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24hlevi · 3 years ago

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can i just say that i've just finished reading that angst headcanons/imagines/scenarios or whatever it's supposed to be called about the boys reacting to y/n dying and i'm just...i'm just a sobbing mess.

it's well-written so 1000/10 for that, but whY MUST YOU ATTACK MY HEART IN THIS MANNER???? i love your work, but my poor heart ack-

btw is there any possibility to ask for a request for a same scenario but for kazutora, mitsuya, and hanma? like for kazutora's part, imagine if it wasn't yknow who died but its y/n 🥲

omg you’re so nice first of all thank you 😭 and OMG YES

TR Boys Reaction To You Dying Pt. 2

Tokyo Revengers Boys (Kazutora, Shuji, & Takashi) X Gn!Reader

Genre: Pure Angst

Warnings: Swearing, Suicide (kind of? it’s what happened to baji did so idk what to label it as 🤷‍♂️)

Hanemiya Kazutora:

All Kazutora could think was that it was all his fault that this happened. He was too caught up in his own world that he didn’t even know what he was doing anymore. He didn’t even know you had shown up to the fight until he stabbed you instead of Baji.

“Y/n?” Kazutora asked, dropping the knife immediately when he saw you standing between him and Baji, blood dripping onto the ground below you. He completely froze, not knowing what he had just done or why he even did it. “Baby, are you okay?”

You held onto the stab wound, coughing up blood as you looked at your boyfriend. “I just wanted you…to stop.” You choked out before collapsing to your knees.

Everyone had stopped and was watching you by now, shocked that you had even protected Baji from both sides when your whole body landed on the car below you. Spitting blood out of your mouth, you laid on your back, staring up at the blue sky that was dusted with white clouds.

“Y/n!”

You heard multiple people yell your name, but you couldn’t even tell who it was until you saw Kazutora kneeling beside you. “Y/n! Keep your eyes open, okay?!”

You shook your head from side to side, raising your hand to put it on Kazutora’s face before quietly speaking, “Give it to me, the knife.”

“What? Why? Look, Y/n you just gotta stay awake okay?” Kazutora spoke fast, clearly freaking out on both the outside and inside, not even caring about the gang fight anymore.

“Hand it over, Kazutora.” You said his full name which caused him to go quiet, staring down at you with saddened eyes before handing you the knife that already had your blood on it. “Thank you, babe. I love you.” You told him.

“I love you too, Y/n.” Kazutora said to you.

You bundled up your shirt at the top, putting it in your mouth so you had something to bite down on before plunging the knife into your stomach and twisting it around, then pulling it back out and dropping it.

Kazutora wrapped his arms around you and held you close to him as you lived your last moments, and he couldn’t even say anything. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I always will love you.” Was all he said after you died.

Kazutora then took the blame for killing you, resulting im him ending up in jail again but he wasn’t angry about it. He was just sad. So sad that he didn’t even try to get out of jail and get back into the gang life. He just sat around, continuously saying,

“It’s all my fault.”

Hanma Shuji:

Shuji swore that he would never allow you to get hurt while he was away doing gang activities that he didn’t want you included in. That’s why he always had someone beside you and a bodyguard to make sure you would always be safe. But even then, it didn’t work.

It was half past 1 in the morning when Shuji’s phone rang while he was with the other Valhalla members, beating up some random other gang member. Shuji stopped punching the other male, standing up straight and took his phone out of his pocket and opened it, answering. “Yes?”

“Shuji…”

Shuji’s breath hitched when he heard your shaky and quiet voice, and he immediately knew that something was wrong. “Y/n? Where are you, darling? Is something wrong?”

“I’m…at home. B-But someone..got in.” You tried your best to reply, but it was coming out shaky and slow.

“I’ll be there in five minutes. I promise, baby. Okay? I love you.” Shuji told you before turning around and looking at everyone, taking the phone away from his ear. “Kazutora, you’re in charge until I get back, understand? As for everyone else, just do what you’re told.” He said to everyone, proceeding to then walk out and make his way onto the streets when he started to sprint down the different roads.

Now he was just making sure that he made it to your place in five minutes like he said he would, which usually he would be able to do easily, but he was more determined now that he had heard something had gone wrong whilst he was away. Upon reaching your place, he saw the front door opened already and he quickly rushed inside. “Y/n?! Baby, where are you?!” He called out as he started to run through every room in the house.

He finally made it to your room where you laid on the floor, a puddle of blood beneath you as you were taking shallow and slow breaths. “Y/n!” Shuji yelled out your name, going over to you and kneeling down beside you. He grabbed you and lifted you up, holding you in his arms as he checked for your pulse. When he felt it he let out a sigh of relief but it was very weak and barely noticeable which made him realize he probably only had a few more moments with you.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. For not being here when I should have. I’m so fucking stupid, I should have just stayed here with you. I’m sorry, darling. I’m sorry.” Shuji said to you, his voice cracking halfway through as tears welled up in his eyes.

You looked up at him and smiled lightly despite you dying in his arms. “It’s okay, Shuji. Don’t...blame yourself. I still love you.” You had never seen the boy cry before, that’s how you knew that he did really love you, that he wasn’t just saying it so he could manipulate or get things from you.

“I love you too.” Shuji whispered out.

Soon enough, your head went limp and your eyes were stuck open, all of the life drained from your face as blood dirtied the floor and Shuji’s clothes. “Y/n? Y/n? Wake up, please.” The boy pleaded to your now deceased body, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to get you back. Not ever again.

Shuji became what you would have never wanted him to become, a terrible person who killed anyone if they even looked at him the wrong way, and most importantly, one that drank all of his feelings after the day was over, crying to himself over your death still.

Because he would never get you back. And he regretted that the most.

Mitsuya Takashi:

Takashi was the most important person in your life, just like you were to him. He had told you on multiple occasions that he wanted to be with you forever. And he thought it would really happen. Boy, was he wrong. So, so wrong.

You two were walking down the busy street, eating street food while going inside stores and just admiring the night scenery. Everything was going perfectly normal, until it all changed within a few seconds.

“Hey, babe?” Takashi said, looking over at you.

“Yeah?” You repled.

“Do you wanna get married some day in the future?”

The question that came out of your boyfrien’s mouth shocked you, and you didn’t know how to reply. You both were still teenagers, how the hell were you supposed to know? “Only if it’s you I’m marrying.” You aswered with a smile.

Takashi smiled back and pressed his lips against yours before pulling away quickly after. “Same here.” He told you.

Suddenly, car tires screeched on the black cement road and one zoomed around, an all black van. It’s windows opened and guns pointed out of them before they started to fire. Takashi quickly wrapped his body around you and covered you with his, not even caring if he would end up getting killed because of it.

After the car drove off, Takashi looked at you and asked in a frantic voice, “Y/n, are you okay?”

You looked at him, then down to your side, shaking your head as you spat out blood. Takashi’s eyes widened as he yelled out your name, but you had collapsed onto the ground, grabbing at your abdomen where the gunshot wound was, blood beginning to soak through your clothes and onto the sidewalk below you.

“No, no, no. Y/n! Stay with me!” He yelled, taking his phone out of his pocket and about to call the polce when you grabbed his hand, stopping him. “What?”

“Don’t. It’s okay.” You told him, a small smile on your face.

“It’s not okay! I can’t lose you! We-We just talked about getting married some day!” The boy continued to yell.

“Maybe...in another life, we will.” You spoke barely above a whisper, your vision starting to darken and turn blurry. “I love you, Mitsuya Takashi.”

“I love you too, Y/n.” Takashi replied to you but you didn’t respond. “Y/n?” He reached his hand over and shook you gently, and when you didn’t move he looked at your face, then realizing that you were gone. He sat on the ground, and put his hands over his face, beginning to cry.

Takashi cried and mourned over your death everyday, despite people telling him to move on. He just couldn’t. He would never be able to find someone he would love like he loved you. He knew that. So that’s how it remained the rest of his life. Lonely, and depressed.

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solarwonux · 4 years ago

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10. “I still remember the way you taste.”

31. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

villain!wonwoo x superhero!f!reader

w.c: 2.6k (it was mistake okay I got carried away we should know this by now)

warnings: fluff, talks of death, ghosts, torture if you squint, graveyards, digging up graves (don’t do that yall), angst a little, it’s hinted that the reader can communicate with ghosts. (if you’re uncomfortable with any of these themes this one is not for you)

note: I CAN EXPLAIN OKAY I KNOW YOU WANTED JOKER WONWOO BUT LIKE IT STARTED OFF THAT WAY AND THEN I GOT SOFT. Enjoy let know your thoughts please, they mean so much to me.

Also i will answer asks at some point, school is just keeping me super busy, BUT IM NOT IGNORING THEM THEY MAKE ME SMILE EVERY TIME I SEE THEM.

masterlist || drabble game

Wonwoo wiped the sweat off of his brow with the back of his hand, panting slightly as he stared down at the empty grave. “Remind me again why we’re doing this?” Vernon asked, digging his shovel into the ground with the heel of his boot. He rested his forearm against the handle looking at Wonwoo through his sweaty bangs.

“There is no reason, I was just bored.” Wonwoo shrugged, his cheeks were dusted with dirt and his white dress shirt was anything but white. The truth was he had a reason, he needed a way to meet you halfway and causing chaos was the only way to get you out of that shiny tower in the middle of the city where all the heroes resided. But his reasoning would never be voiced out loud, especially not to Vernon and so he lied like it was second nature to him.

Wonwoo missed you, He missed getting under your skin with his snarky remarks and idiotic plans to take over the world. Or at least the city. The world was his end goal, but in order to do that he needed to succeed at taking over the city first and so far he had failed. Mainly, do to you and your teammates interrupting his plans. Though along the way something unexpected happened. He had undoubtedly fallen truly, madly, deeply in love with you. It had annoyed him at first, his mind was constantly enveloped with thoughts of you. Interrupting everything he spent years working on.

It took him months to come to terms with his unwanted feelings and if he hadn’t snuck into the masked ball held every year at the tower; he probably wouldn’t have. But the second he saw you come down the grand staircase of the ballroom wearing a dress so blue, it put the night sky to shame; he kissed you before he could stop himself. Despite the mask he was wearing you had spotted him in the crowd and led him down an empty hallway when his urges got the best of him causing him to sin. When he pulled away he was shocked just as you were, but he was definitely floored when you had cut his apology short and kissed him again.

“So you decided to dig up an empty grave for fun?” Vernon pushed his dirt stained hand through his hand, leaving behind little specks of dirt in its wake. “How did you even know this grave would be empty?”

“It’s mine...well used to be mine. Obviously I’m not dead.” Wonwoo’s nonchalant tone sent shivers up Vernon’s back. Once again he found himself wondering why the hell he always found himself going along with Wonwoo’s schemes. He knew there was a reason. Wonwoo never did anything without calculating all his moves beforehand, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the true reason, more so if he was going to find out soon anyway. His suspicions were confirmed when he caught sight of you. He should’ve known that this was just another one of Wonwoo’s ways to get to you.

Vernon didn’t understand your relationship with Wonwoo, scientifically it didn’t make sense. In simple terms Wonwoo was hated by everyone and you on the other hand were not. But the two of you had snuck around for years up until the accident five months ago. Ever since then Wonwoo’s spirits were low and he was going mad. If he wasn’t holed up in his tiny room at the apartment he was bent over a desk mumbling to himself, trying to come up with ways in which he could see you again. All of Wonwoo’s attempts before this one had failed and to say he wasn’t surprised to see you sit down, legs hanging over the edge of the grave while looking down at Wonwoo lovingly, he would be lying. Though, he supposed it had to do with the fact that Wonwoo’s grave was dug up.

“You guys having fun there?” Wonwoo jumped. He rapidly smoothed down his shirt, leaving behind streaks of dirt, and fixed his hair before turning around. A smug smile adorning his features. Vernon shook his head and rolled his eyes. Sometimes he missed the days in which Wonwoo wasn’t in love.

“Princess what brings you here?” He winked. His clammy hands grew more wet as he leaned against the shovel, before it failed underneath his weight causing him to trip. Seeing you again was like a breath of fresh air, the pictures he kept of you and looked at every night did you no justice. For you shined brighter than the stars in the night sky and it always made Wonwoo’s heart skip a beat.

“Cut the shit Wonwoo, I know you’ve been turning this city upside down at least once a week to get under my skin.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do? You haven’t been answering my calls, texts or emails.” Wonwoo threw his hands up in disbelief and you rolled your eyes at his ignorance.

“Apologize, that’s all you had to do and you wouldn’t be here digging your own grave...literally.” You huffed crossing your arms in front of you, ripping your eyes away from his. Suddenly the memory of the accident came lingering back. You knew, given his nature, Wonwoo was calculated. He used his powers to affiliate pain on his victims without moving a muscle to get what he wanted. Though, he had never used it on you, until that night.

He had been blinded by rage and pain and you had never seen him use so much power in your years of knowing him. It scared you and when you had tried to coax him out of whatever state he was in. He did the one thing he promised he would never do.

He used his abilities on you.

Wonwoo sighed before hosting himself out of the hole and taking the empty seat next you. “I wanted to do it in person, but you never showed up.” He looked down at his hands playing with his fingers, twirling the ring on his pinky. His body was consumed with guilt as your screams of agony replayed in his head. Just like they did every night. He had never once felt anything but satisfaction and bliss whenever he used his powers on someone. In fact he loved the way his victims begged him to stop, that was until you were on the receiving end of his torture.

“You know where I live. It’s a big shiny tower in the center of town. Pretty hard to miss honestly.” The airy playfulness of your voice made his stomach swirl. He truly missed you and not just on nights when the two of you gently explored each other's bodies, but just in general.

“I know but you know how much I hate the others, especially Joshua. He always has to stick his nose into matters that don’t concern him.” He huffed, flicking a tiny spec of dirt off of his trousers. “And I was scared.” He confessed lowly, shocking Vernon who had now taken it upon himself to sit on the soil filled ground to watch the spectacle in front of him. Wonwoo never admitted his fears and though Vernon sometimes could feel them radiating off him. It was different hearing it come from his friend's mouth.

“Of Joshua? Dude’s only got super strength and-”

“No of you. I was scared to see you suffer and to turn me away. I was scared that if I did show up putting aside indifference for your friends just to hear you say that you didn’t love me anymore.” Wonwoo let out a deep sigh at the ending of his words. He dropped his shoulders feeling the weight being lifted off them. He felt your body shake next to him and it confused him greatly, even more so when it was followed by your laugh. Though he loved it and missed it greatly. He couldn’t deny the anger he felt towards you as you laughed at his vulnerability.

Slowly, he felt his heart close up again and brought himself up to his feet faster than he could blink. His feet moved faster than the doubt racing through his veins and your laughter came to a stop.

He now remembered why he swore to never love again all those years ago.

“Wonwoo, wait come back.” You hurried to your feet, smoothing down the creases on your leggings. Vernon copied your movements. He could sense the fear coming from your body, and it overwhelmed his senses. Behind his soft eyes he quietly told you to hurry before Wonwoo did something he wasn’t supposed to. Even though Wonwoo always did without planning ahead of time, there were a few instances where he didn’t care and acted carelessly. And he found himself fearing more for your heart rather than his friend's safety.

You sighed tugging on the sleeves of your sweatshirt before turning around and ran after the only man you had ever loved. You passed many tombstones, silently paying your respects until you stopped in the middle of a small clearing, home to one familiar tombstone and Wonwoo. His hands in his pocket, eyebrows furrowed and his teeth chewing down on his teeth.

“After she died, I promised her I wouldn’t love anyone again.” He whispered, “but then you came along and ruined it.” He turned his head, his eyes glossy with wanted tears. “Do you know how much I beat myself up every day for what I did to her. For what I did to you. I hate myself for it, I hate that I can inflict pain on everyone else but myself because I’m not one that should be suffering, not everyone else.”

By now he had finally let his tears go. They raced down his cheeks rapidly and it shattered your heart.

“It hurts me that you think that way about yourself. She didn’t die because of you, you tried to save her and-”

“I was too late.” Wonwoo snorted and rolled his eyes. He stared intently at the tombstone in front of him, reading his little sister’s name over and over again, letting it burn feverishly inside his mind. He missed her dearly and sometimes he wondered why you never told him anything about the conversations you would have with her whenever she visited you. But you had told him that it was a family secret between the two of you and he never questioned you again because you had used the word family and it made him feel all giddy inside.

“Let me talk Wonwoo.” You said closing the gap between you and Wonwoo. You grabbed his face in your hands and wiped away his tears with the pad of your thumb. He had always been there to comfort you on your lowest days. His sweet words and warmth grounded you back onto the Earth, but you had never gotten the opportunity to do the same to him. He always kept himself closed off and reserved. It had taken almost a year into your secret, not so secret relationship for him to tell you about his sister’s unfortunate death and a few more months after that for him to say that he loved you. Despite all those small passing moments of vulnerability he had never once cried in front of you.

“I love you and you’re stupid for thinking that I would love you any less because of what happ-”

“I hurt you though,” Wonwoo cut you off, earning a ground shattering glare from you that sent shivers up his spine. “Sorry you can continue.” He whispered.

“Thank you.” You smirked and wrapped your arms around his neck, making him freeze. You were the strangest person he had ever had the pleasure in knowing because normal people would never be as comfortable as you were in his presence. “I know the kind of person you are Wonwoo, through this cold exterior there is the most loving and sensible person I have ever known. I mean, baby, you spent a whole day sulking because you forgot to water your plant.”

“You gave me that plant for my birthday, therefore he’s our child.”

“This is exactly my point, you have the biggest of anyone I have ever known. Unfortunately, you have been dealt a bad hand in life and I really don’t understand your obsession with taking over the world. But you’re not a monster.”

“I hurt people though, sometimes for fun.” He whispered against your skin. In the midst of your speech he had given in and circled his arms around your waist before burying his face into the crook of your neck. Leaving the two of you in an awkward and uncomfortable position.

“And who are those people?”

“Bad people.”

“Exactly baby, they’re the scum of the Earth and you have helped stop them.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t make me a hero. I’m just doing what you guys can’t do. On top of that Joshua’s super strength is useless, he only gets praised because he’s hot.” Wonwoo finished and raised his head, smirking. He sent you a playful wink, tears long forgotten, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Mingyu takes forever to get ready, but that’s besides the point. You’re not a monster so stop treating yourself like one.”

“Does that mean you forgive me?” He pouted batting his eyelashes at you.

“Yes you big idiot.”

“Then...why haven’t you kissed me yet?” He puckered his lips and made kissing noises, making you laugh. “Hey I’m waiting and you know I’m impatient.” He spoke through pouted lips as he leaned in closer, his lips hovered over yours teasingly until you finally caved and kissed him. He sighed happily against your mouth and deepened the kiss. He had spent five months without the feeling of your touch and it scared him that he would forget how it felt. Yet, now as he kissed you with everything in him he realized he hadn’t and it overjoyed him to the point in which he accidentally let out a moan; making you pull away quickly and eyeing him down.

“Control yourself, your sister, her friends and Vernon are here.” You scolded making him pout.

“I’m sorry, i just...I still remember the way you taste, and I got excited.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Before he could plant his lips on yours again he was met with your hand pushing him away. He whined as you tore his arms away from your waist, his body growing cold. “Nooo, one more kiss.” He reached out making grabby hands at you like a child. Instead of giving into what he wanted you turned and started walking away, “Wait, where are you going?” He stumbled against his own feet before following you.

“Home.” You looked over at him and stuffed your hands into the front pocket of your hoodie. “You have a grave to cover up with Vernon.”

“But I haven’t seen you in five months, just give me five more minutes please.”

“Wonwoo you just didn’t look hard enough baby.” You said giving him a knowing smirk before leaning over, giving him a chaste kiss on his cheek. He felt his eyes grow in realization as everything started to click in his head. If what you had hinted was the truth and you had shown up to every single sight he had caused trouble in, then he had to give it to you. You were a lot more clever than you led on. “Don’t think about it too hard, I’ll leave my window open for you.” You smiled widely giving his cheek a pat and disappeared through the trees.

“You live on the twenty fourth floor.” He yelled after you, his hands falling down at his side in defeat. He heard someone snort next to him and suddenly he remembered that Vernon was there silently observing everything, just like always did.

“Figure it out baby, you always do.”

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pinkispoggers · 4 years ago

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Cold Nights | Mando x Female!Reader

CHAPTER 1: HEAVEN IN THE HOT SPRINGS

Prompt: What if you were to take the place of frog lady, but only to change Din's life in a few days? To be the person he never knew he needed, and to you, to find out something about yourself that would change your life.

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, And unprotected sex

Word count: 4k

You had finally finished with your work for Peli Motto, but you needed a way home, and she couldn't directly provide that. She has left you to think or send someone you know a holo-message to get you out of here, but all your hard work lead up to no luck.

It’s has been 2 hours since your efforts took place and still nothing. You started to panic. Would you make it home in time for life day? Or would you be stuck on this musty, hot planet for the holidays?

Mid panic, you hear a familiar voice seeming to hold a tense conversation with what sounded like a male. A gruff but sweet voice that you were mesmerized by. You peek out to see a tall figure with shiny… beskar armor? You hadn't seen that in years! "Wow" you whisper and Peli turns her head to see you staring at the armor of this person. You hadn't even looked up to see the helmet and notice a Mandalorian. You look up slightly, then gasp. You had only heard stories of them when you were a child, but now you see one right in front of you. You are terrified, but you can’t stop the feeling inside of you; excitement.

“Well, C’mon now,” Peli says with delight. “My friend here is gonna get you home!” Peli smiled. You were very scared and shaky. You didn’t know how to react at this moment, but you slowly moved forward towards the two, feeling eyes all over your body. You knew a pair of those eyes were his. But it felt strange like he was not judging you, but he was more or less admiring you.

Peli had motioned to hop on the ship, and of course, you complied. You walk towards the big ship, wary of being judged for anything you were doing as you were unsure this was a good idea. A little green being is following right behind you. You hadn’t noticed until in cooded and startled you. “Oh, don’t worry about him,” Peli called. That also made you jump. “It’s just his kid.” She laughed. You thought for a minute before heading forward. His kid? His species? No, he was a giant, and that was merely a baby. It couldn’t be. You didn’t want to seem rude, but you needed to ask later.

You finally make it into the ship. Anxiety washes over you—another foreign location. The smell of the ship sent you into a daze. It smelt so… new. For an old model, of course. You felt like curling into a ball in the middle of the ship’s hull, but then he stepped in, careful not to scare you. He walked right past you, scooping the child into his arms, and you started to follow him for a reason you couldn’t precisely explain. He had nothing to say about it, which, to you, meant you should continue following him.

You get to the cockpit and sit yourself in the passenger seat, setting your luggage next to you. “Now im gonna ask you to stay strapped in whenever you’re seated. Traveling sublight is a bit dicey these days.” The Mandalorian speaks to you in a gruff voice while pressing some buttons. “Whether it’s pirates or warlords, someone either ends up with a nice chunk of change or your ship.” He goes on. You turn to face him, and he turns halfway to face you.

“Well, that shouldn’t spike my anxiety.” You whisper, hoping he wouldn’t hear, but he did. He was a reticent man if he wasn’t comfortable, but you didn’t know that, so being you, you try to start up a small conversation. “Sorry if that was rude. I don’t usually talk to people except for Peli.” You breathe. “It’s ok,” He says softly.

There's a long silence between you two, but the Mandalorian breaks it. “May I ask your name?” He askes quietly. “Oh yeah! It’s Y/N!” you say in a screech, happy that someone is interacting with you. “Alright, Y/n, Where are you from?” He asks happily. He had never been this comfortable with a stranger before. It was like he’s known you for all his life. Something about you made him so joyful like he could talk with you for hours. You could break through his mesmerizing beskar

“Oh me? Im from Trask, or that’s where im forced to live with my family cause I have nowhere to go…” you stutter. “Oh, well, I hope you’re happy there, Y/n.” He exclaimed, and you frowned, but he chose to start a quick conversation with you. You didn’t know, but this was rare for him to be talking to someone like this.

“Can I ask you something kind of personal?” He asks. “Yeah, go ahead.” You say with confidence. “Do you have a partner?” He asks. You sit there for a moment, trying to comprehend that question. “Im sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” “No, No! It’s ok! I’ve never had a partner… Have you?” you ask. “Yes,” he states. The way he says it made you want to jump. “Im sorry.” You cry, and he doesn’t answer. “So Im gonna hit the rack. I’ve set the nav for our course; it’s gonna take a while. I recommend you get some rest.” He laments as he gets out of his seat and glides past you, child in hand.

You just couldn’t sleep thinking about what he had asked. A partner? Why would he be wondering about that? No, he didn't think of you that way-- he couldn’t. But you did. You had barely known him for an hour, and you were already falling for him. Now you didn’t even want to go back home, but you knew that your family would be waiting for you. You wondered about him while slowly drifting off to sleep.

He is wide awake, stirring in his space. You. You were all he could think about. Your grace, your beauty. He had feelings for you that he could not deny. He sat there for an hour thinking only of you, of what you would look like under him. But he couldn’t think of you like that; he had just met you.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the loud beeps coming from the cockpit. "No," he breathed and ran to the cockpit.

You awake to hear a conversation between the Mandalorian and two unknown voices and immediately jump, but when you were about to speak, the ship went down fast. You let out a screech as you feel your insides being moved around from the pressure. He’s flying to the planet quickly, and you shout. “SHHH,” he shushes you loudly as he pilots the ship in between clouds.

It’s a beautiful sight, but this is not what you signed up for.

As the ship turns and shakes through the atmosphere, you turn and bounce. This is not fun for you. “Razor Crest, stand down. We will fire. I repeat, we will fire.” an anonymous voice says through the coms. Your stomach sank. You didn’t want to say anything to keep the Mando calm. But then it fell.

"MANDO-" You scream as the ship plummets. “Y/N NOT NOW,” The Mandalorian shouts, and your stomach twisted as the boat falls towards the planet. You tried to hold on to anything you could to study yourself, but as the Razor Crest fell, you couldn't. You were screaming down until you couldn’t scream anymore. The ship finally steadies itself and heads into a canyon with two x-wings following.

You start to hyperventilate; sure, now you were going to die until he finally sets into a divot in the side of the canyon, hitting every bump on the way. You are still hyperventilating, trying to calm yourself after everything that just went down. The Mandalorian pushes a few more buttons before shit hits the fan again. You sure the cracking of ice in the ship makes its way through it with a crash. You groan as it hits the ground, and you both pass out.

He slowly wakes up from the daze, only wanting to know if you are ok. He looks back on the floor where you lay and puts his arms under yours to lift you off of the cold steel ground, which you are freezing on. As he is grabbing you, you wake up and shout, thinking that you are in danger, to which he replies by setting you softly on a chair. “My luggage, my luggage!” you shout through teeth chattering. ‘I’ll find your luggage, don’t worry!” he replies. You whine and groan. “Gotta get you some blankets, keep you warm,” he called as he rushed out of the cockpit.

It’s been a minute, and he’s not back. You start to panic. "THAT LITTLE GREEN THING BETTER NOT BE IN MY LUGGAGE!" You call. "Don't worry; he’s not!" The Mandalorian lies.

~in the lower level of the ship~

You sit on your luggage with a warm blanket around you, feeling safe for the first time on this trip. The Mandalorian gives you and the little green creature something to eat and drink while he figures things out. “If you haven’t guessed, we're in a tight spot.” He exclaimed. “The main power drive is not responding, and the hull has lost its integrity. I suspect the temperature will drop significantly when night falls.” he goes on without letting you reply. “I’ll have a better idea of our prospects at that time.”

You aren’t listening to what he’s saying, but you try to be respectful, but that’s hard when he’s going on about things you have no interest in. You just nod your head and pull the blanket closer to your chest. He sits right next to you as you continue to watch the child eat. "We will figure everything out in the morning, but for now, I suggest you get some sleep." He yawns peacefully. The big-eared kid climbed onto his lap and cuddled with him. You were still surprised that one of the most feared killers in the galaxy could sleep, or keep a pet, for that matter. Well, everyone had a different life.

You settled on the cold steel of the ship’s floor, wrapping three blankets around you, hoarding them. Not like he would need them anyway. You barely slept. All you could think about was him and not being able to get enough warmth. You didn't exactly know what you were feeling towards him. It was something like an attraction, but you feared him. Maybe it was the fact that he towered over you, or perhaps it was that he is a Mandalorian. You had no idea, but all you knew is that you were pulled towards him, and he was letting off the same energy.

It was too cold where you were sitting and being you; you knew you needed to find more warmth. You desperately wanted to get heat from him but didn't want to invade his personal space like that, and it would be too awkward to ask him. You slowly got up from your now warm spot on the ground, careful not to wake him before morning when he would start trying to repair the Razor Crest. You sneak through the blanket he used to cover up the gaping hole in the ship and started your adventure.

You head out into the cold and noticed a large cave. You thought maybe the shelter would be warmer than the ship, so you run in. its a beautiful cave, lots of different paths that you were not ready to go down, but you chose one that leads to a beautiful place with what looked like rocks all around which gave you a bad vibe for some reason. But then you saw it. A hot spring. “Yes! Yes!” you bolt to it, stripping down into nothing and hopping in, ready to skinny dip into this pool. You get into the spring and immediately warm up. “Yesssss, this is it.” You say, as warmth traveled all down your body, and you felt amazing, but right when you were finally relaxed, “Y/N?!” a familiar voice called. Right when he did, you lowered the rest of your breasts underwater.

He finds you completely naked underwater but doesn’t mind. “Y/N, I know it’s warm, but it’s not safe here; we need to get back to the ship.” He sighs. A wave of confidence and comfort rushes over you, and you stand up in place, revealing your breasts to him. You couldn't see his face, but he was hypnotized like it was his first time seeing tits. He was just bathing in your trust, knowing he could take advantage at any time, but something told him not to.

You can no longer fight this feeling, but you were very unsure of your actions at this point. Did you want to go through with this? It was just going to be a quickie, right? He’s trying to be as respectful as possible, but to him, you are the perfect being, and he can not let this moment go to waste. He starts to fumble with his chest plate, soon getting it, with the rest of his armor except for his helmet off. “Mando?”

The armor was all off; now time for the suit. He struggled for a moment before pulling it all the way off. You quickly turned away, not wanting to look at him, trying to be respectful before he hopped into the spring. You turn back around to see nothing but his helmet and shoulders until he stood up. His full chest was showing now. You cower below him, unable to speak or move, admiring all the beautiful scars on his chest and the way his chest moved up and down when he breathed. He was so stunning. Right when you were about to speak, he pushed you up against the ice. "Mando i-" you say as his finger comes up to meat your plush lips.

He rips you from the ice and pulls you closer to him. "Mando im a virgin…" you whisper. "Oh, don't worry, I'll go easy on you." He cood. You reached out to try to touch him, to feel him before he could go any further on you. Your hands reached his sides, gliding your hands up and down his sides and over his stomach, feeling raised lines that could only be scars as you traced them up and down. But the temptation to take advantage of the situation was getting to you. So you followed your lower gut and started lowering your hand towards the pit of his stomach, earning a warning growl from deep in his throat. That just gave you an urge to go farther.

He slid his thigh in between your thighs, which almost touched your womanhood. You moaned softly, and in response, he purred. He admired your thighs most about your body, along with your beautiful breasts. I am very aware that you might not be able to take all of me. She didn't either…” you felt a little bit of jealousy now. “Who is “she”? Am I helping you cheat? What's going on, Mando?!” you hissed. “No need to get mad. She is my ex, it's fine.” he breathed “whatever you-” you were interrupted by a finger to your clit, circling in slow motions. “M- Mando i- oh yes,” you moan. He sped up a little more, taking that as clearance. You now were a moaning mess; you hadn't ever been touched like this by anyone but yourself. And you loved it.

“M- Mando, i-m close, im g-gonna cum!” you moan. You were on fire, feeling more alive than ever. “Cum for me. Cum.” His beautiful voice was enough to send you over an edge you had never reached before. You were quivering in front of him. So beautiful, the glow of your body overwhelming him, making his lust for you grow quicker.

Then you heard it, the grunting and slaps. He was… rubbing himself down, because of you? Your stomach burned and twisted with passion, ready to take him, all of him. What you didn't know is that he was long, precisely 8 inches, that you were not exactly prepared for as you could only take about 5. You were pulled out of your thoughts with the tip of his cock, pressed firmly against your slick folds. His hands gliding through your (h/c) hair, his thick fingers gliding along your stomach. “Please,” you beg. You wanted his thick cock to stretch you out. And when I say thick, it was big.“Now, I want you to scream for me, sweetheart.”

Before pressing the tip back at your entrance, with a sudden thrust, he was bottomed out. About half of him was buried inside of you, stretching you out to the max. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. The feeling of his cock overwhelmed you. You tried to move around him, feeling him hit your sweet spot, which made you clench hard around his oversized member, earning a loud groan from the Mandalorian.

He moaned, looking down at you, half of him already inside you, yet he wasn't able to go any further. He growled, easing himself into you, hoping you could take a little more of him. You tried to calm yourself, your stomach tightening, trying to take all of him. “Have I reached your cervix already?” he tried pushing even deeper. “M-Mando, stop,” you moaned “does that hurt now?” you nodded. He had to stop because he didn't want to lose your trust. He wanted one thing. For you to fall into subspace. He had fucked plenty of times in his life. But his goal was to get someone to trust him enough to fall into subspace, which he had failed before. He was way too dominant for someone to trust him fully. “Well, you will take all of me,” he grunted.

How? I'm too tiny. I can't.” you mumbled. “You can, and you will.” Mando chuckled. He slowly pulled out of you, trying not to hurt you. In response, you sighed. “I'm sorry.” you lamented. To which he smiled where you couldn't see “no need." He buried himself back into you and let you have a moment to get used to him, to stretch to his size without hurting you. “OH MANDO,” you scream as he finally fully sheaths himself into you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head like it was the first time. His thick cock stretching you out to the max and filling you up completely. “You're doing so well. Just hold on a little longer,” he whispered into your ear. These phrases were the only thing keeping you from splitting you in half. The pain turned into pleasure in an instant.

He started heavy, slow thrusts, gradually increasing his pace while keeping a finger on your bud. “Oh, Mando- M-MANDO a-AH,” you yell. You were a moaning mess under him, your legs shaking and convulsing. This earned a groan from his lips. He picked up the pace in both places. You were so close to cumming, to an edge, farther than you have ever gone to. His thrusting became even faster, hitting your g-spot every time until- “A-AH” you came, violently around his swollen member, making his member explode with loads of hot cum. “There we go.” he purred as he works you through this high.

He’s expecting your body to come down from this high already, but it doesn't. Then it hits him. You have fallen into subspace. He has never had a partner fall this far with him. He's scared. You are so vulnerable to him in this rare moment, but he is also honored that you trust him this much. You should have never trusted someone like him. “Where have you gone?” he grins.

He pulls out of you, feeling satisfied with his work. But he needed to get you back to the ship and fast because it was starting to get dark. He clothed you, still fading in and out of subspace consciousness, then himself, keeping an eye on you while he suited up.

He’s all done suiting up now, about to carry you back to the ship when “Patoo?” a little voice called. He turned his head to see the small, big-eared child. “No, no.” He barked at himself. The child shuffled over to where you were. Something was keeping Mando from stopping him. The child put his hand against your side, closing his eyes as to try to connect to you. You awakened hyperventilating. “M- Mando, we need to leave now!" You shout as he turns your way. "Ok, let's go then. do you need help?" He asks. "No, I think I'm fine but keep him away from those rocks… or eggs…" you mutter. "Eggs?!" He shouts. "Y/n we need to leave!" The Mandalorian adds.

You get up from where you lay with difficulty, and the Mando grabs the kid, who is running towards the eggs. You try your best to run, but the limp is taking over. You end up waddling out of the cave’s long tunnels, following the Mandalorian.

You make it out of the cave and back to the Razor Crest, entirely out of breath and holding on to your lower stomach for dear life. The bridge to the ship lowers, and you hop on, sitting on an empty crate. The Mandalorian went to grab some more blankets, leaving you with the child. You couldn’t help but stare into those big eyes and at those humongous ears. He was staring back into your beautiful eyes, trying again to talk to you, although you didn't understand what he was saying. He motioned for you to pick him up, so you scooped him into your arms.

You could hear babbles coming from the child, but he wasn't talking. It was more like thoughts. "What are you saying, kid?" You thought. But as you were about to try to speak to it, Mando came in with a few more blankets. "I'm sorry it took so long, but I found some if you need them." He said. You took the blankets with a simple thank you, and you continued to stare at the kid.

The night is rolling in fast, and you have the need to sleep, and so does he. You hop up with the child in hand, handing him back to the Mandalorian. You walked to the opposite side of him and lay down.

You're tossing and turning, not getting any sleep. You want to complain about how cold it is, but you knew that he already knows, plus, you don't want to seem rude. You're freezing, teeth chattering; none of these blankets would add up to the heat you desperately wanted. You thought about getting more blankets, but you already had 5, but then you had an idea, a horrible idea. Your mindset was based on your old hobby of stealing spice and trading with the Pykes. You were very sneaky. The only problem was the child was on his blanket.

You sneakily got on your knees and made your way over to the Mandalorian and his pet. Right when you were about to touch the blanket, "I know it’s cold, Y/n." He spoke in a more resonant voice than usual, and it startled you. "You should have said something." He lamented. "All the blankets in the galaxy couldn’t warm me," you snort. "Well, how about you come over here." He said boldly. "What?" You ask, not sure if you heard him right. "You can come over here if you want to Y/n," He repeated himself.

You slowly crawled over to him, not sure if this was ok. You were terrified. When you finally got to him, he lifted one of his blankets off of him and set it on you. You got closer to him every second until you felt his Beskar. It was so, so cold, but that didn't mean you would not lay on it. It took a minute, but the beskar heated up, and you were content. You buried your head below his neck, and he said not one word. "You are an angel, Y/n," he said in his deep, sleepy voice, and it scared you.

“Im no angel. You have no idea of my past,” you say groggily. “Well, to me, you are,” he spoke without hesitation. “Sure Mandalorian man, I barely know." You giggle. You scoot yourself closer to him, putting your arm on his chest and drift to sleep.

#din djarin #brown eyes #fanfic #mandalorian #smut fanfiction #smut #grogu #babyyoda #thechild #themandalorian #the mandolorian season 2 #mando #mando x reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x y/n

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talltales · 4 years ago

Photo

anonymous request!!

it starts with a notification.

norasdad has shared a playlist with you. click here to listen!

no message attached.

her thumb hovers over the glaringly green button situated at the center of the email, circling as she frowns at the screen and sips on coffee long gone cold. usually such things came with context—i thought you’d like this. that artist you like has a new album out!

something.

“why are you glaring at your phone?” comes a disembodied, muffled voice from her bed, from beneath layers of blankets. heating in the old dorms had always been spotty at best; you had to stand exactly three feet to the left of the bathroom door to feel anything resembling warmth, “your grades already in?”

she huffs, “no, i just turned everything in last night. and is that the kind of faith you have in me?”

a face finally peeks out of the mound atop her bed, all messed hair and bleary eyes. “if you didn’t have me to come and wake you up every morning, you would’ve flunked out for attendance issues in the first week.”

“ass.”

bambam laughs, and the melodious sound is just enough to ease the tension building behind her temples, “so,” he says, and she blinks a time or two before she glances down at the flagged message still sitting open on her screen.

“someone just sent me a playlist, that’s all. i’m overthinking it.”

not that deep.

from the corner of her eye, she catches him pausing; witnesses the look of unguarded comprehension that disappears as quickly as it comes. at first, she thinks it might be something as innocuous as empathy—

then he hides the lower half of his face behind the covers and she catches a glimpse of a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

her eye twitches, “you—come here.“

“me?” he echoes, scrambling backward as she moves toward the bed. his ankle catches in the cocoon of blankets, however, and he topples right off the edge with a heavy thump.

“ow. damn.”

dissatisfied with his escape, she reaches blindly into the mess and hauls him up by the collar, “what are you hiding? what do you know?”

he appears to contemplate what he'll say, taking long enough that she’s halfway through a list of simple but effective ways to get her answers when he finally speaks.

“i know that… playlists are the modern day mixtapes, right? love confessions, like—” bambam gives her a positively shit-eating grin and wiggles out of her grasp, “you should probably open it. maybe someone’s got it bad for you.”

and before she can think—let alone say—much else, he makes for the door and scoops his backpack up on the way out, “see ya!”

the door shuts quietly behind him, and she’s left alone with her own thoughts.

a modern day mixtape, huh.

—

at first, she ignores the message because the thought of opening it makes her stomach do some weird flipping thing that’s more off-putting than exciting.

who would be interested in her like that, anyways?

but eventually, the playlist—and all that it might entail—slips to the back of her mind as she falls headfirst into work at the end of the semester and anxiously waiting for news on the state of her GPA. she’s finishing her second cup of coffee and staring a hole through her phone when she hears a voice speaking beyond the fog, “…alright?”

“what?”

“are you alright?”

the man standing at her side is still and familiar, blocking the onslaught of a sun that is much higher in the sky than she remembered it being a moment ago, “jaebeom?”

“that’s my name,” he smiles, with a short gesture to the chair opposite her. it takes an embarrassingly long moment to register what he means to ask, but she nods and manages to wrangle the piles of papers cluttering the table into a haphazard stack.

“i’m sorry, of course. make yourself comfortable.”

just a second later, he eyes the mass of documents she’s cramming into her bag and winces. “did i interrupt you? i can—” already, he’s making to leave and instinct has her reaching to grasp his hand.

she only catches the tips of his fingers, but it’s enough to stop him short.

“the only thing you interrupted was my latest existential crisis. no worries.”

jaebeom makes a sound that could be a sigh or a chuckle—maybe a little of both—before he slumps back into the seat and shakes his head, “that sounds even more concerning.”

she shrugs and gives up on making the folders fit back into her bag. instead, she moves to drain the last dregs of her coffee from her cup, “it’ll pass. then i’ll be back to my everyday anxiety.”

if he’s put off by the topic, jaebeom doesn’t show it. instead, he leans forward and plants his chin in his palm—regarding her with something that can only be considered as open curiosity, “so what do you do? to deal with that?”

this time, any cognitive delay—she thinks—is because it’s an odd question.

“what do you mean?”

unfazed, he taps his fingers against his cheek and she makes absent-minded note of the distinct structure of his face. im jaebeom is unreasonably attractive.

and why is she thinking like that? stop. stop.

“i’m asking how you cope. do you listen to music?”

the reason for his curiosity clicks and she hums, amused, “are you trying to psychoanalyze me?”

her question's effect is immediate. his hands raise in a gesture of surrender, playful and earnest all at once, “i swear i’m not. i just noticed that you usually have headphones on. really, it was surprising that you didn’t today.”

oh.

had he tried to talk to her before? the thought is enough to summon a wave of guilt that she isn’t prepared for, and she finds herself bowing her head; fingers curling around her empty cup, “i’m sorry.“

“what for?”

her lips part to offer an answer, though some logical part of her mind warns her against it—overthinking, again—but finds everything skidding to a stop with a soft touch to her chin, nudging it up until her focus is trained on the man opposite her.

he speaks gently, but firmly, “whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

though he seems to catch himself and pulls his hand back; settles it palm down on the old cafe table, “sorry.”

the warmth of his touch lingers.

“i think,” she takes a moment to gather her thoughts; to test the words out on her tongue before she says them, “that we both should stop apologizing, for like, five minutes.”

jaebeom laughs, and the sound is sharp; unguarded and music to her ears.

—

“since when do you wear perfume?”

she stares as bambam sniffs the air through the mirror, chin lifting just enough that she momentarily considers throttling him where he stands, “since when does it matter?”

“you’re answering a question with a question.”

she pinches the bridge of her nose, prays for patience. surely something or someone up there is listening—“tell me why you’re here again.”

“because you came to understand... years ago that you can’t live without me. i’m basically the angel on your shoulder.” as he makes this declaration, bambam loops his arm around her and squeezes hard. “or the devil. whatever. so, who is it?”

“who is who?” for the moment, she leaves him be—raising her hand to pluck a few more stray hairs from her brows, “you’re going to have to be more specific. i know more than one person.”

and there it is. the smug smile that says bambam knows more than he’s telling. he toys with the ends of her hair, looping a few strands around his fingertip, “you can play this game with me, but i hope you know i’ll win.”

as much as she wants to brush his words off another instance of him being full of it, the quiet certainty that he possesses is enough to stop her.

“if you say so.”

“mmm,” gamely, he pats her shoulder before he turns to exit, “tell jaebeom i said hi.”

“get out!”

—

it isn’t like that.

the extent of her time spent with him is strolling through the aisles of a forgotten record shop downtown. for all of his dedication to the art of psychology, jaebeom is equally steadfast in his love for obscure music. thumbing through old vinyls is his pastime, and consequently what she finds herself doing on the odd thursday afternoon.

in place of his usual, proper slacks and button-up, jaebeom wanders the store in jeans and tank-top—carefully keeping in line with the oscillating fan on the wall as if it’s a shield from the descending summer heat. to his credit, the old building doesn’t appear to have working a/c and it may as well be.

she takes a moment to make sure her sundress is covering the essentials when the fan blows her way and continues flipping through the stacks, “what are we looking for again?”

when she turns back, he’s watching her with a bemused smile.

“nothing specific, but you’ll know.”

following my heart, am i?

jaebeom chuckles, and she realizes the thought has slipped out. loudly. embarrassed, she makes a show of inspecting the nearest vinyl until the heat in her cheeks fades.

“that’s the idea,” he says, but the confirmation nearly escapes her notice when she actually looks at the record in her hands.

“hey, i think i found something,” the lettering is small, but the focus of the cover art is the picture itself; a man in the forefront with a cigarette propped between his lips, and another with a match, reaching up from an endless crowd to light it, “ann arbor blues festival—”

she squints; pauses when she feels a hand settle on the curve of her spine.

“1969.” jaebeom murmurs, tracing the edge of the sleeve with a charming sort of reverence. his thumb catches on the hem of her cardigan before raising to wrap around her shoulder in a half-hug, “yeah, you found something.”

when he smiles, she recognizes the wild fluttering of her heart for what it is.

“great.”

—

“so what do you do with all these records?” she asks between taking sips of flavored, crushed ice—sickly sweet piña colada—and watching him sort through their finds for the day. without any discernible system, he sorts them into three neat stacks and makes notes in a worn paper pad.

“i make playlists,” jaebeom says without a glance, flipping to the next page before he stills mid-sentence and gives her a look, “after a month, now you ask?”

deadpanning, she drains an eighth of the enormous cup before she responds.

“i’m not a curious person.”

his expression turns thoughtful, but before she asks, jaebeom nods and returns to his task. the stillness that follows is more disconcerting than she’s accustomed to—with him, at least—and she finds herself speaking merely to break it, “you should send me one.”

it isn’t the right thing to say, if the clenching of his jaw is any indication. his fingers splay over the page, and his lips move silently as he reads back the information that is a foreign language to anyone but him, “sure.”

he doesn’t look at her again, and she leaves with the distinct and terrible feeling that she’s screwed something up.

—

“so how’s it going with our favorite psych major?”

“do you ever just say hi?” she peers at her wholly unwelcome guest over the lid of her laptop, more than a little testy, “how are you? et cetera.”

the picture of cool, calm, and unaffected, bambam takes a seat at the edge of the bed; brow raised and a hand combing through his bleached, silvery hair, “you look lovely today. the weather’s nice. are we ready to get to why you look like someone kicked your puppy?”

as satisfying as it might be to deny him this, she releases a heavy sigh and closes the old device. the empty word document goes black and with it, any remaining desire she had to get something—anything—done, “i think i fucked up.”

his head tilts, lips curving softly.

“you’re going to have to be specific. you fuck up a lot.”

she exhales; the laugh that escapes is short-lived, but it doesn’t feel hollow, “thanks for that.”

there’s a hand in her hair, and where she expects bambam to make a mess of it, he carefully guides each stray strand behind her ears before moving to her shoulders, “anytime.”

her stomach is tying itself in knots by time she finds the words. they trip over her tongue as she tries to assemble them into something that will make sense to him—to her.

“i like jaebeom. i really like him, and for a while i thought that maybe...“ preemptively, she swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand and finds them—thankfully—dry, “he felt the same way, but now i’m not so sure. i think—“

the hand sliding up and down her arm goes strangely still.

“wait,” bambam blinks at her, and for the first time, he actually looks baffled.

she stares back, “what?”

“you… didn’t open the playlist, did you?”

when she shakes her head, he mirrors the gesture with a small, pitying smile that she feels settle in her gut like lead.

“oh my god.”

—

playlists are the modern day mixtapes, right? love confessions.

jaebeom is surprisingly evasive when he wants to be. he is conspicuously absent from his usual haunts; searches of the library, the cafe, and the record shop turn up little more than the vague maybe i saw him?

it’s thursday, though, and maybe he’ll make an appearance for his afternoon vinyl-hunt.

hopefully, he isn’t compiling a new playlist for someone else.

if she wasn’t panicking at the thought of never seeing im jaebeom again, she’d be pissed that he had quickly turned her life into some bad 90s romcom.

and she’s a half-step from throwing her hands up and crawling back into the shelter of her many, many blankets when she spots him making his way through the slowly thinning lunch crowd.

again, he’s dressed for the summer heat; a sight now as familiar as the friendly, disarming student she’d known for years, in the strange sort of way that you could know someone through mere exposure.

it was a bit like watching the same train pass your house every day and knowing the graffiti on each car by heart.

her feet carry her to the front door and she meets him there—a little out of breath, but grasping the handle before he reaches it. the thundering in her ears is distracting, but no more so than the brush of his fingertips against the back of her hand before he quickly retracts it—

“i need to talk to you,” she says to his reflection in the glass. it frowns, lips pressing into a thin line, and she swallows her dread and turns to face him fully, “we can have this conversation here, if you want. but i don’t think you do.”

the latter part comes out as a whisper, as if the battery fueling her courage is all used up.

“lead the way,” jaebeom takes a step back, offering an uncertain smile—either nervous or pained, it’s hard to tell—that she holds in mind as she crosses the street and heads toward the park.

on a weekday, there is no one on the swings. the most frequent visitors are retirees speed-walking down the trails and the occasional dog walker.

at the first shaded bench they reach, she drops onto the seat and glances up at her unmoving companion. the intensity of his attention gives her pause; makes her want to curl into herself until she manages to get what she needs to say out.

like ripping off a bandaid, maybe?

“i found the playlist you sent me.”

jaebeom tenses, in the nearly imperceptible way that says he’s bracing himself. maybe to hear some unpleasant truth, maybe to walk away. but it doesn’t really matter which one it is, when both options are so unpleasant.

she reaches up and takes hold of his hands, squeezing until she feels like he gets it. jaebeom doesn’t reciprocate, but he does move closer and that’s enough.

for now.

“hear me out, please.”

swallowing, she tilts her head back and focuses on him; cutting a figure against the sun and shade—colored in shades of green reflected from the trees overhead. he is still unreasonably beautiful.

“i didn’t ignore it because i disliked you, or anything. honestly, i didn’t know what to make of it because who does that—“ jaebeom sucks in a breath, and belatedly she shuts her mouth with a sharp click that she feels in her jaw, “that’s not what i meant to say. i—stay still.”

when she summons enough courage to look at his face, his expression is purely one of embarrassment, though for himself or for how badly she’s botching this remains to be seen.

“i like you. in fact, i’m probably in love with you and before you respond, i don’t think you can say anything about how i’m doing this when you confessed through a spotify playlist.”

when jaebeom pulls his hands out of her grip, she prepares herself for any one of the scenarios she’d imagined while trying to hunt him down; he says nothing. leaves. he cusses her out and then leaves.

the scenario that she doesn’t dare to imagine is the one that presents itself; in the slide of his fingertips over her cheek, a careful touch that makes her alarmingly delicate pulse flutter around like a bird in a cage.

in the silence that follows, she basks in the contact; tilts her head to lean into his palm until his lips meet the corner of her mouth. once, then twice.

“you liked the playlist.” jaebeom whispers, and she feels him smile; hears the heady sound he makes that barely passes for a laugh, “i made it, but you liked it.”

his giddiness is echoed in her, she thinks, threading her fingers through his hair and pulling him down to kiss him fully and breathe his air because now—right now

hers isn’t good enough.

“shut up, norasdad.”

—I KNOW THE IDEA ISN'T NEW TO FALL IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE ON FIRST VIEW BUT I DON'T CARE I THINK I'LL FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU I'LL PUT ON MY SUNDAY BEST YOU PICK OUT YOUR FAVOURITE DRESS I'LL TAKE YOU SOMEWHERE NEW I'LL BE OLD-FASHIONED FOR YOU

#member + prompt #request #jaebeom fanfic #got7 fanfic

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barnesandrogersfanfics · 5 years ago

Text

Home - Part 22

A/N - So this is the last part my lovelies! (Well there will be an Epilogue) i just want to thank everyone who has kept with this til the end and for all the love you’ve shown. 💕

"Buck, i cant stop looking at them" i smiled down at my two boys laying side by side in the hospital cot.

"I know, their perfect" he beamed before turning and kissing me "you did so good baby"

"I didn't do anything, i didn't even know what was going on!" I chuckled, when they took me down to the OR the babies heart rates dropped suddenly and they had to give me a general anaesthetic and get them out quick.....when i woke up again i had my two boys.

"You did everything! You carried them for the last... what, 8 months? You've kept them safe and healthy"

"I guess i did do that, I've got the stretch marks to prove it" i rolled my eyes.

"we still need names, we can't just keep calling them 'the boys' you know"

"Mmmhmm okay but can we talk about it after i sleep?" I asked covering my mouth as i yawned.

"Sure doll, you get some sleep"

"You'll watch them?"

"Of course, Steve will probably be in here in a minute he was so excited" Bucky shook his head and laughed.

"Okay, Just let me sleep for an hour and wake me up okay?"

"You got it".

When i woke up again i looked over to see Bucky sat with his eyes closed, both boys sleeping on his chest. He wasn't asleep just resting his eyes, his thumbs gently stroking over their tiny legs as they slept soundly. It was the most beautiful sight ive ever seen, i couldnt help but reach for my phone and snap a photo.

Yes im gonna be that mom who takes photo's of everything! Don't judge me!

"What are you doing?" He asked opening one eye and looking at me suspiciously.

"Taking a photo of my boys" i smiled "i told you to wake me up in an hour Buck, how long did i sleep? Its dark out!"

"4/5 hours" he shrugged casually "enjoy it while you can doll, you wont sleep well for a while"

"Unless they take after their mama and like their sleep too? God i hope they do!"

"Their gonna need a feed, you feeling up to it?"

"Yeah".

Bucky got up and carefully passed me one of the twins while he kept the other close to his chest and sat back down.

"His so tiny.... i feel like i'm gonna break him" i said as i lowered my gown and tried to get the baby to latch onto my breast "He latched on straight away.... oh my god this is so weird..."

"Thats my boy" Bucky winked making me laugh quietly so i didn't disturb the baby.

"So names..... i was thinking Steven and Samuel as middle names? Both of them are important to us" i said looking down at the baby in my arms.

"I love that idea, they'll love that too"

"Is Steve gonna Cry?"

"Probably" Bucky chuckled knowing what his friend was like.

"Okay and first names?"

"How about Thomas....After your dad? I know you miss him" Bucky suggested.

"I really do, i wish my mom and dad were here to see this" i quickly wiped a tear away "Thomas Samuel Barnes?"

"I like it doll"

"Me too" i smiled looking down at the larger of the boys in my arms "i think this is Thomas"

"Okay and now for this little man"

"How did we not decide on names before today?" I shook my head.

"Because we've had our hands full with the girls and Jack's case.... we thought we had more time" Bucky shrugged before getting up and switching out the babies.

"I don't really know what names i like"

"Me either, i didn't think it would he this hard to name them" i said as i got comfy with the next baby.

"You know just before the girls went to bed i heard Allie talking to the bump again.... how do you feel about Theodore?" I asked raising an eyebrow questioningly "thats what she called one of them.... we could call him Theo or Teddy for short?"

"Theodore Steven Barnes? It kinda works" he nodded "for the record i'll probably never call him Theodore"

"It doesn't surprise me babe, the girls rarely get called by their full names either"

"Thats true"

"So are we agreed?"

"I think we are" he grinned as he got settled with Thomas again.

"Did Steve come see them while i was sleeping?"

"Yeah but only for 10 minutes, i didn't want to disturb you.... plus visiting hours where nearly up. His coming back up later with the girls though, then his gonna take them home and watch them til we're aloud to go home"

"Sounds perfect, i miss my girls already"

"Im sure their missing you too"

"Their probably too busy with Auntie Becca to care" i smiled over at Bucky who was shaking his head.

"Okay Teddy is done, can you take him please.... i think i need some more pain relief"

"Sure doll" he laid Thomas in the cot and took Teddy from me before sitting back down to winding him.

I held a hand to my stomach and winced as i pressed the call button for the nurse.

"Your gonna be feeling that for a while doll, your gonna have to take it easy too. Let me help you with things"

"I'll be fine...."

"You will take it easy and let yourself heal"

"But Bucky you cant look after the girls and newborn twins on your own! I can't just sit around and do nothing...."

"You can and you will, Ive already spoken to Steve and his gonna come stay with us until your better"

"Okay, its not like he isn't always there anyway. I sometimes wonder if he actually lives with us and i just don't know about it"

"You don't mind that Steve's around alot do you?"

"Course not, i love Steve"

"Good, you'd tell me if you had a problem with it?"

"You know i would"

"Ms Y/L/N, how you feeling?" One of the nurses smiled as she walked into the room.

"I need something for the pain, other than that im good" i smiled at her.

"Okay lets see what i can do about that".

It was about an hour later when Steve walked in with Becca and the girls.

Steve came straight over to me and placed a kiss on the top of my head, Rosie was cuddled up to him but held her arms out to me as he leaned down.

He let her down to lay beside me and she instantly cuddled up to me.

"Hey mama, how you feeling?" Steve asked.

"Im doing okay, sore.... but its worth it"

"Their beautiful" he nodded looking down into the cot beside me we're they both slept.

"Congratulations you guys, their beautiful" Becca smiled hugging Bucky before getting a closer look at the babies.

Brooke and Allie stood with Bucky looking down at Thomas and Teddy.

"Girls, these are your baby brothers" Bucky said quietly to them and they smiled.

"Their so tiny"

"What are their names?" Allie asked turning to look at Bucky.

"Well this one, this is Thomas" he pointed to the bigger twin "and this is Theodore" he pointed to the smaller one, Allie gasped and looked up at me.

"I knew it!.... i knew that was his name!"

"Okay can i hold one now?" Steve asked practically bouncing on the spot making us laugh at him.

"Sure Steve, hey Buck why don't you let him hold Teddy first?"

"Sure doll" he carefully lifted Teddy and placed him in Steve's arms "this is Theodore...."

"I know that Y/N just said so"

"Theodore Steven Barnes"

"What!? Are you serious?" He said his eyes going wide.

"Yeah pal"

"Guys...." he said with tears in his eyes "i dont know what to say"

"Told you he would cry" Bucky chuckled and Steve gave his his best bitch face.

"If i wasn't holding Teddy id kick your ass"

"Yeah whatever pal"

"Language! Uncle Steve!" Brooke said with wide eyes as she turned to look at him.

"You said a bad word Uncle Stevie!" Allie added making us all laugh.

"Yeah Uncle Steve you said a bad word! Don't be saying bad language words around my kids"

"God your such a mom already"

"Y/N?" Allie said walking over to the side of my bed.

"Yeah babe?"

"Does this mean your our mom too?"

I looked over at Bucky who shrugged with a smile, i knew he was telling me it was my choice what i told her.

"Yeah Allie, i'm your mom too..... if you'll have me?"

"Really??" Brooke asked coming to stand beside Allie.

"Yeah"

"And... can we call you mom?"

"You can if you want to, whatever your comfortable with" i smiled brushing a piece of hair back from her face.

"Im gonna call you mom" Allie said casually before running back to her dad who was smiling as he listened to our conversation.

"You guys are gonna make me cry again" Steve said sniffling from the chair in the corner.

"I think i might join in this time too" Becca added quickly wiping a tear from her face.

After spending the longest two days in the hospital the boys and i were finally aloud to go home. It was the best feeling being back home, knowing i had Bucky and all my babies under one roof and plus Bucky and Steve had been amazing.

They wouldn't let me do much though.....They'd even carry me upstairs!! I was now managing to walk around by myself, slowly, but i was on the mend.

Sam and Wanda came to visit us the day we got home, Sam had actually cried when we told him Thomas's middle name.... even though he tried to hide it.

Wanda had sat cooing at the twins for hours and saying how much she couldn't wait to meet her little bundle of joy.

I was sat in bed just finishing the feeds, Bucky was next to me holding Teddy, the girls were asleep on the bottom of the bed, we'd been watching Aladdin and they had all fallen asleep halfway through. I smiled as Aladdin and Jasmine were singing about 'A Whole New World' realising my whole world was in this room, i never thought id be this happy.

"You okay doll? You seem a million miles away" Bucky asked pressing a kiss to my lips.

"Yeah, just thinking about how lucky i am that i met you. You've made me the happiest woman in the world Buck.... you gave me 3 beautiful girls and my handsome boys, who already look so much like their daddy by the way!" Bucky chuckled as he laced his free hand with mine "i love you baby"

"I love you too, i couldn't ask for a better mama for our kids" he smiled bringing my hand to his mouth and kissing my fingers "marry me?"

"What??...." i looked at him with wide eyes "did you just...."

"Yeah" he nodded with a huge smile on his face "make me the happiest man in the world and say yes?"

"Are you sure...? I mean i dont want you asking just cause we're having a moment...."

"Doll, this isn't just me being in the moment i promise" he said leaning over to the drawer in his bed side cabinet. When he turned back to me he had a black velvet box in his hand "ive had this for a while, i was just waiting for the right time"

"Buck...." i gasped feeling my heart racing as he opened the box to reveal the most beautiful ring id ever seen.

"What do you say doll? will you marry me?"

"Yes!! A hundred times yes!" I smiled with happy tears as he slipped the ring onto my finger and kissed me.

"Its you and me doll, always"

"I think i'm okay with that".

Home taglist: @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @lumar014

@bbmommy0902 @past-perfect-future-tense @heathens-takeitsl0w @captainchrisstan @ladymelissastark @93generation @sebastianstansqueen @oceansxpurple @Imjstaghoststory @rainbowkisses31 @superavengerpotterstar @cap-just-said-language @booktease21 @ms-betsy-fangirl @wildest-dream- @michelehansel @thummbelina @abbylizy @sweetlittlegingy @lorabem @barnesandrogersworld @dumblani @broco8 @xxloki81xx @keithseabrook27 @jesseswartzwelder @saiyanprincessswanie @stormi-ames @death-unbecomes-you

#reader insert #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers #chris evans #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #home

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grasslandgirl · 4 years ago

Note

oooo i sent it more as a fix prompt but also from one adhdhead to another i’m glad we agree!! thinking about sam and peter study dates

ahhhh fvbjsjvkbjf im so dumb i’m sorry i saw “adhd sam” and my brain just yelled YEAH. RADICAL. and that was it kjdvskfj

that being said i’ve been haunted by ricky montgomery’s Line Without a Hook + eldonado since yesterday so........ hmmm.... (oh no this got wildly out of hand)

-----------

Peter threw himself wholeheartedly into anything he worked on. It was just how he was built. Peter was either on or he was off, and it was hard to get him to change course once he was en route. Head down, eyes narrowed, his whole body angled down at his computer like if he got his face close enough to the screen, it would start streaming information right to and from his brain. His hair would flop, unnoticed, into his eyes and he would shove his glasses so far up his nose that Sam would worry he was going to bruise his nose.

All this to say, of course, that study dates were something of an occupational hazard when you were best friends with Peter Maldonado.

And also secretly in love with him.

Well, mostly-secretly. Secretly to Peter, and probably only Peter, because Sam was 90% sure everyone else was in on the secret and knew how hopelessly gone Sam was for his oblivious best friend. Gabi was the only one who ever said anything to him about it, though. So, little victories.

Finals were looming over their heads like a dark storm cloud. Looming on the horizon, fucking with barometric pressure just enough to make everyone jumpy and nervous. Peter worked well under pressure- which was a good thing, because Sam knew Peter put more pressure on himself than anyone else did- but he would always show up the night before a big exam and demand that Sam help him study. It was so commonplace after seven years of friendship that Sam didn’t question it anymore. Mostly.

There was always that small, hopeful, and nervous voice in the back of his head asking why Peter always studied with Sam when he studied just as well on his own. The only answer he could think of was that Peter knew Sam studied better with him there. But that wasn’t- that couldn’t- Sam always shut that annoying little voice down before it spiraled any further.

It didn’t do anyone any good to overcomplicate things that were objectively very simple. Peter liked routine, they were best friends, Sam was the only one who could talk Peter down from an academics-induced panic attack at 2 in the morning the night before a final exam. 2 + 2 = 4. Simple math.

Sam was slumped on his back, halfway falling off his bed with his head and shoulders draped over the side of his mattress. The notebook he was supposed to be reviewing was abandoned, sitting on his stomach. Peter was sitting at Sam’s desk, leaned over and scowling at his laptop.

It was unfair, really, how pretty Peter looked illuminated by the blue-white light of his notes document. Sam had the perfect view of Peter’s upside down profile, all furrowed eyebrows and clenched jaw and dark hair that’d had hands run through it too many times. It was late and Sam’s brain was wrung out and exhausted, only able to focus on Peter’s expression as he mouthed whatever obsolete moment in history he was trying to commit to memory, and the looping chorus of a Carly Rae Jepsen song he’d had stuck in his head for the last two hours.

A big part of being friends with Peter Maldonado was knowing when to draw the line.

“Pete, dude.” Peter looked up, blinking away the lines of notes Sam could almost see in his eyes. “It’s the middle of the night. Either we know it or we don’t at this point.”

“You think we should cut our losses?”

“I know you can survive on three hours of sleep and five cups of coffee, dude, but I can’t.” Sam tapped himself on the forehead. “This baby needs r&r or I can’t fucking function.”

“Right, right. What time is it?”

Sam sat up- an impressive showcase of his abs that Peter didn’t notice, of course- and dug around in his rumpled comforter for his phone. “12:30.”

Peter sighed heavily, tipping his head back against the headrest of Sam’s computer chair. “I should go home.”

“Dude. Just-” Sam was his own worst enemy sometimes- “just spend the night.”

“Yeah? Your moms won’t mind?”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure they assumed that’s what was happening when you showed up after dinner.”

It was probably just a weird reflection from the computer light on one of Sam’s posters onto Peter’s face. There was no way that Peter was blushing.

“Anyway,” he continued, shoving his textbook and notes off of his bed instead of looking at Peter, “I’m gonna drive you tomorrow anyway, right? Saves me a trip.”

Peter closed his laptop with a soft click. “Yeah, sure, if it’s not-”

“It’s cool, dude, don’t be weird. Just two bros-”

“Chilling in a hot tub?”

Sam prayed Peter couldn’t see the hot blush he felt rising to his cheeks. Five feet apart cause they’re not gay. “Whatever you want, dude.”

Peter knew Sam was gay. He was the first person Sam had come out to- followed closely by Gabi and his moms. But there was a difference, Sam was sure, to having your best friend be gay versus having your best friend be gay and in love with you. An invisible line in the sand that would shift their relationship forever. Sam didn’t want to test how that shift would happen. Didn’t want to risk losing his best friend on the off chance that he wasn’t alone.

“Right.” Peter repeated.

They went to bed in pieces: Sam pulling on an old pair of sweatpants and throwing one to Peter, Peter neatly stacking all his notes on one corner of Sam’s desk, Sam kicking all his schoolwork to the edges of his bedroom floor as opposed to the middle of it, Peter brushing his teeth with the same toothbrush he’d kept in the Ecklund house since they were ten, Sam turning off all the lights, Peter wandering back into his bedroom, Peter’s hair turning to gold and ink in the faint streetlight coming in from the window, the two of them curling up back to back in Sam’s bed just like they always did.

And then it was dark and quiet and all Sam could hear was the faint sound of Peter’s breathing beside him. The warmth from Peter’s back mere inches from Sam’s. They’d fallen asleep next to each other a million times, but Sam still felt electric with the proximity. How easy it would be to just- stretch his legs out and wind his feet with Peter’s, to flip over and press his nose into the soft place where his hairline met the back of his neck, to whisper something hopeful and mortifying into the still night air and hear Peter’s breath catch in silent response.

Sam stayed still, held himself perfectly motionless lest he finally show his hand. And eventually, they both fell asleep.

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

Peter woke up surrounded by Sam. The pillow he’d pressed his face into smelled like Sam’s hair and the sheets on his bed were the same tacky Star Wars ones he’d been so proud of in the seventh grade and the bed was warm with Sam’s body next to him. For an instant, Peter let himself consider it: waking up next to Sam like this every day. Falling asleep with his arms wrapped around Sam and waking up with his head on his chest.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the glaring dawn light, and against the daydream that quickly threatened to spin out of control. He could still hear Sam’s sleep heavy breathing behind him.

Slowly, Peter sat up in bed, pushing his hair out of his face and scrounging the nightstand as quietly as he could for his glasses. He allowed himself a single glance at Sam- sleep soft and sprawled out on the bed, his hand inches from where Peter’s shoulder had been, like he’d been reaching out in his sleep- before standing up and grabbing his phone from where he’d left it charging on the desk.

“Sam.” Peter poked his shoulder. “Sam.”

He groaned incoherently, but rolled over, which was a good sign.

“You have to get up, dude.”

“Breakfast?” Sam mumbled.

“Yeah,” Peter laughed a little, “I’m sure your mom’s making breakfast.”

“Urrgghhh.”

Peter grabbed the clothes he’d left in the corner the night before and pulled an old t shirt out of Sam’s closet. “I’m stealing a shirt.”

“Oh,” Sam said, half sitting up and blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “Yeah- good, okay.”

“I’m gonna go-” Peter gestured weakly towards the door, and beyond it, the bathroom. Sam peered up at him, the light from the window hitting his face in a single pane, like something out of a sun-soaked French movie. Like this was the moment where one of them broke the uncertainty, the silence. Peter could see the scene unfolding in his mind’s eye, like he’d seen it a hundred times. He’d say something like, did you sleep well? And Sam would answer, better with you here, and Peter would oh-so-slowly close the distance and drop his jeans to the floor and Sam would arch up and meet him halfway and the camera would pan away, leaving them both washed in the golden early-morning light. “Bathroom. I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Peter said, and closed the bedroom door behind him.

He splashed water on his face and combed through his hair with his fingers, throwing on yesterday’s jeans and Sam’s t shirt under his sweatshirt and hoping it wasn’t obvious to anyone else how badly Peter wished every morning could be like this.

He left the bathroom quickly and perched on the edge of Sam’s bed, scrolling through twitter while Sam did his hair in the bathroom.

Breakfast was quiet and normal and filled with the usual mini-dramas in the Ecklund house. Kara didn’t want PB&J for lunch and one of Sam’s moms left the flat iron on in their bathroom and Leah almost burned the eggs and Sam spent half of breakfast finishing the math homework he’d almost forgotten he had.

Sam drove them both to school early for the Morning Show, laughing and singing along to his “perfectly composed drive to school playlist,” and the rest of the day went on normally. He took his history test and saw Sam in math class and they sat with Ming and Randall and Phil at lunch.

But all the while, Peter couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. He’d had... feelings for Sam for a while, unquantifiable and nebulous. He’d categorized them all: the way his stomach twisted when Sam smiled at him crookedly, the skipped beat of his heart when Sam slung his arm around Peter’s shoulders, how his hands got clammy when he caught Sam watching him out of the corner of his eye, how he always found ways to hangout during and after school. But he’d never dared to name the feeling. Defining it meant- meant he should do something about it. Made it real.

But that morning, waking up next to Sam, borrowing his t shirt to wear to school, falling asleep next to each other- they were all things they’d done a million times before. Peter’s chest ached with the normalcy, the domesticity of it.

Peter’s fingers itched to try and piece it all together, his feelings and Sam’s and their history together. String it all together on a corkboard until it made sense. But Peter knew it wouldn’t work. Not without Sam there to see the bigger picture in the first place. It’s why they worked so well together; Peter would gather and organize all the information, but Sam was the one that knew how to put it together, knew how to see the forest from the trees in a way Peter never could on his own. Even if he tried to map out the snarl of feelings in his chest, Peter knew he’d be left with a labyrinth of post-its and red string without Sam there to untangle it for him.

Dramatic irony, he supposed.

Peter caught the bus home, Sam had something for theatre after school, and spent the entire ride with his music turned as high as it would go, trying not to think about Sam as he stared out the window.

The problem, Peter realized, with being a self-professed movie lover, is that your brain starts to treat life like a movie. He could imagine a dozen different ways his life could spiral out from this moment, a dozen different movie time-lines he could find himself in. The tragedy, where he never tells Sam and lives his entire life in uncertainty. The drama, where he tells Sam and it tears their friendship apart. The tragic love story, where he and Sam are together and happy until they’re not. The comedy, where Sam laughs him off and they go back to their friendship with a tiny crack between them, spackled over with laughter that’s just a little strained.

The romantic comedy, where everything goes perfect and they ride out into the sunset.

Life wasn’t like the movies, though, nothing ever went as simple or as straightforward or as cinematic. There isn’t a director behind the camera who can call cut and change the scene halfway through. There aren’t any sweeping cinematic shots with atmospheric indie pop playing in the background.

It was just Peter, and Sam, and the creeping uncertainty hanging between them.

Right before dinner that night, Peter got a text from Sam.

sam: thanks for the study help last night, felt good about the test today

sam: don’t stress i know youre freaking out about it too

sam: you did great on the test pete i know it

Peter blinked at his phone, at the unspoken I know you hidden inbetween the lines. Sam knew him better than anyone, knew his habits and his worries and his annoying little tendencies. And he was still there.

And that, Peter realized, said more than anything else.

Love wasn’t a panoramic of a passionate kiss at sunset. It was knowing someone, learning them backwards and forwards, all the good and the bad pieces of them. It was staying, not despite everything, but because of it.

Peter loved him. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

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

The doorbell rang at the end of dinner. Sam rushed to get to the door before his sisters- if he was lucky, it was their batty old neighbor Mrs Gorschtt and she would prattle on for fifteen minutes about her cat, shove a cake into Sam’s hands, and get him out of having to help clean the kitchen.

But when he opened the door, it wasn’t Mrs Gorschtt standing on the front porch, it was Peter.

“Hey, dude, what’s up? We don’t have like a math test tomorrow I blanked on, do we?”

“Huh?” Peter blinked at him, “No, no.”

“So, what’s up?” Sam stepped out onto the porch beside Peter, closing the front door behind him. Maybe he could still get out of washing the dinner dishes.

“Uh- so, the thing is-” Peter muttered, twisting one of the strings from his hoodie between his fingers. Sam’s stomach dropped; something was wrong. Peter was nervous, uncertain about something. He wasn’t looking Sam in the eye, and he had one arm wrapped around his stomach like a shield. His head started spinning with a million different things Peter could be upset about, but the thing Sam kept coming back to- he knew.

Somehow, Peter had finally figured him out. And he was coming to tell Sam- what? That they couldn’t be friends anymore? That Sam had made it weird?

“Pete-” Sam started, trying to cover his bases, trying to fix this before his best friendship in the world went up in flames.

“You’re the only one who calls me that.” Peter interrupted, finally looking at Sam.

“What?”

“Pete. You’re the only one.”

“I- we’re friends, dude, I’m allowed to have nicknames.” Sam tried to laugh, but it sounded forced, even to his ears.

“I- I know,” Peter’s eyebrows were furrowed, and he was staring at Sam like he was a page of history notes he was trying to memorize. “I got your text.”

“Oh, uh okay.”

“Sammy, I uh, I have to say something, and I want you to promise you’ll let me finish.”

Sam’s stomach dropped even further. Here it was. The end of everything. “Right,” he tried to smile at Peter, “sure dude, whatever you need.”

Peter nodded. “You’ve been my best friend since the fifth grade. You know all of my secrets, all the bad things that I don’t tell anyone else. You know that I don’t like orange-flavored things because I had too much orange-flavored medicine as a child and that I stay up too late studying the night before a test and I panic after I finish taking it. You watch movies I recommend, even though you think High School Musical 2 is the best movie ever made, you- god-” Peter scrubs his hands through his hair, clenching his eyes closed briefly- “this would be so much easier if I could just- you can see the big picture. Like with this you could just- take the words, the discrete pieces of data and put them together. Make it cohesive, coherent. I’m not making sense,” he muttered.

“Pete-”

“I don’t want to just spend the night after study dates.” Peter blurted out abruptly. His face froze, like he wasn’t sure what he just said, like he was terrified Sam was going to misunderstand. “I- I mean. I want to do real dates. With you. And spend the night and wear your clothes and have my hoodies smell like you and watch you spin around in the morning show chairs without having to worry about you catching me and I want to see you without gel in your hair and I want to lean against you when we have movie nights and-”

“Pete.”

“Sammy,” Peter said, kind of breathless. “Go on a date with me.”

“Like a study date?” Sam said, also kind of breathless.

“Like a date-date. Please.”

“Yeah. Yeah, just- come here-” and then Sam’s hands were on either side of Peter’s face and his fingers were in his hair and Peter’s hands were caught in Sam’s sweater and then-

Peter kissed like he didn’t know all the answers, for once, and he was okay with it. Peter kissed like he was memorizing everything about the moment. Peter kissed like he was planning on replaying it like an old video tape, over and over until the tape wore thin and tore. Peter kissed like he could hear the orchestra playing behind them, like they were in some cheesy made for tv rom com and were about to get their happy ending.

Peter kissed like Sam was his happy ending.

Finally, they broke apart- more to catch their breath than anything else.

“Hell of a study date,” Sam breathed, unable to stop smiling.

“Shut up.” Peter was smiling, too.

And, leaning back in, Sam did.

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ahh-fxck · 4 years ago

Text

Gay Bar AU: Warrior’s Blues part 4

Hello folks! Here is the next part of my gay bar AU, featuring Geralt and Jaskier.

Big thanks to @stressedspidergirlsfandomblog for being such an amazing beta!

Tag list: @astouract @smolpoe @yes-im-the-violin-girl @ladyknight-keladry

The link to the rest on Ao3 is here.

“Geralt?” A muffled voice calls from outside of the door. Geralt recognizes Jaskier’s voice instantly; Would recognize it anywhere, even though he’s only known him for a night. A flush creeps across his whole body as he dithers, damp towel clutched tightly. “Geralt? Is everything all right?” Jaskier calls again, sounding worried. “Just, it’s two o’ clock in the afternoon… I thought you might be hungry. May I come in?”

Geralt turns to look at the door, seeing the lanky shadow of the handsome man through the shade. He rasps, “I’m fine.” The words seem to unstick him. He strides across to the bed in a swift, efficient movement, drops the towel, and calls gruffly, “I’ll be right there.” He tucks the rest of the items back into his bag in a neat roll, followed by the discharge papers. His injured hand flashes with bright hot pain as he stuffs the papers into his bag, and he growls under his breath. Then he rises and quickly opens the attic door for the man waiting patiently outside.

He is greeted by a charming, crooked smile as Jaskier greets him over a little tray holding two coffees and a couple of open faced bagel sandwiches. There’s sugar, even cream, each in little bowls that bear a buttercup motif. Jaskier himself is dressed in a loose yellow tank top and denim shorts, though these are significantly longer than yesterday, hanging down to just above his knees. His face is lightly stubbled; he hasn’t bothered to shave yet today. Seeing this, Geralt isn’t sure whether to be irked or charmed by how informally the man comports himself.

“There you are,” Jaskier sighs happily, tilting his head and fixing Geralt with a wide smile. “Breakfast?” As Geralt steps stiffly aside to let him in, he nudges past him and into the loft, humming, “Well, I suppose it’s more like lunch, but never mind that. How are you today?” Bending over, he places the tray on the little table, then straightens and glances over his shoulder at Geralt.

Above Jaskier’s house was a small attic studio. It was painted a mellow sky blue inside, with white moulding, furniture, and decorations. It consisted of one room divided into two parts. First, there was a sitting area on a white tiled floor, with wicker chairs and a wicker table with a clear glass top. On a shelf below a windowsill there was an electric kettle and a box of rather rumpled looking tea sachets in their paper envelopes. Mugs were visible on the lower tier, stored neatly upside-down. Behind a half-wall, there was a sleeping area with a twin-size bed and two small dressers emblazoned on the sides with painted cornflowers. By the dusty, empty smell, no one had been up here in some time. There was a bathroom in the corner, with a full sized bathtub and a little sink above which a white mirror hung with makeup lights sat. There was only one entry, a simple white door that led to a steep staircase wrapping around the outside of the blue house and terminating in the driveway.

The light in the room turns to grey, dim fingers of it penetrating through the windows to caress the simple wicker decorations on the low half-wall separating the sleeping area from the main room. In the bed, Geralt breathes deeply, head lolling awkwardly where it rests halfway on his pillow, his injured hand resting on his chest.

By the time he had arrived here last night, he had barely been able to hear Jaskier explain the little apartment over the roar of exhaustion in his ears. He had fallen into bed, fully dressed save for his boots, and had moved only once during the night to pull the creamy blue and white duvet over himself when the temperature had finally dropped. He had barely even managed to get his head on the pillow.

Now the temperature creeps back up again as the dawn light warms, turning a rich buttery color as the sun comes up over the horizon. Geralt’s eyes flicker open, habit and light conspiring to rouse him from slumber. He glances around, disoriented, then closes his eyes again quickly. The blue and white room is frighteningly unfamiliar, friendly colors and new smells crushing up against him as he begins to wake. It stirs half-remembered guilt and shame, burning feelings that he would much rather escape. Dimly realizing that he is no longer on a schedule and doesn’t have to wake, Geralt heaves a heavy sigh. Rolling over, he puts his arm over his head and curls softly under the covers. His arm blocks out the light and he retreats into the warm hollow that his body has made in the blankets. With a yawn, he drifts back to sleep.

This process repeats several times, until the room is bright and hot and Geralt’s bladder is achingly full. Each time the guilt and the shame press harder, a growing static that gnaws at him even in his sleep. Finally he is forced to open his eyes. As he lays there with his arm over his face, squinting out at the hot light of the attic, he hears a stereo turn on below him. It’s muffled, too quiet to pick out the words, but the beat is happy and strong. His heart speeds up and stutters as he tries to parse the addition of the music to his already overwhelmed senses, and his lips pull back to show his teeth as he growls in irritation. Sudden tension races along his arms, whipcord strong and hot as lightning. His hand lashes out, bandaged knuckles slamming into the wall before he can think. The world vanishes for a moment in a brief, hot flash of pain that whites his vision out.

The wall reverberates, and below, quiet footsteps pause. A moment later the stereo volume lowers, and the rhythmic sounds of daily living resume. Geralt shakes his head to try and clear the cottony feeling away, tries to shake off the stars exploding behind his eyes from the pain in his hand. Rolling, he staggers out of bed and cradles it to his chest as he limps towards the door he faintly remembers Jaskier indicating as the bathroom.

The little room is clean and quiet, with very little to say for itself aside from an empty towel ring and a plastic basket full of half-used toiletries sitting on a back shelf. As he passes the mirror he spots his stubbly reflection out of the corner of his eye and remembers that he needs to shave.

After relieving himself he retreats to his backpack. Squatting down, he eyes the khaki sack critically, bracing himself to confront the contents within. His mouth tastes like ashes as he reaches out and tugs open the zipper. The discharge papers tumble out, pages upon pages of his career on trial sifting to the carpet like dead leaves. Pages of reminders of what he has lost. He can feel his face go numb first, then his tongue, a wave travelling outwards until it robs even his feet of sensation.

His eyes go blank as he paws automatically through the rest of the sack, retrieving his last pair of clean fatigues, his socks, underwear, straight razor, and soap. He sets these aside jerkily on one of the dressers, then turns and kneels, gathering the papers back into the folder. His movements are sloppy and disjointed as he fumbles the papers together, scanning them without reading them, placing them back in order on autopilot. Then he shoves the folder under the bed, right next to the sack, and straightens. Below him there is still the faint sound of music, and someone’s voice, presumably Jaskier’s, breaks out into a muffled song. In a fog, he grabs his things off of the dresser and heads for the shower.

After he is clean he gets out, dressing himself. The music has stopped by now, and the bathroom has descended into dripping silence. The soggy bandage is still on his hand, but he’s not ready to confront it yet. Instead, he takes his dirty shirt to the mirror, scrubbing some of the steam away. He eyes his reflection critically, then the makeup bulbs, giving them a puzzled grimace. Turning, he retrieves his shaving implements from the shelf next to the plastic basket, coming back to the mirror only reluctantly. The last of the fog from his shower is beginning to clear, and he eyes his reflection uneasily.

His white hair is shaved short, too short to be mussed by sleep and showering. He has a handsome face. It is pale, with high cheekbones, a square jaw, and lips that have a surprisingly lovely cupid’s bow. Under his wide amber eyes there are shadows though, dark and hollow. The lines of care in his face are graven deeper than usual, darkened by stress and tight with pain. His heart aches as he tries to meet his own gaze, finds that his stomach churns when he tries. Worse, his face is littered with white stubble, making him look grizzled and unkempt. Untrustworthy looking, he decides; undesirable. Still, he realizes as he gingerly flexes his injured hand, there is no way he can safely shave with his straight razor. With a disgruntled sigh, he tosses the shirt back onto the toilet and begins to clean up after himself.

By the time he is done, there is a tentative knocking on the outside door. Feeling his whole body contract with sudden tension, he stops dead in his tracks halfway out of the bathroom. The rest of the little loft is suffused with light and warmth, a peaceful heat that sinks deep into his bones. He stares about the little room, searching for answers as he tries to figure out how to react.

Geralt is still standing in the doorway, studying the other man with quiet intensity. While he’s been around civilians before, he’s never seen one quite like Jaskier up close, never seen a man so perfectly comfortable in his softness. It makes him want to bark at the man to fuck off, it makes him want to run away… it makes him want to sit and eat and never stop looking at him, ever again. He clears his throat as he feels Jaskier’s gaze upon him, closing the door with a little soft ‘thump’ that he half-feels, half-hears.

Jaskier turns and sits himself down in one of the wicker chairs, gesturing an invitation at the other one. Giving the chair a long stare, Geralt weighs his options. He is right next to the door; all he has to do is turn and walk away. It’s not like he needs anything in his backpack, not really. Even the documentation proving his identity is practically worthless now, and what isn’t, he can eventually replace.

As if sensing Geralt’s thought process, Jaskier carefully picks up his coffee cup and leans back in the chair, fixing him with a gentle but frank look. “Breakfast makes vanishing into the wild blue yonder a little easier, Geralt. At least have a bite before you go?”

Geralt fixes the younger man with a look of guarded astonishment. His injured hand twitches on the doorknob, then slides down to rest at his side. It gives a dull throb, but he crams the pain down, ignoring it with practiced skill. Rumbling doubtfully, he rocks back and forth once on his sock feet before tentatively advancing towards the empty chair. His ears burn as he realizes that he is so disoriented that he was genuinely about to run out the door without his shoes, and subsides into the chair across from Jaskier with a sheepish grimace.

“There, now,” Jaskier says, pleased, and pushes the coffee towards Geralt. Geralt takes it gratefully, humming with pleasure as he picks the warm cup up gingerly in his left hand. He leans his elbows on his thighs and blows on it, feeling the pleasure of the warm steam and rich scent playing across his lips. Unlike the coffee available on base, this smells lively and rich. He takes a tentative sip and raises his eyebrows, impressed. Jaskier beams and pushes the sandwich towards him, too.

Geralt tentatively tugs the sandwich towards himself with his bandaged hand, cradling the coffee mug in the other. Jaskier’s eyes flicker as he grimaces in pain, his gaze dropping to the soggy bandage that Geralt is still wearing.

A little furrow appears between his brows, but instead of addressing the pain Geralt is obviously in, he says, “Normally at this time of day today I’m off at work, but luckily for us, I have the day off.” He fixes Geralt with a sunny smile, picking up his bagel and taking a bite out of it. “Which means I’m at your disposal for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Day job?” Geralt inquires, his voice thick and a little hoarse. He grimaces again and takes a swig of coffee to clear his throat.

Jaskier nods pleasantly, chewing. He watches Geralt’s sore hand out of the corner of his eye thoughtfully as he continues, “Mmhm! I’m an adjunct professor at the college a few blocks from here, get to ride my bike to work on nice days. It’s summer so it’s only office hours and faculty meetings once a week right now, but in fall it picks up.”

Geralt tilts his head to the side, considering this information, trying to conceal his surprise. “What do you teach?” he asks, after a moment, then picks up his bagel and takes a bite. There’s ham on it, lettuce, tomato, cheese, even a fried egg. The mayonnaise has hints of garlic and rosemary, sharp and delicious. Probably not store made, then. Impressed despite himself, he eyes the sandwich, then Jaskier.

“Medieval music theory!” Jaskier proclaims, eyes twinkling. “Terribly arcane, I’m afraid, but I simply fell in love with it as a young man, and now here I am.” He sips his coffee and licks a drop of it off of his lower lip reflectively. “At least it helps pay the bills. Worse things could be said for a passion.” Shrugging, he sets the cup back down and takes another bite of his sandwich. “Do you have any plans for the day?” Despite himself, he finds his eye straying back to Geralt’s bad hand, watching with concern as the other man painfully cradles his bagel.

“No.” Geralt replies shortly, taking another bite of his sandwich. Now that he’s started eating, he can finally feel how hungry he is, and he makes short work of the food.

Jaskier watches in fascination as the bagel vanishes in only three or four big bites. Geralt finishes by unceremoniously draining his coffee cup. Jaskier searches for something to say, settling on, “Well then. Let’s at least take another look at that hand of yours, darling. I have a first aid kit downstairs.” He puts his half-eaten sandwich back on the tray, along with his empty coffee mug, and stands. “I’ll meet you down there. Do you remember where the front door is?”

“Yes,” Geralt says, who doesn’t remember anything of the sort. He was far too tired to remember what his name was last night, much less the exact location of the front door of the house. He figures it won’t be hard to find, though, and he is desperate for an excuse to be alone for just another moment while he tries to collect himself. Jaskier nods and heads for the door, beginning to fumble with the tray in an attempt to get the doorknob. Standing hurriedly, he steps around him and pulls the door open. It puts him face to face with the smaller man, and when Jaskier turns another thousand-watt smile on him, he feels like the floor has dropped out from under him, leaving him in free-fall.

Jaskier studies Geralt’s face for a moment, kind blue eyes tracing the contours of his scarred cheeks and square jaw. He lingers briefly on his lips, chapped and cracked from dehydration and stress. A quick sad expression flits across his face, and he turns away. “All right then, I’ll see you in a moment Geralt.” As he turns and exits, the tension humming between them snaps and dissipates, leaving the air of the attic feeling oddly empty in its wake.

Geralt closes the door behind him as he leaves, slow and soft, like he half doesn’t want to shut it. He steps back from the door bewildered, feeling his hand pulse and ache with the sudden pounding of his heart. Reluctantly, he glances down at it. The bandage is beginning to dry again, a stiff, disgusting brown from where the blood has soaked into the gauze. His hand itself is swollen and red, far worse than it was yesterday. Running his eyes across it, his lips pull back in a grimace as he notes the mangled skin peeking out from the place where the bandage has come loose. He would take care of it himself, Jaskier be damned, except that he doesn’t have any medical supplies. Deep down, he knows that an infection isn’t worth his pride.

After a further moment of delay, he returns to the bedside and sits next to his wet towel, staring at his tan leather boots. They are worn but well-cared for, stained, a little thin around the heels on the inside. He ponders how to get them on, as his hand is becoming stiffer by the moment. The pain is growing from a distant misty throb to a full blown, gnawing ache, which makes it difficult to think properly. Gritting his teeth, he decides to just grab them in his good hand and shove them on. The laces he pulls carefully tight. He fumbles with them for a long moment, trying to tie them, but his injured hand is so stiff that he can’t manage proper knots. Grumbling with frustration, he shoves the laces into the top of his boots and stands.

He looks around for the keys to the attic, spotting them on top of one of the dressers where he tossed them the night before. Those go into his pocket before he heads for the door. But, as he reaches it, he stops. His heart constricts in his chest as he hovers there, feeling the weight of his vulnerability pressing down on him. The idea of going into yet another new setting, of sitting across from that unbelievably kind man and letting him touch his hurting hand, is too much to handle. He feels like the oxygen is going out of the room as he stands there with his fingers on the doorknob, unable to move forward, unable to retreat. The room fades into a blurry blue and white impression as he begins to pant, lips numbly tingling. He steps back from the door instinctively, staggering to one of the wicker chairs and sinking into it.

Time swims as he hunches in the chair, awkwardly pulling his hand in close to his chest and huffing short breaths. Shame sweeps up his body, his posture collapsing as he tries to fight his way out of the panic. When he was young this never happened to him, but recently it had been coming on more and more frequently. He begins quietly, subtly rocking in the chair, pressing his face into his arm. The warmth of it is grounding, the smell of his skin bringing him slowly back into himself. In the end, he stills, leaning back into the chair with a heavy sigh as the tension in his body begins to run out. A fuzzy haze settles over him, and he closes his eyes as the numbness sweeps up and blankets him in darkness.

He becomes dimly aware of footsteps on the stairs some time later. Stirring, he sits slowly up in the chair, gold eyes focusing on the door as the footsteps come closer. The tall shadow of Jaskier shows through the curtains again, and he hears a gentle knock. “Geralt? Is everything ok?”

It is not ok, but Geralt doesn’t know how to say that, so instead he calls thickly, “M’fine. Got distracted.” Outside, Jaskier is silent for a moment. Then he says, “I brought my first aid kit upstairs. Would you mind terribly if I came in and looked at your hand?”

Geralt sits stiffly, hand cradled along his collarbone, feeling uneasy and a little trapped. Even his closest friends had rarely treated him with such persistent kindness; had rarely needed to. He was not a person who made himself vulnerable easily, and had gone to great lengths to keep his distance from anyone who might see him that way. On one level, he knew that accepting the man’s kindness was fine. Sensible, even. On the other, all he wanted to do was run until he found someplace dark and quiet to hide and never emerge from, ever again.

Outside, Jaskier sighs. “Geralt, are you sure you’re okay?” His voice carries a little worried note in it this time that makes Geralt flinch.

Geralt is tempted to lie again. It comes right to his lips, but stutters and stops before he can speak it as he watches the little movements of the man outside. Feeling oddly light, he stands to walk across the room and opens the door. He steps aside and looks down into Jaskier’s uncertain face, his own expression unreadable, then gestures shortly for him to enter.

Jaskier does so without argument, ducking inside before the ex-soldier has a chance to close the door on him again. He places the first aid kit on the little glass table and sits, making himself smaller immediately, and Geralt feels himself relax. Seated, the man looks softer, less demanding. He notices that his face is cleaner, too, all the stubble shaved away. Geralt’s bright gaze rakes over him sitting in the wicker chair, taking in the gentleness of his posture, the frank kindness that he regards him with. Stomach still churning uneasily, Geralt notices that he is nevertheless warmed by the gaze fixed on him. He feels his own face soften from a glare into an expression of uncertainty, eyes flicking between Jaskier and the empty chair.

Jaskier makes no movement whatsoever, his body language quiet and gentle as he continues to watch Geralt in the doorway. He can feel the man’s hot golden gaze searing across him, feels the weight of his attention as he considers what to do. He is hummingly aware of how dangerous the tall man looks, his toned body alert beneath his fatigues. Despite that, he finds that he is unafraid. He slowly leans back, sweeping his hand towards the first aid kit.

“I won’t touch you if you don’t want help. I just thought you might need this.” He feels his heart constrict a little in his chest as the man obviously relaxes, uncertain expression easing. All he wants to do is stand and push the man into the chair, to lavish him with gentle affection, but he gets the sense that this could cause the man to shut down or worse, lash out. So he holds still, exquisitely still, allowing Geralt to come to his own conclusions.

Geralt relaxes as Jaskier leans back, offering him the first aid kit. He feels by turns ashamed and relieved, his throat tight and his cheeks burning. Flexing his good hand slowly, he pushes at the numbness that is trapping him, urging it to abate. Feeling begins to return to the tip of his tongue, his lips, slowly spreading until he finds himself able to move freely again. Clearing his throat, he walks to the empty wicker chair and sits without further comment. Rummaging through the first aid supplies, he pulls out what he needs in silence.

Jaskier watches as the man bends to the task of caring for his hand. When he peels the bandage off, he leans over to the side and grabs a small wastebasket from near the tea shelf. He extends the basket to Geralt, and Geralt flicks his gaze briefly to him, nodding an acknowledgement as he tosses the bandage into the bin. Then he begins to methodically clean his wounds, face tight and wooden as he wipes them clean with cotton balls soaked in soothing antiseptic.

Jaskier inspects the wounded hand from a distance as he does so, finally able to get a clear look at it for the first time since yesterday afternoon. The skin is raw and ugly around the knuckles, pitted from the impacts with the tree. His fingers are curled thickly inward, held in place by the swelling that makes his whole hand look angry and bruised. There is a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as Jaskier realizes that these are no mere abrasions that he’s looking at. Not anymore, at least; unless he’s missed his guess, Geralt’s hand looks broken.

Silence stretches as Geralt cleans, wraps, and tapes his hand. Then, he looks up and flicks his eyes to Jaskier’s for just a moment before cutting off to the side. “I need a hospital for this,” he rumbles, his deep voice cutting through the silence.

Jaskier’s thinned lips pull into a grimace of dismay and he nods, unsurprised. “There’s a hospital not far away from here. I can drive you.”

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prettywordsyouleft · 5 years ago

Text

Guardian: Hand-Picked (collab)

Summary: You had lived for years with just you and your guardian angel, Changkyun. But when Kihyun enters your world, things change – for the better.

Pairing: Im Changkyun x Yoo Kihyun x reader (not in a love triangle way)

Genre: guardian angel au / humour / fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: This is part of the Guardian collab with @this-song-thats-only-for-you and @goodnightkisseu. It was an impromptu idea from one of those MX games by your zodiac sign, so we went with who we got and created a story from it!

Word count: 2651

Other stories in this collab: By My Side | Hidden Glances

Your life had been pleasant for the most part. You had grown up well enough, leaving your awkward teenage years behind you and blossoming into an adult. Sure, you sometimes missed the simplicity of being a child without adult pressures, but you were naturally responsible and thrived with a lot of the new chances you had as grown-up making your mark in the world.

You would go to work, enjoy hanging out with friends and exploring new places when you had the chance to. And when the day was over, you would return to your apartment, cook dinner and then snuggle up with a good movie or book before going to bed and starting it all over the next day. It hadn’t felt like you needed any change to this daily in and out lifestyle you lived. You were content with what you already had.

Meeting Yoo Kihyun, however, changed all of that. Having a boyfriend was a new experience. Going out was now with someone who would hold your hand and smile endlessly at you. He would feed you the most delicious meals and whisper the sweetest compliments. If you had ever dreamed of having someone in your life, you were sure you had wished for Kihyun. He was exactly who you could ever want in a partner.

And you had your guardian angel to thank for that.

“Don’t go out today,” Changkyun warned you explicitly as you walked back and forth from your small bathroom to your not much bigger bedroom preparing for the day ahead. He followed right behind you, tapping you on your shoulder and letting out whines, the next more outlandish than the last. “Y/N, don’t! It’s going to end badly.”

“What is? I’m perfectly fine now, am I not?”

He rolled his eyes. “Because you’re home with me.”

“I can’t imagine anything changing for the worse, Kyun. I’m just going to work like I usually do.”

“And I’m just telling you what I feel in my stomach. It’s my job to pre-warn you of ill-fated events, Y/N.”

You shot Changkyun a hard look. “Last month you told me the same. I stayed home and you realised halfway through the day it was just indigestion. Which, I cannot believe an angel can suffer from!”

“Okay, so I made one mistake--”

“And two months ago you told me I would be in trouble so I again stayed home and then realised it was because you were cold and wanted to snuggle up all day long!”

Sitting down on the edge of your bed so you could put on your socks, Changkyun knelt before you, placing his hands on both of your knees.

“--a lot of mistakes, then. This time, Y/N, I’m not using my abilities to benefit me. Stay home, please. I don’t feel good about this.”

Letting out a sigh, you patted one of his shoulders affectionately. “I’ll be fine. And I promise if I feel odd at any point, I’ll just turn around and come back home.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Y/N!” he exclaimed as you got up and brushed passed him, shrugging on your coat and stepping into your boots. Changkyun swiftly took place in front of the door shaking his head. “I’m being serious. Don’t go.”

“I didn’t work for an entire month on this presentation to miss it, Kyun. I’ll be home later.”

Stepping under his arm, you opened the door and started your trek through the rain to the subway.

From here, you knew fewer details. Changkyun had informed you that you had ended up walking across a road that a car had suddenly lost control on and careened around, hitting you right as a man pulled you to safety.

And that was how you had met Kihyun in the first place.

When you woke in the hospital, he had been at your side, immediately relieved to see you alert again. And all you had noticed was the gash on his cheek and a forlorn-looking Changkyun behind him.

He had sent Kihyun forward to save you at the last minute.

What Changkyun – or even you, admittedly – hadn’t been prepared for was how much of an impact Kihyun’s arrival in your life would make.

And now, you were packing up the last of your things and moving in with your boyfriend of a year.

Much to Changkyun’s disdain.

“How are we meant to still live together?” Changkyun wondered as you zipped your luggage bag full of your necessities shut. He shifted back and forth across the tiny space of your bedroom and threw his hands in the air. “This is not what we should be doing, Y/N.”

“You’ve seen Kihyun’s apartment, it’s double the size of this place. There will be plenty of room for us to still live together.”

“I’d rather live in this shoebox for the rest of your life. Or move somewhere bigger. Just the two of us.”

“On my salary?” you mentioned, raising an incredulous eyebrow at the angel. “Seriously?”

“So let’s just stay here. We’re cosy here.”

“I can’t expect Kihyun to move in here!” you replied with a giggle, lifting your luggage off the bed. “This place barely fits us!”

“Let’s not move in with him at all.”

“You sound like a petulant child, Changkyun,” you warned and he rolled his eyes dramatically.

“I don’t care. I like it being just you and me.”

“And I like Kihyun, a lot. So can’t you be a little accommodating with this change?”

His immature grunt ended the argument but the stormy mood followed you all the way over to your new home, a scoff leaving him when you stretched up to kiss Kihyun in greeting.

“Is this really happening?” your boyfriend breathed as he held you tightly. “I don’t have to wake up tomorrow and send you back home?”

“I wish you would,” the angel muttered, unbeknownst to Kihyun.

“Instead we get to wake up in each other’s arms every day,” you offered and Kihyun grinned, kissing you briefly before blinking really fast. You frowned. “What is it?”

“I turned up the thermostat earlier but it’s suddenly so cold in here! You’re not freezing, are you?”

Sending a glare to the angel now playing with the heating system, you then tried to smile at Kihyun. “It’s going to be fine together; I’m sure whatever it is will settle down soon.”

Except, Changkyun didn’t settle any.

It was obvious that he was bitter and targeted Kihyun immaturely. And whenever your boyfriend wasn’t around, you were endlessly scolding him for his antics, telling him to stop being so rude to someone you cared about. You didn’t think you were being unreasonable, and considering Changkyun had sent Kihyun to your side, you had expected him to be relieved that you had someone he had handpicked.

Still, Kihyun was uncomfortable most days. “I had the worst sleep last night.”

“Did you? I slept so well,” you murmured, coming over to rub your partner’s shoulders gently. “Any reason why?”

“Something kept tickling my nose but every time I looked, there was nothing there!”

You narrowed your gaze on the angel eating toast across the room.

And when Kihyun went to take his shower, you rushed over and slapped the back of his head. “I swear to god, you are being so immature, Changkyun! Stop annoying Kihyun.”

“Maybe he’d have a better night’s rest sleeping in the guest room.”

“And why would he want to sleep there? Where would you then sleep?!”

“With you, like I used to.”

“Don’t be so ridic-”

“Y/N?” Kihyun called weakly, standing in the threshold and watching you in confusion. “What, or who are you talking to?”

“Uhhhhh.”

“Maybe I should show myself to your lover. You look insane right now,” Changkyun mused and you let out a small shriek before stomping off to the bedroom and slamming the door shut.

Even if a locked door could keep Kihyun out, it would be no match for an angel. However, you had become incredibly skilled in ignoring Changkyun when he annoyed you too much. And since he hated when you ignored him, it was as effective as a locked door was.

“Y/N, stop, come on! It’s me, Kyun! Don’t be so petty!”

You remained focused on the wall ahead of you.

“Fine, I’ll stop being so mean to him. I just don’t like Kihyun!”

“Why?” you asked and he breathed out in relief at finally garnering your attention.

“Because he’s, well he’s-”

“Because you think I pay him more attention than you, isn’t that right? You’re not used to sharing.”

The angel shrunk back, muttering under his breath and then nodded once.

“Kihyun thinks I’m absolutely insane now. You better help me fix this.”

“You have a what?” your boyfriend breathed once you had explained everything to him, staring at you with round eyes.

“Everyone has one,” you told him calmly. “Just some people aren’t aware of who they are. I had an incident when I was a kid where I fell out of a tree and Changkyun – my angel – was there when I woke up. Since then, he’s been with me every day.”

“Even when we’ve been dating?”

You nodded.

“And in the bedroom when we’re…?”

“Good god, I would never want to see that,” Changkyun retorted with a generous shudder as you shook your head repeatedly.

“No, but I lived with him before I met you and-”

“You lived with him?”

“As friends,” you reiterated and Changkyun nodded firmly. “Well, more like family. He’s a brother to me.”

“And he’s the reason we met that day?” You nodded to answer Kihyun’s question. “I always think about why I boldly stepped out that day as if I knew I had to. I didn’t even know what I was doing until it happened. And you’re saying some angel of yours made me?”

“Changkyun, show yourself, please,” you asked and with a sigh, Changkyun did whatever he had to make himself known to Kihyun.

And when he caught sight of him, Kihyun gasped noisily. “I know him!”

“You do?”

“I saw him right when I saved you.”

“Well, now he’s a believer,” Changkyun surmised disinterestedly, pointing to the kitchen. “Can dinner be started soon? I’m hungry.”

You took a deep breath, hoping that this was the right step forward to make both the most important men in your life live together with more ease.

It wasn’t just Changkyun now. You stared back at Kihyun, trying to fathom what he had just said. Your boyfriend pointed harshly to the angel now taking refuge behind you. “Again?!”

“You forgot to set me a place at the table!”

“You do know how sensitive Changkyun is about food,” you agreed weakly and Kihyun scoffed.

“Still, he made the water run cold on me right as I got the shampoo in my hair! What are you? Four years old?”

“Try adding on centuries to that!”

“My head hurts,” you proclaimed, moving over to the couch before glaring at both men who followed. “Can’t you both just get along for one day?!”

“He started this!”

“And so that gives you enough reason to take it out on me like a baby?!”

“You’re both acting like children,” you told them and folded your arms across your chest. “This is exhausting.”

“He’s got to go, Y/N!”

“Me?!” Changkyun echoed and laughed bitterly. “I was here first, if anyone has to go, it’s you, lover boy!”

“Anyone would think you have a crush on my girlfriend! In case you’ve forgotten, Y/N sees you as a brother. And I’m not going anywhere!”

“You know what?” you offered, standing back up as both men reached for one another. “I’ll go!”

“What?”

“Where would you go?” Kihyun added as you stalked over to the front door, collecting your bag from the entryway shelf. “It’s cold out today.”

“I don’t think it’s wise to leave, Y/N.”

“Well, I don’t care what’s wise or cold. Right now, I want to escape the both of you! This is getting ridiculous and I want to get out of here before I snap! Do not follow me in any way or I’ll never come back!”

And then you slammed the door behind you and stormed out into the street.

For an hour or two, you simply wandered, allowing your sour mood to dissipate whilst you walked wherever your feet would take you. After three hours, you took refuge in a coffee shop, thanking the clerk for bringing you a warm beverage that melted away any remaining chill within you as you sipped at it. For another hour, you watched the people go by and after six hours away from home, you decided to have a meal before heading home. It was really late now, and for once, you felt a little out of your comfort zone. You were never out this late alone and it made your footsteps hurried until you saw the apartment building.

There, you slowed right down to a snail’s pace; concerning yourself with the possible scenarios you would find when you opened the front door. You knew Changkyun couldn’t be badly harmed, and angels were sworn not to physically harm another. Still, you worried they were still fighting away with each other, and you really didn’t have the energy to face that.

You prepared yourself to simply enter the house and sleep in the guest room alone tonight. Instead, when you walked through the door, you heard a loud gasp and combined movement towards you.

“Thank god, you’re safe.”

“Don’t ever leave us like that again, Y/N.”

“Don’t you know how worried we were?”

“We?” you repeated as both men smothered you in their arms, neither fighting for more of you than the other. “Who’s we?”

Kihyun pulled away and Changkyun stepped to his side. “We’ve called a truce.”

“We decided we had something in common.”

“You do?” you asked and both men nodded happily.

Changkyun smiled. “We both love you a lot. Of course, in our own ways.”

“And not having you in our lives – existences – is unbearable.”

“So don’t leave us ever again, okay?”

You tried to not smile too widely. “You mean it?”

“Plus, I like this house, and Kihyun’s food.”

“Changkyun’s like the little brother I never had,” Kihyun quipped.

“Well, does this mean I won’t hear fighting anymore?”

“Of course!”

“We’ll be on our best behaviour!”

“Good, because I can’t handle the best people in my life at odds with each other,” you concluded, hugging them both individually.

“You ate without us?” Changkyun suddenly accused after inhaling into the hug and Kihyun gaped at you.

“We were sick with worry and you ate?”

“Well, I got hungry and-”

“Don’t worry, Kyun, I’ll make us something delicious.”

“Good, and Y/N isn’t allowed any.”

“Of course not!”

You laughed and shook your head; at least they were getting along, which was what you had hoped for so long now.

Life wasn’t as quiet as it once was. You’d still come out to find both of them bickering over something, but you just learned that it was how they were. Equally, they were the type to hold onto one another watching sad movies instead of you and even you had jealous moments when it came to their bromance.

But you were thankful. Not only had Kihyun saved you, but he had saved Changkyun too. You had lived far too long stuck in the same routine in the same small space that you hadn’t hoped for anything more than that.

Having chaos in your world meant you were always waiting to see what would happen next. And you realised that this suited you far better. You got to spend your days with your best friend and the love of your life. Sometimes that would be a blessing or a curse, but you knew you wouldn’t have it any other way.

_________________

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rigginsstreet · 4 years ago

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11 + gladice 👀

“I took NyQuil instead of DayQuil on accident and now im about to pass out.”

dont ask me when this takes place for i do not know

alice does not know how to do anything half-assed. she has one mode: go, and she’ll be damned if she lets something as asinine as a common cold slow her down.

she’s been non-stop all morning, doing her best to ignore the little symptoms that keep creeping up to disrupt her. it’s not until she’s parked outside the grocery store, feeling the ache in her throat and the subtle pounding in her head, that she finally gives in. her head against the steering wheel, eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to calm her body down, she blindly reaches into her purse, digging around until she finds the box of medication she keeps for emergencies.

she dry-swallows two pills and shakes off the resulting lump in her throat before touching up her face in the rearview mirror and heading into the store.

all’s fine, at first. she makes her way down each aisle, checking off her grocery list one item at a time. her cart halfway to full by the time she starts slowing down her stride. she’s having trouble focusing, the words on her slip of paper becoming blurry as she’s fighting back a yawn behind her hand.

she doesn’t even notice she’s sharing the aisle until her cart crashes into someone else’s.

“hey! watch where you’re go- alice cooper! well, i’ll be damned.”

alice groans. she’s in no mood to deal with people right now, least of all gladys jones. “hello, gladys. goodbye, gladys,” she says, keeping their interaction short and sweet so she can go about her day. hopefully make it home in time to slip in a nap to shake off this sudden grogginess.

but of course gladys can’t just let her have this. she’s stopped with a hand to her elbow as she tries to walk by, gladys’ face suddenly in hers. she’s got that same playful smirk she always does when she’s trying to get alice to take the bait, but her eyes betray just a hint of concern.

“what’s wrong with you? you look like shit.”

“thank you.” alice rolls her eyes. “i’m fine.” she snatches her arm out of the other woman’s grip, the force of it causing her to stagger aside before gladys can catch her arms and hold her upright.

“wanna try that again?” gladys raises an eyebrow, doesn’t let go of alice.

seeing as how gladys clearly won’t let up until she’s satisfied, alice clenches her jaw and rolls her eyes to the ceiling before sighing. “fine. i wasn’t feeling well. i took a pill. end of story. can i go now?”

“what’d you take?”

gladys won’t stop with the third degree, but her hands have fallen from alice’s arms now, so alice is at least grateful for that. “dayquil.”

gladys squints her eyes, like something isn’t adding up. “you sure about that?”

alice scoffs, but it’s broken up by another yawn. “i think i know what i took.”

“lemme see.”

“what? no.”

“let me see what you took!” gladys says as she reaches for alice’s purse.

“no!” alice swats her hand away, which does nothing to deter gladys’ efforts. the two women end up standing there in the middle of the aisle - gladys trying to reach around alice while alice keeps barricading her cart behind her. it’s ridiculous. alice feels ridiculous. “alright! fine!” she finally yells, a little louder than maybe necessary if the alarmed, slightly judgmental look she’s given by old Mrs. Kovorsky is anything to go by. Alice just widens her eyes in a ‘what are you looking at’ manner before digging into her purse.

she retrieves the little pill box she had reached for earlier and immediately freezes. “oh no...” she says, mostly to herself.

“‘oh no’ what?” gladys asks, stepping up behind her.

alice would feel more embarrassed if the crushing weight of exhaustion wasn’t settling over her bones right now. “i took nyquil instead of dayquil, and now i’m about to pass out.”

it’s the only warning she gives before she falls backwards, everything going black.

when alice wakes up, she’s on her couch, of all places. with absolutely no recollection of actually getting there. she peaks her head up out of the quilt that’s been tossed over her, can’t be bothered to actually lift her head to see anything beyond the coffee table in front of her. still too drowsy. “what the...”

“oh good. you’re awake.”

it’s gladys’ voice. unmistakable. she wonders briefly what the hell gladys jones is doing in her house before everything comes back to her. the grocery store. the fainting. the fleeting sensation of gladys’ arms locked around her before the fainting...

gladys comes around into view. takes a seat on the coffee table in front of alice like she owns it. “drink this.” she holds out a glass of water with one hand, uses the other to motion alice upwards.

“how’d you get in my house,” alice grouches, but she sits up and takes the drink anyway, her mouth suddenly bone dry.

“i smashed a window and crawled through.” alice almost chokes on her water, ready to start yelling about her vandalized home. gladys just chuckles. “relax. i used your key, dummy. god, this place has really done a number on you.” gladys looks around the room with just a hint of distain. alice knows it’s not the house she has a problem with. it’s the north side in general. it’s alice finding a home here in more ways than one.

“don’t start. i’m not in the mood.” alice sets her glass down by gladys’ leg. “and get off my table, you animal.”

“now who’s the one starting?” gladys makes no move to get up, and alice can’t be bothered to press the issue. she just rolls her eyes and snuggles back into the couch.

gladys leans forward then, presses the back of her hand to alice’s forehead, brows pinching together. “you’re running a little hot. want me to run you a bath?”

“you just wanna see me naked.” it comes out muffled against the couch cushion. alice hopes gladys’ didn’t hear it. doesn’t even know why she said it. she’s delirious, obviously. her energy too drained to lie.

“if i wanted you naked, ali, there are better ways.”

alice ignores the heat rising throughout her as gladys’ eyes linger. blames it on the fever. the moment feels too intense all of a sudden. “shouldn’t you be out robbing a bank or something?” she says to try and break the moment, but there’s no real venom in her words.

gladys just smirks down at her, and it does nothing to quell the tension arising. “i’ll take that as my cue to leave. don’t wanna be around when coop and the kiddos come home, anyway.”

there’s a sinking feeling in alice’s stomach that she’d rather not think too much about as she watches gladys get up. it’s probably just nausea.

gladys grabs her jacket off the hook by the door, a gesture that feels oddly at place in alice’s eyes. domestic. like they’ve always shared this space.

“oh, and don’t worry about your groceries,” gladys says as she turns around to look back at alice. “all taken care of.”

“you bought my groceries?” alice questions, slowly sitting up now.

“i’m full of surprises, baby,” gladys says with a wink. alice bites her slip to keep herself from smiling. “they’re all put away. i’m sure you’ll have a problem with where i put them, but you can yell at me when we see each other in another 20 years.”

alice doesn’t think she’s meant to detect the slight bitterness in gladys’ words, but she does anyway. doesn’t really know what she’s supposed to say back. there’s too much and not enough.

gladys is reaching for the door by the time alice finds her tongue. blurts out a quick “thank you,” that surprises them both.

gladys looks over her shoulder for a second, like maybe she’s waiting for something more. alice wishes she had it, but she doesn’t. so gladys gives her a small smile and a nod her her head and slips out like she was never there at all.

#Anonymous #i really had to research dayquil because i never take medicine for anything lmao #i also only get sick like once every 5 years #alice cooper #gladys jones #riverdale fanfiction #my writing #riverparents #briana answers things

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cluttermind · 4 years ago

Text

Without A Parachute (7/15) - Silver, Gold, and Secrets

Summary: Emma worked tremendously hard to give herself a better chance. From group homes, to living in her car, to ivy league student, this English Major’s only solace was escaping her reality through books. One night, Emma comes home to find a small package with only her name on it written in beautiful calligraphy. The package contains a thick, brown leather journal. Emma soon learns that the fiction she writes in the journal eventually becomes reality. Will Emma learn to control this gift, or will she fall too fast into the temptation to change too much? With the help of her good friends August, Robin, and Elsa, and the mysterious, intriguing bartender of The Jolly Roger, Emma discovers just how easy it is to lose control, and how difficult it is to pick up the pieces.

Rating: M

Words: 31,139 total / 6,952 Ch 7

Read on ao3: Beginning | Current

A/N: Sorry again for the inconsistent posting schedule! I'm trying so hard to stay on track. Here's a LONG chapter with a whole lot happening to make up for it :) Enjoy some fluff, plot, and smut!

Also the formatting is better on ao3 so I’d recommend reading there :)

I dreamt I saw you walking up a hillside in the snow

Casting shadows on the winter sky as you stood there counting crows

One for sorrow

Two for joy

Three for girls and four for boys

Five for silver

Six for gold and

Seven for a secret never to be told

- Counting Crows, Murder of One

Cold, Emma rolled over to snuggle closer to Killian. Instead she rolled flat onto her stomach. She blindly reached out, slapping the empty mattress next to her trying to find him. Groaning when she concluded he wasn’t next to her, Emma rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, checking the clock next to her. 9:30 am . Sighing, she dragged herself out of bed and made her way downstairs. Halfway down the stairs she spotted Killian in the kitchen. His phone was in his hand. His ear buds were in. And he was dancing . Like an idiot. In boxers and a t-shirt. His hair still messy from bed. God, he was awful. But fuck he was sexy.

He clearly didn’t notice her because he didn’t stop, only slowed a bit to fill the coffee maker with water. So Emma snuck up behind him and joined his ridiculous dancing. Eventually he turned around, saw her, and broke out into a fit of laughter.

“What’re we dancing to?” Emma yelled so he could hear her over his music. It was so loud she could hear it faintly from where she was in front of him. In response, Killian connected his phone to the bluetooth speaker on the counter and blasted Your Such A Mystery by Bleachers.

To anyone on the outside of their bubble they looked ridiculous. To Emma, it looked like what love should be. Or, at least, what she had always imagined it to be. Jumping around the kitchen at 9:30 in the morning in their pajamas, everything felt comfortable and wonderful. Maybe it was the endorphins talking but she felt like she was on cloud nine. And when Killian pulled her close to him to kiss her passionately, she believed that this must be the high people tried to chase with drugs. Who needs drugs when they have a Killian?

When the song ended, Killian pulled back. “Coffee, love?”

“That depends. It’s not the same crap you have at the pub, is it?” Emma teased. Killian lowered the music so they didn’t have to scream to have a conversation when they were standing in each other's personal space.

He chuckled. “I promise it’s not. It’s local and it’s sweet. You’ll like it.” Killian poured them each a mug of coffee. He was right, she did like it. There was a hit of chocolate that did, in fact, make the bitter drink a little sweeter. She hummed softly, enjoying the comfort of the warm mug in her hand as the coffee started to bring her back to reality.

“What is it?”

“Ithaca House Blend from Ithaca Coffee Company. It’s fair trade and organic.” He explained, taking a sip from his mug.

“Why don’t you serve this at the Jolly?”

“Because it’s not cheap and I spend money on alcohol. You and maybe 2 other people have ever ordered coffee there.”

“Maybe that’s because they know you serve shit coffee.”

Killian chuckled. “Maybe.” Emma hopped up to sit on the island while Killian leaned back against the counter across from her. They drank their coffee for a moment in comfortable silence, listening to the music coming softly through the speaker on the counter. “How are you this morning?” He asked, tentatively. Concern blanketed his words, silently asking whether he hurt her, whether she regretted it, whether she enjoyed it. He was familiar with the buzz that an orgasm left him in and the way it sometimes, or more recently the way it often, faded the following morning. That morning, however, he woke up happier than he had ever been. Killian, who was much more of a night owl than an early bird, nearly sprung out of bed dancing while he replayed every glorious moment of the previous night a little too graphically according to a certain part of him that was more awake than the rest of him. That’s how he ended up dancing alone in his kitchen. Partially because he was happy, partially because he needed to work off the stress that started to settle in his stomach when he remembered the countless nights he regretted the morning after and wondered if that was how Emma would feel.

Emma knew. She knew exactly what he was asking when he spoke. “Cold. I did wake up alone while someone was having a dance party without me.”

Killian chuckled, set his mug down and moved to wrap his arms around her. Emma’s legs wrapped around his waist and his arms around his neck. “Better?”

“Much,” she said, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck.

“I have to pick up a few things from my apartment today and I assume you need some things from yours. I thought we could get that out of the way this morning, binge some Netflix or break out the DVD collection,” Killian’s voice dropped, “maybe jump in the hottub later?”

Emma sighed, heat pooling in her belly. “That sounds wonderful.”

They finished their coffee and made their way upstairs to get dressed during which Killian spent more time staring at Emma than actually pulling his own clothing on and Emma spent more time staring at Killian than actually pulling on her clothes and if it wasn’t for that lingering, delicious, ache between her legs reminding her of the previous night’s activity there likely would’ve been a repeat.

“Later,” Emma purred as she walked past him and out of the bedroom carrying her bag with her. Like a puppy, he followed her, hanging on each syllable that fell from her mouth.

They hopped in Killian’s car and drove back to Collegetown. In the daylight, the view from their drive was wonderful. Half the way back Emma could see the lake. She let her mind drift as she stared off into the distance, Killian tuning the radio to the local college modern rock station - WICB 91.7 FM. Emma’s eyes drifted to sleep from the soft vibrations of the car. Unfortunately her nap, which was more like sleep part 2 considering she had only been up for about an hour, was quickly interrupted by Killian gently shaking her shoulder. He had parked right outside the Jolly Roger.

“Swan, wake up, love.” He placed a kiss to her temple as if he was bribing her to open her eyes.

“Five more minutes,” Emma grumbled.

“You can go right back to sleep when we get back to the house but right now I need you to pack.” Emma groaned, refusing to open her eyes. “Or else.” Killain smirked

“Or else what?”

“Or else I’ll withhold sex from you all week.” He toyed.

Emma opened her eyes for the sole purpose of glaring at him. If looks could kill, Killian surely would’ve been dead in that moment. Then she closed her eyes again. “Okay goodnight.”

Killian scoffed. “Fine. Then I won’t buy you breakfast.”

Emma’s ears perked up and she instantly opened her eyes. “CTB?”

“If I say yes will you please go pack?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes.”

Emma jumped out of the car, slamming the door a little too hard in her excitement. Killian mentally noted that she was significantly more food motivated than sex motivated and went to his apartment to pack his own things.

In her bedroom Emma stared at the handful of clothes she owned. She grabbed a few pairs of jeans and leggings and a pair of sweatpants, her favorite Cornell sweatshirt and long sleeve (which together may as well have cost her an entire week's pay), a nicer sweater, and some long sleeves. Remembering that Killian mentioned a hot tub, she tossed in the simple black bikini that Elsa made her buy back in September when the weather was still nice enough to go gorge jumping. But when it came to lingerie, Emma was stuck.

Emma Swan: When you’re back we need to go shopping.

Elsa Agnarr: FINALLY!

Elsa Agnarr: where?

Emma Swan: That mall in Syracuse you always try to get me to take you to?

Elsa Agnarr: really?! i mean im not complaining ;) why the sudden desire to take a shopping trip?

Emma Swan: Oh nothing. I just need some new bras.

Elsa Agnarr: and you felt the need to text me a week in advance to plan a shopping trip for just some new bras…

Emma Swan: I slept with Killian.

Emma’s phone rang and Elsa started speaking the second she answered the FaceTime call. “You did what?”

“I told you.”

“Were you safe?!”

“Elsa!” They laughed. They were the cautious two of the group, nearly mothering over August and Robin whenever they could. Of course Emma was safe.

“Was it good?”

“Oh my god.” Emma blushed furiously.

“Oooooo I knew he’d be good in bed.”

“Elsa!”

“Oh come on! Even though we don’t play for the same team, anyone with eyes would bet that Killian Jones is good in bed.”

Emma sighed, an unfamiliar green-eyed monster rearing its ugly head in Emma’s mind. “Don’t remind me.”

“So are you guys together?”

“I don’t know.” Emma admitted. She wanted to be. To call Killian Jones hers? That’s a dream Emma hadn’t allowed herself to have. No matter what, Killian had been there for her. To lose that, to lose her friend if none of this worked out, might kill her. He deserved someone better, someone less damaged . And the familiar spiral began tightening in her mind.

“Don’t overthink this Em. You deserve to be happy and he clearly makes you happy. I see the way you smile every time his name pops up on your phone.”

“I just don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“I think you ruined what you had when you slept with him. There’s no going back from that. You need to talk to him.”

“I know.”

“Elsa! Elsa!” Emma heard a familiar voice shouting on the other end of the line. Elsa giggled.

“Sorry I have to go. Anna’s been forcing me to help her make some pro/con lists for the college’s she’s been accepted to.”

“Well she can’t go to Harvard. That’s a given.”

“Can’t go to Penn either.”

“Guess it just has to be Cornell.”

“ Far above Cayuga’s waters - ” Elsa started singing loudly so Anna could hear the alma mater every Cornell student knew by heart by the end of their first semester.

“ With it’s waves of blue-” Emma joined in. “ Stands our noble Alma Mater, glorious to view. LIFT the chorus, speed it onward, loud her praises tell, hail to thee our Alma Mater - ”

In the background Anna groaned. “Not again.”

“ HAIL, ALL HAIL, CORNELL! ” They screamed, bursting out laughing.

“I’m going to Harvard if you don’t stop.” Anna threatened.

“No you’re not.” Elsa turned her attention back to Emma. “I’ll talk to you later?”

“Talk to you later.” They hung up. Emma’s lingerie problem, however, will have to wait another week. She shoved the nicest things she owned into the duffle bag she packed, stuffed her laptop and her journal into her backpack, and finally left her apartment to meet Killian at the car.

He was sitting against the edge of his open trunk, reading something on his phone when she reached him.

“Reading anything interesting?” She asked to get his attention.

“Nope. Just doing some online shopping, love.” Killian kissed her cheek as he took her bag from her and placed it in the trunk. He had a black backpack and his guitar secured in its case. “Breakfast?”

“Please.” Emma was starving and entirely unprepared for the way he took her hand in his after he closed the trunk of his car, nonchalantly, as if this was their normal, their comfortable, their them .

They walked to CollegeTown Bagels, their joined hands swinging gently between them. When they arrived, they got on line as Killian told her a story about one Summer he spent with his grandparents as a kid. His thumb rubbed softly over the back of her hand, engrossed in his own story. Emma, however, wasn't paying any attention.

At the front of the cafe, there was a brunette, a ghost from Emma’s past. Or, at least, she looked like a ghost from Emma’s past. Emma couldn’t quite make out the girl’s face. She was looking down at her phone, her hair blocking Emma’s view. Suddenly her past was flashing before her eyes, unfolding like a horror story where the victim runs into the house and the audience screams stop. But there’s no stopping the spiral Emma’s mind falls into.

A security guard was at the end of the aisle, clearly noticing the PopTart box Emma was shoving under her sweatshirt. The guard cleared her throat when Emma noticed her.

“Are you going to pay for that miss?”

Emma was panicking. She couldn’t pay for it. She didn’t have money. All she had were a few hand-me-down clothes in a backpack and a bruise on her cheek from her last foster home she was trying to escape from.

Thankfully, a brunette around her age came to stand beside her and held up a credit card. “Yes, ma’am. Our Dad’s in the car just outside.” The guard nodded and left them to be. The girl turned to Emma. “The key is swiping one of these.”

Emma nodded. “Thank you.”

“I’m just like you, you know. Trying to get away. I’m Lilly.”

Emma’s grip on Killian’s hand tightened like a vice grip.

“Swan?” KIllian asked, concern blanketing his voice. “Are you alright, love?

But Emma didn’t hear a word he said.

Emma and Lilly shopped for a bit. They became fast friends. When they checked out and left, however, a car not too far away started honking and driving after them. Emma figured this was the man Lilly swiped the card from. So they ran.

They lost the car and Lilly led her to a beautiful lake house that was empty for the season. And they promised to be friends forever, no matter what. Emma told her everything about her life, about moving between foster homes, about the abusive man that ran the last group home she was in, about how alone she felt all the time.

And Lilly pretended to understand. Because, in fact, Lilly couldn’t truly understand what Emma was going through. Because when they were caught later that night, it was Lilly’s father who caught them. Because this was Lilly’s family’s summer home.

Killian’s hand was starting to hurt under Emma’s grasp. It was their turn to place their order and Killian stepped up to the register, taking Emma with him.

The brunette looked up when she stood to throw away her empty coffee cup. It had to be Lilly. But what was she doing in Ithaca? Emma nearly started hyperventilating, wanting to call out to her but being unable to find her voice.

“Swan, what do you want for breakfast?”

Emma watched the girl she assumed to be Lilly leave. “I’m actually not hungry anymore. I think I’ll just meet you outside,” She said, without turning to look at him. Emma let go of Killian’s hand and dashed out of the cafe.

There was already distance between them. Emma just stood there, shocked. She didn’t know what to say or whether to say anything or whether Lilly still hated her. And even though Emma was standing alone, now nowhere near Lilly, she was working herself up to a panic attack. Her entire body was shaking. Killian followed shortly after.

“Emma?” He quickly noticed her panicked state and pulled her into his arms, placing a comforting kiss to her forehead. “Come on, love. Let’s go.”

***

Back at the house, Killian made tea for Emma and opened a package of PopTarts to put on a plate. From the kitchen he felt the weight of Emma’s thoughts, but she hadn’t said a word to him since the cafe. Something happened there, but he couldn’t figure out what. Was it him? Was it another guy? Was she having second thoughts? Was she starting to regret what they did? Was she starting to regret what they were, what they had become, what was so strong between them?

She was curled up on the couch, staring at the TV which was turned to the local news channel. It was Ithaca. It was grey, cold, probably some form of precipitation was expected at some point in the day, some local business was probably doing something for charity, the university students were probably protesting or petitioning something, and there was probably news about music or theatrical performances. Every now and again something major happened at one of the colleges and that was actually newsworthy. All of this to say that if you need something mindless to watch, local news in central New York was the place to turn.

Killian brought the tea and plate over to Emma who graciously accepted the mug but ignored the plate. Killian sat next to her, keeping some distance between them in case he was the reason she was upset. “Talk to me, love,” he urged her, gently.

Emma took a sip of tea. “It’s nothing, Killian.”

“Swan, you’re clearly upset about something. You’re an open book to me.” He sighed. “Did I do something? Do you regret last night?”

Emma looked at him, wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. “What?! No! Killian, no.” She set the mug down and laid down, resting her head in his lap. He stroked her hair, playing with his softly. Instantly she felt relaxed, her heart fluttering slightly, her entire body tingling in bliss from the feeling of Killian’s fingers running through her hair.

“You know you can tell me anything, love.”

Emma sighed. “I thought I saw an old friend. I guess she’s more like a former friend. I’m not really sure anymore, to be honest.” Killian stopped his motions and looked at her. “Don’t stop,” Emma nearly whimpered.

Killian chuckled and resumed playing with Emma’s hair. “What happened?”

“Lilly and I met when she saved my ass while I was trying to steal PopTarts from a convenience store.”

“Ah the shoplifting PopTarts story.”

Emma looked up at him. “You remember that?”

Killian blushed. “Aye.”

Emma could’ve kissed him senseless in that moment. Finally, for what felt like the first time in her life, someone genuinely listened to her. And this wasn’t the first time Emma had this realization about Killian. She noticed every time he heard her answers to how her day was. She noticed every time she ranted about school or told him what she learned. But something about this time meant a little more to her.

“Yeah. The shoplifting PopTarts story. Anyway, she made me feel like she was like me. Like she was also a foster kid, bouncing around from home to home. It was a particularly bad time. I was running away from a home that didn’t treat any of the kids right. There was always a reason for the guy running it to hit us, always something we did wrong, something we did to aggravate him. So I ran and I was hungry and I was about to get caught and Lilly stepped in with a credit card and said that our dad was waiting for us outside. She told me she swiped the card from some stranger, that she was also running from the system and brought me to this empty lake house which, by the way, was her family’s lake house because she wasn’t running from the system because she was never in the system and she tricked me into thinking she understood but she couldn’t understand. No one could understand what it’s like to constantly be running as a child, to not have a home, to sometimes have a roof over your head but never be at peace and never feel safe. No one could understand what it’s like to want to get the fuck out so fucking bad that you spend two and a half years living in a car you worked overtime to be able to buy just to have consistency in your fucking transcript so ivy leagues don’t immediately reject you. No one could understand unless they fucking experienced it.”

Emma was screaming by the time she finished. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she bared part of her soul to a man she realized she didn’t want to live without, a man that made her feel loved and at peace and at home, a man who would stand so fiercely beside her through anything life threw at her.

And in that same moment of realization for Emma, Killian fell in love with her.

“Emma . . .” Killian whispered, silently making promises to himself that he dared not speak out loud for fear that she’d run from the sheer intensity of the way he felt for her. No longer would he ever allow her to be hit or hurt. No longer would he ever allow her to feel alone or hungry. No longer would he ever allow her to not have a home or someone she would call family or someone she could turn to when everything was crashing down around her or simply getting too much for one person to carry. No longer would he ever allow her to feel unloved.

He didn’t want her to ever have to run from something again. He wanted to be what she ran to.

“There’s more. I’ll tell you the rest another day.” Emma sat up so that she could curl up against Killian’s side as he engulfed her in his arms. He held her tightly against him and they sat silently for a while. Eventually, they both fell asleep.

***

They were sitting on the floor on either side of the coffee table in the living room, Emma’s back against the couch as she lost yet another game of chess to Killian who broke out his grandfather’s marble chess set. He had even tried to let her win on multiple occasions but Emma was too distracted by his deep blue eyes to pay any mind to the game in front of her. She missed easy takes and fell easily into his traps. Fitting, really, considering how easily she fell for, fell into, him .

“Alright, alright, I surrender.” Emma tapped her foot against Killian’s thigh. “I believe that you promised me a dip in a hot tub?” She asked, smirking at him.

If it were possible to undress someone with your eyes, Killian would’ve been naked in an instant with the look Emma was giving him. He waggled his eyebrows at her, entirely up to play this game she started. “Did you bring your swimsuit, love?"

“Do I need one, Captain?” Emma teased.

“You little minx.” Killian growled, his cock already starting to harden simply at the words falling off her tongue, and the image they created in his mind. “You go change, or strip, either works wonders for me, love, and grab some towels from upstairs.”

Emma giggled and bounded up the stairs to change into her black bikini. She pulled her hair up into a bun on the top of her head, grabbed some towels, and rummaged through the dresser drawers to find a pair of Killian’s swim trunks for him.

She found him in the kitchen, pouring two glasses of red wine. Killian was nothing if not a romantic.

“I hope one of those is for me,” she toyed, wanting to get his attention and catch him off guard while she wore nothing but her bathing suit.

The second he saw her, Killian’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow,” was about all he could manage.

Emma threw his swim trunks at him. “I brought you these.” He caught them, easily.

He handed her a glass and kissed her softly. “Outside on the left end of the deck. I’ll meet you there, my love.”

The cold air nipped at Emma’s skin as she quickly walked towards the hot water, careful not to spill her wine. It was a long day that tested all of her emotions. Quite frankly, she was exhausted and stressed. Killian tried all day to keep her mind busy, tried to help her relax. As graceful as we were for him, none of it worked. Her past with Lilly kept replaying over and over like a broken record or a film on loop. Sinking into the warm bubbly water, her back against a few of the jets, finally she felt herself relaxing. The jets felt so good against her back she was nearly moaning by the time Killian joined her. She actually didn’t even notice him slipping into the tub across from her until he chuckled.

“Enjoying yourself, love?”

“This might be better than sex.”

Killian threw his head back and laughed. He could have come up with a cheeky line, but he knew she needed this. He knew she needed to really relax, to turn her mind off for a second. He’d follow her lead on where this went.

“Come here, Swan.” He took a sip of his wine and set it down on the ledge behind him. Emma moved to sit between Killian’s legs. He placed a sensual kiss on her shoulder and his hands trailed up her arms to rub her shoulders, working at the knots that had formed there likely from stress.

Emma moaned softly. “That feels nice.”

“All I want is to make you feel good.” Killian whispered against her ear, nipping teasingly at her lobe.

“Mmm you’re succeeding.”

He trailed kisses slowly down her neck, stopping at her pulse point to suck gently at her skin. His fingertips ghosted down her sides, tracing the curves of her breasts and her waist. “I’ve wanted you since the day I met you, Swan.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine as he spoke in that timbre she learned was reserved for only the sultriest of remarks, the dirtiest of phrases, the sexiest of sayings.

“Well now you have me . . . And I’m all yours, Killian.” Emma’s hands rested on Killian’s thighs. As much as she wanted to turn to face him, to straddle his legs and grind into him, to tell him to take shed them of the few clothes creating a barrier between them, Emma was quite enjoying this teasing game.

“And I, yours, love.” Killian pulled her back against him so she could feel the effect her words had on him. “Just hearing you say that is enough to turn me on.”

Emma wiggled her ass back against him which elicited a hiss from Killian behind her. “I quite enjoy having this effect on you, Captain.”

“Oh do you now?”

“Aye,” Emma said, mocking his accent.

Killian chuckled. “You think you’re funny?”

“Aye,” she mocked again, a devilish grin plastered on her face.

In response, Killian nipped at her pulse point, dragging his teeth teasingly over her skin, sucking to leave his mark on her. Not expecting how incredible that would feel, Emma gasped. “Not so funny anymore, are you, my love?”

Taking a deep breath to attempt to calm her racing heart, Emma hummed softly. “It’s hard to think straight when you’re doing such salacious things to me.”

Killian trailed his fingertips underwater over her stomach, whispering in a sultry tone against her neck between wet kisses, “Close your eyes, Swan.”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?”

Emma closed her eyes. “With all my heart.” She let her head fall back against Killian’s shoulder.

“Imagine I’m kissing down your body,” Killian whispered, trailing his hand between her breasts and down her stomach to the waistband of her bikini bottoms. Emma hummed in response. “Teasing just above where I know you want me.”

Dancing his fingers over her skin, he turned his attention to her breast. “You’re wearing far too much clothing, love.”

Emma reached behind her neck and untied the top while Killian untied the back, tossing the material to the ground beside the tub. “Better?” She teased.

“Much,” Killian smirked, cupping her breasts in his hands, massaging gently.

Emma moaned, heat pooling in the pit of her stomach. “Killian . . .”

“Does that feel good love?” He purred.

“Fuck, Killian. Yes,” Emma groaned, arching her back as if her body was begging for more of his touch, more of his voice, more of his everything.

He placed a kiss on her shoulder. “You’re so beautiful, Emma.”

Emma hummed softly. “Don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop what? Talking?” Killian teased.

“Don’t stop talking,” Emma affirmed, the simple way each word teasingly fell off his tongue sending chills down her spine.

“As you wish, my love.” One of his hands grazed over a sensitive spot on her side.

Emma broke out into a fit of giggles. “Killian! Stop!"

Killian chuckled, purposely tickling her. “Stop?”

“I’m ticklish!” Emma nearly bucked back against him, her laughter uncontrollable. Killian grins, the carefree nature of her genuine laugh warmed his heart. For once today, after a long, stressful day, it looked like Emma was relaxed. But he stopped, lifting both of his hands off of her body, complying with her request.

“Wait, no,” Emma whimpered.

“No?”

“Come back.” She reached back and grabbed one of his wrists, bringing his hand back to rest on her stomach.

“I’m here, Swan. Wherever you need me.” He lowered his lips back to her neck, over the mark he had left earlier. Once again, his hands were roaming her torso, dancing over her stomach, careful to avoid her ticklish sides, caressing her breasts beneath the water, teasing her nipples.

Emma groaned, his name slipping effortlessly from her lips as her eyes close and her head resettles against his shoulder. “More,” she whispers, as if saving that word only for him.

“How about,” Killians hands trailed down her body to her thighs, “here?”

Emma inhales sharply, his fingers dangerously close to where she so desperately needs him. “More,” she repeats. “Killian, please.”

She can feel him smile against her throat, grinning like a madman.

“Where?” He asked, as if he didn’t already know, as if he didn’t already know where she was aching for his touch, as if he wasn’t aching to give her everything she needed, everything she wanted.

Emma rested her hand over his, guiding him to rest above where she needed him over her bikini bottoms. He strummed his fingers over her clit. “Oh god.”

“Killian will do just fine, love,” he joked, chuckling as he continued his teasing.

If Emma could do anything other than moan she might’ve - would’ve - rolled her eyes at him. Instead, she played along, giving him exactly what he asked for. “Oh Killian.”

He hummed softly. “I love the way you moan my name, letting the world know who’s turning you on, who’s making you feel this good.”

Grinding her hips into his hand, Emma was reaching the point of begging. “Killian,” she pleaded, “more.”

Killian grinned, having found the perfect opportunity to mention one of the ridiculous pickup lines he had spent hours looking for on the internet after they had first met when she was studying for economics. “Are your legs available for some open market operations, Swan?”

Emma’s eyes shot open and she turned around to playfully hit his chest.

“What? Not up for a conversation about open markets, Swan? I thought you’d be an expert after all that studying you’ve been doing.” He smirked, clearly enjoying this game they’ve been playing.

Emma glared pointedly at him, a smile tugging at the edges of her lips. “You almost ruined the mood.”

“Almost?” Killian raised an eyebrow at her.

Emma shifts to straddle his legs, now facing him, finally able to see the storm in his eyes. Killian dragged his nails down her bare back, scratching gently. Her hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck and her lips captured his in a passionate kiss she had been longing for since this dance began. His tongue slipped between her lips, finding hers as he held her close to her. Instinctively, Killian groaned into her mouth as her hips rolled over his straining cock.

Emma grinned against his lips. “You like that, Captain?”

Killian hummed, his hands now resting on her hips, edging her down harder on him as she resisted. “More, Emma,” Killian pleaded.

“My, my, how the tables have turned.” Emma listed her hips off him entirely, eliciting a groan from the man beneath her.

“You’re killing me, love.” His hands ran over her ass, squeezing.

“Hmmmm maybe I’m feeling a sense of sympathy,” Emma teased, her hands toying with his hair, “for those swim trunks.” While her eyes portrayed the utmost innocence, her words insinuated that her intentions were anything but.

Killian smirked, waggling his eyebrows at her. “A growing sense?”

Emma giggled. “Well something’s growing.” She ran her hands down his chest until her fingers were brushing along his waistband. Killian leaned back, giving her the room she needed, groaning and laughing softly at the utter bliss rippling through his body at every brush of her fingertips.

Her hands grazed over his cock, clearly hard and ready for her. “Why don’t we move this into the bedroom?” She whispered salaciously against his lips.

“Swan, you read my mind.” She left him with a quick kiss, hopping out of the tub and wrapping a towel around her as she raced towards the back door to escape the cold, Ithaca night, with Killian following closely behind.

***

The past few days had been more than Emma ever could have dreamed of. Falling asleep wrapped in Killians arms holding her closely against her, waking up to freshly made cups of coffee, spending days playing games and reading and telling nonsensical stories, spending evening curled up on the couch watching whatever seemed interesting on Netflix, and spending nights making out on the couch like hormonal teenagers was simply perfect.

It was Wednesday. Spring break was halfway over and Emma dreaded having to go back to the reality of classes and studying and being apart from Killian. Her eyes fluttered open, sighing as Killian trailed butterfly kisses down her body. He had pushed the covers away, needing to see her face for cues. They hadn’t bothered getting dressed from the night before and had fallen asleep shortly after cleaning up from a delightful rendezvous.

She gripped the pillowcase with one hand while her other ran through his messy hair. A sleepy moan escaped her lips when he kissed her inner thigh. “Well this is a nice way to wake up,” Emma purred.

Killian grinned against her thigh, his stubble scratching gently against her only turned her on more. Unfortunately any endeavour he had planned for that morning was interrupted by Emma’s phone. He groaned, resting his cheek against her thigh, looking up at her with pleading, piercing blue eyes. “Please don’t answer that,” Killian begged. He’d been wanting to taste her all week, but they always seemed to get a little caught up in the moment.

Emma checked her phone, thinking it might be Belle asking her to come in a day or two to help out this week. “It’s August,” she said, confused. August never called her. His preferred method of annoying her was sending a million and a half text messages in a row until she answered. She gently swatted Killians face away from her, a move that was met with an even louder groan as he flopped onto his back. Emma answered the phone. “August?”

“Ems, I don’t fucking know what I’m going to fucking do,” August said, his voice sounding absolutely wrecked on the other end of the line.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Emma asked, concern so clearly blanketing each word that Killian was no longer pouting like an incessant child and instead tossing her his t-shirt from the floor before grabbing a clean pair of boxers from the dresser for himself.

“I can’t fucking believe this is happening. Everything is falling apart.” It sounded like August, someone who had been her rock through the stress of their first semester, was crying. Emma quickly pulled Killian’s shirt on.

“August you have to talk to me. What happened?”

“I didn’t get the fucking internship.”

“The one with the publishing house in New York? I thought the final interview went well! The HR rep basically told you that you got the job.”

“Don’t you think I fucking know that?!” August screamed. Emma winced. “Fuck, Ems I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” Emma asked softly.

August sighed. “I have no idea. I got great feedback after every round and they basically handed me the job after the last round but I must’ve fucked up something because I got a rejection email this morning.” He choked on a sob. This was his dream internship. He had worked his entire life for the chance to be at this publishing house. He spent countless hours prepping and forcing Emma to ask him interview questions he had complied from random internet sources and previous interns he connected with on LinkedIn.

“August, I’m so sorry. You have that other interview right?”

“I turned it down. I turned it down after the empty promises HR made.”

Emma’s heart broke for her friend. “Fuck August. I’m so sorry.” Killian came out of the bathroom after brushing his teeth and flopped back into bed, throwing his arm over his eyes. Emma reached over to play with his hair with her free hand.

“I don’t know what to do.” August whispered.

“We’ll figure this out. There are still applications open and great publishing houses to start at. Check Nashville. If you’re feeling adventurous check London.” Emma paused. “We’ll figure this out, August.”

“I just wish I knew what I did wrong.”

“So send an email. You had a good relationship with that guy in HR, send him an email and ask for some feedback so that you can come back next year and do better.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” August sighed heavily. “Thanks Ems. I better go. Sorry for bothering you.”

“I’m always here for you, Gus.”

August snorted. “I hate you.”

“Aw, I love you too!”

Killian smiled next to her, partially because it felt damn good when she ran her hand through his hair like she was doing and partially because it warmed his heart to hear how much she cared about her friends. And he would have been lying if he didn’t admit that he was imagining what it would be like to be on the receiving end of her “I love you.”

Emma hung up the phone after saying goodbye and sighed.

Killian uncovered his eyes to look up at her. “Everything alright, Swan?”

“Yeah. Something happened with August’s internship and he’s back at square one.”

Killian rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. “Why do I sense there’s something else? You forget you’re an open book to me, love.”

“I just . . . I haven't even thought about what I was going to do this summer.”

Suddenly, Killian’s heart was in his throat, realizing that Emma might choose to spend the Summer in a glamorous city working for an incredible publishing house . . . away from him.

“What do you want to do?” He asked, tentatively but ready to fully support whatever dreams and goals she had. If only she knew how deeply he was in this thing that they started, how fiercely he’d stand beside her no matter what, how no matter where in the world she was he’d either wait for her or follow her. Killian, he was realizing this week, would follow her to the end of the world, or time, if that’s what it took to be with her.

Emma smiled down at him, shifting so she was no longer sitting up next to him but laying down facing him. “I want to write. I really want to write.”

Writing . Writing was something she could do anywhere. Writing was something she could do in Ithaca. Writing was something she didn’t have to leave him to accomplish. Killian grinned before showering her face in kisses.

Emma giggled, rolling onto her back so that Killian was taking his place atop her. “What's all this for?” She asked between fits of giggles, pretending like she didn’t know why Killian was happy - ecstatic really. Her whole life she wanted to be a writer, to tell stories like the ones that got her through the worst moments of her life, the ones that provided her an escape even when she was too tired to run, the ones that gave her hope and showed her love and captured her wildest imaginations. Writing suddenly had an added benefit. She could write wherever she wanted to write. She could write from Ithaca. She could stay near Killian. Emma didn’t need to give up her heart to follow her dreams.

“I just -” Killian paused, his heart racing as he smiled down at Emma beneath him.

“What, Killian?”

His heart skipped a beat when she said his name. Granted, there was nothing he adored more than the way Emma said his name. This time, however, she spoke his name as if she was claiming him as her own. “I just really didn’t want you to be away from me.”

“I think you’re stuck with me.” Emma pulled him close to her. “If you’ll have me, that is.”

“Emma, I am always yours.”

Neither of them could imagine, in that moment, a life without each other. And so they didn’t.

#without a parachute #cs ff #cs fanfic #smut #fluff #captain swan #killian jones #captain hook #emma swan

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theravencawsatmidnight · 5 years ago

Text

Bittersweet events. Part one

A/N. Uhh this is longer than i thought it would be oops. This idea came to me in a dream and i love it so muchhhh. I love Stain hes my baby uughnnn. Enjoy! THANK YOU FOR READING.

He was not sure how he got here really. He had to break in ofcourse . He had locked the only entrance into the tiny depressing room. White walls , white curtains , white bed. The only sound was a heart monitor .

One year ago his life changed forever , like it was thrown out of left field and hit him right in the face. Hero Killer Stain was what he went by, and purging heroes was what he did best. The Pros never caught him , his quirk was to powerful for most . One night , this one particular night everything changed. Villains were out causing terror in the streets, fires were started and were spreading . Cries for help and laughter filled his ears as he watched perched up on a roof top . All these Pros... fakes. These villains killing just to kill... fakes. He wanted to fix this world.

Stain jumped down from his rooftop after observing for awhile , a news van had sped onto the scene as well. He did not bother with most villains who were running around causing a ruckus. The Pros were trying to keep the news crew at a safe distance but they pushed and tried to get the scene on film. One woman had snuck away once she saw the Hero Killer dissapear into the shadows of a alleyway . Stain stopped halfway in when he heard heels clicking towards him , they sounded staggered and offbeat. He turned his head watching the shadow grow larger as she got closer. The woman sounded like she was catching her breath and fumbling with something. She clicked a button and held her arm out speaking with a shaky voice.

“Hero Killer Sssstain!!! Did you start this ?!? This run of crime this city has been faced with recently ? These fires? These deaths?”

He turned , he could not really see her in the dark except for her shadow. He stepped over to her finally being able to see her . A small woman with a blond ponytail and black glasses in a grey business jacket and long skirt. She was holding a voice recorder in her shaky hand. She gazed up at this tall dangerous man , she maybe came up to his chest even if he was hunched over. His bandanna and bandages blew in the wind along with his hair.

“I may have kindled the flame but i did not spread it, these villains, they might have fed off my actions.”

“But.. but!!! They all idolize you !! They want to join you , be like you!”

He hunched down getting almost eye level with her , she was shaking but she did not run . This interested him. “These villains are fakes... these Pros you love are fakes. Wanting fame, money. They should all die” he stepped back but the woman stepped forward.

“ wait!!! I... i want to know more.. “ she retracted her hand fumbling with her jacket pulling a card from her pocket. “If you want to talk more on...way life should be come to this address. Im home most days after 5 o clock.”

My my my...

He swiped the card from her startling her, she had to fix her glasses. Stain held the card up to the light reading it. Suki. Journalist. He memorized her address and shoved the card in his pants pocket fleeing the scene leaving the woman there all shooken up. She pressed the button on her recorder again and letting out a long sigh of relief. “Phew...”

It was a friday night when he showed up at her window staring in till she noticed. Suki nearly jumped in her skin when she saw his silhouette staring at her upside down. Suki ran over opening her window panicking.

“What are you doing?!? Use the door you’ll fall!!!”

“Do you really think they would let me in if i went to the door of this complex?” He asked genuinely curious.

Suki pushed her long hair from her face rubbing her eyes. “Well.. now that you say that.” She backed away and the villain let himself in looking around the room. Nothing fancy it looked like. Just a bed and dresser with a lamp on it. Suki was feeling around the dresser for her glasses, she had heard him come in but she did not say anything. She was a little nervous , was he going to kill her?

“Im here because you wanted to know more about my ways.” He said watching her feel around her dresser. Suki had hit her lamp making it stagger around, she mumbled under her breath trying to steady it. The lamp had suddenly stopped rolling around and Suki heard a heavy slam. The lamp was steady now and she felt him behind her. “Yes.. i just need my glasses.” She was scared now.. he was really close. She felt the heat on her back from him and the clicking of his kives made her skin jump. Stain looked over the long dresser spotting them, he picked them up and dropped them in her shaky hands. Suki gasped putting them on and turning around.

“ uhm thank you.. we can talk in the kitchen..”

Stain looked for the door and Suki lead him to it going to her kitchen. She had a lot of books everywhere , journalist books and newspapers seemed to cover her floor and tables. Stain sat down in the squeaky chair putting his knives on the table so he could sit comfortably. Suki came over sitting down, she pushed some newspapers to the side trying to hide the headlines . He had already seen them though, they were all about him. She placed her recorder on the table in the middle and pressed the button.

“ okay.. uhm.. why . What brought you to this lifestyle?”

“When i was in highschool, i overheard my classmates talking about how they wanted to be heroes for the money. Thats not what a hero is. “

“What is a hero?”

“"Hero is a title reserved for those who perform truly great feats! Too many are undeserving... Just money worshipers playing hero! Until this society wakes up and rectifies itself... I will continue to do my work”

“... the work ?”

“The purge of these fakes.”

Suki did not know what to make of all this information. It was a twisted way of thinking , sure some Pros were money hungry but... but what? She watched him thinking it over. Stain did not have much .. expression in his face . His eyes burned holes into her.

“You.. didint kill me when i found you”

“You didint run”

“... what is youre name?”

“Chizome.”

“I dont have anymore questions right now Ch..Chizome..”

He got up gathering his knives, he also turned the recorder off and leaned over the table staring down at this nervous woman.

“Suki.”

“Y..yyyes?!”

“ will you have more questions at a later date?”

“I uh.. most likely will yes”

“Then ill be back”

Stain went back to her room leaving the same way he came in. And thats how it started. Stain returned for more interviews on his lifestyle, his killings, his outlook of the world. Suki was growing more comfortable around this man , even laughing when they talked. Every interview she began to understand more and more his way of life and his way of seeing the Pros. They got closer too. The interviews would move to the couch and she would even offer him something to drink. She even called him by his name now.

During one interview Stain was talking about purges and how they made him feel nothing for his victims. Suki had placed her hand on his knee . “Chizome, they were wrong in they’re ways. Its okay to not feel some kind of remorse.” He looked down at her little hand then up at her. She was moving closer to him , crawling on the couch. Stain grabbed her arm pulling her ontop of him.

Stain came over regulary after that one night . Spending the night and leaving in the morning , he always came back though . Telling her all about his day full of righting the wrong. This went on for months , the two were very much in love with each other . No one could find out though, for Suki’s safety . The two also had a little surprise on the way as well.

“I hope its a girl. We can name her Shifuku” Suki said full of eagerness.

A child was new to Stain, he did not know what to make of the situation, when Suki told him he just stared at her . “A baby? “ he asked a few times. Suki would giggle and place her hand on her stomach. Eventually, he got use to it . But he was still unsure of what to do. The pregnancy was not easy and Suki faced many complications . The doctors told her that her body could not handle a baby . She did not listen . Stain was growing angry with each visit she made to the doctors . Why arent they helping her? Do they know its his? Why .. arent.. they.. helping her..

The day finally came when Suki’s water broke, she called an ambulamce and Stain followed from the rooftops . He looked in every window till he found her room. He could hear her crying and her struggling . He could not take it anymore and rushed in through the window scaring everyone. He paid the doctor no mind and went right to Suki. She screamed and cried till the baby was finally born. Little cries filled the room and the baby was given to Suki. The doctor had run out of the room and Stain locked the door.

“ oh Chizome its a little girl... i...” Suki was losing her grip on her baby and her knees touched. The heart monitor started to spazz and Stain looked all around the room in a panic. What could he do?!

“Chizome...”

He turned his focus to Suki.

“ can you hold Shifuku .. im a little tired.. im eh.. a little scared if i go to sleep i wont wake up though”

“Suki , youre alright . Everything-“ she grabbed his arm stopping him. “Take care of Shifuku .. i love you both so much.”

“No im not leaving you here! Suki!!”

“I know you wont.. theres a pretty flower field . Im sure youve seen it. In the graveyard.”

“ i have. .. i have. Suki..”

“I love you Chizome.”

“I .. i love you Suki.”

The heart monitor went flat sending a irritating buzz throughout the room. Shifuku was fussing in Stains arms and he was just staring at the body of the woman he loved.

#papachizome #hero killer stain #akaguro chizome #my hero academia writing #my hero academia #boku no hero fanfic #boku no hero #writing #fanfiction #my hero academia fanfiction

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seraph-novak · 6 years ago

Note

Are you taking prompts for Tyrus? If so, could you do one where TJ helps Cyrus to rehearse for a play? thanks, have a lovely day.

All feedback is very much appreciated, but comments and reblogs really make all the difference. Thank you!

Also available on AO3 ♥

~~~~~

Cyrus is quickly losing his patience. On the opposite end of the Kippens’ couch, Amber is grinning down at her phone, a strand of golden hair twisted around her finger as she giggles at something on the screen – no doubt another text from her ‘mystery’ admirer. Cyrus simply sits there and waits, passively fiddling with the corner of his script as he waits for his friend to snap out of her crush-induced daze.

Without thinking, he lets his eyes drift to the corner of the room, settling on the older boy sitting quietly in a well-worn chair, his nose buried in a book. His hair is a shade darker than Amber’s, but his eyes are the same sea-foam green, with a touch of grey softening the bright hue. He’s never really spoken to Amber’s brother before, apart from a few pleasantries exchanged in passing, but there’s something about TJ Kippen that has always intrigued him…

Just then, the other boy lifts his head, as if sensing Cyrus’ curious eyes. A blush warms Cyrus’ cheeks as he quickly returns his attention to the script in his hands, but not quick enough to miss the hint of a smirk playing on TJ’s lips.

“Are you almost done?” he asks Amber, his words sounding sharper than intended. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees TJ go back to reading his book, and his shoulders slump in relief. “Sorry, I just… I’ve only got a few more days to rehearse, remember? The nerves are starting to kick in.”

Amber glances up from her phone, a sliver of guilt fracturing her lovesick smile. “Sorry, Cy. Just gimme a sec.”

It takes closer to a minute than a second for Amber to finally put her phone down, but Cyrus lets it slide. At least he now has a distraction from the indecipherable looks TJ keeps sneaking him, scorching his skin and quickening his heartbeat.

As they return to the play, Cyrus can’t ignore the longing glances Amber keeps flicking at her phone. With every new text, her concentration wanes even more, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she visibly fights the urge to throw the script across the room and pick up her phone instead. She’s practically vibrating with the effort to focus, her face pinching tighter and tighter as the incoming texts start to slow down.

“Amber,” Cyrus says, nudging her leg with his foot. “It’s your line.”

She tears her eyes away from the phone, now blessedly silent, and shakes her head. “Sorry… Where are we?”

“Page 14. Line 38.”

“Oh, right.” She slides a finger down the script, her brow furrowed as she searches for the right line. A few seconds later, she clears her throat and falls back into character. “Thomas,” she says, her voice slightly higher than usual. “I thought you’d never –”

“Nope,” Cyrus cuts her off. “Wrong line.”

“Are you sure?”

Cyrus smooths his face and lifts an eyebrow, his breath catching on the edge of a sigh. “Unless we skipped ahead to the final scene without me realising, I’m pretty sure it’s the wrong line.”

Across the room, TJ snorts, an amused smile nicking the corner of his mouth as he meets Cyrus’ eyes. For a brief moment, something warm and sweet blossoms in his chest, but it’s quickly cooled by the sudden ringing of Amber’s phone. He shoots a glare at his friend, silently warning her not to pick it up, but it’s no use.

“I’m so sorry,” Amber says, shrugging helplessly. “It’s Andi. I have to answer!” Before Cyrus can protest, she throws her script at TJ and picks up her phone, already halfway up the stairs. “Run lines with Cyrus until I’m back, okay?”

TJ frowns. “But –”

“Thank you!”

A flirtatious giggle floats down the stairs in her wake, followed by the sound of her bedroom door closing. Once she’s gone, an awkward silence settles over the room. Cyrus looks over at TJ, his stomach churning as the older boy studies the script now lying in his lap, and forces a smile.

“You don’t really have to run lines with me,” he says, twisting his hands together. “I’ll just wait until she’s back.”

TJ scoffs. “That could be a while.”

“Yeah.” He huffs a laugh, then sighs. “Maybe I should just go…”

“I thought you said you only had a few days to rehearse?”

“I do,” Cyrus says, his heart skipping at the notion of TJ paying attention to what he was saying. “But I can do that by myself. Or I’ll ask my mom to help.” He winces, realising too late how lame that must sound. “Or one of my many friends.”

TJ chuckles, and the sound sends a pleasant shiver down his spine, soothing the aching burn of his cheeks.

“Let me help.”

“I… You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

“But –”

“Scooch over,” TJ says, gently slapping Cyrus’ outstretched legs with his script as he sits down on the couch. When he’s comfortable, he licks his finger and flips through the pages. “Page 14, right?”

Cyrus swallows thickly. “Um… Yeah.”

“You’re Thomas?”

“Yeah.”

“So, I guess I’m… Alice?”

A nervous laugh bubbles in his chest. “You really don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t mind,” TJ insists.

“Are you sure?”

“100%.”

Cyrus hesitates, then breathes a sigh as he settles down and reopens his script. “Okay then… I’ll start from the top.” He coughs to clear his throat, flicking an anxious glance at TJ, and starts to read. “I think we need to talk, Alice.”

“About what?” TJ says, a feminine twinge to his voice.

Cyrus fights back a smile and keeps reading.

They run through the scene fluidly, only stopping to turn pages and share secret smiles over the tops of their scripts. As Thomas confesses his undying love for Alice, and the tone of the play takes a turn into sappy territory, Cyrus feels himself flushing darkly, his voice turning tight and raspy as the two characters begin tossing flirtatious comments at each other.

“Who wrote this play?” TJ asks on the cusp of a laugh, his own cheeks turning pink. “It’s very, uh…”

“Terrible?”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna say it that bluntly, but yeah.”

Cyrus snorts. “A few of the girls in my group are Jane Austen wannabes.”

“Yikes.”

“Yep.” Cyrus scratches the back of his head, the smile slowly dying on his lips as he skims through the upcoming pages of groan-worthy dialogue. “We can stop if you want.”

TJ snaps his head up. “What? No! It’s just starting to get juicy.”

“I thought you said it was terrible?”

“It is, but…”

Across the room, the discarded book lying on the chair TJ was previously sitting in catches his eye, and a teasing grin spreads across his face. There’s a cheesy stock photo of two women in old-fashioned dresses strolling through a park on the cover, with tiny umbrellas held above their bonneted heads.

“Oh,” he says, folding his arms with a quirk of an eyebrow. “I see… You’re a Jane Austen wannabe, too.”

TJ blushes. “It’s my mom’s!”

“Sure.”

“Shut up…”

“Hey, I’m not judging!”

When TJ sees him smirking, he breaks into a smile of his own, playfully kicking Cyrus in the shin as readjusts himself on the couch. “Let’s get back to it.”

“Eager, aren’t we?”

“Ha-ha.”

Cyrus wipes the grin off his face, despite the butterflies still fluttering in his stomach, and tries to focus on the poorly-written script in his hands. They dive back into flirty banter – Austen style – all the while stealing glances at each other, their lips twitching with barely supressed laughter. It’s only when the scene shifts from light to serious that Cyrus feels his palms beginning to sweat.

“You look beautiful in the moonlight,” he says, his voice trembling. Even though the words aren’t directed at TJ, he can still hear his heart pounding against his ribcage as he risks a glance at the other boy, trying to gauge his reaction. “You look beautiful in all lights, of course, but this is different.”

TJ licks his lips. “Different how?”

“Your hair shines,” Cyrus says, his voice a whisper. “Your eyes twinkle like starlight. Your skin glows.” He lifts his head, eyes drifting to TJ’s face once again. His gaze is fixed resolutely on his script, but Cyrus can see the blush creeping up his neck, the ripple of his throat as he swallows, the slight furrow between his brows, the silent murmur of his lips as he follows Cyrus’ lines on the page… “You’re absolutely gorgeous.”

TJ freezes, his mouth falling open, and Cyrus realises his mistake: that line isn’t in the script.

“I…” The words die in his throat. He gulps back his embarrassment and tries again, his face starting to burn. “I’m sorry, I just… I-I don’t know where that came from.”

“It’s okay –”

“I got a little carried away, you know?” Cyrus closes his script and gets to his feet, desperately searching for his bag beneath the coffee table. “I think I should go now. Thanks for helping me and everything… I really appreciate it.”

TJ reaches for his arm, but Cyrus shakes him off.

“I’m sorry for making things weird,” he says, tears of humiliation stinging the backs of his eyes. “I don’t know if Amber told you, but I’m gay. Not that you care.” He laughs, completely mortified. “Wow. I just came out to a guy I barely know. This is just getting better and better, isn’t it?”

When TJ reaches for him a second time, he doesn’t miss. His fingers are gentle, but his grip is firm, and he doesn’t take his eyes off Cyrus’ face as he slowly lowers him back onto the couch.

“Calm down,” he says, giving his arm a quick squeeze before letting go. A blinding smile breaks across his face when Cyrus finally meets his eyes. “If you think I’m mad at you for calling me gorgeous, then I must be worse at this than I thought.”

Cyrus frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been flirting with you for the past half an hour, you idiot.”

“What?”

“Okay… I guess I really am bad at this.”

Cyrus shakes his head, trying to steady his racing thoughts. “Are you saying you like me?”

“I have for a while,” TJ admits, shrugging bashfully. “I know we’ve never really talked, but… I’ve seen you around. And you hang out with my sister a lot.” He huffs, one side of his mouth lifting in a crooked smile. “Why do you think I always stay downstairs when you come over? I like being around you.”

“Oh,” Cyrus says, a touch breathless.

The tension in TJ’s shoulders melts away as Cyrus returns a tentative smile of his own. For a moment, they just sit there, smiling shyly at each on the middle of the couch, their knees deliberately brushing against each other.

“So,” TJ says after a while, his fingers nervously drumming the cool leather between them. “I was thinking… Maybe we could –”

“I’m back!” Amber announces as she bounces down the stairs, her cheeks rosy from her conversation with Andi. When she notices TJ and Cyrus sitting so close, she stalls on the bottom step, her smile morphing into a scowl as she narrows her eyes. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing!” Cyrus squeaks, accidentally throwing his script in the air and hitting TJ on the head. He cringes, hiding his face in his hands, and splutters an apology. “Oh no! I’m so sorry, TJ! Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

TJ rubs the back of his head and chuckles. “I think I’ll live.”

“Maybe you should go upstairs now,” Amber says, glaring pointedly at her brother. “We have work to do.”

“Right.” TJ rolls his eyes and gets to his feet, shoving his script into Amber’s hands. He picks up his cheesy Victorian novel and heads towards the stairs, only stopping to cast a gentle smile over his shoulder at Cyrus. “Good luck with the play,” he says, ignoring the daggers Amber is shooting at the side of his head. “I’m sure you’ll do great.”

Cyrus chews his lip and shrugs. “You could come, you know? The tickets are all sold out, but I could sneak you in.” He blushes, immediately doubting himself. “Only if you want to, of course. I mean, the script is pretty terrible, and I’m not exactly the greatest actor in the world, so you really don’t have to –”

“I’m there,” TJ cuts in with another smile, offering him a wink before turning around and disappearing up the stairs.

As soon as he’s gone, Amber throws herself onto the couch and punches Cyrus in the arm. “You’re not allowed to have a crush on my brother, okay? That goes against the rules of friendship!”

“You have way too many rules,” Cyrus says. “And, besides… You’ve been flirting with my best friend all afternoon, so I’d say we’re even.”

Amber opens her mouth to protest, then freezes, a groan escaping her lips. “Okay, that’s fair.”

“Thank you.”

“But you do admit you have a crush on him?”

Cyrus glances at the staircase, the frantic beating of his heart still echoing in his ears as a nervous grin tugs at his lips. “Yeah… I think I do.”

The End.

~~~~~

You can find the rest of my Tyrus fics on Tumblr or AO3! Thanks for reading ♥

#tyrus #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #andi mack #tyrus fics

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hi-its-namjin-anon · 6 years ago

Text

Get Some Rest

Jin woke up early in the morning to a pounding headache and nausea practically overwhelming him. He clambered out of his bed and hurried into the bathroom, every step making his head throb. He’d barely dropped to his knees in front of the toilet when a thick, foul-tasting wave of bile forced its way up his throat. He gagged and retched, cringing at the sound of vomit splashing into the water. It was all he could do to keep the sounds he made fairly quiet so he didn’t wake the other boys. He kept throwing up, unable to stop no matter how hard he tried to hold it back, and he desperately hoped nobody else was awake. He had to be strong for them. He couldn’t be sick. Finally, after what felt like forever, it was over, and Jin drew a shaky breath and rested his forehead on the toilet seat. Tears were running down his face and his whole body was shaky and weak and his throat was burning and he just felt awful. After a moment, he pushed himself to his feet, nearly threw up again when he saw how utterly disgusting all the vomit looked, and then, after taking a moment to steady himself, he cleaned up and shuffled back to bed. His head still hurt, but he managed to fall asleep. “Jin-hyung,” a voice said, dragging him out of his slumber a few hours later. Jin groaned and blinked his eyes open to see Yoongi standing over him. He still felt like shit, but at least his headache had gone away. “Hi, Yoon,” Jin mumbled. “Go away. I wanna sleep more.” “No, hyung, you have to get up,” Yoongi said. “Busy day today, remember? We have dance practice and then-” “Oh, yeah.” Jin really didn’t want to do anything active, especially not first thing in the morning, but he didn’t have a choice. The group’s schedule was busy whether he liked it or not. He decided to just tough it out. He’d be okay. “Yeah. Come on, time to get up.” “Okay, okay.” Yoongi left the room, and Jin tried to muster up the strength to get out of bed. He ended up closing his eyes again, and the next thing he knew Namjoon was there, shaking him awake. “Jinnie,” the younger man said. “Come on, you need to get up. We’re gonna be late. Wake up.” He tugged Jin’s covers off and pulled him up into a sitting position. Jin groaned and wrapped his arms around Namjoon’s waist, burying his face in his boyfriend’s stomach. “I don’t wanna do stuff,” he mumbled. “I didn’t sleep well last night. What time did I go to sleep? One? I’m not sure. And then I woke up again and-” He broke off, remembering that he didn’t want to mention that he was sick. “Yeah. I’m tired.” “Aw, baby, were you practicing late again?” “Yeah.” “Well, there’s nothing you can do about it now, but tonight I’ll be sure to hold you and make sure you get enough sleep. You’ll feel better once you’re up and moving around, too. And then when we get home we can take a nap, alright?” He ruffled Jin’s hair affectionately. “For now you’ve gotta get up, though.” “Alright. I’ll get up.” And he actually did get up that time. The sick feeling in his stomach didn’t go away, and neither did the exhaustion that had settled itself over him like a weighted blanket. But he got ready and didn’t complain, even though the car ride was hell and he felt awful. If Jin thought the car ride was bad, dance practice was even worse. Every motion made his stomach churn and he was still so exhausted. He had gotten away with skipping breakfast by just pretending he’d had something, but he still felt sick. “Can we pause?” He asked after what felt like hours but was really only around thirty minutes. “I need to go to the bathroom.” “Yeah,” the instructor replied. “Go ahead.” Jin thanked him and left the room, and as soon as he was out he ran down the hall to the bathroom. He felt like he needed to throw up again. He collapsed halfway there, though, crumpling to the floor as his legs gave out. He stayed there for a minute, savoring the cool tile, and then he got up again and made his way - walking this time - into the bathroom. He locked the door and sat down in front of the toilet wanting to just get it over with, but nothing came up. He heaved a few times, but nothing happened. He just felt nauseous, he realized. He splashed some water from the sink on his face and returned to the practice room, and they resumed their rigorous dancing. After an hour, they had another break, and not a moment too soon, because Jin could already feel the nausea rising again. He hurried off to the bathroom, but Yoongi beat him to it. Desperate, he raced off and found an empty room, where he threw up in a trash can. Then he leaned back, gasping for breath, and wiped away his tears. He couldn’t get rid of the horrible taste in his mouth, but at least he looked okay and wasn’t about to puke in the middle of whatever choreography they’d be going over next. With a sigh, he hauled himself to his feet and returned to the practice room. “Jin,” Taehyung said. “Here, have some water. You look thirsty.” He held out a bottle of water, and Jin realized just how dehydrated he was, especially after vomiting twice. He hadn’t had anything to drink since the first round of sickness that morning. He gratefully accepted the water and downed it all at once. It made his stomach churn and gurgle unhappily, but he needed to stay hydrated. He made it through another hour of dance practice, although he felt like his legs would give out at any moment and the headache from that night was starting to return alongside the ever-present queasiness. As soon as they had another break, he headed for the bathroom again, but as he approached the door of the practice room he started to feel even weaker than before. Dizziness took over, and it took all his strength to keep from stumbling too obviously as he left the room. Once he was out in the hall, though, the dizziness suddenly increased tenfold, and the next thing Jin knew he was laying facedown on the floor. His head was spinning and when he tried to push himself up into a sitting position his arms gave out. Behind him, the door to the practice room opened again and someone stepped out into the hall. “Oh my god,” he heard Namjoon gasp. “Seokjin! Seokjinnie!” The rapper was suddenly kneeling by his side, looking horrified. “Namjoon,” Jin replied weakly. Namjoon rested a hand on his forehead but then pulled it back when he realized that Jin was still hot and sweaty from dancing so it would be hard to see if he had a fever. “Jinnie, sweetie, what happened? Are you okay? Why are you on the floor?” “I was walking and then suddenly I was on the floor and now I don’t feel strong enough to get up. I’m not feeling so good today,” he admitted, swallowing his pride and ignoring his desire to not be a burden. “Can you elaborate?” Namjoon asked desperately. “Uh, yeah,” Jin replied. “It started really early this morning when I threw up the first time, and then I went to sleep and then when I woke up I still felt bad and I threw up again during our last break and I still felt bad and now here we are.” “And you didn’t tell anyone?” “I didn’t want to be a burden…” “Jinnie, you gotta tell us when you’re not feeling good,” Namjoon said. “We’ve told you, you’re not a burden. Everyone gets sick. You just need to let us know.” He ran a hand through Jin’s sweat-drenched hair. “Here, let me get you some water. I’ll be right back.” He stood and hurried back into the practice room. “Guys, Jin’s sick,” Jin heard him say. “I found him in the hall on the floor.” “Is he conscious?” Jimin asked. “Yeah. He told me this started early this morning and he’s thrown up twice. I don’t know what’s wrong but it sounds like he fainted just now.” Namjoon returned with a bottle of water in his hand. The other members and their dance instructor were following him, and they all knelt beside him. “Jungkook-ah,” Namjoon said, “run and get him a damp paper towel or something for his face. Instructor-nim, can you grab a fan? Hoseok, go let someone else know, okay? Jimin and Tae, stay here. Yoongi, go grab some more water.” Everyone hurried off to do as they were told, and Namjoon lifted the water he was holding to Jin’s lips. Jin gladly drank it, savoring the feeling of the cold liquid in his mouth. Taehyung ran a gentle hand through his hair and Jimin rubbed his back. Yoongi returned with two more bottles of water, and then he rested a cool hand on Jin’s forehead. The dance instructor came back with an electric fan. Tears started to roll down Jin’s cheeks, dripping onto the floor. “Oh, Jinnie, don’t cry,” Namjoon murmured. He gently wiped the tears away with his thumbs. “You’ll be okay.” “I’m just causing problems for y-” Jin cut himself off with a violent gag, and the next thing he knew he was coughing and practically choking on bile and water. Taehyung and Yoongi helped him prop himself up on his arms, holding him up as he heaved and retched and vomited on the floor. The dance instructor hurried off to grab a trash can, but by the time he returned Jin had already gotten everything out of his stomach. Jungkook returned with a handful of damp paper towels, and Namjoon took a couple and used them to wipe up Jin’s lips and chin. “We should get him to a hospital,” Yoongi said. “He doesn’t look so good.” “Yeah,” Namjoon agreed. “Let’s wait for Hoseok to get back and then we’ll figure everything out. Hey, hey, Jinnie, don’t cry. It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.” Hoseok returned, followed by Bang PD-nim and a pair of young women Jin recognized as some of the medical staff members. Namjoon explained the situation and they quickly looked over Jin. When they couldn’t find what was wrong, they advised the group to take him to the hospital. Jin ended up sitting in the back of PD-nim’s car, cradled in Namjoon’s arms. Namjoon had him drink a few sips of water periodically so he would stay hydrated, and eventually they made it to the hospital, where it was determined that Jin was just seriously overworked, that he was so exhausted his body couldn’t function right, and that he’d be okay as long as he got some rest as soon as possible. Namjoon texted the other boys, who had stayed at the studio on the orders of the staff, and told them that everything was fine and he’d be going home with Jin. Thirty minutes later, Jin was curled up in his bed, cuddled up against Namjoon. The younger man’s arms were warm and comforting, making Jin realize just how tired he really was. His bones suddenly felt like lead, but Namjoon was there. Namjoon was helping him to feel better. “You gonna be okay, baby?” Namjoon asked, running a hand down Jin’s spine. “Yeah, I think so,” Jin replied. “I hope so.” “Good. Get some sleep now, okay? And try to limit your late-night dance practice sessions in the future.” He pulled Jin closer and started humming, and despite the fact that Jin still felt sick and tired and all-around awful, he finally drifted off into blissful unconsciousness.

#emeto #emetophilia #vomiting #fainting #sick seokjin #i'm a sucker for sick jinnie okay i'm sorry #fic uwu #namjin #exhaustion #poor jinnie

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