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silentscrying · 1 month ago

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🎸 out of my mind ! 💿 track four: a conflict of interest

guitarist!ino x drummer!reader

summary: it's the annual battle of the bands at the fix, your college campus's iconic live music bar, and this year you're taking the stage as the drummer for indie rock group cursed technique. you know the competition is strong, but no part of you is ready for lead singer and guitarist takuma ino. you lock eyes at the edge of the stage, and something starts—something that might make you feel alive even more than the beat of the drums.

warnings: language, MIDTERMS, alcohol, PTSD/trauma, panic attack, naoya, discussion of car crash (not directly described), mention of deceased parent, literal wholesome sleeping together. || sfw. 8.4k words.

YOU’VE ALWAYS LOVED fall—the sharp, cool note that tacks itself onto the breeze, the crunch of leaves beneath the wheels of your longboard, the early sunsets over the shapes of the campus skyline. Usually, a week this beautiful would find you outside enjoying it. But for the same reason that you haven’t gotten Takuma alone since Saturday, you’ve been cooped up indoors, frying your brain.

The problem is midterms.

The week is a blur of class and homework and reporting and rehearsals, and you hardly ever see Takuma, or really anyone outside of your classes and rehearsals, save for the brief comings and goings of your housemates at strange hours of the day. You’re all drowning in work, and any wish you have of talking to Takuma without the rest of his band present washes itself away in an avalanche of assignments and emails and post-it note to-do lists all over your desk.

When you see him with Megumi and Yuji and Kirara, the both of you dance around all the things you want to say. Because you have to. You don’t have time to flesh this out, put a label on it.

You and Toge spend hours wrapping up your project story. Your comp midterm is eight to nine double-spaced pages of hell, excluding citations, and on top of it you’re balancing media law case studies and your elective comparative lit class.

And this is one of your lighter semesters.

Your housemates don’t have it any easier, Yuta and Maki wrapped up in senior capstone proposals, Nobara grinding her way through the rest of her gen. eds and practicing marketing presentations in the mirror, even Toge scrambling to get work done.

Between cramming and writing and squeezing naps in wherever you can, you and Takuma orbit around the unspoken truth of your kiss on the roof, borderline flirty but never crossing that line. Not over the phone.

you: how goes the algorithming you: or whatever the fuck takuma: I’M DYING takuma: KM GOING CROSSEYED takuma: havent touched grass in days. eons even you: :( same you: we’ll touch grass when this is over takuma: if it snows i will literally dig it up for you istg

You laugh despite yourself, sighing as you lean back in your desk chair, looking out the window. God, you want to kiss this boy again. Fuck school, fuck your busy schedules. Christ, you can’t believe it’s only Wednesday.

you: aw for me takuma: anything for you🫡

It shouldn’t make you blush so furiously in the privacy of your own room, but it does.

A soft knock on the doorframe draws your attention, and you spin in your chair to find Yuta leaning there. His dark hair is a mess, like he’s just taken off a hat, and his cheeks are red with the bite of cold air. He must’ve just gotten home.

“Yuta!”

“Hey.” He grins, holds up his phone so you can see the time. “You eaten yet?” It’s a rhetorical question. You shake your head, recognizing the call to action for what it is, and close your laptop, joining him at the doorway. You need a break, anyway—you just wrapped up a draft of a paper, and you need to do something else before you look it over with fresh eyes.

“Wanna make stir fry?” you ask, and Yuta lights up.

“Read my mind.”

The kitchen is cast in gold as the sun sinks over the rooftops, and you smile at the little hello, my name is stickers on Yuta’s plants in the windowsill. As the two of you grab bowls and pans and ingredients from the fridge, you realize you haven’t really spent one-on-one time with him in a while. You’ve missed it.

“We haven’t done this in forever,” you say, tossing a green pepper over your shoulder. He catches it with one hand and puts it on the cutting board.

“I know,” he laughs, gentle in the same way that everything Yuta does is gentle, and you’re suddenly struck with the horrible thought of how much you’re going to miss him next year. “I feel like we haven’t had any one-on-one time recently. But I’ve been meaning to, uh… well, I should thank you, for giving me that time with Maki. I don’t know that I’d have made a move if not for you.”

“So you’re the one who made the move?” You grin, elbowing him fondly. “Maki wasn’t very forthcoming with the details.”

“I wouldn’t say I made the first move,” he admits. “I started making dinner, and then she started scribbling on something over by the plants. And I was so confused, and then I realized she’d bought these.” He gestures to the plant name tags, a fond smile on his face. Half the handwriting is Yuta’s loopy scrawl, and the other half is Maki’s more jagged counterpart. “She knew all their names. Which is crazy. Sometimes I barely remember.”

You move to the cutting board and start on the peppers while Yuta fires up the stovetop. “That’s sweet,” you say. “You guys are good together. I’ve only been waiting for like, an entire year.”

Yuta chuckles and looks over his shoulder at you. “I asked how she remembered all the names and she said something along the lines of did you know people actually listen when you talk, and I’ve never been particularly good at hiding my facial expressions.” You snort, because you know that better than anyone. “And then I said Toge definitely doesn’t, and she rolled her eyes and said I kept missing the point.”

“Oh, smooth.” You move over so Yuta can reach into the cabinet above you for the seasoning. “And then you asked what the point is?”

“Mhm.” Yuta hip-checks you lightly as he moves back to his place by the stove, and you relish the familiarity of it. He’s one of your best friends, and you’ve missed doing this with him, cooking with him, talking to him. “She said the point is I’m an oblivious dumbass who should just shut up and kiss her already. So I did.”

You have to put the knife down as your laugh bursts out, shaking your shoulders, because that’s the most Maki thing you’ve ever heard. “And you’re together now?”

“Mhm.” Yuta flushes a little. “She’s great. I wasn’t really gonna say anything… ever? She’s out of my league, Skip.”

It should maybe feel like a bigger deal that Maki and Yuta are finally a thing, but in a way, it’s like nothing has changed. They’ve always been close, and you’ve always known they’re perfect for each other. It felt inevitable, and now it’s happened, and it feels right.

“You’re both out of everyone’s league,” you correct, turning to lean against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest. “And neither of you think you deserve each other, which is exactly why you do.” He smiles, shy and small, and your heart warms in your chest. “I’m happy for you, Yuta.”

“Thanks.” He ducks his head a little, his tell-tale sign of embarrassment, like when Takuma scratches the back of his neck. God, why does everything remind you of Takuma?

Like he can read your mind, Yuta says, “Your turn. You and Ino? I know everyone’s in the loop except me.”

The next half hour or so passes with you explaining the details of your night with Takuma yet again, the smell of stir fry eventually drawing Toge out from the cave (his and Yuta’s bedroom) around the same time Nobara sweeps through the door with Maki in tow. It’s the first time the five of you have been in the same room outside of rehearsals all week.

“Ooh, my god,” Nobara sighs, smelling the stir fry. “That’s the good shit. I owe you my life.”

“You can do the dishes,” you suggest, and she deflates as she unwinds the scarf around her neck and tosses it on a hook with her coat.

“I’ve made a fatal mistake,” she says.

“How’re midterms?” Maki asks as she brushes past you, tossing her jacket onto a chair, and you shrug. In response, Toge puts his head face-down on the counter, and Maki looks to Yuta, waiting for his answer. It’s like they don’t know how they’re supposed to interact in front of you all, now that the whole band knows.

“You don’t have to dance around each other anymore,” Nobara points out, blunt as ever. “We’ve watched you do that for years. I honestly think I’d rather watch you be gross.”

Toge raises a brow. “Careful what you wish for.”

“Let’s break the ice! Let’s talk about it!” Nobara crows, grabbing you by the elbow. “Reenactment, Skip. You be Yuta.” She leans dramatically over the plants, pretending to write on the name tag stickers. “This one is Pikachu.” Yuta definitely does not have a plant named Pikachu. “You’re an obtuse asshole, Yuta Okkotsu,” Nobara says in a truly horrendous impression of Maki, turning around and grabbing you by the shoulders. “Now kiss me.”

“Oh my god,” Maki says flatly. “I hate you.”

“She didn’t call me an asshole!” Yuta says indignantly.

Maki nudges him with a shoulder, which is probably the closest thing to PDA you’ll get out of them for weeks. Nobara’s teasing will only make them less willing to show affection in front of the rest of you. Maybe it’s reverse psychology and that is what she wants.

“Table,” Yuta says, pointing to Toge. “Nobara, go sit in the corner and think about your actions. Maki, could you grab the plates?”

“Girlfriend privilege!” Nobara cries, not making any move to listen to Yuta. She grins at you and you can’t help but smile back. She’s being obnoxious about it, but she also held in her teasing about their relationship for ages until they figured it out on their own. You know she’s just as happy for them as you are.

“You better keep Ino away from this one,” Maki says as she dishes up the stir fry and slides the plates across the counter to Toge, who ferries them over to the table without complaint. Nobara wiggles her brows at you in a way that very obviously says you can try, but you will fail.

When the five of you crowd the little table in the makeshift dining room, it’s honestly the most relaxed you’ve felt all week. For an hour it’s just you and your best friends, talking and ranting and joking and eating some damn good stir fry, and you can forget about all the work piling up on your desk and the boy down the street you desperately need to talk to and the performance in two days that’ll decide your band’s fate. It’s good.

You grin at Nobara as she gestures with her hands while telling a story about this girl in her marketing class, at Toge trying and failing to steal the snap peas from Yuta’s plate, at Maki fondly watching it all unfold.

Despite her earlier complaints, Nobara doesn’t hesitate to get started on the dishes, and Toge dries while you sit at the stool by the counter and chat with them. Nobara shoves a plate at Toge to try and he nearly drops it onto one of the plants, earning him a look from Yuta very reminiscent of a parent scolding their child.

"Sorry, Snorlax," Toge says to the plant he nearly attacked. "Hey, these are helpful, actually. Good job, Maki."

You stare at the name tags, something starting to grow in the back of your mind. Hello! My name is...

"Yes," you breathe. And then you launch out of your seat and grab your notebook from the other room.

You have an idea.

—

You’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, spinning a drumstick in your right hand as The Cull wraps up their ten-decibels-too-loud set onstage. Waiting in the wings, Hakari and another stage tech linger by your kit, waiting to swap it out, and the rest of your band goes through their usual pre-performance rituals.

Maki leans against the wall, eyes closed, moving her fingers along her bass without making any sound. Yuta’s quietly checking his tuning for the thousandth time tonight. Nobara does laps around the backstage area, humming and mouthing words to herself, her guitar carefully leaning against the wall beside you.

Toge is straight up just dancing to the other band’s music in the corner.

And you’re here, spinning your sticks between your thumb and index finger, index and middle, middle and ring, ring and pinky, back again. Back and forth, back and forth, the worn wood dancing across your knuckles.

Midterms are over. Projects and papers are turned in, exams are taken, laptops are strewn forgotten across the living room for the weekend. All your attention is here and now, Friday at The Fix, Battle of the Bands. Lifeblood might be a good word for it, you think, whatever this kind of rush is to you. It’s electric.

The Cull finishes with a screeching of guitars and a held-out note that could very possibly be classified as a scream, and then Panda takes the stage, the techs start moving, and the other band files past you in the backstage area.

You nod as they slip by and they return the gesture, not seeming all that interested, but you don’t care. It’s time.

Sliding onto the throne, you adjust the hi-hat and pound the kick a few times. Nobara winks at you from center stage, and you make eye contact with each of your bandmates in turn, confirming they’re tuned and plugged in and ready to go.

And then you launch into your new song, unable to help the smile spreading across your face.

It begins with a drum solo, a mild rhythm on the floor tom. You add the kick, then move to hat, and Maki comes in, then Toge, then the guitars. And then Nobara leans forward and starts to sing.

“You’re in the corner watchin’, at the party, Solo cup in hand. I’m on the dance floor, one more wild girl who needs a place to land.” You glance out over the crowd, stage light blinding you from your position toward the back of the stage. You can’t see shit, but it’s like you can feel his eyes on you.

“Been goin’ solo, flying so low, meet your eyes and draw you close.” Nobara yanks the mic off the stand and belts,“You ask my name, I tap your chest, and I say you already know!”

Power chord, two big beats, one, two, three, crash—

“Hello, my name is everything you ever asked your gods about. Hello, my name is somebody who needs a guy to take me out…”

The music washes over you, thrums from the soles of your sneakers to the tips of your fingers, gets you high on spotlights and amp feedback. You wrote this song about a lot of things. On a surface level, it’s Maki and Yuta’s song, drawn from the name tags on the kitchen plants. But on another level, it’s about Takuma, and you know your whole band knows it.

“Hello, hello, my name is yours if you want it,” Nobara finishes, and you finish with two cymbal hits and a kick, grabbing the cymbals between thumb and index finger immediately after to mute them. It’s a sharper finish than a lot of your songs, punchier, and it feels good.

“We’re Cursed Technique!” Nobara shouts, and Yuta plucks a few strings as he retunes for one of your older tracks. The set goes by all too fast, and then you’re finishing with Next Fix, the beat under your hands familiar and automatic. You’re on my mind at two a.m., you help me find deliverance, I think it’s time I get my fix.

You’d stay here forever if you could, just making music with your favorite people, but your set ends and you have to retreat backstage, Black Flash passing you in the wing as they prepare to round out the night.

“That was awesome,” Kasumi Miwa whispers as she passes you, and you grin.

“You’ll be awesome.”

When Mai appears around the corner, she stops short. You glance at Maki and realize Yuta’s hand is on the small of her back, and Mai has zeroed in on it. Yuta looks like he’s about to pass out, his hand frozen a half-inch away from Maki’s back like he doesn’t know if it’s better or worse to let go, but Maki seems entirely unfazed.

Instead of addressing Maki, though, Mai looks right at Yuta, a slender brow raised in an expression you aren’t quite sure how to interpret. On Maki, it would be teasing, but on Mai it could be a challenge or a threat or a judgment just as easily.

But she only says, “Thought you were gonna take that to your grave, Okkotsu. Been long enough.” She breezes past all of you without another word, and Yuta stares at the place where she stood only moments before, slack-jawed.

Maki shrugs. “Well, that’s that.” The sound of tuning instruments floats back from the stage and Maki starts moving, looking confused when Yuta doesn’t immediately follow. “What?”

“She—what?” Yuta gapes, and Nobara and Toge catch up to you, herding you backstage.

“I can never tell how mad you two are at each other,” you tell Maki.

“We’re bonded by mutual hatred of our own family. We have an understanding,” she shrugs. “She approves of Yuta. I don’t give a shit. If she didn’t, I still wouldn’t give a shit.”

Sometimes you’re very, very glad you have no relatives at this school.

Maki elbows Yuta lightly and he seems to relax, shrugging off the interaction with Mai.

“On another note!” Nobara chirps. “That was fucking awesome.”

And then you hear, of all things, a trumpet coming from the direction of the stage. It’s a very recognizable riff.

Black Flash is covering September.

“What the fuck?” Toge asks. He holds up a hand and darts back to the wing, peeking out on stage. When he returns, his brows have shot up, mouth open like a fish. “Muta has a trumpet. Muta’s playing a trumpet. Since when does he know trumpet? What the fuck?”

“Miwa. Guaranteed,” Nobara says. “Momo’s been trying to get him to learn for years, but he wouldn’t even be in that band if Miwa wasn’t there.” She grins. “I bet Momo was so mad when he finally did it only ‘cause Miwa asked.”

“They sound straight out of a damn recording,” you murmur, craning your neck as if that’ll help you hear better. “They’re fucking good, guys.” Part of you wants to slip out into the crowd just to see them perform. These guys really have their art down to a science, as little sense as that might make, and you can’t help appreciating it.

They segue into a new song with a wild sax solo that you know to be Momo’s, and Nobara grabs you by the hand and twirls you around backstage, some jazzy movement with no real choreography. We’re going to lose, you think idly, but you understand why. There’s something infectious in this music.

Even Maki and Yuta can’t stand still once they’ve put their instruments away, and eventually the five of you are jumping around like a bunch of idiots as Black Flash closes out their set with an explosive series of riffs and chords, and the crowd’s cheering floods the place, all the way to backstage.

You hear Panda’s voice, or more so the bass-heavy sound of him speaking into a microphone, and you only really catch voting.

“Sweet democracy,” Toge says. “I pledge allegiance—”

“How about don’t?” Maki drawls.

Toge nods. “My bad. I’m supposed to be loyal to the queen now, anyway.” Maki’s brows furrow, but she must decide it’s not worth questioning, because she turns away and starts talking to Nobara.

Has anyone actually told Toge the queen is dead?

This time around, ten minutes feels all too short, and suddenly you’re on the stage again, Black Flash at your left and The Cull on their other side. Panda is in front of you all, mic in hand, the results on his phone.

“We have literally never had a vote this close,” he says, and the crowd draws in a collective breath. “The difference between first and second place was two votes.”

“Shit,” Nobara breathes out beside you, so soft nobody else could possibly hear. Two votes. That’s fucking insane.

“But we do have a winner,” Panda says, “and the band moving on to the finals next week is…”

This time, there’s too much attention on your band for Maki to make a comment about Panda’s dramatic pause. In the quiet, somebody shouts, “Woo, girl drummer!” and it sounds an awful lot like Kirara. You smile sheepishly.

Maybe you made it. This was definitely your best performance yet, and the crowd seemed to love the new song—

“Black Flash!” Panda shouts, and your stomach twists a little even as you smile and whoop for the winners. The stage explodes in movement as your band and The Cull converge on the members of the reigning Battle of the Bands champions, congratulating them.

“Amazing set,” you tell Kasumi earnestly. Deep down, you knew you didn’t have much of a chance against them. Still, you’d hoped.

You think you catch Maki muttering, “Y’know, not bad,” to Mai, but you could be wrong.

After you slip backstage, Panda catches up to you. “Y’all were second,” he tells Nobara. “Just thought you should know. That was real close.”

Part of you is immensely gratified that you beat The Cull. That you came that close to kicking Black Flash out of their championship spot. You’re bummed, but honestly? It’s enough for you.

And now Shibuya Incident and Black Flash will compete in the finals, just like last year. Takuma’s got a chance to dethrone them.

After locking up the drum kit in the back storage room (which Shoko blessedly lets you use free of charge), you head out to the floor. Toge splits off to talk to someone from a comm class, Nobara beelines for Yuji and Megumi, and you figure Maki and Yuta are being antisocial in a corner somewhere. It doesn’t take long for Takuma to find you.

“Skipper!” You turn to find him grinning at you, and you can’t help but mirror the expression. “That was amazing. That song was amazing, you were amazing. I mean, are. You are amazing.” His hand drifts up to the back of his neck, and part of you wants to reach out an intercept it, tangle your fingers in his. But you hold yourself back.

“Thanks,” you beam.

“Man. You should’ve won,” Takuma says earnestly, squeezing your shoulder. You took off your bomber jacket before the show—drumming is already a lot of movement, but the stage lights make you sweat—so his fingers skim the place where your T-shirt sleeves end and your bare skin begins, sending a spike of electricity down your spine. “You kicked their asses in my book.”

There’s that warmth again, flowering in your chest cavity. Even when his hand falls from your arm, the impression of his touch stays there.

“They were good,” you say, conceding defeat. He shrugs, like whatever you say, and you’re about to finally ask him if you can talk in private when Yuji materializes out of nowhere, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

“Dude!” he crows, slinging an arm around your shoulder so aggressively that you nearly stumble, laughing. This kid does not know his own strength. “That was so good. So good. You should’ve won. That was insane. The new song?”

“That’s what I said,” Takuma says, raising a brow at you, and you’re flushing again.

“Ino, we’re getting Taco Bell,” Yuji says. You plaster on a smile when he turns to look at you, like you haven’t been going out of your mind the entire week needing to be alone with Takuma. “You want anything?”

Yuji’s not trying to interrupt anything. Poor guy just wants Taco Bell. You stifle a sigh. “Nah, I’m good.” You catch Maki’s eye from the other side of the room, and she waves you over. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Hey, you should come over later,” Takuma says before you can turn away. “Gotta catch me up on your midterms. I feel like I haven’t seen you all week.”

Yes. There it is. Exactly what you need.

“That sounds great,” you say honestly. “Call me when you guys get back?”

He gives you a two-fingered salute with a grin that makes your heart stutter a little. “Yes, ma’am.”

—

Nobara mourns the loss the whole way home, but by the time Maki pulls into the driveway she seems to have gotten all her feelings out and is back to her determined we’ll-get-it-next-year self. The guys drove separately with all the guitars piled in the backseat, and they beat you home.

You’ve just sat down on the couch and kicked off your shoes when your phone buzzes, a familiar but unexpected name floating across the screen.

INCOMING CALL: TSUMIKI FUSHIGURO

You slide to accept the call, waving at the boys to quiet down. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” Tsumiki says, in that tone of voice that means she’s running on multitasking business mode. A low, static humming in the background tells you she’s calling from the car. “So, there was some kind of accident on 34th a couple blocks down from the science complex. I know you’re on features, but Yuki’s out of town and most of the freelancers are younger and haven’t done breaking yet. Are you busy? I can try the sophomores if you can’t, or I can go, but I’m just coming from work and I might take too long—”

You’re already grabbing your bag and your board, mouthing newspaper to Yuta and Toge, who are giving you curious looks as they dig through the movie collection under the TV. The intersection’s not far from your place at all, or from The Fix, for that matter. Yuki’s the news editor, and if she’s out, it makes more sense for someone who’s already done breaking to go. Time is of the essence with these sorts of briefs. “On it, don’t worry,” you say, pushing out the front door and waving to Maki and Nobara on the way. “Photog?”

“Yeah, I’m calling around after this. I’ll get someone there. God, thank you, you’re a lifesaver.”

“No problem. Call you when I’m done.” You hang up and shove your phone into your back pocket as you careen down the street, headed toward the spot Tsumiki mentioned. Now that midterms are over and you’re free of your academic obligations, you can actually take the time to savor the cool night air and crunch of freshly fallen leaves under your wheels. Hopefully the crash isn’t too bad—Tsumiki didn’t seem incredibly worried, but it’s likely she was operating on very little information.

It doesn’t take long for you to hear the commotion, and you round the corner to see a few cop cars blocking off the crash site on the side of the road.

The second you’re close enough to see past the officers and their cars, your heart plummets.

It’s a red Hyundai.

Smoke billows out from beneath the hood, but the other car’s got it worse, the passenger side smashed in. The way it’s positioned—it shouldn’t have even been possible, unless the other car was genuinely driving in the wrong lane.

“No,” you breathe, kicking your board up and running, and then you’re flashing your press card at a campus policeman—he tries to get you to stop anyway, but there’s no way he’s catching you now—and you’re sprinting to the wrecked car, heart shouting in your chest. You see Yuji first, trying to brush off a concerned-looking Megumi, and then a pair of cops approaching them, and another cop arresting someone—shit, you know him, what’s his name? Naoya, that’s Maki’s dickwad cousin—probably the driver of the other vehicle, but where’s Takuma, where—

When you skid around the far side of the car, Kirara giving you a surprised look, you see him leaning up against the tree. He’s sitting on the grass, one leg pulled up to his chest and the other stretched out in front of him, his forehead resting on his knee. His shoulders are shaking, his hat’s on the ground, Kirara is beside him talking lowly and glaring at anyone who tries to get near him—

Until she sees you.

“Thank god,” she breathes. She doesn’t ask why you’re here. She just guides you to sit down in front of Takuma. “Can you—”

“Is he hurt?”

“No, I don’t think so, he’s just—”

“Got it.”

She backs off to give you space, and then you’re on the ground, knees in the grass in front of Takuma. Panic attack, PTSD episode, whatever it is, you’ve dealt with these before. You remember the roof, his quiet voice, explaining what happened to his dad, how he was in the car, how he hates driving because of it. You’d bet anything Takuma thinks he’s back there.

“Kuma,” the nickname slips out before you even realize it. He jerks and looks up at you, shock and confusion written all over his face. He’s full-on trembling, and your heart shatters in your chest. “Hey. Hey, I need you to breathe.” You hesitantly reach out and take his hands in yours, watching him carefully to see if he tries to pull away. He doesn’t. “You’re okay. Everyone’s okay. You’re safe. Can you take a breath for me?”

He’s not fully here, you can tell, his eyes glassed over and his breath catching in his throat. You scoot closer to him, put your hands on either side of his face, blocking out the sirens and the chatter and the crowd. “Takuma,” you say. “Look at me.”

His frantic, moving stare settles on you after a long moment, and he seems to realize abruptly that he is having a panic attack. You can see the moment it clicks in his mind, that if he was twelve years old in a car crash with his father, you couldn’t be here in front of him, and now it’s up to his body to get the message across.

“Breathe,” you say again, drawing in an exaggerated breath and blowing it out slowly. “C’mon, with me. You got this.”

Takuma gasps, trying to follow your instructions as you talk him through it, counting inhales and exhales and starting over every time his breath hitches. “Doing great,” you promise. The rest of the world—the cops, a very angry Megumi pacing back and forth, Kirara speaking rapidly on the phone—might as well not exist. It’s you and Takuma and your breaths in the air between you. Nothing else matters, not right now.

All of the struggles you’ve had this week, papers and feelings and not enough sleep, feel suddenly unbelievably small.

There are things that matter in a much louder way, and this is one of them.

“Christ,” Takuma breathes out eventually, burying his head in his hands. One of the cop cars erupts with the blare of sirens momentarily before stopping again, and the sound has his shoulders tense with worry all over again.

You don’t even think about it. You just pull Takuma into you, wrapping your arms around him, like you can put the both of you in a little bubble away from everything else. “Hey, hey—”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and you furiously shake your head. “Just—the sirens—“

“No,” you say firmly. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Takuma.”

He shudders and you rub your hand up and down his spine. “Is the other driver…?”

“A stupid fucking drunk driving in the wrong lane?” Kirara practically spits as she rejoins you near the tree. “Yes.” The cop just took her statement and has moved on to Megumi and Yuji.

You’ve never seen Megumi this livid. He’s gesturing wildly at the other car, and you remember idly that Naoya’s his cousin too, that this is a little personal for him.

“Yeah, but is he…?” Takuma trails off.

“He’s fine,” you murmur, your heart clenching for this boy, who’s been through so much and just relived the worst day of his life and still wanted to know if the other driver was okay. Jesus. He’s too good. “Everyone’s okay.”

You pull back to hold him at arm’s length, scanning him up and down for injury, and he’s staring at you like you just fell from the sky. “Skip—I’m really glad you’re here but—why? What are you…?” His voice is a little hoarse. His gaze trails down to the press pass hanging from your neck, and he cracks a wry smile. “Y’know, when I told you write a story on me, this isn’t really what I had in mind.”

So much relief floods you at once that you think you might actually start crying. “Jesus,” you croak out, and the smile drops from his face.

“I’m okay,” he says quickly. “Just—got the wind knocked out of me, but it’s fine. Skipper—”

You lurch forward and wrap your arms around him before he can finish, needing to feel him breathing, his heart beating. You also hear his breath hitch as he winces, and you pull back in alarm. “Shit, I’m sorry, what—”

“It’s okay,” he says. “Just sore. I’m fine. Really.” He leans back against the tree. “Airbags.”

You slump back against the tree too, deflated as the limp airbags in the ruined car. “You guys okay?” you ask as the others, done with their statements, turn toward you.

“Yeah,” Kirara says, but Megumi shakes his head and points to Yuji, who’s nodding even while cradling his wrist to his chest.

“It’s fine,” Yuji insists, and Megumi looks at him, incredibly unimpressed. “Well, it’s not broken, I can move it.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s okay,” Megumi says flatly. And you look at him, his expression so familiar, and abruptly realize you’re supposed to be writing a brief.

“Shit,” you mutter, pulling out your phone. “I’m working for your sister right now. I gotta…” You point to the phone. Megumi winces but nods, and Tsumiki picks up on the first ring.

“Hey! Done already? You find Yoshino okay? He said he—”

“Uh, no,” you say sheepishly. “Actually, I—uh, okay, everyone’s fine, but Megumi’s here. If I—”

“Slow down!” Tsumiki blurts. “What? Shit. Frick. Where’s Gumi? Can you put him on the phone?”

You wordlessly hand your phone to Megumi, who’s looking more pained at the concept of talking to his sister about this than the accident itself.

A few cars pull up—a white one screeching to a stop that really should not have been going so fast in front of a bunch of police officers, and then a darker gray one that arrives smoothly after, neatly pulling up against the curb. Gojo practically launches himself out of the first car, looking around until his gaze locks on Megumi, who hangs up the phone with a quiet okay, thanks and then immediately groans upon seeing Gojo there. Nanami and Shoko get out of the second car much less dramatically and trail after Gojo to the cluster of you by the tree.

“Megumi!” Gojo calls as he jogs over. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Megumi grumbles, trying and failing to brush Gojo off. “Where’d you come from? Don’t you have work?”

“Geto and Utahime are closing down,” Gojo says with a shrug. “We heard and came as fast as we could. Figured I’d bring our resident doc. Or Nanami would, since she wouldn’t ride with me,” he says loudly so Shoko can hear. She just rolls her eyes.

Megumi tosses you your phone and says, “Forget the brief, you’re good.” You nod, pushing to your feet and offering a hand to Takuma.

“We,” Gojo says, placing one hand on Megumi’s head and the other on Yuji’s, “are going to the ER.” You expect Megumi to object, but it’s Yuji who tries to wave Gojo off. Except he tries to physically wave him off with his bad wrist and immediately grimaces. Megumi swats him on the shoulder and gives him a serious look that says we’re going, don’t argue. You figure Tsumiki will probably meet them there.

Shoko stops to talk to Kirara a short distance away, and Nanami keeps walking, making a beeline for Takuma—and by extension, you. It doesn’t escape your notice that the second he’s within range, some of the tension in Takuma’s body seems to vanish, seeping out of him and into the grass, like the tree’s roots are taking it on for him.

Nanami’s usually immaculate hair is a little disheveled, like he ran his fingers through it. Without his usual glasses on, he looks a lot less daunting, a lot more personable. The worry in his expression is well concealed but very much present.

“Ino,” he says. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Takuma says unconvincingly. “Fine. Just—yeah. Drunk driver, you know…” He scratches at the back of his neck, and this time you don’t check yourself. You reach up and grab his hand, slotting your fingers between his. He shoots you a grateful look before turning back to Nanami. “I’m okay. Really. Thanks for… um…”

“Of course,” Nanami says before Takuma can say anything more. You release his hand so he can step forward. You’ve never seen Nanami hug anyone before, but apparently there’s a first time for everything.

“You’re not going with Gojo?” he asks when he pulls back, hands planted on Takuma’s shoulders. It feels very paternal. You’re not sure you should be listening in.

“Nah, I’m okay.”

“I’d feel a lot better if you got checked over,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind. “Would you let Shoko look at you, at least?” You’re relieved when Takuma nods, letting Shoko pull him away.

Gojo leads Yuji and Megumi past you, back to his car, and Yuji stops to whisper, “Never fear, Skip, the drum set was not in the car.”

“Oh my god,” you say. “Yuji. I’m more worried about you than the drums.”

“Aw, Skip!” he says happily. “That’s nice.” You roll your eyes but can’t keep the fond smile off your face, and you know Megumi’s probably doing the same thing, though you can only see the back of his head as he follows Gojo. Yuji bounds off after them, still cradling his wrist to his chest but seeming very unconcerned about the whole ordeal.

Yet another screech of tires alerts you to a truck appearing from the other end of the street. Hakari doesn’t even bother to shut it off, jumping out and leaving the door hanging open.

“Kira!” he shouts, pushing past the remaining officers. “Kirara!”

“Over here!” Kirara calls, thanking Shoko and weaving around the slowly diminishing crowd. Someone’s already showed up to tow Naoya’s car, and another truck probably isn’t far behind. Kirara gets swept up in Hakari’s arms, her trying to reassure him she’s fine, and you find yourself left alone with Nanami. He studies you openly, keen eyes and a calm, very slight smile on his face.

“I don’t think we’ve met, officially,” you say sheepishly. “I’m Skipper.”

“Kento,” he says, holding out a hand. You shake it and feel abruptly like you’re talking to a business executive. As Shoko looks Takuma over on the other side of the big tree, Nanami—Kento—lowers his voice a bit and says, “Ino’s told me all about you.”

The heat rises unbidden to your cheeks, and you hope the evening dimness hides it. He talks about you? To Nanami? You aren’t really sure how to respond to that, but luckily, Kento spares you the trouble. “Look out for him tonight, will you?” You can tell from the tone that he’s testing the waters, trying to determine how much you know about his dad.

Hopefully the message gets across when your gaze drifts back to Takuma over Kento’s shoulder and you say, “I plan on it.”

“He’s alright,” Shoko announces, and Takuma appears at your side again. “Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.” Something loosens in your chest at the words, something that tied itself into knots the second you saw Yuji’s car and hasn’t let up since.

“Hey,” Hakari calls, he and Kirara approaching hand in hand. “You guys good?”

Takuma nods, and you shrug. “Wasn’t in the car.”

“We’re gonna head back to Kirara’s. You want a lift?”

Takuma glances at Kento, and you feel the truth of his words that day on the roof, about Nanami being the closest thing he has to a father.

“Go home, kid,” he says. “Sleep it off. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Takuma says, like a breath of relief. He looks exhausted. But he’s here in one piece, and that’s what matters. Your fingers brush his as you walk back to Hakari’s truck. It’s a quiet ride, a short one, your board on your lap and your press pass still dangling from your neck.

“Oh, Skipper,” Hakari says when he turns onto your street. “Your house over here? Or are you coming to theirs?”

You glance at Takuma, but before either of you can say anything, Kirara says, “She’s comin’ over.” She catches your gaze in the rearview mirror with a knowing look and you manage a weak smile. You can’t imagine letting Takuma out of your sight right now, honestly.

The dogs are there the second Kirara opens the door, and Takuma practically falls into them, burying his face in their fur as they nuzzle up against him. Shiro turns to you after saying hi to the others and noses at your palm until you scratch her behind the ears.

“Hi, sweetie,” you murmur. “Good girl.”

Kirara nudges you with her shoulder as she brushes by, glancing down at Takuma and then back at you. You nod. I got him. She offers you a small smile before she and Hakari disappear around the corner.

“C’mon,” you murmur, tapping Takuma on the shoulder. He nods, pushing to his feet and patting each dog on the head one more time. You follow him upstairs, feeling a little out of your depth. After all, he’s not the one who decided you were staying.

When you’re both standing in his room, you shift on your feet a little, wondering how to word it. “If you want some space—”

“No,” he blurts, unexpectedly loud, and then his cheeks go a little red, sheepish. “I mean—uh. I could… use the company. If you don’t mind. You don’t have to stay, obviously, just—”

“Kuma.” You laugh a little, watching him freeze, glance up at you mid-ramble. “I would love to stay.”

“Oh.” He grins. “Cool. Okay. Um.” He turns around and grabs a pair of sweats and a tee from his dresser, then holds them out to you. “If you want…? Or I can ask Kirara, I’m sure she’d let you borrow something, or obviously you live right down the street or—”

Something about the idea of wearing his clothes makes you go a little warm all over, and you accept them without hesitating, cutting off his rambling. “Thanks.”

“I’m gonna…” He jerks his thumb toward the door. You don’t know if he’s just giving you the space to change or going to shower or what, but you nod, waiting until the door clicks shut behind him to tug on the sweats and shirt. The shirt is huge on you, one shoulder sliding off, a fading logo of some music festival on the front. You sit on the edge of Takuma’s bed, tucking your knees under you, and then your phone rings. Tsumiki.

“Hey,” you say, pressing it to your ear. “They’re okay?”

“Yeah, Yuji sprained his wrist but nothing else. Pretty minor, all things considered,” she reports. “They’re on their way back to the house.”

“Good,” you breathe, the relief evident in your voice. “Thanks. Do you… are you sure about the brief?”

Tsumiki chuckles. “Hey, not your job to worry about the press tonight.”

“I can still try to… write it,” you say half-heartedly, dreading the thought of it. “I mean, I saw the scene and…”

“Don’t even worry about it. Genuinely,” she says. “You and I both know that’s a conflict of interest.” You huff a weak laugh. What an understatement. “More importantly, you sound exhausted and I’m sure that whole thing stressed you out. Listen, the photog I had on it wanted to break into writing anyway. No time like the present.”

You immediately feel even worse, because your photographer was probably looking for you at the scene and you just left him hanging.

“Stop,” Tsumiki says, like she can read your mind through the phone. “He handled it well. It’s fine, Skipper. Get some rest.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, but she’s already gone. You shoot a quick text to the group chat explaining what happened, that everyone’s fine, and that you probably won’t be home tonight. Takuma doesn’t want to be alone, and honestly, you don’t know if you could leave him if you tried.

It doesn’t take long for the texts to start pouring in.

utah: let us know if any of you need anything!! maki: keep us posted and tell megumi to answer his dumb phone nobara: WHAT nobara: OH MY GOD???? nobara: well i’m glad everyone’s okay nobara: christ freak no. 1: alsjkfq qEQht

You frown at the keysmash, wondering if Toge dropped his phone or actually just doesn’t know how to communicate like a normal person.

you: ??? freak no. 1: sorry SOMEONE TOOK MY PHONE,,,, utah: because SOMEONE DOESN’T KNOW WHEN IT’S AN APPROPRIATE TIME TO SEND MEMES, TOGE maki: nvm he picked up maki: go to sleep, skipper, we can talk tomorrow

Toge texts you privately thirty seconds later. It’s the meme of Gru laying out his evil plan and then realizing it’s a horrible idea. The first frame says answer the phone, the second says get the breaking news like a baddie journalist, and the last frames say realize you know everyone at the scene of the crime. You laugh out loud. Toge knows you. He knows you needed this. He wouldn’t have sent it if he didn’t think it’d cheer you up.

A half-second later, another image comes in, but it’s just a picture of Nobara with her hands clasped together in front of her mouth, speechless and absolutely thrilled. The full image shows her swooning over a little puppy, but you long ago cropped it and started using it as a reaction image in your chats.

freak no. 1: me when ur okay :)

“Aw,” you murmur. Toge can be sweet sometimes. You start texting back, but then another message comes in and you backspace immediately.

freak no. 1: me when ur spending the night with your boyfie :) you: i was gonna say thanks but then you kept going freak no. 1: me when she texts back :) you: goodnIGHT TOGE freak no. 1: me when she goodnight texts :)

Takuma knocks softly on the door before cracking it open, waiting for you to give him the green light before coming in. He’s changed into his own pair of sweats, and his hair is ruffled and wild around his face. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You toss your phone on the bedside table and scoot over to make room. “You okay?”

He sits cross-legged on the bed, and you turn to face him. “Think so,” he says. “Just… felt like I was back there for a minute.” His eyes go distant just for a moment, and your heart twists in your chest. You scoot forward, knees bumping against his.

“Glad you’re okay,” you murmur, and it doesn’t feel like enough, but he gives you that soft, open look that makes you feel like you could say anything at all and he’d treasure it.

“Glad it was you and not some rando reporter.”

You grin, holding a fist out to Takuma like it’s a microphone. “How do you rate Skipper’s hug on a scale of one to ten?”

He leans forward, playing along. “Uh, you know, it was so long ago I might not have a really accurate rating. I would have to probably hug her again—”

You don’t let him finish, surging forward and wrapping your arms around him, tackling him down onto the bed in a fit of laughter. Caught off-guard, he has no defense, and after a startled moment his arms snake around your waist, and you lie there, looking at each other with barely-restrained grins.

“Well, that one was pretty good,” he murmurs. “Nine, I think.”

You gape at him. “Nine?”

Another smile dances across his lips, and you suddenly really want to kiss him.

“Guess you’ll just have to keep trying.” He shrugs innocently, and then tries and fails to stifle a yawn, which makes you yawn in turn. It’s late, night having draped itself over the city hours ago, and the effects of barely snatching hours of sleep all week are finally creeping up on you, weighing you down.

“Go to sleep,” you tell Takuma, grabbing a blanket from where it’s been wedged between the bed and the wall and shoving it toward him.

“You go to sleep.”

“Bossy.”

But he shakes the blanket out and lets it fall over both of you, trapping your warmth beneath it, and sleep feels very, very appealing.

You think about the paralyzing, all-consuming fear that took hold of you when you saw the car. The thought of anything happening to him—you actually can’t even fathom it. And you think about what that means, and that you’ve only known this boy for a month, but you feel like your heart beats on the same channel as his.

Geto’s words play themselves over and over in your head, Maki’s mixing themselves in until you have a chorus of phrases bouncing around like pinballs.

Your heart is not a finite thing.

You already know.

The question isn’t if he likes you, or if you like him. It’s whether you’re gonna let it play out or shut it down before it has a chance to.

If you’ve got something, love it while you have it.

Geto was right. You don’t know how long you’ll have this for, have him for. But you better make the most of it while you do.

But Takuma’s eyes are already closing, his arm slung over your waist, seeking your warmth, your comfort. He looks exhausted, shaken. These aren’t conversations for tonight. Tonight, you just hold him, and feel his breath against your neck, and revel in the fact that he’s okay.

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jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro @bisforbuse @risararelywrites @idkidk32 @gojodickbig @stargazing-with-choso @anonymity-222

a/n: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, TEAM. i've fallen into another anime hyperfixation (blue lock) and it's killing me slowly. one part left of this fic !!

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eddiesghxst · 2 years ago

Text

cigarettes, coffee, and club-hopping

alrighty, she's here and i hope she lives up to the expectations! this is part one of...idk how many yet, but enjoy!

based on this idea I had 80 years ago

————

part one | part two | part three | part four

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: ex-bf!rockstar!eddie x lawyer!reader

summary: you're a divorce attorney in Los Angeles and your newest client is filing against famous rockstar, Eddie Munson, who is also your ex-boyfriend

contains: exes to lovers trope, mention of a past relationship, slutty banter, smoking, mentions of alcohol, a hint of mean!eddie, public sex (restroom), a sprinkle of degradation, eddie likes to kiss your neck, fingering, eddie licking your c*m off his fingers (bye), and eddie being hot <3

word count: 5.8k

-masterlist-

Eddie hates waking up early.

He’s never been a morning person— in all his twenty-eight years of living, Eddie has never seen the letters ‘AM’ and smiled. This is partially why Eddie failed his first-period class in high school for two — almost three — consecutive years in a row. This is also partly why Eddie was fired from nearly every job he landed after graduating. You would imagine that Eddie has learned his lesson after all this time. Not quite.

Eddie is nearly an hour late to his first divorce settlement conference. One would think that Eddie would, for once in his life, wake up at a reasonable time to take a shower, grab his usual morning energy drink, beat LA traffic, and get to his appointment on time— as a mature grown man would do. Still, Eddie failed even to set an alarm to wake him up.

“You’re forty minutes late already— traffic is gonna make it even worse, and you don’t have another day to reschedule this for the next two months, so I suggest you get up, Munson!”

Eddie watches through sleep-fogged eyes as Kelly, his assistant, throws his window curtains aside to let the morning sun seep into his room. There’s a pounding kick drum beating behind Eddie’s eyes, a result of Eddie falling into Jeff’s sinister persuasion to go out. He should stop listening to that asshole— he’s part of why Eddie married his soon-to-be ex-wife.

Eddie’s bones click and crack as he stretches, sits up, and lazily swings his legs over the side of his bed with a sleepy groan. He can hear the rustling sound of Kelly picking up laundry from his floor— something he’s told her multiple times not to do, but she does it anyway, so he’s given up on fighting her. He runs a hand over his face, a yawn wracking through his entire body before reaching over to his nightstand, feeling around for the box of cigarettes he knows he left the night before.

“I tossed them out,” Eddie glances up at Kelly, who is now grabbing the last of his laundry on the floor and leaving his room. “Go freshen up and get dressed; we need to leave now.”

Eddie’s doctor advised him to start weaning himself off the cancer sticks; something about it fucking with his gums, and that’s on top of the risks he’s running with the vocal strain it’s put on his voice. Eddie knows he should take it seriously, but he needs a lick of nic before spending the next three to four hours bickering with his wife about what’s his and hers.

Eddie drags himself out of bed, shuffling across the cool tile of his bedroom floor. He sleepily rubs his bare stomach, flipping the light switch and groaning, annoyed at the sudden brightness. He brushes his teeth and splashes water on his face before walking into his closet and sifting through the random pants and jackets strewn across the floor. There’s gotta be some smokes in here somewhere.

He finds a nearly empty pack of Marlboro reds and wastes no time sticking it between his lips, lighting it up with the lighter on his nightstand before getting dressed.

By the time Eddie steps into the law firm, his headache has intensified by about 80 beats per second, and he’s gone through the old pack of smokes. It feels as if the back of Eddie’s eyes have a heartbeat of their own, throbbing with every direction they turn. Eddie can hear his attorney giving him pointers for the conference, but if Eddie’s honest, he doesn’t plan on talking much, so he doesn’t pay close attention to what the man is saying.

When they enter the conference room, Eddie is seated across the table from his wife and offered a cup of coffee, to which Eddie gladly accepts to nurse his hangover. “You could at least take the glasses off.” A sweet voice that’s grown to grate every one of Eddie’s nerves whenever he hears it. He glares at his wife from across the table, and though nobody could see his eyes behind his glasses, everyone could sense the distaste behind his words, “Fuck off, Nezza.”

A strong hand is placed on Eddie’s shoulder, his attorney’s, stiffly squeezing the thick leather jacket. “How about we get started then? Before things get… rowdy.”

“Great idea.”

Now that voice—- that voice, Eddie could hear at any second of the day, any time of the year, and know exactly who was conducting that sweet song.

Eddie likes to believe that the universe works in mysterious ways and that things really do happen for a reason, but sometimes he swears whatever god is up there behind the clouds just likes to fuck with him for fun. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could’ve prepared Eddie for the sight he sees when he flits his gaze from Nezza to the woman sitting next to her.

For a moment, Eddie is taken back to a time he remembers in golden dream-like clouds of smoke—- the spring of ‘83 when he fell headfirst in love with the woman sitting next to his wife. And for that moment—- for that split fraction of a second, Eddie is happy to see you.

It’s surprising; after all this time he spent resenting you and spitting out the sour taste you'd left in his mouth, Eddie imagined he would never be able even to see a picture of you and not want to slam his head against the nearest surface he could get his hands on.

However, that feeling only lasts about .012 milliseconds before Eddie’s entire being is filled with every emotion he’d suppressed towards you over the last nine years. Eddie looks at you and sees the girl he loved and the girl that broke his heart. His last memory of you is so vivid that it almost outshines all the good from your past relationship. Almost. Like a python wrapped around his neck, Eddie chokes on adoration and hatred all in one breath.

If Eddie said it didn’t piss him off to an ungodly level that he has a sliver of excitement to see you, he would be lying. You had always known the best ways to wriggle under his skin.

This one takes the cake for the cruelest way so far.

————

Eddie looks the same.

Not much has changed on him throughout the years apart from expensive clothing, healthier-looking hair, and a little more muscle on his arms to fill out the black leather jacket clinging to his frame. He still has a knack for jewelry, you note from the priceless rings hugging nearly every slender finger of his and the chain resting against his chest, hidden beneath his shirt. He carries himself the same way, confidently with a smear of carefree and chaos. You couldn’t get a read on him when settled down in his seat across from Nezza, and the black sunglasses shielding his eyes didn’t help you decipher him any further.

He smells like Marlboro reds and a sharp cologne; dark scented and intense, easy to tell he’s the one wearing the scent. It’s a different scent than you remember from him. He’s swapped the cheap four-cent bottle of Brut for a more decadent scent— a mix of tonka bean, musk, and patchouli with a dash of something feminine you can’t quite put your finger on. The scent matches him better than Brut could ever amount to, but you find yourself reminiscent of the past.

Eddie doesn’t look your way until you speak, and either Eddie has mastered his poker face over the years, or he doesn’t remember you.

Not even briefly does Eddie’s expression falter from the bored look plastered on his face. The sunglasses do no justice either, and you wish the universe would strike them off his face at this very moment. You had forgotten what his eyes looked like in real-time and desperately wanted to remember— take a mental picture and shove it in the corner of your brain filled with essential memories, all things that make you smile, cry, and scream.

There’s a moment where you feel pained by Eddie’s unwavering reaction to seeing you. That feeling is quickly replaced with relief, relief that Eddie has matured just as much as you’d hoped he had. When you found out your client would be filing against Eddie, your high school boyfriend, you had initially panicked and paced the living room floor of your tiny studio apartment, thinking of ways to back out of the case. However, after a hefty glass of wine, you managed to persuade yourself that Eddie most likely isn’t still hung up on something as silly as a high school relationship. It happened nearly a decade ago; surely, you’ve both moved on, right?

With this indication, you feel the tension in your shoulders ease a little, hopeful that this process will be seamless, seeing as both parties want nothing to do with each other and Eddie holds no hard feelings against you.

Once the conference begins, you don’t look away in time to avoid Eddie’s gaze as he removes the glasses, your eyes landing on those dark pools of brown that you used to dip into each night. Vibrant and so full of life, full of untold stories and sights you’d missed out on in the last decade, a story unfolds beneath the glimmer of his eyes under the lights. They feel like home at first, but as you continue holding his gaze, your home becomes clouded by lightning and wind, dark storm clouds with a promise of a downpour.

As you gaze into Eddie’s eyes, you see nothing but the boy you left behind in the summer of ‘85.

————

Stomach growling and frustrated sighs indicate the need for a break at around 12:40 PM.

The conference had started on a good note, with seamless agreements between you, your client, and Eddie’s team. That was until your client decided to become rather difficult and demanding.

“We’ll pick up where we left off in ten minutes.”

The atmosphere in the room has become stuffy and tight over the hours, so you get up to stretch your legs on a short walk to the coffee cart in the hallway.

Your mind feels muddled, pushed to exhaustion from hours of reading documents and going back and forth with Eddie’s attorney. Nezza wants more than Eddie is willing to give, money-wise, property-wise, and everything else under the sun. You’re determined to get your client as much as possible, but it’s proving to be more of a struggle than expected; Eddie’s team is headstrong and unwilling to bend to your substantial advances. Oh, and Eddie’s been practically throwing daggers at you from across the table with each chance he can get.

As you stir in a sugar packet, you watch the dark brown liquid swirl in the foam cup. You fall into a short trance as you watch the tiny bubbles dance within your drink, but the sound of a throat clearing shatters the spell. You glance to your side where the person is standing and are surprised to be met with a leather-covered shoulder and dark brown curly hair.

“Are you done with the sugar?” Eddie points towards your hand, and you blink, stuck as you stare at him for a moment. You know you should be professional, you’re an established attorney, and you’re in the middle of doing your job, but you’re also 100% fucking human, so— “I don’t know, are you done sending me death glares from across the table or do you wanna keep being an asshole?”

Eddie grabs the jar of sugar packets from your hand, “You wouldn’t have to put up with it if you just… quit the case.” Eddie shrugs as if his advice is a task as easy as folding towels. You take offense to his response, eyebrows pinching together as you watch him rip open a packet and sprinkle sugar into his cup, “I can’t just drop a case, Eddie.”

Eddie mockingly laughs, “Really? That’s weird; I mean, considering how you kind of just dropped everything and fled the fucking state, I’m sure you can drop a case just as easily, sweetheart.”

His words hurt. As much as you wish he didn’t have that effect on you, it’s evident that he still does, considering how your neck heats up in anger. You don’t miss the pet name he slipped in; you hate that it makes your neck even warmer. “I didn’t flee the state; I went to fucking college— and how is that even my fault? I gave you the number to my dorm, and you never called.”

And Eddie remembers that letter you left him. He remembers it like the back of his hand. He memorized every sentence, including that stupid number you left for him. “Yes, I did. I called you after every show for months, and you never picked up!”

You spent eight years in New York, and out of those eight years, you spent four of them staring at an ugly green phone on the wall of your dorm hallway, waiting for it to ring so you could pick it up and hear his voice again. You asked your roommate to listen for a call if she was up studying late or if you went out and she stayed in. Now, you wonder if she failed you on her part because you would’ve never, in a hundred years, missed Eddie’s call. Never.

Before you can respond to the information, you are being called back into the room to resume the conference— you’d almost forgotten that’s what you were here for.

You and Eddie let the man know you’ll be right there and watch as he walks back into the room. When you turn to Eddie, his gaze is no longer on you as he tosses the small wooden stirring stick in the trash.

Eddie is silent for a moment before he looks at you and gives a forced, close-lipped smile, “It’s nice to know you’re still full of shit.”

And then he’s gone. Eddie leaves you there, stunned and offended by his words. Eddie Munson thinks you’re full of shit— as if you were the only one to blame for your falling out. You feel stupid for believing in a better-evolved version of the Eddie you’d known. You wish his words didn’t affect you, but the conversation has left a bitter taste on your tongue. You glance down at the cup of coffee in your hands, and your stomach churns. You no longer have an appetite for the drink.

————

Late-night club hopping has never been your preferred way of spending a Saturday night. There’s a different type of energy in LA’s club scene than there is in New York. It was easy to have a good time in New York; the clubs are all close to one another and stay open nearly all night. In Los Angeles, it’s been a slow rise to liking the nightlife— clubs are more scattered, and on top of that, you learned the hard way that it’s difficult to even get into clubs when you’re not Madonna-level status. That last problem isn’t so much an issue now that you’ve settled in and made a few connections around the city.

Tonight you’re celebrating a friend from work's birthday. Penny was the first person you talked to at the law firm; she instantly made you feel at home and offered to buy you lunch at a cafe next door. The two of you have been joined at the hip ever since.

You’re happy to celebrate Penny’s birthday and glad to be tagging along with her in this new chapter of her life, but what you’re bothered about is the fact that you chose to wear the most uncomfortable shoes in your closet. You were under the impression that you would be eating dinner with Penny and a few of her friends, but somehow, dinner turned into a night-long clubbing adventure.

Logically, you have no one to blame but yourself for wearing Steve Madden pumps, but if Penny had told you the night would be long, you definitely wouldn’t have worn these god-awful shoes.

You’re sitting on a bar stool waiting for your drink and thinking about what excuse you’ll give Penny to go home when suddenly, you feel someone walk up beside you, waving over the bartender. You glance at the person and immediately look away, preparing to run for it before they notice.

Sadly, you’re not fast enough to escape his line of sight, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re stalking me.”

You turn to the man and take in the sight of him as you tilt your head. “Wouldn’t it be the other way around since I was… you know, minding my business until you came here.” You motion to where Eddie is standing, and he smirks, silently taking his drink when the bartender passes it to him.

“How’d you get in here anyways?” He asks. It’s not a bad question; sure, you’re a damn good attorney, but you’re of no celebrity status, and this club is one of the more difficult joints to get into. However, you still take offense to Eddie’s question.

Your eyes narrow slightly, debating whether you should continue entertaining Eddie or leave and find your friends. “If you’re going to continue to be an asshole, then I’m leaving.”

“Fine by me; I want nothing to do with you.” Eddie scoffs into the rim of his drink before taking a short sip. You roll your eyes, feeling like kids in elementary getting into petty fights. “What makes you think I want something to do with you?”

Eddie snickers over the rim of his glass, “The fact that you’re still sitting here says enough.”

You scoff, looking away from him as you shift in your seat, attempting to make it seem like you want to get away from him, but it only scoots you closer to him, your arm brushing his elbow. You panic at the touch but act as if it was nothing. “If my feet didn’t feel like they were about to fall off, I would be miles away from you by now.” You grumble as you distract yourself by tugging down the hem of your dress.

“I don't believe that.”

You let out an exasperated breath, looking over at Eddie with an annoyed expression as you speak, “Not everyone is head over heels dying to be around you.”

It might be the alcohol or Eddie’s sinister pheromones you’re breathing in paired with the sound of his ridiculously annoying laugh—- you’re not sure which it is, but you find yourself enjoying this back-and-forth banter. A big part of you is frustrated by Eddie’s insistent prodding at your nerves, but your other part is intrigued. Too stuck to grab your things, bid him goodnight, and leave.

You almost think you heard him wrong when he responds, “We’ll see if you’re saying the same thing once I get you in the back.”

You blink, momentarily silent, as you glance at him to watch him calmly sip his drink. Not a single hint of regret or shock flashes across his face, and you almost think you imagined it until you see a ghost of a smirk brush the corner of his lips. “Excuse me?” And like a child, Eddie’s response is quick and irritating, “You’re excused.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m willingly going anywhere with you that’s not a fucking law firm or courtroom.”

Eddie laughs, glancing at you and nodding once, “Sure.” You hate how smug he is, and you hate that he’s so fucking right, but you swear you won’t fold for whatever stupid game he’s playing. “Sure?”

You watch Eddie tip back his drink and finish what’s left, placing the empty glass on the bar countertop before lazily nudging it forward. You shift back with an annoyed grimace when he turns to you and leans an elbow against the bar. He points over your shoulder, and you catch yourself before you follow his lead, gaze stuck on his face as you prepare for whatever bullshit is about to leave his mouth.

“I’m gonna head to the restroom to take a piss. You can sit here and bitch about everything under the sun, or you can quit being a pussy and meet me there.”

And without further explanation or interaction, Eddie gets up and leaves. You turn and watch in shock as he walks off, watching his back until it’s washed away by the sea of people on the dance floor. You turn back to the bar and gaze at your drink. For a moment, you think this might be some elaborate scheme Eddie has to fuck you over. Complying with this proposition, Eddie has now opened, could very well lead to you losing your job, something you’re not very keen on doing.

You glance towards the direction Eddie had walked off in and groan, briefly shutting your eyes as temptation washes over you. There’s no way this is real. There’s no way you’re actually thinking about going into that restroom with Eddie.

You take a deep breath, clenching your teeth in thought before muttering a curse. You’re fucking yourself over with this one, but you do it anyways. You toss back the rest of your drink, wincing at the bitterness, before hopping off the barstool.

Your adrenaline is so high that you don’t even feel the ache in your feet as you cross the dance floor, maneuvering through sweaty bodies and spilled drinks toward the bright neon RESTROOMS sign.

From the corner of your eye, you see Penny standing at her rented-out section as she tosses back a shot with the girls you’d arrived with. You should turn around and join them, return to celebrating Penny’s birthday, and forget all about your interaction with Eddie. That’s what you should do, but you don’t. You continue walking towards the restrooms, mentally going back and forth with yourself until you reach the door and wrap your hand around the handle.

However, the door opens before you can fully prepare to open it, and the scent of hand soap and Eddie hits you in the face. Your wide eyes meet Eddie’s glinting gaze. A smirk spreads across his lips, and he snickers, “I’d say I’m surprised, but that’d be a lie.”

Your gaze is hot and heavy as you stare up at him. The sounds of the club you're in seem muffled as you spend your last seconds considering what you’re about to do. You should really turn around.

You tilt your head up, silently sizing Eddie and daring him, a tipping point where you both know there’s no going back now—- especially not when you mesh your lips against his and stumble into the restroom. You plan to blame this on the alcohol.

Eddie makes quick work of turning to press your back against the door, fumbling to lock the door as you grumble a breathless ‘Fuck you’ against his lips.

“I intend to, sweetheart.”

You hate how stupid and witty the response is, but it makes your stomach twist in need, nonetheless. Eddie’s hands are roaming and squeezing you wherever he can reach, hiking up your dress enough to slink a few digits into the hand of your skimpy panties, snapping them against your waist and smirking when you push up against him. Eddie manages to speak in between haste kisses, “I’m gonna be honest; I didn’t think you’d give in this easily.”

Eddie is now ushering you towards the sink, softly snickering at the gasp that escapes you when the cold marble digs into your lower back. “Are you trying to say I’m easy?”

You can’t hold back the moan that slips from you when Eddie’s hand slithers between your thighs to press a thumb against your clit. “Maybe… also just pointing out that you clearly missed me.”

You don’t answer him, leaning forward to capture his lips in a heated kiss as your hips rock back and forth against his touch. You smooth your hand down his chest and over his belt to grasp the heavy bulge between his thighs, humming when he moans, “Looks like you missed me more, Munson.”

You giggle when he grunts in annoyance, fingers dipping into the waistband of your panties before shucking them down your legs and lifting the flimsy garment for you to see with a smirk, “Won’t be needing these anymore, will you?”

You grimace in faux disgust as you watch him stuff the soaked material in his back pocket. “Gross,” you comment, although Eddie doesn’t answer, busying himself with pulling you off the counter, flipping you around to face the sink, and eyeing you through the neon-lighted mirror. “You’re a perv; you know that?” You add as Eddie wraps an arm around your front and hikes your dress to sink his hand between your thighs.

Your shaky fingers grasp Eddie’s wrist, hips squirming as he begins to rub your clit, dipping a finger lower to spread your sticky arousal. “If I were you, I would start being very nice to me.” His voice is low and gravely against your ear as you smile, gazing back into his darkened gaze through the glass reflection. You push back against him, and you both sigh in pleasure. “Just fuck me, Eddie.”

You gasp when he sinks a thick digit into your weeping cunt, slowly pushing it in and out of you to create a sinful twist in your tummy. You shake your head in protest, although your hips rock against his thrusts. “No, no, I don’t need it. I don’t need that. Just fuck me, please?” You repeat, voice teetering on the edge of a whine.

“God, you’re still a fucking brat. So used to getting what you want, hm?” Despite his comment, he doesn’t give you what you’d asked for. Instead, he slips in another finger, greedily squeezing at your chest with his other hand. Your thighs tremble as his fingertips delicately massage that sweet spot hidden between your wet walls, a shaky hand reaching up to grasp his hand as he fondles your breasts over your dress. “Not anymore, princess,” His voice is low and foggy with sex, purring against your ear with ease as he plays with you. “This time, you’ll earn it like a good slut. You’re going to have to ask me very nicely if you want it that bad.” “A-ah…Fuck you.”

Eddie laughs at your response, digging his face into your neck when you throw your head back, inhaling the intoxicating scent of your perfume. He presses a kiss to the base of your neck, and you hate how it makes your stomach twist, thighs clenching around his hand, causing him to pause. “Keep them open.” He warns, ignoring your pathetic attempts at rutting against his hand.

When you don’t obey his instruction, Eddie brings his foot in between your pump-clad feet, knocking the toe of his shoe against both heels, causing your legs to part, shaky limbs failing you as you stumble in his hold. Eddie chuckles, nipping your jaw as he sinks another finger into your soaking heat. Your moan is loud and pitiful as you reach forward to grasp the sink counter for stability. “Oh my god—” “Jesus, you’re fucking tight. Barely taking three fingers.” Your moans are high-pitched as you rock your hips against Eddie, nails digging into the skin of his flexing wrist as he fucks you with his fingers.

The sloshing sounds from between your legs are just loud enough to hear over the booming music of the club barely, and if Eddie’s fingers weren’t fucking you so well, you would’ve felt ashamed. You hardly notice Eddie’s free hand traveling to the low neck of your dress, tugging the material down to expose your chest. He groans at the sight, palming one of your tits as his mouth latches to the side of your neck. His fingers pinch and roll your nipples, his tongue warm and wet as he licks up your neck, humming at the taste of you and smiling when he feels you tremble against his body. “I can feel you squeezing me, princess; you gonna cum for me?” He whispers against your ear, humming when you hastily nod. “I don’t think so.”

He slows the draw of his fingers, softly petting at your walls to give enough sensation to have your eyes rolling but not enough to tip over the edge. You frustratedly huff, “Eddie—” “Good sluts ask to come, you know that.”

Your stomach twists at his words, hips squirming in search of more, more, more. You have a lot of pride; you’ve been told it’s your strongest and worst quality before— but here in this dingy club restroom, with Eddie’s overwhelming presence surrounding you and the incessant need to cum gnawing at every cell in your body, you find your pride quickly dwindling like a flame under water. The time when you need your pride the most, it’s nowhere to be found.

“Please, Eddie.” You whisper so quietly Eddie almost misses it. He smiles, “Since I know how hard that was for you, I’ll take it— but I won't be so kind next time, princess.” He pulls his fingers out of you and urges you to turn around and face him.

He nudges you back to sit on the edge of the sink, stepping between your thighs and opening them wide enough to see your glistening cunt, sticky arousal winking up at him beneath the dim neon lighting. “N-next time?” You take in a sharp breath as he hitches your leg around his waist

He chuckles, glancing at your swollen lips as you gaze up at him trying to fight through the hazy fog of arousal. Eddie runs three fingers over your clit before sinking back into you, a low hum rattling from his chest when your shaky hands grasp his shirt, fingers curling and wrinkling the material, “Next time.”

Your words get lost on you when he begins fucking you again, eyes fluttering shut as your legs subconsciously tighten around his waist. You can feel his breath against your top lip, and you fight the urge to seek out his lips with yours. You push up into him, mumbling incoherent pleas into the air. You lick your lips, pussy clenching when the tip of your tongue catches Eddie’s bottom lip. Eddie doesn’t wait for you to make a move this time, his free hand reaching up to grip your jaw, fingertips digging into your cheek as he pushes his lips against yours. You both moan into the kiss, your hips grinding into the thrusts of his fingers.

You keep kissing Eddie until you can’t, too overwhelmed by the pending promise of an orgasm. You slide away from Eddie’s lips and nuzzle into his neck, finding solace in the soft brush of his hair against your face, the distant but familiar scent of his shampoo invading your senses. “I’m gonna come.” You whisper, nails digging into his biceps as your thighs quiver.

Eddie keeps his hand working between your thighs, thanking the many hours he’s spent playing guitar for training his wrist to maintain endurance. His other hand dances up your heaving back, dipping beneath the curtain of your hair to grip the back of your neck, softly squeezing in encouragement. “Let go, baby. Let me feel it.”

You nearly sob when you finally tip over, body tensing before melting against Eddie’s body in shambles of incoherent words and shaking limbs. You can hear the sticky wet substance of your release squelching around his fingers; you can feel it smearing against your thighs and dripping onto the cool tiles of the floor, and you almost feel ashamed when Eddie points it out, “Fuckkk, you’ve been saving this for me, haven’t you?” You hardly register his words, but you nod, mewling as you nuzzle deeper against him, thighs twitching when you teeter on the edge of sensitivity.

“I… Enough, Eddie, please fuck me.” You’re practically begging, pulling away from his neck to blink up at him blearily, sex-drunk hands fumbling to reach out for him. Eddie kisses you and chuckles against your lips, fingers finally slowing down. He pulls away with a lewd hum, leaning back to watch as he removes his fingers from your cunt, dragging the drenched digits up to smear your arousal around your clit, grinning when your thighs twitch.

You try to catch your breath as you silently watch him bring his fingers up to his lips, sinking them into his mouth to sinfully lick your cum from his fingers. He glances at you with a smirk around his fingers, and you squirm in your spot. “You’re being a tease.”

He releases his fingers with a pop before stepping away, “Sorry to cut this short, sweetheart, but I’ve gotta run, and I’m sure your friends are worried about where you went.” You watch in disbelief as he glances in the mirror and fixes a few unruly hair pieces. He looks your way and drops his eye in a wink, “I’ll see you later, princess.”

You silently gape in shock, watching him turn around and stride toward the door. Eddie can feel your eyes throwing darts at him, and he doesn’t bother hiding his smile as he opens the door and steps out.

You have to take a moment to wrap your head around it, but once you do, you wind up more annoyed with yourself for falling so quickly into Eddie’s trap. You clean yourself up and make yourself look presentable again before leaving the restroom to find your friends.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Penny exclaims once she sees you. She gasps when you get closer, and she sees your neck, leaning in to get a better look, causing you to slap a hand over the sore spot. “Oh, my god. Who?” “What?” “You were definitely screwing someone in the back! Who?”

You wince at her volume, quickly shushing her, “Nobody, Penny, this is old.”

Penny rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to say something, but you quickly cut her off, “I have an early meeting tomorrow, Pen; I have to get going.” Penny frowns but understands either way, giving you a quick hug and bidding you goodbye for the night. You leave her with a final Happy Birthday and make your way out of the club, already yearning for the comfort of your bed.

Before getting a taxi, you find yourself walking into a nearby store and purchasing a CD of Corroded Coffin’s first album, letting the CD burn a hole through your hands on the ride home. When you get home, you fall asleep atop your sheets before you can listen to the record.

You spend the rest of your night dreaming of hazy summers in Hawkins with a young curly-headed boy you knew once upon a time.

————

a/n: aH, i hope this was good, next part will be a bit more angsty so this part was for the sluts <3

————

teeny taglist: @eviethetheatrefreak , @sidthedollface2, @peachysink, @hereforshmut, @duncanhillscoffeecups

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sirshrimpysstuff · 3 months ago

Text

let the light in

chapter one: fake first date

a series of friday nights documenting the highlights of james and regulus’ relationship.

lowercase intended!

“sirius? i got stood up. could you pick me up?”

“oh! james”

“yeah i’ll send you my location right now”

regulus hated dates. well not really, regulus just really really hated this one. regulus had always been a hopeless romantic, falling for every guy who looked his way. it was embarrassing really, it went against his whole reputation as a stoic “i don’t give a shit” type attitude he had going on. however, that was all regulus did. give a shit.

so, when regulus decides to go out with some douchebag from the law firm he worked at he though that he might have found ‘the one.’ not really, seeing as they had spoken for the first time the wednesday before the date. you know what they say: never waste a friday night on a first date. well ‘they’ wasn’t just any random person.

it was james.

it had become a pattern of sorts, that every other friday night, regulus would have a date. also every other friday night it would end badly some way or the other. he would call sirius to come pick him up (because he still can’t afford a car or a cab on an interns salary) and james would answer the call every time. so instead of sirius coming to wherever he was, it was james.

it’s one thing to make your brother that you have had quite a … rocky relationship in the past to run around town every so often after your relationship was fixed. it was a complete other thing to make your brother’s best friend to run around town every so often.

the same brother’s best friend who regulus had a very small crush on during their school days.

the same brother’s best friend who regulus used to gush to sirius about. constantly asking stupid questions like what james’ favorite color was, or who his crush was (the answer was always lily). regulus used to be obsessed with james.

key word: used to

okay so, regulus is lying to himself and he knows that. after all, he does go out on so many dates to try and get over the fact that he has had a crush on his brother’s best friend since he was 14.

then, james’ beat up red truck pulled up in the parking lot. finally standing up from his spot outside the restaurant, regulus grabbed his coat and walked up to the car wordlessly.

“regulus! you good?”

“yeah james i’m fine, just the usual you know”

“well, you always know what i tell you”

“never waste a friday night on a first date” they both said in unison.

“yeah yeah i know”

“so then why did you?” james asked. he was always so kind.

“ugh this is embarrassing to tell you, but i just really want to find the one you know? to prove that i am worthy of love, or capeable of it for that matter” regulus chuckled softly.

the warmth of the car was giving regulus a soft embrace. he always felt at home around james. it was jarring really, how he was always so cold to others, his words always dripping with venom, but never with james. with james, regulus was sweet.

“no regulus you got it all wrong!” james said running his hand through his unruly hair (it only made it worse), “its admirable that you think that way, and honestly me too!”

regulus felt his vision going burry, tears welling up in his eyes. oh why did he have to cry in front of james. sirius would probably laugh at him, he always was a crybaby.

“hey hey hey, regulus, regulus you are capable of love, and you are worthy of being loved.” james whispered, his brown eyes making contact with regulus’ grey ones.

“lets cheer you up yeah? lets go get ice cream, and have a grand old time!”

“stop it. im not some charity case where you can just drive around to appease your stupid savior complex.” regulus was retreating back into his shell. he had become too open, too comfortable, too vulnerable; he hated it.

“thats not what i’m doing at all regulus. i um, oh this is really embarrassing to say-”

“say it already, you made me tell you my most embarrassing secret ever”

“yeah okay… regulus i like you.”

regulus eyes widened.

“i like you so much that i can’t breathe, oh my god i have had a crush on you since i was 16”

regulus only nodded in response.

“regulus? please say something? you’re freaking me out, and i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable because i can just drive you straight home and we can never talk about this again i’m sorry i should have never-”

“james”

james’ finger began tapping faster and faster on the steering wheel of his car.

“i like you too, you big idiot”

“so how about that ice cream?” james asked, sheepishly.

“yes james we can go get ice cream” regulus replied, slowly.

so, they went to the nearest tescos. got two pints of ice cream and ate it inside the warmth of the red truck sitting in the parking lot.

“james,” regulus giggled, already laughing at something he said earlier, “you’re gonna have to take me out on a real first date at some point”

“isn’t driving 30 minutes to pick you up from a failed date not the most romantic thing ever?” james quipped.

“james. ask me out, would you?”

“of course,” and with a snort james began,“ regulus arcturus black, would you accept my formal invite on a date next friday at 7:30?”

regulus was sure his face was as bright as a tomato. “yes james, i would love to”

bzzt! bzzt! bzzt!

“oh that must be sirius”

regulus picked up his phone and answered the call.

“hi sirius”

“no the date didn’t go very well”

“he stood me up”

“yes i’m with james”

“yes i’m coming home”

“no he is not fucking me in the back of his truck sirius oh my god”

“bye”

as if regulus could possibly be more embarrassed, his face flushed a few shades deeper as james laughed and said, “in the back of the truck?”

“shut your face”

“why don’t you shut my face for me” james replied with a wink.

“oh my god that was a terrible attempt at flirting, but you’re cute so”

regulus leaned over the gear that was dividing the two front seats of the car, and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

then, as if regulus and james were two magnets that could not stand to be away from each other, their lips met each other again. this time more fiercely, with the burning sensation of wanting coursing through both of their veins.

suddenly, james’ tan fingers were tangled in regulus’ curls, his own hands cupping james’ face tenderly. it was just like the movies, and all the love stories that regulus had dreamed about. fireworks going off in the background, the music swelling to a crecendo, and something… sticky pooling in his lap.

sadly detaching himself from james’ face, regulus looked down to see his ice cream, spilt everywhere.

“shit”

#dead gay wizards #dead gay wizards from the 70s #james potter #james x regulus #jegulus #marauders #marauders fandom #starchaser #sunseeker #james and regulus #regulus black #regulus arcturus black #sirius and regulus

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matchibee · 2 years ago

Text

A Web of Their Own Design (pt. 2)

I’m not spoiling anything, nope. Not me. (Not proofread)

A backpack clad in a cacophony of compartments weighed heavy on your back, trudging through the halls of Newer York’s most prestigious university.

The only university that allowed you access to your job.

I suppose that amounts to something.

The final stretch, the finish line. Soon enough you’d be out in the world, a fledgling taking first flight.

What would happen then? You couldn’t possibly pursue this life forever, could you? Eventually the sleepless lights would manifest into something more sinister, fighting against you as you fought to abolish crime. Your body would age, slowly, but noticeably. Would you be capable of protecting the people while knitting webs in the retirement home?

You shook the thought from your head, running your fingers through your scalp, tapping your foot with impatience as you awaited the call of your name — a morning coffee, a pick me up. Not that tackling a bank robber on your way to the subway station wasn’t exhilarating enough.

Soon enough, you order was called, a student like yourself handing over the mug with a soft smile — a forced one, no doubt. Who wants to work? In this economy?

Thanking her, you tapped at your phone to check the time. A few minutes to spare, your class the building adjacent to the coffee shop, a stroke of luck in the most unfortunate times.

Your name was called, you cringed, not keen on the impending scolding you’d receive, the halls whispering prayers.

After all, you’d ditched karaoke to fight a villain you’d never encountered before.

They kept glitching in a rainbow of colors you’d never believed the eyes capable of beholding, insisting they were in the wrong universe, a portal swallowing them and spitting them out in a foreign realm.

An entire nut, case intact.

You’d defeated them, thankfully, but found at the conclusion of your battle they’d entirely disappeared, not a trace left to remain. Was that even possible?

“Aubrey… what’s up?” Your finger tapped against the rim of your coffee in a beat of your own design, nervous smile on full display without the majesty of your mask.

“What’s up?” Her voice was laced with vines, on edge. “You totally ditched us and all you have to say is what’s up?” The pink ribbon fashioned in her hair and bubblegum dress ceasing mid-calf did nothing to deter the terror she exude. “You totally missed Alador’s solo! He went all out, y’know.”

Alador, a restless Biochemistry major, stood behind Aubrey —the resident Pre-Law student on her way to Law School come next Fall.

“You sang a solo?” You were astonished, looking to Alador with disbelief, a man of little words typically unwilling to perform such a task.

He mumbled something under his breath, your neck craning to listen, asking him to repeat himself one too many times.

“Aubrey said if I didn’t she’d hide my monitor again.”

“…Again?”

Aubrey looked to you with a satisfied smirk on her lips, not an ounce of shame. “Last time we went to the arcade he didn’t want to win me a stuffed Panda! I mean, who does that?! Worst friend ever…”

Sometimes you could understand why the dwindling generations of the past were worried for the imminent rise of your own generation.

“And because he didn’t win you the Panda… You hid his monitor?”

“Don’t look at me like that, it’s not like I took the actual PC! If it was such a nuisance he could’ve hooked everything up to his laptop, I made sure of it!”

Alex whispered under his breath, as he always did, “At the expense of my frame rate.”

The two broke into an argument. Well, more like Aubrey bullying Alador into submission. A lighthearted exchange, one that’d occurred since the beginning of high school, lifelong friends bonding over the lack of brain cells dominating the student body.

You looked to your watch, class beginning in a matter of moments, taking the opportunity to slip away without a word.

“I’m not done with you!”

Maybe not.

“I know you’ve been like this since we were kids, jumpy and always on the run, but don’t you get tired of it?”

Whoa. You hadn’t had nearly enough coffee to process her psychoanalysis this early — you checked your watch — in the afternoon.

Shit. Class was starting.

“Aubrey, listen. I have class right now and I really—“

“You’re the star student, as always. You can listen to me for a few minutes.”

You conceded. Less out of compliance and more out of sheer terror. Only someone as headstrong as Aubrey was capable of bringing an arachnid vigilant to their knees.

“It feels like we’re seeing you less and less. We don’t have much time together before graduation, before we’ll definitely hardly see each other. Doesn’t that scare you?”

A prickle itched at your throat, burning with bile. It did, the entire situation terrified you, pained you with every waking moment. There wasn’t a day that went by you didn’t feel for your friends, a day that went by you didn’t regret how you’d last left your family.

How you yearned to tell them, to tell everyone.

You just couldn’t. Not if you loved them as much as you convinced yourself you did.

“I know I haven’t been the best friend to you guys but…” The confession was on the tip of your tongue, grip on your coffee unrelenting.

A crash.

Screams echoing down the hall, students rushing to get away as papers flew haphazardly behind them, foregoing assignments that’d likely kept them up all evening.

“What’s happening?” You called out to a passing student, their scream bursting your eardrums as they gestured down the hall.

A man dressed to the nines in a velvety green pantsuit trudged down the hall, mechanical tentacles clacking against the floor, uplifting polished marble flecked in gold.

Doc Ock.

Except, this looked nothing like the Doctor you’d fought previously. No, this man was far more distinguished, refined. Well into his years and wearing them well.

Your Doc Ock was nothing more than a child with an inattentive father and mommy issues on his sleeve, seeking validation wherever it could be found.

“You wouldn’t happen to know of a Peter Parker?” He was looking to Alador, entirely disregarding yours and Aubrey’s presence.

Alador shrugged his shoulders, adjusting his glasses before producing a book from seemingly thin air.

The Doctor’s kindhearted smile dwindled, “Then you’re of no use to me.” He swatted Alador away, your friend landing against the wall with a thud, wind knocked out of him and consciousness faltered. Aubrey rushed to his side, calling out to you, begging for your response.

Doc Ock traveled further down the hall, upheaving students in his path, uncaring for anyone except… Peter Parker?

His parents must’ve had a thing for alliteration.

You broke out into a sprint, traveling down the halls, maneuvering past students. “I’m gonna get help!” You called out to Aubrey.

No matter how badly you wanted to stay, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, hands bunched into fists.

You just couldn’t, not when everything seemed to fight against you.

Slipping into an abandoned classroom you were surprised, given professors cancel class anytime except important matters — Hungover? Exam next week! Space-Time Continuum collapsing? Don’t forget to turn in that essay at 11:59!

It proved a tedious task to change into your suit, opting to wear it under your clothes most days, the chilly weather forgiving.

Summer, not so much.

You kicked open the classroom door, webbing one of the man’s mechanical tendrils just before it could find purchase amongst another victim, he glitched, a pain ripping through his core, web falling through. You webbed him again, double, triple the amount.

“What’s up, Doc! Been a minute since we last fought.”

He scoffed, “You’re not Peter Parker.”

“Peter can’t come to the phone right now, but I’m happy to take your call.”

A tendril made its home against your chest, enhanced strength paling in comparison to the machinery, but you made it work. Freeing yourself from its clutches you sent webs it’s way, thoroughly coating it before moving on to the next, rendering them useless with every thwip of web. Two down.

“I thought doctors were supposed to help people — prescribe antibiotics, suggest some rest.”

Your quips were doing nothing more than fanning the flames of his anger, Doc Ock seething with rage. “I’m not that kind of doctor!”

“My bad! Thought you’d be able to help me with this raging headache I’ve been having.”

You thwipped another tendril in the midst of Doc Ock’s frustrations, useless. Three down.

This was too easy.

“I don’t know what happened to Peter Parker, but if you’ve taken his place, I’ll kill you all the same.”

Crash.

Out the window your bodies tumbled, the asphalt there to break your fall, back feeling as though it’d been shattered in a million different place. You strained to move, lifting your arm to produce a web in the man’s face, a move that should’ve been attempted sooner. Your body too weak, movement too slow, Doc Ock pushed your arms to the floor, slowly crushing them with his mechanical majesty.

“I want you to suffer in your last moments,” He pressed down, a groan hiding behind your teeth, Doc Ock far from satisfied. “I wish to hear your screams, the cries of the people, as their beloved Spider expires.”

No matter how hard you fought you were no match for his strength, straining to sit up, to do anything. It was futile, entirely. And suddenly you wished you’d revealed your secret identity to your loved ones, after all. At least then they’d know peace.

But at least this way, they were safe.

Pressing the back of your head to the asphalt, the screams of the people fading into nothingness, you decided it was your time to hang up the mask.

You’d been in this business since your first year of High School, a freshman bitten by a radioactive spider, forced to navigate puberty and the life of an arachnid vigilante. So many years, too many years of fighting for the people, being their savior when it felt nobody was there to save you.

Perhaps there wasn’t, never would, and as much as the thought plagued you, it also allowed you a moments rest.

The rev of a motorcycle, gasps from the crowd, the blur of your vision suddenly less persistent. The pressure of Doc Ock’s many tendrils had lifted from your chest, air rushing to your lungs.

“You alive down there?” A heavily accented voice, someone whose costume appeared just like yours except… flickering? Constantly in a state of perpetual color change?

Your spider senses tingled, mind overwhelmed with his presence, multiple presences. So different, so unique. Yet entirely the same.

“I’m…”

“Look out!” A motorcycle decorated in bright hues zipped past you, a woman with hair you envied greatly throwing you onto the back of the bike, the character from earlier hot on your tail. “You alright, kid?”

“Confused, but I’m breathing.” Were these Spider-People?

The Spider decorated in spikes spoke up through the whir of the cycle, “That’s all we can hope for, yeah?”

You nodded, looking around for Doc Ock, blob of green a generous ways down the road, the motorcycle heading straight for it. You stood up on the seat of the bike, fellow passenger and driver speaking words of warning, their caution taken with a grain of salt.

Something about their presence empowered you, made you feel invincible despite the burn of your back, a possible breakage persisting somewhere.

When you were in range you hopped off, gasps and hollers following the movement, limbs tingling with the urge — no, the need — to unleash your webs.

Doc Ock hadn’t a moment to register your presence, caught up in battling a spider-man with webs akin to the hue of a flame, muscles built high as he towered the citizens littering the streets.

I mean, seriously, didn’t people know how to run?

“Thanks for the help with the not-so-doctor Doctor!” You stood in a crouched position atop one of Doc Ock’s tendrils, the spider-man looking to you without a word, nodding his head.

Tough crowd.

You hopped down, side to side with the spider-man, the height difference even more shocking up-close. Your webs thwipped from the mechanism you’d designed the summer preceding your sophomore year, webs more controlled, precision calculated. It was far easier than the initial prototype, and despite its age, you’d hardly tweaked it.

Doc Ock came down with a crash from your joint effort, weight imprinted in the street, a damage tax payers weren’t keen on beholding.

Being a hero had never been so easy, joint support, everyone pulling their weight. It was as though you hadn’t even tried, elated as a burden was thrusted from your shoulders.

A cage of crimson encased Doc Ock, a team emerging from a portal of the same hue, dragging him away, ignoring his hollers, glitching as he shouted his final words — “Peter Parker!”

Some of these villains had serious codependency issues.

“Thanks for the assist,” You turned to the spider at your side, Spikes. “Didn’t know there was more of me, of us.”

“There’s an infinite number of us, you’ll find.”

“No way!” You tingled with delight, unable to contain the joy you felt. “Where have you guys been this entire time?”

“We’re part of a—“

Spikes was waved off by a blue and red hand, the muscular spider from earlier, stoic as ever, regarding you with hardly a word. “Follow me.”

“At least take me to dinner first.”

The woman, who you observed to be heavily pregnant, and Spikes laughed at the remark, Spike clutching at his stomach as the woman coughed into a fist.

“I don’t have time for jokes,” He crossed his arms over his chest, “Your universe is one of many experiencing inter-dimensional anomalies.”

“Anomalies? Is that why they were glitching?”

The man turned to the woman, back rigid, “They?”

She raised her arms in mock defense, “You never asked.”

“I shouldn’t have to—!“ He groaned, cutting himself off as he pinched the bridge of his nose through the mask. “You’d be making this a whole lot easier if you’d come with us.”

You contemplated a few seconds, hands crossed over your chest, tapping your foot against the pavement. Your mind suddenly fluttered to Alador and Aubrey, whether or not they’d gathered medical attention, what his condition was.

“I really shouldn’t, I—“ The portal was steadily closing as Spikes and Spider-Lady fell through, leaving you on your lonesome with Spider-Dude.

“You really don’t have much of a choice.”

He was right. If these things, these… Anomalies, kept trickling into your universe, there was no telling what consequences would follow.

To protect Aubrey, to protect Alador. To protect your family and the people of your universe, you had to get to the bottom of this.

One foot in front of the other, heart wrenching, you stepped through the portal. But not before one final question, a few words to seal your fate.

“What’s your name?”

“Miguel. Miguel O’Hara.”

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderverse #spiderverse x reader #into the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #beyond the spiderverse

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agerefandomrambles · 8 months ago

Note

the colby drabble was amazing! exactly what i wanted :) i was hoping you could write another one for me ! like little reader having a hard day at school & going over to colbys too calm down and regress, so like just him getting little reader comfortable enough and babying them until they regress if thats alright ! feel free to decline though, i understand if you don't wanna write his character again :)

I'm so glad you liked it! And of course, I'm actually thinking about watching the show because of these asks :)

Title: Bad Day

Word count:

Little: reader

Cg: colby

Tw: some bullying mentioned but nothing actually said

Plot: little has a hard day but Colbys there to fix it all

You're sitting in maths, watching the clock tick down the minutes until the last bell. The teacher drones on and on about fractals and intergers, seemingly not aware that the clock is moving at half pace.

Finally after what feels like 3 hours of maths, the bell rings. You don't even wait for the teacher to dismiss you, instead choosing to dart out of the class to your locker.

You were hoping that by getting there earlier you would've been able to beat the masses of people but you get stuck in the crowd on your way to your locker.

In your hurry to get to your locker you didn't notice the foot your bully stuck out and tumbled to the ground before you had a chance to catch yourself.

"Come on dude, seriously?" Amy asks, appearing out of the crowd to help you up. "Where did you even come from? A 2000's high school movie? Did you get a bully starter kit?" She teases the bully until he finally slinks off, embarrassed.

"T- thanks Amy" you stutter, trying your best to keep yourself composed.

"Duh, of course I'll protect my future sister in law" she lightly teases. Then she clocks your watery eyes. "Aw kiddo, what's wrong?" She asks, helping you to gather your things

"I'm just having a rough day. I failed an English test and math went really slow and I have a headache and then I got pushed" You whine, leaning heavily against your locker.

"Come back with me, Colbys home today" she offers, smiling when your whole face lights up.

The two of you walk back to her house, chatting about school and boys and everything in between.

The two of you walk in the door and you walk straight into colbys room, flopping onto his bed while Amy went back to her bedroom.

"Hey babe!" Colby greets, not looking up from his game. A whine escapes you when he doesn't pay attention to you. Instantly, he spins his chair around, pinning you with a stare.

"What's wrong?" He asks, gauging how cautious he should be and how close you are to slipping.

"Jus' had a rough day" you sigh, not even aware you're sluring your words.

He simply tuts, gets out of his chair and grabs a box from the top of his closet. He opens it, revealing all of your little stuff. He puts it on the bed beside you and sits on your other side.

"How does some time with dada sound? Do you think that would make it all better?" He asks, rubbing the small of your back.

You push your head into his shoulder and letting your body relax against him. The two of you stay like that for a long while until you feel your mind starting to slip into that soft fuzzy place.

Then, he gets up to fill a sippy. And the two of you sit in his room, colouring and watching cartoons and just enjoying each other's company until you finally felt the stress of the day melt away.

#whoops its a bit long for a drabble #its fine tho #i actually kinda like this one #i included Amy because I love her #little!reader #cg!Colby #villians of valley view #villians of valley view agere #mine #drabble #⚡️anon

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motownfiction · 1 year ago

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canoe

It happens at work, on a Wednesday, in the middle of the afternoon.

Daniel’s in the office, going over some paperwork, when he starts to feel his personality lifting out of his body. His heart beats faster than ever before, the words in his mind slur, and all he can think is dead, dead, hospital, dead.

His secretary calls him an ambulance, and Daniel goes to a hospital. But he doesn’t die.

Why doesn’t he die?

He tells the doctor he’s pretty sure it was a heart attack. The doctor kindly tells him no, that’s not what happened, and actually, he should be pretty proud of his heart. He’s probably in better shape today, at thirty-nine, than he was when he was nineteen.

The doctor says it was a panic attack. Daniel isn’t sure how that’s possible. All he was doing was paperwork, and everything at home is fine. The kids are fine. Sadie is fine. After years of strange and sticky mourning, they’re finally coming around to what the world looks like without Sam. The doctor asks if there’s anything else going on, to go beneath the surface, to see what else is there.

“Well,” Daniel says, “my brother-in-law – he used to be my best friend – he just had a baby with a woman he’s not married to.”

The doctor makes a face.

“Is that stressing you out?” she asks.

“Usually, it wouldn’t,” Daniel says, almost a lightness in his voice, which hurts. “It’s just that he had a baby with his wife, too. On the same day.”

The doctor is having a very hard time keeping her eyes in their sockets.

“Mmm-hmm,” she says, and Daniel can only imagine what episode of Days of Our Lives is playing out in her imagination right now.

“And the other woman,” he says, “she’s my wife’s goddaughter. Just turned twenty-one. We were all here, at this hospital, on the day she was born. Now, she’s got a kid, and my brother-in-law made it happen. Fucking weird.”

He laughs, but his throat hurts. Why does his throat hurt? He didn’t notice before.

“Mr. DeLuca,” the doctor says, “that’s an incredible stressor for a family to go through, especially after what you told me about your other brother-in-law’s death.”

Daniel nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “I keep … I keep wanting to go up to New York and meet the baby. She’s about six or seven weeks old now. Hard to keep track. My wife, she’s already been up there, but … every time I think about going up, I just … God, I can’t.”

The doctor takes a seat across from him, a little like Sadie when she meets with kids at school.

“I’m not a psychiatrist,” the doctor says, “but what you’re describing … I can imagine it brings you a lot of anxiety. Being in the middle of it.”

Daniel laughs, hollow as can be.

“Yeah,” he says. “I try not to think about it, but it just … it keeps coming up even when I don’t notice it. I can’t look at any of my friends the same way. It’s not their fault. It’s not the baby’s fault. But I … you know, sometimes I think it might be my fault.”

“How so?”

“Charlie – that’s my brother-in-law – he used to be my best friend. Ever since we were in high school. He used to look up to me, and I used to tell him how to get by. But then … then he moved, and I stopped being able to keep tabs on him. And I think he liked it that way because he went out and did a bunch of things I never would have … I mean, if I’d known he was going to go after that girl …”

Daniel stops himself before he cries. He does that all the time now. He just makes sure that he’s alone, so no one notices.

“I could write you a referral to a psychologist, or a psychiatrist, someone, if you want,” the doctor says. “But for now … when you start to feel the way you did today, can you do me a favor?”

Daniel shrugs.

“I can try.”

“When you start to feel upset … or worse, like you did today … I want you to picture yourself as a canoe. Just there, in the water, right underneath the sun. I want you to picture yourself floating along the waves. Gentle. Not in control. Just … going along.”

A canoe. Daniel could laugh, but he doesn’t want his throat to hurt again. He thinks about how he always wanted to go canoeing with his father, which never happened. Frank probably didn’t even know how to spell canoe. But can he picture himself as one? Sure. He can try.

He closes his eyes and lets his limbs turn into plastic … lets the sound of heart monitors and rushing wheels turn into seagulls’ caws and gentle waves. He reaches deeper into the image, and he can hear the music, just like Sam would have told him to do.

Sittin’ in the morning sun / I’ll be sittin’ when the evening comes …

Maybe, for a moment, it works.

Maybe, for a moment, all Daniel DeLuca has to be is a canoe.

(part of @nosebleedclub july challenge -- day xxvi! i am flying through the old, i promise)

#drabble #writeblr #ch: daniel deluca #year: 2006

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unravellingsilencehq · 2 years ago

Photo

“Oh, Merlin, tell me, does THE PHOTOGRAPHER get what he deserves?” He is NEUTRAL & OPEN to finding out.”

— he walks through the world as ;

name → benedict misslethorpe pronouns → he/him identification → cis-male year of birth → september 1957 - september 1958 face claim → ncuti gatwa blood status → pure-blood sexual orientation → homosexual (gay) occupation → photographer for the daily prophet future information → n/a

— he is best described as ;

A POLAROID PICTURE, ever CHANGING with the light but BEAUTIFUL & DETERMINED once DEVELOPED. He is the DOODLED PLANS in the back of a NOTEBOOK & the DREAMS SHARED in a hushed WHISPER. He is CREATIVITY & CONTROL, with a GLEAM in his EYE for the WANT of SOMETHING GREATER than HIMSELF. The DESIRE to be REMEMBERED. The DESIRE to make HISTORY.

— his story starts with ;

tw: death

The name Misslethrope means something in Wizarding Britain. Whilst the Malfoys are associated with politics and the Jones family with the law, the blood of the Misslethrope family runs black with ink. His great grandfather Augustine Misslethorpe was once the editor of The Daily Prophet, his grandmother Mary Misslethrope was the first British editor-in-chief of Enchantée in Paris and his uncle TOBIAS MISSLETHROPE [uncle] is the current and most successful editor-in-chief of Witch Weekly magazine. Benedict wanted nothing more than to follow in their footsteps, but heavy was the hand that held the quill. His family were successful but they were ruthless and there was no room within the family for those who were deemed subpar. Benedict’s father William was an established senior reporter at The Daily Prophet who lost out on the position of editor to up and coming journalist BARNABUS CUFFE [boss]. The family were outraged and instead of seeing it as an unfortunate incident of Barnabas beating William to the story of the century through means no one knew, he became a cautionary tale as to what might happen if you lose your nerve.

Each evening before the family sat down to dinner at their opulent town house in London, his grandmother Mary would remind him of their legacy. The words bounced around in Benedict’s mind, his palms sweaty as he recorded them in his journal. Sorted into Ravenclaw, Benedict was proud to join the other members of his family who had been in the house for generations and found his family name preceded him. Teachers expected more from Benedict because of his name and he found he was judged more harshly because of it, especially when he joined The Hogwarts Gazette. Like his father, EDGAR CUFFE [adversary] was an editor who ruled with an iron first. Edgar didn’t care what it took to get a story and favoured students who weren’t afraid to go the distance like RITA SKEETER [boss/former adversary] and BERTHA JORKINS [adversary]. It was expected Benedict would join them in their escapades and after refusing he was subject to scathing comments from his colleagues. It was only when muggle-born student EDWARD TONKS [close friend/housemate/colleague] joined the paper that their cruelty came to an end.

People like Ted proved you didn’t need a famous name or pure-blood to be successful at the paper and introduced him to ELIZABETH BRAITHWAITE [close friend/housemate/colleague] and EMILIA GREY [close friend/housemate/colleague] who could write circles round their adversaries. Benedict came to trust the group, enough so that they told him that his writing at times wasn’t up to scratch; he was inclined to believe it. People like Emilia and Betty had ink in their veins because they longed to be journalists, unlike Benedict who had been convinced since he was born he was destined to be one. When Benedict left school he was lost and his parents wanted answers. Thinking on his feet, Benedict told his family he had accepted a writing internship in New York, instead running away to Whitby to stay with Ted and his family for the summer while he decided what to do when he returned home. Staying with the Tonks family opened up Benedict to a whole new world, a one of love rather than expectation and above all a one of enlightenment. Ted never left the house without his camera and one day by the beach with Ted’s friends, Benedict decided to experiment with it.

At first he began taking photos of the seaside, then the people enjoying themselves on the sand, before moving to take close up shots of Ted and the muggles he called friends. Each day he would photograph them, their strange fashions, their behaviour, the looks they gave one another when no one noticed. Benedict had found his passion and he wouldn’t see himself be parted with it. Swanning back to London with his photo series of muggles in his arm, he applied for a job at The Daily Prophet as a photographer and was elated when it was accepted. Benedict was adamant that his talent would speak for itself in his new job and he began introducing himself as Bozo, a name he thought sounded anonymous and artistic, rather than his own that was synonymous in his mind with nepotism. Benedict had grand ideas about the life that lay ahead of him, pitching stories to Barnabus Cuffe and creating beautiful photo stories that would illuminate the pages of the paper. He would be the first person in the Misslethorpe family to be famous in spite of being a Misslethrope and although he worked hard, he quickly found that life without his surname was much harder than he thought it would be.

His position often involved accompanying a lower paid journalist to photograph something menial like a ribbon cutting or a person who suspected gnomes had eaten their newspaper. Each story he went to photograph he did with a smile, patiently awaiting the day his big break would arrive, trying not to grit his teeth as the likes of Edgar Cuffe and ADRIAN CAVERELY [rival] climbed over the years due to their connections. Moving in with his friends from The Hogwarts Gazette, Benedict hoped to ground himself outside of the world of his family, with real journalists with the same hunger he had. Although Benedict loved living with his friends, he once again felt the familiar hand of jealousy as he tried to be happy for Ted securing a dream role of working directly for ELIAS SPENSER-MOON [colleague]. Benedict still tried to stay true to himself however, suggesting QUIRINUS QUIRRELL [close friend/housemate/colleague] for a job with GILDEROY LOCKHART [colleague] and honestly hoping he would succeed. When a position came up with Rita Skeeter, who was now an established columnist. to be her personal photographer, Benedict shamelessly jumped at it. He knew he deserved more than life as a celebrity photographer, but he was growing impatient.

Working with Rita was surprisingly more interesting than he thought it would be. Rita had connections and before he knew it, Benedict was invited to glittering parties and shaking hands with the elite he’d long since associated with his uncle. His new world was exciting, the one he deserved but it came with a horrible price he knew he’d have to pay for fame. Rita famously worked in the grey, which meant Benedict now did also. Days were spent following people around snapping photos of people in private moments and he was sorry to say he’d contributed to various celebrity break-ups and the fall of a cosmetics company due to his photos. But Rita longed for something more and the pair believe they may have found it. When the young eligible bachelorette GENEVIEVE AVERY [person of interest] married Victor Wilkes the world was shocked, but more shocking still, was when he turned up dead on their wedding night. Benedict and Rita are certain there is more to this story than meets the eye and are determined to prove Genevive is to blame. The story is one Benedict can’t help but get lost in, but as he emerges himself in the world of the British Wizarding elite Benedict must be careful not to lose himself in the process and be cautious about who he plasters on the front page.

— he is a LEVEL 4 WIZARD & readied for war ;

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bbyquokka · 2 years ago

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Tag game: Get to know me!

tagged by @propertyoftoru ‹3

1. Birthday?

11th august (yes, having the same birthday as binnie is a flex, hehe even if the yrs are diff)

2. Favorite color?

pastel pink or blue. but i also love the colours of the galaxy and sunsets

3. How tall are you?

160cm

4. How many pair of shoes to you own?

not that much tbh. i mainly live in trainers or boots 🤷🏻‍♀️

5. Favorite song?

silent cry for skz, dead by asking alexandria (the whole from death to destiny album is my fave tbh)

6. Favorite movie?

howl's moving castle

7. Who would be your ideal partner?

already have my ideal partner 🖤

8. Do you want children?

not rn but in the future, sure.

9. Have you gotten in trouble with the law?

nope.

10. What color socks are you wearing?

red and white stripy socks.

11. Favorite type of music?

im not that fussed tbh. i can listen to anything as long as it has a good beat and keeps me hooked within the first couple of seconds

12. How many pillows do you sleep with?

2!!

13. What position do you sleep in?

whatever i feel comfortable in. could be in a ball or on my stomach

14. What don’t you like when you’re sleeping?

bright lights or DEAD SILENCE! i have to have something playing to fall asleep or have a window open (its too cold for the window to be open rn so i have to settle with a video playing)

15. Have you tried archery?

nope

16. Favorite fruit?

strawberries, grapes or honeydew melon.

17. Are you a good liar?

when i have to, yeah else i try not to lie because it brings drama and shit

18. What’s your personality type?

INFP-T

19. Innie or outie?

innie

20. Left or right handed?

right

21. Favorite food?

cheesecake!

22. Favorite foreign food?

oh, thats a hard one.... uh 😭

23. Are you clean or messy?

it kinda depends on how im doing mentally,,, im a clean person overall but when i hit that slump, i kinda just let everything pile on top and the apartment suffers....

24. Most used phrase?

but why though

25. How long does it take you to get ready?

depends on where im going and who with really.

26. Do you talk to yourself?

yes. lol

27. Do you sing to yourself?

ofc and i like to think im amazing at it

28. Are you a good singer?

i like to think i am but who knows :)

29. Biggest fear?

heights, closed/small spaces. it feels like im suffocating and i cannot

30. Are you a gossip?

nah. im too old for highschool shit, lmao

31. Long or short hair?

long, even if it does get on my last nerve

32. Favorite school subject?

english

33. Extrovert or introvert?

introverted, ahah,,,

34. What make you nervous?

going out in public, speaking to people idk. groups of people.

35. Who was your first crush?

josh hutcherson. look, he looked really cute in bridge to terabithia

36. How many piercings do you have?

2. nose and tragus. i do want more though, like a lot more

37. How many tattoos do you have?

0 :( again, i do want

38. How fast can you run?

not that fast??

39. What color is your hair?

black. its naturally brown. i need to go to the hairdressers and get the roots done desperately. also debating on getting pink put in as well,,,,

40. What color are your eyes?

brown

41. What makes you angry?

video games. people that think they're right when they're not. people that just assume without listening to opinions, that type of stuff

42. Do you like your name?

its okay. i mean, considering it took my mother and father a week to think of a name for me then

43. Do you want a boy to girl as a child?

im honestly not fussed. IF i had to choose, girl. most of my family is boys so would be nice

44. What are your strengths?

idk, do i have any? lmao

45. What are your weaknesses?

i guess i can be too stubborn

46. What’s the color of your bedspread?

light and dark blue. (ikea bedspread ftw)

47. What’s the color of your room?

just a standard white/creamy colour.

tags: @oshimee , @sstarryoong + whoever wants to join in! ignore if you don't want to/don't feel comfortable doing!

#tag game

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libidomechanica · 2 years ago

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Untitled (“The person to Loues decreed”)

A sonnet sequence

’St thus, the bright red sloop in the graced their owne, that darkness in all around there of brown doe-skin. Yours is the signs. Bred in its shame, So school, and bower, electric, chemic laws, by consequence on thee, as a poet’s, too, by all fiction aptly growth of fraude: ne for imprudent act would all eye, if thou lour’st on thy sins and thus Juanna, think, he says tomorrow. The deemed she, and the Veil, whereon the lagoon. The person to Loues decreed that due of their prepared, she was not striped urchins flay each flowers, the hearts his sinking more, and dress us, a tiger-cat in act to reveal’d.

In the Lambe? Is evening to be free o! The green. ’Ve been too; and ah, howe’er you fairly. All think, he spurred to a Midwife, the wind and I loved in the Dove increased to do as disclosed her brows, such pixel you’d have look’d, tho’ but in no maner groand! You my nudist the curious monarch dies, in the companions, shows, by eunuchs flank’d; while all felt like water-blurred like a porcupine, thy soul the unconscious call. The blanching born of thy iollitee. The brow sun-shaded in a rage.—And next intelligence be rayned by that is based on your face and bare true? That sin in me.

I have recount. All; what to their head to speaks of maintain’d by one sigh’d, and gray, and scorn of lace that had a syllables, and shelter, the bones glanced, scale with apples false to young to some canker lives to love, a tender pledges left of closing gainst myself through on the Evil Doer, thy Heralds throat. Her Lord him spyed: for pity, space ship traveller came a voices which embarrass’d since in the shoot out the few who love Truth—Cease though their Vengeance terrible months ran on any one to lie withall unto the blood flowers. In morals, somethinks with a passions rends as if to load and portion deep, and all trembling knees, this gate against his best, open the crack pipe—the race, and much obeyed her. Which on the three make accompt, unless your mouth be heir though you would not ease and so beat adamant as a beauteous stone-still, I have grownd in few lives or words tas-ke, where the side.

Gather that hope, now, like the things tendency is too minute slipped daughter, healthy as to repose—still unsatisfied—then will open its glow. With every well where they? ’ To myself hadst all fulfil you doth Love are such who speak; it falls in speechless wearied with adoration of which one arrives ghosts, ’ replied: we scars of slavery— had hard hold, their talk, and the heauens height, till your ruin all me now. Thus do the Dragon frown’st thus what on no country with lastingly. Than one? I should not the Harvest of some splintering o’t. I know not help them sole effect, and complain that.

Bearing the counter than the sweet gracious pippin,—but let you sit fore you may end is seen upon my father’d with the bud o’ the first she was a toy that made along expectation in which it can well the new light or the frivolity of lightning on your father. Of her necks from service to indicate, for him, and swear somewhere the weekday we dream, thou art besides, I condemn, nor Usury wrung Gulbeyaz stopped: when they here must tranquility. Blythe than unswept stone step, the dream, yet your into their chambers, though in our man’s bridge, I know when I see a sentimental e’re a slenderer pair thence, wherein whether thoughts: bryers thoughts of hys dayes with such a glass that she had good! But when their colour height upon this inarticulate limbs thro’ cells. Her eyes to keep them not of his face still find her, she constellation, began to eternal book; and, last divorce.

A child, in shines in your into sing. As she frogs soundly, and still, I have not—to make faulte, which is for the room, for thee, as he approaches my pass, by thy odour and still find in one, save one to lip, angles checked impulse to be freely come to the hour and here, but all the dew. In life, a sullen son, tis decreed that brief and cold splintering parent, and fit to see, and for the matting: they could still public kindness must walkest with fish. And sit neat, his ear, and budding; cheerful with his disgusts me; here you sit a Bird accurst; as bells, and information of whom she would rise of the pure freckling, to all then, a moment before which means daiquiri. Lips shimmering eyes scintillating page music of a fox, daybreak. Thou kenst think I shall live on may for a skin while Dudu’s form an orb, as to get the voice faltering, and thimble just and stranger should ride.

Then removed in that glister’d that, he was, beauty of ladies of longing me, where thunderous Epic lilted on that.—Become not, cause knows well as verse all gentle bootes all felt a soldier bold, aglaia slept in gawdy green footstep of architraves; then loves long proof of desolation yields his long catechism of quean. She might shallop like that have drawn the bone. And there to give a rose up, the care of her voice thunder colour of Harvest ripened her Pleasure of the paler hue and pebbles he clatters filled the great spot of joy into enormous amounts of her fall: made him to life. ’Er it a cobweb-lawn; and I called Hope Lake what complete the flatter step. When I you peers; poets, the unpleasant tales, and interwove with all awry: however, that’s the grasses between the rest be hidden in the fate, O fault, and with treble integrity of light?

With the crocus lustres of four window and bright all think of that she was blithe and have nothing course, but be told; and, pitcher until tis they could breeches noble. As an amulet that the deawie night I have beheld to balk and not with an ever heads, if you wear u is force, lightly bound, then where is needeth and may the passe inly I pitied would make your head, and even to see the secretes its becoming. Of every lineaments, thou do’st dwell; but not so, because she might by day, it’s offices of Timon, the dinghy, has planted of her sex and oblique lines!

That thou or I, who on the piece a wondering, but he nould we else. Let’s lie down the heart. Fall, or as many a Horne pype to run by her sphere: they should I wed a face grew dull, she court compact of the morning like the girdle bout herself be less: some what increase, nor the splendid names were moveless, who had made there many dainty mistresses of men? After he had receive thee by moonlight of stories. Baba, who might come into her casement after from they gayne, paying than though hell am I doing, this mind; it is close there we first sight, but we find then my face.

It is she. Make liquid treble soft watch thereat harmed to go, her beauteous and too much,—but let your Academe, o sister smiles; but I will, the Rhodope, that I be religious upon all sweet Tibbie Dunbar. But could make fast, and his melancholy, and then frae my mane: but ere the foaming draught, and begg’d leaves are all that relation, white echoing night, and Y your daily council—knowing was, a sweet: tho vnder comes having the zits that my door? To quite enough the nuptial room. Here mirth or contraction of our June—shall still the halted on me, no ghost of some other the greene?

Fear this worst day to-morrow to go, her own, that I an accessarily even in euery where I if thou art all that good, who only law. On may for me by moonlight have been shone; for whose faytours little was never cries. Erect beautiful, before her I say her long as his gives or cherries and ne’er discover at full voice and altitude, ’ and for my soul is also, whose Teeth are obliged to abstractions are; and undiscovered leewardings, samite sheep and swirled justly galleon to sin. And burn tresses too lichen- faithful shore whose that sobs that has nae care.

Her self how sweetest bud. Be arbiter of her mind; it is the Lion with commiserable glittering bare, and science of its eyes, a world for my sorrow early love’s refrain. That cold he had her hairs, but that somewhile time it’s fun what did latch, a patience. Strange this only made a new tax. Or if Tim mighty throbbe from it had a mother painter, smile … What come and hail once pitie. And grumbling over their fondness might skirt the back against his hour the favorite aggies. Would I dancer of the youth: the best pleasure of the lenged to her flow’rs gaily shore savage throne!

Professors: then his sister Psyche to divide the every day fresh bend of use and pronounce, where than they might but live, hung with a little or two. One from me to her; but all took her,—so the gender still; the night, that e’en the must have lived without mirth, which don’t say Good-bye too; he cleft of silver Scissors an’ mosses in Heaven opened to do thy father. What was, because I would be as good descent is uppermost; nor short at that. Let this portrait in word she stone bride, or the fountain statlier glories, the Kaffir, Hottentot, Malay, nor the longest, on which is natural.

More sweet Circassia, they said the town of Chigil in Turkestan that I scorn with the nard in the approchen the weeks. Appraised, and far a sweet and marr’d to her loved and such iouysaunce, this body as he forth to know I’m young lip began to fly have a dream of concatenation, and daring— which embargo. Horatian, Medio tu tutissimus ibis. Airport in me?—I’m o’er young to painted scraps of cowslips bedeck the harbor of grace sheds itself they spend: god giueth good night by day, to place on my love’s school, and rose-leaf by his loines which I compile, whose accent.

Small grief; for those blotted: but they pynen in payne: for decades of dream, as might and Dudu, as her fabric to the inscription, fair sex and of the small lie, we reach do grow; but such stuffed with a great sport the loved I view from his babe had received below. The cold nigh this hour and you, Dudu look’d an air, stopt, and will still live on may for an Instant, so loyal people should there’s the news is I love with a little swinck. As no joke. They, hast spied. That Psyche, ’ I began to rail at these points. Is that? Before, with blossom pression, when I you please me, the foot is based, then she signs.

And forehead, and third errand she stormie stowres, we mought of conversation yielded a desk of Solomon may escape the salt herself never turning rude; and in a lady’s maid;—I did not companions, when their happy we have a few have of the burying in sentiment, that I shall never a wrinkle. Not quite; so bad, and thee soon with lightning hands and stung her talk, and now, appear to hold betwixt the word, this hearts of her fabric to they could tell me by moonlight; and interjections in propos. And near when the raised, but mark, her fear begin to clothed, shivering more.

Nor stunted smiling, and brings multiplied his own he lifted by you, that you are give my whole, though the same film over until tis summ’d up with a dauntless as the quiet, luxuriant, but his head inviolably blue larkspur, with a fervor born at his worst day—creation’s preferr’d to innocence she says margarita she means my wearied me so sore, I think of the dish of what in mine. Mark of Ida, to call I sobbed, and smiles: but most proprietress the figure was fond embraced among the come, the words were endowments were alive. It once, angry spirit guiding.

Secure, because a phrases of prophetically in the oar! Rather this occupied the Sisters also to sleep; so sure what slaves! That her fair though there in its rude ignorance—for she stocking, had never knee socks that thou, modulate limbs with thee in sufferaunce: all were three or fade, and round to bring in a low sobs can pass, their miscreaunce, they are peering other injured like a changed eye find philosopher; confounded the silt and wayled, and sack’d, and as readers hand’s present pardon the millionaire: the Muses find tongues that heard thus Juanna should drive your nocturnal skin.

Best so, lest angels’ lays; for, dead, but day doth Love in his swooning ears, and required by whom did aryse, and may against his Hearts, which here she drew him for feareth. A Salve to commenced a science, nor dark, or so I wake to be the fainting mist, that can expound the sky, that her chart, and paper sat, with using; and in the made the might she kind, and every kind, without her Maker’s and vine: but what they letting at their flowers, bene men our past. The Georgian and red marmalade outside your gaze, naked in the jasmine steeping eyes. She wants a gavel: esperanza’s Gavel.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #138 texts #sonnet sequence

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willowser · 3 years ago

Text

edit to add: it's because of this incredible fanart that i got this brainworm

no bc i need to talk about this, like i'm NOT DONE like bakugou as your next door neighbor !! since you were a child !! and it's a nice neighborhood and his parents seem well adjusted and have clean-cut professional jobs and hold dinner parties with your parents and they're always bringing something delicious for the neighborhood new year's get together.

BUT THEIR SON IS A LITTLE HELLION. the kid that had a mohawk in middle school and made fun of you for not using cuss words until you were like 13. and he's not a bad kid, bc he still is at the top of all his classes and never breaks the law or anything -- but he comes to school after his 16th birthday with a piercing through the middle of his lip and the clothes he wears are black and baggy and he drives an old beat up, cherry red shelby mustang and you're pretty sure he got the tattoo on his forearm before he was 18.

and your dad is like. absolutely not. don't even look at that boy. can't even be caught dead with him.

you've been neighbors for almost your entire life, but it's not like you're really friends. hung out together when there was no one else and your dad was too busy talking about the upcoming season for fishing and golfing to notice. your mom doesn't mind so much bc he's really not terrible, just a wicked little brat, and the week he started playing the drums, nobody in a five mile radius got any sleep. still blares music with open windows and turns it up even louder when you wave at him from across the lawn to shut up.

at graduation, he accepts his diploma -- summa cum laude, of course, the little shit -- and almost gets kicked off stage for sticking his tongue out in the picture. wears all this smudged liner under his eyes and gels his hair out at a million different angles. bc he's the WORST. and your parents try to throw a combined graduation party bc it's easier to plan, but of course bakugou could care less. doesn't even show up until the very end, after most of everyone is gone. counts all the money from the congrats grad! cards he got and then tells you,

"'m gettin' the fuck out of here after this."

you don't think he means the party.

"hate this shit," he grumbles, and you're surprised that he's even talking to you. in his backyard, in front of the beautifully built fire pit for those cold fall nights. it's still hot in june, but he lit it out of spite, bc he doesn't mind the heat. "never gonna be like these fuckin' losers, worried about what everyone else thinks of me 'n shit. oh the HOA will be upset if we decorate the lawn with skeletons, fuck you."

it makes you laugh--he kind of always does, with how crass he can be--and he looks at you, sitting in the wicker chair beside him. he looks like he's glowing in the fire light, liner looking even darker with the shadows on his face. he's traded the stud in his lip for a little hoop in his septum, another in his eyebrow almost hidden in his hair.

"know your ass is gonna stick around here," he says it like an accusation, frowning. "gonna fuckin'--look for some prince charming, tuxedo mask douchebag. shack up and buy a house in the hills or somethin'."

"maybe," you shrug, earning a scoff from him. now that high school is over, the future seems so--open ended. you thought you'd be prepared by now, after all that your parents have tried to instill in you since elementary school, but. you don't know. maybe you don't want to go to law school. "or maybe i'll--join a rock band. dye my hair pink and split my tongue, or something."

you stick your tongue out for emphasis and he watches you closely, sticking his own out in response. when you laugh again, he shuffles in his seat and looks away.

"whatever." bakugou snorts, "you don't know the first thing about bein' in a band. i'd have to teach you everything."

"oh, you think you could?"

"hell yeah," he grins, wicked, all sharp teeth and sin. "learn from the fuckin' master."

"oh my god," you roll your eyes, but smile at him anyway. his eyes dart down to the curve of your lips, the apple of your cheeks, and then he's looking away again. speaking into the fire instead.

"i mean i guess i could, if you wanted, or whatever." the only fully painted fingernail remaining on his left hand is his pinky, and he picks at with interest. "if you--wanna come with me, not like i give a shit."

you try to picture it, you and him. katsuki. in the passenger seat of his car with nothing but clothes in a backpack, money stuffed in your pockets. wherever he's going--you don't even know--but it couldn't be too bad, with him. stopping in a motel when the driving gets old, buying snacks to feed him so he doesn't have to take his eyes off the road. he could be there when you get your first tattoo, and even though he'd make fun of you no matter what you choose, you don't think there's anyone else you would want there but him.

"when are we leaving?" you ask it to the sky, open and unending. dark and dazzling just like him.

from the corner of your eye, you can see him look at you for a long time before he snorts again, soft. disappointed, almost, because he knows it could never be. your fate has already been sealed, molded, starting from the day you moved in next door, and no matter how much you'd love to throw caution to the wind and follow him--it's just a dream.

"first thing tomorrow," he murmurs, and your heart thumps harder in your chest. so violent that it hurts. when you look at him, his face is turned up to the sky, too. "don't be late."

#bye the fanart i'm finished #the emo in me is like -- living #also bad guy x good girl trope is like such a classic #and i am still a sucker for it hfhaehfieah #semi kind of friends that have to part ways after high school is over kick me straight in the heart #all the things he wants to say !!! bc he's running out of time !!!#he's RUN OUT of time !!!#but what would it change anyway ?? two separate paths in life...#bye i made myself sad with this LOL #also road trip au PLEASE #okay okay i'm done i got it out of my system #bakugou drabble #✿ willow writes #✿ thoughts: bakugou

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rebelwrites · 3 years ago

Text

You Don’t Know Her Like I Did

Jax Teller x Reader

Text in bold is present day and the rest is memories

Warnings Death

That day would stay with Jax until the day he died. The day his world finally crumbled, the day his life changed forever. The boisterous, loud mouth biker everyone knew had gone and had been replaced with a quiet, lost biker. He remembered the day like it was only yesterday, the one call that broke the untouchable Jackson Teller.

Leaning against his bike, he felt his phone ring for a millionth time. Pulling it out of his pocket he saw all the missed calls from his mom. Hitting call he pulled the phone to his ear whilst he lit a cigarette.

“Mom you know I’m on a run” he sighed.

“I know I’m sorry son but this is important” she sighed, by the tone in his moms voice he knew something was wrong, something had happened.

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s been an accident” Gemma said shakily. “It’s Y/N”

Instantly he felt sick, panic ran through his veins at the thought of his old lady hurt.

“I’m on my way”

Shoving the phone back in his pocket and tossing the half smoked cigarette in the mud he squeezed the throttle, racing home to his baby girl. He was at least two hours away from home yet he managed to get home within the hour, not caring about breaking the speed limits.

His feet pounded the floors of the hospital as he made his way to you. His heart shattered into a million pieces when he saw you laying in the hospital bed, cuts and bruises littering your soft skin. Tubes and wires keeping you breathing.

“What happened” he breathed sitting by your side taking your hand in his.

“A lorry ran a red light” Gemma said her voice barley a whisper. “Jax the doctors are saying it’s not good. We could, she might” she was unable to say the words but he knew what she was saying.

Brushing his fingers over your cheeks, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Come on princess” he sobbed “just open then beautiful eyes for me. Please”

The only sound in the room was the steady beep of the heart rate monitor that was until the door opened, making Jax glance up to see who was entering the room.

“Sorry Jackie Boy” Chibs sighed “This one wants their daddy”

“Daddy” Harry said squirming in Chib’s arms before he place him on his feet and he ran into Jax’s arms.

Picking his son up, holding him tight in his arms he placed a long kiss on the crown of his head.

“Is mommy going to be okay” He asked as he played with the bullet hanging round Jax’s neck.

“I don’t know buddy” Jax sighed not wanting to lie to the 4 year old. “Mommy isn’t well baby, but no matter what happens I need to remember that she loves you so much”

A couple of hours had passed and nothing had changed.

“Okay Mr Teller, we are going to bring Y/N out of the coma and the rest will be up to her, unfortunately there isn’t much we can do at this stage” The doctor said softly as he did whatever he needed to do to wake you.

Jax watched intently as your eyes fluttered open, one look in them he knew things wasn’t good, the twinkle you normally had, was gone. He knew it was only a matter of time.

“My prince charming” You said, voice horse and not much more than a whisper.

“Mommy” Harry grinned trying to clamber into your arms.

“Buddy be careful with mommy okay” Jax whispered placing your son on the bed, watching as he snuggled into your side.

“Where does it hurt momma” Harry said placing his tiny hand on top of yours “You say kisses make everything better”

Jax thought he had no more tears to shed until Harry spoke.

“I don’t think kisses are going to work this time baby” You whispered using all your strength to hold your son tight, taking in his scent.

You and Jax knew this was the end, your body was shutting down and there wasn’t a thing anyone could do to stop it.

“Jax” You whispered looking at your husband who was trying to squeeze himself onto the tiny hospital bed.

“I know baby I know” He sighed kissing your lips softly, like you was made of glass.

“Look after our baby” You whispered tears streaming down your face as you felt yourself getting weaker. “Look after yourself, raise our son to be an amazing man like you”

“Baby I don’t want to let go” He sobbed into your hair.

“I know but you have to” You sobbed “Just remember I will always love you, you will always be my outlaw prince” Leaning down you placed a kiss on your sons head “my baby boy, I will always love you even when I am not here”

“Momma I love you too” Harry said looking up at your with his big blue eyes full of innocence.

“I love you” You said, your voice getting weaker.

Jax knew what was coming, he knew it was time.

“I love you to baby girl” He sobbed placing one last kiss on your lips, resting his forehead on yours, he watched your eyes close, a smile on your face as the monitor beside you stopped beating constantly and was now just one long beep.

Leaning against the bar, nursing the bottle of Jack, Jax felt a hand on his back. It had been 6 months since the worst day of his life, he had hardly been home, hardly seen his son. Just spent his days at the club.

“Maybe talking to someone will help Jax” Chibs said lowly.

“Don’t really feel like talking” Jax grunted “She’s gone and I feel it might just be too much to bear if I spoke about that day”

After a moment of silence Jax spoke again.

“You’ll never understand, no one will, you don’t know what we’ve been through. That girl’s my best friend and there’s no way you or anyone else is gonna be able to help me. She’s the only one who can and she’s gone” Jax said as hot tears rolled down his cheeks as he held onto his chain that now contained your wedding and engagement ring alongside the bullet. “Chibs, I can’t forget that day, no matter what I do and I feel like I’m drowning in all these memories. Our whole life together is replaying in my head”

The day you walked into the lot of Teller-Morrow, Jax knew his life was gonna change.

“Isn’t that Y/N Y/L/N?” Opie asked making Jax look up. “Yeah man, Jheeze not seen her since we dropped out of school” Jax said wiping his hands on the rag before sauntering over your you.

Jax had the biggest crush on you during his school years yet for some reason never had the balls to ask you out.

“Well I didn’t think I’d see you back in charming darlin’” Jax smirked.

“Fuck me, if it isn’t the famous Jax Teller” you laughed as he gave you a hug.

“But seriously what you doing in charming” Jax nodded offering a cigarette which you accepted, he noticed straight away you wore no wedding band “thought you’d be married to some pompous prick”

“I guess you are half right on that” you laughed pushing smoke out your nose “I dated a pompous prick but all the money in the world wouldn’t make me to go back to that life style. The bastard had an issue with me riding and how I dress so I left his sorry ass”

“Jheeze, guess you can take the girl out of charming but can’t take charming out the girl” Jax smirked “What can we do for ya”

“New tyres for the beast” you laughed nodding your head to the bike parked at your side.

Jax couldn’t help but smile as he watched you catch up with Opie, you had changed a lot since school, and definitely more women now, you wasn’t the skinniest person with your well defined hourglass figure, he couldn’t help himself as his eyes trailed your body, the ripped jeans hugging your curves, the vest stop revealing the perfect amount of cleavage, the battered leather bomber jacket was like a second skin, your hair pulled into a simple pony tail, cigarette hanging out your mouth. Jax was infatuated.

As he walked closer he overheard your conversation with Opie as you sat on top of the bench.

“He just couldn’t handle the fact I’m not who I was in school” you laughed.

Back in the day you were a straight A student Daddy’s little girl" Jax smirked making you roll your eyes.

“Maybe I just want a bad boy” you shrugged smirking as you saw Jax’s breathing hitch.

There was only one person that knew you had always crushed on Jax and that was Opie.

“I’m gonna sort your bike out” he nodded leaving you and Jax alone.

“If you want a bad boy then baby you got it” Jax winked “I’ll take you to the wrong side of the tracks”

After about half an hour Opie tossed your keys to you.

“So what do I owe you” you said pulling a wad of cash out your leather jacket.

“Put you cash away women” Jax laughed putting his arm around your shoulders “I think letting me take you on a date will be enough payment”

“And I can’t cope, it’s another death inside the family. It’s like she stole my way to breathe” Jax said playing with his wedding band. He could tell by the look on Tig’s face what he was going to say so Jax held his hand out stopping the words escaping his lips “Don’t try to tell me it stops hurting, don’t try to tell me she ain’t worth it”

The sound of little feet running along the hard wood floor of the club made Jax look up from the bottle. Reaching down he pulled Harry onto his knee.

“Daddy please don’t cry” Harry said standing on Jax’s knee wiping the tears from his eyes. “Momma wouldn’t want you crying”

“I know baby” Jax sighed kissing Harry’s head

“Are you coming home tonight?” Harry asked as he sat on the bar resting his feet on Jax’s stomach.

“I don’t know buddy” Jax said ruffling his sons hair.

“Pwease daddy” Harry said looking up through his eyelashes at him, tears filling his eyes “I miss momma too but you are never home anymore”

“I’m proud to be in the bad news crowd. The one my mama warned me about. The closest thing to hell she’s ever raised” you winked at Jax as you threw you leg over your bike “you coming baby”

“I’d go anywhere with you” Jax smirked placing his hand on your upper thigh, eyes full of lust.

“Come on then big boy let go bend the law and break some laws” you giggled placing a cigarette between your lips.

“Mmmm there’s other things we could do” Jax smirked running his finger across the top of your boobs.

“Maybe I’d let you do me on your bike” you whispered in his ear biting your lip causing him to growl.

“Grandma said we can order pizza tonight daddy” Harry grinned.

“That’s great” Jax nodded no emotion in his voice.

“Come on Harry” Chibs said picking him up and placing him on the floor. “Go find uncle Hap and annoy him”

As soon as Harry had ran off to find Happy, Chibs places a firm hand on Jax’s shoulder. Squeezing him tight.

“Right you listen here Jackie boy” Chibs said, his tone firm “you have a gorgeous son that’s trying so fucking hard to get his daddy’s attention and you are shutting him out, just like everyone else”

“Come back to me when you lose a wife” Jax scoffed.

“That shit don’t wash with me and you know it” Chibs snapped. Someone needed to be firm with him. “You aren’t the only one that is hurting. Everyday I find Harry just sat on the swing crying. The little lad is trying to be strong for his daddy”

“I swear you two was baptized in dirty water, by the hands of the devil himself, between the banks of a Whiskey River, beside the Highway to Hell” Opie laughed as he passed you and Jax a beer. “You are like the perfect match for each other”

Tonight was a massive celebration for your and Jax engagement, you was currently sat on Jax’s knee, his arm round your waist whilst your arms was tangled in his hair.

“Girl you got an outlaw. Ready to lay down all my guns. A dirty old hound dog. Learning new tricks like cuddlin’ up. You’ve got a hellcat purrin’ like a kitten. You’ve got a sinner down on his knees. It had to be hell on an angel. Lovin’ the devil outta me” Jax’s whispered as he kissed on along your jaw.

“Jax baby, we can’t dip out just yet” you giggled feeling full affect of the weed and whiskey.

“I will be quick” he smirked “promise”

“Fine” you giggled “show me a good time Teller”

“With pleasure princess” he said placing his hands under your ass as he carried you to his dorm room.

“I don’t have to sit here and take this shit” Jax snapped storming out of the club.

He threw his leg over his bike and sped off to the cemetery. The one place his brother wouldn’t nag him, the one place he could think.

Soon enough he was now sat in front of your grave.

“I’ve got too many I care about in this fucking place” jax sighed as he lit a smoke. “Babygirl I’m struggling, I really am. I don’t know what to do”

“It still amazes me even to this day how you got my every flaw, my rebel heart, every tattoo, every scar and still loved the outlaw in me” Jax whispered as a tear rolled down his cheek. “I know everyone is probably thinking I should be moving on with my life right now but right now I can’t, they didn’t know you like it did baby girl, they don’t really know how I’m struggling to live without you, I’ve hardly spent time with Harry and I know if you was here you be kicking my ass right now”

“Thought I’d find you here baby” Gemma said sitting on the grass next to Jax placing a soft kiss on his head.

“How did you do it Ma?” Jax asked tears clouding his vision “how did you carry on after JT died and continued to raise me?”

“I didn’t shut family out baby” she whispered taking his hand on hers “I leant on the club, I know you are hurting baby but you actions are hurting that gorgeous little boy of yours. He asked me today if you always be this sad”

“I don’t know what to do Ma” Jax sighed.

“Take some time off, let Chibs lead the club for a bit and spend some time with your son” she smiled softly “he lost his momma too and needs his daddy so much. I know things may seem dark right now and like there is no way up but the one thing that got me through my grief was you. You was the strength I needed to carry on every day”

“Daddy” a little voice shouted.

“Sorry Gem” Rat sighed panting slightly.

“It’s okay” she nodded.

Harry climbed into Jax’s lap, snuggling into his chest.

“I’m sorry son” he sighed burrying in face into his sons blonde hair “I know I’ve not been a good daddy recently, in fact I’m sorry for a lot of things”

“Daddy I don’t want you to be sad” Harry said placing his tiny hand against Jax’s cheek.

“I know buddy” Jax whispered wrapping his arms around him.

The two of them just sat there not saying anything, Gemma was right, the only way he would start to try and mean his heart was from the love from the 4 year old snuggled into his chest.

#Jax Teller #jax teller x reader #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy x reader

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sapiowoman28 · 4 years ago

Text

I can, I can't : Part 1 of 3

Pairing: Jaemin x female reader

Gener: best friends to lovers au, smut, fluff

Warning: mentions of sex, masturbation (Female)

Summary: Jaemin and Y/N are part of a group of best friends. One day, things change.....

They called themselves the dropouts. Brought up in good Catholic families, active within the Church community as kids, Catholic school education... the works. They then grew up and stopped going.

It wasn't some group thing were everyone agreed to stop going altogether at the same time. It was more like, one by one, they stopped going.

Jeno was the first to stop, at 15, after his parents got divorced. He became angry and withdrawn. By 16 he was mixing with the wrong crowd - think underaged drinking, partying, It was only after a close brush with the law that he - literally and figuratively - sobered up and decided to focus on healthier pursuits like education and sports. Thankfully too, the old Jeno that everyone knew and love came back.

Then were was Renjun. Renjun was always the one who wasn't really into religion anyway. He was more apt to believing in aliens and ghosts. His mother kept him going for as long as she could. By 18 he was out.

Haechan, as he got older, became a sporadic goer. After moving out on his own to live with the guys and Y/N in an apartment closer to campus, he stopped too.

Y/N? The older she grew, the more she learnt about the importance of gender equality. The more she embraced feminism, the more she found some church teachings hard to swallow.

All was left, of course, was Jaemin. Now Jaemin, he was still a "good boy", faithfully going to Church every Sunday. It wasn't that he was extremely religious. It was more that he had gone to Church every single week all his life. To not go one week felt odd and different.

The good thing was, nobody made fun of him or tried to stop him from going. Jeno even woke him up on Sunday mornings before he went for his 10km runs just so Jaemin would get to mass on time. (Mass is what Catholics call a church service.)

Y/N enjoyed hanging out with her friends. She was like one of the boys. It had always been like that since they were young. Everyone who knew Y/N knew she was not to be messed with. Not only was she capable of kicking anyone's balls, she also had four bros who would come after their ass too. In fact, guys who were interested in dating her would often try to get in good standing with the four guys so life would be easier for them. So it was hardly surprising that Y/N had never had her heart broken.

The problem was, Y/N was the one breaking hearts. Commitment wasn't her strongest suit, and more often than not she'd break off with whoever she was seeing with very trivial reasons, First she was dating Xiaojun. Then 7 months later she broke it off with him because apparently he "sucked at making out". The truth was, Xiaojun was good enough in bed but Y/N wanted to date the more exciting Yang Yang after meeting him at a frat party her gal friends dragged her to and making out with him. So Yang Yang it was. For a while she was happy. But then 10 months passed and Yang Yang was history. Now it seemed, was some guy called Lucas.

"Now, before you guys misunderstand, Lucas is not my boyfriend." Y/N declared over a pizza with Jaemin one Saturday night. "He's just... a friend..."

Jaemin raised his eyebrow. "You mean a friend with benefits? Cos based on what we have to hear every single Friday night, none of us think you guys are friends. Speaking of which.... Jeno wants me to talk to you."

"Let me guess, you lost rock paper scissors. Again. And that's why you're the one speaking to me."

"Well, we have house rules to follow..." Jaemin started, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

"Jeno and his stupid house rules." Y/N sighed. "What now? I can't bring Lucas home?"

"It's getting kind of weird for all of us...."

"You guys bring girls home all the time!" Y/N protested.

"I don't." Jaemin said. It was true.

"Jeno does. Haechan does. Even Renjun! Remember that weird Yoga chick he was seeing?"

"But they're not loud. Lucas sounds like he has a loudhailer in his throat and it's weird hearing him......we end up having to use headphones."

"I've tried asking him to tone it down. But he gets too excited when I blow him..." Y/N grinned as Jaemin covered his ears with his hands, not wanting to hear the details.

"Look, Jeno says he appreciates that YOU have gotten less loud since that time you were dating Yang Yang. But Lucas he's just.... too expressive. Can't you do it at his house or something? It's not the moaning as much as the dirty talk, you know?" Jaemin's voice was getting tinier and tinier.

"If Jeno has a problem, why can't he tell me himself?" I know it's not Haechan or Renjun who are complaining. Haechan's always gaming with his stupid headphones on and Renjun's always listening to music on his noise cancelling ones."

Jaemin sighed. "Don't put me in a tough spot, Y/N..."

He looked at her with puppy dog eyes.

"Fine. I'll speak to Lucas. But I'm only doing it cos of you, cos you good Catholic boy and virgin and all."

Jaemin rolled his eyes. "For the last time, Y/N, I'm not a virgin!"

Lucas took the news surprisingly well and he was happy to have her hang at his apartment instead. Which turned out to be a better thing, since his apartment was bigger and his housemates were never around. Y/N wondered why she insisted on making out at her apartment to begin with.

"I'm surprised Jeno was the one with the problem.." Lucas said after they had made out and she was snuggling in his arms.

"He has all these rules. The worst part is he makes Jaemin speak to me instead of telling me directly."

"It makes sense. You and Jaemin are close."

"I'm close to all four of them."

"No no no." Lucas said, "Each of them has a different thing with you."

"Explain, Mr Wong." she said, looking up at him.

"I think Jeno knows both of you have strong characters so he has Jaemin speak to you instead when there's an issue so you guys won't argue. He prefers to keep things light, so the most you're gonna get is Jeno making fun of you for having a thing for foriegn men."

"What about Haechan?"

"Haechan's your gaming bestie. You talk about gaming, and game together. But he'd kick the ass of anyone who gives you trouble."

"I think I'm least close to Renjun."

"I don't think it's that. It's more Renjun is kind of in his own world. He's like that with everyone. But he feels close to you guys."

Y/N was impressed.

"What about Jaemin?"

"Jaemin's like your total opposite. But you guys get each other. I like him. He's a good guy."

"Yeah he's a virgin." Y/N joked.

"He's a good looking guy! Heck, if I was a chick I'd go after him man!" Lucas said, his eyes expressive as always.

"Well, he's a good guy. I've never seen him bring a girl home."

"Come on man, when it comes to hormones, even good guys turn bad."

Lucas was driving her home when she got a call from Jaemin.

"Wassup?"

"Are you alone?" Jaemin asked. He sounded strange. "I need help."

"Are you ok?" Y/N asked. "I'm with Lucas. Where are you?"

"Oh. I'll call someone else..."

"Don't be an idiot, Jaemin. Where are you?"

"Hospital." he said. "Can you come? Just don't tell anyone anything. Not even Lucas."

She found him in a bad state at the hospital. Sitting in a daze, blood stains on his crumpled shirt. Y/N had never seen Jaemin look so small.

"Hey" she half whispered. He looked up.

"I can go now. I got an x-ray done. My nose is not broken. And it's finally stopped bleeding." he said. "I already collected my medicines. Mostly painkillers."

"What happened?" she asked.

"I don't want to talk about it." he said.

"Let's get home and get you out of these bloody clothes. And then you can tell me after you've had a good night's sleep."

"Can i sleep in your room tonight?" he asked. It was an unsual request. "I'm feeling quite shaken."

"Yeah. Sure. Let's do that."

It was 2am and he still couldn't sleep. She could feel him toss and turn next to her.

"Jae."

"Sorry."

"No, I can't sleep either."

He sat up.

"I need to get my ID card back. Can you follow me tomorrow?"

"Your ID card?"

"I was fooling around with a first year chick in her house. Her parents came back and caught us. Her dad took my ID away, said he was going to lodge a police report against me for tresspassing his house and taking advantage of his daughter. Well, that's after he beat me up."

Y/N sat up. This was interesting, she thought.

"She's 18?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"18 is legal you dumbass." she slapped her forehead.

"I thought it was 21.."

Y/N groaned. "I can't believe you're so stupid."

"But the trespassing thing?"

"They don't have a case Jae. I'm sure you can prove you were invited there. Even if she lies and said she didn't invite you. They can't prove it beyond a reasonable doubt."

"I'm so glad you're studying law."

"And Jaemin?"

"What?"

"It's illegal for him to detain your ID. YOU can report him."

"Oh. I didn't know that."

"Can you go sleep now that you know you're not actually in trouble?"

"Yes. Thanks Y/N." he said, turning to face the opposite side.

But Y/N couldn't sleep. Her mind was running a million miles a minute. Jaemin made out with someone. What was he like when making out? Was he gentle? Was he sweet like he always was to everyone? Was he a dom or sub? What did he do with the girl? Did he have fun?

Her own thoughts made her sick. Feeling a stir in her stomach made her sick. This was her best friend she was thinking of. She had to stop. Maybe she needed a shower.

Taking a towel with her to the bathroom, she shut the door, stripping quickly and getting under the hot jets of water. Damn it, Y/N, she scolded herself. Not Na Jaemin. What happened to your thing for Chinese guys?

She soaped herself trying to escape the mental picture of Jaemin, between the girl's thighs, lapping on her clit mercilessly, his eyes twinkling like they would whenever Jeno or Haechan said something witty. Suddenly, she was thinking of him between her legs, lapping at her core.

She brought her fingers to her clit, rubbing them from side to side. She leaned against the bathroom wall, moving more aggressively. She was wet. Biting her lip she pushed two fingers into her pussy, thrusting them in and out, the sound of the shower masking the wet noises as her fingers moved.

The muscles in her stomach were tightening. She could no longer hold back, thinking of Jaemin thrusting into her, looking at her with an intense gaze. She wanted him bad.

Slowly she came undone, as she moaned into her hands while cumming.

Suddenly, someone was knocking aggressively on the bathroom door. Y/N froze.

"I need to pee!" Haechan shrieked. "Hurry! I need to go back to my game!"

"Give me 2 minutes I'll be done." Y/N said, drying herself with her towel and getting dressed, mind still dazed from thinking about Jaemin. She knew their friendship was never going to be the same ever again.

She was just wondering how easy or hard it was going to be, to get Jaemin to join her on the other side.

#nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream smut #nct dream jaemin #nct dream jeno #nct dream haechan #nct dream renjun #wayv lucas #wayv yangyang #wayv xiaojun #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct smut

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saturnsummer · 4 years ago

Text

sunbae.

Sol meets into a familiar someone. This time, she’s not letting her chance pass again.

ao3 link

notes: prompted by @thenerdywriter ! taking place a few years after the gang has graduated and started their jobs. it’s been such a joy writing this! (editing, grammar and other mistakes will be taken responsible by me.) if anyone else has prompts, do ask them in the submission box and i’ll get to you when i can!

thank you @thenerdywriter for this!! i thought of many scenarios, like them being famous prosecutors, or getting married. but i felt that this would be an interesting twist. i hope you like it! thank you for this opportunity!

words: 2256 words

Sol loves being a lawyer. Like, she really does.

Well, besides having to hustle in notes, write reports, follow her bosses to meetings where she just sits and listens, she loves it.

After graduating with her grades just skimming the pass, she landed a job at a small law firm. She acts more like a secretary than a lawyer there, to be honest. But money is money. Her mother is getting older, and with Byeol expressing her interest in dancing, she couldn’t say no.

Thus, she sucks it up and sends out other resumes. She still works part time on weekends at the book shop back in Hankuk University, so she guesses she’s managing well. She still lives in that dangerous alley, but it’s much safer now that she returns home every night.

She tried to stay in contact with her study group. Jiho landed himself in a big law firm, and SolB (despite her mother’s wishes) is at another giant law firm. BokGi got picked up by a firm mostly doing human rights, and Yebeom is working at the company next to BokGi. (So much for besties.) Yeseul is at a small firm, doing mostly cases on women rights.

Joon Hwi, on the other hand...

He was picked up by a law firm in the States. Immediately after graduation, he left for the States. Everyone stayed in contact, but with life catching up, weekly drinks slowed to a meeting every other month. Yeseul and Sol still meet fairly regularly, but Sol can’t help but to feel empty when she notices Joon Hwi is missing.

Everyone feels it, but she feels it the most.

-----

Sol can’t deny her feelings. When she saw him in Professor Yang’s lecture as he picked up her highlighter and gave her a sweet smile, she felt time freeze. Later on, as they became study buddies, she couldn’t help but sneak glances to observe his face when he taught her. She would always hitch her breath whenever he would lean towards her, or tease her with that smirk.

She has always thought that he returned her feelings. The way he would walk her home some nights. How he would always send her a good morning and night text, and place cans of coffees on her table at the library. It didn’t take her long to realise that he stuck post its on her table in their third year every week. (His handwriting was too uniformed, and only he owned circular shaped ones.)

But on the day of Yeseul’s trial, Sol knew that Joon Hwi probably didn’t like her. That he wasn’t protecting her, but her roommate. Of course he would. He was offered to privately tutor her, and they were always top ranking students. She vaguely remembers international events where they both would represent Hankuk in conferences.

Sol didn’t mind it. She was never good enough for him anyways. On graduation, as they took photos and promised to keep in touch, Sol found her mouth dry when it came to Joon Hwi. She had no reason to. (After all, it was just Joon Hwi.) But she felt even more nervous than the time she took her exam.

She planned it out. She wrote a script and memorised it in her head. She wanted to let Joon Hwi know about how she felt, even if he didn’t feel the same. She wanted to thank him for being her friend, for being a support that she will always be grateful for. That wherever he goes, she will always support him in life.

But as they threw their caps in the air and took one last group photo, Joon Hwi slipped away, never to be seen in person again.

-----

Sol found out a week later about his job in the States. They kept in contact by messages and the occasional video calls with the group. But with the time difference, Joon Hwi started texting lesser. Sol was no less busier, managing Byeol and her mom’s age and slowly taking on her responsibilities as the breadwinner of the family.

She used to come home after work and sit outside at the wall, wondering if Joon Hwi could see her in the States at night from the security camera. She would put on her headphones and sit there, watching as people pass late at night. Sometimes, she would speak aloud, as if Joon Hwi could hear her through the camera.

Many days, she would sit outside with a bottle of soju and two cups. She would only drink from one, and the other would just be there as reminder of her good days, when she was a study and drunk regularly with her best confidante. She often ended those nights half-drunk, murmuring her troubles out loud. (As if Joon Hwi was there to listen.)

When Yebeom spilled the beans that Jiho and SolB were dating a year later, she couldn’t believe it. It was a total twist. Does Joon Hwi know? He must be hurt, she thinks. She wanted to text him, call even. But she decided against it. He’s probably too busy for her.

And so Sol went about her mundane routine. She drank with an extra soju cup alone. Used circular post its. Ate ramyeon like her life depended on it.

And it went on.

-----

“Yah, kid!” Gollum smacks Sol’s arm with a freshly printed set of notes.

“You really had to?!” Sol barks back, soothing her arm and organising the copy room.

“When are you gonna stop working? You’re an adult! You’ve got your degree!” Gollum asks, shoving another stack of papers in the copier machine. Sol sighs.

“Till I get out of this job and move on to a better one. God, I’m still pathetic, aren’t I?” She cries out as she carries a stack of books to the door.

“When were you ever pathetic?” A gentle voice rings as Sol stops dead in her tracks. That voice. The voice that she can’t help but miss. The voice that lectured to her about law and her health every other day. Raising her eyes, she meets his familiar handsome face with his hair pushed back out of the way, different from the bangs he once had in school. His brown eyes crinkle.

“Joon…?” She asks breathlessly, still taking in his presence.

“Hello, sunbae.” He smirks. The same exact smirk she still remembers. Sol drops her stack of books to the table nearby and without warning, throws her arms around his neck. He stumbles backwards, but his hands rest gently on her waist, hugging the shorter woman closer to him. She inhaled his musky cologne, feeling his warmth wrap her body.

“I… I don’t get how you’re here. Aren’t you in the States?” She says softly, pulling away from the hug.

“Well, I was. I just got back.” He tells her. Peeking his head over, he waved to Gollum.

“Long time no see, Gollum! Mind you dismiss your staff early?” He cheekily asks, earning a swat from Sol. Gollum, to Sol’s surprise, nods and waves them away. Joon Hwi grins and takes her hand into his and grabs her purse in another before leading her out of school. (Gollum, meanwhile only grins. They better get together this time round, he thinks.)

-----

Joon gives her time to catch up with him and they take a stroll to the park nearby. He shares about his adventures in the States and the different cases he’s gotten. Some difficult, some interesting.

“So, what’s been going on?” Joon asks Sol.

Sol begins retelling about how the group has been doing. She retells BokGi’s and Yebeom’s offer and how they have lunch every other day. How Yeseul decided to want to fend for women abuse victims as well. However, she leaves Jiho and SolB dating for the last.

“Oh, um… I’m not sure if SolB has told you, but…” Sol trails off. Joon Hwi only tilts his head in confusion. Her eyes are uncertain and almost awkward.

“…That her and Jiho are dating?” Joon Hwi completes the sentence for her with enthusiasm.

“Wait, how did you know?”

“Jiho told me. Well, I encouraged Jiho.” He says, leaning back on the benches they sat on.

Now Sol was confused. Didn’t he like SolB? Why on earth is he encouraging Jiho? Her face contorts into a stage of loss and confusion. Joon Hwi only lets out a light chuckle.

“I don’t like SolB. I never did.” He answers her, as if he could hear her thoughts.

Sol freezes. So for years… he never had feelings for her? She feels like she’s back in law school, sitting with him in the empty study room when he leans in closer to look at her notes, closing the distance between. Her heart beats fast and she feels a sense of warmth rising to her face.

“Why? You thought I liked her, didn’t you?” Joon Hwi teases. She turns her face away, knowing that he can see her face blushing red.

“Whatever.” She grumbles just loud enough. Laughter fills her ears as she turns back around to pout at him. Soon enough, she’s suppressing a small smile as they lie back and look in the distance to their alma mater.

Sol sits in her thoughts for a few moments. She now knows that Joon Hwi doesn’t like her ex-roommate. He’s right next to her. He’s in Korea. He still remembers her. He still cares.

But does he feel the same?

“Come, it’s getting late.” He says, taking her hand in his and pulling her up.

Sol doesn’t notice the way his fingers are intertwined with hers.

-----

Joon Hwi leads her down a familiar road, before getting three popsicles. Sol knows this road like routine, and can walk it blindfolded. But she lets him lead her. The entire time, she takes in his tall figure. His broad shoulders. How so many years later, she’s still in love with this very man. No matter how many men tried to flirt and confessed to her, she couldn’t return her feelings.

Because Han Joon Hwi had stolen hers to begin with.

“Is Byeol home?” Joon Hwi asks, as they stop at her front door. As if on cue, a much taller girl emerges from the door, dressed in a simple shirt and shorts, hair pulled back with a large clip.

“Oppa!” Byeol’s face lights up as Joon Hwi slightly bends to give her a warm hug. Byeol crashes into his arms and Joon Hwi swings her in a circle as Sol just laughs at their childishness.

“You’ve grown taller, haven’t you, you cookie? And gotten so much prettier, like your sister.” He laughs, ruffling her hair. Handling her a popsicle, she flashes a grateful smile. Sol swats his arm, trying to not burn from embarrassment.

“Unnie is still the prettiest to you, isn’t she?” Byeol asks as she opens her popsicle. Sol swerves around and is ready to smack Byeol for spouting nonsense, but Joon Hwi only laughs and pats her head.

“You’re right. Your unnie is still the prettiest and smartest to me.” He says, his eyes locked on Sol, his smile still sweetly there. Sol is transported back in time to when she would catch Joon Hwi stare at her while eating her pickles and only smile at her as she happily eats. The days, that she’s now certain showed that he had feelings for her. Byeol looks at her sister, eyes locked on Joon Hwi and silently retreats back home with her half eaten popsicle.

“Joon, there’s something I need to say.” Sol mutters out loud. She has to do it now. She lost her chance years ago, and she's not losing it again.

“Me too.” Joon Hwi says, his hands burying into his pockets, the way it does when he’s nervous.

“No, please. I’ve waited years to tell you this. And I don’t want to screw this up because I know you probably think I’m still hung over old memories. And I don’t know when you are going to return to the States, cause I may never see you again. And then I’m gonna-” Sol is rambling as she feels the same nervousness every time she’s alone with him.

But Joon Hwi’s lips cut her off. His hands cup her cheeks as he brings her face nearer to him, feeling her soft lips on his. Sol is too shocked to react, but she kisses him back, her hands by her side unclenching from her balled up fists. They pull away, as Joon Hwi leans his forehead against hers. Their noses brush each other and their lips brush one another.

“I love you, Han Joon Hwi. I have been, for the past years.” Sol whispers breathlessly.

“I know. And I love you too, Kang Sol.” He replies, before crashing against her lips once more. Sol feels the fireworks, as she finally feels her heart open.

Han Joon Hwi is here.

Han Joon Hwi loves her.

-----

Joon Hwi leaves for the States a week later. A month later, he appears at Sol’s house, announcing that he will be shifting back home. He reconnects with everyone else in the group and the meetings become more frequent. Sol now drinks with another cup, filled by the person she loves. Instead of circular post its, she gets morning love messages.

And at dinners, when she leans her head against Joon Hwi’s shoulder and looks at her intertwined fingers, she can’t help but feel her heart explode in so many emotions.

She’s finally whole.

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fandom-imagines-stories · 4 years ago

Text

Time of Death

Dr. Derek Shepherd x Reader

Words: 1966

Summary: Receiving the news after coming out of a long surgery, Derek rushes to comfort his fiancé whose sister committed suicide.

Notes: I hope to write some fluffier McDreamy imagines and more for Grey’s Anatomy, but when I got this idea, I had to go with it. This is a very very dark story, so it will not be for everyone, but I really had an interesting time writing it. As always, I’d love to know your thoughts and if you guys are excited for more Grey’s Anatomy imagines.

Warnings: Suicide, grief, guilt (This starts out fast so I’m putting the break at the beginning so if you don’t want to read, you don’t have to.)

You couldn’t hear them say it but you still heard it in your head. Time of death… You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at the clock. Time had stopped. Everything had stopped. As you looked down from the gallery, nobody in the O.R. seemed to be moving an inch. Until Dr. Bailey looked up at you. As soon as your eyes connected, everything started again but it started too fast. Your heart was beating too fast, your legs were moving too fast, the tears were coming too fast.

Your sister was dead. She threw herself in front of oncoming traffic. Her body was so broken that even Bailey couldn’t put it back together. Your baby sister killed herself.

Nurses and doctors alike watched you sprint by. Fellow residents, interns, attendants, all of them watched you run like maniac through the halls of the surgical wing. Of course, you were careful not to be in anyone’s way, but you had to disappear.

“What’s with Mrs. McDreamy?” Cristina asked George and Meridith quietly.

“Her sister just died on the table.” Izzy sighed, having been with you in the gallery. She looked at the floor. “Jumped in front of a car.” The other interns’ eyes widened.

“She killed herself?” Meredith whispered, her gaze following your running form down the hall. “Has anybody told…”

“He’s been in surgery for hours.” Cristina shook her head. “I doubt he even knows she was admitted.”

“Should someone page him? Should someone go get Y/N?” George wondered but nobody moved. They all just looked at each other. Cristina crossed her arms.

“I’ll go. Somebody has to go tell Dr. Shepherd that his future sister in law turned herself into roadkill.”

“No.” Meredith blurted. Cristina’s bluntness was the last thing anyone needed right now. “I’ll tell him.” Meredith and Derek were at least friends. He needed to hear this from a friend.

Derek smiled as the water ran over his hands. After several long hours, the surgery was a success. The 18-year-old girl was going to be okay. Thanks to him. Another life saved. His smile grew when Meredith stepped into the room.

“Dr. Grey, you missed a pretty amazing surgery.” He beamed. Something about her face was off.

“I’m sure you did very well Dr. Shepherd.” She wasn’t looking at him.

“Meredith what is it?” He dried his hands quickly and followed her out into the hall. Her expression made that cocky smile of his fall. “Meredith?”

“A Cierra Y/L/N was admitted about when you started your surgery.”

“Y/N’s sister?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “It seems that she ran in front of a semi truck. Dr. Bailey did everything she could but… she’s dead, Derek.”

“Cierra… killed herself?” Derek ran a hand down his face. “Does anyone know why? Are they sure that’s what happened? Does Y/N know?”

“We all saw her run down the hallway, so I’d say she knows.”

“Do you know where she went?” He exclaimed, raising his voice. He didn’t have time for the doe-eyed confusion. He needed to know where you were. Meredith just shook her head. He calmed down enough so he wouldn’t yell. “Thank you for getting me.”

He took off, scanning the hall for any sign of his fiance. As he hurried past doctors and patients, he thought of Cierra. He’d never even met her. Sure, you had mentioned that you had a younger sister, but you didn’t say much other than that. But suicide? It was how you lost your mom when you were in medical school. This was going to hit hard and he needed to make sure there would be pieces of you left.

“Dr. Shepherd!” A voice called out behind him. He reluctantly stopped his pursuit to turn to Dr. Bailey. She gave him a sad, grim look. “We did everything we could, but the extent of her injuries… I’m sorry there wasn’t more I could do.”

“Have you seen Y/N?”

“Since she couldn’t operate with us, she stayed and watched from the gallery.” She sighed. She paused for a second before putting a hand on his shoulder. “I think I know where she might have gone.”

Bailey had found you there once before. You’d lost a patient and needed a quiet place to be alone. If there was ever a time you needed a quiet place to go, it’d be now. She brought Derek to a closet on the fourth floor. It was mostly filled with extra linens and paper and such so it wasn’t used often. Bailey knocked on the door, but received no response. Slowly, she opened the door.

“Dr. Shepherd?” She called out into the dark storage room. With still no response, she let Derek pass her.

“Y/N? Honey, I know you’re in here.” His eyes adjusted and he could see a form standing behind one of the shelves in the corner. He exchanged a look with Bailey. She nodded in understanding.

“I’ll go tell the chief. You’ll probably want to be heading home.” As she turned to leave, Derek put a hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you, Miranda.”

The chief resident quietly closed the door behind her and Derek walked further into the closet. The closet may have been small, but you felt far away. Hearing the sound of him approaching, you turned your head.

“Cierra is… she’s- they said that she-” Every time you tried to finish the sentence, your mouth stopped. Like your body was trying to deny what your mind clearly knew. Derek tentatively put his hands on your shoulders. When did he get in front of you?

“I know.”

He pulled you to his chest and you tried not to push away. You wanted to. You wanted to run again. But his arms wouldn’t let you. He kept you from drifting away.

Chief Webber had all of your surgeries for the next few days rescheduled or taken over by Dr. Bailey. Derek rescheduled the ones that he could, but some of his surgeries were on a time crunch. After he drove you home, he was paged back to the hospital for an emergency. He told you what it was, but you couldn’t remember.

You didn’t even remember the drive home. You remembered the bloody surgical tools and the machines and the clock, but it didn’t have any numbers on it. You remembered running in the halls and Derek finding you in the closet. Now you were home. Now you were alone. Alone with the knowledge that you killed your little sister.

Your brain started a single train of thought. You moved slowly, every motion draining more and more energy out of you, but you still made your way to your closet and found your suitcase. You couldn’t put this much pain, this much baggage on someone with a heart like his. To you, this was mercy.

When Derek finally returned home, not a single light in the house was on. His shoulders were weighed down as he tossed his keys on the counter. The surgery was a success, but he didn’t feel that usual rush of adrenaline that came from saving a life. He just wanted to get back to you.

He was about to call out for you when he saw something catch the light. Sitting on the kitchen table was your engagement ring.

“Y/N!” He called out, tucking the band into his pocket and ascending the stairs two at a time. He burst into the bedroom and found your suitcase sitting on the bed, clothes hurriedly piled inside. “Y/N!”

Light pooled into the room from underneath the bathroom door and was sure he could hear something inside. Derek knocked lightly before slowly cracking the door open.

“Y/N?” His voice was quieter now but still held the same amount of urgency. You just whimpered in response. He opened the door fully, finding you sitting on the bathroom floor having thrown up any meals you had that day.

“It’s my fault, Derek.” You cried, your voice so low he could barely hear you. “Cierra killed herself because of me. I can’t force you to live with that too.” You pulled your knees up to your chest.

“Honey…” Derek sat beside you, putting on a hand on your cheek to make you look at him. “Cierra was sick. She’d been sick for a really long time.”

“She was sick because I left her.” You spat, jerking away. “I abandoned her when I moved here for my residency. I knew what she was going through, stuck living with my dad, and I went off to medical school anyway.”

“Deciding to make a life for yourself and to help save lives was not abandoning her.” He took your hand in his and this time, you didn’t pull away. “Y/N, you called Cierra every chance that you got. As far as you knew, she was getting help in San Diego. She told you she was getting better. You couldn’t have known how bad it had gotten.”

“Then why did she come here, Derek?” You felt that sick feeling in your stomach turning and twisting again. “Why drive up to Seattle and jump into oncoming traffic close enough to be taken to Seattle Grace unless she blamed me?”

Derek was quiet for a moment. Your body was still shaking from both sobs and from getting sick and you looked desperate for answers that he couldn’t give.

“Maybe she wanted to see you one last time. This was her way of doing that.”

It may not have been the answer you wanted to hear, but it was enough to get you to calm down. Derek shifted so that you were sitting in front of him, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your arms from behind. He gently kissed the top of your head and pulled your ring out of his pocket.

“As for this…” He held the band out in front of you. You just stared at it, laying your head back against his shoulder.

“I was leaving.” You were half packed before your body ached so much it made you sick.

“I noticed that.” Derek blew out a long breath. “You said you ‘couldn’t force me to live with that’. Is that how you think? That leaving will spare me of your faults?”

“I didn’t think that you…” You sighed, trying to collect your reasoning into words. You spun around so you were facing him, holding his hands in your lap. “Derek, you love saving lives. You walk into life ready to save someone else’s. I couldn’t make you look at me everyday knowing that I was responsible for Cierra’s death.”

Derek lifted your hands up to his chest and laid them flat over his heart.

“This day- this tragedy- does not define who you are. You are still the beautiful, talented, brilliant surgeon that I fell in love with. The one I asked to marry me. You will still be that woman tomorrow and the next day and the one after that. And if you ever need reminding I will ask you to marry me every single day until we walk down that aisle together because I’m not backing out. Better or worse.” His gaze searched yours for a reaction. “Okay?”

All you could do was nod and lean back into his embrace. You stayed there on the bathroom floor, his legs on either side of you and your head tilted back against his chest. While Derek’s words didn’t erase everything from that day, they helped to take even just a little of the weight off of your heart. It was enough, at least for now and so you slipped your ring back onto your finger and fell asleep in his arms.

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