instructions to leave your bar; you couldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing your moans or else he would make a bad habit of repeating the offense.

“If you wanna complain, I’ll shove my fucking knot in your arse and give you a real reason to fucking complain woman!” Dabi growled out the warning loudly, leaning down to bite at your shoulder roughly as he continued his slow and teasing actions; not quite ready to bury his dick inside of you.

“You will not! I swear to god, Dabi. I will murder you, if you even try it!” You glared back at him darkly before choking out a surprised moan when he thrust his hips forwards with a force that reminded you why you enjoyed your first encounter with him so much; jolting your body into the counter in front of you from the power he put behind the thrust, every inch of his cock inside of you. Including his not-yet-inflated knot, stretching you around it slightly, not yet big enough to give you any troubles with the action.

“That’s better…you look so much better like this, slut. Choking on those cute little moans of yours” You turned your head away as he spoke, refusing to make eye-contact with him after such a display; you had some dignity left and you weren’t about to let him steal it from you.

“What? No feisty little comeback?” He chuckled at his own remark, putting more of his weight behind his thrusts and little to no effort into keeping up a constant rhythm, making sure that each of his thrusts were unpredictable; resulting in your constant moans and cries of pleasure.

Everything he was doing, was simply to embarrass you; even you could see that. The only problem, was that you were enjoying it a little too much.

“Look at you…I can feel you pushing your arse back against me. You like my cock that much, baby girl?”

The hand that had found its way to your hip moved up before you could protest, squeezing at your chest harshly until you cried out his name in a mix of pain and pleasure, whimpering out a soft plea for him to stop. His laughter might have been cruel, but his grip on you loosened enough for the pain to fade away into a twisted sense of pleasure that made you mumble out an appreciative ‘thank you’.

“Too rough for you, huh? Don’t worry baby, I’ll fix that. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be mine completely…I’ve fucked a lot of eager little sluts since our last session. Needy Omegas wanting their holes filled, but fuck me…you were better than all of them baby, you take me so well” He paused, biting at your neck and pressing you against the bar more to prove his point; his actions rough enough to make you whimper but in pleasure or pain, you would never tell. Instead, you simply demanded more by grinding your hips back against his desperately.

“See? Such a perfect little slut…perfect for me and no one else” His words turned possessive while his hand moved up to your hair, twisting his fingers into your soft locks before yanking back on it until your head was in an uncomfortable position; had you been facing Dabi, he’d have left so many bite marks over your throat, you wouldn’t be able to count them all.

“You don’t complain when I use you like this, not once we get started…you take it and you enjoy it…my kind of Omega. I’m gonna enjoy filling you with my seed and I’m gonna enjoy it even more when I see it pouring out of your abused little hole while you’re begging me for a break I’m not gonna fucking give you” He yanked on your hair again while he spoke, his thrusts growing harsher with each word, rocking your body against the counter as he used you for his own enjoyment. Something you loved about the angry Alpha behind you, your pleasure was his and the twisted sense of enjoyment you got out of this was exactly what he had been looking for; he wanted to break you without truly breaking you.

He wanted to be able to do this to you over and over again, without ever growing sick of it.

“No response? Or are you too busy thinking about how good my cock makes you feel? I bet that’s it…dirty little slut of an Omega, speaking so high and mighty just a few minutes ago and now look at you. Crying out, fucking yourself on my dick…doing exactly what you said I was ‘wrong’ about!”

You cried out his name loudly as he taunted you, unable to help yourself while his hips continued to move, the loud, wet sounds of skin hitting skin filling your senses; in that moment he was everything to you and he knew it.

“Tell me I’m right, (Name). I want to hear you say it, otherwise I’m gonna stop and make you fucking beg for my cock until I’m satisfied you really want it” His warning made your eyes widen in what you could only describe as pure horror, hating the sound of his alternative; well aware that it would take him far too long to be happy with your begging, he loved to watch you suffer when you were desperate for him and his knot.

“I…you’re right, Dabi…Alpha. I was thinking about how good you make me feel…” You trailed off into an embarrassed whine of pleasure, arching your back when his cock dragged over that sweet spot inside of you; a familiar kind of heat spreading through the pit of your stomach, alerting you to how close you truly were to proving him right.

“Say you’re a slut for my cock, (Name). Right now…and don’t fucking mumble!” He snarled out the instruction to you while pressing your head down against the counter, ignoring your quiet whimper of protest; there was only one thing he wanted to hear and that wasn’t it.

“I’m…I’m a slut for your cock, Alpha!” You cried out, squirming against the counter-top as he continued to fuck you for his own amusement, his low growl of disapproval causing a worried sense of confusion to settle over you; you had done as he asked, yet it felt like he was going to stop for some unknown reason.

“Don’t give me that Alpha bullshit. Say my fucking name. I wanna hear who’s cock you’re a dirty little slut for, (Name)!”

“Yours! I’m a slut for your cock, Dabi!”

You screamed out the words he wanted to hear louder than you expected to, your cheeks burning with embarrassment and shame while your body trembled from the orgasm that washed over your body; your mind losing any and every thought in that moment, focused only on how good he felt inside of you, with his knot throbbing and swelling against your slick covered folds. No longer buried inside of you for some unknown reason.

“That’s better…finally behaving yourself properly” He paused, groaning low before grinning and leaning away from your body, keeping you pinned down with the grip he had on your hair while his other hand went down to his own knot.

“H-Hey…Dabi…what are you, no! No, no, no…don’t take it out!” You whined out loudly when you felt him remove himself from you and instead began to feel a hot and sticky substance coating your back; you knew exactly what he was doing when you heard the first groan.

You whimpered softly as you looked back at him with wide eyes, watching as he squeezed down on his own knot and continued to cover your back in his cum, a lazy grin stretched across his lips while he watched the scene unfold before his eyes.

“You look so upset baby…don’t worry, this is just to make sure you know where your place is. I’ll knot you real good next time”

He stepped away from you, using his hold on your hair to pull you with him, forcing you to face him before pushing you down onto your knees; coating your face with his hot, sticky cum.

It wasn’t hard to see how much enjoyment he was getting from your current position, covered head to toe in his seed while staring up at him, your gaze practically begging him for more.

He made you feel special and worthless all at once; you couldn’t help but love it, you hated it but you loved him for it. You knew that once he was done with his rut, he would treat you better, he would give you a surprising amount of aftercare; just like last time.

Only this time, it felt like he planned to keep you longer than his rut.

“(Name). Open that pretty little mouth of yours…I want to see it wrapped around my cock.”

#touya todoroki #dabi #touya x reader #todoroki x reader #dabi x reader #bnha x reader #reader x touya #reader x todoroki #reader x dabi #omegaverse #alpha!dabi #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #scenario #smut #requests #cheeky kitsune

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closer-stars · 4 years ago

Text

Gut Feeling (7)

Member: San Genre: Fluff/Hopeful, bit of angst Word Count: 7.8k Content: bit of food mention, tables turning, nothing too heavy Notes: Anyways. Nearing the end my dudes. I kept thinking of how to end this part but i think i like how this one went. Not really sure of how to talk about this part but yeh it’s nothing heavy. Links to be updated after 24 hours. Also anyone ready for Fireworks? :D Tag list: @barsformars @hwaberrykiwi @miniyeo @shinyddeonghwa @frankenstein852 @yeotlny @seoultraveller

Part 6

You were grateful that Manager Hwang was back by the time the photo shoots were coming. It gives you the much needed air and space away from the boys. Don’t get it wrong, you love the boys dearly, but with everything that has happened, it was better to stay away for now. You already had sent in a letter to your higher ops requesting for a shift in your position: from being just a manager to the eight boys, you ask to work on externals. Your resume proved you to be able to do so they gave you the green light. The approval also means another schedule shift for you, less time with the boys, more time with the KQ staff and with people who are sending love calls to the company in regards to the boys.

--------

“Hyung, you’re back!” Wooyoung squeaks, thus causing the other seven to look at the direction he’s looking at. They’re too exhausted to properly pester him on his return that they end up toppling over themselves on the floor, elated to have him back.

Things were slowly going back to normal-- or at least, as normal as it can be. The same cycle starts, practice, eat, workout, guestings, sleep, repeat. Everyone’s relieved to have some sort of normalcy again, the schedule’s not as hectic as it was during their promotions.

San feels the same, he’s just as happy to have a sense of normalcy back but a part of him nags.

What about you? He’s noticed that he’s been seeing less of you now. Only when the managers need an extra pair of hands whenever they’re out for a schedule and when that happens, it’s usually when everyone’s too exhausted to pester you, even him. He remembers that you were going to be their manager until Hwang comes back.

He doesn’t want you to slip through his fingers like this.

------

The past few weeks have been you in your work table or out and about with the boys. Even if you were with the boys, you were often on your phone, fixing emails and deals with other brands and press to get their name out there. You despised some of the interview questions some of the press would send you: too generic, too leading, nothing about how they work as a team or who they really are but that’s work. Sometimes you just gotta bite the bullet.

On this particular day, you’re stuck in the office alone, working overtime as you fix an agreement with a brand. They were a horror story in your eyes, why were they so demanding? Understandable if it were in regards to the talent fee, the boys were a rising monster in the industry and with the noise their name makes, it was a must that their talent fee was equal to the work quality they gave, if not more. You’re tired, tufts of your hair sticking out as you rewrite an email, sending the draft to your co-workers as you try to get the other party to finally agree. If only you had a bigger influence in the industry this would’ve been easier.

The previous brands ATEEZ worked with were lovely to work with, understanding how the industry works and its demands on those behind the scenes, even going beyond the agreement by lending some of their clothing lines for their performances. But this one in particular, as much as you wanted to drop the discussion, this would be an amazing opportunity for the boys. So you grit your teeth and work again, bending your back to this god forsaken brand without sacrificing the name of the company or the boys.

Your phone rings, bringing you out of your exhausted stupor. You rub your eyes, and press green. “Hello?” You do your best to make yourself sound awake, as if you weren’t just minutes away from pulling at your hair.

Yelling. That’s all you can understand from the other line. Another representative you assume is asking for updates but all you can understand is a middle aged man displeased to not have his way this time so he resorts to calling you names and airing his frustrations. You place him on speaker, your head buried in your hands as you let him run his mouth and his head. A small part of you hopes his head explodes from how he’s speaking but you keep the frustrations to yourself. You’re younger than him, what kind of junior would you be to talk back to a senior regardless of how illogical they were being? You carry the name of the company on you, a step out of line could pull the company back. By the time the other line quiets down, you take your pen and notepad. “Yes, I apologize for the inconveniences caused. I understand that things aren’t going the way we’ve expected, may I please have your name and company name? I will forward this to my higher op and have them take care of this issue as it is beyond my powers to do anything.” He gives his name and details gruffly, it was a miracle that you got everything down. “Is there anythi--” Click.

How wonderful.

You let out a groan as you lean against your seat. Eyes closed as you try your best to keep yourself from crying. Everything’s overwhelming. You could only imagine if you did this shift before the you and San made up, you would’ve bursted into tears in the middle of the call. You didn’t want to complain, if you were tired, everyone was as well. The boys are just as tired, stretched thin by all the packages and deals they need to do in order to make up for the cancelled tours while trying to keep themselves cemented in a fast paced industry. You’re juggling two types of demands. Your thoughts were tangled, what one word could lead to thought A turns into thought B. The white noise was deafening for you but you let it be, as you feel the tell tale signs of a breakdown looming over you.

--------

San on the other hand had just finished his personal training. His towel hangs over his shoulders as he leaves the studio. At this hour, he’s usually the only one left, save for the trainees who still constantly work a floor below him. So why are the lights in the office still on? As he approaches the room, he hears someone yelling. Incoherent but it doesn’t take him much to know that the words being released weren’t nice. He peaks through the clear glass and he sees you.

He sees how heavy your shoulders look as you listen to the voice. You don’t see him but he sees how your eyes look, lifeless and unreadable. He stays there for a moment and he doesn’t know why but he doesn’t leave. The male can’t seem to move from where he is after seeing how worn you look so he waits for you by the couch down the hall. He doesn’t mind waiting.

He just wants to make sure you’re okay.

--------

Thirty minutes pass until you’ve calmed down. 1:30AM. “Shit.” You mumble as you pack all your things up to head home. As you do so, you give your co-workers the notice that you’ll come in a little late as you need rest. You have a lot of reflecting to do. You’ve hit a wall and you need some sort of direction.

You look back at the office, making sure everything is accounted for and well kept before switching the lights off. Even your footsteps sound heavy against the floor as you bring yourself to the elevator. Legs? Who else was here at this hour? Your grip on your phone tightens as you walk slowly. There’s no other way out of this place, the fire exit was beyond the elevator and that meant you had to get past through the stranger.

Slowly, you see who the stranger is. Your muscles freeze at the familiar features. They’re features that are making your heart run for weird and rational reasons. “What are you doing here at this hour?” You ask, voice too hoarse to sound pointed.

He suddenly looks up, shaken by your voice. Why were you doing this to yourself? “I was waiting for you.” He returns softly, standing up as you walk closer to him.

Your feet keep you from approaching him, opting to stay near the elevator for distance. Being near him at your weakest makes your head spin. It’s too much. “You shouldn’t have waited for me, San.” You state as you jab your knuckle on the down button.

The way his name rolls off your tongue should’ve made him happy but right now, it’s bitter to his ears and to your tongue. “I wanted to so I did.” He’s always been the stubborn one. Seonghwa is right: Wooyoung’s the one who’s been listening well nowadays.

Ding!

The elevator doors slide open and you step in, with San following you quickly. He doesn’t give you the chance to close the doors on him. The ride was stuffy. It was quiet but it was the type of silence that makes you want to bolt out of the room once the chance arrives.

The door opens and your feet already move to get out of there.

“Do you.. Want to talk about it?” San asks carefully, the change in his tone makes you stop on the hallway that leads you to the cool air.

“Tell you what?” He knows you’re not playing dumb, the entire ride down, you’ve been out of it.

“What happened in the office.” He states, standing in front of you.

A sigh slips through your lips and you finally look at him in the eye. “San, you need to get home and sleep. I can deal with my problems.” Not entirely a lie, but what use was it for you to blow off steam at him?

“You can but isn’t it better to share them or at least, voice them out?” He returns quietly, his hands in his pockets. He tries his best to be patient, he really does. It’s a lot coming from him, someone who keeps his issues to himself but after everything he’s learned his lesson. He’s going to make it a point to lead by example.

You stay quiet, eyes feeling hot, your sight is blurring and for some fucked up reason, the way the lights from the convenience store that shines on him makes him look good. It’s unfair that your thoughts drift there in your state. You hate yourself for thinking like that.

His fingertips reach up to the corners of your eyes, wiping the tears that have fallen down your cheeks. San never liked seeing his loved ones in pain, especially if he can’t take the pain from them.“I’ll buy us ice cream and we can eat it in the car.” He offers. Judging by how you look, you don’t like the idea of being in the open in this state. “Wait for me in the car, okay? I can get you coffee milk too.” He adds softly. While he looks at you with the utmost care, his tone gentle, his words don’t leave room for you to argue. You don’t want anyone to see you like this, so you nod, putting your hoodie over your head. You use the tips of your sleeves to wipe away the tears before heading into the car.

He follows behind you then splits towards the convenience store. He takes the chance to get the two of you some snacks, water and ice cream. His schedule tomorrow starts in the afternoon so he wasn’t too concerned about missing out on sleep.

As he goes through the assorted products on display, he wonders which ones you would like best. He still hasn’t figured out your favorite flavors and comfort food and he feels bad for it. He does know you love your coffee but at a time like this, your go-to isn’t recommended. He does make a point to grab a bottle of water as you’ve had a rough day and crying is usually a pain for the eyes. Eventually, he picks a few flavors that he and the members like that he thinks you might like as well. He couldn’t leave you alone in the car for too long. Eventually, he’ll know what you like and don’t like anyways.

You sit on the driver’s seat, warming the car up as you wait for San to return. Deep breaths, you tell yourself. Crying too much would give you a headache, and it’s not a good idea to let everything out now. San didn’t even have his license yet.

Two knocks against the window startles you out of your thoughts, but it’s a surprise needed to stop yourself from crying. You lean over to open the door for him and he climbs in with a small bag of snacks, drinks and on both hands were the ice cream.

“I got you the one in a cup since, you’re driving…” he trails off, the plastic bag rustling on his seat before hopping in.”...and a bunch of other snacks...” San explains as he settles down and buckles up for the ride. San connects his phone to the car’s sound system. You’re grateful for some sort of distraction from your thoughts as you make sure the two of you come home in one piece.

The entire ride home, San sings to all the songs with his entire heart. You know how loud he can get but in an enclosed space like a car, it’s amplified. Some parts, he goes off key, some parts he mimics the singer perfectly, both times have gotten you laughing at how unexpected it becomes. The voice imitations he does that usually puts a pained look on your face, now brings out a smile. Yet, even in his goofy antics, his range as a singer shines, it’s really only a matter of time before he shows all of it to the world.

San on the other hand, did all of those on purpose. While you can’t talk about what’s been bothering you, the least he can do is make you laugh and ease your heart with his antics. At red lights, you eat your ice cream, which he would often hold for you when the light turns green.

The two of you arrive at the complex safe and sound; your ice cream already melted in its cup, not that you minded. “San?”

He stops his actions and looks at you, raising his eyebrows in confusion. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.” You say simply with a tired smile. “Today has just been too much that I caved earlier.” You were about to talk about it when you saw the time.

He sees how you’re about to close yourself up for his sake that he immediately butts in. “I got time.” He jabs the button that leads to the rooftop. At this hour, he assumes no one would be there. It’s far too late for a regular person to be out at this hour but should there be someone besides them, he wouldn’t judge.

The small screen flashes the numbers going up as you head to the rooftop. For a moment, you frown at how he doesn’t relent to your wishes of him getting his rest but it only takes a few moments for it to melt away. It’s been too long since you properly shared your worries with someone. Hell, Jiwoo has been too busy dealing with rumors surrounding her own artists.

That’s how the next few hours go. You share your worries and stresses in work with him. Admittedly, it was still rather filtered, since he’s been in the company longer than you have. He catches on to this.

“I know you tell me to treat you like a friend, so treat me like one too. It’ll be easier on you.” He reasons gently, finding himself munching on a jelly pack the two of you were sharing. It’s his sharp intuition that also intimidates the living lights out of you sometimes.

Maybe it’s the fact you’ve shouldered so much since your first day that you bare a lot of things to him. Your worries, apologies, and wishes. You don’t have it in you anymore to be private about yourself, you tell him stories that answer his questions about you. In exchange, he tells you his stories, though some of which you knew from the mouths of the other boys and staff but to hear it come from his mouth was an experience in itself. A lot of layers were revealed to each other and it made your heart squeeze a bit; remembering your conversation with the two oldest members. Would you have given him a chance if things had gone a little differently?

The thought is cut short when the two of you notice that the sky has come to light purple shade, the sun peeking out of the horizon. With that, you stand up and San looks up at you in confusion.

“You need to get some rest, today’s your rest day from all activities.”

“What about you?” He questions as he stands up as well.

“I’m still going to work, d’uh.” Your answer causes him to look at you in alarm. You still haven’t slept, what do you mean you’re working still? “Just later in the day, I told my team I’m coming in late after working overtime.” Your quick explanation softens his features but doesn’t change the fact he’s concerned for your well being. He nods and has you walk back in first, bringing you to your floor first before him.

“At least get five hours of sleep.” He chides. The shift in your relationship was a surprising one but you’re too tired to really give it any proper attention. At his concern, you nod, promising your best to do so.

“You too. I’ll…” A yawn cuts through your words. “... see you whenever. Good night.” You greet, waving to him as you head inside your apartment.

San doesn’t leave until he hears your door lock. He’s reassured in knowing that the two of you are in better terms even if he won’t see you as often anymore.

--------

Several days have passed since that exchange and you seem a lot lighter. San has mellowed down too and while the boys can tell something has happened they can’t really place what it is.

The boys see you from time to time, but they notice the slight hints of exhaustion on you. You enjoy what you’re doing, yes, but having to deal with other brands that weren’t cooperative were the bane of your existence. You didn’t like this brand partnership but you grit your teeth. You can only imagine how hard it was for your boss who had to deal with immature leaders from more than just the brand deal.

Now, it was you who was bringing them to the photoshoot venue. You were the point person for this deal and schedule, and considering that it was going to be a whole day one. At least, it’s Hwang was going to be the one in charge of the ride home.

Upon arriving, you greet the stylists and photographers, letting the boys introduce themselves before everyone’s ushered to the dressing rooms. You keep watch of their personal belongings as the stylists did their work on them. You can tell San’s keeping an eye out for Mihyun, and you eventually do the same. The team did tell you they’ll respond accordingly but never gave you an update as to what the response would be. Half an hour passes, everyone’s already made up for the first concept and Mihyun’s nowhere to be seen.

Now, what you didn’t expect was how well the stylists would work on the boys. They’re of age already to look mature, their performances and how they carry themselves tell you that. Yet those have a youthful vibe, the current look they have gives them a different air around them. Maybe it’s the clothes and make up but they carried themselves a little differently. The colors were the usual dark colors they’re most comfortable in, with a pop of bright colors here and there. The hair styled up, with makeup that made the boys appear more like men. Truthfully, you knew how this photoshoot would go, but seeing it in its entirety play out in front of you took a lot of wind from you.

San looks at himself at the full body mirror away from the setup. “Manager-nim!” He never really got rid of that habit despite you not really being their manager anymore. “What do you think?” He asks as he fiddles with the stray strands of hair that fall over his forehead, barely grazing his eyebrows. The male shifts and looks at you, giving you a better view of what he wore: a purple polo with a few open buttons, a dark blazer with slacks. It looks normal but this is San, he somehow knows how to make it stand out.

It takes a few blinks and a quick gathering of your slightly scattered brain to make an acceptable answer. “Purple fits you.” You say simply and it’s enough to make San beam at you, the youthful boy still peaking through the intimidating look.

“What do you think of Jongho’s shoot so far?” He asks, and you tear your gaze away from him to look at the youngest pose through the flashes.

They’ve grown so much. This photoshoot is a huge whiplash to you who often saw them as just young boys (even if they were roughly around your age) still living their life. A small part of you feels proud to see them mature. “Time really flies doesn’t it?” You muse. You remembered how this magazine was one of the first magazines ATEEZ worked with in their early days.

San catches the references and flushes in embarrassment. “Oh my god, you saw the photos?”

At his shock, you laugh softly and nod. “Yeah, while you guys got ready, some of the staff and I had a chat and they told me about your first photoshoot with them.” His ears are burning a bright red at your words but a smile graces his features. “Nothing to worry about, they have nothing but praise for you and your group.” The photographer calls for San’s name, thus cutting your conversation short. “Go, Mr. Kyungil is already calling for you.”

“At least, monitor my work!” San pleads.

“Wooyoung?” You offer, but he pouts, adamant in having you instead.

“God, fine. Don’t want Mr. Kyungil to wait too long.” You relent, pushing him gently forward.

At least, Wooyoung is the next one in line as he comes out of the dressing room in a sleeveless black top and leather pants. You raise an eyebrow at him, and he flashes a cheeky grin and wink at you. “I look good, don’t I?” You shake your head, tickling him immediately to console him from your joke.

“Your fans aren’t ready for this photoshoot of yours.” You muse as the two of you look at San and at the computer screen as each photo is immediately uploaded. Where you lack in volume, Wooyoung makes up for it. The two of you were clearly impressed with how the photos were coming out, though with some of them being San joking around with the photographer. Being born with good looks really gets a long way, you think. You take a quick glance at your phone to see how many concepts and clothes they’ll go through.

You’re in for a long day.

He finds himself sulking inside when you talk and mess with Wooyoung for a moment but he doesn’t have enough energy to outwardly show it when a camera is a few feet away from him and he’s got spotlights bearing down on him. As he hears you and Wooyoung react to each of his photos, he feels his confidence grow. Admittedly, he’s alright with you and him being just friends, he also can’t deny his feelings for you still. He sees how impressed you are and how flustered you get when he looks at you with this kind of makeup. With how you react, he wonders if what you really want is someone mature and not someone as inexperienced as him. He catches himself in this thought process and shakes it away with a roll of his shoulders, shifting his heavy gaze to the camera. Focus, you’re at work. He reminds himself.

The way you clap, how your eyes widen, and nod approvingly at his shots makes him proud. It doesn’t matter to him if that’s how you react to the other members too. If you were genuinely impressed with his work then that was enough for him.

It’s the same cycle for the rest of the day: solo shots, unit shots, group shots, change then repeat. Halfway through the third cycle, you get up from your seat. The exhaustion starts to set in, from the emails you do as you watch over them. From time to time, the stylists would chat with you, keeping you company.

[ Manager Hwang to You ] What do you and the boys want? I’m on my way and passing by a coffee shop.

You look up from your phone and ask the boys what they want. They had enough time for a meal along with taking a breather from the constant changing, lights and everything in between. You can only imagine how difficult it is to be in front of hot spotlights. It eventually becomes four orders of tea latte, two orders of americano, three orders of mixed fruit juice. Once you get everyone’s, you relay the message to Hwang. Instead of going back to your spot, you take the chance to walk around for a bit, stretching your sore muscles. You’ll probably take a nap once Hwang arrives.

When you settle back in your seat, you stretch once more before a yawn slips through you. “Please tell me you have your own jacket this time.”

The voice startles you and it’s San again. This time in a grey sleeveless turtleneck. His makeup was different this time, less red and more natural tones. He drops himself next to you, as you massage your own shoulders. “I do, don’t worry about me too much.” You chide gently, pulling out your denim jacket.

He notes the style and giggles. “I didn’t know you and Hongjoong have the same taste.” He teases. As you shrug on the jacket, you look at the sleeves: acid washed with bright colors over the bleached spots. It did kind of look like something Hongjoong would wear.

“He has good taste then.”

“I didn’t say anything about him having bad taste.”

The two of you share a look, waiting for the other to cave but neither of you do and instead, the two of you break into a fit of laughter. A much needed wake me up as you wait for Manager Hwang.

You hear the photographer call his name again and you nudge him to move. “Your turn, purple boy.” You tease. With a wave of your hand, you shoo him off. By the time none of them are in the room, some of the makeup artists even sneak a few minutes of shut eye.

[ You to Manager Hwang ] I feel bad for the stylists, they’re so tired ;;

[ Manager Hwang to You ] Leave it to me.

[ You to Manager Hwang ] ???

He doesn’t reply to your confusion. You lean against the wall, resting your eyes from all the harsh lights you’ve been exposed to.

When you open your eyes again, you’re leaning against someone’s shoulder. You push yourself up to sit up properly and you’re greeted by Manager Hwang on his phone. There were bags of coffee and some snacks rest on the table and your computer’s plugged to an outlet. That’s when you realize that you inevitably fell asleep. “What time did you get here?” You ask as you try to wake up.

“Half an hour ago, your head was just a few inches above the seat.” He teases. It takes a lot out of you not punch his arm: even the managers take the chance to tease you. You peek out of the dressing room and see that the boys are in their fourth set of clothes. Some of them were being interviewed based on the small cameras around them as they wait for their turn. Judging from the food in the other room, it’s probably around dinner time already. You make the guess that you’ll finish past midnight. At least, Hwang got everyone something to eat and drink to last through the night.

--------

Everyone goes through the photos of the last cycle. Some of the boys hollering and cheering at certain photos. San takes a few photos of some shots of him and his members: if it’s for blackmail or for their birthday, no one knows. The staff reacts just as warmly as his members to some of the shots the photographer took. Once everyone is satisfied, a chorus of praises and thanks are thrown back and forth from ATEEZ and the staff as each party helps the other pack up after the long day.

As the members rustle about the photos before changing out of their clothes, he can’t help but look back at how far he has gone. Gone were the days of the scrawny kid with the high pitched voice who was chasing after a dream. Now, a toned man who is living his dream gazes back at him at the mirror. How fast does time fly? He glances at you through the mirror, you’ve been stretching a lot to push off the exhaustion. You seem to be getting used to the hectic, long days outside the office at least. Everyone’s saying their parting words for the day. After getting out of the dressy clothes and into something more casual, he’s excited to go home.

He and the rest wait for you by the door as you discuss when you’ll be able to receive a copy of all the photos plus the final choices for their magazine. Without Seonghwa paying attention, he sneaks a bite out of his cream puff, before hiding it quickly with a sip from his tea. It’s 2AM, he’s not reckless enough to take coffee at this time. Wooyoung becomes a spectator of the event and tries to hide his snickers, only to fail and for Seonghwa to catch on. Hongjoong doesn’t even bother to control the bickering, already leaning against Yunho’s back as he waits.

“Sorry to keep you guys waiting.” You say as you rush over to them. Your coffee was already finished by the time their photoshoot was finished. Once you catch up to them, the group walks towards the car. You hand the keys to Manager Hwang after a moment of rummaging through your bag.

“Manager-nim, how are you going to sleep? You just had coffee..” Mingi wonders, San could hear the pout in his voice. It was a good question.

You cast a glance at them and while you flash them a smile that’s meant to reassure, San catches the lines of exhaustion. He wonders what else do you have to do after this. “Don’t worry too much, I can flush it out with water.”

At your words, the male says nothing but takes another sip from his tea. He’ll probably just walk you back to your apartment again, just to make sure you’re not faking it again.

The ride back home was a lot quiet. You immediately fell asleep in the passenger’s seat and so did the other members. He started feeling sleepy in the middle of the trip. The only ones awake were Manager Hwang (d’uh) and Yunho. The two fill each other in on what has happened over the past few months. San’s head was lolling about in his spot, up until he lands on Jongho’s shoulder.

He wakes up to the harsh lighting shining against his eyes. He looks around and realizes that he’s in the parking lot, some of the members trying to wake themselves up as they wait for the elevator. You were there with them too, blinking constantly to gain your bearings. Manager Hwang stays by the door. “Sounds like you had some good sleep.”

That could only mean one thing.

“Did I snore..” San mumbles as he hops out of the car while straightening his clothes. He shuts the door behind him and Hwang nods.

“Yeah, it’s nothing new. You had a long day.” He hands the male the car keys. “Manager Yoon, tomorrow.” He says.

There’s still that small part of him that wants to put his best foot forward for you but he knows better than to do that. He can’t help it, he just wants to show that he could be the man for you. Another part of him thinks that it’s normal, the managers and the rest of the group has seen and heard him snoring in the past, it’s about time you saw him without the spotlight and makeup. He follows the rest of the group to the elevator. He spots you leaning against the wall, clearly exhausted from today’s schedule. “Are you okay?” San asks softly. Even though you nod, he doesn’t really buy it. He drifts carefully to Hongjoong. “I’ll bring them to their apartment first.”

Hongjoong glances over at you and catches you practically sleeping on your feet. It would be wise to make sure you get to your apartment safely and not pass out on the hallways. The leader nods at San’s idea. At his approval, San hands the car keys to him. “Manager Hwang said it’s Manager Yoon tomorrow.” Hongjoong hums again, a small grin on his lips. That’s the only thing that tells him there’s going to be a game night tomorrow.

The elevator doors slide open and everyone inches in. From the size of the lift, you’re stuck next to San. He could already feel exhausted you are: since Day one, you never really liked leaning against someone to catch on shut eye. The only times he remembers you leaning on someone as you slept was during the first K-Con and earlier today when Manager Hwang had arrived. Right now, you lean your forehead against his back. He says nothing about it though, you need to rest soon.

When the elevator rings of arriving on the designated floor, you lift your head up, thinking that it would be the boys first. Instead, the boys pile out and let you and San leave first. “Manager-nim, you need the rest more than we do right now. You’ve had a long day.” Seonghwa explains in the best way possible, hoping the words stick in your sleep fuddled head. You feel someone’s arm wrap around you to keep you up on your feet. You mumble something and wish them a good night as you’re guided to your apartment.

It takes seconds for you to realize that it’s San who’s walking with you. Were things going back to normal? It’s a question that rings faintly in your head as it’s overpowered by San’s hushed worries and praises. “You’ve worked so hard lately..” He mutters while walking carefully. He doesn’t really think you’d respond as you shuffle your feet forward. “I worry about you a lot. It’s rare to hear you talk about your worries…” San has more thoughts he wants to express but the walk from the elevator to your apartment is a short one. He stops infront of your door and lets you punch in the lock code before letting go of you. Out of habit, he brushes his tiers against your temple. He’s always been openly affectionate, especially when he knows someone has had a long day. “Get some rest.” He mumbles softly before stepping back.

“Good night, San.” You breathe out, tipping your head in thanks to his words and returning them to him. He catches your timid smile before the door closes on him. It takes a moment for him to gather his thoughts before heading to the elevator, waiting for the lift to bring him to his floor.

He thinks back to the peck, and it only dawns on him then what he had done.

[ San to You ] Hey okay, so I just realized I pecked you before you headed inside your apartment. I promise it doesn’t have any weight on it, it’s just something I tend to do with my members as well after they had a long day.

He doesn’t hesitate and presses send.

[ You to San ] It’s okay. It’s been a long day working. Good night!

While your words bring a bit of reassurance, he can’t help but wonder: how much more will he fuck up what you guys have left?

--------

“They didn’t tell you?” Manager Yoon asks, incredulous. He stares at the boys who had now stopped what they were doing to stare back at him with wide eyes.

“No?? They never told us anything.” Wooyoung returns with a sulk. His eyebrows furrowed together, concern lining his features. The same could be said for the rest of the boys. San on the other hand freezes in his spot.

Why did you leave?

Why was he even asking that question, he already had a few guesses.

This makes Yoon think for a moment, observing their reactions, then sighs. “Yeah, they left a few weeks back.” He continues, saying that you had to leave due to health reasons-- that was something San had a feeling about. He couldn’t help but think it was his fault but he keeps the guilt to himself. “Let’s continue this during lunch. We can’t get behind schedule.” Yoon reminds them carefully as he senses the drop in mood. They had a meeting with a production company after lunch, but right now they have rehearsals for an upcoming comeback.

No one else knew of San’s feelings for you save for his members. The eldest ends up looking over at the male from time to time after each run of the choreography. The younger’s frustration isn’t seen in his movement. It’s in his features. What During downtime, he’s a lot quieter. A storm goes on in his head and Seonghwa carefully makes his way to his side. “Let’s talk about this later okay?” The ash haired male says softly and San who’s still in shock, merely nods.

San stays in the studio a little later than usual today. He reasons that he wants to practice his vocals. Seonghwa sighs, knowing the truth, but he lets him be. He knows San needs his space before he lets himself open up. So here he is now, in the booth, looking for a song to sing.

A certain song catches his attention, rather fitting for his position. He listens closely, eyes closed as he focuses on the lyrics. It was the song to let out frustrations he can’t properly express so he gets to it. He reads the lyrics a few times. It’s not that he needed to do this perfectly, he just needed some sort of release. What was supposed to be only an hour turns into three. What was supposed to become a cathartic release became him in his zone. He has ended up writing the lyrics down with small notes on where he should lengthen his breathing, when to project, what to emphasize and so on. Once he was satisfied, he gives it a go.

The instrumentals ease in. He sings softly at first, breathy and unlike his usual style but it was a challenge he needs; something that didn’t have him physically exerting himself the way dance does. His voice raises and strains slightly at the change of notes and range. As he sings, memories he’s shared with you flash through his mind.

He spots you coming out of the small room, trying to wake up after a nap. His hoodie hanging over your arms. “Good sleep?” He asks, putting his phone away. You were about to hand his hoodie back to him when he shakes his head. “You need it more than I do today, use it as much as you need.”

--------

“Hey, monitor me please?” He pleads, doing his utmost best to get you to give in to him. He wants you to see him do his best because you bring the best out of him. You relent and he hops about in joy. You were the only one monitoring his scenes, Wooyoung wasn’t even with you. After four runs, he asks you how he does.

“As expected from ATEEZ’s charm and Namhae’s pride, you don’t disappoint, San.”

--------

The fleeting kiss.

--------

As the song reaches its climax, he remembers the last conversation he had with you. He remembers how you looked so worn in front of him and how he couldn’t bring himself to give you a hug. He feels frustrated at how he couldn’t protect you from life’s troubles. He realizes his faults in this and for once he doesn’t feel angry. He just feels disappointed in himself for being selfish. Maybe if he didn’t think with his emotions this wouldn’t have happened.

He doesn’t want anyone to see him like this, crying over someone who deserved better. He eventually sings from his heart; depths he didn’t think he could reach were reached from the emotions he’s experiencing. He doesn’t realize that his cheeks are wet but that doesn’t deter him from his singing.

--------

He was looking outside the studio, expecting you to be there, instead he’s greeted by Manager Hwang. He covers the flash of disappointment with how exhausted he feels. When he asks if he’s done with practice, he nods. He wants nothing but rest at this point.

--------

He catches himself pressing the button to your floor, even when it’s only him. Once he realizes his mistake, he shakes himself awake, pressing the button to his floor.

--------

Another music video shoot and this was out of his comfort zone. ‘I’m scared.’ San thinks, and he realizes that you’re not there to reassure him. You’re working in another department this time, managing them wasn’t your job now. He’s back to being on his own.

--------

When the song ends, his breathing is heavy. He never liked crying, even though he tells others that it’s okay to cry. He lets himself calm down, wiping his tears away. He couldn’t leave the booth looking like this. San takes all the time he needs to regain his composure. When he stepped out of the booth, he didn’t think Seonghwa would be a few feet away, busying himself with his phone.

“Hey kiddo, I think we should talk.” He raises a plastic bag of some snacks and drinks. He wasn’t sure if he could see their dinner in the bag as well. “Let’s head up to the terrace yeah?”

It’s going to be a long night.

--------

Seonghwa listens as San recounts everything since you became their manager, since he started looking at you differently, since he confessed, since you started catching feelings, since things got worse up until you left. This has been the most unfiltered he has been in regards to his feelings about you.

“They care about you.” Seonghwa says softly. “Now don’t quote me on this but I really think, if things went differently, the two of you would’ve worked.” San looks at him as he eats his dinner.

He couldn’t go against that.

“San, they like you enough to think about your situation first. They know how fans can be if they find out their idol is dating. They didn’t want you to go through that. They could’ve given the dating a shot but they did what they did. Maybe it wasn’t the best execution of the plan but it’s within good reason.” The elder explains.

San looks away from him and shifts his gaze to his meal. He wants to apologize to you but he doesn’t know if that’s possible. “Do you think we’ll see them again?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper.

The older looks over at the younger, and it’s times like this that reminds him that San’s still growing. “It’s really just a matter of time. If they’re really for you, you’ll meet each other again.” Seonghwa ruffles the younger’s hair much to his dismay.

San whines and tries to move away from his reach. “You really need to stop watching dramas with Jongho..”

The complaint makes Seonghwa laugh, shooting the younger a sympathetic smile. “Hey, those dramas do have some notable thoughts.” He defends, gently bumping his forehead against San’s. “You’ll survive this, San. Maybe not now, but eventually.”

San’s thankful for the faith but in his heart, he has his doubts.

--------

It’s been roughly over a year since you left the company and things have been back to normal now. San’s back to his usual antics-- well as normal as he can be. If he could compare the pain, it was like a scar. You’ve healed from the pain but sometimes you see the imprint of what was. There were times where things that remind him of you didn’t affect him and there were times were things that vaguely reminded him of you subdued him. Healing was never linear and for Choi San, a man who gave his everything into anything, it will take a long time before he has faith in himself to do it all over again for someone else.

The entire group’s on the way to the shooting location for their next comeback. A month and a half from now, they’re dropping the next album. The past few surpassed their expectations but even then, they know where they needed to get better. They’ve matured: both as their respective selves and as musicians. There were times where some members were out going on secret dates with their respective interests but San hasn’t taken any chance at romance since you.

They arrive at the production house’s venue, already the sets are prepared with some of the staff lugging around some of the cameras and lights, their stylists busy themselves with last minute alterations to their outfits. Everything was pretty much set for the next few days.

Manager Bae looks around for their point person. They knew where they should be but for the sake of propriety and respect, they look for the point person who’ll introduce them to the director. “Hey!” He calls out and everyone directs their eyes at the direction their manager looks at.

His heart jumps in his chest and he needs to hold on to Seonghwa’s shoulder. “Hyung.”

“Yeah.”

You’re the point person.

Part 8

#ateez fanfictions #ateez fanfiction #my writing #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #ateez angst #san fanfiction #san scenarios #yeah i'm just too sleepy to consider anything else

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k-writesthings · 4 years ago

Text

Early Mornings

I wrote this because I’m in the mood for some happy Levi Content, especially after Chapter 133, where my man is just BROKEN.

(Also this is x Reader because I want to try my hand at writing these, please let me know what you think!)

(And it’s first person because I’m not comfortable writing second person yet)

Word Count: 1655

Warnings: Cussing, Intimate Touching (SFW)

The soldiers of the Survey Corps had either seen too much or not enough. There was no in-between, because just one Titan attack would change the cockiest bastard into a war-weary soldier. That’s what happened to me, and that’s what happened to every other scout, too. With that sudden shift came night terrors, hallucinations, and shell shock. You’d be lucky to wake up and not be in a cold sweat after seeing, smelling, and hearing what I and so many others have. It plagued you, haunting your dreams, your thoughts, your life. And often, you couldn’t escape.

But sometimes, when you were safe…

You could forget.

Lazy mornings would help me forget. The memories that weighed on my conscience would slip away, melting into the seams of what I understood as I snuggled under the covers. The warm morning light cascading over my face would remind me of where I was and nothing else. A warm body next to me would let me know that I am loved. And I was alive, carefree even, for however long we were nestled beneath those blankets.

This was one of those mornings. A particularly nasty dream roused me, yanking me from my sleep like a fish caught on a line. It was shocking and sent my senses into overdrive, making me gasp for air as my eyes shot open. And then I realized. I wasn’t in danger, not at that moment. And I wouldn’t be, not for a while.

My fear subsided quickly, dissolving into a low hum of adrenaline that was guaranteed to keep me awake. The air was chilly and there was a slight draft in the room, probably from small gaps in the old walls. I yanked the covers up and over my shoulders and shifted to my side to keep out the cool air. I was faced by the man sleeping beside me, causing me to lose interest in my slightly cold shoulders. His sleeping face was a look of pure peace, something I would never see grace his features otherwise. Always worried about something or another, always stern and expressionless; that was the way Levi went about his everyday life. And while I knew he wasn’t actually an uncaring bastard, mornings like these proved his humanity, and made me love him even more.

I rarely woke up before Levi. He was an insomniac and usually only stayed asleep for about three hours. It was a blessing whenever he slept until after sunrise. He was also a lot more tolerant of everyone and everything when he slept for a healthy amount of time. That meant less stress for him and more sleep the next night. That cycle might continue for a couple days or maybe even a week, and I’d love to just see him well-rested and calm. But mostly, my favorite thing was waking him up when he slept in.

Today, Erwin had planned a meeting with Premiere Zackly about funding for the Regiment, and then Hange scheduled a training session for our three respective squads. As much as I didn’t want to wake Levi, I knew I had to. I glanced outside to get a feel for the general time. The sun was already ascending into the sky and the rays danced across his skin in time with a wind-blown tree that stood outside our window. A small smile played on my lips as I brushed some stray locks of hair away from his eyes, which were still closed. My fingers wandered to the back of his head as I scratched the short hair of his undercut. He let out a soft, unconscious groan at the touch.

Surprisingly, Levi craved physical affection, just not in public. But, when we were alone and in bed, he was usually touching me in some way. Whether it was just resting his foot against my leg, or cradling me close to his chest, there was almost always contact. While I wasn’t complaining, I quickly realized this was because of a lack of affection in his childhood. Much like with his obsessive cleaning stemming from growing up in dirt and squalor, he needed affection to make up for what he didn’t have in the Underground. And I was always happy to provide it.

I peeled back the comforter a bit to expose Levi’s shoulders and back, marred by bruises and areas rubbed raw from his frequent use of the ODM Gear. I leaned over and pressed kisses along the strap indents. We both loved when the other would pay specific attention to these areas, and it was how Levi usually woke me up. I was just returning the favor. As I continued my affectionate assault on his purple and red skin, his breathing began to quicken, and I could tell he was waking up.

“Hey, baby.” I whispered into his ear and pressed a kiss to his temple. He groaned again and I felt his hand come up to stroke the small of my back. “I can’t believe you slept so long. I almost didn’t wake you, but Erwin planned that meeting at noon.”

Levi’s eyes opened slowly and met mine, his icy grey irises cutting me to my very core. He closed them again and tugged my body closer to him, nestling his head into the crook of my neck.

“Damn Titan-sized bastard…” He spoke lowly, his voice sending vibrations through my chest. I giggled at the sensation and brought a hand up to rub the back of his head again. Levi sighed in contentment before he pulled away and looked me in the eye. “Did you sleep well?”

“As well as I ever do, I guess. I can’t stop seeing last month’s expedition in my dreams, but that always seems to happen.” My voice shook as my thoughts suddenly ventured to that shit-show. It was the highest amount of casualties we’d had that year. There was a sudden fog bank, which separated my squad from the rest of the Regiment. We-

“(Y/N).” Levi’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. His hand was resting on my cheek as I met his eyes again. He still looked stern, but there was a specific sense of concern lacing his features. “Don’t think about that right now. There was nothing you could do.”

I let out a quick, huffing chuckle as I leaned my forehead against his. “I’ll never understand how you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Read my thoughts.”

The tiniest smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “It’s cute that you think it’s hard. You have an expressive face.”

I rolled my eyes at Levi’s teasing and leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. They were usually chapped and rough, but I had been making him put on a salve before he went to bed to save his perfectly kissable lips. They were nice and soft against mine, now, as he deepened the kiss. Without breaking our connection, I flipped Levi onto his back and straddled his waist, cupping his face in my hands as my tongue broke through his slightly parted lips. He moaned softly and grasped my waist. I felt his lips quirk up in a smirk against mine and savored the moment with him, knowing I wouldn’t get to touch him like this for almost twelve hours.

I reluctantly pulled away from our make-out session and listened to Levi’s heavy breathing. My eyes slowly opened, though I didn’t realize I had closed them in the first place. Levi’s eyes were still closed and there was a deep blush on his usually pale cheeks. I smiled, knowing I was the only one who could do that to him. I rolled off of him and laid against his side, resting my ear against his chest to listen to his thumping heartbeat.

“Levi?” I raised my head to look him in the eye. He was still blushing.

“Mmm?”

“You’re blushing. I made you blush, Captain.” I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

His blush deepened (if that was even possible) and he averted his eyes from my face. “Tch, shut up. I could make you blush.”

I raised my eyebrows in faux surprise. “Could you now? I don’t blush at much, you know.” Of course he could make me blush, but I was just having fun messing with him.

In a flash, he was straddling me and leaning down to trail his tongue along my collarbone. The sensation sent sparks to my stomach. But, instead of my face heating up, I just felt the need to laugh.

“Levi! You’re just tickling me!” I cackled as he continued his assault. He grunted against my skin and he suddenly switched to sucking and biting at different parts of my neck. And that did make me blush, but also sent waves of panic through me. Before he could do too much damage, I shoved him off of me and leapt off the bed, running to the bathroom.

“(Y/N)?” I heard Levi call from the bedroom as he followed after me. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

I stood in front of the mirror and stared at my neck. It already was becoming mottled with purple bruises. Groaning, I dropped my head against the glass. Levi put a hand on my shoulder and turned me to face him.

“You got fucking marks on my neck, you bastard.” I leaned into him and buried my face in the crook of his neck. “I can’t hide this shit, you know that! And we have to see so many people today. You’re the worst.” I mumbled into his skin.

His arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me close. I expected an apology to grace those dastardly lips and I awaited it eagerly.

“I still made you blush.”

“Oh, you fucker.”

I wasn’t the only one with a marks on my neck after that comment.

(Alright, that made me feel better. Idk about anyone else, but I’ve always kind of headcanonned Levi as super submissive in bed because he craves contact. This was based off some rumor that Yams had said it in an interview, and I honestly think it’s really perfect for Levi. But that’s just me!)

(This was honestly just to indulge myself, but pleas don’t worry! I have not forgotten about my requests. They are on their way!)

(Also, please request more Levihan I love them)

#shingeki no kyojin #snk #levi ackerman #levi snk #levi aot #attack on titan #levi attack on titan #x reader #levi x reader #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #aot #aot x reader #fanfic #fanfiction

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years ago

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Okay I’m currently moving and going through old trinkets and stuff to see what to get rid of and I just now really would love a Ben Hargreeves x reader fic super fluffy going through old things of yours or his and just generally being super cute 😭 ily!

A/N: So this is a Ben didn’t die AU because that was the only way I could think of for “cute” not “sad.” Also, as someone who just moved herself, good luck on your move darling, may it be as smooth and frustration free as possible. I hope you enjoy it! :) Word Count: 1702 Content Warnings: Major cheese-factor? But other than that nothing

“I’m glad we decided to get a place together,” you said, leaning against Ben’s shoulder, looking around your empty apartment.

Yours, the two of you. When you had started discussing moving in with one another, maybe a year into your relationship, you considered just adding him onto your lease, which still had several months left on it (he did not consider asking you to move in with him, because he’d been living with Vanya, and Klaus when he showed up and couldn’t wait to get out). But eventually, you two had settled on starting fresh, somewhere you had picked out together, a place for both of you to build your lives together. It had been a challenge at first, but in the end, you knew it would be worth the effort to create a home together instead of merely adopting one of you into the other’s preexistent reality.

“Me too,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple and smiling. “And I’ll be even more glad once we get some stuff in here.”

“Y/N, what about these?” Ben called to you, pulling out a battered black shoebox from the back of your closet. “You didn’t put this pair with the rest of your shoes?”

Confused what he was talking about, you set aside the plates you had been wrapping in newspaper and made your way to the bedroom.

“What are you talking ab—oh…” your eyes fell on the box in question and you felt a hot blush creep across your face and down your neck. “That’s um…”

Ben’s confusion at your discomfort only grew when the box rattled slightly, producing sounds of rustling paper rather than shoes.

“You can just ignore that. It’s just some old…I don’t even know why I kept…” you sighed in defeat as his curiosity got the better of him and he opened the box.

The box, which had laid buried in your closet for long that you’d nearly forgotten about it, was full of old newspaper and magazine clippings about the Umbrella Academy in their hay-day.

“I, uh, I can explain that?”

Ben laughed, grin wide and surprisingly nonjudgmental as he picked up the faded pages in gentle fingers, particularly when he came across one of a teen magazine quiz which said your soulmate was Diego and you had drawn frowning faces around it and marked it ‘WRONG’ in blue sharpie.

“Aw, babe, I had no idea you were such a fan,” he teased. “My brother will be so sad I stole his soulmate.”

“Yeah, I mean I guess I was into the whole Umbrella Academy thing as a kid…lots of people were…” you shrugged, hoping that your nonchalance would keep him from pressing further. “It’s nothing to make a big deal of.”

“Aw, hey, Y/N, I’m not trying to embarrass you,” he said, setting the box aside to come over and rest his hands on your shoulders. “I think it’s cute.”

You shoved his chest lightly, hearing the laughter in his voice. “Shut up.”

All of your things finally packed, you and Ben made your way to the apartment he shared with his siblings, which they had cleared out of for the day so you could have more space to work.

“Hey Ben,” you said, gesturing to an old-fashioned hatbox on one of his shelves. “I didn’t know you were a hat guy?”

You wished you could reach the box yourself so you could take him down and tease him properly for the contents the way he had had for your shoebox. Instead, you had to wait for him to come and be tall for you.

“Oh that. I took the box from the Academy. Although I think the hat was as likely to have been Pogo’s as it was Dad’s,” he explained.

“So if it’s not a hat, what’s in there?” you asked, practically vibrating with curiosity.

The box tucked under one arm, he pulled you closer with the other into a hug and pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek, before moving to sit in on the corner of his bed (piled high with the books which had been hiding this mystery box and which you were supposed to be packing at the moment), motioning for you to join him. Eagerly, you bounced across the small room to flop next to him on the floor, making him laugh as you nearly collapsed into his lap and he had to quickly lift the box above his head to keep you from crushing it.

“Well, it’s not quite the same as yours, but it turns out we were both hanging onto some things,” he explained almost shyly, carefully wiggling off the snug lid of the box.

“Oh really?” you couldn’t help the smirk that crept across your face.

The first thing he pulled out was a photobooth filmstrip. In the four little boxes were your smiling faces, your silly faces, and one where you had leaned over and kissed him, his eyes wide with shock, all in sepia, perfect moments frozen in time.

“That was our first date,” you said with surprise. “Our first official one anyway, unless you count you refusing to let go of my hand until you had escorted me safely out of the building when those lunatics decided a coffee shop was the best place to hold up for quick cash.”

“Well I couldn’t let them catch wind of priceless treasure that slipped through their fingers, and my siblings had everything under control.”

You rolled your eyes at his corniness, leaning your chin on his knee to see what else was in the box. It was full to the brim, practically overflowing with little bits of memorabilia from your time together: a newspaper clipping about the day you met, ticket stubs for concerts and movies, pictures you had taken together or of each other with his polaroid camera, love letters you’d sent each other and notes you’d left when one of you had to leave before the other woke or had something important coming up that you might need a little extra encouragement for. It was like your whole lives together so far were in that hat box and you felt your eyes welling up at the thought. It was so much better than your embarrassing childhood crush.

“You know, I thought you had only agreed to go to that carnival with me because you felt like you owed me for saving you or something,” he added softly as he leafed through.

You rolled your head to one side, cheek against his leg, so you could look up at him, sensing the insecurity in his voice.

“Ben, baby…” you sighed.

Even now, after all of this time, he still seemed to think that part of you was only there out of pity, seemed to expect you to flinch away in horror at his abilities. You knew that it had nothing to do with you and everything to do with the way he and his siblings were raised and exploited by Reginald Hargreeves, but still your heart ached every time you sensed him withdrawing into those dark places.

“I know, Y/N, you don’t have to say it,” he said, guessing at how your sentence was going to finish based on your repeated past conversations about it.

“I don’t think you do,” you lifted your head up, sitting back to better look him in the eye. “I was stunned that you even noticed me let alone asked me out, because you are incredible. And I don’t just mean the superhero thing, although that is pretty sweet,” you face scrunched up and you grinned at him before sobering. “If I was only in it for pity or for fame or because I owed you, I would have bailed a long time ago, not be getting an apartment with you. You’re stuck with me. Because I love you Ben Hargreeves.”

He set the box in his hands aside, pulling you close so that he could kiss you, tender and sweet and so rawly, desperately full of love that it threatened to overwhelm you. You folded your arms over his shoulders drawing him in even more. When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, gently carding your fingers through his hair as he nuzzled his nose against yours.

“We should really get back to packing,” you said after sitting like that for a moment, more than a little regretful that you had to break the moment and return you both to reality.

“Wait, there’s one more thing I wanted to show you from the box,” he said sheepishly, pulling out a generic looking crumpled piece of lined paper.

“What’s this?” you asked, reaching for it.

Nervously, he handed it to you and you began to read. Almost immediately, your hand came up to cover your mouth as tears welled up in them. This wasn’t a letter, so much as the draft of a speech with words and lines and entire paragraphs crossed out, some scribbled over completely and others with a single mark through them and new words squeezed into the cramped space above them. Finally, at the bottom, circled in blue ink: Y/N, you’re incredible. Will you go out with me?

“Oh Ben,” you murmured, clutching the paper carefully to your chest, trying your hardest not to cry.

“I was so nervous to ask you out,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “And Diego kept giving me shit about how you were way out of my league, which definitely didn’t help. But for some reason you said yes, and I thought I might die, I was so happy.”

“So I was thinking…” you said one night, wrapping your arms around Ben as he stood in the doorway of your new living room.

“Uh-oh,” he laughed, mirroring your hold.

“We have that big open wall-space over the sofa, right?”

He nodded, looking at you, eyebrows knit together in curiosity and confusion.

“We also have two boxes of stuff that would make a really nice collage…we could maybe put them there? Sort of a wall of memories?”

His eyes sparkled as he turned to you fully. “I love it.”

#listen with me you get angst or you get sap #I hope this meets what you were looking for #Not-dead Ben is hard to write for...#Ben Hargreeves x reader #The Umbrella Academy fic

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years ago

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AHHHHH YOU ALWAYS KILL IT W SONG REQUESTS (as you do w everything else you write bc it’s all gold). may i pls ask for only memories remain by my morning jacket w cal if you could 🥺

Hi, love! Thanks for your patience while I finished up some schoolwork before I got this request!

CW/TW: Mentions of Death.

_______________

Calum grunts as he pushes up off the floor, hands pressed into the mattress to help assist him. It’s less his back and more of his knees that are not pleased with him. But he does this every so often, kneels on the floor on your side of the bed and digs out that shoebox full of pictures, your engagement band. He made sure that you kept the wedding ring itself. He wanted you to take that with you.

He should probably stop calling it your side of the bed--your scent hasn’t grazed that pillow in nearly three years. The nightstand is missing your mug in the mornings and your glasses that you always forgot where you put them down. Even if you did remember to hook them around your neck, the second you pulled the glasses down you’d forget instantly where you put them. And Calum wouldn’t be laughing at that, but sometimes he’s not sure how you got around in the world. You always told him glasses weren’t important; they were replaceable if you somehow managed to lose them for good. The only things you didn’t forget were the important things.

And it’s true. You remembered birthdays, anniversaries, just how the kids liked their plates arranged when they were younger and how a kiss to the back of Calum’s neck would always make his shiver spine. You remembered all the quirks to the dogs and you’d remembered songs from decades ago like they were still new to the radio.

Settling onto the edge of the bed, Calum pulls up the top to box and right on top is the letter you wrote to him while he was on tour, all those years ago. He had saved it, doing his best to preserve it in your handwriting but he had typed up and saved another draft of it, so he’d never forget it.

Dear Calum,

You might think I’m crazy. But I can hear the laughter in the walls--the sound of you laughing at all my purposefully bad dance moves and I can hear the kisses you give to top of Duke’s head. And I know the house is empty except for me and Duke. I know you are miles away. I know you are dazzling thousands every night. But if only they could hear what I hear in the walls. Your bass occasionally thumping the pictures frames and the shrieks when we fail at some new recipe and resign to take out. If only they could hear, the sound of you when you’re murmuring gently in your sleep or the snores that keep me up some nights. If only they could hear the whispers we don’t want to give power too, the anxiety that sometimes build, but knowing that the two of us can confide in each other.

If only I could capture what I hear just below that too, and send that to you as well. If only I had a way to let you hear what I hear. If I could tell you sometimes I hear a baby’s laughter, or the bickering of sibling. If only I could tell you about the years I hear waiting for us in this house, maybe other one--a place bigger for the dogs and kids. I can hear the splash of our pool with kids from the neighborhood.

I don’t know if you hear that too in the house when I’ve gone for a conference or even if you imagine it when I’m just in the next room. I know I do with you. Even if you’re just outside with your trainer, I can hear the house whispering for more. And I could totally be projecting on some poor house, that doesn’t ever have wants or desires, just an existence that which is it content with, but there is something happening, something that I want to let you know about. It hasn’t been easy for ys, but it’s always been worth it. I know our options around children may be a little tough, but I think it’ll be worth it.

I could easily call you, I could easily text you all things. But, no, I must write it down, as some way of working through my own thoughts. I hope I don’t sound crazy.

Though I can hear it now, you tsking at me with a shake of your head and a single raised digit--I am never crazy, just always thinking. Just always working through the thoughts that run faster than me.

I hope you’re well. I hope the tour’s going well and you’re sleeping good at night. Have you tried that lavender like I told you about? Duke’s well, in case you’re wondering. He did well at his checkup today, just sleeping a lot still. Vet says it’s normal for a dog his age. But when he does get a good burst of energy he’s happy to trot around the backyard or around the block. He’s still eating well, so don’t fret about that. Your old man’s still kicking it. He told me to tell you, he’s not going down anytime soon. He’s just taking it easy.

The weather is LA is turning for a bit. We’ve had some clouds for the last few days. But it’s been nice. You’d be displeased, needing that sun. But soon, you’ll be back home--see your mom and dad and be able to get that Australian sun.

Love you, Calum. To the ends of the earth, back again, and beyond.

Yours truly,

Dearly Beloved.

He’s not sure when calling you his dearly beloved became a thing. You’d remember. You’d remember to the exact date, time, and happenings. But Calum can’t seem to remember that kind of stuff. He just remembers watching you run after the kids as they shrieked about bath time and how you like kisses right on the back of your ears.

It’s a strange thing, to remember that, remember all the times he could sneak up behind you to kiss the back of your ear and watch you jump in the shock contrasted to the way you felt cool in his hands as he turned your head one last time to kiss the beloved spot and the way dead weight is actually much heavier, the way it took so much more effort to place your head back upright than it ever took to gently cup your chin and instantly you’d turn to him, with a smile on your face.

Calum places the letter to the side and finds your favorite old t-shirt--it was hardly a t-shirt anymore. The hole in the armpit was spreading just a little but it held the name of your old university and you wore it for everything from weeding the garden to painting the bedrooms, to gutting the kitchen during the remodel.

Calum bought exact matching t-shirts and made small decor pillows for the kids, sprayed your signature scent onto them so they could sleep easier at night. But they still curled up in bed with him, hugging their pillows, faces buried into the pillows on your side of the bed. He’d rather them take the last of your scent--he’s happier that they got those moments.

“Pops, I don’t understand this math question,” Trey states poking his head into the bedroom.

Calum snaps his attention up from the box and nods. “Coming. Algebra, right?”

“Yeah,” he nods, leaning into the molding. It’s crazy to look at him now, how he’s almost surpassed Calum in height. At fifteen, Calum thought he’d surely still have a few inches maybe a foot over him. Calum remembers when Trey found out he had officially been adopted but the two of you. He was six and cried more than Calum or you did--though the margin was probably still pretty close. It couldn’t have been nine years already.

“Do-do you have their glasses?” Trey asks quietly. “Today’s been hard. And I feel silly with a pillow in my lap as I do homework.”

Calum walks over, box in hand. “I kept a lot of their smaller things. Whatever you need--it’s always in this box.”

Trey pulls your glasses from the pile, noticing other letters and pictures scattered about in the box. He spies the college t-shirt but just next to it is a picture of you and Trey. He’s in your lap, giant headphones over his ears. “Is that from the first show I went too of yours?”

Calum only briefly catches a glance at the photo before Trey’s fully plucked it from the box. “I think so.”

Trey immediately places the glasses back into the box but holds onto the picture. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

“So, do you happen to remember anything from Algebra?”

Calum laughs at the tease and put the box down on the dresser before following behind Trey to the living room. Brandy sits at the coffee table, her stack of color pages and pencils spread out. Calum did his best to keep her doing art. It was hard after you first died. But slowly over the years, she’s gotten back into it. “You all good?”

She nods. “All good in the Hood.” She got the phrase from you and here Calum was, with Brandy at ten, and he was sure she would never let the phrase die.

Calum stops just for a moment to kiss the top of her head and then carries on to the dinning room table. “Okay, so I know I’m not a math whizz like them. But your old man still knows a thing or two about a thing or two,” he returns to Trey’e earlier quip. “Now let’s see what new math magic they have you all working in.”

Trey laughs, slipping the tiny photo of him into the back of his phone case so it shows out to the world. “You calling it magic does not make me feel better.”

#calum hood #calum hood fluff #calum hood angst #calum hood blurb #calum hood 5sos #calum 5sos #calum hood imagine #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fic #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imagine #5sos angst #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer angst #5 second of summer imagine #5 seconds of summer fanfic #h writes

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