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absolutely-olivegarden · 7 months ago

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Hi my name is Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair (that's how I got my name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Amy Lee (AN: if u don't know who she is get da hell out of here!). I'm not related to Gerard Way but I wish I was because he's a major fucking hottie. I'm a vampire but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin. I'm also a witch, and I go to a magic school called Hogwarts in England where I'm in the seventh year (I'm seventeen). I'm a goth (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hot Topic and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a black corset with matching lace around it and a black leather miniskirt, pink fishnets and black combat boots. I was wearing black lipstick, white foundation, black eyeliner and red eye shadow. I was walking outside Hogwarts. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of preps stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.

"Hey Ebony!" shouted a voice. I looked up. It was... Draco Malfoy!

"What's up Draco?" I asked.

"Nothing." he said shyly.

But then, I heard my friends call me and I had to go away.

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite shirt — sleeveless, white eyelet lace; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a parka.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.

It was to Forks that I now exiled myself— an action that I took with great horror. I detested Forks.

I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city.

"Bella," my mom said to me — the last of a thousand times — before I got on the plane. "You don't have to do this."

My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Of course she had Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still…

"I want to go," I lied. I'd always been a bad liar, but I'd been saying this lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now.

"Tell Charlie I said hi."

"I will."

"I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want — I'll come right back as soon as you need me."

But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.

"Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom."

She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane, and she was gone. It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I was a little worried about.

Charlie had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car.

But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie. Neither of us was what anyone would call verbose, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision — like my mother before me, I hadn't made a secret of my distaste for Forks.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen — just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.

Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off the plane.

"It's good to see you, Bells," he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied me. "You haven't changed much. How's Renée?"

"Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, Dad." I wasn't allowed to call him Charlie to his face. I had only a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington. My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," he announced when we were strapped in.

"What kind of car?" I was suspicious of the way he said "good car for you" as opposed to just "good car."

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indian reservation on the coast.

"No."

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted.

That would explain why I didn't remember him. I do a good job of blocking painful, unnecessary things from my memory.

"He's in a wheelchair now," Charlie continued when I didn't respond, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap."

"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.

"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine — it's only a few years old, really."

I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up that easily. "When did he buy it?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think."

"Did he buy it new?"

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties — or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly.

"Ch — Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic…"

"Really, Bella, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."

The thing, I thought to myself… it had possibilities — as a nickname, at the very least.

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on.

"Well, honey, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Charlie peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.

"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car."

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I inherited that from him. So I was looking straight ahead as I responded.

"That's really nice, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it." No need to add that my being happy in Forks is an impossibility. He didn't need to suffer along with me. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth —or engine.

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for Conversation. We stared out the windows in silence.

It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves. It was too green — an alien planet.

Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought withGHZGGRRGHRHGRHRGRHGGRRHRGHRGRGHGRGHRGRH

I don’t even know how to respond

#Olivegarden #Asks

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celcey · 2 years ago

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When The Sun Comes Out...

... the guns come out, and not the lethal kind.

Or: Gotham's having a carnival, and the Bats are out in full force to enjoy the summer fun investigate. If Tim and Jason happen to meet up, well that's just fine. Tim knows his crush is doomed, but it sure would help if he could stop walking into walls because Jason is too beautiful to exist.

For JayTim Week Day 2: Sun’s Out Guns Out | Carnival/Fair | Monsoon/Summer Storm

Read it on AO3 here.

Some general info that will be useful to know: the Neon Knights is a program Tim created as part of WE’s charity outreach that keeps teens and young adults out of gangs. Panda Red is a comic book tiktoker. He’s the guy with the mohawk who makes Batman skits.

Thank you very much to KNarisse for the beta!

Tim has a love/hate relationship with Jason’s wardrobe. On the one hand, Jason’s cut off tank top shows off his arms beautifully. On the other hand, Tim has nearly walked into a wall because he couldn’t stop staring at said arms. Twice.

He’s long since accepted that his doomed crush on Jason isn’t really going anywhere. It’s a part of life. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Tim Drake has a crush on Jason Todd. But he really needs to stop staring before Jason notices.

Some moron had the brilliant idea to bring a carnival to Gotham. It’s practically asking for a Joker attack, despite the extra security they’ve placed around his cell for the week of the fair. So the Bats have come out in force, ostensibly to investigate, but also to enjoy the fair. Tim has already gone through the financials with a fine tooth comb, and surprisingly there had been no connection to the Joker. He hadn’t found anything about the council member who suggested the carnival either. He’d even stopped by Robinson Park to ask Harley if she knew of any connections, and it had all turned up clean. So while technically they were there to investigate, Dick had declared it a family bonding experience.

They’d split off into various groups throughout the day, coming together and apart as they went about the fair. Tim had just gotten off the teacups ride, which Steph had flat out refused to ride again. She said all the spinning was “vomit inducing,” as if that wasn’t the entire point. Jason is walking by, so Tim falls into step beside him.

“Find anything?” Jason asks.

“Nothing in the manager’s office,” Tim reports. He had broken into it earlier with Dick. “It looks like this place might actually be legit.”

Jason lets out a low whistle. “That’d be a first for Gotham.”

“Tell me about it,” Tim says. “Where are you headed?”

“Nowhere in particular. I rode the coaster with Dickiebird and did the squirt guns with the demon brat, so I’m flexible.”

Tim is about to suggest they head to the bumper cars when one of the game barkers calls out “You, young gentleman with the white streak! You seem like a strong young fella! Care to test yourself in a true battle of strength?”

Jason turns to see a man dressed as a stereotypical carnie, down to the twirly mustache, calling him from a high striker game.

“Step right up, step right up! If you hit the bell, you win a prize!” The carnie calls.

Jason glances at Tim, who shrugs, and then steps up to the game.

“Only three dollars to play! If you make it past tough guy you win a prize! The higher the puck goes, the bigger the prize.”

Tim pulls out his wallet to pay before Jason can. There are benefits to being a multimillionaire.

The carnie takes the cash and hands Jason the mallet. “Win something nice for your fella,” he says with a wink.

“Oh, he’s not my–“ Tim starts to say.

“I definitely will,” Jason interrupts, smirking at him. Tim feels himself blush, and curses his pale skin.

Jason gives the mallet a few test swings to get a feel for it. Tim can’t help but notice how Jason’s muscles flex as he slams the hammer down onto the lever. The puck shoots up past wimpy man, through tough guy, and finally rings the bell up top.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have got a gen-u-ine strong man over here!” The barker crows, holding up Jason’s hand up in the air. A few people stop to look. Jason grins and flexes, showing off for the crowd.

Tim should avert his eyes. Jason wouldn’t want Tim staring at him like this. But… guh, muscles . Jason’s got guns, and they are his most lethal weapons.

“Pick out your prize!” The carnie says. “And make it good for your fella.”

“Oh I will,” Jason says, grinning smugly at Tim. He picks out a ginormous cherry red stuffed panda and hands it to him. Tim rolls his eyes, but he’s fighting back a smile. Jason throws an arm around his shoulders.

“You guys are so cute!” A teenage girl calls. Jason grins at her and Tim ducks his head, embarrassed. Jason leaves his arm there all the way to the bumper cars. Tim takes a two seater so his panda can ride with him.

It’s a warm, sunny day, so after bashing each other thoroughly on the bumper cars Tim buys them snow cones. Grape for Tim, strawberry for Jason. Jason tries to take his wallet out, but Tim beats him to it.

“You won me a panda, it’s the least I can do.”

“Technically you paid for the panda,” Jason points out.

“Yeah, but I probably couldn’t have won it on my own. You’re freakishly strong.”

Oh, great going Tim. Call the boy you like a freak, real smooth. But Jason just grins and flexes with the arm not holding the snow cone. They take a seat on a shady bench as they eat, chatting. It’s nice. Tim doesn’t often get to sit and talk to Jason like this. Usually when they’re together it’s purely about the mission.

When the snow cones are finished Jason gets up and throws them out, then returns to their seat. He stretches out, putting his arm around the back of the bench. It’s almost like he’s putting his arm around Tim.

“So, there anything else you wanna do?” He asks.

“No, I think I’ve seen pretty much everything. It’s not a huge carnival,” Tim replies.

“It’d be pretty nice if Gotham was able to have this without it turning into a fucking nightmare,” Jason comments idly. He’s started playing Tim’s hair. Tim tries to remember how to breathe.

“It would be nice,” he agrees. “Bruce came up with the security measures for Arkham himself, and Commissioner Gordon’s overseeing the implementation personally, so I think we’ve got a real shot.”

“It’s crazy how different things are. You know the last time Two Face broke out he couldn’t get his plans in motion because he couldn’t find enough men?”

“No kidding, really?” Tim had been in San Francisco during that particular breakout, so he hadn’t been involved.

“Yeah. No recent Blackgate breakouts, so all the old faces are in jail. And the Neon Knights are pretty damn effective at keeping people out of the lifestyle. It’s some damn good work you’re doing.” Tim lights up at the praise. Jason knows the best out of any of them what a program like Neon Knights needs to be, so to hear him praise it means a lot.

“I’ve actually been wondering if you’d look over a few proposals for me,” Tim asks. He had been wondering, but there had never been a right time to bring it up. Now is the perfect opportunity.

“Me? Why?” Jason sounds surprised.

“Because I haven’t been in their shoes. I was never a low income kid who turned to gangs for lack of better options. You were. That plus your night work gives you a really unique perspective that our other workers don’t have,” Tim explains.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess you’re right. Sure, I’ll take a look if you think it’ll help.” Jason seems pleased that Tim wants his expertise. He’s blushing slightly, and Tim can’t help the smile that breaks out across his face. Bashful is a good look on him. To be fair, everything is a good look on him, but Tim’s the one who put that look there.

“Is there anything you still want to do?” Tim asks Jason. “The only thing I haven’t done is the tunnel of love.”

“Oh, well we can’t have that. How can you have the true carnival experience if you haven’t gone through the tunnel of love?” Jason says.

“Well it’s not really the sort of thing you ride alone,” Tim snarks.

“Good thing you’re not alone then. You’ve got me and Panda Red over there.” Tim rolls his eyes, but obediently picks up his panda and follows Jason to the ride. Tim clambers on first, and Jason climbs in next to him. It’s a wide seat, but Jason sits close enough that their knees are knocking together, and he puts his arm around the back of the seat again.

Tim is not always the best at noticing relational cues, not when it comes to himself. But he’s a detective. He can pick up what Jason’s putting down. Or what he thinks Jason’s putting down. He decides to test his theory. He scoots closer to Jason, so that there’s no space between them, and tentatively rests his head on Jason’s shoulder. Jason wraps his arm more firmly around him, and Tim relaxes.

Okay, so they’re going there. This is a thing that is happening. Tim’s lifelong crush is maybe (probably?) reciprocated, and he can feel the firm weight of Jason’s muscle through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. His heart spends up and his palms are sweating, but he keeps his body relaxed. He doesn’t want to scare Jason off.

Jason’s hand moves from Tim’s shoulder to his hair, playing with the silky strands. It feels really nice, and he releases tension he didn’t realize he was holding, going boneless in Jason’s arms.

When they get off the ride, Jason keeps his arm around Tim. He keeps his arm around Tim when they run into Steph and Cass, both of whom are well aware of Tim’s crush on Jason and are having frantic but silent conversations about it with only their eyes and facial expressions. He keeps his arm around Tim when they split off from the girls to go order corndogs. He keeps his arm around Tim as they sit down and eat.

They’re walking aimlessly around the fair when Tim can’t take it any more. He pulls away, turning to face Jason properly.

“Jason. Is this… is this a thing? Between us?” He asks nervously.

“Depends. Do you want it to be?” Jason asks, faux casually.

The ball is in Tim’s court. He could lie and say he doesn’t care, say that he could go either way, put it on Jason to make things clear. Tim can lie to Batman, he can certainly handle not telling Jason the full truth. But that wouldn’t be fair to Jason, and it wouldn’t get him what he wants.

“Yeah,” he says. “I want it to be.”

“Good.” Jason grins, stretching his arms above his head. “It’s about time you caught on. I’ve been flexing all day, my arms are gonna be so sore tomorrow.”

“You’ve been doing that on purpose?!” Tim says indignantly.

“Since the first time I noticed you staring,” Jason grins, holding his arm up and flexing again. Tim is momentarily distracted by the display of strength, which only makes Jason more smug.

“I nearly walked into a wall because of you,” Tim grouses, but he’s fighting a smile.

“I noticed. But I wasn’t sure if you wanted more or if you just thought I was hot,” Jason shrugs, and Tim can see the insecurity he’s trying to hide.

“And you’re happy I want more? You’re interested in that?” Tim asks, because he has to be sure. Tim doesn’t usually get the things he wants, not like this.

“Yeah baby bird, I’m happy you want more. I want to give you more. I want this to be a thing.” Tim breaks into a thousand watt smile. He can’t help it. Jason Todd wants to date him. Actually for real date him. The boy he’s been half in love with for nearly half his life wants to date him. Tim’s not sure who’s smiling down on him today, but he’s sure it’s someone.

“I know you’re probably used to something fancier, but there’s a great chili dog cart on fifth that I really like. It’s not far from Robinson Park, there’s a really nice place to sit not too far away,” Jason offers.

“That’s by the good ice cream store, right? They do neapolitan there.” Tim says thoughtfully.

“You know my favorite ice cream flavor?” Jason asks, surprised.

“I… uh, yeah.” Tim says, bashful at being caught in his slightly stalkerish tendencies. “I pay attention, when it’s you.”

Jason breaks out into a grin. “Good to know. Guess I’ll have to catch up.”

“So it’s a date?” Tim asks.

“It’s a date.”

Tim is sure his cheeks are going to hurt from smiling later, but he doesn’t care. He takes Jason’s hand in his own, blushing slightly. Jason grins back at him, and together, they walk off into the sunset.

End Notes

Thanks so much for reading! Please do leave a reply in the notes telling me what you think, I’d love to hear from you.

#Celcey Writes #JayTim #TimJay #JayTim Week #JayTim Week 2022 #Tim Drake #Red Robin #Jason Todd #Red Hood #JayTimWeek2022 #JayTimWeek

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1kook · 4 years ago

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card swiped (4)

→ jeon jungkook x (f) reader

→ “I’ve known Jungkook was a virgin since he first tried to tell me he wasn’t,” you tell him, arms crossed over your chest. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows.” GENRE romance (romcom?), eventual smut, teensy angst WARNING mentions of a hand job, talk of virginity OTHER college crushes, volleyball player!jk, student council president!oc, idiots to lovers, besties to lovers, childhood friends au RATING m (18+) bc brief sex ment WC 1.6k

NOTES (!) sorry for taking so long to update </3 school be kicking my ass. anyway here they are! an idiot couple. lmk what u think!!

[ masterlist ]

In the past, whenever something had bothered you, the first person you ran to was Jungkook. Low grades, fights with your parents, boy drama— as your best friend and number one confidant, Jungkook was always your first choice. He was always willing to lend you a shoulder to cry on, even if that meant staining his white t-shirts with streaks of your mascara. He was always ready to go beat up a mean boy who had hurt your feelings during lunch, even if he’d miss his favorite special. And he was always down for some good old fashion i hate my parents ranting, even if he adored your parents. He was a great listener, an even better best friend, and had rightfully won you over from a very young age.

That being said, how were you supposed to talk to Jungkook about something that bothered you when that something was him?

You could easily tell any of your numerous girl friends, those of which would probably understand your predicament better than Jungkook or any man ever could. But after years of vehemently denying any notion of a romantic relationship between the two of you, you get the feeling your call for help will be met with more unimpressed glares than actual assistance. Besides, as much as you bring up Jungkook, none of them really know Jungkook to truly offer you any worthwhile advice.

Your next option: Kim Taehyung. Now, Kim Taehyung held a similar background as Jungkook (translation: he also went to the same high school as you). He knows both you and Jungkook—frankly, more than you’d like him to—so he would be able to dissect the issue easily and offer trustworthy advice. The problem with Kim Taehyung, however, is that aside from knowing you at your embarrassingly dorky teenage prime, he doesn’t know how to keep a secret. Anything he knows, Jungkook knows. So if you were to, hypothetically, ask Taehyung for advice on Jungkook, well. Chances are, you’d probably get a rather confused text from Jungkook two minutes later.

Which leaves you with one option— Park Jimin. There’s a reason Park Jimin isn’t your first option, and that reason presents itself now as you glare at him from across the empty room. For as long as you’ve been in university, Jimin has always lingered around the student council meetings, giving everyone he sees the prettiest, meanest stink-eye. You suspect it’s because he waits around for Min Yoongi, your Vice President (which isn’t an issue; Jungkook also frequents student council meetings while waiting for you), and doesn’t really care for anyone else. Your problem with Jimin doesn’t lie there but rather with the fact he’s adamant on taking up space and not lending so much as a finger to help.

Today he is sitting with his feet on the table, dirty volleyball bag tossed on the floor. He’s watched you for the last fifteen minutes wrestle with the broken copy machine and hasn’t said a word since. He pretends he doesn’t see you struggling, because if he does, he’d be obligated to help you.

To summarize, Park Jimin may be the fastest libero your university’s volleyball team has seen in years, but he’s a good-for-nothing bum everywhere else.

And despite all that, he’s your best choice. There’s no one quite as blunt and honest as Park Jimin. There’s no one in this world who truly doesn’t care enough about anyone’s problems to gossip about them as Park Jimin. You plop down beside him, rumpled papers in hand. Without warning, you jump straight into it. “Jungkook is going to take my virginity,” you announce, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. If any of your fellow student council members heard you, you’re certain you’d shrivel up and die.

Jimin hums. “That’s nice.” His eyes don’t leave his phone, thumb hovering over his screen. It’s a testament to how much he truly does not care. His extended silence plants a seed of doubt in you— was this the right person to tell? you begin to worry. But after a beat, Jimin’s thumb taps against his screen and he says, “Jungkook is a virgin.”

You clench your jaw. “I know.”

The thing about Jimin is, with the right wording, you can get him interested in something. Not interested enough to genuinely care, but interested enough to at least listen and offer his own piece of straightforward advice. His thumb comes to a standstill over his phone, eyes momentarily going blank. It’s a minute gesture, one that’s taken you four years of paying attention to catch. Just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone. “Really,” Jimin sighs, back to, you now realize, playing CandyCrush on his phone. “You’re gonna let a virgin take your virginity.”

Not a question, but you nod anyway. “Yup.”

There’s sweat building on the back of your neck, nerves at an all time high, but you’re trying to play it off. Just a little bit more and you know you’ll have caught him. Beside you, Jimin’s jaw twitches.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity of trying to act calm, Jimin clicks his phone off and turns to you. He’s as intimidating as ever, ash blonde hair pushed back today to reveal his forehead and dark eyes. “You’ve known Jungkook was a virgin this whole time?” he asks, has this calculating look in his eyes that makes you feel like you’re being questioned by an officer of the law and not the shortest person on the volleyball team.

With a practiced air of nonchalance, you shrug. “I have,” you confess, and it’s the truth.

While you may have been initially fooled that night two years ago, you weren’t that oblivious. Oh, you knew clear as day that Jeon Jungkook was still a virgin, just as well as you knew that he religiously washed his sheets every weekend or that he had a specific color coded system for his underwear drawer. Jungkook was a fool to try and lie to you, not only because you had found out, but because you had found out that very next morning.

It had been subtle. The night at the party, you had watched on with a throbbing heartache as some pretty girl led Jungkook up a set of stairs, had barely fought off a wave of emotion when he returned twenty minutes later, his hair a rumpled mess. “Did you… ?” you had mumbled, pressed closely against him by the back door. Your eyes had been glassy, from your emotions and from the drunken stupor you had gotten yourself into while he was away, wondering what he was doing. A sense of jealousy you would never admit to had curled around your heart. His hand had landed on your hip then. He smelled like flowers and vanilla, a smell unlike his own. Your heart clenched, hand mindlessly reaching up to cup his jaw, so drunk and heartbroken, you couldn’t stop yourself from trailing your fingers along his pretty cheekbones.

Jungkook had graced you with a simple nod, and then, “do you wanna leave now?”

You’d left, stumbling down Greek road on your way back to his dorm. Jungkook had held your hand the whole way, tucked you into his twin bed, and then promptly knocked out on the floor between his and Taehyung’s beds. The latter was nowhere to be found, wouldn’t appear until the next morning when he’d accidentally step on Jungkook’s ankle and wake both of you up.

Jungkook had yelped, and your eyes had fluttered open. You remember debating rolling over, checking on him like you wanted to, but Taehyung was already there doing just that. So you had laid still instead, listened as the two boys clattered around the room. They chatted mindlessly, about the party and tomorrow’s practice. Taehyung had been bragging about some girl he’d slept with last night. “What about you?” he had asked, and your breath caught in your throat. “Did you and…”—a pause, the distinct ruffle of fabric—“finally?”

“What— no,” Jungkook had said, and you felt the bed dip as he sat down on the edge beside you.

Taehyung pushed on with a snort. “Well, did you get lucky at all?”

Jungkook groaned, placed one warm hand on your back soothingly. You tried your best to level out your breathing, relaxed your facial expression as you clung to the sound of his voice. “Just a handjob. Some girl I didn’t even know. Does that count?” You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, felt it beneath your fingertips when you fisted the sheets.

And that curt admission sat in the back of your mind everyday for two years.

You turn to Jimin. “I’ve known Jungkook was a virgin since he first tried to tell me he wasn’t,” you tell him, arms crossed over your chest. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows.”

Jimin lets out a low whistle. “You’re smarter than I thought,” he grins, this conniving little smile that is a genuine cause for concern. “So you’re letting him think you don’t know?” You nod. Jimin’s smile grows. “My, my. If I had known you were this evil, maybe we would’ve hung out more.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not evil,” you insist, flicking him on the nose. Jimin huffs indignantly. “I think what he’s doing is sweet…” you confess, feel your entire body heat up as you recall that wide-eyed look Jungkook had given you just yesterday afternoon, your kiss print fresh on his cheek. “And, well,” you look down at your shoes. “I used to dream about him being my first.”

Jimin groans. “You two make me sick.”

#networkbangtan #kwritersworldnet #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts fic #bts smut #bts #jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jjk #mine

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iclaimedtobethebetterbard · 3 years ago

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oooooooooo 💖💖💖💖💖 lore please :DDD

im writing 1 new paragraph for each emoji!

aw heck yeah tyvm :D have a whole series of fun facts!

1: remus’s middle name is duke!

2: roman cries extremely quietly in almost every circumstance no matter how hard he is crying :) because if he made enough noise crying for his parents to notice, he would get yelled at :) and if he kept crying after getting yelled at he would be punished :)

3: virgil and his younger sister occasionally joke about both being trans!! kind of like “i stole ur gender in the womb” except not literally that bc they did not share a womb fjkldshfd. but u get the vibes. it’s very wholesome and silly and cute <33

4: vortex has been married for two years; he and his wife are expecting their first (probably only) kid. it will be a daughter, she will probably be named nancy, and the fic will absolutely not go on long enough in the timeline for this to be a thing that ever comes up, but im pretty sure she will turn out to have ice powers when she gets bigger. she will have very dark brown hair, and ice powers are pretty common, so the elsa comparisons will actually not be super frequent for her even though frozen probably does exist in this universe. the closest she might come to that is, like, vortex calling her his princess (which. he’s definitely the kind of dad who does that a lot) but that’s not even related to elsa, he just does that.

her parents also will very likely get divorced when she is 6-7, before she gets her powers, bc vortex is not a good husband—although he is an incredibly doting father, in a very toxically-masculine way. (and as a result of how much attention and love he lavishes on her, nancy will likely not realize what a shitty person her dad is until she is in her late teens; it’ll be one of those really yucky “oh this person was my childhood hero and i idolized them but it turns out they’re actually terrible” moments, poor kid, but it will likely spur some personal growth on her end and she winds up growing into a solidly decent person).

(this kid is almost certainly not even going to show up on the page at all, will probably still be a baby or at most a toddler by the time the fic is eventually over, and will likely only be referenced a time or two. and yet i know all this about her. yes i think about this fic way too much, why do you ask asdfhjksfglh)

5: remus wants to dye a white streak in his hair and get tattoos, but is specifically refraining from doing these things for a reason that i will not be disclosing at this time bc: spoilers. :) he also does not drink, smoke, vape, or use any substances, and is careful to stay within the bounds of the law, even down to things like jaywalking. all of these are also things he is careful to do for the same reason he has not dyed his hair or gotten tattoos. many of these are things he would not choose, or at the very least would not be nearly as strict with himself about, if this very specific reason did not exist. (have i been mysterious yet specific enough to make people intensely curious yet 😂)

[i’m finishing chapter 8 of if you're going my way, i'll go with you!]

#peregrin said a thing #peregrin plays a game #peregrin answers #floorgoblin #if you're going my way i'll go with you #iygmw lore

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whirlybirdwhat · 3 years ago

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Kid*Killer because my BOIS are immaculate as always. Also maybe a little... idk, ginseng? Maybe?

WOOOOOO OKAY, FINALLY FINISHED THIS! i assumed u met ginsan instead of ginseng, so thats what i went with.

so! two prompts. here's the kiddxkiller one, and i'll post another one with ginsan + @ u !!!

warning for udon prison arc spoilers

Killer wakes up with his mask off and his faced bared to the in-coming sunlight. There is a moment of panic, a moment of his eyes staring straight up, a moment of him thinking no helmet and danger, before he registers where he is.

The red wooden ceiling of the Victoria Punk’s captain’s cabin stares down at him, red drapes pulled across the rafters to provide a homier, closer, more comforting feel against the brass bolts and gildings that line every wall. The sunlight is from the porthole beside his bed – besides their bed – and his mask is not on his face because Kidd is Kidd and there is no one in the world he trusts more than his partner.

He turns softly in the blankets, feeling the white silk flutter over his shoulders as the ship sways from side to side. He should have gotten up hours ago, the sun rarely ever waking him but –

Now, he feels content to rest, to lay in the comfort of some place where his mask can come off because Kidd would never laugh at him.

“Fucking damnit!”

That isn’t to say that Killer would not laugh at him however. He looks up, over his shoulder, letting golden hair fall down to see where Kidd stands over his workbench, arm off and makeup unapplied.

(He’s just as bared as Killer is without his mask. Just as open. Just as vulnerable. It makes something warm inside Killer’s chest that he is the man to whom Kidd, Supernova and Captain of the bloodiest pirates on the sea, will show this too.)

“Kidd?” he calls out softly, and Kidd turns immediately, gold eyes flashing not in rage but in surprise.

“Ah – you’re up!”

“Kind of hard not to be with the racket you have going on.” Killer muses, allowing the blankets to pool around his waist as he’s gropes around for his shirt. “What are you working on?”

And here, Kidd blusters. It’s so odd – his captain, his partner is always loud and abrasive and stubborn. If he stumbles, only his crew survives to see it. Blood is trailing down his arms and onto his fingertips more often than not, and blood isn’t really a far-off answer when people ask what Kidd paints his nails with. Kidd isn’t the type to stammer, but the type to get what he wants.

Except for now, when he shifts in front of his workbench, bare faced and flushed, and blusters.

“Uh – I – Nothing! Just fingering out something with my arm –“

“Your arm?” Killer raises an eyebrow, an expression only Killer ever gets to see. “Your arm that you control through your devil fruit and is made of any scrap metal we can find?” Kidd has never hid a project from, except for –

Killer strides forward and peers around Kidd’s weight, even as Kidd’s one hand connects with his chest and pushes him away.

A small, barely perceptible gasp leaves his chest. “Oh.”

Oh.

On the workbench is Killer’s helmet, shining and glistening and freshly painted. The scratches are covered up, the holes re-sanded down, the entire thing waxed to perfection. Even the leather on the back has been shined and softened, the frayed straps adjusted.

There’s paint on the workbench. Shiner and wax bottled off to the side. When Killer tears his eyes away from the bench to land on Kidd, he can see the blue and white paint covering his nails, the way his shirt is greased, the way his eyes have that slightly off look they get when Kidd wakes up too early.

Oh.

“Kidd…” Killer whispers out softly as he steps forward to the bench, reaching for his helmet.

Kidd raises his hand to the back of his head, streaking his hair in paint. “I know you hadn’t had a lot of time to do up keep on it, and we probably won’t have time in the future now that we’re going after Kaido so I… thought I do this for you.” He shakes his head then, snatching the helmet off the table and shoving into Killer’s outstretched hands. “Asshole. Just. Try it on?”

Kidd is not looking at Killer. Oddly, it makes his heart warm.

He hasn’t put on his lipstick for the day, the lipstick that only Kidd ever gets to see, but he puts on the helmet anyway. It slides over his face, the familiar view unobstructed now that he has haki. His breath puffs out, and Kidd’s hand is there, adjusting the helmet till it settles more comfortably against Killer’s face.

Killer turns to the small mirror in their room, the perks of rooming with the captain. His breath catches slightly. He looks –

Looks –

He looks fierce. His hair spills over his back, his chest is warm and bare in the early morning light, and his pants flutter loose about his waist. Yet, despite the softness of how everything should be, the helmet curves and strikes out, a shield for Killer against the world. He smirks, though no one can see it, then smiles big and bright.

Kidd’s hand drifts up to Killer’s, barely a breath away, and it is Killer who closes the gap. He turns, hand connecting with Kidd’s painted one, and there is not even a moment before his helmeted head is tilted into Kidd’s.

Their foreheads touch, Kidd staring directly into Killer’s eyes, masked though they are, and Killer staring back.

“Thank you,” Killer murmurs, squeezing Kidd’s hand before he is pulling away. “I… Thank you,”

It reminds him of years ago, when they were young and scrappy without a ship to call their own, when Killer had hidden his face behind bangs, too afraid of judgement to part them. Until, of course, Kidd shoved a solid blue helmet into his hands, messily and unevenly painted, but with holes in all the right places and fabric from Kid’s own leather gloves cushioning the inside.

Killer had breathed out a thank you, then, words too weak for what this meant to him.

And – like before – Kidd responds in the same way.

“It’s nothing – you’re my partner, right? My first mate. You deserve this.”

And as Kidd turns away after squeezing Killer’s hand one last time, Killer finds that soft mornings like this, with hidden gifts and caring captains – they aren’t bad. Not bad at all.

He could use more of these too vulnerable, too sweet mornings.

(It’s morning, sunlight filtering in over Wano’s peaks, and Killer wakes not to silence but to laughter bubbling in the back of his throat unbidden. He bare and vulnerable, like he’s been for weeks, and it’s not fair it’s not because only Kidd was supposed to see this, not anyone else not –

He’s breathing fast and unsure and unsteady and the world is spinning and his palms are sweaty and there’s no familiar tightness around him only flowing fabric and bandages against his face and it’s so much, so much so much–

Something cool is shoved into his hands. Something metal, something blue and white and –

The world is moving to fast, but his hands move faster, shoving his helmet over his face. The world quiets. The sunlight dims. His breath slows. He’s…

“Okay?”

That’s Kidd. Kidd is here.

Killer gives a nod, not trusting himself to speak as he leans into Kidd’s side. The world is quiet and sweet and vulnerable, just them in this empty wasteland expanse, and it’s okay. He runs his hands over his helmet, scuffed and scratched but clearly cleaned the best Kidd could manage. He’s okay. He’s laughing, and Kidd will laugh with him, but he’s okay.

He’s okay.

Kidd leans further into Killer, a familiar weight as his voice mutters familiar words, only for Killer’s ears. “You’re my partner, right? My first mate. You didn’t deserve this.”

No one did. Not one person in this damn country.

Kidd slips his hand into Killer’s. “But thank you, Kil’.” His hair brushes up against the side of Killer’s helmet, his goggles dinging quiet against the metal. “Thank you.”

And maybe Killer didn’t deserve to laugh or be laughed at, but he’d give anything for his captain who would do anything for him so –

This quiet, vulnerable morning is okay after all.)

#one piece #op #whirlywhat #kidd #eustass kidd #killer #massacre soldier killer #whirlywrites #whirlyanswers #soft #light wano spoilers

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watermelonlipstick · 4 years ago

Text

Dreams, Chapter 7

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 7

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4184

Summary: Life moves toward normalcy for Sam and the reader, regardless of emotional turmoil.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w b u r n

A few days later the Kaisers came into the bar for a nightcap and asked you and Sam to come to their house for dinner. You couldn’t think of a reason not to, and honestly thought maybe it would be nice to have something to structure the week around. It had been quiet, just barely beneath solemn while the dust settled and Sam stayed mostly silent while you moved around each other throughout the day. At least at the Kaisers’ Sam would have to talk to you, maybe even sidle up close to you during waking hours to keep up the couples’ charade. A little zap of guilt moved through you as you politely agreed to a time, that the second thought you’d had was about getting closer to Sam under this guise. In any case, the Kaisers were kind, it wouldn’t hurt to have a nice meal with someone else, and if you were going to stay here, it would be a good idea to avoid appearing standoffish. You bought their last drink and were waving after them when Sam came upstairs from changing a keg.

“We’re going to the Kaisers’ for dinner tomorrow,” you offered, trying to keep your voice even and making a point of not staring at Sam too long. It was a challenge; since Sam had kissed you and even more since he’d divulged that longing was part of the tangle of emotions he was feeling, it was on your mind nearly constantly, adding a murky stripe to the ever-present grief.

“Oh, uh, okay.” Sam jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans like he didn’t know what to do with them. “What time?”

“They said 7:30. Don’t let me forget; I think we should bring a bottle of wine or something, so I can grab one tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that works.”

You wanted to drag out the conversation but couldn’t think of any way to that wasn’t cloying or desperate. If this (hopefully temporary) emotional distance was what Sam needed, it was unfair for you to try to take it from him. A quick nod and you returned to washing glasses.

The rest of the shift passed agonizingly slowly. Sam put on a podcast about Jonestown for the drive home.

You’d decided to walk over to the Kaisers’ with Sam the next day, bundled up on top of a presentable sweater that you hadn’t worn in a few years. Biting wind sliced through your jeans and seemed to creep into your coat even as you dug your chin inside the collar like a turtle, and when Sam noticed he threw an arm around you. His side blocked a bit of the wind and he rubbed your shoulder to warm it with friction. The impulse to curl up into his ribs was fierce, but you fought it down to wrap your forearms around the bottle of red wine that looked the fanciest of the midrange bottles at the grocery store. Where seconds before you had been wishing the walk were shorter, now you could’ve stayed out in the ice forever if it meant Sam would allow himself to be close to you again without being asleep. You’d made peace with the want, trying hard to decide that feeling crazy on top of your grief wasn’t helping anyone.

“Ready?” Sam asked with a tentative smile at the doorway. The Kaisers lived in a version of your cabin, in the sense that many of the houses in the area were log-hewn and rustic. However, they were clearly here to stay. Window flowerbeds filled with pinecones for the season and delicately carved shutters framed warm casts of light streaming onto the snow through gauzy ivory curtains, and their door opened to a tiny front porch where yours simply had a small ungraceful cement platform. For a moment, you thought about how comforting it would be to come back here at the end of a shift. It didn’t feel like somewhere as darling as this could have a half-broken boiler that rattled all day or plastic-coated countertops. This was a home and not a hideout.

You gave Sam what you hoped was a reassuring grin and watched as his long finger pressed an old-fashioned doorbell encased in wrought iron.

Mike answered the door. He had on a fuzzy pullover that made him look even more like a teddy bear than he normally did, nubbly wool spanning his belly like fur. He had the kind of rosy full-cheeked smile some jolly men combined with their booming voices to seem like the Ghost of Christmas Present, and a well-groomed beard with two starkly delineated streaks of gray-white dropping straight down from the corners of his mouth. From previous neighborly hugs, you knew he smelled like piney aftershave. He was a little taller than average, and built former-linebacker solid. You would’ve bet anything he was the perfect dad to call to help move you into a college apartment or scare an ex-boyfriend, and the thought of it made you cheerful and sad all at once. The hand not holding the doorknob had a pint of dark beer. “Great, you’re here! Babs, they’re here,” he added over his shoulder, gesturing an arm to welcome you into the home.

Sam waited for you to go first, shuffling his feet along the doormat in tandem with you as Mike closed the door. You followed Mike’s socked initiative and gently toed your boots off while you handed him the bottle of wine somewhat shyly. For all the years you’d been on your own, there was something so decidedly adult about bringing wine over to the dinner party of a middle-aged couple that felt like those first few meetings of your parents’ friends after college, when you’re not sure whether to call them by their first names or resign yourself to a life of Mr This and Mrs That. Mike seemed to pick up on it, thoughtfully appraising the bottle and squeezing your shoulder, humming about how you didn’t have to bring anything. He clapped Sam on the back and asked him how he was doing before teasing gently about how long his hair had gotten, and you took in the house.

It was bigger than the cabin you were staying in, the staircase to your left suggesting an upstairs that yours didn’t have, but what was far more striking was how warm it felt both in mood and literal temperature. A fire crackled straight through the main room in front of you, surrounded by giant river rock stonework that offset caramelly beige walls. A deep, plush canvas sofa faced the fireplace, flanked by two equally overstuffed armchairs upholstered with burnt sienna stained leather. Quick visual survey gave you a count of 4 throws in the room of various weights and patterns.

The kitchen was over to the right through the dining room. Barbie was wearing an apron covered in piglets and appeared to be basting something in the oven, turning toward you and absentmindedly wiping her hands. Fluffy, soft-looking hair was held back from her face with a pair of no-nonsense tortoiseshell barrettes. “Oh, perfect! I thought I hadn’t left enough time for the roast, but it looks about done. Can I get you two a drink?”

Sam’s soft, encouraging smile was enough to make you feel a little weak in the knees. “Sure! It smells great in here.”

“How about an old fashioned? We’ve been working through a great bottle of bourbon.”

“Works for me,” Sam agreed, and you nodded as well.

A few moments of small talk later, Sam offered to help Barbie with the food. She graciously accepted, giving him some job you knew she could’ve easily done herself as a way to make him feel more comfortable. Mike noticed you looking at the variety of pictures on the wall and started talking about their kids, putting names to each cheerful face. They were a good-looking family, the Kaisers, all big beaming smiles and limbs protectively wrapped around each other over the course of different seasons and major events. You’d had to let go of this idea years ago, long before Dean was gone, but it still made you ache in a nondescript way to see a family so happy and so each others’, not only in the way they loved but also in the way they so obviously belonged. Mike and Barbie were good people, and they deserved this. You tried to focus on the affection in Mike’s face as he talked, asking a few clarifying questions as he went. A few moments later, Sam came up behind you.

“Barbie says we should go sit down.” There was a pinkness to his cheeks and you couldn’t tell if it was the warmth of the kitchen or residual windburn from your walk over.

The table was one of those single-plank, live-edged ones you’d always coveted and knew were far more expensive than they looked. It fit the elevated rustic feel of the Kaisers’ house and the delicious, rib-sticking meal you were eating off of it. As you fawned over the roast and Barbie did the requisite Midwestern dance of ‘oh it’s nothing I’ll give you the recipe’ it was easy to fantasize about belonging somewhere like this, having parents like this, pictures of your cousins and nieces and nephews lining the walls of your childhood home. Indulgent, clearly, even more so than the rich food and smooth liquor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel guilty about it.

“So, have you two always worked in the bar industry? That always seemed so fun to me—but I’m too old to do anything like that now,” Barbie asked.

“Oh, come on, you’d be a great bartender,” Sam insisted, always coming down on the exact right spot between flattering and politely flirtatious. “But uh, no. This is the first bar I’ve worked in for more than a few weeks, actually.”

Mike raised his eyebrows in an indication to continue but Sam artfully avoided his gaze. You couldn’t tell what the cue was—how honest was Sam planning on being? An old classic, the technically-true, seemed like the best option. “I worked as a bartender through and a little bit after college.”

“Silly me, I guess I had always thought that’s how you two had met; you seem like such a good team there! How did you meet, then?”

You artfully popped an entire fingerling potato in your mouth to force Sam to take over. “Uh, our, ah, families were friends.” In the sense that Bobby had been like an uncle to you both, maybe. A complete non-answer that sort of encompassed the barebones of the situation if you squinted at it right, but neither Mike nor Barbie seemed to recognize the opacity of it.

“That’s great. I bet your parents were excited then, seeing you get together,” Mike suggested before taking a sip of bourbon. Both you and Sam smiled affirmatively—not together, many of those parents long dead before we had even met—and hoped the moment would pass. “How long has it been, then? Since you got together?”

That one you couldn’t even guess what the right pretend answer would be and prepared to joke ‘too long’ before Sam said, “About two years. We knew each other for a long time before that, though.” It made sense, as far as answers went. ‘About two years’ since Dean was gone, since your lives changed, but it still ripped through you like an electric shock and sent you reeling. You could have spent an hour looking at that statement from every angle but snapped out of it when Barbie gave you a basket of rolls to pass to Mike.

“So that explains why she doesn’t have a ring,” Mike winked, playfully knocking Sam’s arm with his fork still in his hand. “Two years isn’t that long.”

Two years is a lifetime. Sam blushed and looked down at his plate. “Be nice. Kids don’t get married at 20 like they used to,” Barbie teased from across the table, smirking at her husband with so much love behind her eyes. You couldn’t help but wonder if you would’ve looked at Dean like that across some dining room table if things had been different and your mind flashed on the kitchen counter a few nights before, silently clinking rocks glasses together over pie and wanting to hold Sam until the world got more fair.

The plates were cleared and an amazing, sticky bread pudding was brought out. Mike and Barbie coaxed each other into telling stories that made you genuinely belly laugh until finally you couldn’t suppress a tiny yawn and the final drink was poured with a joke about how it wasn’t like you were driving home, so what was the harm? You all moved to the living room in front of the fire, sitting next to Sam on the couch when Mike and Barbie took what must’ve been their normal spots in each armchair. Old cushions folded up around you comfortingly and rolled you slightly into Sam’s weight next to you, lining up the firm stretch of his thigh along yours. Warmth from the fire and Sam, the pleasant sounds of your hosts’ voices and Sam’s answers to them rumbling through you as vibrations when he spoke were so sweet and heavy under the bourbon, and your eyelids began to droop.

Sam’s hand gently covered your knee. “Ready to go?” he asked, low with a private smirk.

You made a conscious effort to sit up straight. “I’m so sorry, I can barely keep my eyes open! Where are my manners?”

Mike laughed a big belly laugh from his armchair. “Babs, we’re outlasting the bartenders!”

Everyone chuckled as you all got up from your chairs, Sam accepting a Tupperware of leftovers before the at-the-doorway conversation of people who didn’t want to go and hosts who didn’t want them to either. You’d been so nervous about the dinner and now you didn’t want to leave, honestly hadn’t really wanted to leave the sofa, just doze against Sam in the heat and company like a child. It had seemed before like maybe Mike and Barbie were just asking you for dinner because it was the thing to do, but they had been genuinely welcoming and you realized that these were the first non-hunter or hunting-related relationships you had made in literal years as you zipped your coat up all the way to the top and followed Sam outside into the quiet night.

“Man, they are really nice,” he remarked, walking closely enough next to you that your sleeves brushed together.

You could barely see his face when you looked up to him. “Yeah. We should have them over sometime.”

“Our place looks like a flop house.”

You giggled, the sound falling softly on the snow around you. “We can fix it up first.”

“No real point in fixing it up if we’re not staying here for a long time.”

“Maybe we could stay a while.”

Sam looked down at you, slowing to a stop even as the icy wind whipped around you. “You want to stay?”

“I mean, I—yeah, I think I do. Unless you think we should go somewhere else.”

“No, I just…I guess I hadn’t really considered it here, the whole “roots” thing.”

“It’s fucking freezing, can we talk at the cabin?”

Sam’s laugh rang out across the woodsy surroundings as he clapped an arm around you and shuffled you both home.

That night you tucked your cold toes between Sam’s flannel-clad legs and tried to imagine Dean as an old man.

If you’d thought December and January were bad, the intense cold snap of February sent you for a loop. Something about the months of darkness and frozen fingers was making you more stir crazy than normal; the idea of coming home to the cabin seeming less and less enticing as the days went on.

And then the boiler broke.

Well and truly broke, not just making the horrible clanging sounds it was prone to, but no heat at all. It had only been a couple weeks since going to dinner at the Kaisers’ and the experimental conversation with Sam about investing time into the cabin which had since fizzled out. A lack of heat at the border of the Upper Peninsula in winter was obviously untenable, and it forced the topic again as you grumpily helped carry in the remnants of another dead tree Sam had felled to heat the home with firewood.

“Is it worth fixing or is this a sign?” you huffed through the tiny clouds of steam coming out of your mouth. “How much would it cost?”

“I don’t have a ton of experience with boilers, but I’m pretty sure it’s the heat exchanger. And I have no idea how much it would cost to fix, but I can try to do it myself if the parts aren’t too much.” Pragmatic, genius Sam with the patience for machinery that you didn’t have. He snaked a long arm out from the bundle of wood he was carrying to open the door and hold it for you to scurry under his arm before closing it after both of you.

Generally, you thought a landlord would probably fix this kind of thing but it always felt a little scary asking him for anything, knowing you paid cash every month and the owner had never asked for a background check. It could have been fine, but every potential conflict seemed like it might be an opportunity to be unceremoniously evicted. Better to either leave before it could happen or solve the problem yourselves. You put a hand on Sam’s chest before he could go back for another bundle of wood. “Let’s talk about it for a second.”

Sam put his hands on his hips and it accentuated the broad span of his shoulders in his thick jacket. “Okay, right. What do you think?”

“Well, I mean, do you want to stay here? Or do you want to go somewhere else, or start moving again or something? We haven’t even really talked about it.”

He seemed to be weighing the options before biting his lip. “Here seems as good a place as any in a lot of ways, you know? Off the beaten path, probably not going to get spotted by anyone we know—knew—and the money is honest.”

You cut him off with a flippant wave of the hand. “Right, but I’m not talking strategically. Do you want to stay here? Do you like it here?”

A moment of silence fell as you searched his face for clues. “I—yeah, I do. I like being in the woods, I like the bar, I like people like the Kaisers and Steve and Jake. Maybe I’ll feel differently in the summer but right now I do.”

The grin cracked open your face slowly. “Good. I like it here too. Do you think the hardware store would have the stuff you need to fix it?”

“Definitely the first place I would check.”

After getting the rest of the wood inside and leaving it next to the small fire already burning to dry out, you started to follow Sam to the car before he turned around a step before the door. “Where are you going?” he asked as you almost bumped into him.

“Hardware store, I thought?”

“Nice try, we can’t both leave with a fire going.”

“Oh, I get it. So you get to go sit in the warm car and hang out in the warm hardware store while I turn into a popsicle over here.” You were half-joking, but it was genuinely freezing in the cabin, even with the fire going. Sam rolled his eyes over a smirk and strode around you, pushing the couch tight to the fireplace before retrieving the down comforter from the bed and throwing it on top. He grabbed a rinsed plastic bottle from the top of the recycling bin and filled it with water hot from the tap before throwing it in the microwave for a second.

“Unless you feel like learning a lot about boilers today, then yes.” He gingerly pulled the bottle out of the microwave and tightened the cap back on, deftly shifting it between hands before tossing it under the comforter on the sofa.

You were having a hard time holding onto your anger as you watched him make a cup of peppermint tea, still wearing his boots and coat as he moved around the tiny kitchen. Reluctantly, you shuffled over to the couch and removed only your boots and gloves before getting under the blankets, tucking your socked feet around the poor man’s hot water bottle and finally smiling only when Sam brought over the steaming mug of tea with more than a touch of affection under the exasperation coloring his face. “Fine?”

“Fine.”

When he came back, you were well into a worn paperback and had put two more logs on the fire already. “Do you need help?” you called over your shoulder from within the comforter cocoon.

“I think I’ve got it, thanks.” His words came into the room on a gust of cold air while he tapped snow off of his boots.

“Think you know what you’re doing?”

“Actually, yeah. The woman at the hardware store—you’d recognize her, Diane I think—knew a fair amount about it. I’m pretty sure I have it under control.” He brought a paper bag weighted with supplies over to the utility closet you knew held the boiler and got to work.

It was nice watching Sam in this element, always had been. As much as Dean had loved doing little projects and fixing things, both Winchesters were far handier than your average bear and Sam’s natural interest in learning lent itself well to tinkering with all kinds of things. Evidently boilers were not an exception. He shucked his coat off to lie flat on his back, looking up at something you couldn’t see with his hands gently resting on his ribcage before reaching to grab a wrench. The twisting motion raised his elbow and tugged his shirt a bit up his torso to reveal a few inches of Sam’s lower abdomen, the trail of hair tracing to his belt buckle in slightly sharper contrast to the taught skin around it given the consecutive months spent without sun. It made you blush and you quickly looked back to your book, grateful for the heat that the fireplace was bringing to your cheeks as cover.

About forty minutes later, Sam tapped your shoulder and startled you out of the goofy historical fiction of the paperback. “Wanna see if it works?”

He had a stripe of oil or something on his cheek but you resisted the impulse to swipe it off, instead nodding and extricating yourself from the heat of the blanket and couch around you. When you turned it on, the boiler clicked loudly twice in a way you thought might be a bad omen before going silent again. You let an extended beat pass and placed a palm on the side. It was already on the edge of being too hot to touch and you momentarily forgot that you and Sam had decidedly not been continuing your new normal level of comforting affection lately before throwing your arms up high around his neck excitedly. He chuckled into your ear and closed the embrace, forearms crossing your ribcage and hoisting you off the ground as he stood up in your hug. You could feel the fingers of one hand splayed out over your back and side through your jacket, the other still holding the wrench tightly.

“Okay, no promises it’s going to last, but I think that was it,” Sam offered as you released each other.

“Crank it! I want it to feel like the Caribbean in here.”

“You say that now, and in 3 hours you’re going to be whining about how hot you are,” Sam grinned, clearly feeling a little proud of himself even if he wouldn’t admit it. He tapped the wrench absentmindedly against his palm for a moment, considering whether he wanted to say something. “When I was at the hardware store she said our landlord might be open to cutting our rent if we offered to fix up the place.”

“Who’s we?” you teased, holding your frozen fingers close to the boiler like it was a campfire.

“I thought you might say that. But seriously, I know you don’t like the color of the walls or the shower pressure or whatever, could make it feel a little less…sterile.”

You tried not to remember that the last time you’d picked out paint was for a bright pink bedroom at age 12. Sam was right, it could be nice. Even more than that, it would be great to have some leftover cash around, and an extra project to kill a few hours of daylight wasn’t a bad idea.

“I kind of like the sound of that. I’ll talk to him about whether he’d be game.” Sam squeezed your shoulder before massaging your neck, admiring the boiler distractedly when you continued. “And seriously, thank you for fixing it.”

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 8

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arandompostarchive · 4 years ago

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SALEM - Prologue

SAVED FIC - CMZ

None of these works belong to me, they are saved works from a different account. Thank you.

Summary: In all the centuries of your existence, you had never been dragged out of hiding by another god, put in a superhero team and forced to save the universe. But it seems your luck has run out.

______________

You almost smiled as you were lead through town. The words “kill her” echoing in your head. The rope around you hands burned, and the straw of the cart below you was not a pleasant seat. But the smile never left your face. Not even for a minute.

Humans could be so… funny, sometimes.

Any other person would be petrified. The townspeople, even some you had considered friends, were chanting “witch” over and over again, until their voices seemed to blend together. Any other person would be scared about being executed for something they know to be impossible.

Any other person.

You smiled because they were right. You were a witch. Well, daughter of Nyx. Close enough.

You turned to one of the women next to you, a close friend of yours, Y/n. She had gotten tied up in your ‘court case’, standing up to defend you. Unfortunately, it seems to have backfired. You weren’t worried for you, Hades was a friend of your mother. You had nothing to worry about when it came to the afterlife. And Y/n was nothing but a good woman. As terrified of death as you were, there was no doubt the two of you would be staying in Elysium together for eternity.

“Good to see they finally got one, hm?” She seemed to appreciate the humour.

“Did they?” She turned to you. She had tear streaks down her face, her eyes puffy and red from the night she had obviously spent crying. You could hear her through the grates in the prison. You were sure she knew that, but she still acted as if she hadn’t stayed up until the early hours of the morning sobbing. And the more she sobbed, the more the reality of your situation set in.

Your mother had decided to stay with mortals for a few years before leaving you with your father, so the two of you were raised together. Y/n was everything to you. You loved her, and now you were certain you were both going to die. She’d never see the rest of human existence, not with you, not with anyone. It was obviously inevitable, but that didn’t make the shock of being burned alive go away.

A tear involuntarily fell down your face. You ignored it, putting on as strong a front as you could muster.

“Funny, they burn good women, and now they attempt to burn a demigod.”

You had tried to tell her about your… situation… when you were younger. She didn’t believe you at first, but with some small acts of magic and more interesting spells, she learned more about the existence of gods. Both Greek and (to your dismay) Norse. At first you wanted to share your gifts, help mortals advance. Your mother, and most of your godly siblings were rather divided when it came to offering assistance. So it was generally frowned upon, unless you were a god that needed to help them. Or hurt them, like your sisters Nemesis and the Moirai. Some of them even scared you with stories of gods and titans who thought the same way you did. And now, you finally see why.

“I suppose. So many good women burned. Good wives. And now us added to the pile. Seems our fate lies in the hands of the gods now.”

You looked around the cart. None of them deserved to die.

An older maid was staring quietly at the ground, praying. Another seemed to be a teenager, nervously glancing around at everyone else, stunned at the situation.The other two were about your age, whispering to each other words of encouragement, of hope. But the gods are crueler than you’d like to admit.

Y/n nudged your side, smiling softly. “Tell me we’ll be okay. That somehow we’ll get out of this.”

Your smile dropped. You swallowed.

“I… Y/n. You know there’s we can’t-”

“I know. But please.” Her eyes were brimming with tears again. “I just want to hear you say it.”

You nodded, a tear found its way down your face. In all the commotion, you had sort of forgotten this was goodbye.

“We’ll be okay.” It almost made you cringe.

“Again? Please?”

“We’ll be okay, Y/n/n. We’ll be okay.”

A shout interrupted you. A small plea that the cart driver had forgotten something and needed to return to the other side of town escaped your lips. No such luck.

“The guilty will step out, onto the grass.” A man opened the gate. He seemed mad, but his eyes held what looked like a flash of sympathy. Pity it wouldn’t help.

Your heels clicked against a stone, and you looked around. Mixed expressions. Some angry, some sad, some seemed almost confused. You reached behind you, offering your hand to Y/n. She took it. You were really going to miss her. Not that crying would help now.

You held on tight. She gripped your hand so harshly the skin of your palms turned white. The women before you had their turn, leaving behind ash and burned flesh. Y/n’s head fell onto your shoulder. You wondered how this would look to the gods who had faith in you. The ones that were entertained by you. Your mother would weep. She loved you with everything. It is not everyday she has a child, much less one with her abilities.

Y/n pressed her body closer and closer to you, melting into your side. You stroked her hair, calming her slightly. It wasn’t long before the two of you were up.

You made your way upto the charred wood as some villagers dumped more firewood onto the still hot cinders. They burned your shoes, the stench of burned rubber wafted up to your nose making you scrunch back. A still smoking shoe made you wonder if the smell was from a previous victim.

“Hey.” You turned. Well, as much as you could. One of the villagers— you thought he was a baker—was tying rope around you and Y/n. It scratched against your back, and splinters pricked through your dress.

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean for it to happen like this.” You gripped her hand, fire licking at your heels. Your grip tightened. So did hers.

“It’s not your fault.”

It tightened, and tightened, and tightened. Her screams, like the screams of the other, echoed through the hollow village After a while, her hand froze in place. Black scarring covered her hand and it felt hard as stone.

And you cried.

***

Learning to live on Earth as it advanced was a difficult transition to say the least. After your ‘death’, you took the position of another war god as well as a goddess of magic. You didn’t object in the slightest. Your magical abilities and fighting skills were far beyond the average, although you thought using magic on everyone you meet (besides helping every now and then) wasn’t exactly fair. Although you did meet a few worthy enemies, ones that required your magic use. That, was truly fun.

And now, you were free to live as a full god. With occasional nightmares. God status didn’t let you forget the more… human parts of you. So you went on living your life on Earth with people that were no longer your fellow humans. They were now, as Zeus so lovingly put it, “subjects to be toyed with”. Something you didn’t like, but so goes the life of an Olympian.

Several hundred years later you took on a new name, a new identity. Leave your mortal self completely behind you. Thanks to your status as a god, it was easy to find others like you that chose to stay on earth instead of Olympus or Asgard.

That’s how you met Thor, a fellow god and someone who had quite a lot of respect for your place as a greek war god. Typically Asgardians and Olympians weren’t the best of friends but, to both of your surprise, the two of you got along incredibly well, and through the years he helped you grow quite fond of Earth, or as he called it, “Midgard”.

You finally had a new life, a new name. Although Thor still referred to your Greek name every now and then, you thought it would be rather poetic to take Y/n’s.

You lived in peace. Making friends, watching them die, and eventually just having Thor by your side. It was years later, after Thor joined a new team, when Nick Fury first talked to you. He attempted to make it clear who was in charge, before you decided to whip out the fact that he was standing in front of a literal god. Of course, he’s Nick Fury. So he didn’t do much, although Thor vouched for the fact that you were no threat. Just a goddess trying to exist, even if you were a war goddess.

But, what’s better than one god on the Avenger’s team?

Two.

So (finally) Thor wore you down, and today. Today you were officially joining the Avengers with a rather appropriate moniker (in your opinion).

Salem.

#loki x reader #salem #fanfic #saved work

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xyliane · 4 years ago

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AUgust 7: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS 12 YEAR OLD

PROMPT THE SEVENTH: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS wait how can you childhood friends au killugon, I asked myself, forgetting that I had a whole-ass idea in my drafts already. this one’s a proper fic, too (minus editing cuz l o l it’s an AU writing challenge, not editing challenge). T, aged-up killugon, modern day au. ft ambiguous descriptions of social media, alluka, kalluto, and leorio in killua’s corner, and zushi and spinner in gon’s, brief discussion of getting plastered and dealing with a hangover. 5000 words.

0o0o0o0o0

The first sign that today is going to be an absolutely terrible day, is when Killua wakes up with a hangover.

This does not happen. Killua can count on one hand the number of times he’s gotten so drunk he’s had a hangover, and most of them are the fault of his little siblings. Little siblings who are now living together, whose couch he is currently painfully existing upon, half too hot and his toes way too cold. And the couch is too soft, an old secondhand thing he’d helped Alluka grapple up the stairs months ago after they found it outside an old dorm. He makes a notch in his very sore brain to blame the current situation on them. Kalluto might be kind enough to let a drunk big brother crash with them, but Alluka has a devious streak a mile wide.

Yeah. This is definitely their fault.

One eye slowly creaks open, surveying his surroundings through blurry vision. Nothing out of the ordinary here. He’s in the pajamas he’s left with Alluka forever ago, curled up under an old blanket he gave her for Nanika’s birthday. It’s covered in the Matrix code, all green letters on black wool. It barely covers him from chest to knees, which explains the cold toes.

Sunlight flickers through the curtains, cheerful and bright, and Killua pulls the blanket over his face. He’ll take cold toes over being blinded by his headache.

The second sign that today is going to be an absolutely terrible day, is when a noise like a chainsaw burrowing through a marshmallow erupts from his phone buzzing on the coffee table, just barely out of reach.

Killua attempts to bury himself under the blanket. He’s not dealing with work today.

And then he remembers: He doesn’t have work. Work can’t bother him today. Not just because it’s a weekend—work never respected the sanctity of weekends, no matter that he was at least partially in charge and used to have a fancy degree hanging on his wall. He doesn’t have work anymore. Killua quit.

Which, well. That explains the hangover.

He’s still blaming his siblings.

His phone buzzes loud enough to break the sound barrier, and Killua decides, fuck it. He doesn’t have anything to lose. If it’s the-place-formerly-known-as-work, he can delete everything. If it’s Mom or Father, he can definitely delete everything. And maybe it’s a friendly person, congratulating him on giving up a job that for anyone else would have been an absolute money-making dream. He’ll delete those too.

It takes a few tries to unlock his phone, and it unfortunately involves opening his eyes, squinting against the glaring light of the screen. But once he does, he frowns. Maybe he’s seeing double. Or a hundredfold. Because he should not have this many notifications.

awwww cute, i hope u 2 find each other! the top one says. It has several hundred likes. Why is it in his notifications?

Scrolling down reveals that it’s not an anomaly.

wtf man how can you find a TWELVE YEAR OLD from FIFTEEN YEARS AGO.

Me and my mom went on a cruise around there once, it was really pretty!

this is so sweet T__T maybe this is him?

And then another hundred photos of brown-skinned men with varying degrees of shirt-wearing, all black haired and most of them buff in very appealing ways and all of them beaming at Killua.

“What the fuck,” Killua croaks as he scrolls through all of the images and messages. Maybe this is a dream. A really weird, hangover-induced dream about how little of a social life he has, that his phone is possessed by someone else’s. A warning of sorts, that he should never have installed any social media on his phone ever, not even for hookups.

The reason for all the notifications lies at the top of his own page. Just a few sentences, all-caps, with an image of an old crinkled photo of two boys on a tropical beach, grinning at the camera. Killua sees himself, white curly hair flying in all directions and pale skin sunburned and ruddy with the briny wind, happier than Killua can ever remember being. Next to him, one arm slung around his shoulders and the other holding a bucket full of seashells, is a brown-skinned boy with freckles dancing across his nose and the tops of his shoulders, brown eyes wide and laughing and black hair thick and spiked from some mix of wind and seawater and natural gravity defiance.

He didn’t know he still had this photo. It had followed him from childhood all the way through grad school, a carefully guarded keepsake hidden away from the watchful eyes of his parents and Illumi, before ending up in a box or a bag at some point in the last few years. Part of Killua thought he’d lost it in the move. He barely remembers much about being twelve, about the cruise he’d been forcibly dragged on. But he remembers…

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY? yells the caption. WE WERE BEST FRIENDS FOR A WEEK WHEN I GOT DRAGGED ON A CRUISE BY MY ASSHOLE PARENTS. HE WAS 12 ON WHALE ISLAND 15 YEARS AGO. IF FOUND, DM IMMEDIATELY.

“Gon,” Killua breathes.

He gathers himself, wrapping the blanket around his head in a feeble protection against the morning, and lurches over to Alluka’s room.

He gets to bang on her door three times, confused spite winning out over his own pounding headache, before Kalluto appears out of their room, blinking blearily at Killua. “Shut up.”

Killua kicks Alluka’s door for good measure, and brandishes his phone in front of him like a weapon. “Not until you explain what the hell this is doing on the internet.”

Kalluto pales, then flushes, then pales again. “Oh. Um.”

At that, Alluka creaks her door open, guilty blue eyes far too awake for how close to noon it is. Killua kind of wants to kill her on principle alone. If he has to be hungover, so does everyone else.

“Explain,” he grinds out through his teeth.

The third and final sign that today is going to be an absolutely terrible day, is when Alluka puts on her most winning smile, the kind she uses to ward off angry customers and idiotic faux-academics on the internet. “Congratulations, Brother! I might have made you go viral.”

Killua throws his phone at her.

—————

Today’s going to be a good day, Gon decides. He’s been in the forests of East Gorteau for the better part of a month, which normally isn’t so bad. But this group has been…They’re nice enough, when Gon’s not spending half of his time explaining that, no, that species of plant does not make a good stew, and no, that species is endangered please don’t hunt them, and yes Gon is sure he doesn’t date his clients even after the hike, and no the reason the tent fell over again is because it wasn’t properly set up in the first place—

All of Aunt Mito’s complaints about tourists on Whale Island make so much more sense, now that Gon’s leading backwoods hikes.

But last night had been fun! Spinner had met the group at a pre-set campsite not far from their pickup so Gon hadn’t had to work the whole night, and he could relax with his friend over good food, more alcohol than he probably should have drunk, and not having to explain to Mrs. Yuldvin the difference between marijuana, buckeye, and poison oak again. Spinner had even taken care of the fire, although she had left him to rescue the Podomos siblings from the ruins of their tent with nothing more than a smirk and a wave. Nevertheless, Gon smiled through his headache all morning, because soon he’ll be home, and he can sleep.

Zushi is waiting in the parking lot once Gon’s done packing up the last of the gear and saying goodbye to Spinner, jeep idling while he flicks through his phone, thick eyebrows drawn together in increasing concern. He doesn’t even look up until Gon drops his pack onto the hood of the car, and he jolts so badly in surprise that he tosses his phone in the air.

“Are you okay?” Gon asks, and tries to peek at the screen.

Zushi pulls it up and away, a frantic look in his eyes. It won’t really keep Gon from seeing what’s happening, not if he wants to, but Zushi’s height is enough of a deterrent to make it hard. “You were gone way too long,” he says.

Gon leans against the hot metal of Zushi’s car. It wasn’t an unusual length for a trip, not really—this backcountry needs the length to be able to see and understand the region. Not to mention the Small Billed Swan preservation society keeping the whole place locked down except to authorized guides and trekkers. Zushi knows this. They’ve been roommates long enough that this isn’t even the longest time Gon’s been gone.

“You knew I’d be gone til today,” Gon says.

“Yeah, but…” Zushi’s eyebrows descend even further, scrunching his whole face up in worry. “You haven’t checked your phone, right?”

“No?” Even if he did have cell service, Gon never brings his own phone. He borrows Kite’s satellite phone, because it is more reliable and doesn’t need to be charged constantly.

“Okay. Well.” Zushi takes a deep breath, then another, one of Wing’s old meditation techniques. Despite his exhaustion and single-minded determination to sink into a real bed and sleep for a week, Gon feels a minor pang of worry. On breath three, he unlocks his phone and turns it towards Gon. “You’re a meme.”

On Zushi’s screen is a photo Gon can’t ever forget about. Backed by Whale Island’s sunbleached white beaches and the humid brilliant colors of summer, Gon sees himself—twelve, smiling from ear to ear, hair a mess from swimming and his shirt practically covered in sand from digging up all the seashells in his bucket. He’s got an arm around another boy, who’s caught mid-laugh so his blue eyes burn the same color as the sky, white curls even messier than Gon’s hair. They look like they’ve known each other their whole lives, like they’d still be best friends even if they haven’t seen or spoken to each other since the photo was taken.

Gon hopes Killua thinks so, too.

He cradles the phone in his hand, carefully zooming in on their faces and the errant crinkles visible through the photo. His own faded copy is in a drawer, having survived a whole trip around the world and countless apartment jumps. This one looks just as well cared for, in its own way.

“That…is you, right?” Zushi asks carefully. “Because Wing was asking, and half of Kite’s guide company is yelling about it on your social media page that you don’t even use, and now people are messaging me, and they’re saying the weirdest things, and the post is from last week, so—”

“It’s Killua,” Gon says. A smile spreads across his face, a mirror to the one he’d had when he was twelve. “That’s Killua!”

“Who?” the others ask, but Gon isn’t listening.

He spins, frantically searching his pockets for his phone. “Spinner, can you do me a favor?”

She narrows her eyes suspiciously.

Gon knew today was going to be a good day.

—————

It’s been a week, and Killua has quit all social media forever.

The steady buzz of his phone informing the apartment of his notifications is not his problem. Alluka’s the one who decided to hack into his phone and post something to his old public account, the one he mostly uses for photos of cats and complaining about terrible business precedents. He hasn’t posted much since school, and if anything, it should have simply vanished into the void of the internet.

He finds the culprit fairly quickly, and for once it’s not his sister’s moderate but dedicated video following.

“Old man, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Leorio lounges in Alluka and Kalluto’s living room, freshly out of his scrubs and looking pleased as all hell. “I just reblogged a fun post from my friend,” he says somewhat defensively. “You were a cute kid, Killua. What happened?”

Killua feels a growl creep up his throat. “You can’t just do that,” he snaps.

“It’s not my fault the people like my well-coiffed but rugged appearance and dedication to social justice in medicine.”

“You have 500,000 followers because you made a joke post two years ago, and some authorized user reblogged it five times. It has nothing to do with your ugly mug.” If Killua squints and plugs his ears, he can even see why people think Leorio’s attractive or whatever: tan skin, lean but strong as hell, actually takes care of his hair, not to mention a damn good doctor with one of the most prestigious institutions in Yorknew who spends most of his free time running health clinics in impoverished neighborhoods. That’s all swell. But then he starts talking, and Killua has no idea where the off button is.

Leorio spreads a hand out, gesturing vaguely with the glass of iced tea that he’d helped himself to out of Alluka’s stash. “It has everything to do with my ‘ugly mug,’” he says. “Which is why I used my powers for good and spread your post. Don’t you want to find him?”

“Not like this!”

“You were not going to find him at all,” Kalluto’s quiet voice pipes up from the kitchen. They have night classes tonight, but Killua has a feeling that even if they were supposed to be attending their Yorknew Uni lectures, they would still be here making Killua’s life worse. “You’ve had that picture for years, and you did not even try to look.”

Leorio gives him a judgmental look over the tops of his stupid tiny glasses. “You haven’t?”

It would be a losing game to bury his burning face in one of the throw pillows, so Killua does his best to cross his arms over his chest and glower instead. “I…tried.”

“And?”

“I don’t even know his last name!” Killua splutters. “I didn’t have his number or where he was from, other than his mom worked on the ship. And that cruiseline went bankrupt and liquidated everything before I could get out of the house, so I couldn’t even look that up.”

Kalluto crosses over from the kitchen and perches like a sweatshirt-wearing crow on the coffee table, their blue eyes carefully neutral under straight black bangs. “Alluka and Nanika would have helped. Or even Milluki, if you had explained the situation.”

“I was eighteen, okay? I just left home, and our parents were still being…shit, themselves, I guess.” He hadn’t even considered asking for help. Then again, he’d tried the moment he could, that first summer of undergrad where he didn’t have to come home and Illumi couldn’t spend half his time breathing down the back of Killua’s neck. He had a general idea of where they’d gone, maps of islands scurried away in the closet with the old photo and a bag full of seashells Gon had given him as a going-away present.

They’d been friends for a week, in the whirlwind way that only kids can be. The cruise ship was massive, and Killua’s parents were in meetings half the time and playing nice with the other rich people on board the other half. Killua had been bored witless, and Gon was everything he couldn’t have possibly imagined: encouraging Killua to go exploring, to stealing food from the kitchens, making him help clean up the decks, playing cards with the deckhands. Sneaking off the boat to visit an island without Killua’s parents while the ship was docked, scrambling over the burning hot sands and dashing through the jungle, diving into the waves fully clothed and competing to see who could find the biggest prettiest shells. Gon’d been Killua’s first friend, his first crush, his first…a lot of firsts.

Then the cruise had ended, and Killua forgot to give Gon his phone number. His address. Anything. They’d been so swept up in being friends, being best friends, it had seemed impossible that they would never see each other again.

Does Gon even remember? Why should he, when Killua hasn’t contacted him? Would they even be friends anymore?

Maybe he hadn’t searched hard enough. But part of Killua thinks he shouldn’t have tried at all.

The phone buzzes loudly, and Killua tries not to flinch.

“Hey, Killua. It’s okay.” Leorio leans forward, hands clasped over his too-long limbs and expression gentle. “If you want me to delete it, I will. Not sure I can help with the viral part of things, except maybe go through your messages and delete the gross ones, or at least find the weirdest ones for you to laugh at later.”

“Alluka and I have been doing this already,” Kalluto says, their posture a little too protective for Killua’s raw nerves at this point. “But perhaps you have some suggestions for what to do next, Dr. Paladiknight?”

Leorio smiles sympathetically. “Don’t read the comments? That said, most of your comments have been much more positive than anything I usually post. The masses seem to be genuinely rooting for you, kid.”

“I have only had to delete a dozen lewd messages for you this morning,” Kalluto adds, not mentioning the hundred or so that Alluka took care of yesterday.

Killua’s traitorous phone buzzes again, and that’s it. Time to bury himself in a pillow. Killua flops onto the couch, narrowly missing Leorio, and does his best to burrow into the cushions. “That’s just great,” he says into the fabric.

A comforting hand rubs against his hair, messing up the curls for a moment, and Killua refuses to admit that it’s nice, that he has friends like Leorio who even bother to care. “It could be worse. You could be dealing with this while still working a soul-sucking job making more money than most of us will see in our lifetimes, in exchange for giving up all of your morals.”

Killua groans loudly. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“You’re gonna need to do something, Killua! And hey, I might be able to set something up with my—”

“I already told you, no.”

“But it’s what you’re good at. And you wouldn’t be fucking people over to do it.”

“No.”

“Just listen for one—”

Killua lifts his head enough to glare as murderously as he can at Leorio. It must work at least a little, because the doctor shuts up.

Meanwhile, Kalluto is scrolling through Killua’s phone, poking at the screen occasionally. In the awkward silence, their sharp gasp is loud enough to shatter a window, and they hurriedly shove the phone in the pocket of their oversized sweatshirt.

Leorio raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

Kalluto squeezes their eyes shut for a moment, then carefully places the phone on the coffee table, screen pointed innocently at the ceiling. “You will want to look at this one, Brother.”

“This isn’t another erotic sandcastle is it?” he says.

Kalluto shakes their head, and Killua’s stomach lurches up his throat. Alluka has been the one excited about this whole thing. But Kalluto, as reserved as they are, is a massive romantic. The whole thing might be Alluka’s fault, but Killua knows it’s Kalluto who almost lets themselves believe it’ll work. Despite all of the false positives, the people who send messages that don’t sound right or photos that have the wrong smile.

Killua doesn’t want to hope. It can’t possibly be Gon. But his hands shake nonetheless as he unlocks his phone and finds a new message in his DMs.

It’s not from Gon.

Instead, someone with the icon of a small-billed white swan in a soft small-billed hat and a handle of @flymypretties has sent a photo of a brown-skinned man with spiky black hair absolutely covered in dirt and grime. He’s waving at the camera, a backpacking bag propped against his shoulder and the widest smile Killua has ever seen beaming straight through the screen and into his chest. Next to him and half out of frame, a tall tanned man with massive black eyebrows and a tank top showing off an impressive amount of muscle has his head in his hands. Killua feels a sharp stab of sympathy, somewhere buried beneath the racing of his heart.

look im sorry about this but this idiot can’t find his phone and we r kind of in the middle of nowhere so reception’s shit. he wants to know if you admit he found the biggest seashell on the beach, whatever that means.

For a long, long moment—seconds? minutes maybe?—Killua can do nothing but stare at the screen of his phone. Leorio and Kalluto both look at him with a mix of curiosity and worry, Kalluto starting to slowly reach for the phone.

In a completely childish protective moment, Killua grabs it against his chest, like the image will vanish if he doesn’t keep it close.

“Is it…?” Leorio asks.

Killua swallows heavily, trying to think around the roaring of the ocean in his ears. “I think so,” he says faintly.

Kalluto’s eyes widen, and they spin on their heels towards their room. “I’m calling Alluka!”

—————

“Has he responded?”

“No!”

“…what about now?”

Spinner throws her hands in the air so violently that her hat falls off. “For god’s sake, Gon, it’s been an hour, you don’t even have your phone, and you still need to go home.”

Gon huffs and pouts. They’re still in the parking lot over an hour after the rest of the trekking group has left, and all the exhaustion that had settled into Gon’s body from the tour has been turned into a jittery energy that keeps trying to leak out from under his skin. He wants to go home immediately and dig out his copy of the photo, rub out the old fingerprints he and Aunt Mito have left on it over the years. He wants to find his phone and message Killua directly. He wants to wait right here until Killua responds, no matter how long it takes.

He knows it’s childish, to be this selfish. Spinner has work to do, work that she already put on hold to help with the last day of the tour. Kite probably will want to know what’s happening, or at least why his lead guide and his chief guide organizer have been stuck in a parking lot. And Gon can practically feel Zushi’s obsessive scrolling through social media, frantically trying to navigate Gon’s feeds without actually having access.

Gon needs to find his phone.

“Spinner, what if—”

It’s not that Spinner’s a large woman. Out of the three people standing in the parking lot, Zushi’s far and away the strongest, even if he is about as threatening as a large, muscular teddy bear. And Gon has only packed on weight and muscle over his years of backpacking around the wilderness, no matter that he’s not super tall. But Spinner goes for longer, harder treks on her own than anyone but Kite, and she packs in her own climbing gear on top of that, so when she tosses Gon into the back of Zushi’s jeep, he flies.

“Zushi,” she says in a low exhausted snarl, and he jumps right off the hood of his car. Gon probably would have felt bad for him, if everything wasn’t spinning. “If you do not take your roommate home, I am not responsible for the consequences.”

“What if you hear back?” Gon groans around the aches in his side.

Spinner rolls her eyes, and Gon knows she’s just tired. “I’ll let you know.”

“But what if my phone’s gone? What will I do if someone stole it, or if I can’t—”

“I’ll call you go home already,” she says, and slams the door shut on his face.

For a long moment, the only sound is Spinner storming away, boots thudding heavily in the dirt until her car door slams.

The jeep shifts slightly as Zushi quietly lowers himself into the driver’s seat and puts the key into the ignition. Gon wants to tell him to follow Spinner, so she can yell out the window as soon as Killua gets back to her. But Zushi looks about ready to bolt. So Gon slumps back in the seat, the rumble of tires crunching through gravel making his already jittery nerves shake.

A small voice that sounds a lot like Kite tells Gon that it’s better to wait, that it will be easier to have a conversation and determine if this really is Killua after a rest and a shower.

Gon doesn’t want that, though. He wants…

It’s been a long time since he was on Whale Island. Longer still since he saw Killua. That doesn’t mean he stopped thinking about either of them, during the quiet moments out under the stars. They’re part of him, like his lungs are part of him—essential and irreplaceable, buried so far inside that removing them would change him irrevocably.

What is Killua like now? Is Gon just as important to him as he is to Gon? He has to be. Right?

They make it home without saying anything else. Gon floats in and out between bone-deep weariness and electric sparks of nervous joy, and Zushi flinches every time Gon jolts himself from one to the other.

“Hey, are you…I mean, maybe not okay, but.”

Gon lifts his chin up sharply at the sound of his roommate’s voice, and notices the familiar apartment complex in front of him. Oh, they’re home. “I’m good,” he says, and grins.

“Sure,” Zushi says like he doesn’t believe Gon.

A dubious silence stretches out between them as they gather the rest of the gear, dropping it in a heap on the sidewalk. “You were kids, though,” Zushi finally says.

Gon shrugs and slams the door shut hard enough to make the vehicle rattle. “I didn’t forget. So I don’t think Killua would, either.”

Zushi’s eyebrows wrinkle on each other, like they can’t decide whether to go up or down and settle on some combination of the two. “What if he did?”

“He didn’t,” Gon says, more sure of that than anything else in his life.

Zushi’s eyebrows dance again, but he doesn’t say anything else.

Between Gon’s camping gear and Zushi’s leftover practice pads, it takes longer than Gon’s excitement can take to get everything settled enough to look for his phone. Well, Gon would have liked to look for his phone, but Zushi makes a pointed look at the shower. There are only so many places the phone could be in the whole apartment, after all.

Gon’s just drying off when Zushi knocks on the door. “I found it, but it’s dead,” he says, voice muffled.

“Then charge it!” Gon shouts. After a moment, he adds, quieter and less snappishly, “Please?”

A faint laugh echoes through the apartment.

By the time Gon can make himself a very early dinner of whatever he could grab out of the cabinets without thinking, the phone is charged enough to turn on. Sure enough, there are a wide variety of messages, mostly from Kite’s groupchat asking about the viral post. A few are from former hikers, people who Gon liked enough to share contact info, offering to see if they can get in touch. There are even a few—okay, how did they get ahold of his old social media page? It’s practically defunct, since Gon’s never had a phone capable of more than the most basic apps. And those are…

It’s flattering in a way, but Gon’s not really into that. Or them.

Zushi catches sight of the grimace, and takes one look over Gon’s shoulder before turning beet red.

By the time he’s gone through and deleted the vast majority of what had been filling up his phone, there’s still no message from Spinner, and nothing at all from Killua. Gon sighs and lies his head down on the table with a heavy thunk.

The other chair scrapes heavily along the tiles as Zushi sits, a mug of coffee in his hands. “What will you do? When he messages you, I mean.”

When, not if, an unexpected certainty coming from Zushi. Gon has the best friends in the world. “Talk to him,” Gon says. “It’s only been fifteen years, right? We promised we’d be friends forever.”

“A lot changes in fifteen years,” Zushi says.

“Not that.”

“Then why didn’t you look for him?”

Gon frowns. It had taken a long, long time, but Aunt Mito managed to track down the cruise captain the last time they were in port, tracing through old charters until the right names came up. But when she’d called them up, she’d been met with stonewall after stonewall, pleasant-sounding voices insisting in no uncertain terms that she would never speak with a member of Killua’s family, let alone let her son speak to his friend. By the time Gon was old enough to look himself, he found nothing but a mansion full of people whose eyes matched Killua’s in everything except for his warmth, who refused to even acknowledge Gon’s presence except to throw him out.

That had been years ago. It’s not that Gon stopped looking. Not exactly.

“I did, but I—” Gon starts to say, but his phone buzzes violently against the table, and they both jump out of their chairs.

“Is it—?” Zushi asks, breath in his throat.

It’s a message from Spinner. you owe me big time, kid, she says, followed by a phone number.

Gon rips his phone off the cable, a wide smile spreading across his face. “It is,” he says, and dials Killua.

—————

bzz bzz—

bzz b—

“H-hello?”

“Killua! Hi!”

“…Gon? Is that—It’s really…?”

“Killua, it’s you, I thought I’d never—”

“I did find the biggest seashell, and you know it.”

A breath, sharp and astonished. “The blue and white one, with green lines.”

“I found it, and I gave it to you.”

“I still have it.”

A snort of amusement, slightly damp. “I know. You promised you’d keep it.”

“I did. And I promised—”

“That we’d be friends forever.”

A laugh, delighted and teary at the same time. “I knew you remembered.”

“I did promise you that I would.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

(AUgust prompts)

#AUgust2020 #hunter x hunter #hxh #killugon #gon freecss #killua zoldyck #alluka zoldyck #kalluto zoldyck #leorio paladiknight #zushi #spinner clow #gone viral au #fluff #and then killua visits gon and they get together and everything is lovely and killua finally takes leorio up on his offer the end #thanks tumblr for fucking up my tag for this whole challenge #my writing

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jenniferxprentiss · 4 years ago

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The Press of Your Lips Against Mine (Everything Is Going To Be Just Fine) -> 1/6

JJ/Hotch; read it on ao3 here

The first time Hotch lets himself kiss JJ, they’re in a small hospital room while Emily is being operated on. They’re both in her room, a small thing with only enough room to fit a hospital bed and a couple of chairs, JJ pacing the floor and wringing her hands. She was distraught, didn’t want to show her worry in front of the rest of the team that was waiting in the family room. Hotch stood, caught JJ by the arm and pulled her into him, let his lips press insistently into hers, surprised when she melted into his touch.

hihihi, im back at it again w the fluff and kiss fics because I am SO SOFT FOR THIS SHIT. idk, hope u all like it!

tagging people I think may like this? idk? love u all!! @heat-waveee @whiskey-fluent @ssaemilyprentits @f-m27 @garcias-batcave @anepiphany @davidrossi-ismydad && whoever else my jotch peeps are, lmk and I’ll tag u xo

——————

It felt like they had been waiting for days, time stretching and lines blurring in the sterile, white hospital room. In all reality, Emily had only been in surgery for around an hour, but JJ couldn’t seem to quell her nerves.

She couldn’t get the image of Emily’s lifeless form out of her head — the way her head lolled to the side when the gurney jolted, doctors running down the hallway and pushing her away, off to surgery.

With a shaky exhale, JJ stood again, unable to handle sitting down any longer. She was full of nervous energy, palms sweaty and body shaking, face soaked with tears that just kept silently falling. She tried to offer Hotch a small smile, something of solidarity and bravery, but her watery smile broke, eyes knitting together as her face crumpled again.

Damn it, she didn’t want to cry anymore.

The room was barely big enough for her to move around in, barely enough space to turn circles and pace, just enough room for the missing bed and two small chairs. She sighed, scrubbing her hand over her face as she studied Hotch.

He was perched on the edge of the hard plastic chair, elbows resting on his knees with a broken expression on his face. She knew he was taking this just as hard as she was — both of them overcome with so much guilt and devastation at the prospect of losing Emily, of having let Doyle win one last time.

“Jayje…” Hotch cleared his throat, sitting up a little taller and letting his hand graze the side of JJ’s arm. “Do you need some air?”

“No!”

Her response came quick, voice firm yet shaky, loud and a bit of something she didn’t entirely recognize in herself. JJ didn’t want to see the rest of the team — didn’t know if she had the strength to handle their questions and worry. She could barely keep herself together and functional, let alone the rest of the team.

“I’m sorry.” She stopped in front of Hotch, shooting him a watery half smile, unsure of what to say or do. “I don’t think I can. Face them, I mean. Not yet.”

Hotch nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. He knew it wasn’t entirely that, it was that JJ didn’t want to miss the call from witsec — didn’t want to be left out of the loop. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, couldn’t quite figure out the right words because truthfully, he didn’t know that everything would be okay.

He sat back in his chair, fingers tightly gripping his cell phone as they waited, JJ still pacing around the room and fiddling with her necklace. It was a locket, something small and silver and heart shaped that Hotch had recognized when she started playing with it, noticed the way it brought fresh waves of tears trickling down her face.

“This isn’t fair.” JJ’s voice was small, broken. There was a fear in her eyes and a shake in her voice, trying so desperately to stop crying, just for a minute.

Hotch shook his head, at a loss for words. It wasn’t fair that Doyle had done this, that Emily was fighting for her life on an operating table, that she was going to have to leave the only family she knew because of him, and the thought made his heart break and another wave of tears spring to his eyes.

“We’re going to have to tell the team.” His voice was solemn, face still as stoic as ever.

There was so much hanging in that statement, they both knew it. They were going to have to tell the team that Emily died, no matter the outcome, that Doyle had taken one of their own. They couldn’t celebrate if everything turned out okay — couldn’t rejoice and embrace and thank god that they had gotten to her on time.

“I don’t want to think about that.”

“I know.”

JJ continued to pace around the room, chewing absently on her fingernails. They were bitten down as far down into the nail bed as she could get, drawing blood with every nervous jerk of her hands. It was the only thing she could do to ground herself, to ease some of the nervous energy that the tiny, sterile hospital room seemed to only amplify with its crisp white walls and emptiness.

After what seemed like forever, there was a gentle knock on the door that echoed around the room, stopped JJ in her tracks and made Hotch sit up a little straighter in his seat. They stared at the doctor as he walked into the room, and JJ’s eyes immediately flickered down to the splatter of blood across the side of his scrubs.

“You’re here for Agent Prentiss?”

JJ found herself unable to move or think, eyes still laser focused on the splatter of blood and the gruff man’s voice. She was thankful when Hotch nodded, cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, eyes focused on the doctor with a small, polite half smile painted on his face.

“She’s stable, in recovery now. She lost a lot of blood and she’ll have a long road of physical therapy ahead of her… but she’s okay. We’ll bring her down here once she wakes up.”

Time felt like it was standing still, and JJ could barely recognize her own voice when she thanked the doctor. They were left in a tense, numb silence when the door clicked shut. The silence was truly deafening, JJ’s ears ringing as she felt an overwhelming sense of relief wash over her.

She staggered to the window, small and metal lined and barely big enough to see outside, but enough to ground her. Her fingers wrapped around the ledge, fingers shining with streaks of blood, her face crumpling as she tried so hard to stay composed. The relief and fear and guilt was too much, and she struggled to take a shuddering breath in, knowing that the sobs would follow.

Hotch was behind her, strong hand on her bicep, a feeling of comfort and strength and understanding. He knew how hard this was going to be for them — how much they were going to have to go through, unable to tell anyone else.

He pulled on her arm gently, pulled her towards him and brushed his thumb over the tears that continued to slip down her face — they had both been crying on and off since they found Emily. She let out a choked, strangled sob, one so full of relief and happiness, feeling her body melt into his, her hands grasping at his arms in an attempt to hold onto something real, something tangible.

She didn’t care that her fingers were staining the crisp white linen of Hotch’s dress shirt, didn’t care that she was leaning into his touch in a way she would never let herself for fear of breaking professionality. This was different, and nothing would be the same between them — between them and the team, for that matter.

“Jen…” His voice was watery, laced with unshed tears. “We’re going to be okay. Em is okay.”

JJ let her cheek lean into his hand, her fingers digging into his arms through the material of his shirt. There was a vague red flag thrown up in the back of her mind, that she shouldn’t be leaning into his touch or looking at his lips like that, but couldn’t bring herself to care. Not now, not with everything going on.

There was a tense silence for a moment, only the sounds of faint beeping from other rooms and JJ’s ragged, tear filled breathing between them. It was too silent, the room felt too suffocating, but they knew the moment they stepped out of there — stepped out of Emily’s hospital room — they would be planning a funeral for a friend they never lost, and Emily would be dead to the world.

In a brief moment of courage, Hotch felt himself lean down, lips brushing across JJ’s forehead before his eyes caught her lips. His free hand came to the back of her head, resting atop the tangled hair he found there, and pulled her into him, his lips covering hers in a gentle kiss.

She tasted of tears and the metallic tang of blood, her lips peeling and chapped, their lips fitting perfectly against each other’s. Hotch was surprised to feel JJ kissing back, fingers grasping at his biceps tightly.

After what felt like forever, they finally pulled apart, blushing and smiling shyly at each other. Hotch let out a breathy laugh, hand coming up to smooth out his hair before brushing the rest of the tears off of JJ’s face. There was no sense of awkwardness between them, as Hotch grabbed his suit jacket off of the chair and put it back on, JJ gazing at him with a small smirk playing on her lips.

It was better than tears, he reasoned to himself.

“We should go tell them… tell the team. Send them home before she’s out of recovery.”

His voice was firm, authoritative in a way that JJ appreciated in that moment. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to pull out the worst of the knots before grabbing a paper towel and wiping at her face, grimacing at the scratchy material. They were both stalling and she knew it — stalling because the moment they walked out of that room, things would never be the same.

Emily Prentiss was dead.

JJ felt a gentle hand on the small of her back, guiding her out of the room and down the hallway, felt the sting of fresh tears in her eyes as they rounded the corner into the family waiting area. The rest of the team was in a similar state of disarray — wringing their hands and pacing and crying — and JJ felt her stomach knot up in dread at the news they were about to deliver.

There was the gentle tickle of dancing fingers on the small of her back again, bringing a gentle smile to her lips. Hotch was there. He knew. They both knew. They were going to be okay — everything was going to be okay because they were okay, Emily was okay. The world was falling apart beneath them but there were few small points of solace she could find.

Emily Prentiss was dead to the world, but not to them.

#my writing #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #jotch #aaron hotchner #hotch #jj x hotch #sfw this time #another fic!#for u to enjoy!!#Happy Saturday!!

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dreambiome · 4 years ago

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hi! just letting u know i love your writing sm! & if ur requests are still open can i request a kuroo x reader where the reader is convinced they can’t be together due to her being manager or another team, but kuroo knows its actually her abandonment/commitment issues and doesn’t let her get away 👉🏻👈🏻 i just want/need angst injected into my bones

❝YOU WERE GOOD TO ME❞

⤷ summary: you’re convinced you and kuroo can’t be together because you’re nekoma’s manager

pairing: kuroo x reader

warnings: angst if you squint, fluff

word count: 1.6k

a/n: i hope you liked it, its not exactly what i imagined but yknow- but thank you for requesting and thank you i really appreciate your support 🥺🥺 <3

the echoes of the volleyballs bouncing around you fell deaf to your ears, the only indication of their presence was the vibrating wooden floor of the gym. your thoughts overpowered any other noise that surrounded you, so many thoughts in your head that you weren’t able to do the job you were assigned with three years ago.

managing the nekoma’s volleyball club was amazing, you loved the energy everyone brought and you love everyone- maybe you loved some more than others but they don’t need to know that, specifically kuroo. you knew he liked you, the countless attempts of flirting, light touches here and there and him walking you home from practice cause he wanted to make sure you were safe. as much as you liked him back you were scared, scared that you’d be left in the dust by him once he realized how insecure you were once it came to relationships. you knew he meant well but you just couldn't bring yourself to take him up on that offer of taking you to that new cafe that opened a few blocks away from the school.

a hand on your shoulder brought you out of your thoughts, the owner of the arm stared down at you, their golden eyes peering into yours with slight concern and annoyance. the white towel wrapped around their neck and a water bottle in their other hand.

“before you even say anything shut up.” you mumbled, causing kenma to shake his head and press his lips together, the blonde strips of hair stuck to his forehead from sweat. “i already know- i just. i can’t handle it, you know that.” the pudding haired boy nodded, his eyes moving to where his best friend stood across the gym, talking to lev and yaku, laughing.

the sound of his laugh made you close your eyes and take a deep breathe, standing up and grabbing the empty water bottles beside you on the bench, turning to look at kenma you sighed, “i’ll be back.” as you lifted the water bottles which you held tightly to your chest. as you were about to make it to the gym doors an arm slid in front of you, opening the door for you. you didn’t need to look to know who it was. you knew it was kuroo, the way his height towered over you and the way his cologne still lingered on his skin even after an hour's worth of practice.

“you looked like you might need some help,” he smirked, his other hand rubbing the towel he held against his neck. you muttered thanks as you walked out, him following you. the cool air refreshing against both of your skins, the gyms humid air had made your hair slightly frizzy and your face slightly sweaty.

“you know-” kuroo started, his body suddenly in front of you, stopping you from walking any further, unless you wanted to walk straight into his chest, which you debated on doing. “there's that new cafe that opened that i’ve been meaning to try, wanna be my taste tester partner?” his eyes looked down at you as he watched your face for a reaction.

you looked down at the water bottles in your hands, your heart beating rapidly was distracting you from getting the words out.

“kuroo... we can’t-”

kuroo cut you off with a sigh, “(y/n).” he grabbed your shoulder, his large hand pretty much covering your entire shoulder. “you think kenma doesn’t tell me what you guys talk about?”

you sighed, of course, kenma had told him. you weren’t as much surprised as you were annoyed- but you knew he meant well, just trying to help you.

kuroo squeezed your shoulder, your eyes meeting his, his eyes softening as he stared at you. “i’ve put up with you for three years babe, if i had gotten tired of you i wouldn't have recommended you as the team manager, or walk you home or yknow just be around you as much as i am.” he chuckled, watching as a small smile started to grow on your face but your eyes still held an indecisiveness look to them. he knew pretty much everything that had happened over the years that he’d been your friend, how whenever you’d lose someone you’d go quite longer than usual or how you’d zone out and think about what you could’ve done differently to have made them stay. he had paid attention to every little detail about you for the past three years, he knew you and about your abandonment issues, even if you didn’t think he did.

“(y/n), you gotta put a lil more faith in me, i ain't gonna leave you. i swear on that.”

you could feel your nose start tingling and your eyes start to blur, blinking the forming tears away but it only made them start to fall, leaving warm little streaks down your cheeks. kuroo moved the hand that was previously on your shoulder to your cheek, his thumb gently brushing the tears away, “hey hey hey don’t cry i-” your laugh cut him off, catching him by surprise.

“you’re too good to me, rou.”

he smiled at the nickname, him glad you’re not crying anymore despite some tears left on your lashes, clinging them together. “so are you just gonna stand here or are you gonna kiss me?” your eyes widened, another laugh escaped your mouth, “who said anything about kissing?”

“i did.” kuroo said, a smirk replacing his smile, his eyes back to shining with that mischievous gleam to them, the gleam that only made you like him even more.

you shook your head, laughing slightly as you moved away from him, going around him and walking towards where the water fountains were. the sound of his footsteps jogging after you made you smile, knowing he was right and that he would stick to his word of never leaving you.

it was silent between the two of you as you filled the water bottles, you handing them to kuroo when they’re filled, holding the full ones for you. his eyes never leaving your face, watching as you carefully put the lids back on the water bottles and handing them to him. his hand grabbing yours as he pulled you into him, the water bottles he was holding now on top of the water fountain. his big arms wrapping around you, his hands grabbing onto your arms, his chin rests on top of your head.

the sudden movement caused you to drop the empty water bottle, it making a small noise as it dropped and roll a little bit away. after realizing what was happening, you wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your face into his shoulder.

the two of you stood like that for a few moments, kuroo swaying you both as he held you, before he pulled away, his hands on your shoulders as he looked down at you, a slight smirk on his face. “so how about that kiss?”

you laughed, shaking your head but smiling. you knew he wouldn’t hurt you or leave you deep down but you couldn’t help but think otherwise, but he was right, he’d been your friend for three years so far, never leaving you and abandoning you. he’d been there for you when everyone else left you behind, he always cared and thought about you, putting your guys’ friendship before anything else, always making sure you were comfortable and included.

“shut up,” you mumble, your hands moving from his waist to his neck, your hands slightly gripping his hair at the back of his neck. his eyes widening slightly, the smirk dropping from his face.

“i- thank you kuroo.” his eyebrows furrowed, his head tilting slightly to the left as he peered down at you. your eyes looking down at where the empty water bottle lay on the ground, hiding the growing blush on your face from him.

“for what?”

“for being there for me when no one else was i guess, you’ve always been there for me and i just- i don’t know, just thank you.” you turned back to look at him, a slight blush covering his face as he smiled at you.

“anything for you babe,” he said, his heart so hard he was sure you were able to feel it throughout his body. his head felt light as you stared up at him, the blush forming on your face only caused his to darken.

you smiled, gripping the strands of his hair with one while the other held onto the back of his neck. you froze for a minute as you stared at his eyes, your heart racing as you tried to move your hands to pull him closer to you.

“always needing my help don’t ya,” he laughed, earning a slight hair tug from you, eliciting a small groan from him. your eyes widened, sputtering out an apology, kuroo shook his head before pulling you in, his lips finally meeting yours after what seems like years of waiting- which it kinda was.

your heart seemed to stop and as you felt his warm lips touch yours, slowly you kissed back, closing your eyes and pulling him even closer to you as you gripped his hair. it seemed like an eternity before you both pulled away, breathing heavily as you stared at each other, a small smile on your face while kuroo held his famous shit-eating grin.

“so does that mean you’ll finally go on a date with me”

“shut up….but yes, i will.”

#haikyuu #kuroo imagines #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro #hq #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #nekoma #kenma #hq x reader #haikyuu imagines #kuroo fluff #lil writes #lil asks #💌:inbox

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allegra-writes · 5 years ago

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Peter Parker NSFW Alphabet

Hi! Could I please please please get a cute and a NSFW alphabet with Peter? Thanks!💕

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He’s the most tender and thoughtful of lovers. He just loves to lay in bed with you in his arms for hours, just holding you close, and caressing your back or your arms or any part of your body he can reach, really. He could spend entire days and nights like that, just laying next to your naked form, tangling his finger with yours and talking. His pillow talk is the most interesting too, he can talk about everything from quantum physics and the intricacies of how gravity bends space-time to how Brussel’s sprouts are just basically fun sized cabbages.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He’s not one for vanity and he actually kinda doesn’t like how bulky he’s gotten since that spider bite years ago. But he likes that he it made him strong. He likes being strong to protect you, and even to help you with domestic, ordinary things, like moving your couch up four flight of stairs to your dorm room. And of course, he loves being strong enough be able to carry you and hold you up with just one arm without any effort, to fuck you standing up without needing a wall for support.

His favorite body part of yours are your legs and where they lead: he loves your feet, your calves, your strong thighs, your gorgeous butt and… well, you can guess. He loves having those legs around him, either while he pounds into you, or while he carries you swinging on his webs across New York, or making out with you sitting on the kitchen counter while he stands between them. He just loves how he fits perfectly there, like that’s where he belongs.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He loves to mark you, he loves physical manifestations of you being his. But he hates to hurt you, and he refuses to leave lasting marks like hickeys -that, admittedly, are pretty painful because of his super strength- and bruises on purpose, that’s just out of question for him.

So, the alternative he so creatively found, is to mark you with his come. He still loves to come inside you, but pulling out just in time and paint your chest, your belly or your butt in white ribbons just drives him crazy

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has heightened senses, and his sense of smell is no exception. He has an unconfirmed theory that he can perceive pheromones, at least on some level. Specifically, human pheromones. More specifically, yours.

He thinks that because your perfume drives him insane. Not like the bottled perfume you use when you guys go on dates, but your natural scent. It smells like home. It smells like mate.

It’s just so animalistic, so feral that he would never tell you, but sometimes, when you are away, he buries his face on your pillow or your clothes, and gets himself off like that, solely on the smell of you.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

While he is not underage, thank you very much, he is young. So he’s had some experience but not a lot.

However, he is a fast learner, and pleasuring you is a fascinating subject for him. He painstakingly catalogs and commits your reactions to memory, and quickly becomes an expert on you and what you like.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

As mentioned before, he loves having you wrapped around him, so the lotus, missionary, standing up or up against a wall, anything with a lot of skin on skin contact.

Positions like doggy style, the necklace of Venus, etc, just don’t feel close enough. He wants intimacy, he wants to look at you in the eyes when he makes you fall apart, he wants to bury himself deep into you, he wants as much of you as he can get.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Not as much goofy as he is playful; he likes to make you smile and he likes to have fun in bed, but it’s sex, it’s not stand up comedy.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He shaved everything off once. It was itchy and miserable and he’s NOT doing that again. Like, ever.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Peter Parker wears his heart on his sleeve. The bedroom is not exception. What he feels for you is deep, it’s fiery, it’s all consuming, and it translates into meaningful, intense sex. Even when he fucks you roughly it still is making love, because he loves you and he just can’t hide it or turn it off. Not that you would want him to, anyway.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

His sex drive is quite high, so he masturbates a couple times a day if you are not near or simply not in the mood.

K= Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Don’t let those big brown innocent eyes fool you, he is a kinky bastard.

In real life he respects -and actually loves- your independence, and how powerful and empowered you are. But in bed, his possessive streak is released. He loves to dominate you, call you his own, make you beg. More than once he webbed your hands to the headboard, or tied you up in beautiful, intricate kinbaku or shibari designs using his web.

He also has a huge praise kink, always telling you how beautiful you are, how good you are, how perfect for him. He calls you his Queen. And it goes both ways, because he is such a sucker for you telling him how great he is, how good he feels. It’s not exactly dirty talk, but it’s hot non the less.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

While any place he can get you alone is good enough for a hot make out session, for the actual sex he prefers the bedroom. Or anywhere in your apartment, as long as he can be sure you two are alone and not likely to get interrupted. He’s NOT into exhibitionism or public sex, he can’t stand the risk of someone walking in and accidentally see you like this. He respects you too much for that.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

You are his biggest turn on. Your body, the way you move, the helpless little moans you make when he hits that spot… yeah, he doesn’t need anything else to get him going.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He won’t ever endanger you or hurt you in anyway. He could never stand to cause you pain. So nothing like breath play, or spanking, etc. Even when he plays with ropes (or webs), he’s always making sure you are ok. Your safety is the most important thing for him.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He is a giver, his greatest pride is to make you fall apart. Add to that the way the taste of you drives him wild and, well… He could -and have- spend hours between your legs.

He is not as much into receiving it because he’s afraid of loosing control and hurt you by pounding into your mouth too roughly (sometimes having super strength can have disadvantages), but you will convince him of indulging in it every once in a while.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He can be both, it truly just depends on his mood at the moment.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He is more of a fan of long marathon sex sessions, he likes to be able to take his time and have his way with you as he pleases. But you both are busy individuals and sometimes, when you have been separated by long periods of time (Like, a week. Hey, it’s a long time for him!), His aching for you get to be too much, and he’ll take you anyway he can. At those times is urgent, and passionate, and frenzied and just so hot!

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He’s curious, definitely would try anything once, as long as it’s safe for you of course.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

There’s a reason he likes marathon sex, he has the stamina to go for hours, maybe even days. Anything shorter can appease him but won’t fully satiate his hunger for you.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He’s extremely creative and good at using everyday objects as toys. In his talented hands, an electric toothbrush or a snake venom extractor can become the perfect tool for the most exquisite torture.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He likes to tease you to the point of it being almost unbearable, until you are a moaning, begging mess. Then and only then will he give in to you. And to his own need, because the truth is he wants you just as badly and desperately, he just has slightly better control.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Peter is a very expressive guy, and it’s no different in bed. He makes the hottest (and horniest) faces during sex, and yes, the hottest sounds too. Starting with little moans and growls at the beginning, as his pleasure increases so does his volume. He can get very loud when he comes, and you always can tell when he is close because he swears a lot.

You love it, because it makes it so easy to know when he likes something, and makes you feel so powerful, even in your more submissive roll, to know it’s you the one that’s making him feel so good, the one he wants so badly that it almost physically hurts.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He is a great photographer, he has an aesthetic Instagram he is quite proud of. But by far his best work, at least according to him, is the huge collection of pictures he has of you.

Always analogic, he takes the time to develop the film himself, at home. And not just because of his love of old school photography, but because even if most of them are artistic close ups and compositions, some of them are just filthy and unadulterated porn. And in all of them you are very clearly naked.

And he’s a smart guy, he knows just how easily a device or system can be hacked, so there is no way he is taking any chances of exposing you like that by being dumb enough to have any image of you in digital format. No, that’s a show for his eyes only.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

The spider bite that gave him those drool worthy biceps and lickable abs, gave him… other… mouthwatering… assets. Impressive assets.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

To misquote Dr. Banner, that’s Peter’s secret: He always wants you.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s highly energetic so it takes a lot to wear him out. And I mean a lot. But afterwards, he has the most restful sleep, secure in the knowledge that the most important thing in the world to him, is protected and sleeping in his arms.

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker imagines #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker hot #tom holland hot #tom holland imagine

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shibalen · 4 years ago

Note

1/2! Hi! could I have a male romantic hq matchup if thats ok? w a dark box + a jewellery box pls! I'm 5'5, she/her w long dark brown hair w the front half of my right side dyed white, green eyes + tan skin! I'm super bubbly, loud, naturally v flirty + my love language is physical touch! I LOVE working out + I'm a HUGE foodie. I'm stubborn + impulsive, luv rain/storms, coffee + PDA. I'm emotional, confident, bold, giggly, energetic + observant! I ramble but I'm a gd listener + v playful!

2/2 im v playful + luv teasing! I'm spontaneous, optimistic, passionate + ambitious but I tend to overwork myself. I'm empathetic + love comforting others, it takes a lot to make me super angry too! I'm pretty straight forward - I try my best to be upfront about my feelings! I LOVE autumn/winter, cooking, BOBA + outdoors (but also love cosy nights at home) I really value honesty + loyalty. my ideal type is someone tall, protective + doesn't mind physical touch! (I also luv late night adventures)

Sorry I ran out of characters but I just wanted to say thank you so much in advance! I literally had notifications on so I didn't miss your matchups being open lmao <3 a nickname incase u need it is Ains btw!

♡︎ matchup for @hvnlydmn

hello, dear! aww, i'm so happy you think my matchups are something worth not missing. thank you for requesting, hopefully you enjoy this!

haikyuu: i match you with . . .

osamu miya !!

• under that calm exterior Osamu is competitive and has a small wild streak in him. you would do good in bringing out that side of him more often with your extroverted nature !!

• he finds your boldness and passion endearing and will help you keep your feet grounded in cases your impulsive tendancies might cause trouble for you.

• while your external demeanours differ, you hold the same core values which is incredibly important. like you, Osamu prefers being honest and will understand your point of view even though he might have a different opinion.

• that being said, you're both extremely patient and heated arguments take place only once in a blue moon. even then you manage to work out your differences quite fast.

• maybe it's because of your profile pic but i get the feeling you were a fan of Atsumu first, being part of the cheering squad in high school.

• you had no problem approaching either of the twins despite their popularity. they liked your confidence and energy so quickly accepted you.

• at first you wanted Osamu to help you get closer to Atsumu, but oops, along the way you two ended up falling for the other instead ! your personalities complimented each other, plus you had lots of common interests !

• i love how your first impression dynamic is the fun ray of sunshine x the quiet chill one even though y'all can be equally chaotic and observant ♡︎

• Osamu puts action over words and likes showing you his affection through small, casual touches as you go about your day. locking your fingers, putting his arm around your waist or shoulders, caresses of your cheek/head/hands.

• also, giving you massages after a tough day !! it's sweet and intimate while you can talk about anything and everything, or say nothing at all ♡( ◡‿◡ )

• insists being the one to brew you coffee. he knows his coffee is the best and it's what you deserve.

• playful teasing 23/7 (including snack breaks) just saying. having a brother like Atsumu has had its effects.

• Atsumu and you sometimes gang up and lovingly bully him. don't worry though, even against the two of you Samu can stand his ground (or be petty and give you a cold shoulder to tease you even more).

• though if someone else starts crossing the line while they're teasing you, Osamu will lowkey throw hands. he won't make a scene but anyone with the guts to brother you should be prepared to face pain the consequences.

• your dates often consist of visiting new restaurants/food booths, home-cooked dinner dates or picnics + hiking. sometimes he'll join working out with you.

❦︎ darkbox, timeskip

• it started with the little things: missed calls, skipped dinners, forgotten good-mornings. with Osamu busy with the restaurant and you having your hands full with your own job, your schedules only seemed to drift further apart.

• but then the words you exchanged irl became less frequent and finally the physical touch between you faded nearly into nonexistence because you hardly even saw each other.

• it was like a ticking time bomb. Osamu and you were aware of it but neither of you knew how to stop it.

• though you talked through messages and calls it just wasn't the same. stressed and worried, you did your best to remain calm, however this only made things worse.

• to you, it felt as though Osamu didn't care about your relationship anymore since he always looked and sounded the same, ever so nonchalant. yet in truth he was trying his hardest to look composed so you wouldn't worry.

• in the end, you both saw it best to take a 'break' until your careers became stable again. the saddest part: you did it for the other though neither of you wanted to.

• to forget your depression you became more involved in your work than before, up to the point of overworking yourself.

• meanwhile, Osamu, too, drowned himself in exhaustion. no matter how stoic he appeared it was clear he was all but focused. he kept wondering if you were okay, eating properly, getting enough sleep, or even if you wanted to start seeing someone else.

• worries if you'd rather have broken up with him for good because he wasn't good enough.

• thank goodness Atsumu, being the better and smarter twin™, called his brother out on his bs. too bad Osamu was a stubborn bastard and took forever to realise he loved you too much to be taking some 'pause' from you.

• his blood ran cold and his heart dropped to his stomach, however, when you weren't answering any calls or texts for days. you always answered him after a day at most.

• gosh, he was so anxious something had happened to you that he cancelled everything to rush to your place.

• it turned out you were taking a a week off from the world after too much work and getting sick. all well and good but the boy almost stumbled to his knees from the relief.

• instead, being himself, he just went: "stupid. ya really have a talent for getting yourself into situations like these."

• but thankfully you knew what he meant and how to comfort him. obviously you both fessed up that despite the problems you didn't want to be apart from each other again.

• from that incident onwards you agreed to always openly talk about your feelings. even if it meant being a little selfish, you knew the other would always be there for you ♡︎

𑁍 jewellery box

— favourite memory with you:

after a loss at an important game, you were the one to cheer him up. it was mid-autumn so the nature was filled with colours. you invited him out to rake leaves and jump into the heaps. Osamu thought it was ridiculous at first but couldn't help but smile at your sweet attempts to help him. you weren't together yet back then but it was definitely the moment he realised he felt something stronger for you than friendship ♡︎

— favourite activity to do together:

cooking and taste-testing! it's just so domestic. he gets to cook and spend quality time with you—what could be better? also, image standing in front of a stove, just cooking, when he comes up to you from behind, quietly wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles your neck.

— favourite place to kiss you:

your forehead and neck. he jokes you're too short for him to reach your lips when he actually just loves the intimacy of it, same with your neck.

— favourite nicknames to call you by:

short-stack, plum, Ains. just your own nickname or something silly/teasing. he doesn't think having a nickname is that important.

— favourite thing about you:

how empathetic and understanding you are. many have gotten the wrong impression of him of being aloof before, so he loves you for caring to look further than meets the eye. not only with him but everyone else as well.

runner up: Kotarō Bokuto

this is my first time writing the extra additions so feedback is warmly welcome. remember to take care ♡︎

#matchups #anime matchups #haikyuu #ains #len's matches

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daysswithyou · 5 years ago

Text

See you

Characters: Young K x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, Christmas themed!

Word count: 5.1k

Description: It's such a pity to part just like that, so I'll hope to see you again

Credits: @splendorten for giving me inspiration! And @hoodedsuns for the feedback! Also partially inspired by some events that happened to me this semester ^^

Prompt: Write something based on the last text you sent – was planning to meet a bunch of people after I got back from my trip to Japan and hence, “see you” :)

Author’s note: For the dearest @younghyuns-babygirl-24, (Belated) Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you! This is my fic – for you – for the Christmas fic gift exchange. As requested, Young K x reader with lotsa tooth-rotting fluff! XD I hope you enjoy this fic and in the new year, I wish you all the best in pursuing your dreams and let’s love the boys more together!!!

------

You don't fancy night flights. At all. Sitting in a cramp seat with little leg room for hours on end and waking up to sore shoulders and dry eyes was not the ideal way for you to spend the day leading up to Christmas. But...here you were anyways, trying your best to get comfortable in your seat with your bag nestled between your feet. You send one last selfie to your cousin as a rain check, letting her know that you’re safe on the flight, and that she should expect you in a few hours’ time.

You lift your eyes to observe the hustle and bustle of the aircraft as the crew gets the passengers ready for take-off; securing the overhead cabin, handing out hot towels and attending to the comfort of the passengers. You would have enjoyed this all a lot more if it wasn’t a night flight. You watch as an air steward makes his way down the aisle to do his final check, before stopping right beside you and addressing you fully in Korean. You gulp as he carries on talking, finding it hard to grasp a opportune timing to interject and let him know that you don’t understand a single thing he just said. You have zero knowledge on the Korean language and the best you could manage to convey your lack of understanding was to shake your head at the air steward.

Very slowly, you said, “Sorry, I don’t understand anything...”

You bow your head apologetically as a sheepish smile makes its way into your face and the air steward matches your equally puzzled expression as he sucks in a breath, a little lost as to how to proceed when he couldn’t communicate with you in a language that you understood. A few more moments lapse as both of you stare at one another, the silence now heavy and awkward.

Just then, a soft voice comes directly behind you and you feel your chair tilt backwards slightly, most likely being used by the person behind to hoist himself up. You cannot comprehend whatever the fellow passenger said (in Korean once again) but it must be good news to the steward as he immediately bows, a smile breaking out on his face, stepping back to invite the fellow passenger to take the spot beside him. You look up to observe the tall guy from your seat and you were met with pretty almond shaped eyes that were gazing down at you, the sides of his eyes crinkling slightly as the corners of his lips lift up; a small smile as a greeting.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me interjecting but I’m here to help as a translator since I assume you don’t speak Korean and the air steward is having a hard time explaining due to the language barrier. May I?”

“Please do, and thank you.”

After listening to the air steward for a short while, the mysterious male breaks out into a smile as you continue watching both of them in bated breath; did you do something wrong? Were you about to be kicked off the flight?

Your fellow passenger turns his attention towards you now, a warm smile lighting up on his face as he rests his clasped hands on the seat in front of you.

“Miss, there’s nothing to worry about. He just needs you to place your bag in the overhead compartment for the take-off.”

“Oh… oh! Right, of course.”

You scramble to unbuckle your seat belt so that you could stand to place your bag in the overhead compartment, not wanting to bother the air steward and your fellow passenger any longer. Yet, he immediately reaches out for you with his hands, keeping you in your seat as you lift your eyes from the dull grey of the seat buckle to meet his chocolate brown eyes again.

“I’ll help you, since I’m already standing.”

He gently extricates your bag from its place near your foot before placing it carefully into the overhead compartment, shutting it gently with a click.

“Enjoy your flight!”

“You too.”

Your eyes follow him as he makes his way back, and you stay staring at him for a couple of seconds more as he settles back into his seat, your breath catching in your throat as you contemplate getting his name so that you can thank him properly. But your shy nature eventually wins over and you shut your mouth tightly, turning back to face the unlit black screen of the in-flight entertainment system. The screen lighting up to life pushes the last lingering thoughts of the helpful and friendly passenger out of your mind, bringing your attention back to the safety video currently playing on the small screen.

---

You wake up just in time to see the hazy orange cabin light up brightly with white lights as the captain makes the landing announcement and you see the same air steward walk down your aisle again to do a safety check. When you catch his eye, you bow your head slightly, your face heating up slightly from the embarrassment just a few hours ago. The landing and disembarking proceeds smoothly and on your way out of the aircraft, you get your first good glimpse at Seoul. The sun is shining brightly onto the grey concrete tarmac of the airport runway and staff continue to rush around to ensure a smooth flight – even more during the holiday season. Despite the early morning, the sun never misses its shift and continues to shine its radiant rays onto Earth, warming the cold Seoul in winter just slightly. The streaks of sunlight are so brightly that even through the tinted windows, you were forced to squint your eyes to protect your eyes from the glare, and you eventually had to rip your eyes away from the sun, white spots dotting your vision now.

Soon, you found yourself walking past the glass walls of Incheon Airport’s arrival gates and very quietly, you whispered to yourself – “Welcome to Seoul Y/N.”

Eyes glued to your phone screen and luggage in tow, you hadn’t realised that you had walked into someone, rising your head to quickly apologise – but – you didn’t have time to get a word in before the person you bumped into immediately started selling his taxi services to you. You shook your head politely to decline but let’s just say that he was rather… persistent… You were almost about to give up and just follow him but a presence stepping up to stand beside you stopped you in your tracks, your focus now on the newcomer.

It’s him again.

After another round of fluent Korean, the taxi driver finally got the hint to back off and he immediately turned his attention to the next potential customer, leaving you to deal with the friendly stranger from the flight once again.

“You weren’t really about to take the taxi, were you?”

An embarrassed smile shows on your face for him to see in plain sight as you shake your head at yourself, finding it hard to meet his eyes.

“I really was. If you had came a moment later, I would be on the taxi now.”, you said as you jabbed a thumb towards the black sedan parked just a few metres away.

“It’s really expensive if you take a taxi from the airport to the city. I know a cheaper way and I could guide you if you’d like me to. Where are you headed for?”

“Myeongdong!”

“Oh! What a nice coincidence, I’m headed there too. Here, I’ll lead the way but, ladies first.”

With an open palm, he gestured to the escalator on his right. With a soft smile and slight bow of your head, you took a step in that direction and he soon fell into a comfortable pace beside you, initiating conversation again.

“I still haven’t gotten your name yet.”

“Y/N, it’s Y/N. What’s yours?”

“Younghyun or Brian – I’m fine with both so take your pick.”

“Well then, Younghyun, thank you for helping me out. Twice.”

“No problem! First time in Seoul Y/N?”

“Yup, here since my cousin recently moved with her family and as part of her housewarming plus annual family Christmas gathering, she invited the entire family over to celebrate.”

“You came during the right season – every city always seems more magical in winter, and especially so during Christmas. Puts everyone in a good mood, mostly.”

“I agree with you on that.”

Eyes glancing down, Younghyun catches sight of both yours and his luggage and he chuckles, catching your attention.

“What’s so funny?”

“I just realise that we have the exact same luggage, it’ll be really funny if we mix them up later.”

Swatting your hands in front of your face, you make a face as you exclaim, “Nah we won’t, let’s not jinx ourselves!”

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

Younghyun pats his cheeks as a “punishment” and you have to stifle your laughter behind your palm because that was such an adorable sight to see. Both of you continued your walk and even during your short walk to the airport express, you could already feel the Christmas vibes. Christmas songs were playing over the public announcement system and almost every inch of wall or glass was covered in colourful Christmas decorations. Wherever your eyes wandered, you’ll catch a glimpse of the familiar fern green as cherubic Santa’s and cute deer nestled within them, the colourful Christmas bulbs and fairy lights serving as the final pieces, completing the decorations to truly bring forth the festive season. The warm fairy lights bathe Younghyun in a golden glow, making the mood very comfortable and soon, both of you were engaging in conversation with ease. You managed to find out that he was home for the holidays, being a foreign student studying overseas in Canada for his undergraduate degree. His days are mostly packed meeting friends and family that he hasn’t seen but he’s given himself some free days to explore the city that must have changed since he’s been away. You try extra hard to focus on Younghyun as he attempts to speak louder over the roar of the train travelling through the underground tunnel, going closer sometimes just to hear him speak. The train rattles violently just before it exits the tunnel with an extremely loud whoosh and in a split second, sunlight floods the entire cabin, lighting up everything instantly, bringing Seoul and all its colours into sharp clarity. Your attention on Younghyun is broken as Seoul’s cityscape vies for your attention – your eyes are naturally drawn to the buildings coming in various shapes and colours, bare trees – though void of leaves – that line the pavements as they continue to stand tall. All of these zoom by before you can fully take in their details, your eyes capturing brief glimpses into the lives of Seoulites – children dressed in the same colour code obediently following their teachers, elderly walking their pets, and adults still rushing to work despite the frigid winds that are currently ruffling their hairs and outfits. You could almost hear the familiar click of heels against the tarmac in your head. As you continue admiring Seoul with your sparkling doe eyes, Younghyun leans his head against the metal pole of the cabin, silently observing you with a sweet smile, thinking to himself: I’d love to show her around the city. It’ll be a privilege to see her face shine with awe at this city.

You sneak a glance at him from your periphery, feeling the slow burn of his gaze on you. Nervously, you let out a chuckle as your voice dropped to a whisper, “Why are you looking at me like that? Is there something on my face? Must be the flight, my skin is dull and dry now.”

“No, you look fine Y/N. It’s just really nice seeing you enjoy Seoul so much.”

After hearing his statement, you crack a smile as you shyly meet his eyes, glad that he wasn’t staring just because you looked ugly and you watch as Younghyun gives you a grin so radiant that it could rival the blazing sun – showing neat rows of teeth and all.

---

The Myeongdong stop arrives much too quickly for either of your liking and the pair of you had to drag your feet out of the train carriage, both equally reluctant to leave the other. Younghyun wrecks his brain for more ways to buy time with you and even though the solution he comes up with is one that is so extremely cliché, it’s the only thing he can do.

“Hey Y/N, are you in a rush?”

“No, not really, why?”

“How about we get drinks? Neither of us has eaten anything since the flight.”

“Sure. What place do you have in mind?” You reply him almost immediately, and you had hoped dearly that he didn’t catch onto your overly enthusiastic response.

“Holly’s Coffee. It’s a chain store in South Korea, thought you might like to give it a try. Consider it a beginner’s introduction to Seoul.”

“I would love to.”

And that’s how you found yourself in a neat coffeeshop with a handsome black wooden décor, the smell of peppermint, roasted marshmallows and hot chocolate all blending to form a sweet smell and adding to the homely vibe of the place. You watch the Styrofoam “snow” rain all over the snowman in the decoration on display right beside the cashier, completely mesmerised by the neat white beads falling down in unison. You feel a light tap on your shoulder, turning your head to be met by Younghyun’s eyes.

“What would you like?”

“Oh! Oh gosh I completely forgot to order, sorry about that. I’ll have the peppermint mocha please.”

“Really getting into the festive season now huh?”

“Yup! I truly do love Christmas.”

“Me too.”

You’re about to open your mouth to make another comment but your phone buzzing in your pocket steals your attention away from Younghyun again.

[Mom]: Where are you? Your cousin is asking for you already.

[Y/N]: Holly’s Coffee in Myeongdong grabbing a drink. I’ll make my way to her apartment later.

[Y/N]: Sent live location

[Mom]: Your cousin says she’ll come and get you. Order your drink as a takeaway.

You chew your bottom lip, feeling conflicted at the sudden news. You felt bad leaving Younghyun alone, but you also knew that the rest of the family was probably waiting for you to start the party.

“What’s got you looking so nervous?”

“Sorry Younghyun, but my cousin is coming to pick me up so I don’t think I’ll be able to sit and talk. I’m really sorry at the sudden change of plans…”

Younghyun wasn’t going to lie – his heart sunk at the thought of you having to leave so early as disappointment thrummed within him like a dull ache. Yet, he didn’t want to make you feel any worse than you already did so he gave you a big smile, just to let you know that it’s really alright.

“Hey no worries, I knew you were here for a party so I assume the entire family is waiting now.”

“Most likely…”

“Don’t frown, it’s really alright! Smile a bit.”

Using his index fingers, Younghyun gently pushes the corners of your lips up, only retracting his hands with an even larger grin gracing his face when he finally sees you crack a smile. The barista calls for your number and the right at the moment when the cold drink reaches your hands, chilling your freezing hands further, you hear the jingle of the doorbell and the familiar call of your name by your cousin.

“Y/N! Let’s go!”

You whip your head back to look at Younghyun all flustered, not expecting your cousin to arrive so soon which gave you much lesser time with him. You couldn’t even give him a proper goodbye or exchange numbers, not with your cousin standing expectantly by the door, waiting for you. Likewise, Younghyun faced the same struggle. Your cousin was standing and waiting by the door – does he make her wait longer as he gets your number? Or let you go now with a quick goodbye? He doesn’t consider for long and he lets instinct take over, going with the latter. Snaking an arm around your shoulders, Younghyun pulls you in gently into his side – a quick half hug as a parting greeting. Albeit shocked, you quickly recovered your senses to drape an arm around his waist, drawing him close by hooking onto his waist.

“Bye Y/N, it was great meeting you and enjoy your Christmas party!”

“Bye Younghyun and you too! Erm… whatelsedoiwanttosay… all the best for your studies in Canada and enjoy your trip home! See – ”

You catch yourself just before the word slips out of your mouth – were you ever going to ever see him again? Thankfully, Younghyun doesn’t seem to have heard, and the conversation flowed naturally again.

“I will.”

You quickly detach yourself from his side, cheeks burning now, aware that your cousin is watching this interaction with a teasing glint in her eyes. You’ll have to deal with that later in the car but for now – you content your heart by taking one last good glance at Younghyun’s face, not knowing if you’ll ever see him again. Hands clasping onto the cold drink tightly, you turn around to face your cousin, wheeling your luggage behind you as you leave Younghyun behind. After you get strapped into the passenger seat and the car moves off down the streets of Seoul, the expected barrage of questions come from your mischievous cousin seated right beside you.

“So… who’s Mr Handsome? Spill the beans honey~”

“His name is Younghyun. Met him on the flight here and he also brought me safely to Myeongdong via the subway.”

“OHHH~ Love is – ”

“No no, don’t get your hopes up in the air, nothing is going to happen. I’m just a tourist in this land.”

“You never know~”

You roll your eyes at her statement, she’s still ever the idealist with her head up in the clouds, dreaming of the impossible. But – why – does your heart sink a little when you shot down her idea of getting together with Younghyun? Were you really considering dating him when you had just met with no way to contact him? You stare at your open hand as you contemplate that thought – the same hand that wrapped around Younghyun’s waist just minutes ago – and warmth floods your cold body in gentle waves as your fingertips tingle, sending a light shiver down your arm. Your chance encounter with such a bright and friendly individual made the cold frigid winter warmer now.

If fate will allow, let’s meet again Younghyun.

---

You collapse onto the bed in the guestroom face first, not minding the fact that you were still wearing the same dirty clothes for the past 24 hours. A long flight, being passed around from relative to relative for small talk and a couple of glasses of beer, wine and dessert wine later, you were all ready to pass out. Blinking your eyes to clear away the tears from your umpteenth yawn that night (or should you say morning), you catch sight of your turquoise luggage. Leaving it unpacked was irking you out, so with much effort and a loud groan, you pushed yourself out the bed before shuffling over to unpack your luggage. When you first opened the luggage, you didn’t think much of the contents until you began pulling out clothing that were much too big for your body.

Did my clothing magically expand?

Flipping on the room lights, you finally were able to get a good view of the contents and your eyes widened to the size of saucers, eyeballs nearly popping out of your sockets. The luggage was full of male articles – belts, sweaters, pants and a shaver all sitting in plain view further confirmed your suspicions – you had really switched luggage’s with Younghyun; likely on accident during your haste to leave the coffeeshop. You immediately sifted around his clothing, searching for any way to contact him and – thank the heavens! – you found a small piece of paper in one of the zipped compartments bearing his name and number. You dialled the number quickly with nimble fingers, chewing on your nails nervously as you brought the phone up to your ear, desperately hoping that he had not changed his number. After 2 rings, the call finally got through and you breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hi, this is Y/N, right?”

“Yes. Younghyun?”

“Yes, you got the right man. I was wondering when you’ll call me about the luggage mix up.”

“Sorry it took me so long, I only realised now as I unpacked. When would it be a good time to meet tomorrow? Or do you need the luggage now?”

“Tomorrow would be fine – I rather not have a lady like yourself travelling the streets alone at such a late timing. Where would it be a good place to meet you?”

“Oh, I was planning to tour Apgujeong, would that be alright for you?”

“Apgujeong sounds good! Does 12pm sound good?”

“That sounds fantastic, thank you Younghyun.”

“Welcome Y/N. Rest well, you sound tired.”

“You’re absolutely right. Have a good rest too Younghyun. Nights.”

“Nights Y/N.”

A few more silent moments pass over the phone, neither of you wanting to be the first to end the call. You hear his slow and steady breathes over the phone and it sounds calming. A sense of peacefulness washing over you, a welcome respite from the whirlwind of activity that you’ve experienced today. Your eyelids start to flutter close, and you think you might be able to fall asleep listening to the sound of his breathing if the call drags on any longer. Younghyun finally breaks the silence with a chuckle, his next words bringing to mind the conversation from earlier today.

“I really jinxed us, didn’t I?”

“Jinx is too strong a word, I’ll just say you accidentally spoke it into existence.”

“I really did, silly me. So… goodbye for now?”

“Goodbye – for now.”

Younghyun ends the call first and you’re left listening to the dial tone before you put down the phone, placing your head in your unoccupied hand as you chuckle to yourself. Fate really does have a sense of humour, bringing such a twist to your wish to see Younghyun again. Glancing to the open luggage beside you, you sigh at yourself for making a mess of his belongings, standing up to pack his clothes neatly. Lifting one of his coats up, a piece of paper flutters out of the black pocket and upon closer inspection, you realise that it’s a ticket – for the lighting festival at the Garden of Morning Calm. Dated for 27th December. The date and place sparks off a thought within you that has you scrambling for your wallet, lifting the ticket out to confirm. You bring both tickets up to the light to compare them side by side, you realise that you were right – Younghyun and you had brought tickets to the same event on the same day. You didn’t know what you should do with this new-found information but if you could be brave tomorrow… something good might blossom.

You tuck both your tickets neatly into your wallet, praying for the heavens to grant you some bravery tomorrow.

---

Ever since 11.50am, Younghyun had been waiting outside the Apgujeong station, nervously tapping his feet against the pavement. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous to see you again, but a part of him was also happy that he got to meet you again – although he wished it had been under better circumstances. A soft tap on his shoulder brings him out of his thoughts, and the moment his eyes land on you – the one he has been thinking of since yesterday – his cheeks naturally lift up, showing off the round apples of his cheeks. He blinks earnestly, taking a good look at you. Your cheeks are tinted a soft rosy pink – most likely from the cold – and you’re wrapped in a beanie, scarf and winter coat that made you look like a snug and warm dumpling. Younghyun has to try his hardest to stifle the squeal that threatens to escape him because of how absolutely adorable you look. How can someone have such an influence on him when he barely knows you? Your cheeks change from pink to red under his adoring gaze and wanting to no longer be the centre of attention, you whip out his luggage from its hidden spot behind yourself before presenting it to him with a “Tadah!” Younghyun lets out a hearty laugh at your antics – can someone get any cuter than this?

“I made sure to pack everything neatly into your luggage, nothing will be amiss when you open to check today.”, you said, patting his luggage to emphasise your point.

“Aigoo, thank you for packing them neatly for me. Rest assured, your things are in good condition too. How was the party?”

“Oh, not too bad – the usual you know. Being passed around, getting questioned about life and my relationship status, and too many cups of alcohol. I’m still a little woozy now, not sure if you can tell.”

Younghyun makes a hum of acknowledgement at your words before silence falls over both of you again – this needs to stop happening so often.

What do I say to her?

Do I ask him now?

Aish let’s just do it now!

Both of you open your mouths at the same time, then it became a mad scramble to let the other speak first.

“Ladies first.”

“No no, you first!”

“Y/N.”

“Younghyun.”

Both of you fix the other with a pointed gaze but Younghyun eventually relents, going first.

“Ok ok, I’ll go first. Y/N, could I get your number? Just to… stay in contact you know?”

“Sure.” You sound confident with your swift answer but your shaky hands that take over the phone from his hands betray you and he watches as you punch in your numbers wrongly a couple of times, having to redo it again and again but he doesn’t mind – he gets to see a different side of you – albeit a clumsy one that he finds endearing. Once you’re done, you hand his phone back to him as he brings the conversation back to you.

“What about you? What did you want to say just now?”

Your face heats up instantly, the two thin tickets sitting in your wallet weighing a ton now as your palms start to sweat despite the freezing temperatures. Carefully, you take his ticket out and pass it back to him but you don’t let go, even when he’s holding onto it. Your tongue darts out to moist your lips, inhaling a deep breath to let the cool air numb your nerves and thoughts. If you didn’t think so much, you might be able to work out the guts to actually ask him. It’s now or never Y/N. Go for it!

“I realise that you’re also going for the lighting festival on the 27th. I am too… and I was just wondering if you would like to go together? It’s completely fine if you don’t want to – ”

“If you would like me to be there, I would be absolutely delighted to go with you.”

Your eyes widen at his statement – he was actually willing to go with you! Your eyes light up like the star on top of the Christmas tree, shining radiantly for him to see.

“For real? You’re not joking right?”

“No, I’m not. But I’ll go on one condition…”

“Oh… what condition?”

You wait in bated breath as Younghyun lowers his face towards, going so close that your noses are almost brushing.

“I get to call that a date.”

You let out a puff of laughter at his statement, the fog emitting from your mouth brushing over his lips as they pull back to reveal pearly whites behind that hazy curtain.

“Is that ok with you Y/N?”

“Yes, that’s alright with me. For a moment I got scared there, I thought you were going to ask me to give you my first born or something.”

“I would make a joke now but I’m afraid of scaring you away.”

“Come on, hit me with it.”

“Really, you don’t want to hear it.”

“Yes, yes I do want to hear it Younghyun.”

“Ok here goes, but don’t dump me after you hear it! I was going to say that you wouldn’t have to give me your firstborn because it would be ours anyways.” For good measure, Younghyun winks at you and your hands immediately fly to cover your face, trying your best to hide the massive blush that was now bursting across your face and muffle your rambunctious laughter.

“See! I said you didn’t want to hear it anymore! Are you afraid of me now? Come on, show me that pretty face please?”

His hands come up to gently wrap around your wrists, tugging at them softly until you’re willing to put them down.

“You’re not afraid of me now, are you Y/N? I’m still seeing you, tomorrow right?”

“No, just mildly shocked. But I must say, that was a pretty well-timed joke. And yes, you’re still seeing me tomorrow Younghyun. You’ll need more than that to scare me away.”

“That’s good. So… I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Yes, see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll call you again to settle the details.”

“I’ll be sure to pick up.”

It seems like the conversation has ended but once again, neither of you make the move to leave first. You shuffle your feet, twiddling your gloved fingers. Likewise, Younghyun was also working up the guts to do something that he’s been waiting to do since yesterday – but it’s just so hard to break through that barrier. You share one last shy glance with Younghyun before deciding it was time to leave, hands reaching out to grip the luggage handle – this time, the right luggage. Seeing you make a move to leave jolts Younghyun into action, and he surges forward to gently catch onto your wrists, pulling you back to face him once more.

“Before you leave, can I give you a hug? I want to do it properly this time.”

You smile as you nod, opening your arms slightly to let him and this time, Younghyun’s arms wrap around your shoulders properly, bringing you close against his chest as your hands hang onto each side of his waist.

Softly, he whispers into your ear, “See you tomorrow Y/N.”

“See you too Younghyun.”

Despite exchanging greetings, his and your hands still remain locked around the other, both of you gently swaying together as the first snow falls over Seoul, the perfect start to your winter love story.

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