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saladejin · 4 years ago

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Lost & Found | Jimin (M)

Jimin x Fem!Reader | s2f2l au, (ex)-policeman!Jimin, vetnurse!Reader | fluff, meet-cute, (emphasis on) hurt/comfort, angst and heavy angst, found families, slight humour, mentions of other members

Summary: You’ve essentially spent your whole life working around dogs, through sickness and through health, but one memorable encounter at the park has you thinking ‘why not one more?’

Or, maybe it’s not the dog that needs help, but rather the beautiful yet reserved man with honey blonde hair at his side. Perhaps, rather than dogs and cats, you need to start learning how to heal people. Maybe then you can start to heal yourself too.

Warnings: tw // (mental health, descriptions of death - no major, descriptions of abandonment - not by main characters, absent parents) // Descriptions of traumatic experiences, mental health issues/struggles (depression, anxiety), minor character death, hurt/comfort, mental breakdowns / resolved breakdowns. Only the tiniest, vaguest references to suicide - basically nothing.

- semi non-descriptive smut, fooling around in the pool, kissing, touching, fucking ... plenty of cussing lol

Word Count: 18.6k (hahahha kill me)

A/N: Okay so here is my entry for the Ghostie Network’s ‘Dynamite Dads’ event, and it’s a bit late oops! I wasn’t really feeling up to write Jimin as a dad with an actual human baby, but I did the next best thing and gave him a gorgeous pupper who he basically treats as his own child ... enjoy :)

The genre was FLUFF, and my trope was ‘found family’. I promise you there is definitely some fluff to pay off for the angst. I feel ok saying it’s nothing too extreme, 🥺 but please heed the warnings and don’t hate me too much for the pain hehe

There will be a sequel, so this will most likely end up being a two-shot. You’ll see what I mean :)

<< masterlist

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Jimin knows from the very moment he opens his eyes to the sound of 6 a.m. birdsong, that today would be it. His last day.

He drags himself from bed, all fluffed up hair and puffy eyes, shrugging on the same dark navy uniform he’s worn for the past five years. He blinks away the sleep clutching at his eyelids, trying his best to prevent the flashing colours behind them from focusing into memories.

Perhaps they were a lingering dream, flooded with the distant sounds of wailing sirens and a snarling canine, but thankfully they vanish with one brisk shake of his head.

Snarling swiftly changes into a gentle whine, and Jimin raises his head with a troubled sigh to see Mandu sniffing by his bedroom door. His best friend, his companion, and most of all his boy. Jimin’s cheeks lift in a small smile, and the dog with a pelt of rich fawn brightens instantly, tail thumping the wall in innocent glee at seeing his handler’s eyes shine.

“Morning, bud.”

Not two hours later, Jimin’s sitting just outside the chief’s office. He waits with downcast eyes, fiddling with his fingers to ward away the nerves and anxiety causing his heartbeat to pick up speed.

He knows how it looks; he knows that everyone there can see through him and his firm expression. He’s never been good at hiding emotions very well, despite society’s expectation that anyone working in the law enforcement sphere should. No, not him, and that’s exactly why he has to leave it all behind.

“Officer Park…”

The chief’s eyes are not upset, angry or surprised by the news, but rather concerned. Jimin swallows his guilt down heavily, knowing full well that he has every right to do what he’s doing. He fights the urge to comb his fingers through his soft honey blonde hair, or the instinctual need to scratch at his own neck from the sheer distress of it all.

“Park, is it because of yesterday?”

That simple phrase was all it took to send him reeling back.

Flashing colours and background noise burst into focus, and Jimin suddenly finds himself reliving everything. Heavy well-worn boots thudding against the road slick with fresh rain, the sound of shrieking sirens all around, piercing his eardrums like knives. His lungs constricting, burning, with need for air as he follows Mandu into the darkness of the alley.

“Jung! Jung, where-”

Jimin can barely hear himself think above the clatter, the vicious snarling and gnashing of teeth against flesh being the only sound keeping him grounded. He has a job to do, and he’ll see it through to the end even if it costs him his life. He cocks his pistol and carefully peers around the corner of the dimly lit alleyway, hoping that the pathetic cries of the criminal under attack means that the coast is somewhat clear.

Anxiety bubbles up in his chest, for his partner and his boy, but he knows he can’t let his worry for them cloud his judgement now, of all times.

“Drop your weapon now!” he shouts above the noise, rounding the corner to apprehend the man currently locked into a bloody fight with his K-9 counterpart, desperately kicking and shoving to try and escape the ferociously snapping jaw knocking him down.

To Jimin’s relief, the weapon in question had been thrown down with a clatter amidst the man’s struggle, the gun still rotating slightly in its place from the force of its projection.

Then his bones freeze up when he watches the shiny object come to rest by a steel-capped boot, a boot so familiar to his eyes because it’s the exact same one he wears.

It’s Jung. Slumped against the wall, unmoving, unseeing … blood pools everywhere around him, and the iron-tinged smell hits Jimin right in the face until he can barely stand to breathe. “H-Hoseok, no…”

Mandu’s growls bring him crashing down to Earth, and Jimin’s pulled the trigger before he can even think twice about his actions. In the back of his mind, he knows he’s trained unconditionally to aim for non-fatal points on the human body, but right then and there, through the crimson haze of his fury, he wished he’d been able to do it.

Avenge him.

“Park…”

“Officer Park? Are you with me?”

Jimin gasps lightly, blinking his eyes to chase away the all-too-fresh memory from his mind yet again. His bottom lip is clamped so hard between his teeth, he wonders if the iron taste of blood in his mouth had actually been more than imagination. The superior officer sat at the desk in front of him nods solemnly.

“Park Jimin, I understand completely. I can’t stop you…”

The chief’s voice fades into the background as Jimin lets his thoughts wander once more, but he soon feels the darkness eating away at him again. The inner demons, the pain and suffering, because everyone leaves you, Jimin. The cycle repeats, you let yourself love then you let yourself lose.

“The … adoption of ‘Mandu’ as you’ve stated here, has already been finalised. We’re glad to see a long serving canine of our force retire to a responsible home. Thank you, Park.”

“Of course, Chief.”

The older man sighs and gives Jimin a once-over, clearly recognising that the man before him needs time to heal, however long that may be. Jimin feels it too, deep within his heart, his mind, and his very soul. This was it. He could finally hide. He could finally stop inflicting all this pain on himself and push it back to the deepest corners of his mind, where it would remain untouched.

“We thank you for your service, please hand in your badge and equipment by the end of the week.”

~ three months later ~

“That’s it for the day!”

Muscles aching and eyes watering from a yawn, you peel the stretchy gloves from your hands with a grimace. The sweaty feeling lingers on your skin long after throwing the disgusting things in the trash. It’s only after you shed your nurse scrubs and lanyard that you remember you aren’t quite ready to finish up.

“(Y/n), you just have to take Jessie out for a bit before you go,” your colleague calls, much to your chagrin at the reminder. It’s been a long day at the veterinary clinic, and even if vet nursing wasn’t quite as strenuous of a job as legitimate veterinarian work, it still sapped a decent amount of energy.

God, you just want nothing more than to go home to your warm bed, and your fluffball cat. Instead, you pack away your uniform and grab a leash to prepare for the walk.

“C’mon girl,” you coo gently to the old border collie resting in her cage. There was an immense pride in the way the clinic took care of its sick and injured animals, and that included exercising the dogs every single day without fail. You absolutely loved it, loved your job and everything it entailed.

Ten minutes later, you’re letting the gate to the local park click shut behind you.

The dog park is remarkably busy today, you muse after letting Jessie off her leash for a run. Inside the spacious area – fenced off nicely with grasses delightfully green from the Spring air – are dogs and puppies of various shapes, sizes and colours bounding around each-other like ping pong balls.

You can’t suppress a snort of amusement as a particularly handsome pooch catches your eye, something akin to a German Shepherd though not quite as large. Your eyes follow the energetic bundle of energy as he darts around the group of dogs, chasing them and nipping at their heels to keep them controlled, just how he likes it.

It was inevitable that Jessie would soon join in, and you can only let out knowing sigh at the sight of the beautiful collie’s eyes lighting up with that familiar fire; a flame that had remained dormant for many, many years within her ageing mind. She takes off and rounds up the strays of the flock, arthritis in her joints long forgotten as her instincts to chase and collect take over entirely.

“Mandu, why…”

A breathy sigh escapes the person standing barely a metre away from where you sit on the park bench, and you finally take a moment to observe the other dog owners milling around this sector of the park. Their eyes are wide in confusion as they witness the spectacle happening before them, but you’re brought back to the man closest to you as he lets out another disappointed click of his tongue.

“It’s normal with herding breeds,” you find yourself saying through a fond smile, though your socially awkward inner self wants to kick you in the ass for it. The man, who looks as though he’d been about to jump in to collect his zippy companion, falters in his motion to regard you in surprise.

“Yeah, uh, it’s just been a while since my boy’s done it.” He rubs at his neck self-consciously, eyes glancing around to see if anyone’s thrown him a dirty or judgemental look already. From your place on the wooden seat, you can easily catch the way the sunlight caresses the man’s unique features, the worn-out sneakers and running wear telling you that he comes this way often to exercise.

He clears his throat. “You…”

As he trails off, somehow losing confidence halfway through his sentence, you feel that familiar pang of embarrassment that comes with talking to strangers. “Mine’s the collie, so I know I should probably step in too.” You laugh quietly, instantly breaking eye-contact when he holds your stare for a second too long.

He was stunning, to say the least, with incredibly soft looking caramel hair swept back from his face, and pillowy looking lips that were large, but fitting when placed together with his smooth sloping cheekbones and an elegant jawline. His eyes, though, were tired. They were so tired, and you knew exactly what it felt like to leave home every day when you were … that emotionally exhausted.

At your comment, the man breaks into a grin, because well … you’re in the same boat here. He’s probably relieved that you hadn’t lectured him on dog behaviour or keeping his pet in check, or something like that. Nope, turns out you were just as liberal as he was.

You get to your feet, trying to inwardly shake the tingling in your chest from the sight of his lips curling into a smile alone, and jostle the leash in your hand to try and get your playful lady’s attention.

When that didn’t work, you let out a loud whistle and hope that the slight burning sensation travelling up the back of your neck would fade away soon. Although, you knew that as long as the curious man kept his eyes trained on you, it would persist. “Jessie, here girl.”

The beautiful stranger follows suit, but to your shock he barely has to make any noise, just a simple gesture and briskly spoken word before his responsive dog is sitting to attention at his feet. Ears pricked and warm canine eyes focusing on his owner as if nothing else in the world would ever matter as much as he did in that moment. You quickly look up to catch a glimpse of the man’s face once more, and the love now swimming in his gaze as he ruffles the dog’s pointy ears was nothing short of breathtaking.

You should go now.

You utter a tiny ‘bye’ as you take your leave, not even sure that the captivating man is able to hear you over the way he’s currently trying to scold his tawny-furred dog in a soft, gentle tone. A stern voice that still made it obvious just how endeared he was behind the annoyed façade.

You glance down to where Jess pads quietly on the pavement beside you, her black and white wavy pelt somewhat tousled from the exertion and her tongue lolling out in pure elation after stretching her legs. Sunlight, a blinding smile, caramel blonde hair…

How were you supposed to think of anything else now?

Three days pass, and you’re back in the clinic. Work is piling up, and you’re basically booked out thanks to a spontaneous outbreak of ‘Kennel Cough’ throughout nearby shelters. How the infectious disease spread to not one, but two localised areas, nobody knew.

“Someone must have taken their dog to all of them, or maybe had it transferred mid-vacation,” you growl to Dr. Kim, lining the antibiotics up on the med table after checking the clipboard thoroughly. Healthy vaccinated dogs would be fine, perhaps a tad sickly for a week or two, but puppies and those with immune deficiencies? Out of luck unfortunately.

“I’ve scheduled the radiographs for the most affected,” Dr. Kim informs, and you’re in a right mind to believe he’s only trying to reassure you right now. He sighs and flashes you a weary smile, age-lines prominent around his kind features thanks to the recent months of stress. “Hopefully we can rule out any pneumonia. You’re free to go on break by the way, Nurse (L/n).”

At the word ‘break’, you feel dread crash through your body like a heavy wave. Shit, had you forgotten to bring lunch today? A wishful image floats through your head of the delicately tossed Greek salad you’d prepared the night before, only problem being that it was still wrapped neatly in the fridge at home.

“Damn it,” you mutter, planting a forced smile on your face when the older doctor eyes you worriedly at the soft outburst. “Sorry, I’ll need to head out today.”

You can’t stop internally punching yourself for being forgetful, knowing that it’ll cost you precious time to walk to the nearest eateries and back. Perhaps if you owned a car, you’d be able to savour those few extra minutes of relaxing during your break.

Nope, it’s walking for you now. Idiot.

So off you go. The route is pleasantly quiet for the most part, with the sun slowly beginning to warm the leaves on trees as they protect their newly forming flower buds. There’s the incessant yet melodic chirping of birds while they scourge the nearby plants for food, either for themselves or their young. It was easy to stop and appreciate the various signs of revival and rebirth around you, but maybe not today.

Today, you had too much to worry about and too much weighing you down. There were so many helpless animal lives that were going to be lost, all because of one person and their ignorance. You had to come to terms with death fairly quickly when entering this line of work, but that didn’t make it any easier as time passed by.

Especially for someone like you.

You come to a sudden stop and blink your eyes firmly. The painted sign that blocks your path display the words ‘DOG PARK’ in all capitals, and it throws you off guard completely. You’d … somehow taken this heavy of a detour? Well, you suppose it could be worse, and the park did have another entrance on the far side you can use to somehow shortcut your way into town, but you can’t shake your confusion until ah.

There he is. The dog park guy, standing slightly off the well-trodden path. He’s dressed in a casual grey tee shirt and comfy matte black shorts this time, effortlessly showing off the defined muscles of his calves as he bends down to retrieve a bright green frisbee. He then flings it so high into the air, you doubt even his wonderfully enthusiastic dog will be able to catch up to it.

But when the well-built canine does in fact manage to clamp his teeth down on the airborne toy, you only manage to pick your jaw up off the floor after a handful of shellshocked moments. Some special kind of training had become evident in the way the animal springs off its hind legs with such intensity.

Right, you should stop staring like a maniac and keep walking.

At this rate, you’re going to be late back to work, and with the sheer number of things left to do and problems to solve with the shelters and kennels, you know that’s not an option. Hell, you’re so swallowed by your anxiety that you break out into a slow jog to make it at least halfway through the dog park in time.

Don’t look at him, don’t.

You glance at the man as you pass him, hoping to dear God that he’s focusing on his dog rather than the strange pet-less woman running through the park meant for pets, wearing dark forest-green scrubs underneath her jacket because she was too stupid to remember her food for the day. But alas, he is looking at you too.

It’s a weird kind of energy you can’t place, as if some kind of invisible force is trying to slow your feet down. The air thickens in resistance, and it’s like you’re barging through it to continue forward on your path. Everything in your body screams at you to stop, to talk to him, to say ‘hello’ with a smile because he deserves to have his own friendly one returned in some way. Oh wow, he’s actually looking at you, isn’t he?

The thing is, in situations like this you get nervous. You and attractive guys? Not quite the match made in heaven you’d probably expect. He flashes you that smile, all pearly whites to accompany the recognition from yesterday glittering in his startled gaze, but all you can manage is a strained grimace-like grin in return with a tiny wave of your sweaty palm.

Great. Fucking great.

At least you’re already gone before you can wallow in the humiliation; before you can simmer in it like a fine stew. He’s probably forgotten you already anyway, but you can’t help looking over your shoulder to check regardless.

Checkmate, he’s watching you go. The smile is now amused, and his head is cocked cutely to the side in playful confusion. As his dog jumps all over him to try and win back his attention, you flip the hoodie of your jacket up and try to ward off the embarrassed onslaught of laughter that bubbles in your chest. It would take more than a few days to wipe the image of his crescent moon shaped eyes from your memory this time around.

Jimin wakes to a wet and uncomfortable sensation prodding his face, and if he didn’t already have an innate sense for his favourite living being in the whole world, he’d be on his feet and ready to fight in no time at all.

“Mandu you gotta let me sleep,” he groans out, voice deep and groggy from his slumber. A persistent whine dragging from the throat of the animal rouses Jimin further, and he slides up to rest back on his elbows, eyes squeezing shut and skin covered in the slightest sheen of sweat from how hot it’d been under the bedcovers.

His dry lips part in a yawn. “Fine, you hungry?”

Mandu pokes his snout into Jimin’s cheek once more, big gentle brown eyes urging him to get up and start his day. Jimin knows that without his best friend with him, he’d barely have any motivation to step foot outside his room, let alone head out for a run each day consecutively.

It helps that his buddy looks out for him as diligently and as loyally as he had back when they were in the force together. It’s like nothing ever changed, and in the back of Jimin’s mind, he knows that the sense of routine had most likely saved his life time and time again.

“Alright,” he grunts loudly, lips curving into a smirk as he cups Mandu’s furry face into his palms, squishing the doggy cheeks he finds there together until the dog squirms in his spot on the bed. It’s not until Mandu lets out a frustrated yet playful growl that Jimin leaves him be with one last ruffle of his dark pointed ears.

Yeah, he really was fucked without his boy reminding him to eat, walk and sleep every day. Jimin knew it was pathetic, and he’d never felt so useless in his whole life, but it was enough to get him through for now.

Jimin scratches at his bare chest, freezing on his amble towards the kitchen when he spots something. Mandu stops along with him, his nails click on the floorboards in impatience but Jimin’s eyes are intensely locked onto the photo frame perched on the living room cabinet.

Idiot, of course there was one left.

He slams the frame down, making sure he can’t see the two laughing faces for a second longer than needed. He realises with a frown that he probably forgot to remove it due to barely ever setting foot in the living room as it was. Up until now, for the last five years, he’d spent most of his time at the station or out on the field. Patrolling, tracking … even apprehending, but that simply meant areas of his home went essentially unused for months on end.

Things were changing…

“Hey bud, what’s for breakfast?” he hums to his pal softly, finding a small happiness in the way Mandu circles around his legs like a bothered child. He assumes that if the dog were human, he’d be sporting the mightiest of pouts right about now.

Ten minutes later, Jimin finds himself nose deep in a bowl of flavourless cereal. On any other ordinary day, he and Mandu would usually race to see who could finish their meal the speediest, but he’s not feeling it this time around. The fawn coloured dog seems to give him a judgemental stare, as if saying ‘what’s wrong with you, did you let me win!?’ to which Jimin looks down at him and lets a breathy laugh fall from his lips.

“Not everything’s a competition boy, grow up already.”

Mandu simply huffs and moves to lay down, resting his muzzle on his front paws in defeat.

“How dare you roll your eyes at me.”

A dismissive sniff in response. Jimin finishes his meal with a shake of his head, knowing that if anyone were to ever hear the way he spoke to his pet dog, he’d most likely get shipped off to the nearest mental institution available. The sudden dark thought earns a surprised raise of his brows, but as he rinses his bowl off in the sink, he knows he has nothing to worry about.

It’s only him and Mandu now, and nobody else mattered. Nobody else was allowed to matter.

Yet Jimin’s always one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Even if he tries the hardest he can to shut the world out, he’s continuously drawn to people. Drawn to seek company and validation, drawn to love others with his whole heart unconditionally. He could have it all, but all the world does is take from him.

He sighs and sits back at the kitchen countertop, head resting on his folded arms much like the sassy child sprawled underneath the stool right now. “Do you think we’ll see the pretty lady from the park again today?”

The dog’s ear twitches, then flicks as if bothered by an irritating bug of some description. Jimin doesn’t know how to take that, really. Was it a no? Did Mandu even want to see her as much as he did? He supposes not, considering the ex-police dog was trained to be protective, and was instinctively so in every possible way.

He belongs to Jimin, and apparently that means Jimin belongs to him too, no friends allowed. Something in the back of his mind shouts that he shouldn’t be wanting friends anyway, that they were something to be afraid of.

“Whatever.”

It was the next day when things turned sour. To Jimin’s slight disappointment, they hadn’t seen the pretty lady in strange green attire again, but something did go horribly wrong instead.

Jimin exits the bathroom with a snowy white towel draped over his head, hoping that somehow his laziness will be overlooked for once and the towel will simply dry his hair for him with no additional effort, only for the fabric to fall from his head once he catches sight of Mandu walking down the hallway. Only he’s not walking, but rather limping.

“Buddy c’mere,” Jimin calls, voice pitching higher than usual in concern. With fear and cold hard dread settling deep into the pit of his stomach, Jimin observes the dog instantly perking up at the sound of his voice.

Mandu lets out a small yelp of excitement, but still has a stiffness and slight limp to his gait when he makes his way over. Jimin crouches down and pets the canine fondly, the sinking of his heart telling him that his suspicions were right all along.

Something is wrong here. He has to know what’s up, has to make sure his boy’s alright.

Jimin’s bundled the both of them into the car before he can stop to even think straight, and Mandu is nothing but a ball of excitement – bouncing around and goofily grinning the entire time. It hurts to think he’s fooling the dog into believing they’re going on some sort of spontaneous adventure, but that wouldn’t be entirely wrong. It’s only around noon so the local vet clinic has to be open, right?

He’s not dying, you really need to chill out.

Jimin knows his inner voice speaks the truth, but he continues to justify his frantic driving with a carefully crafted self-assurance. He’s only making sure, he’s simply worried for his baby.

He doesn’t stop to think about the way his hair is still unpleasantly damp from the shower, having forgotten to actually dry it beforehand, or the way his socks had somehow ended up being odd colours. He hastily finds a park outside the clinic and attaches his leash to Mandu’s collar.

What Jimin doesn’t expect to see, when striding through the administration doors with the dog in his arms, is you.

Your expression matches his own look of astonishment, your beautiful eyes widening in recognition in the exact same split-second his do. If Jimin was being honest with himself, he could probably just stand there looking at you for the next thirty minutes or so, but a miniscule wriggle from the animal in his hold brings him crashing back down to Earth.

“Um, hi,” he begins awkwardly, paces enormous as he lurches towards the desk you’re bracing your hands upon, still recovering from the shock of seeing him again it seemed. “I have a problem…”

You clear your throat and try not to smile at the amusing sight before you. Jimin knows it can’t be the strangest thing you’ve ever seen here, but the openly scared and confused dog clutched to his chest is enough to make you bite your lip in an effort to restrain yourself.

“I can see that. Luckily, we’ve got nobody in queue so you can jump right out back with me,” you say with a kind lilt to your tone that Jimin can tell is part of the customer service sector of your job description. He doesn’t really mind, nor does he even care. Right now, his only concern is Mandu.

No pretty lady in green scrubs is going to distract him from his best bud right now.

Fifteen minutes pass, and Jimin is worrying the skin of his bottom lip with his teeth. His wide troubled eyes trail over every movement you make as you examine the incredibly stiff and uncomfortable dog on the sterilised table. When Jimin meets Mandu’s startled gaze, he tries his best to calm his best friend down in a familiar gentle tone he would use at home.

“It’s okay buddy, you’ll be alright. Good boy…”

If you’re irritated or weirded out by his vocalisations, you don’t show it. Your mind seems to be too wrapped up in gently working your fingertips into the back haunches of the dog, massaging in slow circles. Jimin’s drawn in by the way you handle Mandu with such care and precision, and he begins thinking that if you were to do that to him, he’d probably be relaxing in no time.

Weird thoughts, but whatever, I guess.

The same can’t be said for the dog, though, and Jimin can only pick up the intensity of his soothing praises once he catches sight of Mandu trembling in fear on the table. The dog’s elbows seem to want to buckle under the stress of the situation, and it breaks Jimin’s heart to pieces to see his pal all worked up like this. It’s lucky that the animal has been trained well enough to trust in his handler’s presence alone, otherwise this whole examination might’ve taken a … darker and more vicious turn.

“Do you know what’s wrong?” he asks you quickly, voice high and strained as he reaches forward to scratch behind one of the dog’s ears in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. Mandu licks his palm in return, and usually Jimin would recoil and protest loudly, but today he was fairly sure he’d let his boy get away with anything.

You sigh softly, and Jimin doesn’t know what that means at first, but then you peel the gloves from your hands and flash him a small smile. Everything starts to feel okay somehow. “You see, Sir, this is quite commonly seen in specific breeds of dog, including your German-”

“Belgian Malinois.” The correction is out before he can hold it back, and Jimin wants to slap himself for how snappy and rude it sounds, but you don’t take offense in the slightest. Instead, he’s stunned once more when you click your fingers with a light gasp of realisation.

“That’s what it is! I was trying to remember the name of this breed for days on end, after the first time I saw him in the park.”

Jimin raises his brows at that, feeling the last of his anxiety melt from his bones at the sight of your smile, which was slowly beginning to familiarise itself to him.

“Ah, well you could’ve asked me. I would’ve told you in a heartbeat.” He chuckles, though it’s somewhat dry from the raw emotions still running their course through his brain. When you let out a soft laugh in return, he forces himself to tear his eyes away.

“Oh well, anyway you can calm down a bit, there’s nothing life threatening going on here just yet,” you assure in a calming tone, and Jimin can easily sense how there’s more sincerity behind the sound compared to the voice you’d used earlier when greeting him.

“There are two things I can narrow down for you, taking into consideration the information you’ve given me so far. Commonly found in these breeds is something called hip dysplasia, where the hip joint undergoes abnormal development or growth. The other possibility for his lameness is a form of chronic arthritis called osteoarthritis, which deteriorates joint cartilage more commonly in older dogs like Mandu here.”

“He’s not that old though?” Jimin hums, brows furrowing in bewilderment at the news. He pats the dog’s head fondly, saddened but glad that he can breathe a little easier now that he knows what’s going on.

“Perhaps, but he’s lived a very active lifestyle, you see. Heavy strain and activity on the dog’s body can bring this forth quicker, much the same as it does in humans,” you explain with a sad sigh.

“I do recommend getting x-rays done to check out the full extent of the damage, as well as to check for any other abnormalities.”

You then take your leave to fetch the main doctor, and Jimin finds himself startled to discover you’re only a veterinary nurse here. By the way you were reeling off information from the top of your head, as well as the confident manner in which you examined and diagnosed his dog, he would’ve effortlessly assumed you ran the goddamn joint.

He waits in the administration area while Mandu’s getting his x-rays done, fingers fiddling with themselves from the trepidation building up inside him. He doesn’t even hear you enter the room, and can’t help his back going ramrod straight attentively when you clear your throat. Curse his years of training in the force.

“Hey, I can just see that you’re a little stressed out there. He must mean a lot to you.” You walk around the corner of the front desk and take your place one seat away from him. Jimin realises that you most likely keep your distance from most customers with an unmistakeable barrier of professionalism, but for him you seem to be stepping right out of your comfort zone.

He can tell by the unnecessarily chipper tone of your voice, and how your eyes flicker nervously to the side every once in a while. You’re good at hiding how anxious you are, he’ll give you that, but not good enough to escape watchful eyes such as his. Not when he goes through the exact same thing.

He finally musters the courage to respond after a few seconds of simply eyeing you in curiosity. “Yep.” He smiles tightly and returns his gaze to his interlocked fingers, knowing the expression wouldn’t reach his eyes. “He’s been with me through thick and thin. Almost like a little brother or son to me, as weird as that probably sounds.”

“I wouldn’t say weird,” you instantly oppose, laughing to brighten the sullen mood Jimin knows he’s bestowed upon you. “I think it’s sweet, and he’s a very lucky dog to have someone caring about him so much.”

Your sentiment melts the icy sadness around Jimin’s heart ever so slightly. The cold blanket encompassing him ever since his last loved one left his side. He hasn’t felt the urge to open up since, but he knows he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. “I- thanks, I guess.”

Before he can continue on and ruin the somehow light-hearted atmosphere by telling you he wants to be alone, you’re suddenly speaking again in that gentle voice of yours. “It’s kinda funny how we keep running into each-other, don’t you think? I can’t help but hope you’ll both be at the park whenever I pass by…”

Jimin’s at a loss for words at your candour, looking up sharply to see the way you’re shyly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and avoiding his eyes like the plague. It looks as though you regret the words as soon as they’re out in the open air.

But … he feels the same.

He can’t say it. He won’t. He can’t just let you in and create a space for yourself in his life, or heart right now. He cannot admit that you’ve lived in his mind for free ever since he saw you that second time, running past him with that smile on your face, confusing him with your antics to no end. Why do you keep getting under his skin in the best possible way?

“I mean, i-if you’d like to go out for coffee or something later on, I-”

He dips his head with a small sniff to attempt to cut you off in a somewhat polite manner. “Ah sorry, I’ve got a … funeral at two. Not really in the mood these days, but I appreciate it. Seriously, I do.”

He doesn’t wish to see your reaction to his less than eloquent rejection, but he catches it regardless. That wrenching moment you come to the conclusion that you read the signs all wrong. The glimmer of hope and interest in your eyes slowly flickering out like dying embers, although not completely, and he has no doubt it ever would.

You frown and instantly come through with a quiet “I’m sorry for your loss,”, but Jimin dismisses the sympathy with a tiny wave of his hand, claiming that it was a colleague and acquaintance rather than a close friend or family member.

It’s already obvious to him how much of an optimist you are. You’re holding onto that tiny shred of hope as if it were the string of a helium balloon, one moment of slack and he’d be floating away from you far out of reach.

“Right, sorry if I overstepped.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’re way too considerate and understanding of him, and the painful burn that leaves on his conscious is so real. It reminds him of all the times his brother would tell him to never take people’s kindness for granted, but here he was shooting you down even though you’d never given him a reason to.

In fact, he likes you enough to go back almost instantly on his words.

“I really am busy, otherwise … I would actually love to, believe me.” He combs a hand through his hair in exasperation, inwardly cringing at the damp dewy sensation greeting his palm as he’s reminded again of his post-shower dilemma. You’re already chuckling at your newfound victory, and he’s pleasantly surprised at the sudden streak of mischief in your eyes.

“Let’s make it a date for Saturday then, see you at the park usual time? I’ll make sure to come out earlier so I don’t miss you again.”

Damn you’re assertive, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t liking it. Something in the way you so effortlessly drew him out of his shell was electrifying. Was he even in total control of his own emotions right now?

He’s left in a stunned silence, nodding in response to your question before you’re suddenly making your exit, uttering something along the lines of ‘best wishes for the funeral’ and ‘good luck with Mandu’, but he can barely hear beyond the rushing of blood past his ears. He’s a flustered mess of a man right now.

He only regains majority of his focus once he’s left the clinic with some anti-inflammatory and pain meds for his dog, a slight dent in his bank account, and a date.

Holy fuck. You really did that. You did.

When it came down to it, you just saw your shot and took it. Simple as that, really. When the attractive guy from the dog park had shown up at the clinic, piercing deep brown eyes full of purpose, you’d very nearly felt your brain short-circuit at the sight. However, as time went on you began to get a glimpse of his true self.

It took every ounce of strength within you not to openly coo at the way he soothed his canine friend, with gentle words of encouragement spilling from his plush lips like a steady stream of water. If you’d been blind, you might have even been led to assume he was speaking to a fellow human.

Jimin, he’d revealed as his name. He was so lost in his worry for Mandu you didn’t think he’d even retained memory of your own name when you’d given it, but in the end it didn’t matter. You now had a literal date planned where you could talk and get to know him even more! How you’d managed to force the bold question out, you’ll never know, but hey at least one of your spontaneous and stupid decisions had to go well once in a while, right?

You sink into your couch, a fluffy white cat curled up on your lap as you relive the memories from the day. The relaxing sounds of purring surround you as you massage your fingers into your cat’s thick neck fur.

“Oh Ghostie, what the heck am I gonna do?”

Right now you can only think back to the way his hair was a bit of a jumbled mess, evidently damp and sticking out in all directions cutely. The addicting scent of his body-wash, if the rushed situation and flushed complexion was anything to go by, and aftershave. The man had those butterflies swooping around in your stomach already, and you barely knew him.

Your cat growls in protest when you let out a tiny squeal and make a harsh grab for a couch cushion, effectively burying your face deep into it in pure unadulterated embarrassment and disbelief. After living life being perfectly happy and single, why was this one somewhat decent-looking man sweeping you off your feet?

And sweep you off your feet he would, because when you finally show up to meet him at the dog park on Saturday, you’re being harshly barked at and sent flying to the ground before you can even process what’s happened. The dull ache from the force of impact fades quickly, and you try to regain your bearings before anything worse can happen.

“Fuck, sorry!”

The sight of your freshly washed jeans, now sporting a lovely scuff, causes you to cringe slightly. You shake your head and lock eyes with the pointy-eared dog standing over your body. It strikes you as bizarre, seeing as Mandu’s not exactly attacking you, but he’s not all that happy to see you either. You’re locked into a stand-off, despite you currently being knocked onto your ass with your heart still racing.

“Get off her!” comes Jimin’s outraged yell, his eyes are wide in sheer disbelief and disappointment. You can’t help but laugh softly at his exasperation, the shock of the fall now trickling away at the sight of the familiar face, or rather faces.

“I’m sorry (Y/n), I honestly don’t know what came over him. We were waiting by the pond and he just … took off when you came around!”

You stand and brush your clothes off, feeling your cheeks burn at the fact that he had actually remembered your name from the clinic the other day. You try to tell him it’s fine, but he still scolds the now sheepish looking dog at his feet – albeit as gently as possible through his vexation.

“I couldn’t leave him at home,” Jimin starts, sighing and clipping a leash to the dog’s collar pointedly. “Told him to behave himself but yeah, that didn’t go down well.” He regards you with concerned eyes, and you feel your heart melt at how he tries to subtly check you over for any injuries.

“I’m fine, Jimin, trust me. Working at the clinic means I’ve had my fair share of body-slams. Don’t sweat it.” You wave your hands before squatting, lowering yourself to be face-to-face with Mandu who still seemed to be eyeing you warily.

You understood it. Here you were, nothing more than a stranger, trying to take his owner and favourite person in the world away from him. You had to somehow convince Mandu that you weren’t a threat to their little family of two.

“Hey, buddy. Remember me?” You slowly reach out a hand to pat the top of the dog’s furry head, eager to earn his trust. “I’m not gonna hurt either of you, promise.”

You miss the way something flickers in Jimin’s eyes after hearing you say that. A glazed look of predictability, of cold hard doubt … but it’s gone when you rise to your feet once more. The dog seems to have accepted you for now, averting his eyes from the direct and intimidating glare he’d had trained on you ever since he’d pinned you down.

“Shall we, then?” You find yourself saying, self-confidence shocking you both as you smile and lead the way out of the park and towards the middle of town.

It doesn’t take long to find a nice café to sit at, and it’s with reluctance that Jimin leaves Mandu tied up outside. However, he knows he has to tone down his attachment in view of the public eye, and you especially. He doesn’t know just how far you’re willing to go for him.

He was a closed iron door to the world, yet he was still somewhat intrigued to see your efforts in getting inside. There was no way he was going let it happen, not again, but … why was he here then?

After ordering the coffees, him taking his black after years of late nights on patrol and you filling yours with sugar, you both surprisingly hit it off well. You suppose that after noticing how heavily you could relate to him, and vice versa, it was easy to understand one another and fall into steady conversation.

“The police force, huh.” You sip at your drink with a drawn-out hum of confirmation. “I actually kinda guessed that.”

Jimin blinks in shock. “You did?”

“Yeah! I mean I’ve seen Mandu a handful of times now, and it’s in the way he’s thoroughly trained to listen to your every command, not to mention the way he moves. When I gave him the check-up at the clinic, I forgot to mention that I just assumed your occupation when I said ‘active lifestyle’ back then.”

There is no way you’re going to tell him that you’d also made that assumption based on the man’s incredible build and well-toned muscles as well. Best to keep your thoughts on the dog, and luckily for you Jimin turns his head to check on his companion resting outside by a bowl of water, allowing your eyes to roam freely for a decent second or so.

“Well, you’re more observant than I thought,” Jimin notes through a breathy laugh, fingers lightly tapping at his coffee mug in thoughtful contemplation. You can’t help getting lost in the sight of him yet again.

He’s an absolute vision right now even if he’s dressed casually, only foregoing the shorts and joggers for simple black jeans and flatform sandals. His hair looks as soft as ever, and though his eyes are still open windows that show he’s hurting inside, you can’t help finding the immense beauty behind the pain.

There’s a short, comfortable silence as you both nurse your mugs of caffeine, but you break it in fear of letting an awkward air settle in. Damn, you do love being a little socially inept sometimes.

“Why the name Mandu?” You think it’s an innocent question, but unbeknownst to you, Jimin’s thoughts spiral at the reminder. The memories and origins of his boy’s name that uncomfortably sting at his heart like nettles.

“Ah, it was my brother who named him … actually,” he reveals, wondering if the slight crack of his voice is noticeable as he smiles convincingly. If you see through him, you don’t show it. Instead, you register the hint ever so slightly and aim to avoid prying.

“You would’ve only had him for a few years, right?”

“I served for five, so yeah he’s only been mine for a few years, but I did meet him before that while we were both in training.” Jimin laughs at what seems to be a fond memory, pushing the other ones to the back of his mind for now. “I was a little obnoxious about it back then, because I had to be with him. I demanded it to the chief and everything, if I wasn’t getting Mandu then I would drop my application because we’d bonded so well.”

You giggle, and cough lightly to hide your embarrassment instantly afterwards. “I love that, it’s quite obvious to me that you two are meant for each other.”

“What about you? Got any pets?” he asks, eyes alight with a newfound interest. Catching the way he leans forward in his seat ever so slightly; you feel a familiar warmth bloom in your chest. Jimin was finally relaxing around you.

“Yeah, a cat.” You cover your mouth with one hand to suppress your amusement, waiting for Jimin to scoff at you or screw his face up in disgust, but he doesn’t. Rather, he looks upwards in thought and then shakes his head while chuckling meaningfully. “Mandu would hate you for saying that.”

“Not a fan?”

“Absolutely not. I’m impartial though.” He watches you over the rim of his mug when he lifts it, an amused glimmer in his eye.

“Good to know. Good to know.” Your eyebrows shoot up and you can’t wipe the grin from your face, absent-mindedly stirring your coffee with your spoon. It wouldn’t be long before the drinks were finished, but you didn’t want this moment in time to end.

The two of you chat for another half hour or so, but you can’t help noticing the distant look that surfaces in Jimin’s gaze whenever he brings up old memories of his family or brother. Your curiosity burns at this point, and you feel yourself wanting to get to know him so much more. He’s such an enigma to you. Watching the way he tries to let go and be himself, unapologetically, but holding back just as you catch an addictive glimpse of what that might be.

As you exchange more stories and memories, you can’t help but feel yourself digging a little deeper to uncover what’s tearing him down so hard. “You keep mentioning your brother, I’m guessing you guys are close?”

And ah, now you’ve done it. It hurts to see the guarded expression slam back down on Jimin’s features, but you knew it had to be done. You didn’t know if it were just you who could see it, but by repressing all his memories and feelings, Jimin was doing more harm than good to himself. Some internal part of you wanted to help him, because you knew exactly what it was like.

Though you weren’t expecting every dam to break just yet.

It takes a moment for Jimin to deliberate on his next words, but you wait out every second with him, patient and understanding. He notices this and decides that it’s alright for him to indulge just this once, to let someone in for just a single moment. “Not really, well … used to be. He, uh, he left town a while ago.”

Left?

You keep your tone quiet, not wanting to scare him away because he did seem like the type to take off at any given moment. “Sorry to hear that,” you murmur.

“It’s alright,” he says, wondering just how much he should give away. It’s the first time he’s met up and gone out with someone he’d consider a ‘friend’ of sorts in ages, so he’s not sure how much he should be disclosing right now, but something about you makes him want to let it all go. It scares him like nothing else.

“Honestly it hasn’t been … a great time for me since he left. Y’know, he was the only one that ever stayed, and things were tough being in the force and everything,” he offers through a dry laugh.

You want to reach out for his hand on the café table so badly, but it’s too soon to be that close. He’s testing the waters right now, showing you a vulnerable side that you can easily tell he doesn’t let out very often. It warms your heart, and all these broken feelings he’s showing you make everything feel so real. You can’t help but want to give yourself back to him.

“I can’t imagine it would’ve been easy. I know how it feels, actually.” You mentally prepare yourself to revisit a time you usually laid to rest, keeping the gentle smile on your face because even though these subjects were touchy and very meaningful to the two of you, you’d actually come to terms with yours years and years ago. Learned how to turn that pain and suffering into progress, self-growth.

“You do?” You can tell the sheer hope and relief in his tone doesn’t quite match the caution in his eyes, as if he doesn’t want to think that someone as bright and bubbly as you can ever have as many problems as he does, but you shut that train of thought down for him.

“Yeah, I … don’t have any family left either.”

He wants to know how, why, but he pulls himself back from the question almost instantly. Still, you can see it all on his features. He’s an open book for you to read.

“It’s okay Jimin, I came to terms with it a while back. I’m an only child, but my parents died when I was a teen.”

It hits him like a freight train then. The realisation that yes, of course there are other people in the world who have lost just like he has. The sad but forgiving look in your eyes just about breaks him. He’s been so self-centred the whole time, not even thinking that maybe you’re sitting across from him going through a life just as lonely as his own.

“I don’t know what to say.” To your shock, it’s him that reaches across the table to grasp your hand gently, and you hadn’t even realised it was shaking slightly until he’d steadied it with his own. There were no hidden intentions in his gaze, just a pained understanding. You’d both needed to simply tell someone.

“I promise I’m fine now. It was years ago. I don’t even know why I’m…”

You trail off with a shaky laugh, tightening your grip on his hand slightly in fear that he would let go of you. You were essentially strangers, but you’d both needed this. You needed someone to listen as you talked, to have that visceral sense for the pain rather than simply try sympathising with it. It was different when you knew the feeling.

After the sudden serious note of the conversation had passed, both you and Jimin felt a little weight taken off your shoulders. You’d both torn some walls down today, and that in itself was enough to garner bucketloads of respect and admiration on both accounts.

You part ways back at the park, a new kind of friendship blossoming that, if you were being honest, neither of you had seen coming.

A couple of months pass after that, and in between his regular walks and visits to the clinic, Jimin finds himself spending more and more time in your presence. He even jokes around with Mandu that he should walk just a tad more lamely so he can stay a little longer between check-ups. But at the end of the day he knows he truly wants his boy to get better.

The first time he steps foot inside your house, he’s instantly halted in his tracks by the fluffiest white cat he’s ever seen. After hearing you mention, ‘she hates strangers’, and ‘she’ll probably cuss you out straight away’, it comes as a surprise to both of you when Ghost wraps herself around Jimin’s leg and purrs needily. A louder purr than you’ve ever received in your whole ten years of being her owner.

“Stop whoring yourself out! He’s just here to pick up some worming tablets,” you tut in disapproval, earning a hearty laugh from Jimin at the snappy tone. Ghost narrows her green eyes at you and rubs her chin along Jimin’s pant leg one more time for good measure, proceeding to saunter into the kitchen utterly oozing with sass.

After a few more random visits, you stop beating around the bush and begin inviting Jimin over to either chill out or have dinner. Obviously, more often than not it turned out to be both.

You’d order something in and then joke about how unhealthy you were for being too lazy to cook. Jimin even gets so exasperated sometimes that he carts food over from his own home to cook up in your kitchen, funnily enough. It wasn’t your fault you never really had the time to teach yourself during your unrelenting years of university and work, and it wasn’t as if you had a parent around to help you learn as a child.

Jesus, way to be depressing.

It wasn’t uncommon for you and Jimin to find random spots of humour within your combined trauma and abandonment issues either, as unhealthy as that sounds.

You always figured that life was too short to be sad all the time anyway, and even though that ideology alarmed your newfound friend at first, he soon slowly began to see the appeal. He was kind of over being sad, honestly.

He remembers standing by the coffin at Hoseok’s funeral, the very same fateful day he’d encountered you at the clinic for the first time. He’d felt overwhelmed at the emotions threatening to pull him apart at the seams, but at the same time, he’d felt cold at the lack thereof.

That was the result of letting himself get close to someone again, even through work of all places. His partner with the sunny disposition and heart-shaped smile? Gone from this world in a single click of a finger. It was too easy, too much of a risk to get closer. Jimin remembers not even being able to bring himself to cry back then, but things are starting to change now that you’re in the picture.

He still has that lingering dread that you’ll leave him too, but try as he might to keep you at arm’s length, he simply can’t. You bring out the best in him, and you make him want to try harder, to try being better. In a sense, you’re like another Mandu to him. He can’t just ignore that.

He tells you about Hoseok one night, just because it comes up in conversation and he’s already rambling on before he can stop himself. He looks up at your crestfallen face, knowing your heart hurts for him even though he’s unable to muster the correct emotions, all thanks to the disconnection he’s forged from his dead colleague already.

He recalls severing himself from those feelings right as he died, and again when he stood by his body at the funeral, but then you went and somehow reconstructed that bridge without him knowing.

“You know it’s okay to miss people, Jim. To remember them for who they were, and what they meant to you. It’s okay to miss them because they’re gone.”

He cries in your arms until 1 a.m. that night.

After a while, he begins to let people see the true him, fed up with hiding and done with shutting the world out. He returns smiles directed his way in the street, he ventures out to do nothing but simply stop and smell the roses. It’s refreshing, and it’s as if he can barely remember what it feels like after years of being chained down by depression and self-loathing.

You did that, with your calming presence, your affirming words, your genuine care. He’ll never forget it.

And slowly but surely, Mandu begins to warm up to you as well.

“I swear he’s only squaring up just to show off or something,” Jimin snorts as he walks beside you on the concrete path, Mandu in tow on a leash now that you’re leaving the park.

“He’s asserting dominance.” You cast a glance behind you to see the dog glaring you down, just as usual.

‘Why the hell are you walking next to him when I’m supposed to be there? You’re just a lowly human who doesn’t deserve my dad’s time or attention. How dare you!’

You bite back a laugh when you imagine the thoughts running through Mandu’s head, and he sniffs and growls at the sight of you not taking him seriously. He’s a big bad wolf, fear him goddammit.

“I’m sure he’ll accept me into the pack one day,” you respond good-naturedly, earning an eye-roll from Jimin as he shoots a pointed look of warning towards his boy once more. He can’t help but feel tingles erupt across his skin hearing ‘the pack’ come from your mouth. You make it sound like an actual family, and for some reason he seems to crave exactly that. That’s what all of you are to Jimin, a little family.

“Sure, but good luck convincing him to accept Ghost. I’m sure he’ll be walking around with a ‘NO CATS ALLOWED’ sign hanging from his neck soon enough.”

The dog agrees.

The next day is when Mandu’s last check-up is scheduled, and you wait by the front desk nervously as Jimin discusses options with Dr. Kim in the next room over. It’s been several weeks since the dog’s initial diagnosis, and he’s had a slight improvement, but it isn’t enough.

You and Jimin have spoken about how worried he is regarding the dog’s rapid muscle loss, and your heart always constricts at the sight as well. There’s only so much medication you can give.

You already know that Jimin’s current status of unemployment means he probably doesn’t have the means to fund more than one surgery, that is if he wants to remain financially stable. You’d need another plan.

“Hydrotherapy?” Jimin squawks. He’s a picture of confusion right now, one eyebrow cocked and pretty lips parting in surprise. You can’t help laughing at his dumbfounded expression.

“Yes, Jiminie. Dr. Kim has asked me to explain it to you so we can work out when to schedule it. Basically, dogs with chronic arthritis need to be able to exercise their joints and muscles without the excess strain, so regular swimming sessions are perfect.”

“It’ll help him get stronger?”

“Exactly, and since he’s up to date on his vaccinations we can organise a session right away, if you’d like?”

Jimin can’t suppress a shit-eating grin at the formal tone you’re using with him. He’s so used to messing around with you and having general chatter that the sudden switch to your ‘customer’ voice, as he calls it, is now more amusing to him than ever. You grumble under your breath, knowing all too well that he’s making fun of you without actually saying it.

“Fine, when can we start then? I’ve only ever seen him swim once, and it didn’t go well for the bad guy,” Jimin acquiesces, lifting his brows once and smirking at you mischievously. You ignore him.

“That’s alright Sir, we can start this Thursday.” You smile in such a pretentious and artificial way that Jimin has to smother his offended gasp. Now you’re just being rude.

“Pretending not to know who I am? Damn, guess I’ll just throw that strawberry shortcake I bought in the bin when I get home…”

And he’s got you. Your eyes light up and your fingers curl into fists on the desktop. You swallow thickly at the thought of him eating one of your favourite desserts on his own, or even worse throw it out like the heathen he is, but you’re determined not to cave in.

“I’m sorry Sir, I don’t quite follow. Your unhealthy affairs have little importance to me.”

You’re putting up a fight this time around, and Jimin’s willing to play. He leans on the desk with his elbow, the suave and impish air he suddenly exudes makes you nervous on the other side of the marble structure. “In that case, can we make this quick? I gotta rush home and catch up on the last two episodes of ‘Anohana’.”

This time you can’t contain your sharp inhale. “You promised we’d watch that together.”

Jimin chuckles with glee, taking the easy victory with a cocky lick of his lips. You trail the movement with your eyes before glaring at him again. “I don’t even care, you’d better not.”

He enjoys riling you up way too much. “Or what?”

“I’ll literally bust down your door at 2 a.m. in the morning Park, don’t test me.”

He knows you’re only joking around, but hearing his last name uttered in such a grave manner shifts something within him. He’s suddenly transported back to the chief’s office, hands wringing together in unease. “Park, is this about yesterday?”

“Park! He ran over there, follow me quick!”

“Jung wait…”

He has to shake his head, the smattering of memories and thoughts filtering from his mind slower than he’d like. He needs to drown out the sound of the echoing gunshot with something else, something louder.

You’re watching him the entire time with an apologetic gaze, picking up the miniscule signs that tell you he’s had something from the past triggered and brought back up unwillingly. You don’t even know what it is that you said, but you stay quiet and allow him to regain his composure.

“You okay Jiminie?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just thought of something,” he hums, not bothering to try and pretend as if nothing happened. You both knew each other too well at this point, and you understood him enough to have learned it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Sometimes these things just happened.

“Thursday sounds great, (Y/n).”

“Of course, I’ll lock it in. How does catching those last few episodes tonight sound? We can ugly cry and eat ice-cream like the cliché we are,” you say with an enthusiastic clap of your hands, and Jimin smiles tenderly. You always have a sense for what he needs.

He inwardly thanks the heavens for your existence, because now he won’t be alone in the silence of his home, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. Even Mandu couldn’t help him sometimes.

“Lovely. It sounds lovely.”

You’ve changed him, and he wants to spend the rest of his life telling you just how thankful he is.

So when his phone rings one late night and he sees your name light up on the screen, he doesn’t hesitate to pick it up, even though his past self would have lethargically thrown it to the side while shrinking away from any kind of human interaction that wasn’t necessary.

“Hey,” he mumbles, eyes still squeezed shut from sleep.

Silence.

He’s startled into a more wakeful state by Mandu lifting his head suddenly from his lap, the attentive canine’s ears twitching as he bores holes into the phone in Jimin’s hand. Now worrying, Jimin says your name into the phone twice, eyes scanning the way his dog seems to be picking up whatever tiny sounds are coming from the speaker.

There’s a sniffle, and a tiny hiccup. “Jimin … I’m sorry. Can you come over right now?”

Anxiety flares up like some kind of wildfire within him, and Jimin’s rocketing from the bed before he can take the time to stop, breathe and think. Mandu follows, a bark of alarm leaving him as he dances around Jimin’s bare feet in excitement. He gets that the dog doesn’t know any better, but from the sound of your sobbing on the other side of the line, anyone could tell that something had gone terribly wrong.

He needs to be by your side now.

“Mandu stay,” he orders, not caring to use any proper commands due to the way his hands are shaking. His heart is hammering against his ribcage, just as it had way back when he’d rushed Mandu to the vet for a simple arthritis problem. Now, his next favourite being in the world was the source of his panic.

He’s thrown on whatever clothes he can find and tries to ignore Mandu’s flurry of whines and howls from inside the house once he’s settled in the car. You’re still on the phone, but he can barely get a word in when you’re crying and blubbering nonsense like you currently are. The most Jimin can do as he drives is what he would need in the stark moments of a mental breakdown, gentle words of encouragement and … a song.

He hates himself for it, but he remembers the lullaby his brother used to sing for him whenever he cried, and he hopes to dear God that he can calm you down with his voice just as Taehyung had when they were younger. The soothing notes fall from his lips, and the memories they bring hurt so much that he can feel himself choking up, but he tells himself that you matter more.

He pulls up to your house ten minutes later, your crying thankfully reduced to a collection of whimpers and sniffles. He doesn’t dare hang up, but barges through the front door without a single second of hesitation. He briefly glimpses the flash of a white fluffy tail disappearing down the hallway, the cat obviously scared out of its mind from the recent events.

Then he sees you curled up in the kitchen, and he just wants to make everything stop.

You’ve got your head in between your knees, tears falling freely from your cheeks as you cradle one arm in your other. Jimin notices with a jolt of shock that the arm you’re holding is all red and blotchy, and it’s clear to him that you must’ve burned yourself somehow.

He rushes to your side and holds you as carefully as he can, almost slipping on the pool of water and charred remnants of baking paper scattered on the tiled floor just beside you. “What happened?” he urges after trying to soothe your trembling form for ten minutes.

He has you on your feet now, arm in the sink as he runs icy cold water over the heated skin as gently as he can. He’s clumsier than you though, so even as he tries to handle your limbs with as much care as you’d once handled Mandu at the clinic, you still wince in pain every now and again. Guilt shoots through Jimin every time, but he knows you’ll forgive him.

You don’t speak until your arm is sufficiently treated and wrapped, thanks to Jimin’s courses in first aid that he can barely remember at this point, but it serves him well enough for now. Your eyes are downcast, and your lips are cracked from all the grief you’d caused them with your teeth. He waits for you to get it together.

“I’m … I’m sorry you had to come all this way-”

“Don’t say that, I’m so glad you called me (Y/n),” he cuts you off, leading you to the plush couch in the living room and sitting you down firmly. He kneels in front of your figure, now wrapped tightly in a blanket for security and comfort, and rests both of his hands on your upper arms.

“You need to tell me what happened, do you feel alright now?”

You nod your head, but he fixes you with strong disbelieving eyes and boom you’re weakened, shaking your head with a sigh. “No, I’m not.”

“How can I help? I’m not great at it, but I really want to help you,” he says earnestly, fingers pressing circles into your arms and calming you down enough to breathe evenly. Your lips twitch up into a nervous smile.

“That song you sang over the phone helped a lot, actually. I don’t know why.”

Hearing that causes Jimin to undergo a whirlwind of conflicted emotions, but he once again tells himself that you’re the only one that matters right now. He starts to sing again but you reach forward to ruffle his messy hair with a chuckle. “It’s okay, I’m just letting you know.”

Thank God, he thinks. Then again, maybe if he uses the melody and lyrics for good, those negative associations could be turned into positive ones. Maybe it was time to make the song his own.

He sees you struggling to think of where to begin and shifts to take a seat next to you with a smile. “Just start with what happened, yeah?”

“Okay.” You nod, combing back your hair with your fingers and wiping the last salty tears from your skin. “So I wanted to try baking something…”

You eye him with a glimmer of amusement in your gaze, and he instantly capitalises on it. “Well there’s your first mistake.”

You playfully wack him, feeling your spirits lift at the sound of his laugh and the sight of his crescent moon-shaped eyes. He really was your light in the dark right now.

“It was going well, actually, but then I heard Ghostie knock something over in my room and I went to check for … not even two seconds.”

Jimin knows that this is where it gets serious, your eyes glaze over again and he can see the recollection of the events flashing through your mind like a reel of film. “I left the baking paper out, and the space was way too messy, I-I definitely should’ve kept it cleaner. I came back and there were some things on fire, but nothing too bad. I just…”

You bend down to rest your face into your hands once more, and Jimin quietly rubs your back in concern. By the looks of it, you were able to put the fire out easily, so what exactly prompted you to break down like that?

You lift your head and keep your shaky hands clamped together by your lips, eyes stricken and weary from the onslaught of emotional stress. “There’s something I haven’t told you yet Jiminie, I would never hide anything from you, so I guess it just never came up. It’s … why I kind of lost the plot after throwing water over the entire kitchen like a lunatic.”

“You can tell me,” he soothes, brows furrowing in distress.

“It’s my parents. How they died….”

His throat tightens with apprehension at the topic, knowing it’s something you definitely avoid talking about whenever it comes up. It was always buried so deep, and Jimin can’t recall ever asking you about the finer details of what you went through.

He feels time slow to a halt as you utter your next words. “They died in a house fire when I was fourteen. Burned to death.”

Oh fuck. Fuck.

It falls into place now, and Jimin snaps out of his daze when he feels your shoulder shudder underneath the palm of his hand. He’s at a loss for words, the sight of how truly upset you are making his heart sink in sorrow.

He scoots over on the couch to hold you close and whisper soft calming words. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. You’re alright, I’m here now.”

You know he has no idea how much it means to you, just hearing those simple words when the anxiety and fear continue to claw at your throat like hellish nails. You’re caught in its grip, the flashing images of flames and the sounds and smells of screeching, burning, crumbling to dust. It surrounds you, and you choke on the tendrils of smoke as if they’re really there, filling your lungs like a heavy sand. It stings, and it’s excruciating.

“Maybe I’d fare a little better … if I’d just stayed somewhere else that night,” you can’t help whimpering out, the memories resurfacing too quickly for you to have control over them.

“You were there?” Jimin reels. Hearing that you’d witnessed your own parent’s death was nothing short of devastating. That was way too much for a young mind to handle, surely. Could the world really be that cruel to one of, if not the most amazing person he’s ever met? He can’t help but cry for you in this moment, trying his best to stay silent as his tears soak into your shirt.

You both stay locked together for another hour or so, Jimin listening intently as you explain the story to him of what happened that night. It’s agonising to relive it, but you know he needs to hear it from you. There’s nowhere else he can hear it from, really.

“Y’know, working in the force meant I had to handle situations like that a few times. It was rare, but it did happen. I’ve seen the faces of the families; I’ve seen the damage it can cause. I just wish you hadn’t been alone, fuck,” he mumbles, hating that he can’t just go back and fix what’s unfixable.

You wave him off. “Jimin, you’ve done more for me tonight than … literally anyone’s ever done for me. Truly, I love you for that.”

His heart leaps in his chest.

“I don’t relapse too often,” you carry on shakily, “it’s just that the sight of a fire that’s out of control just … it just terrifies me so much. I see their faces in the flames.”

It’s so fucking messed up. He feels his entire being shiver in discomfort at the image you’re painting for him, but he only holds you closer. He wants to chase it all away, even though deep down he knows he can’t. All he can do is be here for you, with you when you need it most.

“That’s why I went into vet science,” you say, eyes growing brighter the longer Jimin embraces you. It’s like he’s physically holding you together, and it’s so very safe in his arms. “I had to come to terms with death as a concept, like properly. I wanted to save those who didn’t deserve it just yet, those who deserve to live longer lives just like they did. It’s my life’s purpose.”

Jimin comes to the realisation, right then and there, that he probably loves you.

You are, without a doubt in his mind, the strongest and most remarkable person he’s ever met. He wants to be around you all the time, wants to share your energy, wants to be half as amazing as you are – with every fibre of his being. It’s not like he can just say that though. Not right now, anyway.

He tucks the thought away for another time. A better one.

“What about you? Why did you want to become a police officer?” you ask, snorting once into a tissue to finally rid yourself of the snot and tears.

“Me?” Jimin chuckles. You’re always one to turn it around, never wanting the spotlight for more than needed. He fondly reaches up to run his fingers through your hair, grazing the skin of your cheek along the way and making you smile wistfully.

“Well, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly why. It always comes down to justice, right? We all want to enforce that, protect those that need protecting, and saving lives as well. I’m very similar to you in that sense,” he starts, clearing his throat to lighten the atmosphere with a confident tone. You find yourself snuggling into his side, just longing to hear him talk for hours while you wrap yourself in the warmth of the blanket and his reassuring presence.

“My family left a while back, and my brother was the only one who stayed with me. Both of us had to fend for ourselves, and with me being the eldest, it was easy to fall into that father-figure kind of mould. I wanted to protect what we had, but it was pretty laughable when I was the smaller kid.” Jimin laughs, surprising not only himself, but you with the way he speaks about his past so openly and without any bitterness or animosity.

He was looking at it a different way, and he had you to thank for that.

“So I trained,” he continues. “I trained so hard and spent years proving myself. I came home to our tiny flat every night, prouder than I’d been the night before. And Tae-”

His throat tightens and he has to cut himself off, the syllables of his brother’s name dying on his tongue due to disuse. He hasn’t said it in years, and the feeling his name conjures is strange. There’s the ever-present cold hard hatred building in his chest, but in some wild and wacky way, it’s easier to move past it.

“Taehyung … he was so proud of me too.”

You lift your head from where it rests on Jimin’s chest, moving your hand to envelope his where it resides in his lap. His fingers grasp yours gently, a simple squeeze telling you that he’s alright to keep going. He’s got you so relaxed in his arms that you can almost feel yourself falling asleep, but you know you mustn’t. You have to stay awake for him right now, right when he’s opening up completely.

“Since you shared your story, I figure I have to share mine.” Jimin smiles, the expression not completely reaching his eyes. Both of you have made so much progress tonight, it’s not even funny. He knows that if he doesn’t tell you now, he most likely never will.

“We … fell in love with the same person, me and Tae. It got ugly, and we were super close until the countless fights and yelling matches tore us apart. Even after we both got over this person, we couldn’t stand each-other. We couldn’t make it through one day without a handful of painful jabs being sent back and forth. It was bad, so bad.” He takes a deep breath, and you sit up slightly to hold him closer. The positions were reversed now.

“I needed him, despite all that, I really did. He was the only one left, and I was too proud to just forget everything that’d happened to us. I got offered a place in an exchange program with a group of officers in my force, it was to Europe and it went for no longer than two weeks, but when I got back Tae was…”

“He was gone,” you finish for him when he can’t, raising your hand to wipe the singular tear cascading down his smooth cheek. Jimin sniffs and smiles at you, turning to bury his face into your hair and letting out a large, heavy exhale.

“I sold the flat after many nights of just crying and breaking down,” he mumbles softly into your head. “I still don’t know where he went, but I also didn’t want to exploit my access to citizen information to find out. I think that’s when my passion for the force started to die down, though it took years for me to finally have the guts to leave. Nothing’s fair in this godforsaken world.”

It was a harsh and negative outlook, but you found yourself agreeing to a certain extent. Here you were, the epitome of optimism and ‘bright side’ herself, wanting to watch the world burn for just a second. Just like your family had.

You cringe at your own line of thought. “It’s our job to make it better-”

“Don’t even say it (Y/n), I swear to God,” Jimin warns playfully, cupping you cheeks in both palms and squishing them until your lips open and close like a fish. His eyes sparkle with adoration, and you whine out in protest against his actions before you can get lost in them.

“I’m just saying!”

“Don’t just say! Let me be emo for once you fool.” He tackles you onto the couch, spirits steadily rising from the depressing venture into his memories. Feeling light and as unburdened as a feather, he pins you down and tickles your sides mercilessly.

You miss the warmth of his comforting hugs but can’t help shrieking in laughter as you let it happen. You’re happier seeing him happy anyway.

Before things can escalate further, a disapproving meow interrupts the two of you, and you both whip your heads to the side to see Ghost sitting in the middle of the room. Her tail twitches in annoyance, and her face seems to be screaming ‘are you lumbering idiots done yet?’.

“Wow, a whole mood-killer. Maybe we should clean up the kitchen, actually,” you suggest while trying to catch your breath, grateful for the reprieve. Jimin’s eyes flit back to meet yours, and you catch the dark look he’s giving you. He knows you’re just trying to escape him right now.

“Fine, but don’t go thinking you’re off the hook even for a second.”

Weeks fly by after your emotion-packed, train-wreck of a night. If anything, it only drew you and Jimin closer than ever. You now had another layer to your friendship, another reason to stick together through thick and thin.

Jimin had attended around three hydrotherapy sessions with Mandu, and to your delight, it actually seemed to be working well! The dog would definitely soon be right on track to return to his former glory, minus the slight greying around his muzzle from old age. There only seemed to be one problem though…

Mandu was shit scared of water.

Every single time, the poor canine would whine and yelp for his owner as if he were legitimately dying. You could only watch on in amused silence, pursing your lips to hold back a cackle as your best friend had to bend down at the pool’s edge in order to calm the dog down.

The staff members working at the specialist pool were understanding at least, but that didn’t stop Jimin’s cheeks from flushing with embarrassment every single time.

“Buddy please, you’ve literally chased down killers and jumped over an entire ravine before. Some water won’t kill you!”

It fell on deaf ears, and Mandu howled extra forcefully in defiance. You couldn’t hold back your snort of laughter this time, the scene of the heated argument between dog and owner way too funny to let slide. Jimin throws a betrayed look at you over his shoulder, grumbling something under his breath you can’t quite catch.

In the end, some of the more patient staff members manage to coax the shaky dog into the water, and it’s with great struggle that they finally manage to get him swimming properly. Jimin has to stay within the dog’s line of sight 24/7, even one moment away and Mandu would start thrashing about and yipping in a panic.

You laugh at Jimin the entire time as you stand back to watch, the looks he sends you in return having ‘traitor’ written all over them. If he didn’t have to stay dutifully by the poolside, you’d be in your right mind to believe he’d storm over and kick you into next week for being so bratty.

“You just need to practice. Get him used to it,” you tell him once you’re all leaving the facility, a freshly dried pooch trotting beside you with fur sticking up in all directions. You can’t help but think the dog reminds you of Jimin like this, back when he’d rushed to the clinic in all kinds of disarray.

“Used to it? Did you see him in there!?” Jimin splutters, squatting down to hold Mandu’s face sternly between his palms. The dog remains unbothered as he flashes you a side-eye for assistance.

“Yes I saw. I’m surprised police dogs don’t spend more time training in water, to be honest,” you muse thoughtfully, reaching down to ruffle Mandu’s ears in reassurance. “It’s okay baby boy, you’re not alone,” you coo, smiling when the dog’s tail wags twice in response.

“Baby b…” Jimin trails off, clearing his throat consciously after feeling heat crawl up his neck at the pet-name.

“Anyway, it’s been a few sessions and he hasn’t quite got the hang of it. Why don’t we try spending some time in the water outside of sessions too?” you suggest cheerfully.

“Where? I don’t have a pool.” Jimin cocks an incredulous brow. There’s no way any public pool in these parts would let some random dude and his dog splash around and dirty their space.

You step up and poke Jimin firmly in the chest with one finger. “Did you just never look out the back of my place?”

“You have a pool? What in the hell-”

Jimin’s mouth hangs open in outrage. Even after all this time, he really hadn’t noticed it even once? You had to be fucking with him. “No way.”

“Uhh, yes way? Dude all you had to do was look outside.” You rest your hands on your hips, definitely unimpressed right now but trying your best not to laugh at him too much. He’s already been the butt of all your jokes today. Every single one.

Jimin has to see it for himself to believe it, so the next evening he pulls up to your home with Mandu in the passenger seat. The poor baby is blissfully unaware of the fate that awaits him here, but Jimin only feels the sweet, sweet taste of revenge on his tongue at the notion. After the hell Mandu had put him through these past few weeks, it was time to get payback.

“C’mon boy,” he sniggers. An evil grin stretches across his face and figurative crimson devil horns poke out from his hair.

“How dare you take advantage of him and his inability to be human,” you drawl lazily from the now open front door, and Jimin jumps in his skin from the shock. He hadn’t even made it to the damn porch and you’d already heard him.

“He deserves the slander.”

You shake your head and lead the duo inside, instantly groaning when Ghost and Mandu begin hissing and snarling at each other like their toes have been stepped on. Your fluffy white cat has all her hackles raised in hostility, and the dog in return has his lips drawn back to reveal a row of sharp white fangs.

You’re at your wits end, and similar to the other few instances of Mandu and Ghost meeting, you stomp your foot and stand over the pair as menacingly as you can. “You two are acting like complete animals right now, calm down or you’re going into timeout!”

When the two pets actually shut up, Jimin guffaws with no restraint. You simply huff, as if expecting that your threats would work regardless, and gesture to the glass sliding door adjacent to the kitchen. “It’s out there, are you happy now?”

Jimin cranes his neck and lo and behold, there it is in all its glory. A fucking pool. And to top it all off, it’s even surrounded by a towering black metal fence and gate, as if Jimin didn’t feel stupid enough for not noticing it already.

“So who was wrong and who was right?”

“Shut up.”

The two of you get ready to begin your little ‘home brand’ hydrotherapy session, with Jimin already donning swim trunks in case he has to jump in and intervene at any point. The pool is already much deeper than he’d anticipated, considering the ones at the actual therapy centre were nice and shallow for the dogs in rehab.

You’re dressed in a similar manner, with small tight shorts and a black t-shirt that’s so long it almost hides the fact that you’re wearing pants at all. Jimin has to keep his gaze controlled from raking up the expanse of your bare legs. He wonders if you’d somehow planned to get him all hot and bothered, seeing as it was a warm Spring night that was perfect for taking a dip.

“Okay, well he already seems spooked at the sight of water. You’re going to have to get in,” you say apprehensively, eyeing the way Mandu is already shifting anxiously from paw to paw. You’re all stood beside the shallow end of the pool, the gate fastened shut in case the dog tries to make a break for it suddenly.

Jimin coaxes Mandu forward with soft words of support and praise, taking the steps one at a time. It’s obvious how much the canine is hating this, his ears are pinned flat to his head and his knees are wobbling from the fear. Your heart is shot through with pity for the animal, but he needs to get better at this.

“Here, I’ll help,” you mumble, getting to your feet and stepping into the pool behind the jittery dog. With Jimin pulling him forward by his shoulders, and you urging him onwards from behind, it doesn’t take long for him to start doggy-paddling around. You help Jimin monitor his movements, checking for any signs of discomfort but finding nothing as Mandu works to keep his snout above water.

“I think he’s less nervous because it’s just us,” Jimin comments, a wide smile on his face at seeing his boy paddle around calmly. No frantic thrashing, no barking, no outbreak of chaos as usual.

“Funny that,” you breathe out with a chuckle. The waterline comes up to around your chest at this height, and you shiver as the cool liquid brushes against the underside of your bra. “I can’t go much further, all my underwear’s gonna get wet.”

The innuendo is essentially fresh bait, and you already know you’ve set yourself up nicely just before Jimin chuckles. “Right, why don’t you just go back and take a cold shower then huh?”

“Literally fuck you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to get wet?”

You gape at his bold humour, not used to the suggestive way he’s eyeing you as he leads his innocent dog around in the pool. If you were being honest, the ideas he’s putting into your head are absolutely sinful to say the least.

“What if I do?” you scoff, and two seconds later you’re plunging deeper into the refreshing coolness of the water before Jimin can even clap back with something lewder. You’re completely submerged, and for some reason Mandu begins to panic slightly when you vanish from sight.

“Woah, it’s okay she’s not drowning,” Jimin hushes in a serious tone, making sure to support the dog’s body with both arms as the animal treads through the water with powerful kicks of his hind legs. You resurface further down, hair now completely wet and sticking to your head uncomfortably.

“Hey, he got scared for you just then,” Jimin calls out. You feel a tug on your heartstrings and swim back down to the shallower part of the pool.

“Aw, Mandu was worried for me? What happened to hating my guts for stealing Jimin?”

Jimin gives you a weird look at that. “Stealing me? Jesus, do I just exist to be passed around by you guys?”

“Maybe.” You giggle. Something about the assertive way you act has Jimin feeling hot all over, and he’s reminded yet again that it’s a quality of yours he’s come to find madly attractive.

Or maybe it’s just the fact that your basically halfway naked not even a metre away from him. He can’t even focus on the task at hand when he gets a full view of your soaked t-shirt, and how the outlines of your rounded chest are now completely visible to his watchful eyes.

He can’t help but gulp at the thoughts running through his mind. “Hey, how long has it been now? Think that’s about one session’s worth for today.”

“Right, it probably is. Good progress! I might stay out here for a bit though, it’s super hot and my air conditioner basically cracked the shits last night.”

Jimin climbs out of the pool, the hem of his shirt soaked but luckily everything above that dry as a bone. He grabs a towel and dries Mandu off, whispering praises of how well he did to swim properly today. Once he’s done, he opens the gate and lets the dog out to run around your somewhat spacious backyard. Jimin has to look away in disdain, because he knows it won’t be long before his buddy starts rolling around and making himself filthy again.

Jimin returns his gaze back to you, and he stifles a laugh when he sees you randomly floating on your back in the middle of the pool, limbs splayed out like a starfish. You look dead to the world, but honestly, he can’t blame you. It is rather hot for a Spring night.

He barely even thinks about his actions before he’s peeling the shirt from his back. His honey blonde hair becomes tousled from the movement, and he throws away the piece of clothing without batting an eyelid.

As for you, well, now you’re stressed.

Sure, you knew he was an ex-police officer. You knew he worked out daily and took care of himself unbelievably well. Sure, you were happy to just close your eyes and pretend like you weren’t ogling the heck out of him right now, but it just wasn’t happening.

He was absolutely beautiful; you could even say carved from marble and it wouldn’t be much of a stretch. It was difficult not to gawk at the smooth way his muscled arms and shoulders tapered down into a gracefully cinched waist, not to mention the nice set of washboard abs and delicious V-line that has your mouth very nearly watering. You remind yourself to ask him later what the large ‘Nevermind’ tattoo stretching along his ribcage means.

“Wow, you could have some shame.” He flashes you that shit-eating grin, but frankly, you’re just ecstatic that he seems to be so confident in his own skin. Once upon a time throughout your friendship, he would have never been this comfortable around you.

“What, am I not allowed to appreciate what you’re showing me? You could’ve easily just left the shirt on,” you complain loudly, rolling over to lay face down in the water in hopes that it would douse the heating of your rapidly burning cheeks. With your eyes and ears underwater, you only feel the ripples hit your skin as he jumps in to join you.

You lift your head and gasp for air, catching sight of him swimming towards you rapidly. “Wait, what are you doing!?” You barely get to shout before he’s picking you up and throwing you back down into the water with a tremendous splash, loud laughter booming from his chest as you scream and struggle in his grip.

“Jimin I swear-”

You cut yourself off by sweeping a massive wave of water in his direction with both arms, grinning wickedly as it smacks him straight in the face. He wipes at his eyes and shakes his head, much like a dog would, and you vaguely register Mandu’s barks of excitement from somewhere out in the yard.

“I’m getting you back for that,” Jimin grunts, and you feel your stomach squirm as he starts moving towards you again.

“No, no, no! Okay I’ll be good, leave me please!”

Your pleas are left unheard as you try to escape from his grasp, but he’s too quick and too strong to evade. Your legs kick up into the air helplessly as he dunks you again, and once you finally resurface, he’s already got you in his hold. “Stop, I can’t compete with you, you beefcake.” You purse your lips and blow a raspberry of pool spittle into his face, struggling within his arms in fear that he would start throwing you again, or even worse … tickle you.

Your loud wails and shrieks of laughter had filled the air for the past ten minutes or so, but you were obviously weaker than he was, and you both knew you were going to tire out much faster. So, to your pleasant surprise, he stops teasing you and simply holds you by the waist, high enough that your entire head and neck are above water.

“You’re absolutely ruthless,” you grumble, bringing your hands up to rest on his bare biceps for support. You marvel at the way the lean muscles flex underneath your fingers as he shifts you to be more comfortable.

It’s so very hot, and you can’t help but notice the heat licking at your abdomen the longer you stay locked in this position. Your legs wrapped around his torso, and his face is just above the line of your soaked chest. You just thank God you hadn’t chosen to wear a white shirt at this point.

“Yeah, well you’re just fun to mess with,” he finally responds after a few moments of slowly floating around the pool’s edge. You smile warmly down at him and use both your hands to comb back his dripping hair with your deft fingers. Once again, you’re stunned into silence at how attractive he truly is. Especially when he looks at you like that.

Wait, why is he looking at you like that?

His handsome eyes are dark, and lidded. He’s smirking at you just as he always does, but this time there’s something different. The air around you changes. It feels … charged.

He’s not done, shockingly, and he continues to back you up until you feel the edge of the pool press into your back ever so slightly. He then lets you down to stand on your own two feet now that it’s shallow, your toes brush the pool tiles suddenly and the feeling elicits a small jump of surprise.

He’s closer than he’s ever been, and you feel your breath hitch at the feeling of his bare chest brushing against the material of your saturated bra. His hands come up to trace the line of your waist again, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Jimin,” you sigh, looking up at him through your lashes. Your hands have a mind of their own at this point, and they find themselves tracing the lines of his dripping arm muscles once more. His eyes are staring into your own, burning with a heat and a desire you know all too well.

He wants you, right now.

You immediately cave in, feeling your thighs squeeze together as he descends upon your lips. The kiss is somewhere in between sensual and ravenous, with both your lips parting almost simultaneously in pleasant surprise. He lifts one hand from your hips to tangle into the wet hair at the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him as he melds his lips together with yours.

God, you’ve pined after him for so long that you somehow forgot what the feeling was called. You moan softly into the kiss and feel his lips quirk into a smile. He immediately knows just how badly you’d been craving this, and honestly, he’s been thinking about the exact same thing for months now. You both just needed some kind of hot situation to force you together, to give you the confidence to finally take the chance.

“You don’t know how long I’ve just wanted to have you like this,” Jimin says in a low voice, pulling back to catch his breath and rest his forehead upon yours for a moment. Your heart is going absolutely crazy in your chest, and you bring both your hands up to cup his face gently.

“I’ve wanted you since we met in that damn park, can you beat that?” You hum sweetly.

His eyes widen immensely, but then soften in a warm realisation. “Okay, I think you got me there. It’s been a couple of months though. Wow, the park? Really?”

You nod, and he lifts his hand to cover yours over his cheek. His eyes are swimming with a love so deep and profound, you just want to kiss him silly. “Yeah, I mean I don’t think I fully realised it until later on. I was happy to just keep that crazy good friendship of ours, but then I knew all along I was in deep,” you say candidly.

Jimin kisses you again long and hard. “Shit, I think I’m gonna say it. I love you. God I love you so, so much.”

You could almost cry at the heartfelt confession. His smile is blindingly bright, and his eyes are positively gleaming with happiness. You realise then that they weren’t tired anymore. Perhaps they hadn’t been for a while now.

“You saved me, (Y/n). You literally brought me out of a dark place I never thought I’d get to leave.”

“Stop you’re going to make me...”

‘I’m serious,” he murmurs, lifting your face with his thumb and forefinger to catch your overwhelmed expression.

You peck his cute little nose. “I know you are, and the same goes for you! You were always there when I needed you, Jim. I love you so fucking much, it hurts.”

He laughs airily, chest feeling light and fit to burst from your requited affections. He can’t believe that for once, this cruel world had decided to give him something nice for a change. He was … actually allowed to keep you?

At the same time, you’re positively brimming with relief and pure bliss. You jerk forward and catch him in a needy kiss mid-laugh, silencing all your nerves and disbelief as he returns it passionately. You squeak in surprise when he lifts your body – with ease, you might add, thanks to his physique – to sit up on the edge of the pool.

He continues to trail his lips along your skin as you hold him tight, and you love the way he handles you so carefully as if you’ll break in his palms if he’s somehow too rough. You simply can’t wait to see his face when you tell him you like it that way.

As he moves to your neck, you snake your arms around him and drag your nails down his back sensually, needing to feel him against you to prove that this is happening, that this is real and not some kind of dream.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans, nibbling at the juncture of your neck and sucking harshly at the skin there. The contrast of the cool droplets of water clinging to your body as they meet his hot languid tongue has you shivering all over.

You can’t get enough of his lips, and you’re all but suddenly finding out just how skilled he actually is with his mouth. Tiny lustful whimpers fall freely from your throat as his hands move from your neck down to your breasts, and when he begins to brush his fingertips over your nipples through the shirt and bra with a broken groan, you just about lose it.

“Jimin, I want to feel you,” you choke out, pulling him as close as the edge of the pool will allow. Thankfully, it’s shallow enough on his end that he can still reach up to your face, and you instantly take advantage of your height boost to wrap your legs around his body.

You tilt his chin upwards towards you with one finger and part your lips, instantly feeling his tongue slide fervently past them into your mouth. It’s such a forward and sultry manoeuvre that you lose yourself in the pure unadulterated heat of the moment. God, you’ve never been so turned on in your life.

His hands, which had fallen to brace himself on the concrete tiles on either side of your hips, now find purchase on your bare dripping wet thighs. You can’t suppress a shudder when he digs his fingers into those too, tracing circles with his thumbs to let you know where he’s going with this.

You pull away from his irresistible lips with a gasp. “What are you..?”

He smirks, mouth all swollen from your teeth and tongue, eyes pinning you down with a dark gaze full of salacious longing. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything hotter, until he growls, “I wanna take you right here, right now,” with a lick of his lips and downward glance of his eyes.

You’re left speechless, and before you can muster up anything to say in response, he’s hooking his arms underneath your knees and parting your shaky thighs slowly. He angles you closer to the edge of the pool, and you want nothing more than to just be under him. “Oh God. Jimin we should go inside.”

He looks like he’s about to argue, but then a flurry of wild barking and panting causes both of you to whip your heads around. There stands the source of the noise in question, all covered in grass and weeds from romping around your yard, and it bounds incessantly around the towering pool fence.

He’s watching you both excitedly and demands your undivided attention with another yap. If you had to take a wild guess as to what the dog wanted, it would be that he wishes to join in with his family’s little ‘wrestling’ match rather than being locked outside in the lonely backyard. You and Jimin exchange a look.

“Yeah, not in front of Mandu.”

“Never in front of him.”

You both grab your towels and scamper inside like two horny teenagers, very naked and afraid, but still laughing the entire way at your predicament.

Safely within your walls and locked away from the innocence of animals, you pick up where you left off beside the pool. The haphazardly tossed pieces of wet clothing and damp footprints throughout the house are soon forgotten when Jimin gets you in between your sheets. It doesn’t take long for him to have you screaming his name well into the night, and you’re sure that by the end of it, his lips and tongue have touched almost every inch of your body.

That’s not to say you didn’t have a fair go at him too, because when you wake in the morning to turn and see your hickeys scattered across his bare neck and stomach, you swear you’ve never felt more satisfied in your life. Yes, he’d proven himself to be quite a little switch in the making, and you feel positively giddy at the prospect of getting so much more time with him to find out exactly where that might lead.

He was yours and you were his. Together, you had something truly marvellous.

He turns his head with a grunt and catches you admiring his sleeping form. The resulting dazzling smile that splits his face leaves you positively breathless, just as every other aspect about him does.

“Morning,” you both mumble at the same time, and while you scrunch your face up in an endeared cringe, Jimin just laughs sweetly at the clumsiness between you. He moves over to plant the softest of kisses to your forehead, and you cuddle into his side like it’s your designated space to reside until the end of time.

In lieu of the family-shaped hole you’d been carrying with you your whole life, there now appeared a Jimin-shaped puzzle piece slotting into place.

And with that, you could ask for nothing more.

Somewhere in the distant night, a young man taps his finger on the steering wheel of his car as he speeds along the eerily quiet highway.

The late hour does nothing to deter him, and he fights back the drowsiness threatening to pull him under as the road falls away beneath the tyres. He’s been driving for hours, but he persists without rest and soldiers on, full of purpose. Every time he feels a shred of doubt begin to linger in his mind, he glances over to the wrinkled photo resting on his dashboard and the initial burst of vigour returns.

He runs a hand through his long, curly black hair and eyes the photo again. The smiling faces look back at him, and he immediately wonders for the millionth time if he truly is doing the right thing here. The turn-off sign whizzes by his car window, and he realises that now is his last chance to change his mind.

He can keep living a peaceful life if he just continues straight past without looking back, but there’s no way he can do that. He can’t fail his only remaining family any longer.

He veers for the turn-off, taking a deep breath and reaching forward to brush a finger against one of the smiling faces in the roughly crinkled photo. It’s final, he’s made his decision.

I’m coming home.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

TO BE CONTINUED

#jimin x reader #jimin angst #jimin smut #bgwdynamitedads #btsghostie #jimin fluff #jimin scenarios #jimin imagines #bts smut #bts angst #jimin fanfic #BTS jimin #bts fluff #bts fanfic #policeman jimin #s2l au #heavy angst #shy jimin #saladejin

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spaceskam · 4 years ago

Note

Title Tuesday + 16 + Malex

okay, so apologies in advance, I don’t know if you read this series, but this is apart of my On Earth series, but this can, for the most part, be read on it’s own

tags: light angst, panic attack, mentions of Jesse Manes, mentions of the shed scene

16. Bitter [ao3]

Alex felt like he was trapped in an alternate universe.

He’d had food with Michael before and definitely had eyed the Antarian section at the grocery store, but he’d never eaten it before. Not only was he eating it, though, he was sitting at the table with another Antarian family‒the Evans. They weren’t staring at him, he didn’t think, but it sure as hell felt like it.

“Hey,” Alex whispered, leaning into Michael as inconspicuously as possible. He hummed and leaned into him as well to show he was listening all while using what looked like a rectangle palette knife to shovel an amount of what looked like tiny rice covered in some weirdly thick, beige-colored sauce into his mouth. “What is this stuff?”

“It’s called cluivaxo,” Michael said, accent perfect. Alex had been living in the Guerin home for a week and a half so far and he’d already learned more about Antarians than he had just by dating one. He didn’t even realize what he didn’t know. Michael’s parents spoke in Antarian half the time, usually when they were speaking to themselves or only each other, and Michael apparently was fluent even though Alex had never heard him speak it before. “It’s kinda like a grain, think like a mix between quinoa and rice tasting but a little more bitter. The sauce is, um, kinda like a water base with mashed iocua and ziocua. I can’t think of an Earth counterpart, honestly. It’s good, try it.”

Alex nodded, racking his brain trying to pinpoint what the hell those even were. He had taken an agriculture class, but they didn’t really touch much on Antarian produce. And that was just assuming it was fucking produce at all.

Hesitantly, Alex took the palette knife-looking thing and got a bit of the cluivaxo onto it before raising it to his mouth. All of them were staring this time, waiting for his reaction. It was bitter, but the sauce was weirdly spicy and sweet at the same time which just juxtaposed all of it in a really weird way. It wasn’t bad, but he’d never had anything like it before and he couldn’t help but make a face.

“Oh, come on,” Michael laughed, “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s a traditional meal,” Louise said. She was Isobel and Max’s mother and she was extremely serious around him in a way that made Alex nervous. Michael’s dad was definitely a force to be reckoned with, but he had made it clear he didn’t hate Alex. She hadn’t quite done that yet and she didn’t even try to whenever she was checking the way Michael’s hand was healing. “The iocua and ziocua were homegrown by a woman a few blocks away. Her mother was on the crash and was the reason we had the means to continue planting them. She’s the reason we’re able to still have these meals.”

“It’s good,” Alex said quickly, “Just different.”

“Mom, chill,” Isobel said.

“I’m chill,” Louise insisted. Alex avoided eye contact and Michael reached beneath the table for his hand.

Alex had never had a problem holding his own before. Admittedly, he was still shaken up by what his father had done. He was waiting for him to show up outside the Guerin residence, waiting for him to do something worse than he’d already done.

He shouldn’t be having a family dinner right now.

Alex ate and let the subject change, let Nora take over talking about whatever with Louise. Ezra and Mr. Evans had a pretty in depth conversation about some political thing that would affect Antarians that Alex was sure he heard of but couldn’t remember specifics. Max and Michael and Isobel spoke. Alex sat quietly.

And it was fine until Alex was addressed again.

“So, Alex,” Mr. Evans said, “Have you spoken to your father since the incident?”

Alex didn’t mean to drop his utensil, but he did. His heart thudded in his chest, gut-twisting and throat tightening. He didn’t want to talk about his father. He didn’t want to talk about the incident. Michael squeezed his hand tighter.

“Xorocua,” Ezra’s voice said, deep and threatening, “Not now.”

“It’s an honest question. Don’t you want to know? I mean, you’re housing a Manes, Ezra. Are you not waiting for the next shoe to drop?” Xorocua, apparently, asked. Alex’s throat seemed to tighten even more and it took a lot to take a breath. “And what if he is speaking to him? I doubt this would be the first time he had a little spy.”

“A spy?” Ezra shot back, “He’s a child.”

“He’s nearly 18, that’s hardly a child.”

“What are you missing about what happened that night?” Ezra said, “And you have no idea what happened before that. He may be named Manes, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve compassion.”

“Compassion is one thing, but shelter? Moving him in? And what happens when Jesse Manes accuses you of kidnapping? What happens when he reports you? Do you really think you’re going to get out of this one?”

“Dad!” Max said and, well, at least he tried.

“This is not the time,” Nora said, her hand going to her husband’s shoulder. Louise did the same to Xorocua, though it seemed to be for a different reason.

Michael didn’t seem to care about any of it as he scooted his chair back and stood up, tugging Alex with him. Attention snapped to them and Michael, beautiful and brave and strong Michael, ignored them. He wrapped his good arm around Alex’s waist and let him lean against him as he brought him outside.

Alex tried to catch his breath and held onto his shirt. Once they sat on the front steps of the porch, he went to clinging to his body. Michael’s good hand went to the back of his head and he held him close. Tears slipped from Alex’s eyes without his consent.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Michael whispered, gently scratching his scalp, “He’s just a dick.”

“I haven’t talked to him, I swear I haven’t talked to him,” Alex insisted, sniffling as he tried to calm down. When did it switch? When did Alex become the one who needed saving?

Well. He knew when. But fuck.

“I believe you,” Michael said.

“But he’s gonna try soon, I know he is. I swear I won’t let him down anything to you or your mom or dad. I-I’ll go home if I have to, but‒”

“No, you aren’t, Alex. You’re staying at my house, in my bed with the door open so my mom doesn’t think we’re doing anything scandalous,” Michael said, kissing the top of his head. Alex huffed a laugh, but it didn’t stay. None of the adults had come outside yet, but Alex couldn’t hear them either. The thought that they were talking about him made him a little nauseous.

He stayed against Michael’s shoulder until he could breathe easy again.

“I hate this,” he whispered. Michael paused his petting.

“Hate… what?”

“Hate that I can’t talk about my dad without freaking out. Hate that you’re hurt because of me, hate that I’m mooching off your parents. Hate that I’m constantly looking over my shoulder. Mr. Evans was right, we are just waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Alex said, sniffling. Michael sighed, again combing his fingers through his hair.

“It’ll be fine.”

Alex huffed a laugh, shaking his head. It wouldn’t be fine. It would never be fine.

“And you. You are just… totally fine,” Alex said, raising his head. Michael’s hand slowly slipped from his hair. “How are you so fine? I don’t fucking understand. Why aren’t you as freaked out as I am? You should be more freaked out, you’re the one who got hurt.”

Michael blinked slowly.

“You don’t think I’m freaking out?”

“You’ve been really fucking calm this entire time, yeah.”

“Alex, I can’t go five minutes without touching you or I start getting extremely paranoid. I look over my shoulder constantly. I triple check the locks on my windows. I’m not, like, fine,” Michael said. Alex’s face burned hot and his skin felt prickly all of the sudden, his eyes not meeting Michael’s. “You know me, I’m a wreck on a good day. But… you need me right now, so I can smile and cuddle you because that’s all I can do. And I can take you away when things get scary. You don’t have to be the strong one always.”

“But I should be in this situation,” Alex insisted. Michael shrugged.

“Not necessarily. But, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll be a baby sometimes and make you feed me or defend me from assholes more often,” Michael offered. Alex huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

His gaze went out to the empty streets, to the bright headlights. It was quiet, almost too quiet. They hadn’t seen a car drive by since they came outside. It was silent enough that Alex could hear his heartbeat in his ears.

“You’re my favorite person, Alex,” Michael whispered, “So let me take care of you, okay?”

“Okay.”

Nora and Ezra came outside a few seconds later. Alex and Michael both went to stand, but Ezra sat beside Alex and Nora sat beside Michael. The four of them just stared out to the street on the Evans’ porch steps.

“Alex, no matter what your father decides to do, we will handle it,” Nora said softly, “And Louise and Xoro apologize for being too harsh on you. They don’t know you and they’re just protective of Michael.”

“I understand,” Alex said easily. And he did. If the tables were turned, he probably would feel the same way. “But… I don’t expect you to be put out if my father comes after you.”

“What your father did was extremely wrong and Michael being Antarian doesn’t make it less so. If we need to take it to the police, we will,” Ezra said simply.

Alex swallowed, his eyes drifting down to Michael’s hand. It was still wrapped up to keep it together. Everyone at school thought it was run over. He still couldn’t feel his pinky and his ring finger. Mr. and Mrs. Evans said it was too early to tell if that was permanent or not.

It was wrong.

“But we didn’t report it then…”

“It doesn’t matter. Besides, you’re almost 18. If you start bringing up what he’s done to you over the years, it’ll be in his best interest to just let you stay with us,” Nora said. She reached over Michael to put her hand on his knee. Tears pricked his eyes all over again. Part of him hated himself for that. He was so weak. “We’ll keep you safe. That’s what adults are supposed to do.”

Alex clenched his jaw to keep his composure, blinking rapidly. Nora gave his knee a squeeze before she stood.

“Michael, come tell Isobel and Max goodbye and thank Mr. and Mrs. Evans for looking at your hand again,” she said. Michael gave a little whine.

“But they were being dicks.”

“Yes, well, adulthood also means knowing who your friends are even if you disagree on something,” Nora said, “Come.”

Michael groaned but stood up, going back inside. That left Alex with Ezra. He knew that just meant they were going to have a talk. Because Ezra was a big fan of talks. The more he did it, the less Alex minded. If he talked, it meant Alex understood every single thing he meant.

“I don’t want to say this in front of Michael or Nora, but I think we are both extremely aware of what your father is capable of,” he said, voice low. Alex took a shaky breath and nodded. “So the moment you notice anything, you tell me. I want to prevent anything from happening.”

Alex nodded easily.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Cua,” Ezra responded. Alex blinked and looked at him.

“Huh?”

“Cua. Instead of Sir, it’s Cua,” Ezra said, slowing it down a bit so Alex could internalize the accent and mouth shapes that went with it. He nodded.

“Yes, Cua.”

Ezra huffed a laugh and ruffled his hair.

By the time Alex and Michael ended up in the backseat on the way home, Alex was tired but more content than he’d been in awhile. They were looking out for him, they were welcoming him.

That was nice.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #verse: on earth #title tuesday

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kataang-dungeon · 4 years ago

Text

Cold Snap

Aang and Katara visit the Southern Water Tribe before they are married, and a blizzard forces them to stay indoors.

Rated: M

Word count: 1222

Read here on ao3.

ooo

"There's a blizzard coming," says Katara's father, Hakoda, with a wink. "It might be best to stay inside the whole day, right?"

She watches Sokka as he stands next to the door, a look of disgust on his face. "Ugh," he grimaces, "I'm getting out of here." He raises a hand and waves. Hakoda soon follows with a knowing smirk on his face.

The door slides shut and suddenly she and Aang are alone in their temporary home. Katara turns, seeing Aang fidget with his hands as he stands just behind her near the sitting area. He has a puzzled and questioning expression on his face.

"Are you sure it's okay for us to stay in your grandmother's and Pakku's home for six months?" he asks. He clears his throat. "And um...why was your dad being so weird?"

She sees the look he gives her, one that borders on utter confusion, and she giggles. "It's fine," Katara replies. "They already agreed to it. They're staying with dad. Anyway, we're getting married."

They are going to be married in a year and she is over the moon. It is the reason why they are spending time in the Southern Water Tribe. It is to complete an important part of the marriage customs of her tribe. Usually, it would mean an entire year of Aang being part of her traditional household and helping with things like hunting...which neither her father nor Sokka would make him do. Instead, because she and Aang are important figures in both Republic City and the world (and because Aang is the Avatar), they decided to cut the normal time in half. That, and Aang does not hunt. He has been spending his time gathering roots and berries, mending items around the village, and weaving.

She loves him all the more for it.

Still, she has not answered Aang fully. She smiles innocently as she walks closer to him, presses her palm to his chest, and feels his thundering heartbeat beneath the cloth of his thick orange and yellow woolen robes. Her grandmother had dyed them herself. She had even gone so far to replace all the skins that once decorated her home with Pakku with only woven rugs from fur shed from tundra animals in the spring.

Katara walks until she has Aang pinned against the wall in the sitting room. His neck turns red when she tangles her fingers into his collar. He towers over her by a head, and she is exhilarated when she realizes the kind of power she has over him.

"There's a blizzard coming," she murmurs hot across his exposed skin. She lets her digits caress the underside of his stubbled jawline.

He shudders. "W—what are you doing?"

She is shy for a moment, glancing up toward him to meet his eyes. "Is this okay?" she starts. "I... I want—"

He softens for her and then his gaze is fire. "But should we? Are we allowed? We've never..."

She knows Aang is right. They have explored before, but never anything that went too far. They have never seen each other totally nude. But they are in their twenties, old by Water Tribe standards to only start thinking of marriage. They waited because the world needed them.

She feels the passion building between them. The world doesn't need them now.

"There's a blizzard coming," she repeats. This time, pulling down the sash across his chest with a fervor she did not know she possesses. "We're living together now." She licks her lips and Aang sighs with longing. "In my culture, this is the right time."

They are halfway toward the cushions around the hearth in the sitting area when he stumbles onto them. They laugh as they crash together in a snarl of limbs. His top robes are almost all off. She meets him with an open-mouthed kiss to his collarbone. His hands are tugging in the strands of her braid, and he is loosening it.

It is she that starts. She removes her parka and shivers against him, the silky pillows tossing beneath them.

"Are you cold?" he teases, and his bare arms are around her now. He is on his back and she has her arms on either side of him, looking down at him.

His chest is exposed, and she stares. He has a free hand on the side of her breast, still bound in her wrappings. She realizes that he has never seen her without her undergarments either.

"Freezing," she says as she bites her lower lip. She gives him the most inviting look she can conjure. "I could be warmer."

He smiles. "You know what they say," he chuckles, "when there's a blizzard out you should share body heat to keep warm."

He peels off her chest wrappings with her coaxing. Gently and steadily, and Katara loves the way her belly burns with need for him.

For a moment she covers her chest with her arms, but he frees her from them and brings his mouth to each breast, whispering against her, telling her she is his everything and that she is keeping him warm. Her bashfulness recedes and all she wants is to make him feel the same way he makes her feel.

She dips lower and lower on him, moving her head to his waistband as he finishes his work, and latches on to the fabric with her teeth. He moans when she moves her body downward, using her hands to help her remove whatever is left. He arches his back to help her.

She looks at him once more and is breathing heavily now. Even through whatever haze he is in, he still manages to tell her she is beautiful.

He is blushing and she laughs. "You're perfect," she says.

Her hands are on his length and she shudders at the way he grinds against her touch. He says her name in a way he never has before.

They are next to the fire of the hearth now, and its crackling fades into the background. The only thing left between them is her underwear.

He takes her slowly and with a touch that sends the whole room spinning. She does not notice the way that the snow pounds against the rooftop, nor the way she shouts his name from the back of her throat to the end of her tongue.

Her body is a furnace, and she wants more of him to keep the heat going. He moves his hands along her breasts, pinching on skin she did not know was as sensitive as she feels.

Then she moves too, pleasing him as she can, and the burning that engulfs her rises from her thighs to her core and she begs.

At last, for the first time he is inside of her. They are on the floor of her grandparents' sitting room. There are cushions and teacups strewn about. A storm rages outside. But she only cares about the way he feels.

They are warm against each other, and all she can think as he releases is that the blizzard is here.

“How warm are you now?” he says quietly next to her ear. He has her in his arms.

She smiles. “You’re keeping me warm,” she responds, and their lips meet another time.

#fornication scrolls #mod mooning

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hazbincalifornia · 3 years ago

Text

Soiled Tea

Chapter 23: Blitzo gets home and contemplates things.

Warnings: As always, mpreg, and brief mentions of underage drinking. Generally shitty thoughts about babies.

Likes, replies, and reblogs are all appreciated, both here and on ao3!

Ao3 link

“Blitz.” There was a pounding on his door, and it took a few seconds to process that it was Loona. “You’ve been in there for like three hours. The fuck happened?”

“Piss off!” Blitzo called back, scrolling mindlessly down Voxtagram with only a pause to scrub at his sore eyes. The phone buzzed with another text from Stolas, and he swiped it up without looking like the last twelve. A growl rumbled from behind at the door, and the scratch of Loona’s claws dragged down the wood.

“Fine, don’t tell me! It’s not like I care either way, I just want to know if you’re going to start bitching at me over whatever it is!” Loona’s weight creaked the floorboards as she padded away from the door, mere moments before Blitzo’s stomach growled.

Oh. Right. He hadn’t eaten properly in days, and the little fucker was going to be feeling that.

...It’d be easier to starve the bastard if it wouldn’t hurt him too. He only realized that his fingers had dug into his stomach when the red glow fluttered in and out, and his teeth gritted as he pushed himself off the bed, the creak reminding him how badly he needed a new mattress and frame. Stolas sleeping on it the other day couldn’t have helped, and it was going to collapse under him one of these days. There was probably some kind of metaphor in there he didn’t feel like puzzling through at the moment.

Moping later. Food now. He was pretty sure they’d stocked up a few days ago, so unless Loona had eaten everything since he’d been out, he could make some cup noodles and curl back up on the bed in peace. Loona was draped over the couch with screams and gorey splatters echoing from the TV when he exited his room, and she raised an eyebrow at seeing him mere moments after he’d told her to piss off. Blitzo sighed.

“Look, I just want to bury my sorrow in some cheap-ass junk right now, got it?”

She pointed to the freezer. “Try the strawberry scoop.”

“Thanks, dear.” First he needed to get the noodles, though. Blitzo opened the cabinet, reaching for the cups before brushing against a small bag. Why did he have a bag in the…?

His fingers froze, touching the edge of the packet- it was Stolas’s tea from their café meeting, tied with a pretty little bow. He’d mostly been over the nausea hump by the time he’d gotten it so it had been stuffed in the back of the cabinet, and right now, it was leaned against a partially-opened hot chocolate packet that must have been years old. It made the wood smell both moldy and chocolatey-fresh. Over the last few weeks, the powder had seeped into the mix of the tea- and probably ruined it too. There was an ant curled up in front of the fancy little bag which was almost certainly dead, flat on its back with legs curled heavenward.

The thing was moving again, but when he smacked the side of his stomach, it turned over a little with a shudder and stopped. Progress.

His hands were shaking by the time he pulled the noodles out from next to the tea (and next to the hot chocolate, and some expired crackers, and the little baggie of rat poison he’d borrowed from Millie and Moxxie’s closet) and began boiling the water to prepare them the same way he’d done hundreds of times before. No thinking required. The TV droned on in the living room, but the volume was low and he could still hear the water dripping from the leak over the fridge and his own heartbeat.

Casually, he leaned back against the countertop as he waited for the water to soak in, then realized that angle made the bump stick out even more, and also that he’d never actually taken off Stolas’s shirt. The knot in the back was thick and hard on his back, and it pressed on his protruding vertebrae against the granite. He tapped the end of his tail next to a stray protein bar wrapper on the countertop before sweeping it towards the trash. It missed, fluttering down to the dirty floor like a dying moth. Blitzo scooped up the cup, stabbing the top with a fork before bringing it back to his room and turning on a video of some idiot screaming at video games to drown out whatever thoughts couldn't be suppressed otherwise.

Loona didn’t bother him for the rest of the night, but he could hear her slam the fridge’s door shut and pop open a can of something around ten. He peeled off the shirt and went to bed.

__________________

An hour after going to bed, he realized that the sex-sweat stuck to his skin was itchy, sticky, and smelled like shit. He managed to last approximately fifteen more minutes before dragging himself off the bed and crawling into the shower, flipping on the water and twisting it to scalding. He didn’t bother to scrub anything down, simply letting the pounding water pelt into his body until the caked sweat slid off like a bug shedding its skin.

Loona was still in the living room, playing some kind of racing game. They made eye contact for a few seconds and she sighed, chucking him a chocolate bar that she’d fished out of the cushions at some point during the night when he’d been in his room.

Sure, she couldn’t actually eat it herself anyway, but the gesture was nice, even though his teeth felt kind of fuzzy when he flopped back on the bed again after pulling on a worn-out band tee that had become a crop top at some point even before the pregnancy.

__________________

The kid was moving. Of course they were. It wasn’t like he could ask for sleep or for them to allow him to pretend they didn’t exist for a few hours, could he? They were just a lump of stupid meat, they didn't know any better than being an annoying pest that their daddy couldn't stand. He screamed into the pillow again. It didn’t help.

__________________

Maybe he could join the circus again. He had new, better jokes now. Like his life. (That one would have gotten a laugh, or at least it would have with a crowd that wasn’t drunk off its ass- or maybe that would have been the exact audience for it. Kids were never drunk enough, and the ones whose parents shoved bottles at them to get them to shut up just puked everywhere. Their taste buds weren't developed enough yet, it just tasted like piss half the time before you got used to it. He still remembered the smell of the cheesy chips incident.)

__________________

Had Stolas planned this all along? He’d sure as fuck seemed to think that Blitzo had already known what the deal was, and maybe he’d wondered a little, but come on, the guy had been so excited, anybody would have figured that he wanted to be the one to raise it. Babies were (literally) shitty little leeches on the lives of whoever was unlucky enough to pop them out, but Stolas had been so pumped for another kid, obviously he’d wanted to raise it. This was entirely his fault. This was entirely his fault. Blitzo was a smart guy, he'd find some way to get out of this. He'd made it this far, hadn't he?

__________________

Could he get out of this? He tried to remember exactly how the deal had been phrased, but then realized that Stolas would probably yank the book back if he did manage to find some way to kill the thing without offing himself. Well, shit. That’d suck, and he’d probably lose Moxxie and Millie in the bargain, and then him and Loona would get chucked out on the concrete and have to forage for scraps until they managed to mug some particularly wealthy sinner. Could you pass on syphilis through bites? Loonie’d probably know. It was something to keep in mind as a potential threat.

__________________

Did orphanages do speed dial? No, Stolas would find it somehow. He probably had some kind of magic tracking device for occasions like this.

__________________

God damn he needed a better mattress. He could still feel the indent where Stolas had been if he rolled over just right, and he smacked at it until it felt like the rest of the bed.

It didn’t actually help that much, but at least when one spot got hot, he could roll over a little to the cooler half without sinking in.

__________________

What would it even look like? Would it be kind of cute or some mutant monstrosity? Both its dads were hot, so it would have to have something going for it if it wasn’t just some horrible moaning mess of feathers and patchy skin.

He hadn’t really minded the thought of being, like, an uncle or some shit. There for the fun parts, popping in like twice a month to jingle keys above its face and teach it to play paintball. If Barbie had squeezed something out after fucking around when they were still a duo act he could have dealt with that as long as they didn’t have to sleep in the same room- he didn’t really mind kids that much in small doses. They could be fun little chaotic monsters, even though they were judgmental as shit and smelled fear.

With this, though, he couldn’t just hand it back when he got bored, and he always, always got bored or scared or- fuck, not thinking about that.

He would try scrolling Voxtagram again, but he came across an ad for maternity wear before trying to go to sleep the first time and nearly chucked the phone.

__________________

The only thing that kept him from rolling off the bed and grabbing a hard drink to knock him out, baby be damned, was the fact that he’d found a spot that almost was comfortable in the sheets now soaked with sweat again. Unfortunately, the clock said it was 5:13 AM.

__________________

The alarm blared directly in Blitzo’s ear and he whapped it with a pillow, slamming it off the bedside table and into the floor. It was definitely broken now from the horrid cracking noise, and he groaned, scrubbing at his eyes. "Fuuuuuuuuuuuck."

“Morning, sleeping ugly,” Loona said as she gargled mouthwash in the sink. She had the bags under her eyes that probably matched his and said she’d been drinking more than usual last night. Smart kid. He’d picked one that he could be a parent to without changing diapers for a reason- so he could be supportive to an actual person and not just a screaming little meat-lump that couldn’t even drink or smoke yet. Maybe Stolas could make it magically grow up so he wouldn't have to deal with that shit? “You gonna finally tell me what the fuck happened? You look like you watched the apartment blow up and you smell even worse.”

“Come on, honey, I showered-” Blitzo cleared his throat. To be fair, sex-stink didn't come off that easily when you were going at it for days, and Loona had always had a real sensitive nose. “Daddy’s maaaaaybe got a little tiny problem,” he muttered, and she raised an eyebrow.

“And that problem is? Usually, you’ll be upfront about why you’re being a whiny-“

“Apparently,” he started, and his tone made Loona’s mouth snap shut, “Stolas thought I was going to be the one actually raising the little bastard.”

“What the fuck? You two didn’t clear this up months ago?” Her claws dug into the counter as one eye twitched, and a bit of mouthwash foam dripped off her chin.

“I didn’t think we’d have to! He wanted the thing, he’d take it, that made sense!” He dragged a hand down his face, and Loona leaned back against the sink, crossing her arms. The foam hit her top, soaking in next to the left tit.

“So get rid of it.”

“I can’t, he enchanted my guts.” Blitzo snatched a butter knife smeared with long-dried jam off the table and aimed it at his stomach- moments before it touched the skin, red flashed. His hand shot to the side, preventing anymore more than a slight scratch. “I don’t even want to know what’d happen if I tried to take a pill or something and puked it up. Explode, probably.”

Loona sighed. “Well, this is fuckin’ peachy.” She crossed the kitchen, grabbing some toast that popped up, pressing more down and dropping the plain bread with a pad of butter on the side on a plate in front of him. “Toss it at an orphanage.”

“It’s gonna be a freak, it’d probably just get mauled. Imp kids are vicious, especially orphans, they’ve all gotta fight for table scraps.”

“Why would you care?” Loona shifted a little on her seat. “You get rid of it either way.”

“Stolas’d kill me.”

“He likes your dick too much, he wouldn’t. I’m not changing diapers. Why can’t he take it again?”

“He thought his wife would shank the fucker. Considering she tried to stab me, it’s probably not that far off. I’ll find some way to-” he yawned. “To pawn it off or something. Maybe we find somebody that likes exotic pets.” His head swam with visions of a shiny, gilded cage containing a little feathered imp that wore sequins and hissed at anything that got too close. He stabbed at the butter. “I don’t want this either, alright?”

“But you went along with having it anyway, and with me, you wanted-” She cut herself off and drummed her fingers against her bicep. “This is your fuck-up, I’m just saying don’t drag me into it.”

“Very reassuring, thank you,” Blitzo muttered, sarcasm thick enough to gore like it was a pig. "We have any coffee?"

"I finished it the other night. We can go to that place on Sixth before work." Loona snatched her own toast as it popped up too quickly to actually have toasted any and stuffed it in her mouth plain, tearing off a bite and chewing in a way that was reminiscent of thoughtful. “I don’t think he’d be nice enough to let you die when it pops out, and you screw up all the time and haven’t completely ruined your life yet. You can figure shit out from there. Maybe we can sell them on the black market and move out of this fucking dump, or you can flutter your eyelashes and get him to change his mind. Worst comes to worst, it's sharing your room.”

“Thanks, Loonie,” Blitzo mumbled around a mouthful of bread. “Always know how to cheer me up.”

The phone buzzed, and he was about to ignore it again until he saw that it was from Millie.

“Still at Stolas’s or coming in to work today Blitz? Moxx and I miss you :)’

Blitzo wiped crumbs on his pants and groaned before typing back.

‘yeh im coimin back’

He added extra jam to the bread before shoving the rest in his mouth, and the kid kicked his bladder hard enough that he almost pissed himself right at the table.

Today was gonna be fuckin’ peachy.

#lotsa little headcanon-y sprinklings throughout here #shadow writes stuff #one time #helluva mpreg #helluva boss #mpreg #daddy blitzo #tagging the main tag because why not

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sadaboutniall · 4 years ago

Photo

Without Fear

masterlist | tag | wattpad

hiya! since tomorrow is thanksgiving I thought it would be better for everyone if I posted this week’s chapter today! hope you like!

Chapter Two. February

give me moonlight, and a smile from you that I can // that I can barely believe — dancing under red skies, dermot kennedy

It comes on slow, the way waves lap up against the shore late at night, when there aren’t many boats out to disrupt them. Over and over, bit by bit, it settles in. The first wave of it bites at Lu’s ankles when her toilet overflows at 6am, leaving her standing in her socks in the bathroom, soaking wet, worrying about the water leaking into the shop below, while Ruairí meows in concern from his spot atop the sink. Frantic, Lu calls her dad, and it goes to voicemail twice before she remembers it’s 1am in New York.

Accompanied only by a YouTube tutorial and the rising sun, Lu manages to fix the mess, shower, and start the day all on her own. Her dad calls back five hours later, and Lu feels like she’s lived a whole lifetime between then and now.

The second wave of it has more venom. She sleeps in on a Sunday—the only day the shop is closed—stirring around 10 because Ruairí is relentless, screeching in her ear, kneading at her belly, desperate for something to eat. Mindless, she feeds him, freshens up his water, makes herself a cup of coffee, pulls out a pastry leftover from Siobhan’s bake the day before, and settles into a spot by the window of her flat, overlooking the sea, all before thinking to take a look at her phone.

Even if she goes 12 hours without looking at her phone, Lu finds she doesn’t miss much these days—she left home on a whim, without a ton of fanfare, and knows full well that she isn’t putting in the effort she should to keep in touch with friends from home. She also knows that’s why she left.

So, most mornings, she wakes up to a few messages in the family group chat, a message or two from her best friend Georgia, and not much else. This morning, it’s different.

208 texts. 12 missed calls.

Lu’s stomach sinks like a stone. Her whole body heats up at once. Her hands start shaking and her heart starts hammering, all before she even manages to swipe open a single notification.

She doesn’t even have the wherewithal to cycle through possibilities. Her brain, hitting overdrive from the start, has no question that it’s bad.

In WhatsApp, Lu finds that her family group chat has 206 messages. She has one separate text from her dad, and a final separate text from her brother. Nothing from her mom.

Shaking, she swipes open her dad’s first. On the counter, Ruairí is sniffing at a banana.

Hi, love, his message says. Figured the number of messages in the group chat is overwhelming. We’re at the hospital with Sam now. All is well, the appendix is out and he’s resting. Mary’s with us, she got back from Honduras yesterday. Good timing. Give us a call when you get a chance.

From her brother, Lu finds a selfie. He’s in a hospital bed, gown around his shoulders. He looks pale, dark circles around his eyes, but he’s okay—he’s smiling, giving the camera a thumbs up. Underneath, the message says I lived, bitch.

Relief coursing through her, Lu lets out a shaky laugh. It’s scarily on-brand for Sam to pull out a meme at a moment like this.

Slowly but surely, Lu’s heartbeat slows to its normal rate. As it does, she scrolls back through the messages from the night before: her brother raising the alarm that he had a pesky pain in his side, their mother, a doctor herself, urging him to get it checked out. There’s a moment where Sam says the doctor is sending him home, and another where their mom urges him to demand an ultrasound, just in case. He does, and they find the appendicitis. Lu shudders to think what would’ve happened had her mother been the one sleeping soundlessly an ocean away.

It’s five am in New York. Lu figures they’re all shattered. Rather than call and risk waking everyone up after what was surely a late, long night, Lu shoots off a text to her dad, asking him to call her when they wake up and sending lots of love. She turns her ringer up all the way so she won’t miss anything else. She feels a million miles away.

####

On February first, Lu wakes up in a cold sweat. It’s still dark outside, but that doesn’t mean much in a place where the sun doesn’t rise until nearly 9am. Still, Lu doesn’t even need to look at a clock to know it must be early: perched on the pillow next to her head, Ruairí is snoring gently, dead to the world, not yet ready to demand breakfast.

Heart hammering, Lu gropes around the bed until her hand closes around her phone, cold. She squints, then sighs, as she checks the time.

4:45am.

Lu is no stranger to waking up mid-panic attack. Sometimes, it feels like choking—like she can’t get a breath down deep enough, to pool in the bottom of her lungs. Other times, it feels like an unavoidable urge to get up, move, get as far away from the space she woke up in as physically possible. Right now, it feels like a stomach ache, period pains, itchy skin, her body trying to tell her that something, somewhere, is going terribly wrong.

Logically, she knows it’s not. She holds her breath, five, four, three, two, one, and checks her phone as her heart jackrabbits away. Nothing out of the ordinary: her mom texted a picture of her glass of wine with dinner to the family group chat, her dad reported the score of a soccer game, her brother sent that he’d managed to run a full two miles today, his furthest since the appendectomy. Everything is fine.

Except for Lu.

There’s no use trying to go back to sleep; Lu knows herself better than that. Heart still working overtime despite reassurance, she slips out of bed as gently as she can, praying that she won’t wake Ruairí. She’s silent as she gets dressed and silent as she tiptoes out of her bedroom, out of the apartment, and down the stairs. The morning is still and dark, but you can hear for miles and miles on Inis Mór, and as she begins her walk the soft, familiar sounds of tractors roaring to life, cows mooing for their breakfast, sheep and goats bleating, remind Lu that she’s not the only one—that others are here too, alive, beginning their day, pushing on. Home. And underneath it all, there is, always, the sound of the waves, constant, crashing against the shore.

####

Lu doesn’t get a chance to nap. She walks, balancing on the edge of the cliffs that overlook the Atlantic, breathing in the sea air and thinking about how the water here, crashing, violent against the cliffs below her is the same water that once lapped up on the shores of Long Island, of Coney Island, of the Rockaways, of home. Seagulls swoop, low and graceful, over her head, over the ocean, and Lu thinks that if she asked her dad to drop a floatie into the Atlantic for her it just might make it—just might wash up here, on the edge of the Earth, the way she has.

She walks and walks—you can walk all the way around Inis Mór and back in under five hours, but she doesn’t have that kind of time. She walks along the cliffs, the white, blinding, otherworldly geology of the Burren, through the grass and the mud and the cow shit, until she’s back at the cafe, windows glowing golden against the rising sun, condensation clinging to them from the inside. Siobhan is pulling pastries out of the oven when she opens the door around 6:30, and Ruairí, curled up on the counter, looks at her, bitter.

Siobhan smiles, “There you are. No worries, pet, I’ve fed him his breakfast.”

She wobbles through the day, exhausted from the panic, the walk, the lack of sleep. She messes up at least two orders—gives Mrs. Duffy whole milk instead of skim, drops Mr. Kennedy’s sandwich on the floor while she’s bringing it over to him—but, as always, no one bats an eye. They touch her arm gently, lull “oh, it’s no bother, darling, we’ll make it right, now,” and the cadence of their laughter carries as she does exactly that. There’s no venom, no rush, nothing to give Lu the adrenaline she so badly needs to make it through the day.

Somehow, she almost forgets that it’s Niall’s first day. But all of a sudden it’s twelve hours later and he’s bustling inside, bringing a rush of cold air with him. The door swings shut behind him and Lu, who had been curled up at the cushioned window seat with Ruairí on top of her in a moment of quiet, jumps. The cat’s only just forgiven her for this morning, and her movement causes him to stalk off in anger. She sighs after him.

“Oh, no,” Niall laughs a little, “sorry, did I interrupt something?” He looks soft and sweet in his dark jeans, his hat pulled low over his forehead. He’s shedding his puffer jacket to reveal a navy blue cable knit sweater and his cheeks are flushed from the cold. His eyes, bright and blue as Lu remembers them, find hers. He smiles.

“Yeah,” Lu just about manages. “He just forgave me, you totally ruined it.”

Niall barks out a laugh, head thrown back, shoulders hunching up. “What did you do?”

“Forgot to feed him breakfast this morning,” Lu sighs. “Siobhan did it, but he held it against me anyway.”

“Ah, well,” Niall shrugs. “I’d be mad too, if I were a cat.”

“S’a good thing you’re not, then,” Lu smiles. “I’m not here to feed you.”

Niall’s still giggling. Lu wonders if he ever stops.

“I’m thinking I might make him pupcakes or something as an apology…” Lu is rambling a bit now, but she’s so tired, and Niall’s so cute, and nothing is real here, anyway. “I know they’re for dogs but I can’t imagine they’re bad for cats? I bet he’ll like those—honestly, I bet he’ll just like knowing I slaved over a hot stove for him. It’s like he can tell, you know?”

It wasn’t meant to be that funny, but Niall is fully cackling, crinkles by his eyes on full display, one hand clutching his tummy. “You’re funny,” he says between laughs. “A bit looney, me da would say—hey, Lu, looney, Looney Tunes. It all makes sense.”

“Isn’t ‘looney’ offensive?” The banter with him comes so easily, Lu doesn’t let herself overthink it. “Think we’re supposed to stop using it.”

“Ah, well,” Niall’s pulling his guitar out to tune, now, “You’re in Ireland now, love. All good nicknames are a little offensive.”

####

The night is mostly quiet, a dozen customers at the most, which Lu thinks is probably good for Niall’s nerves. He’s just as stunning as he was the night Lu first met him, pulling out an arsenal of covers ranging from Bruce Springsteen to Post Malone, somehow making them all work for his voice, for the vibe, for everyone, but he’s shaking—she can see it when he pushes his hair off his forehead, or when he drops his pick on the floor between songs, laughing awkwardly as he bends to grab it. Even with the mistakes, the dropped pick, the few stumbles over lyrics, he’s endearing, engaging, all-consuming. Lu’s meant to be working, but she can’t find it in her to look away.

From her spot at the counter, Lu watches how Niall keeps his eyes trained on the window across from him. He doesn’t seem to be looking for anyone or anything, but Lu suspects it’s easier than looking his audience in the eye—despite the fact that she can see for herself just how captivated they are. It shouldn’t take an hour and a half to drink one coffee and eat one slice of chocolate cake, but that’s how long old Mr. Kane spends in the shop anyway, eyes closed, listening to Niall play.

For two full hours, Niall keeps the shop warm and alive. Everyone is so captivated that Lu barely has to work after all; she leans up against the counter instead, cradling the mug of hot chocolate that Siobhan made her before she left for the night, and taking him in. She barely knows him, and yet.

Lu has seen plenty of nervous first-timers performing in front of apathetic crowds—it was practically her job, after all. She’s also seen more than her fair share of world class performers stunning crowds that want to eat them up, keep them on stage forever, bottle their energy and carry it through the rest of their lives. Working in the music industry, even just as an assistant, for five years turned her hard and jaded, made her feel like she’s seen the seedy, rough, rude underbelly of it all—but she’s never seen anyone perform like Niall before. His unadulterated, all consuming love for music is tangible, even from across the room. This is now Niall communicates. This is how he understands the world. This is how he sees life. Half of Lu feels lucky to hear it—the other half feels sick knowing that his talent is wasted here.

It almost makes her sad to have to close up at 9. Niall’s good about it—he’s designed his set to last exactly two hours, finds a climax in the middle with “Dancing in the Dark” and tapers his song choices toward a slow but steady ending, letting everyone know, without having to say it, that it’s time to head home. Lu doesn’t even have to ask him if he knows how to play “Closing Time.”

Mr. Kane is the last to leave, sticking around a little after nine to shake Niall’s hand and tell him he had no idea how talented Maura’s son is. He talks about Maura—Lu assumes she must be Niall’s mom—while Lu slowly, quietly begins putting dishes away. She likes the routine of this already, Niall’s quiet voice, his booming laugh, his warm presence keeping her company while she settles down for the night. It’s something she could get used to. It’s something, the first thing, she thinks she could miss, if she left.

Niall masterfully leads his conversation with Mr. Kane toward goodbyes, shaking his hand again as he shuts the door behind him. Lu looks up from where she was rinsing a cup to watch as Niall watches through the window to make sure Mr. Kane gets in his car. He waits for the car to start before turning around, leaning his back up against the door, dragging a hand through his hair, and letting out a long sigh.

“Alright?” Lu asks, gentle. Niall’s got his eyes closed, his head back, neck exposed to her. It’s thick and littered with freckles, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. In her chest, Lu’s heart does something funny. She presses her thighs together, tight.

Niall opens his eyes halfway, exhaling a little laugh as he meets Lu’s gaze. She hopes he can’t tell—how could he?

“Yeah,” he says then, standing all the way up and shaking his head. “That was mad.”

“It was amazing,” Lu counters. She gently places the mug back into the sink, bracing her hands against the edge. Part of her is afraid of what she’ll do without something between him and her. “They were so into it. No one could look away from you.”

Her cheeks flush, and Niall catches it. The corner of his mouth pulls up in half a smile as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Ya think so?”

“I know so,” Lu presses her lips together, but it doesn’t do much to prevent her smile. “‘Dancing In The Dark’ was my favorite one; it’s perfect for your voice.”

“Thanks, Looney Tunes,” Niall hums, making his way back over toward her. “Can I help ya clean up? I wash, you dry?”

“Oh,” Lu stills. She’d half forgotten about the dishes still left to clean, the floor to sweep, the leftovers to toss, the counters to wipe down. Her mind stumbles over the best way to go about this: it would be rude to keep him, but, God, she wants his company. She realizes, with a slight swoop in her belly, that she hasn’t felt homesick in two hours. She needs him to stay. “I actually—I have a dishwasher. I just like to rinse everything before I put it in.”

Niall smiles. He comes around the counter to stand next to Lu at the sink, knocking his hip against hers. “Sensible,” he says. It’s quiet. Just for her. “I’ll rinse and put ‘em in. You’ve been stood here all night. What else do you have to do?”

“Uh,” Lu feels like her whole body is vibrating. Her mind turns over itself like an engine that won’t start. “Sweep the floors, wipe down the counters, lock up.”

“Alright,” Niall is so close that Lu can smell his aftershave. Warm, soft, mixed with sweat from his nerves and the smell of his skin. “Let’s do it.”

####

taglist: @missy14us @antisocialsocialclub5 @coconutdawn @ficnarry @bopbopstyles @okaaayniall @theresnooneheretosave @niallgolden @tinyfelthat @adoremp3 @thelifeofbo @crocodileniall @niallsguitarthings @kara-246

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#one direction #1dff #one direction fan fiction #niall horan #niall horan fic #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan imagine #niall #without fear

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wreckofawriter · 5 years ago

Text

The World Stilled

Pairing: Carl Grimes x reader

Word Count: 1.8k (sorry its so short)

Warnings: Zombies, panic attack

Request: @alex-sulli the carl grimes imagine, i was thinking like a fluffy imagine where the reader is worried about finding everyone/alexandria falling and he reassures her :,) you can choose either

A/n: I choose Alexandria, I tried writing on the road cuz season four and five are my favorite but it sucked so I deleted it. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

It didn’t matter where in the walls you were. You could hear them. You could always hear them. The groans and growls of the monsters that had taken over your world were constant in your ears. You pretend it didn’t bother you because it shouldn’t have, you should have been able to walk around like you weren’t trapped inside of a metal coffin. You could live, you would live. That’s what you kept telling yourself. The words running over and over in your head until they lost their meaning and it was gibberish you continued to say.

You took as many gate watches as you could, it was better when you could see them, look them in their lifeless eyes, and know what you were up against. You hated hiding from them, it made you unsure, it made you feel like you were in the dark.

All-day you were running equations and scenarios through your head. If something were to happen how quickly could you get to Judith? Where was Carl if you needed to run? How much food was in your house? How many could you take out before you were cornered? Carl noticed how distant you got. He saw the way your eyes always darted towards the walls as if to check and see if they were still standing, the way you jumped when he walked up behind you or how your fingers were always dancing around your gun. You were paranoid, just as you had been when they found you, how you had been on the road, how you had been for weeks after first finding these walls. And now you were here again, alert and frightened.

Ron wasn’t helping, he had always made you uneasy. something about him made your mind scream. Now he was carrying around a gun, his eyes watching Carl a bit too carefully, you were just being paranoid, you knew that but something still screamed as you watched Rick teach him to shoot. But you were just paranoid.

You told Michonne about your fear and she had said it was what kept you alive. You supposed that was true. You couldn’t afford to relax, you knew if you did, you died and the people you loved died. But it was tiring to be paranoid. It was exhausting to jump at every shadow, never get a full night of rest, to run scenario after scenario until you went insane. Sometimes you wished you were as brain dead as some so you could finally take a break.

“Are you alright?” Carl’s voice broke you from your spiraling thoughts. He climbed the ladder to stand next to you as you scorned the walkers below you, eyebrows scrunched lip tucked between your teeth.

You nodded stiffly, “Fine.” What if you had people shoot from two different sections of the wall, would that clear a path? Or maybe you could use the Wolf’s bodies, if the walkers went to feed a few could escape. But the bodies were cold now, it was no use.

“You seem..” He paused looking for the right word, “Jumpy.”

You glanced to your side, your right hand ghosting your gun as it always did now. Carl was staring at you, his blue flannel open, a white t-shirt underneath surprisingly unstained. His hair blew away from his face in the slight breeze. “I wonder why.” you scoffed.

“These walls are going to hold.” he responded plainly, “I know they will.”

“Then we’ll starve to death.” You were only half kidding. Your eyes moved back to the walkers. You had about three months worth of food, four if you rationed right, two if people stole. You needed to find a way out. Maybe tunnel under the wall?

“I know that look,” Carl spoke up again.

Your eyes remained on a dead thing, its jaw was dangling from its face, you wondered if it happened before or after it died.

“You’re thinking. Think about how to survive.” Carl continued, “You used to do it all the time, at Terminus it never left your face, on the road, it didn’t either.”

You refused to speak, focusing on the crowd in front of you.

“I remember when my dad found you and brought you back to the prison you looked at me the same way, like you were guessing how much longer we would all last. Patrick was terrified of you.” He chuckled, “You looked the same way when we first got here, you placed a three-week life span on this place. I remember you telling me that.”

“I guess I was wrong.” You shrugged, “It was four.”

Carl sighed, licking his lips, “Look at me y/n.”

You snapped your eyes to his own, there were so blue it was almost startling. His soft smile was gone, replaced with a worried look that dislodged something in your chest.

“This place isn’t dead yet. I won’t let it die. I need it, you need it, Judith needs it. We can’t afford to let it die.” He took a step towards you, “So stop making escape plans, you can’t jump ship yet.”

You swallowed thickly “I can if it’s sinking.”

You hadn’t been this angry in a long time, you felt so pathetic, you were helpless, weak. Rick expected you to just wait for dead people to come save you. You were going to die here and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. You couldn’t stand it. Your heart raced as you picked up a dart, its board was a few meters in front of you but you turned your back to it to look at the photos on the walls. Stock photos of kids who were dead now laughing, a dad serving lemonade, picnics, and blue skies. The first dart bounced off the glass so you pulled your arm back more thrusting the second as hard as you could at the little girl in a french braid and a red dress. The glass cracked, You raised a third, tears clouding your vision as you blindly thrust it forwards hitting the wall where it stuck with a hollow thump.

You were going to die here.

The nights were always the worst. It didn't matter how many doors and gates were between you and them, their constant murmur could always be heard. You tried to bury your head in pillows, you tried earplugs, headphones. It took you two days to realize it was all in your head. The one place no matter how far you ran, you could never escape from. You hadn’t had a panic attack in a long time. Since before, you used to get them over stupid things like science projects and presentations. Now as you chocked on your own breaths it was because you were going to die. Soft sobs echoed around your dark room as you tried to make up for the air you were losing with gasping breaths. Tears clouded your vision, your nose was clogged, you felt like you were slowly suffocating. Your head thumped behind your eyes and the sound of walkers continued.

You jumped at the sudden hand on your shoulder, you would have screamed if you had the breath. Your glassy eyes locked with Carl.

“You’re okay y/n,” He spoke calmly kneeling in front of you.

You shook your head wildly, the thick sheen of tears finally falling from your eyes and sliding down your cheeks. “We’re going to die.” you cried, “We’re all going to die.”

“You’re not gonna die.” He said so firmly you almost believed it, “I’m not going to, Judith isn’t, my dad isn’t. No one is going to die.”

You hiccupped a whimper ripping from your throat, “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” He answered without hesitation, “Now I need you to take a deep breath okay? You’re gonna breathe with me.”

You nodded taking in a shaky breath and realizing it. Carl sat in front of you breathing in and out slowly until your hands no longer shook and your heartbeat had calmed. It was silent now, the dead’s noise was gone, replaced by crickets and frogs.

“I can’t watch you die, Carl.” You said, “I can’t watch anyone else die.”

“You won’t have to.” He spoke, a small smile on his lips, “We are going to make it. I swear.”

“How can you be so sure?” you wondered aloud, “How can you know that?”

“I just do.” He replied.

You felt so tired, your eyelids heavy with the weight of shed tears, your head was still aching dully and your limbs felt numb.

Carl noticed as your body slumped in on itself. He stood, offering you a hand and pulling you to your feet. You fell into your bed, Carl headed for the door.

“Good night y/n.” When he went to shut the door behind him panic set in. You could hear them again, the clash of their rotting teeth, their growls and sickening moans.

“Wait!”

Carl stopped in his tracks, turning back to face you.

“Please don’t leave.” You begged, “I can hear them when you leave, please don’t leave me.”

He didn’t question your sanity. He didn’t ask who they were. He didn’t have to. Instead, he walked back inside your room closing the door. You moved over in your bed as he kicked off his shoes and lifted your blankets, lying beside you. It was quiet again.

“Thank you.” You mumbled turning onto your side to face him.

Carl followed your actions, his face was illuminated by the soft moonlight drifting through the window over your shoulder, his eyes almost glowing in the silver light. “Anything for you y/n.”

You moved closer to him, burying your head into his chest and fisting his t-shirt. You felt him stiffen for a moment before his arms fell around you drawing you towards him. You could hear his heartbeat, its quickened pace drowning out the endless thoughts in your mind. He smelt of lavender, his warmth surrounding you.

“Y/n?” Carl whispered.

You turned your head up to look at him, head tilted slightly in a silent question.

He paused for a moment too long, his eyes flirting across your face delicately. “I love you.”

The world stilled, the dust in the moonlight air stopped moving, the dead outside the walls froze, the living inside halting their breaths.

“I love you too,” you mumbled.

His hand found your cheek, his thumb tracing along your jawline before resting underneath your chin and lifting your face to his. Your lips met hesitantly, eyes fluttering shut. His lips were soft and light against your own. Your hands ran up his chest wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. His tongue grazed the seam of your lips and you tilted your chin to deepen the kiss.

When you pulled apart you were both blushing, your breaths coming in short pants.

“You are so beautiful.” Carl murmured and you buried your head into his neck to hide the roses blooming on your cheeks.

Masterlist

#the walking dead imagines #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead #the walking dead imagine #twd #twd imagine #the walking dead fandom #the walking dead fanfiction #carl grimes x you #carl grimes imagines #carl grimes imagine #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes #carl grimes fanfiction

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ghoulangerlee · 4 years ago

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Soulmate au 42 for Malex?

kinda lateish, sorry! I'm a sucker for their history together even though I sorta took liberties i.e. the shed being the last time they saw each other before basic (even tho that's deff not canon haha) and their first meeting post shed being...better. Anyway. You'll see what I mean haha. I wanted to make this angsty as hell but I'm too soft okay. I need them to have happiness.

the prompt is something like 'your heartbeats in Morse code of your soulmates name' so...here u go! (i actually had to go on my laptop to edit this bc format in goog docs suck oof are u proud of me? there’s a read more! also i hope i got all the format icks i wrote it on mobile crouched over my phone like a gremlin so...)

malex endgame and 2 mentions of michael/other but neither are explicit.

The first time he notices something's off with his heartbeat, he's sixteen and living out of the back of his truck, sleeping on Sanders' couch when he has a shift or when the old man feels generous enough to offer it.

There's someone, a girl he'd met up with at a party he'd snuck into; they'd touched a bit and after all was said and done, the second she rested her head against his chest, she frowned, muttered something about her parents wanting her home and got up to get dressed, leaving him feeling sad, drunk and confused.

He'd left shortly after that, drove out to the desert and stared up at the stars until his eyes dropped closed.

It's...strange really, because it doesn't change, doesn't get faster throughout the day when he's working on cars or running the field at school, doesn't get slower when he settles down into his bed to sleep.

It just. Exists.

.- .-.. . -..- .- -. -.. . .-.

He doesn't really understand it, but then again, he doesn't understand much about his biology in general, either.

And he's really not about to ask Sanders about it, or Isobel or Max.

So he ignores it.

He meets Alex not too much later and there's an invitation to a shed behind his house, a safe place to sleep. And when he finds himself there, later in the week, his heart starts thumping excitedly against his ribs when Alex comes inside and sits beside him on the cot.

He hasn't really slept with anyone since he was sixteen, hasn't really kissed anyone, but with the way Alex is looking at him right now, he wants.

It doesn't happen and Alex leaves, Michael's heart slowing down almost sadly.

He chalks it up to weird alien biology.

Kissing Alex had been the best thing to happen, in that dumb little museum dedicated to aliens, the warmth of Alex pressed against his front something thrown to the forefront of his mind.

And later, when they'd made it back to the shed and stripped down, when they'd laid together for the first time, it felt like nothing he'd ever felt.

With his head pillowed on Alex's chest, he listened to the steady fast paced thumping of his heart, letting it lull him into a doze.

-- .. -.-. .... .- . .-..

After Alex's dad found them, after Michael ran, his hand bloody and ruined, pulse jackrabbiting annoyingly painful in that same pattern, mocking him, he gets swept up in everything with Max and Isobel.

While he doesn't forget Alex or the way things had felt right, he pushes it away, boxes it up into a tiny corner, something miniscule in the grand scheme of their existence.

After all, he's just an alien with weird biology and a messed up hand that throbs to the beat of his heart.

Later on, he finds out the reason his heart beats the way it does, finds out why it sounds strange and makes the people he sleeps with uncomfortable.

(There's someone, a soft spoken girl he meets at a bar and they have drinks, go back to her place, and while he's getting dressed afterwards so he can leave with his dignity in tact, she softly explains that while she doesn't really know what it means, she's very certain his strange heartbeat has something to do with his soulmate.

He waits until he can find a library before he tries to find out more, reading about how sometimes, a person's heart beats the name of their soulmate, though not common, and is decipherable if the person knows Morse Code.

Not that he knows Morse Code, not that he wants to know who the poor sucker that got saddled with him is.)

Ten years and seeing Alex Manes standing in front of him for the first time since the night of the shed makes him feel. Makes the ache in his hand more and that strange off balance tick of his heart notch upwards.

(And now, he knows Alex has a soulmate too. If he thinks hard enough he can still hear the sound of his heart. And somehow, that hurts worse.)

Alex looks starstruck for a moment and then pulls himself together and Michael can't help the barbs in his words, trying to run him off, trying to get away because his life is too much to try and balance his strange fleeting feelings for Alex and everything else.

Not that it works, he thinks later, staring down at a wide eyed and flushed Alex, spread out on the bed in his airstream, and when he follows him down, bare skin on bare skin, it finally feels like home.

"I haven't heard anyone call me Alexander in years," Alex murmurs the next morning, his eyes half closed, ear pressed against Michael's chest. "But as long as it's you, I don't mind it."

Michael tries not to jostle Alex too much as he shifts, "Huh? I didn't call you Alexander."

Alex hums and slides his arm around Michael's waist, fanning his hand out against his side, "Your heart is," he whispers. "It's Morse Code for Alexander."

He feels something in him break and the ache and pulse in his hand gets worse for a moment as he struggles with the revelation, with the realization.

"What about yours?" Michael asks quietly, voice breaking a little.

When Alex lifts his head and smiles down at Michael, something slots in place, and he knows what Alex is going to say before he even says it.

"It says Michael."

#malex #roswell new mexico #my writing #ooh boy another one #send me more!#maybe ill write a Real AU for one lmao #also if there's a malex discord anywhere let me know bc i wanna Talk to People #and be friends pls

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megalony · 4 years ago

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Heartbeat- Part 7

Here is the latest part of my dad! Ben Hardy series which I hope you are all enjoying, any feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogermeddow @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh

Series taglist: @ispewglitter

Series masterlist

Summary: Ben and (Y/n) haven’t been together long when they find out their pregnant. But (Y/n) fears she’ll lose the baby after suffering miscarriages before with her ex, Gwilym who is making things complicated.

Enjoy.

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"You know we don't have to go today, don't you?" Ben pulled a light cream shirt over his head before his eyes focused back on (Y/n) who was stood in front of the mirror. He didn't want her to think that they had to go out to dinner with his parents today, they could always say no.

"No, we're going, she's just a bit restless today." (Y/n) locked eyes with Ben through the mirror as she tied her hair up to keep it out of her eyes but she could see he didn't look convinced. She wanted to go out today, Ben's parents hadn't seen him in a while because he'd been busy it wouldn't be fair to cancel on them now. The baby was just being restless and (Y/n) didn't feel amazing but she wasn't expecting to feel perfect right now. Her back ached, she had a headache and her stomach was tense from their girl wriggling around all night but she would be fine to go out for a few hours.

"You sure? You didn't sleep last night and you don't look that well." Ben walked over to where (Y/n) was standing and looped his arms around her waist. He was smiling but his eyes were full of concern, she looked rather pale and tired, he didn't want (Y/n) to think that they had to go out if she didn't feel up to it.

"Thanks. But I'm okay, I just need a drink and something to eat plus your mum has been waiting ages to see you again so we're going."

"Alright, your the boss." Ben wasn't going to argue it because he knew this wasn't something that he was going to win. He leaned his head at an angle so he could press his lips to her neck causing (Y/n) to smile tiredly. She wanted to go out and she was hungry, staying home wouldn't be very fun and she wasn't sick so there was no point blowing off dinner today. "Someone's happy today." He murmured quietly against her neck before he pressed his hand a bit firmer against the base of (Y/n)'s stomach when he felt a few kicks to his palm.

"She's been happy all night." (Y/n) leaned her head against Ben's for a few moments before she patted his hand and motioned for them to start moving. They had to get going soon if they didn't want to be late for dinner.

(Y/n) rubbed her hand over her stomach a few times when they headed downstairs to get ready. It was such an amazing feeling to finally be able to feel a baby moving and kicking after never getting this far before but now it was like fate was making it up to (Y/n) for all the chances she had missed out on this feeling. Their girl hadn't stopped moving and kicking all night, it was a surreal feeling that (Y/n) knew she would never get used to.

"Alright, if you're sure then let's go before mum calls asking where we are." Ben checked his phone before he stuffed it into his pocket, he knew what his mother was like. If they were two minutes late she would start to get annoyed and panicked and would ring asking if they were on their way or not or if they had forgotten. She was a very punctual person.

"You know she'll end up calling anyway to make sure we're still coming."

The moment they got in the car, (Y/n) tried to keep her back straight to stop it from seizing up and to try and see if sitting straight made her feel a bit more at ease. She pulled down her sleeves over her hands to stop her from biting her nails that had gotten rather short lately and leaned her head against the window for a while. (Y/n) had never really been a fan of long drives and she knew it would take just over half an hour to get to the restaurant to meet Ben's parents. Being in the car for too long gave (Y/n) a headache and made her feel uneasy but they had only been in the car for ten minutes now and she already felt uneasy.

Closing her eyes, (Y/n) tried to listen to the music playing on the radio but it didn't do very much to make her feel any better. She smoothed her hand over her stomach for a few moments before switching and rubbing at her eyes, she didn't know what to do or how to make herself feel any better. She didn't want to turn up to dinner looking like she was ill and sleep deprived.

"Baby, you okay?" Ben turned his head to the right to look over at (Y/n) when he kept catching her shifting around out the corner of his eye like she couldn't get comfy or felt uneasy.

Ben's eyes flickered between the road and (Y/n) for a few seconds but he almost jumped out of his seat when he caught her suddenly jerk forward like she'd been asleep and was shocked awake. His hands tightened on the steering wheel when (Y/n) braced one hand on the door and her other hand pressed to her stomach.

"Stop the car."

"What- why? What's wrong?!" Ben looked back at the road to stop himself from swerving to the side but he couldn't concentrate on the road ahead for more than two seconds before his head turned back in (Y/n)'s direction. He didn't know what was wrong, she seemed uncomfy in her seat and then the next moment she jumped forward like she'd heard a gunshot. He would pull over if she wanted but he had to know what was happening.

"Pull over! It hurts, it r-really hurts." (Y/n) tipped her head down until her chin tucked into her chest like she was trying to pull in on herself and see if it would make her feel any better but she knew it wouldn't.

(Y/n) tried to take deep breaths but it was hard to control her breaths when her stomach suddenly felt like it was twisting itself into knots that she couldn't untangle. She felt the car come to an abrupt stop but (Y/n) couldn't open her eyes or turn her head to look over at Ben, she felt like if she just stayed tucked up like this then the pain might go away and she might somehow feel better.

"(Y/n), what's wrong? Please talk to me I don't know what the fuck to do." Ben tangled one hand in his hair that he pulled on until it felt like a chunk of hair was going to come loose between his fingers. He moved his other hand to rest on (Y/n)'s back but he didn't know how to comfort her or what he was supposed to do when she wasn't talking to him. It didn't take a genius to guess that the problem was her stomach and that frightened the life out of him but her not talking made Ben feel worse.

It felt like forever had passed before (Y/n) slowly tried to straighten up instead of leaning over like she was about to fall into the foot-well but a sudden groan left her lips and Ben could see tears falling from her eyes.

"No... oh no! I- I think my w-water broke!" (Y/n) kept her right hand pressed to her stomach like she was willing the baby to stay right there but her other hand lashed out and smashed into the dashboard before she bowed her head and let out a choked cry. They had roughly seven weeks or more left until they would be at full term and (Y/n) had been praying non-stop that they could get to thirty seven weeks because that meant they wouldn't be at risk of any premature labour or problems that came with it. If they got to thirty seven weeks it would mean that their girl would be healthy and have a good fighting chance of nothing or very little being wrong with her.

"Hey, hey don't do that." Ben kept his left hand on (Y/n)'s back but he reached over with his other hand and quickly grabbed her hand so she wouldn't try and punch the dashboard again. He knew she was in pain but inflicting more pain onto herself wasn't going to make her feel any better or make this easier.

(Y/n) didn't respond but she let Ben pull her back until she was sitting properly in the seat and not hunched over. She pressed her head back into the headrest but all she wanted to do was lash out and kick around and hit something because this wasn't fair. God had something against (Y/n) wanting a baby and he had made it so, so hard for her to get this far and now this was going to be it. (Y/n) didn't mind being punished, she had clearly done something wrong to warrant all her failures at being a mother but now their baby was being punished too.

"We're going to the hospital and I'll call mum on the way and tell her what's happening but remember what the midwife said, this could happen but you're not in labour yet. They might be able to hold off labour for a few days yet."

Ben hurried to get his phone out his pocket and he put it on his leg as he started the car up again. He rang his mum and put it on speaker as he turned around and started to head in the other direction to go to the hospital.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Okay, how are we doing in here?"

(Y/n) and Ben both turned their heads to look towards the door when their usual midwife, Alice, walked through the door with a calming smile that wasn't helping (Y/n) very much. Nor was the question she asked which she had to already know the answer for by now. This was not a situation that they wanted to be in and therefore they weren't going to be very happy about it.

"Not good, they've given me steroids b-but you said I'm not in labour." (Y/n) rubbed quickly at her eyes to try and stop herself from crying because her headache was far worse from the tears she had already shed. She didn't want to sit and cry like this but she didn't know what else to do.

They had been here for an hour now and after being assessed Alice said that they weren't in labour yet. But a nurse had put (Y/n) on a drip and on steroids and the steroids implied that they thought she was going to be in labour very soon because they were preparing for when the baby was born.

(Y/n) saw the look Ben was giving her and the way he was biting his lip to try and stop himself from frowning or even crying but she couldn't help it. She felt like they were tiptoeing around her and pretending everything was fine when it wasn't.

"(Y/n), at the moment you're not in labour but we have to take everything into account and the steroids are a precaution." Alice walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed but she could see her words weren't helping and she wished there was something else that she could say which would make them feel better. They had all expected something like this to happen, they had talked it over and right now the best thing to do was to take every precaution and prepare for when (Y/n) did go into labour because it was evidently going to be soon.

"How long do we have to wait then?" (Y/n) bit down on her lower lip until she could taste blood in her mouth but it didn't stop her lips from curving down at the corners or stop her eyes from beginning to well up with tears. (Y/n) knew the outcome of this, she lost a lot of amniotic fluid and that was going to unsettle the baby and if she had more contractions she was eventually going to go into labour. There was no chance of her being able to stay in hospital for a few days or even a week before labour started. It was going to start soon and (Y/n) would rather not play the waiting game when it was never going to last.

"I don't know, honey. Hours, a day, two days, it isn't up to us and we can't give you a time scale. With your previous miscarriages, it was clear that you wouldn't get to full term, having miscarriages makes the odds higher that you'll go into very premature labour. Nothing has to be wrong for that to happen it was expected and I am sorry about that. With you losing your amniotic fluid we've put you on steroids to try and speed up the development of the baby's lungs so she'll be more prepared when she's born."

It was like an unspoken rule that (Y/n) was never going to get to full term or even to thirty seven weeks. Her track history meant that getting this far was a miracle and miscarrying more than once normally led to very premature delivery before thirty four weeks.

(Y/n) had achieved getting to thirty three weeks already and getting this far meant their girl would be a bit more developed and healthier than if she was born a few weeks earlier.

There wasn't very much that (Y/n) could say in response to that so she opted for staying quiet and looking at her hands which were locked together with Ben's very tightly. It felt like she had done something wrong or that she had failed when she knew she wasn't expected to get much further than this point in the pregnancy. Alice had given her a few extra scans and checkups and prescriptions to try and prepare for something like this happening but it still made (Y/n) feel like she failed. She wanted to exceed their expectations, she wanted to make it to thirty seven weeks and give their daughter a better chance, but she couldn't.

"Do you want me to talk you both through what happens when you go into labour?"

Ben looked at (Y/n) for a moment before nodding when she stayed quiet, he could tell she was being silent because if she spoke she would only want to snap and make a rude remark and it wasn't Alice's fault they were here. (Y/n) knew they had to be talked through it very soon because she wasn't going to be pregnant for much longer.

"Okay, well for now you'll be monitored every hour or so to make sure you're still in a stable condition. If your contractions come back and you go into labour you'll be given an injection to make sure her lungs will be prepared for when she's born. If anything happens or she's distressed you might have to have a C-section, but you might sail through. Or, if she becomes distressed anytime before labour a C-section might be an option for her best interests. When she's born she'll be in the ICU, we will check her lungs and her heart for any problems but chances are she will just need a few weeks in an incubator. Does that sound okay?"

(Y/n)'s eyes were tired and bleak and she looked away before she dared nod her head in response. It had to sound okay, that was the plan of action, nothing could be done or changed to it because it was procedure. No matter how many times (Y/n) complained or said she didn't want to go into labour or have a C-section, no one could change that because this was how things were going to plan out.

She just hoped things would work in their favour and make sure their baby girl would be okay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I know you don't believe me, but she's gonna be okay." Ben smoothed his thumb over the back of (Y/n)'s hand as he hunched over slightly in his seat to be more level with (Y/n). He knew she wasn't going to truly believe his words even if they managed to calm her down a little, but that was okay. He wanted to try and calm (Y/n) down because the worry was pooling in her eyes and it made Ben's heart drop to his stomach.

"She'd be better if I could hang on a few more weeks, maybe a few more days at least." (Y/n) looked down at Ben's hand and slowly traced the pad of her finger over his knuckles where the skin was dry and slightly cracked in places. She couldn't look him in the eyes as she spoke because she knew he wouldn't agree with what she was saying which made sense to her.

(Y/n) didn't care if their girl might be fine when she was born, (Y/n) cared that if she could only hold off labour for another few weeks then their girl would be perfect. She would be fine and healthy and in no danger like she was now.

"She might have been better in a few weeks but that doesn't mean she won't be alright now. You got her this far when you kept saying you wouldn't get past twenty four weeks."

"I wanted the doctors to find something."

"What do you mean, baby?" Ben leaned his head a bit closer to (Y/n) and moved his free hand to tilt her chin up so she was looking at him. She was laid on her side on the bed with her knees curled up to her stomach like she wanted to go to sleep but was too riled up to dare think about sleep.

"I think if... if I knew what was wrong with me, it might be easier to accept that I shouldn't be a mother. Other women know, they get told that their tubes are blocked or their cervix is too small or they just can't support a baby to full term. Wouldn't knowing something like that be easier than being told your fine but can't do it anyway?"

Ben looked away for a moment, rubbing at his jaw as he felt the tears starting to fall down his features.

(Y/n) wanted to be told something was wrong with her because that would be easier to cope with. Other women got told why they couldn't have a baby or why they kept miscarrying and even though it would be hard knowing something was wrong with her, (Y/n) knew it would be easier. She felt like she was running a marathon. She was a runner in the race and everyone kept telling her she was fine but she couldn't keep up with everyone else and kept falling. There was no reason why she couldn't carry a baby but her body just didn't seem to want to do it no matter what her heart and mind said.

"I think that would be easier, baby, it would probably put your mind at ease. But does it matter now if there may be something wrong or not? We're having a baby girl soon and even if you can't get to full term, you've made it so that she will be okay if she's born now. Once she's here, will it matter if there was ever something wrong?"

It may be easier to know for certain that something might be wrong but Ben knew that once they had their baby, it wouldn't matter. (Y/n) wouldn't need or have the urge to find out if something was wrong because she would have the baby she'd always yearned for. Knowing what was wrong wouldn't make any difference to (Y/n) because she wouldn't need to know.

If she never had a baby then knowing would be the one thing (Y/n) wanted in life. She would want to know what was holding her back from being a mother and stealing that chance away from her. But whatever the reason, it hadn't held her back anymore.

"It might matter to her because I haven't looked after her-"

"No, no it won't. Why would she be upset when she'll know you love her and look after her with everything you have?"

(Y/n) managed a small smile when she felt Ben reaching over to gently graze his free hand over her stomach like he was reassuring her that it would be okay and the baby was never going to care about this chat. Moving her hand, (Y/n) brought Ben's and closer until she could press their hands to her chest, tucked under her chin like she wanted to keep them safe.

Silence fell around them for a few minutes, nothing else needed to be said for the time being and the silence was nice. They had been here for six hours now and had been going in periods of a lot of talking and then dipping into silence.

The silence felt nice, it felt calming and comforting because there was no one rushing around, no one shouting orders or trying to calm everyone down and say what was going on. It gave them both time to just sit and think and there was nothing they had to say right now. (Y/n) could have almost fallen asleep with the silence if it weren't for the hundreds of thoughts running around in her head.

(Y/n) could almost feel her eyes starting to close, but they opened rather suddenly and locked with Ben when a noise hit her ears. She watched Ben straighten up in his seat but the look in his eyes showed he didn't know what the noise was or what it meant either.

Moving her arm, (Y/n) pushed herself up so she was leaning up on her hand rather than laying on her side but her head turned to look at the door when Alice and another midwife suddenly hurried into the room.

"What's wrong?"

"Alright, (Y/n) can you lay back down on your left side please?"

(Y/n) could hear the heartbeat monitor picking up and she could feel her heart hammering in her chest because something clearly wasn't right. She slowly laid back down on her side again when Alice rested a hand on her shoulder to urge her to do so. Her eyes locked with Ben who seemed perplexed, unsure whether to stay sat where he was or to get up and do something or move out the way but he seemed frozen to the spot.

"It can't be labour, I- I'm not having contractions." (Y/n) moved her hand to her stomach like she was reassuring herself she wasn't in any pain. She wasn't on painkillers or any meds other than steroids and an IV drip so if (Y/n) had contractions she would know about it. And she felt fine, nothing felt wrong or off she felt better than she did earlier today.

"No, you're not in labour, the baby seems to be distressed, her heartbeat is getting too low most likely from the lack of fluid. We're going to have to do an emergency C-section."

"Ben..."

"Hey, it's okay I promise. She's coming now and she's gonna be fine and looked after, it's okay." Ben's voice was soothing and when he leaned over to kiss her temple he moved his hand to hold hers again but they were both shaking.

(Y/n) snapped her eyes closed and tilted her head down to stop a groan or a whimper from leaving her lips. This was the kind of luck (Y/n) just knew she was bound to get. She wasn't in labour, she was fine herself but now their baby girl was getting distressed and it was (Y/n)'s fault. Her body was pushing for labour and now she was making the baby unsettled and in danger.

If they tried to give the baby something to calm her down or pick up her heartbeat they could overwhelm her and if they didn't give her anything and just waited her heartbeat could stop and they could lose her.

She had to be born now.

#ben hardy #ben x reader #ben hardy imagine #imagine #BoRhap #gwilym lee #dad! ben #heartbeat

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henryobsessed · 4 years ago

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The Widow and The Witcher - Chapter 29

A/N Picture from https://healthskillet.com/the-truth-behind-this-white-haired-baby/5/

Summary: Trust is reformed, Geralt and Ciri are enjoying being with a pregnant Julia.

Word Count: 2170

A/N Sorry this has taken a bit longer, Epilogue will be posted tomorrow :(

The sun streamed through the window as Julia roused from a deep sleep. Conversations from the night before rang in her head, "Can you forgive me for not believing you, for pushing you away?" his eyes held hers, unwavering in his resolve to claw back what they once had. "I can forgive you Geralt, Can you forgive me for also pushing you away in my grief and fear" he had rested his head against hers at the sound of her request. Pulling her into his arms and breathing in the honeysuckle of her hair he had whispered: "Yes my love, I forgive you."

They had fallen asleep in that position snuggled into each other both finally able to get some true sleep. Now she could hear his gentle snores beside her, a sound that filled her with calm. It had been all too quiet in their room when he was gone. Getting up she moved to the bathroom, the morning sickness had lingered well into the middle of her second trimester and now instead of the need to be sick waking her, it was her need to relieve herself that was a constant wake up call. After freshening up she walked back into her room. There she found Geralt sitting up resting against the headboard and looking out at the garden. At her entrance, he turned towards her a small smile gracing his lips. He gestured for her to come back and join him which she did wholeheartedly.

Once in his arms, she wondered at his silence. He moved his hand to lay on her now protruding belly. The contact created a warmth that spread across her abdomen. Looking into his eyes she saw a sparkle of hope and look of amazement crossed his features. "what Geralt? What is it?" He chuckled "He can sense me....... when I place my hand on your stomach his heartrate increased but not in a distressing way. It's almost like it's his way of showing me he knows I'm here." At the sound of his voice, Julia felt a kick. It was not the first but it was stronger than the others had been.

Moving his hand to where the kick had happened they waited. Geralt looked at her furrowing his brow "Why did you move my hand?" as he spoke he felt the small movement under his palm and a surprising look broke out on his face. Julia laughed, in fact, she laughed so much that Geralt could not help join her as they shed the weeks of tension and fear that had been weighing heavy on their shoulders. The sound must have carried down the hall as a knock was heard as they settled. Making sure they were covered she called "Come in" still in her bedclothes Ciri entered the room. Seeing the smiles on her parent's faces and Julia's open-armed invitation she ran to the bed and joined her family.

Ciri snuggled into Julia's arm, father and daughter now cocooning Julia. Laughing Geralt pulled Ciri's hand and placed it on the same spot his hand had just been "say something Ciri" at the sound of his voice another kick was given and Ciri laughed in response "Is that our little guy?" Julia sighed at that comment "Ok are you both conspiring or do you both truly believe our little one is a boy?" Geralt's face softened, as he questioned: "what do you think it will be?" She stilled for a moment. For the first time since she had told Geralt her mind was quiet enough to truly rest and feel. Her mind filled with images, finally resting on a picture of a white-haired little boy with eyes a vibrant blue staring back at her. "Ohhhh" she looked at Geralt then Ciri, "I think your right"

That morning at breakfast the rest of the family could not believe the transformation in Geralt. It wasn't that he had returned to his old self. Instead, he was laughing, bubbling with excitement that affected everyone at the table. During the meal, Lambert leaned over to Ciri and whispered knowing that all the Witcher's could hear, "tell me did you put a spell on him?" eyebrow raised in astonishment. Ciri chuckled and she could see the twinkle in her dad's eye at the question. Responding she whispered back "No, but I think his eyes have finally been opened to the possibility this is the real deal"

More weeks passed and the estate finally settled into a good routine. Geralt made sure Julia was looked after as he now took full responsibility for her care. Ciri had insisted that she help in her care as well as claiming a vested interest in the baby's welfare.

For the last few nights, Julia had been restless. Her back ached and her mind was filled with images of her little boy. Tossing again to find a comfortable position she heard Geralt's deep voice whisper "Having trouble sleeping?" frustrated now that she had woken him she said in exasperation "I just can't get comfortable, every time I think he has settled he moves and ......" her voice broke as Geralt began to massage the tighter muscles in her back. Gratitude filled her at his touch "mmm thank you Geralt that helps but I think I will go float in the spring it might help."

Quietly She moved down the hall and entered the healing room. Slipping off her robe she stepped into the spring its warmth easing her tired muscles. As she floated her belly protruding from the water she felt a ripple in the water. Standing up she watched with a smile as Geralt moved towards her. His features were soft and relaxed as a groan left his mouth, "These waters always make me feel so good. After you left I couldn't fall back asleep I hope you don't mind me joining you." He smirked a bit as he finally reached her wrapping her up in his arms. Leaning down he kissed her softly on the lips. She smiled as he rested his head on her hers "No my love I don't mind."

The waters felt so good, but having Julia in his arms was what he had truly sort out. After tossing and turning for a few minutes he had decided to join her in the spring. Walking into the healing rooms the sight that beheld him was beautiful. Her body floating, face, breasts, and belly like a cluster of islands surrounded by water. Shedding his own robe near hers he entered the spring. He could hear the two heartbeats one fast one slowly speeding up at his intrusion. As she stood his arms ached to hold her to shower her with kisses. Which he was now enjoying as they lazily enjoyed each other. His head rested into the crook of her neck breathing in the smell of honeysuckle when he heard the sound of his little one's heartbeat increase.

Geralt felt Julia's body stiffen and breathing increase as panic filled her face, "what's wrong Julia" He felt her fingers gripping into his shoulders with surprising strength. A moment later her breathing settled and she looked into his eyes "I think its started."

A pounding began breaking through Renee's happy dream. Knowing that Tobias had been awake late into the night with the twins she swung her legs out of the bed. Wrapping her robe about her she heard the pounding continue. Opening the door she was met with a sight she never hoped to see again. A large wet naked white-haired Witcher, eyes wild as he breathes "It's Julia, The baby, started, Spring " Deciphering the coded message she smiled, closing the door she walked quickly to be in front of her father in law so as not to see anything more. She could hear the gentle moans as she walked into the healing room. Julia gripping onto the edge of the spring. Mind changing to that of a healer she moved to where she was gripping "Julia, are they coming quickly?" Pain filled eyes looked into hers as she nodded.

Not wanting to move her out of the warm spring she instructed Geralt to go to her. Grateful that now he was covered under the water she took off her robe and moved towards Julia her nightgown getting wet but all she had on her mind was Julia. Ideas ran through her mind until it settled on one. Ready to be the midwife she needed to be she instructed Geralt to sit on the bench seat and pull Julia up to rest her back on his chest. He placed his hands around her waist and pulled her in gently massaging her sides as he did. Now Renee was able to check her belly it was tight and thankfully felt like the baby was nestled in the right position low into her pelvis. They stayed like that for some time as each wave of contraction pulled on Julia's body, she squeezed Geralt's hands pushing back into him as each wave passes.

Finally, two hours later Renee could feel the soft hair at the top of the baby head. "Ok Julia, where almost there, you need to push on the next contraction ok?" She looked up into the tired face of her mother in law, her hair was matted around her face. Her cheeks were red from the exertion. Behind her, Geralt's head rested next to her head whispering words of love and encouragement as another contraction hit. Bearing down with all her might Renee watched as the little body slipped from its mother. Lifting the babe quickly out of the water, she cleared his little mouth and not long after a lusty cry was heard.

Geralt's heart raced as all at once Julia slumped against him and in front of him, he watched Renee lift the child out of the water. Tears sprung to his eyes as he saw first the white tufts of curly hair slick to the child's head, then the cry that sprung from its lips. Renee moved the child up to Julia's chest as both mother and father wrapped their arms around the crying babe. Geralt could not believe his eyes, his little boy now snuggling into his mother's chest. Moments moved slowly, he could sense Renee moving quickly around the room gathering who knows what. It wasn't till he saw her lay a small blanked over the child and step back into the water with cutting utensils in hand that he knew. Moments later Julia tensed up in his arms again as Renee encouraged her to push. This time it was the placenta that was expelled from her body.

Julia was tired, every muscle in her body ached but through the weariness, she felt also elation. Behind her was her strong warrior, who was now weeping into her neck, in front of her the caring face of her daughter in law tears cascading down her face now her job was over. And in her arms the small body of her baby boy who had managed to find his way to her breast and was suckling taking his first drink of her milk. Unable to fathom this little miracle she looked down at his tiny face. The soft down of his white hair now sticking up as the curls had dried. His little lips moving in the sucking motion as he drank, she lifted her hand to caress his cheek. "Geralt, he's so perfect" she felt Geralt's lips move on her shoulder as he looked down at his son, "He is perfect my beloved, and so are you. I am so proud of how strong you were today." Her heart burst with the love she felt for both her men as she rested her head into Geralt's shoulder.

Her chambers had never been so full of people, Julia continued to rest against Geralt however this time it was against there the headboard of there bed. Their tiny little boy was resting in her arms, Geralt's arms encircling them both. So much love was felt, both Amelia and Wilfred sat at the end of the bed hoping to get a glimpse of the baby. Around the room, there was no one missing even Yen had come back from Aretuza to see the miracle child.

Ciri came close to the bed to see her brother. If his soft white hair and pale ash skin was not a clear indication that he was his father's son then the clincher was his eyes. Peering up at her she could not help but catch her breath as his soft blue eyes caught hers. It was not the colour of blue that was so beguiling but the small patch of yellow in the top of his right eye that helped everyone know. Smiling up at Julia and Geralt she asked "So what are you going to name him? Husband and wife looked at each other with soft looks in their eyes as they said "Caleb"

Previous Chapter Twenty Eight Epilogue

I have Tagged people who follow me and who I follow if you want to be removed or added please let me know :)

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marvelous-writer · 4 years ago

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Pumpkin Donuts & Freak Accidents

Summary: In which Peter saves Morgan from almost drowning in the lake at the cabin.

Whumptober Day 6: Water

Word Count: 2,059

Genre: whump, emotional hurt/comfort, light angst

Link to read on AO3

A/N: Part 6 of @whumptober2020

Peter steps out on the front porch of the Stark’s cabin with a tray of five mugs full of freshly brewed coffee. He smiles to himself as he inhales the crisp autumn air, the faintest hint of a bonfire from somewhere in the distance, as well as the remaining pumpkin spice donuts they had after lunch.

“Thanks, Pete,” Tony says with a warm, grateful smile as Peter puts the tray down on the wicker coffee table in the middle of everyone.

“Sure,” Peter smiles back as he squeezes himself in between him and Happy, who is currently in a bit of a heated debate with Clint and Steve over last Sunday’s football game.

Tony wraps an arm around Peter’s shoulders, an amused grin pulling at his lips as he listens in on the conversation taking place next to them.

“Okay, let’s settle this then, shall we? Tony—Pats or the Bucs?” Clint asks, turning to them.

Tony raises his eyebrows and blows out a breath. “That’s a tough one. I don’t know… I think it’s gonna be hard for the Pats this year without Brady.”

“Yeah, and the Bucs also have Gronk now.” Clint points out.

Steve sighs, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe Brady’s not a Pat anymore. I mean, I get why he left but… I don’t know. I’m still rooting for the Patriots, though. They have some pretty good players this year.”

“Yeah, but they don’t have the GOAT.” Happy adds in.

Steve heaves out another sigh, his disappointment evident by the way his shoulders drop. “True.”

They continue their debate, but Peter chooses to tune them out, wanting to just relax and enjoy the moment. It’s a bit of a rarity the Avengers could all have a nice lunch together and not get called away for any emergencies that needed their attention.

Peter brings his mug up to his lips, tasting the eggnog he’d added in for himself since he can’t stand the taste of coffee on its own—plus it's the perfect beverage for a fall day like today.

A light breeze blows past them, sending a shiver through Peter, feeling the coldness, despite the thick flannel he has on.

“Cold?” Tony asks gently.

“A little.”

“Want me to get you a blanket?” Tony offers.

Peter shakes his head with a small smile. “No, I can get it.”

As soon as he stands up, Peter freezes when his spider-sense hums warningly at the back of his neck. His eyes sweep over the front lawn that’s covered in a mixture of red, yellow, and orange leaves… but there aren't any signs of danger.

Where’s Morgan? Peter wonders, frowning as something twists in his stomach.

He walks to the end of the porch that overlooks the lake and looks out, only seeing Gerald grazing by his shed a few feet from the house. Again, nothing seems out of the ordinary or threatening in any way, but his spider-sense continues to persistently tingle at the back of his neck.

When he scans over the dock, something catches his eyes. Peter squints, brows pulling together as he zones in on the speck out in the water.

That’s when he sees it—the all-too-familiar pink coat, standing out against the dark blue water.

“MORGAN!” Peter yells, eyes widening in realization as fear shoots through him.

Instead of wasting time in taking the stairs, Peter swings his legs up and over the porch railing, landing heavily on the ground before he springs up and takes off at full-speed towards the dock.

From here, he can see that Morgan is struggling to stay above the water, her arms flailing above her head. She doesn’t know how to swim on her own yet, so Tony and Pepper have always made her wear her little arm floaties or a life vest when they go swimming in the summer.

Peter can feel his heart pounding away in his chest as his feet hit the ground, the cold air hitting him in the face as he nears closer to the dock, hearing running footsteps and yelling behind him but he doesn’t look back. He rips off his flannel and tosses it away, feeling his feet hit the wooden boards of the dock.

Morgan is a couple of feet away from the dock—how she got out there is a mystery.

The moment she disappears under the water, Peter jumps off the end of the dock without thinking twice, diving in after her.

Peter’s body freezes up from the shock of how frigid the water is, but he fights against it, forcing his arms to move as his eyes desperately scan the darkness around him.

Come on… please, please, please. Not Morgan… please not Morgan. He mentally begs.

If something happens to her… Peter will never forgive himself for it. He should have been paying more attention to her when she was playing out in the yard while he was sitting with Tony and the team.

Peter’s swimming downwards as fast as his arms and legs can take him, and that’s when he sees Morgan. Her usually happy brows eyes are now wide and fearful as she sinks further, her arms and legs kicking in a desperate attempt to keep herself up.

Peter reaches a hand out to her, grasping her little hand in his. He pulls Morgan towards him and wraps an arm around her before he twists, kicks his feet as hard as he can, propelling them up.

When they breach the surface, Peter gasps for air, only to swallow a mouthful of water that causes him to break out into a violent coughing fit. Through wet eyelashes, he can see Tony and Steve standing at the dock’s edge and he swims to them, holding a gasping and crying Morgan above the water.

“I-I got y-you M,” Peter stutters out around a harsh cough.

When they finally reach the dock, Peter lifts Morgan above his head, handing her to Tony. Morgan desperately clings to her dad as she sobs, tucking her head in between his neck and shoulder.

Now that she’s safe, Peter feels the panic dissipate. He feels like all the energy has been sucked right out of him. His legs stop moving under the water, but a pair of hands are on him before he goes under again. He looks up, seeing that it’s Steve.

“I’ve got you, Pete,” Steve says as he lifts him out of the water, helping Peter lie down on the dock as he violently coughs, bringing up the mouthful of water he swallowed.

Peter lets out a gasp that comes out more of a wheeze, feeling his chest seize up painfully as a horrible shiver wracks through him, causing his teeth to chatter.

He’s so tired.

Peter slowly blinks up at Steve’s concerned face as Happy’s worried one comes into view. His mouth is moving, but Peter can’t hear what he’s saying over his heartbeat pounding away in his ears.

The last thing Peter feels is someone lifting him and a pair of warm arms wrapping around him before he blacks out.

…

The first thing Peter registers when consciousness comes back to him is how wonderfully warm he feels. He slowly blinks his heavy eyelids open, finding that he’s wrapped up in blankets, lying on the couch.

He frowns as he closes his eyes once more, discovering how sore he is as he rolls on his back with a groan.

“Well look who’s up,” A voice says softly next to him.

Peter opens his eyes, only to meet Tony’s concerned ones above him.

Tony offers him a small smile as he brushes a stray curl off of Peter’s forehead. “How’re you feeling, kiddo?”

“M’kay…” Peter mumbles, closing his eyes.

That’s when the memories of the lake and Morgan almost drowning come back to him all at once.

Peter’s eyes snap open as he shoots up into a sitting position, realizing that he’d been using Tony’s lap as a pillow. “M-Morgan! W-Where—I-Is she okay?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—take it easy, Pete. She’s okay, thanks to you. Pepper’s with her upstairs.” Tony reassures him as he braces his hands on Peter’s shoulders, keeping him sitting.

Peter blinks at him in disbelief. “S-She is?”

“She is. She’s safe, Pete. You saved her… if you hadn’t gotten there so fast…” Tony trails off, closing his eyes with a shake of his head.

Morgan would have died. Peter thinks to himself, chest tightening as tears spring to his eyes at the thought.

Peter swallows hard around the growing lump in his throat. “Tony… I-I’m… I’m so sorry. I-I wasn’t paying attention to her a-and she must have fallen in the water-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tony rushes out, placing a hand on his shoulder as he locks eyes with Peter’s. “What happened today isn’t your fault, Peter. I’m the one at fault here—it’s my job to watch out for the two of you, and I failed in doing that today.”

Peter silently looks down, brows pulling together as a few tears slide down his cheeks.

“Awe, bud,” Tony says softly as he pulls Peter in for a hug, rubbing a hand up and down his back as a sob escapes from Peter. “It’s alright… I’ve got you.”

Peter buries his head against Tony’s chest, trying to push away the horrifying images of Morgan underwater with her wide, fearful eyes.

It feels like forever before his tears stop, leaving Peter drained as he slumps against Tony, who’s still running an arm up and down his back.

“How about we go upstairs and pay, little miss a visit?” Tony suggests.

Peter nods against Tony’s chest and pulls back, sniffing wetly, wiping his nose with his sweatshirt sleeve. Tony offers him a warm, reassuring smile before helping Peter up from the couch, wrapping him up in a blanket.

They both make their way upstairs, Tony keeping a steadying arm around Peter as they go, which Peter is grateful for with how shaky he feels.

Stopping at the threshold of Tony and Pepper’s room, Peter can see Pepper sitting on the bed with Morgan, who’s sound asleep on Pepper, wrapped up in her favorite fuzzy bear bathrobe with little round ears on the hood.

Pepper looks up, smiling softly at Peter. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” Peter answers, stepping in the room, worriedly eyeing Morgan’s sleeping form. “H-How is she?”

Pepper looks down at Morgan, brushing a strand away from her little face. “A bit shaken up, but she’s going to be alright, thanks to you,” She says, meeting his eyes with a grateful smile. “Bruce doesn’t even think she’ll catch a cold.”

Peter lets out a relieved breath as he smiles, sitting on the bed next to Pepper, who pulls him closer. They all sit in silence for a few long seconds.

“Peter, what you did today was so brave. I know that you face dangerous situations all the time… but it’s scary when it's family.” Pepper says, breaking the silence.

Peter silently nods, swallowing hard. He knows what that’s like that all too well. First with Ben, and then in London when Beck threatened and tried to kill his friends. But this time, there weren’t any bad guys to fight. It was a freak accident that could have ended very badly today.

“We’re just glad you both are safe,” Pepper says.

Tony hums in agreement from his spot on the edge of the bed at Peter’s feet. After they’re silent for a moment, Tony heaves out a sigh. “You know what this calls for… a nice calming movie with a cup of hot chocolate.”

“With marshmallows?” Peter asks with a tired smile, his head resting on Pepper’s shoulder.

“Whatever you want, bud,” Tony says with a soft smile.

That’s how Peter finds himself snuggled up on the couch under a blanket thirty minutes later with Morgan snuggled up against his side on the chaise, while Tony and Pepper sit together. They chose to watch Tangled, one of Morgan’s favorites.

They’re about half-way into the movie now, and Peter’s already starting to doze off. Sleep pulls at him as his eyes get heavy, struggling to keep them open any longer.

Peter drifts off to sleep, feeling safe and warm, surrounded by his family, beyond grateful that they’re all here together, safe and sound.

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gingerwritess · 5 years ago

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Okay here me out tho. What if reader dies when the twins are given birth. Twins survive but mother’s gone

THIS IS AN AU. A FUCKING U. I JUST COULDNT HELP MYSELF.

ok this has birth, death, knives, mentions of suicide, overall angst

you’ve been warned

ps don’t let me write while i’m on my period oh my go s h was i craving pain or what

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You’re good at giving birth, by this point.

You don’t scream so much anymore, and by the fourth kid, it’s over in a heartbeat with little more than a good punch in the stomach.

The twins don’t cry.

That should’ve been the first sign that something was wrong.

Loki’s a bit more concerned with the fact that they were born blue—he hadn’t even touched them yet.

It’s too quiet in the grand bedroom. A couple healers clean up, washing the silent newborns and choosing to keep quiet about the fact that they’re clearly not aesir, and you sink back into your pillows.

Loki’s staring at his two baby boys.

“You look so surprised,” you whisper, but he doesn’t move—maybe he didn’t hear you. “Every time this happens, you act like you didn’t expect this.”

Still doesn’t move.

You feel empty. Something’s missing; certainly the two children that spent the past nine months in your stomach, but something more.

“Just hoping.”

Loki reaches around the healer washing the last of the two and gently presses his thumb to the ridges on the baby’s forehead.

“I had hoped, with these two.”

It’s a disembodied sensation, and you decide not to answer. There’s no point in answering; he doesn’t get any better. Each child, every time you reassure him of his uniqueness, it only lasts for a couple days.

The hatred is beaten, cut into him. You don’t blame him.

“Why aren’t they crying?”

“They seem to be extremely at peace,” one of the healers quietly answers, wrapping each baby in a snug blanket. “As I’m sure you already felt, your majesty.”

Loki nods and takes the first little bundle, tucking him in the crook of one arm. “I don’t know why. This should be immense stress on them, being thrown into a new world.”

“I can’t tell exactly why either,” the healer smiles, handing Loki the other baby. “But they seem to have found immediate peace with their surroundings.”

“Maybe it’s just...just ‘cause they’re born here,” you yawn, struggling to lift a hand to wave around the room. Your limbs are suddenly impossibly heavy—must just be the exhaustion.

Yes, it’s only the Asgardian air. Maybe your body still adjusting to a new realm—even though it’s been almost three years—or even the waves of divinity starting to be put into place.

Your body hadn’t taken well to the fruit in the first place, trying to vomit immortality right back out of your stomach. Such unnatural gifts, trying to change the course of human nature, trying to alter the cycle of your human life, you can’t reach it without some tribulation.

It’s still wrong, to try and make you live an extra five thousand years.

“I think the apples are working,” you grit out, struggling to sit up and reaching for your newborns. “I don’t feel so connected to my body anymore.”

Loki turns to blink at you, head tilting ever-so-slightly. “That’s...good.”

The healer doesn’t say anything, just keeps her head bowed and slips out the door.

“Does this feel weird to you?” Head suddenly filling with fog, you lower yourself back onto the pillows with a wince. “Why aren’t we ecstatic?”

“I’m overjoyed,” Loki smiles. It looks pained.

He presses a kiss to each of their blue foreheads and hands the twins to you, tucking them securely by your sides before leaning down to meld his lips into yours, a hand cradling your cheek.

They’re beautiful, two beautiful, blue babies, undoubtedly red eyes closed in a peaceful sleep as they breathe softly.

“We got our twins,” you whisper with a smile, gazing down at them before glancing back up at Loki. “We’ve got four kids, my king.”

“And a kingdom to rule.” He shakes his head with a quiet laugh. “I doubt I’ll even manage to have any power within the palace.”

Your laugh morphs into a yawn, throat cracking as your eyes drift shut.

“Wake me up when it’s time to feed them,” you mumble, cradling them closer to your chest. “Can’t keep my eyes open.”

“Sleep, my love.” He presses his lips to yours once more, a truer smile tugging at the corners. “You deserve a lifetime of rest, after all you’ve done.”

Two hours later the twins start squirming, red eyes opening and soft gurgles rousing Loki from his own rest.

“Darling.” He leans over and kisses you, thumb slowly stroking over your cheek. “You’re being summoned.”

You don’t move, and Loki tries again, feeling horrible for having to wake you in the first place. You haven’t slept this well in months.

The heavy wooden door creaks open and two tired pairs of eyes peek in, glittering with excitement.

“Dad?”

“Come meet your brothers,” Loki calls out quietly, a finger to his lips before pointing at your still form and waving his two other kids into the room.

Stumbling over each other to get to the bed first, Frigg prevails and clambers over you with an excited squeal, grinning down at the two little babies between you and Loki.

“Hello, babies,” she whispers in awe, brushing a finger along each of their tiny blue noses. “I’m Frigg. What’re their names, daddy?”

“We haven’t fully decided yet.” Loki picks one of them up with a grin, planting a soft kiss on his cheek before handing him to Elliot. “We’ll choose the names for certain once your mother wakes.”

“They’re blue,” Elliot points out in a hushed voice. “Are they always blue?”

“Born that way and stayed that way, so far.”

“Adorable,” he grins, hugging the baby tight against his chest.

“Can’t mommy wake up already? I want to name them!”

Shushing Frigg with a laugh, Loki places a hand on your shoulder and gently calls out to you.

No response.

Distracted by the babies, Frigg doesn’t see Elliot’s excited expression fall like a stone through water.

“Dad.”

Something is wrong. Something just spilled over, upset the balance in Elliot’s uneasy soul.

Something is very, very wrong, and Loki’s only cradling your cheek and gazing down at your sleeping form in pure adoration.

“Dad,” he repeats, panic starting to tinge the edges of his voice. “Dad, I don’t think she’s okay.”

“She’s just given birth,” Loki reassures his son, but his hand slips to your neck, thumb moving to find your pulse point. “She’s well beyond tired, after what these two did to h—”

His voice dies in his throat.

After what these two did to you? What exactly...did they do to you?

The world goes silent, dull, the golden lights in the room appearing to pulsate.

Elliot’s blinking, a deafening thud of skin on skin and drops clinging to his eyelashes, and Frigg says something he can’t hear.

“Get out.”

His lips moved, sound came out, but Loki can’t hear himself speak.

“Get out, both of you.”

Judging from the way Frigg flinched, he figures he shouted that time.

Loki’s kids scramble to their feet, set the babies back on your bed, and run out the door before he’s realised he’s standing.

You’re cold.

For the first time in the entirety of your life together, you are cold.

“Say something,” he snaps, staring at your body.

A quiet gurgle bubbles from one of the twins’ throats.

“You.”

He knows there’s no point speaking to them. Alive for less than a day, and he’s talking like they understand.

“You killed my wife.”

The twins gaze up at him, red eyes having never shed a tear and blue skin free from any stain.

He just needed to hear it said aloud.

They’re at peace. They found immediate peace with their surroundings.

“You took everything.”

Red eyes blink, tiny blue mouths yawn.

“You took her life, so you could find peace,” he hisses, dropping to his knees. “You split her in two.”

Loki refuses to accept it, but it does make some semblance of sense.

They’re already split, divided in two since the day they were conceived, two different beings trying to fuse together into one.

A half-life thanks to him, further divided when one became two.

These twins needed you, they needed more than your body could provide—only one-fourth of their entire essence actually came from him.

That leaves you to give them every drop of living power your mortal existence could create. Every breath went to them.

Loki swallows thickly, tears freezing over on his skin and shattering with the movement of every muscle.

Every ounce of immortality you’d gained went to them.

He’d tried to extend your life and his children had taken it for themselves.

“You killed my wife,” he whispers again, dragging himself to heavy feet. “You killed my wife. You killed my wife.”

The door swings open and Thor rushes in, the tearstained faces of Elliot and Frigg not daring to peek past the doorway.

Thor stops in his tracks.

Standing over your dead body, his brother is practically chanting, a man possessed as he stares at the two newborn babies bundled on the bed beside you.

“You killed my wife. Y-you killed my wife. You killed my wife. You killed m—”

“Loki.”

His gaze snaps up to meet Thor’s, and a glint of metal in Loki’s hand makes the god lunge forward and tackle him to the ground.

“Let me—”

“NO,” Thor shouts, grabbing the knife from Loki’s hand and hurling it across the room. “You’re not in your right mind, DO NOT KILL THESE CHILDREN—”

“LET ME GO,” Loki nearly screams, thrashing under his grip, fingers scrabbling for his knife again. “LET ME GO, JUST—JUST—”

His voice cracks into incoherent sobs and Frigg runs away from the doorway, having seen and heard plenty.

“Just let me die,” Loki whispers hoarsely, giving one last attempt to throw Thor off of him before going limp on the ground. “I’ve tried so many times. That knife was for me. Just let me die.”

“No.” Thor’s breathing heavily, still pinning Loki’s arms to his sides.

“Please.”

“No,” he repeats, stronger this time. “You have four children who love you. Who need you. You have a kingdom that depends on you, that looks to you as their king.”

“I have no wife,” Loki rasps, starting to struggle again. “I have no love, no wife, no love left in my life—”

“Dad.”

It’s a small voice, timid but sure.

“Please stay.” Elliot crouches by his side, nodding at Thor to release his hold on him. “Now we...we don’t have a mother.”

Loki’s body falls slack, silence fills the room for a moment, then he dissolves into sobs.

Gut-wrenching, soul-crushing sobbing, messy and wet and Elliot grabs him, wrapping his arms around his neck and hugging him tighter than he’s ever been able to before.

“She gave me everything,” Loki chokes, clutching at his son’s shirt. “Everything I have, it’s her’s, I don’t—”

“It’s yours, dad, she gave it to you for a reason. Don’t throw us away. Please.”

“I won’t,” he promises, trying to convince himself, “I won’t.”

Several minutes pass locked in their embrace until Loki takes a shuddering breath and lets go, trying his best to compose himself.

“Don’t hide this,” Elliot whispers, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. “That’s too much to keep inside.”

Loki nods, gulping in air and shakily letting Thor help him to his feet. “F-Frigg?”

“Ran away when she saw the knife.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers in horror. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t—not them, no, no, me...”

Elliot gives him a sad, ready smile and shrugs. “Might want to tell her that.”

He nods furiously, taking a few unstable steps towards the bed. Next to your body, the two newborn twins are blinking, skin still glowing that bright blue.

And even still, through all that just happened, not a single tear has fallen from those crimson eyes.

They have you.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

hope you enjoyed, please reblog and feel free to send me ideas!

~ masterlist link in my bio ~

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424 @paradisaicsam @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas @doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettghost13 @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose @lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina @kcd15 @mellowgirl01 @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81 @lokixme @blue-automne @galaxycharmed @devilbat @kangaroobunny @end-up-well @planetariumx @sarcsep @mrfandomtastic @amaru163 @im-way-too-many-fandoms @caswinchester2000 @kybaeza @wester-than-west @vintagesunshinebitch @adefectivedetective @poetic-nikolai @moonduhsted @kerri-masson @iamverity @innaminitus @spnbarnes @narcissxblack @woohoney @anxiousamandapanda @padmeisgay @authordreaming13 @lokisironthrone @theunknowinglys @highfuncti0ningfangirl @epicfallenismine @stubby-toe-589331 @fandomnerdsarecool @retrofantasyland @arch-venus25 @forever-trapped-in-my-dreams @littleredstarfish @marshyrebelcloud @okie–loki @atterodominatus @stfxlou @pandacookieowo

#loki x reader #loki reader insert #loki imagine #dad!loki #loki angst #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki requests #loki drabbles

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raywritesthings · 5 years ago

Text

In the Dead of Night 7/9

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Nyssa al Ghul, Malcolm Merlyn, Thea Queen, Tommy Merlyn, John Diggle, Sara Lance, Maseo Yamshiro Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen (Eventual) Summary: Oliver Queen returns to Starling City after five years away, three years after Sara Lance was found and rescued by her mother. More troubling to him is Laurel’s abrupt and unexplained absence from the city for the same length of time that her sister’s been home. Three years into the past, Dinah Lance makes a terrible choice. *Can be read on my AO3 or FFN (links to both accounts are in bio)*

Present day

Laurel could feel nothing but shock for a moment. Ra’s was dead. Oliver had killed him. He had come to free her, and now was dying in her arms.

She ripped the covering from her head, pressing it to the wound that still bled. “No, no, no. Please, Ollie, you can’t go yet. Not yet,” she commanded. Her voice was steady, and there were no tears. She’d trained herself long ago not to shed them.

Her free hand traced along scars she’d never seen before, scars that had shocked even her when he had first removed his coat and shirt. What had he been through all this time, and why had it led him here to die?

There was a terrible scream in a voice she thought she had to be dreaming to hear. But Thea Queen burst through the ranks of silent League observers, throwing herself down by her brother’s other side.

“Ollie! No, no, Ollie!”

Laurel’s eyes caught additional movement as others hurried in. Tommy, his father dressed in a League uniform save the head covering, and a stranger with a gun.

“Laurel, oh my God, Laurel.” Tommy looked on her like she was a ghost. “What- What are you doing here? What the hell is going on?”

Behind him, she could spot another lurking, and Laurel’s eyes widened. Sara. What did she think she was doing here, after all these years? Did she even realize she was trying to hide behind the others now, and how futile that was?

The stranger holstered his sidearm and stepped forward. Laurel withdrew her knife. He held up both hands.

“Easy! I’m his bodyguard. I have some field medicine training.”

Warily, she lowered the knife and allowed him closer. He listened at Oliver’s mouth and checked his wrist.

“Breathing and we got a faint pulse. If I can stitch him up, we might get him to a hospital or a doctor of some kind down there.”

“He won’t last down the mountain. There’s only one thing that can save him,” Mr. Merlyn argued. “The Pit.”

“What Pit?” Thea practically wailed.

“The Lazarus Pit,” Laurel said. “How do you know about it?”

“Because he is Taer Saher,” Nyssa pronounced with venom. She was standing just by Laurel’s shoulder. “The Magician.”

Laurel’s eyes widened. The one Ra’s had once allowed to go free. She had known him all this time? What could have ever brought Mr. Merlyn to train with the League?

“Hello, Nyssa. You’ve grown since we last met. My condolences for your recent loss.”

“You cared nothing for my father. And here you return along with this- this usurper—”

“Careful how you speak of the new Ra’s al Ghul,” Mr. Merlyn warned, his tone going cold. “He won the challenge. Now it is the League’s responsibility to see him healed.”

Everything Nyssa had said about the Magician told Laurel she should not trust Tommy’s father any longer. But Oliver needed the Pit before it was too late and they lost his soul. She stood, hefting his limp form into her arms with only a little difficulty. She had plenty of strength, but he had clearly built up his own muscle since she had seen him last.

Laurel turned away from Nyssa’s betrayed look. “Sarab, inform the Priestess to prepare the Pit.”

Oliver’s old friend from Hong Kong nodded and departed from the main hall. Laurel began to walk after him, Thea and Tommy both tagging along at her sides while Oliver’s bodyguard stuck close behind. She could hear the rustle of Malcolm’s uniform nearby as well, and a final set of footsteps further back. Sara, again. Laurel grit her teeth and kept walking.

“I don’t understand. How is a Pit supposed to help Ollie?” Thea asked, her voice wavering badly.

“Nanda Parbat sits on the site of the Lazarus Pit, the waters of which have mystical properties. It can heal the worst of wounds,” Mr. Merlyn explained. “Your brother will be fine, Thea.”

“And what then?” The bodyguard asked.

“Laurel,” Tommy said, softer than the others. “Are you — you haven’t said much.”

“Our first priority is to keep Oliver alive,” she stated simply. It felt bizarre to watch Tommy Merlyn walk the halls of Nanda Parbat. She wondered if this was some fever dream, some last gasp of hope for a rescue that had turned nightmarish with Oliver’s injury.

The Priestess was ready when they arrived. Laurel checked a final time; Oliver was still breathing, and, though it was far too slow, a heartbeat was present. She bent over and lowered him into the waters.

“Whoa, whoa, he’s gonna drown!” Tommy exclaimed. His father held him back.

The Priestess paced along the other side of the Pit, murmuring her Arabic chants under her breath. After a tense few minutes, Oliver’s head broke the surface of the water as he coughed and gasped for air.

Laurel hauled him around by the shoulders, helping him to find the edge of the Pit so he could pull himself up onto the stone. Sarab approached with a towel.

“What’s going on?” Oliver rasped.

“You won, I think,” his bodyguard told him. “They let us use this hot spring to heal you.”

Oliver shivered in the cool air of the cavern. He wrapped the towel around himself tighter, but one hand snuck out to cup Laurel’s cheek. For some reason, she did not resist.

“Laurel.” There was far too much to decipher in his eyes. Too much she didn’t know how to feel about. He seemed to realize he wasn’t going to receive a response from her, and his eyes drifted over the rest of the group. He grimaced. “Tommy. Thea.”

“You have got so much explaining to do,” Thea informed him. Then she approached and hugged him. “I thought you were dead.”

“I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Like how we weren’t supposed to know you’re the Hood?” Tommy asked. Oliver tensed and looked up at him. “My dad told us.”

Oliver looked Mr. Merlyn up and down, taking in the League uniform, and he stood, moving Thea behind him. “You?”

“I’m afraid so, Oliver. Believe me, I was just as surprised as you are to realize the truth. But now there are decisions that have to be made,” Mr. Merlyn stated. “You have earned the right of becoming Ra’s al Ghul. I imagine that interferes with certain plans of yours.”

No one looked more surprised by this outcome than Oliver. Whatever had caused him to launch this challenge in the first place, he clearly hadn’t thought through all the unintended consequences. And Laurel knew she didn’t understand enough about the events that had led to so many from her old life turning up here to be of much use. Not yet, anyway.

“You’ll need to change before the ceremony,” she said. Laurel stood to leave, and Oliver was quick to follow her lead, Thea remaining plastered to his side.

The rest of the group parted as she walked through them to get to the corridors. Sara had kept her gaze lowered, and a fissure of irritation was starting to build in Laurel. She tried to focus on other things while she led them to an unoccupied room.

Oliver stood to become the new Ra’s, bypassing Nyssa’s inheritance. That wasn’t what anyone wanted, though, as far as she could tell. He could abdicate in favor of Nyssa — but then what did the Magician seem to have planned? Why did he and Oliver appear to have a history that went beyond their families knowing each other? And what had Tommy meant when he had called Oliver a Hood?

They all entered, and Laurel nodded over to a partition that Oliver could stand behind to change. Tommy led Thea over to sit on the bed. Mr. Merlyn hovered nearby with the bodyguard covering him, and Sara stood far back against a wall. The silence was tense and no one seemed to know how to break it.

Sarab arrived with ceremonial garb befitting the Demon Head and presented it. Oliver reached out, but stopped, staring at the man.

“Maseo?”

“Maseo is dead. My name is Sarab, and I have pledged my service to Ra’s.”

“Right.” Oliver looked from him to her, uncertainty in his eyes. Laurel stared back blankly. She had never known Sarab’s former name, even if she’d been aware of his connection to Oliver.

“Anybody else we know in the murder squad?” Tommy asked snidely.

Sarab faced her. “Blackbird, you should change your uniform for the ceremony as well.”

Laurel looked down at herself and noticed the blood staining the front of her uniform for the first time. She had lost her head covering somewhere along the way as well, and her hair, normally tied back, was escaping to fall down her back. In any case, it was far from the League’s standards.

“Of course.” She turned and made for the door.

“Laurel,” said Oliver, and she stopped and looked back. “Gather anything you need to take with you.”

She was really leaving. Or she would be. It was so close it seemed unreal, but her freedom had seemingly arrived. So much else with it, too.

She had never thought of much beyond her freedom. Where she would go, who would be in her life. The idea that those she’d known were aware of everything that had happened...why had they even come?

Her room was occupied when she entered it. Nyssa stood at the window.

“So. This is to be goodbye.”

“You hoped this day would come. You said so yourself,” Laurel reminded her. She walked to the side of her bed and picked up her jacket where it lay folded on the pillow. Nyssa must have gotten it out for her.

“Yes, once I succeeded my father.” Nyssa turned around to face her. “Your rescuer takes the Magician as his counsel.”

“I’m not sure what’s going on there.” Things had seemed uncomfortable between Oliver and Mr. Merlyn, but their families were old friends. They probably were talking over their options right now.

“Oliver can’t stay and be Ra’s. He has a family.” A family that had to be beside themselves seeing as how he’d nearly thrown his life away for her.

Nyssa approached her. “Then this goodbye will be a permanent one.”

“What do you mean?”

“If Oliver abdicates as you say, he will have to choose a successor. The Magician knows this.”

Laurel stared hard at her friend’s solemn expression. “Nyssa...what will happen to you?”

“What happens to any heir during regime change, I’m afraid.” Her friend and mentor’s look hardened. “Not that I will make it easy.”

---

Two years ago

As a year went by she was no longer the newest addition to the League. She had to wonder what made people so eager to join of their own will, but she kept those thoughts to herself. She was expected like the others to begin training the recruits, and was assigned a man renamed Sarab.

She led him to one of the many training rooms with its two racks of weapons, and like Nyssa had done, gestured to the one nearest to him.

“You will select a weapon, and then we will put your mastery of it to the test.” She walked to her own rack, then turned to see that their newest recruit had not moved. He was staring at her quizzically. “Sarab.”

“I know your face.”

She froze. “Excuse me?”

Sarab glanced around the room, then said in a hushed voice, “Your face. I have seen it. Before I came here, my wife and I knew a young man in Hong Kong. American, like you. He carried your picture.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Ollie. He was alive.

The instant after that realization came both a towering rage and a wave of relief that fought each other. He had lived, but he was why she was here. Not directly, no. But then, was blaming him absolving her family of their own crime?

Nyssa entered the room, and she shoved the mess of emotion Sarab’s words had caused her aside.

“Your weapon, Sarab.”

In her room that night, she tried to parse out her feelings. Anger, grief, hurt, concern, so many things she wasn’t used to processing so intensely. But Oliver had always done that to her.

She wanted to hate him, and a part of her did. All of this had happened because of his selfish decisions. But was it right to blame someone for the totally unforeseen and unintentional? Much as he’d wronged her, she doubted he would have ever wanted something like this to happen.

And what had to be happening to him? If Sarab had known him before fleeing to the League, what could have been so terrible in Hong Kong? If it was anything like this, she couldn’t remain that angry with him. No one deserved this kind of life, especially when they hadn’t chosen it.

He still carried her picture. Three years and he still had it. He didn’t have the right to have it, considering what he’d been doing when she gave it to him, but—

Did that mean he was sorry? Did that mean somehow he still…?

No. It was foolish to even let her mind go there. Oliver was God knew where if he was even still alive since Sarab saw him, and she was trapped with the League. The wonderful life she’d once envisioned for them had always been an impossible dream. Happy endings didn’t exist, not for the kind of person she had become.

At night she had dreams of trailing a target and striking the killing blow, only to turn them over and see Oliver’s lifeless face gazing unseeing up at her. Other times, the light would just be fading from his eyes as he whispered, “Who are you?”

She wasn’t sure she knew anymore.

---

Malcolm knew he had a very brief window of opportunity. Circumstances were changing. Just when his end goal had started to come within reach, he found himself presented with more than he could have ever dreamed of. But only if he could make the deal.

“Oliver, let’s talk.”

His rival from Christmas looked over the partition at him. “Okay. Why did you use the League uniform to become the Dark Archer?”

“Because I needed a way to confront the Hood. To make certain he wasn’t interfering with my plans.”

“Plans?” Tommy gave a humorless laugh. “Why do you have plans? What the hell is going on with either of you?”

Malcolm barely refrained from rolling his eyes at his son. He’d always known Tommy was weak, and that he clearly didn’t understand the situation was no surprise. “This doesn’t concern you, Tommy.”

“Uh, I think it does,” Thea Queen countered. Malcolm sighed. “Can we just back up for a minute? You joined a crazy league of killers when all of us were kids, Oliver came back from his island and decided he wanted to be a cray killer for some reason—”

“The Hood isn’t just about killing,” John Diggle spoke up.

The girl threw her hands up in the air. “Then what is it?”

“Robert’s legacy,” Malcolm said. He caught Oliver’s eye as the younger man emerged in the lush robes he’d been provided. “He did tell you the truth before he died.”

“Yes,” Oliver admitted.

“What truth?” Tommy asked.

“Our fathers weren’t the men we thought they were, Tommy. You can see that for yourself,” Oliver answered, never taking his eyes from Malcolm. “What my father didn’t get to tell me was who was in charge, and of what. Why did you write the list?”

Malcolm shook his head. “The list was an old idea, abandoned before you even set sail on that yacht. I’ve had much bigger plans for our city in the works.”

“Whatever it is, we’re not letting it happen,” John Diggle said, his hand hovering over his firearm.

“Then perhaps we can come to an arrangement. Oliver, you find yourself at the head of an enterprise you have no interest in running. Managing a business like this is my strength.”

Oliver studied him for a long moment. “You want to be the next Ra’s al Ghul.”

“What? Dad, no.” Tommy stood up. “Come on.”

“Don’t interfere, Tommy.”

“But you’re sick or not well or- or something!” His son gestured around the room. “Why would you want this?”

“Because with the League, I have the power to change the world. To make it a better place.” He looked into his son’s eyes. “The place your mother would have wanted.”

Tommy fell silent.

“Why should Ollie give it to you?”

He hadn’t forgotten Sara Lance’s presence, but he’d wondered if the young woman was even paying attention what with the conflict between her and her sister clearly weighing on her mind.

“Because if he does...I will ensure Walter’s safe return to his family.”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed, but Thea stood up, her fists clenched. “It was you? You had him abducted?”

“It was the only way to ensure your mother’s cooperation.”

“Cooperation in what?” Oliver demanded, though his voice was hardly louder than a murmur.

“An Undertaking.” He allowed himself to pace the room. “One that Robert hoped to stop all those years ago. The measures I have had to take in regards to your family have been regrettable — but it can all end here, if you give me the title of Ra’s.”

“Better idea,” said the bodyguard. “I shoot you here and we end your Undertaking ourselves.”

He smirked. “The men watching Walter were given specific instructions about what to do should I not contact them within a certain length of time upon leaving for this trip. I am the only one who can call them off. Kill me here, and he’ll be dead before you touch back down in the states.”

“Dad, listen to yourself!” Tommy begged. “This is blackmail!”

“No, it’s just good business.” His eyes never strayed from Oliver. “Do we have a deal?”

The door opened, revealing the man called Sarab once more. “The ceremony is ready, Ra’s.”

The group was shown back to the main hall, not that Malcolm needed a guide. Tommy was staying about as far away from him as possible, but what was important was Oliver. He could see the gears turning, contemplating his options. But there was only one option for someone like him. That was the problem when you allowed yourself to care about people; they became liabilities.

Oliver was led up to the dais and given the ring that signified the holder of the title of Ra’s al Ghul. The Priestess retreated, and Oliver turned to face the room. All members of the League kneeled in recognition of their new leader. As he was technically one of them no longer — for the moment — Malcolm remained standing. He wasn’t about to show weakness to his rival at this crucial point.

Near the back of the room, Malcolm noticed the arrival of Laurel Lance and Nyssa, who joined in the kneeling.

“Thank you,” Oliver said to the room. Malcolm tried not to sigh; the young man was in over his head. He was doing Oliver a favor taking this out of his hands. “My first act as Ra’s al Ghul is to call on the Blackbird.”

Laurel Lance stood and walked to the front of the room, removing her head covering in one motion. Gone were most of the traces of her innocent youth; he could see that clearly from where he stood. The planes of her face were sharper, thinner though not quite to the point of being sickly. Her eyes spoke of weariness, the kind that was set deep in a person. Malcolm had little doubt she would have lasted here much longer. Nanda Parbat was not for those who wished no longer to live.

She stepped onto the dais and kneeled in front of Oliver.

“What is your will, Ra’s?”

“You have served the League well these last three years. But I see your contract with the previous Demon Head as void upon his death. Therefore, I release you from your obligation to the League of Assassins.”

A shaky breath left her, and Laurel Lance rose onto her feet. And then, in an unexpected, almost jerky movement, she stepped forward and hugged him.

No one looked more surprised by it than Oliver, who took a moment to return it. Then his look changed. Malcolm caught the slightest movement of her lips by his ear. What was she planning?

Laurel Lance released Oliver and backed off of the dais. She remained standing there amongst the other League members rather than off to the side with her old friends and sister. Interesting.

Oliver kept his eyes locked with hers for a moment and then looked to the back of the room again. “Nyssa, come forward.”

Malcolm raised both eyebrows as the former Heir to the Demon approached, eyeing Oliver warily. She stepped onto the dais and bowed her head but did not kneel.

“You have served the League well, acting as trainer and second in command,” Oliver began. “And for that, I release you from its service.”

Nyssa’s head snapped up. “What?” She looked around at Laurel Lance, whose gaze was on the stone floor.

Using Oliver to get her friend to safety. Clever, he had to give her that.

“You would dare—”

“It is my will as Ra’s, Nyssa. You are dismissed from Nanda Parbat.”

Nyssa got up, eyes flashing, and stormed from the room. She never had learned to temper her passions. He would have had to teach her a lesson about that were she still in the service of the League. It would have been a good show of strength to any members who were not familiar with his time as one of the Horsemen of Ra’s. A pity, but Miss Lance had always been the clever one in Tommy’s social circle.

Oliver let out a breath and looked around the room again. His eyes landed on Malcolm.

“With that concluded, I choose to renounce my claim to the title of Ra’s al Ghul. I nominate the Magician in my place.”

All eyes turned to him. Malcolm allowed himself a smirk as he walked up onto the dais. Oliver had already removed the ring and set it in his palm.

“I am honored, Oliver. You will see Walter very soon,” he added in an undertone. Malcolm turned to face the crowd of assassins who still remained kneeling and then the small group by the wall.

Tommy was shaking his head slowly, like he was choosing to believe none of this was real. Were he stronger, Malcolm might ask him to remain and be his right hand the way Nyssa had been for her father. But Tommy was hardly a worthy heir to Merlyn Global, let alone the League of Assassins.

“Sarab,” he pronounced. “Escort the outsiders from the premises.”

His new subordinate moved to do just that, and Malcolm smiled. After years of planning, his vision for Starling City would not come to fruition.

But he had even bigger plans for the world.

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #arrow #green arrow #black canary #my writing #blackbird

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