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happyhauntt · 9 months ago

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everything i touch turns sick with sadness — nikolai lantsov

series masterlist | writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: anya still believes, sometimes, that nikolai made a mistake in marrying her. he’ll spend every day for the rest of their lives proving her wrong.

─── pairing: nikolai lantsov & anya kamenev (original character.)

─── warnings: serious angst, miscarriage, pre-established relationship, hurt/comfort. this one is fucking painful. thank you for voting on it i may never recover from writing it! title is from bigger than the whole sky by taylor swift. this is a little au where nikolai is still king post ROW and there's no demon bc i haven't read ROW in a minute and i didn't want to fuck up any details. also i take prompts pls send some i love them

─── word count: 3k.

The Grand Palace is always too cold. It’s all cavernous rooms and long, draughty hallways like a rabbit warren leading to nowhere. Exploring these hallowed halls had been fun when she was small, and there were surprises lurking just out of sight. Now Anya shivers as she turns a corner, a chilly gust of wind streaking down the corridor past her.

For somewhere so opulent, with its vaulted ceilings and gold-gilt wallpaper, one would be forgiven for assuming the insulation would be better, but even now, as the depths of winter give way to a pleasant spring, even with a fire burning in every hearth, the Grand Palace is far too cold.

Genya rests a hand on Anya's elbow as they walk. They are heading into the last meeting in a long day, and Anya is certain she's not the only one who feels exhausted. Genya has her own things to worry about, her own duties to fulfil, but she’d taken one look at Anya’s expression, at the telltale tug of her lips, as they passed one another in the corridor and declared that accompanying her queen to this meeting was of the utmost importance. Everything else could wait.

(It can’t, really, and Zoya will likely be very cross, but Anya cannot deny that she appreciates the company. Tolya is a darling, and follows her like a second shadow, but Genya understands the tiredness that takes root in your bones and refuses to leave. Ruling Ravka comes at a cost, Anya knew that when she agreed to marry Nikolai, but Saints, what she wouldn't give for a nap right now.)

She meets Genya's concerned glance, and offers a weary smile. "You could set this place on fire and I imagine it would still be freezing."

Genya chuckles. "Don't tempt me." Her kefta is buttoned all the way to her throat, and Anya briefly wishes she could wear her own.

She does have one, embroidered in the palest blue of the Tidemakers and tucked at the very back of her wardrobe, though she very rarely has cause to bring it out. She was always going to be a hard sell as queen. So many nobles had made their prejudice known regarding her disability, while her distaste for Ravka is well-documented. She never could have imagined becoming its queen. She’d never wanted to.

But she is, and Nikolai fought for that, so being Grisha remains a secret shared between only her closest friends. The nobles don’t need another reason to dislike her.

Though she suspects Genya is rather warmer than she is right now.

The War Room is already occupied when they reach it. An assortment of a few military personnel, seated around the table. This meeting isn't terribly important — if it were, Nikolai would be here — but Anya had received intelligence from one of the reconnaissance scouts at the Fjerdan border, and a discussion with the relevant officials felt prudent before any further escalation.

She murmurs a greeting as she takes her seat at the head of the table. Her commanders stumble to their feet, "Moya tsaritsa" echoing from their mouths. A chill runs down Anya's spine. No matter how many years pass, she suspects she will never get used to the title.

Maps of Ravka sprawl across the surface of the table, creased and yellowing at the edges. Small figurines depicting their troops are dotted about the place, though the majority are clustered near the border with Fjera now that the Fold is gone. Tolya posts himself at her back, just behind her chair, while Genya sits beside her, shoulders tight as soldiers begin to whisper.

It has been years since Genya was scarred by the Darkling, but she is still a source of malicious gossip in the Grand Palace.

A sharp glare from Anya silences them, and the meeting gets underway. As one of the commanders begins recounting a report from the Fjerdan scouts, Anya does her best to pay attention. His voice is dull and droning, like a drill boring holes into the back of her skull, but she nods at the right times. She knows that report from memory. She takes her role very seriously.

When Nikolai made her General of the First Army, not long before they were married, few had found cause to argue. There'd been dissent about their marriage, concerns about her becoming queen, but not many could deny that she was an excellent choice to lead the First Army. Anya had been one of them, after all; discharged with honours after her injury, she'd ranked highly, served on the frontlines with them all, and she'd been a key figure in the Darkling's defeat.

(Well, she’d really debate how essential she’d been in that scenario, because she’d felt particularly useless at the time, but regardless, she’d been honoured for it.)

It doesn’t matter what she did, or who she saved. She will always have something to prove. Her stomach tightens a little as the memories come to her, unbidden, like moths to lantern light.

Anya’s finger trails absent lines along the edge of the table. It is startling, really, how easy it is to forget sometimes.

The civil war. The people she loved, and the people she lost. Blood in the sand. Days spent tortured in a Shu laboratory. Blood in her mouth. There are mornings when she wakes on a choked sob, red-rimmed eyes already watery with unshed tears. She can still feel the ash from the Darkling’s funeral pyre on her tongue. Her nightmares root through her and leave her half-ragged. Still fresh as the day they happened, no matter how many years sit between those days and these.

Her husband wakes when she does, like two ends of a leather cord. If she tugs, he feels it, so attuned to her pitch-dark soul. Black-tipped fingers curl into her hair as he holds her close. He has nightmares, too. Some scars never heal. Anya knows this too well.

Other days are different. Most days, now that the years have passed. Life demands her attention, won’t allow her to dwell on the dead for too long anymore. The world around her rushes by, and Ravka will not sit and wait for its rulers to be ready. The Grand Palace is a constant flurry of activity.

Her stomach is a raw nerve, a jagged edge pulling inside of her. She tries not to wince at it. The memories are painful still, yes, but she is used to breathing through them. Grief will always sit in the shadows, waiting for its moment to pounce — but there is light, too. There is love. A warm hand to hold, friends to weather the storm with. Memories, good and bad, line the halls of their home like patchwork tapestries. Every room has a ghost.

The commander to her left says her name as he outlines his proposal going forward. Genya shoots her a concerned look, but Anya merely nods as he speaks, her lips pressed together in a thin line. In, out. Her lungs flood with air as she breathes deeply, trying to dispel the knot in her stomach, but the thread of pain only pulls tighter and tighter with every inhale.

She touches her palm gently to her abdomen, the action concealed by the table. Another sensation strikes her, this one sharper than the others, and she fights to hold her breath as it passes.

This is familiar. This carries with it a different grief, hollow and hopeless. Her fingers curl into the fabric of her dress. This she knows, intimately. Her heart sinks.

The meeting can’t have lasted more than an hour by the time it is over, but each moment felt like a lifetime. With a plan of action decided between them, her commanders bid her goodbye. Anya remains seated as they file out of the room. From the corner of her eye, she watches Tolya close the door behind them.

Genya leans in, latching a hand onto Anya’s forearm. Her eyes are bright with concern. “Anya, are you alright? You hardly said a word near the end. That’s not like you.”

Anya allows her eyes to fall closed as her friend reaches out. The palm Genya presses against her forehead is soft and cool, and Anya fights the urge to lean into the Tailor’s comforting touch.

“I’m fine, Genya.” It is easy to brush off her own discomfort. Anya knows what is happening, she’s sure of it, and she will deal with it in time.

It has happened before, after all. The sensation is as familiar as the sharp ache in her knee, the scars on her flesh, the blackened tips of Nikolai’s fingers.

Tolya kneels beside her chair. His frown is so loud that she can hear it without needing to look at him. “I can hear your heart racing, and you’ve been wincing every so often. Is your knee troubling you?”

Another pain spikes through her like a lightning strike. Anya releases a slow breath and shakes her head. “No, it’s not my knee. I believe that was the last of my meetings, so I’ll retire to my chambers for the rest of the day.” She pushes herself up from the chair, faltering only slightly. Tolya’s hand on her waist is steady and sure. “Send a healer, but please be discreet. It’s nothing serious, I assure you. And please… no one should bother Nikolai.”

“Anya, if you’re unwell, he’ll want to know.” Genya watches her as a mourner watches the grave.

“I’m not unwell.” Despite her words, Anya’s voice still trembles. “I will be fine. I promise.”

She’s just about to get out of the bath when she hears the door to their bedchamber clatter open and crash into the wall. Her heart gives a dull, heavy thud as she hears her husband’s panicked voice. She has no energy left to summon any frustration at Genya for giving her away.

When Anya emerges from the bathroom, a silk robe tied loosely on her slight frame, Nikolai is still standing in the middle of their bedchamber. His chest is heaving as if he ran all the way to her, golden cheeks aflush. His eyes are soft and worried as he watches her fiddle with the ties of her robe. Saints, when is the last time she looked like this? Her cheeks seem hollow, purple bruises like pressed violets beneath her eyes. The weariness in her reminds him of long nights during the war, when he’d grip her tightly enough to leave his fingerprints on her skin and it seemed the sun would never rise again.

She’s drained. As if that spark of Anya, that light he’d fallen in love with so long ago, has been snuffed out entirely. The woman before him is a hollow shell. Had it been only a few hours since he saw her last? This morning he’d chased her laughing through the sitting room and kissed her against the wall until Zoya dragged him away to attend to his duties. He can still hear her giggling, a sweet phantom sound.

A servant emerges from the bathroom behind Anya looking upset, carrying a wicker basket overflowing with damp towels. She keeps her eyes fixed on the rug. Anya dismisses her with a small smile and the servant scurries out of their bedchamber, dropping into a rushed curtsey as she passes Nikolai.

Anya doesn’t look at him until the door clicks shut.

The look she sends him is enough to shatter his heart completely. Her mouth quivers perilously at the edges, but she’s smiling at him, damn it, as if soothing his frayed nerves is of the utmost importance.

He doesn’t breathe as she crosses the room to settle gingerly on the chaise, fearful that any sudden movements might spook her. Her honey-coloured hair is swept back, a few tendrils hanging limply around her gaunt face, accentuating the sharpness of her cheekbones.

“What happened?” His voice is little more than a gravelly whisper. The room feels impossibly heavy. “Genya mentioned you were unwell. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Anya hugs herself tightly. The sight makes his heart ache. “I wanted to be sure, first. And I am.” The words are quiet. Nikolai doesn’t think he’s ever heard her sound so small.

He drops to his knees in front of her. Reaching out, he clasps her freezing hands between his own. “Sure about what?”

She looks up at him through damp eyelashes. Her eyes are bloodshot, her hands are limp in his grip, lips cracked and bitten, and yet he wonders how there was ever a day he didn’t love her. How foolish he’d been as a child, to look at her and not immediately surrender his heart.

When Anya speaks again, it is little more than a ragged whisper. “I lost the baby.”

Nikolai blinks at her. His lips have turned numb. “I didn’t know you were pregnant.”

Anya shakes her head roughly. “I didn’t want to tell you yet. I didn’t want to get your hopes up again.”

Grief sits between them like a depthless chasm, and suddenly he understands. Nikolai reaches up to cup her face with one hand, sweeping his thumb over the tear-stained skin of her cheek. She sinks into his touch, and it takes everything he has not to splinter into a thousand mournful pieces.

They both know what happened before. There have been three pregnancies since they started trying two years, and each has left them stained with heartache. After the second, the healers informed them of the harrowing reality; that Anya may well not be able to have children. Not after the beatings she took in captivity.

Some scars never heal. This, they both know too well.

“You should have told me.” He wants to scream, to rage, to weep for her. He wants to scrape away all of her pain and take it for himself, to ensure she never hurts again.

“I didn’t want to. When you didn’t know… When I kept it to myself, I was the only one who could hope and dream and pray about it,” she tells him. She won’t burden him with her dreams, of the golden-haired girl she sees when she closes her eyes or the little boy whose laugh sounds exactly like Nikolai’s.

A desperate whimper slips out and suddenly he’s on the chaise beside her, sweeping her into a tight embrace. He rubs her back in gentle circles as she buries her sobs in his chest, and drops his lips to her hair as if that will stifle his own tears.

“Nik, what if I can’t have children?” Her voice is muffled by his shirt, but no amount of fabric could ever disguise the pain of it. “Ravka… Ravka depends on it.” Once upon a time, it would have amused him to hear her care about what Ravka wants. Once upon a time, not that long ago, she didn’t care if this Saints-forsaken country fell into the sea. Now his heart stutters painfully. “You’re going to need heirs, and what if I can’t do it?”

He wonders how long she has harboured these quiet doubts. How long she has let them fester silently inside her chest. It is so rare for Anya to voice her insecurities. She is a soldier, through and through; stoic and stern, facing the storm with unflinching resolve. When he’d rescued her from captivity and she found her future altered beyond recognition, she hadn’t faltered.

She is not invincible. He knows the softness of her heart beneath all that armour.

“Anya…” he murmurs.

“I don’t want you to wake up one day and regret ever choosing me.” The confession spills out of her quickly, like she’s afraid she won’t say it if she hesitates. When she pulls back, skin blotchy and eyes shining, her expression is almost surprised. “I don’t think I’d survive that.”

A fierce anger rises in Nikolai’s chest, but not at her. Never at her. His eyes burn with ferocity as he kisses her, harder than he means to, hard enough to bruise. He kisses her as if his lips against hers will make her believe it, as if she can feel the love overflowing from his heart. A heart not big enough to hold it all in without bursting.

He pulls away, breathing heavily, and presses his forehead against hers. His hand curls around the back of her neck, fingers tangled in loose strands of her hair.

“Loving you will never be a mistake,” he rasps. “Not to me. Do you understand? I will spend the rest of our lives proving that to you.”

She shudders against him, half a sob building in her chest. “Nik.”

He can feel his heartbeat in his throat. There aren’t enough words in any language to convey what she means to him, but he has to try. “And children, children with you, would be lovely. I’d cherish them with all my heart. But only if you want them. Not because you feel it’s your duty, but because you want them. It’s your choice, milaya. And if you do, and we cannot have them, well—” He shrugs, a fleeting smirk passing over his face. “I’m the King. We will figure it out. ”

Her laugh is small, quiet, but it is there. He wants to bottle the sound and keep it forever.

“The important thing,” he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “is that you are safe, and healthy, and I love you. I love you so much, Anya. Never doubt that for a moment.”

She crumbles then, collapsing into him as the last of her strength dissolves. He knows she is in pain, and her heart is breaking, and so is his. She weeps quietly as she curls up in his lap and he holds her as tightly as he can, stroking gently through her hair.

Some scars never heal, no matter the time that passes. But these are wounds they will bear together, and if ever Nikolai is able to ease Anya’s heartache, then by the Saints, there is no force in the world that could stop him.

#* chapter update.#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov oc #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov fanfic #shadow and bone oc #shadow and bone fanfic #grishaverse #grishaverse fanfic #six of crows fanfic #* fic: gold rush.

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tarjapearce · 1 year ago

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Idk if it was mentioned (I'm still working my way through all the soccer family stuffs) but is Mama Hispanic? Or did she learn Spanish?

Sure it's not that important to some people, but I'm curious to know what you had in mind when writing her, cause I'm obsessed and wanna know all the background info on all your things

First of all, lemme welcome you to this madness hehe ❤️.

And she learned Spanish, thanks to Miguel mostly.

She's this lovely latin-american woman that moved to Nueva York when a kid but didn't grow up with the language. Her parents were too concerned with her learning a new language than anything else that they forgot to keep encouraging the spanish.

It served it's purpose but it was hard for her being one of those kid that was part latino but didn't know any spanish. Bully ensured, but she was feisty. (Resulting in her being in trouble a couple of times because she got fed up with their shit.)

When she meets Miguel, we see her boasting up spanish cause she just reconnected with her mother tongue. (Thanks to her elder aunt Isa), however it was one of those things that come and go if you don't practice them enough.

Miguel had sooo much patience with her once they get married, it was hard and kinda frustrating to make progress only to be regressing with little things. But It was the perfect chance for Miguel to say the filthiest things right into her face and she would just look at him with a loving and curious look, thinking he was being poetic and in love.

But after years, and some extra lessons and a gorgeous half Mexican man as her personal tutor, nothing escapes from her.

Sometimes it gets under Miguel's skin cause she has such a potty mouth when angry. (It arouses and scares him)

The only one in her generation that ran away from home (More like forced to leave) when she was 17, worked her way through college, got a decent looking job until she started to get underpaid and the load work was the same if not worse. She meets Miguel at the age of 21. (He was 25 that time), only to become a mother two years later.

Her family criticized her for getting married so young, but look at her now ~

Happy, a spoiled housewife, a marriage of 13 and a half years and three lovely kids with a beautiful and dreamy husband that would do anything for her.

And her character is born out of the need to see more Latina women in Miguel’s fics :') There was soo little content about it. So I took matters in my own hands. Even though she is mixed, I wanted to make her a relatable character for everyone that has came across this AU. (Be it either family issues, growing up without the mother tongue, finding independence really young, toxic and unhinged family, going to therapy to heal, and other emotional thingies that are often overlooked ~)

So even if you aren't a Latina, you can still feel part of her character ❤️.

Its therapeutic and fun to write her, ☺️.

Hope this offers a little more insight on Mama ❤️

#miguel o'hara #talking with t✨#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #soccer family ⚽🕷️#atsv miguel #mama o'hara

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f1crecs · 4 months ago

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Fic Rec List - Royalty AUs

if your fic is on this list and you don’t want it to be, please let me know and we will remove it immediately, no questions asked. we have contacted most of the authors on this list, but sometimes people fall through the gaps - just pop us a message🤍

have a pairing you want us to do next? please read the faqs and then head to the inbox.

don’t forget to give the authors featured on this list some love in the form of kudos, bookmarks, and comments!

Charles/Pierre

it's you and me, that's my whole world by @singsweetmelodies | T | 10.4k

Charles is the Prince of Monaco, and Pierre is hopelessly devoted best friend. This fic has everything that I love about Charles and Pierre, and everything that I love about royalty au's! Despite his outward confidence, there is a lack of self-esteem that runs through Pierre. This reads very true to how I see Pierre, and it is a joy to read him struggle and come to terms with this. Charles is so lovable and humble, and I loved him so much! This author is so good at building tension, and creating conflicts and misunderstandings that feel very natural and fun to read. A great read!

'Charles is a prince, the heir apparent to the Monégasque principality, no less, while Pierre is just another engineering student. Who is he to think he can make Charles happier than the wealth of beautiful, classy and important people available to him? // His best friend, whispers that same voice in his heart, as treacherous as it is fierce. I am his best friend, and I know him better than any of them ever will. I have been by his side for his whole life, and I don't plan to leave anytime soon.

nsfw: i'm not one to need saving but I guess I'll give it a try by @river-ocean and @wolfiemcwolferson | E | 40k

Soulmate AU. Pierre is prince of a France that still has a monarchy. He is to marry by the time he turns 27, but hasn't yet found his soulmate. He meets Charles, an event planner, and they develop an easy friendship. This fic hits so many of my favourite royalty and soulmate tropes all in one. There is pining, there is a Prince who chafes against the bonds of royal duty, there is a commoner who isn't at all fazed by the fact his friend is a royal, and there is a soulmate bond that manages to cause more problems than it solves. Neither Pierre nor Charles want to impose their feelings upon one another, of course, to the exasperation of their friends. There is also a lovely recurring sun motif around Pierre, which just delights me.

Charles is not his - the blue handprint on his side, Pierre’s impending marriage and ridiculous soulmate-less status…Charles will never be his, but Pierre grabs his waist - ashamed at himself for it when Charles so very clearly did not like it - and he wishes he were. God, he wishes Charles could be his.

Alex/Charles

i can feel the sun on you by @liamlawsonlesbian | T | 12k

In this Roman Holiday inspired story, Alex, a freelance journalist, comes across a beautiful young man in the street. The man appears to be under the influence of drugs, and Alex takes him home overnight for his own safety. The man is the prince of Monaco, and when he realises he's been missing for a night now, decides to take a day off from being a royal and enjoy the city. This story is absolutely charming, and Alex quickly finds himself realising he cannot use this encounter for a story like he had planned to. Charles is absolutely giddy in his enjoyment of his day of anonymity, and it's no wonder Alex falls hard.

Alex has an armful of beautiful Frenchman, but what sounds like a dream is closer to a nightmare because a stranger seems close to asleep on his chest. The man’s shirt is very soft, and feels expensive, and he is either very drunk or there is some other substance involved, because he’s burrowing his face into Alex’s faded band tee, even though they’ve never seen each other before in their lives. Alex knows the smart thing to do would be to lean the guy back up against the wall of the cemetery and go home. But the stranger looks young, and soft, and there’s clearly something wrong. Alex tries to shake him awake. “Mate, where are you staying? Let’s get you home.” The man mutters a few words, which sound like “Youth leadership is the future.” Alex wonders, semi-hysterically, if the stranger is some kind of motivational speaker. It would explain how pretty he is. Alex takes a big, shuddering breath. Okay, so, his bloody stupid conscience is not going to let him leave the stranger here. The stranger is too out of it to remember where he’s staying. That only leaves one option – the stranger has to come home with Alex. Alex crouches and puts the stranger’s arm around his shoulders, and begins to trudge the ten blocks to his flat.

Charles/Carlos

are you wild like me? by @f1-stuff | 54k | M

This is a boarding school AU with a bit of a Young Royals feel. Charles, prince of Monaco, is enrolled for the final schooling year and makes friends with Carlos. Charles strives for a sense of normalcy but is never quite allowed to forget he is a royal. His friends, especially Carlos, do the best they can for him. Carlos has a tendency to be overprotective which backfires a bit, and he needs to learn to let go just a little.

Carlos feels a little giddy. In the span of a few hours, he’s gone from not having spoken to or seen Charles in almost a month, worried Charles was never coming back to Watford, to holding him, kissing him, coming for him... “I thought about you a lot,” Charles says, reminding Carlos that he’d asked a question. “...while I was at home. I was sad-” His voice cracks, and Carlos smooths a hand along Charles’ waist, offering some small comfort. “I was sad about my father. And I’d been sad about you for a while.” “Me?” “Yes,” Charles says. His fingertips rest gently against Carlos’ jaw. “I’ve felt...so lonely - for a long time. I love my family, and they love me, but my brothers don’t understand what it’s like for me - not really. And my parents...” He pauses, and Carlos knows he’s thinking of his father. “They have always wanted me to be happy. But I don’t think they ever imagined that being happy for me would mean...this.”

Carlos/Lando

nsfw: see you again by madlyiephase2 (madlyie_14) | E | 99k

Lando is fourth in line to the throne. Carlos is still an F1 driver. They meet when Lando presents a trophy at Silverstone, and begin an affair. Lando is chafing badly against his existence as a royal even before he meets Carlos. The self-discovery journey he goes on, in regards to his sexuality and also what he wants more broadly out of his life, is a big part of this story. The supporting cast is vibrant and breathe levity and grounding humour into Lando's life, especially George as his head of security, who is such a great character he is almost in danger of running away with the entire fic.

“My boyfriend. He's - his name is Lando." Ana snorted. "What, like the prince?" and Carlos looked around for help from somewhere because he really, really didn't know what to say to that. 'Yeah, exactly,' seemed a little stupid. Even though it was utterly, absurdly true. To Carlos' surprise, it was his father who looked at him, really looked at him and then, then he just started laughing, a full, deep laugh. Everyone turned to him like he had lost his mind but he simply shook his head. "Nothing halfway, Carletes. Nothing halfway."

Logan/Oscar

hopelessly devoted by indyd | T | 7.6k

Oscar is upset when he learns that his old bodyguard has been replaced. He gradually finds himself developing a different sort of attachment to Logan, his new guard. Logan's quiet devotion and the pair's mutual respect for one another in this story is just lovely. The relationship develops very gradually. I would love to read more of this story if the author is ever so inclined.

“I’m sorry,” Oscar interrupted his train of thought. He sounded miserable and, when Logan looked again at him, he looked miserable too. “Why?” Logan asked, feeling guilt overtake him. He’d been thinking horrific, inappropriate things while Oscar sat there, sad. He’d never seen Oscar look quite so sad, “It’s nothing to apologize for. You can’t help what you like.” Oscar blinked, then a bittersweet smile scrawled its way across his lips. Logan would take that smile, even such a weak one as this. “Stop being so nice,” Oscar sighed, “‘s too easy to misunderstand.”

George/Alex

all i do is try, try, try by @hrhgeorgerussell | T | 13.3k

Alex is the Prince of Wales, George is still an F1 driver. They have a relationship, but Alex withdraws when he realises that his royal duties will make it impossible. George is heartbroken and internalises the issue, thinking if he can just be more successful at his sport, Alex will want him. The stifling nature of Alex's existence as a royal, the longing from George's side, and the seeming impossibility of their relationship are all great royal AU themes. George's blaming himself for not being "good enough" feels very authentic.

George does not speak at first, and Alex is suddenly scared. He braces himself, prepared for the worst, about to tell him how proud he is and how well he drove despite everything. Nothing could have prepared him. “It's like there's glass in my lungs, Alex. It feel like there's glass inside me. Something's broken."

Charles/Seb

nsfw: the house by the sea by @hungriestheidi | M | 46.7k | wip

Charles is the Prince of Monaco, and Seb is his bodyguard. This story is incredible. Charles is such a compelling main character: despite being surrounded by people, there's a loneliness and a distance to those around him that is so beautifully explored. The unfurling of their attraction to each other is a joy to read. I love this fic!

'Sebastian is invisible most times. People don’t seem to notice he’s there until he believes a threat can take place. Charles spends hours wandering the streets of Monaco without feeling overwhelmed, it’s almost like he’s walking alone until someone stops him for a chat and the steady presence of his bodyguard makes itself known, a hand carefully pushing away the stranger’s arm.'

this list was compiled by @lydia-petze and @boxboxbrioche

#driver:charles #driver:pierre #pairing:charles/pierre #trope:royalty #driver:alex #pairing:charles/alex #driver:carlos #pairing:carlos/charles #driver:lando #pairing:carlos/lando #driver:logan #driver:oscar #pairing:logan/oscar #driver:george #pairing:alex/george #driver:sebastian #pairing:charles/sebastian

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schrijverr · 6 days ago

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I Didn’t Mean to Say I Do, but I Do. I Do. 21

Chapter 21 out of 50

Secret marriage of convenience buddie slow burn AU, where Buck and Eddie have been married for years so Buck could adopt Chris and no one at the 118 knows.

In this chapter, after a series of disappointments caused by the fact that they can’t tell anyone at work that Buck is a parent and Buck going to tell Maddie about their marriage, Eddie spirals, before coming to a drastic conclusion.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie (slow burn), Madney

Warnings: internalized misogyny, insecurity, homophobia mention

~~~

Chapter 21: A Series of Disappointments

As Halloween draws closer, work continues as normal, life having stabilized. Work is fun and with Carla, they have fallen in a healthier work-life balance that allows them good quality time with Chris when they do have off work.

With Carla also comes a better school for Chris. He’s been going to public school the past year and it is not the worst, but they both know he has a harder time keeping up and making friends there has been hard for him, even if he does have a few.

So when Carla suggests Durand School they want to check it out. Him going there will mean an extra strain on their finances, but with their two incomes it should be possible.

The only available time to take a tour is during one of their shifts. Both try to trade their shift, but since Eddie is the only one who can give Chris as a reason and Buck is a horrible liar and terrible with excuses, only Eddie gets the time off.

Buck can privately admit he’s crushed about it, though he tries not to show it to Eddie. He loves learning and loves getting to help Chris with his homework and his projects. He does the back to school shopping, since both he and Chris agree Eddie has horrible folder taste. So, getting to see the potential school is something he would have loved to do.

Except he can’t get the time off, because no one knows. This isn’t something in the realm of possibilities for others when they look at him. They don’t look at him and think; a father. That can hurt more than he wants to face sometimes.

Eddie is also unhappy with Buck not being able to get the time off. He is terrified of having to go there by himself, of having the responsibility of making the decision about Chris by himself. It adds this pressure that makes his chest feel tight.

Before it had been Shannon, who picked the doctors Chris went to, which he stayed with until Buck switched Chris’s PT. When it came to picking a school for Chris, Buck had already been in the picture and his parents had tried to have a massive say. He’s never decided this stuff and suddenly being put on the spot feels like a lot.

When Carla offers to come with him after hearing Buck can’t make it, because two remember more than one, he feels like getting on his knees and thanking her.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he and Buck spend a whole evening coming up with questions to ask and things to take notice off. They write them down in lists and Eddie doesn’t go to till bed late, wanting to memorize them all, because showing up with a piece of paper seems like he isn’t adult enough – a fear he’s carried since first holding Chris in his arms at nineteen years old – and he wants to come across right. This is a private school. He’s never been to one of those before.

On the day of the meeting, he has to do breakfast by himself, because Buck is already working. It doesn’t make him feel much better to watch Chris eat cereal, though he comforts himself with the thought that getting to pour it himself is great for independence and practicing motor skills.

With Chris dropped off at school, he rips through his closet to find something presentable. The only thing he has is the suit he got for his courthouse shotgun wedding, because they needed it to be somewhat believable and they reused the suits for court when Buck adopted Chris.

Still, he feels a bit idiotic with it on and sends a photo to Buck with the caption: Is this too much?

Buck meanwhile is dying on his shift, continuously checking his phone in case Eddie texts him about the meeting. The others have been bullying about not being able to function without his best friend, which he has been taking with a lot of pouting, spluttering and blushing. Getting a random text from Eddie in his wedding suit, is not conducive to that.

Of course Hen must notice, leaning in as she asks: “What are you looking at?”

“Eddie send me a pic of the outfit he’s planning to that school viewing thing. Wants to know if it’s too much,” Buck answers.

“Why is he asking you?” Hen raises a brow. “As a parent, I have so much experience doing school viewings. Karen can be very terrifying. There was an excel sheet.”

“They’re Buck and Eddie,” Chimney rolls his eyes, as if that is an explanation.

A part of Buck wants to grouch that he is a parent too and his opinion should be the most valid, because he is the parent of the kid this is about, specifically. However, he can’t and he also isn’t too experienced with this and he wants Eddie to do well. So he shows Hen the pic and asks: “What do you think? Too much?”

Hen inspects Eddie closely, before commenting: “That is a very nice suit. It’s a private school?” Buck nods. “Then that’s good.”

Buck texts Eddie that the outfit is good, even parent approved by Hen, getting a thumbs up back from Eddie, before he goes radio silent. Likely at his appointment, thus off his phone.

At first, Eddie isn’t too sure of the school. It’s a nice school, definitely a good one, but it feels high end. As if Eddie could have never gotten here without help from someone like his parents. That brings some connotations that make him apprehensive.

But after a bit of walking around, those worries get soothed and instead he finds himself asking the questions he practiced with Buck. The principal leading them around seems impressed with his preparedness and guilt overtakes him again.

Buck should be here too. He’s always making Eddie look like a better dad than he is, never getting full credit for all he does. Eddie wishes he can make it up to him somehow.

As if she heard him, the principal says: “In your application you mentioned you were married. We’d like to talk to both parents before accepting a child. Is your wife available?”

“Uhm, Christopher’s mother hasn’t been in the picture since he was four, me and my husband have full custody of him,” Eddie answers, a little awkward. It always feels weird – not unpleasant, just weird – to mention Buck as his husband. He doesn’t explain the whole platonic marriage thing, that’ll only make it complicated. They’re married for the school for the same reasons they aren’t married at work.

“Oh, of course, one should never assume. I’m sorry. This school does focus on diversity and inclusivity, though it has been a learning curve for everyone,” she says with embarrassment.

“It’s alright,” Eddie assures her, not wanting to drag out the conversation. It makes him feel like he is taking something from actual queer people when that happens, like he shouldn’t have that conversation, like he’s not allowed. So he speeds by it as fast as he can.

She gives a nod. “Okay, in this case, I think that talking to Christopher’s other father will be more than enough. It’s to get a fuller picture of the child and their family.”

“Of course. Buck – uhm, Evan Buckley, we didn’t take each other’s last names – will be available for most of next week. We’re working a 48 hour and then have four days off. We’re both firefighters, so the schedule can be hectic. He wanted to be here, but couldn’t get off work,” he explains, wanting to excuse Buck’s absence and leave the principal with the best possible impression of him. It is the least he can do after all Buck did for him.

“Well, I hope we’ll see at least one of you for career day then, that is very exciting,” she smiles. “Is it possible to schedule something with you, or should we contact your husband ourselves?”

“We can schedule something no problem, I’ll put it on the calender and he’ll be there,” Eddie assures her.

As expected, Buck is thrilled by the news that he also gets to tour the school a bit, shown in a truly impressive mix of emojis Eddie gets send when he texts Buck the details. It’s so silly and so Buck, he can’t help but smile slightly and huff out a laugh before pocketing his phone. If he drives quick, he can change out of this stupid suit before pick up.

By the time he has Chris at home with him, the excitement Buck felt has turned to anxiety. There is only so much he can do over text, so he tells Buck to step out so he can call him.

“Buck, it’s an interview, because they want to know the family and check if the other parent isn’t an unreliable whack job, you’re going to be fine,” he tells him.

“But I’ve already proven myself to be unreliable,” Buck stresses. “I couldn’t get today off, what if I can never get off and I miss every PTA meeting and the parent teacher conferences and everyone judges us?”

“First off, that is highly unlikely. Second off, they’re not going to judge you, they understood completely that being a firefighter means having a difficult schedule to work around. And third off, I will personally ensure that you can make it to some of those things, even if I have to take your shift myself. Now take a breath.”

“Okay, okay. Okay,” Buck says, taking a deep breath.

“Good.”

Then right as Eddie thinks Buck has calmed down, he asks: “But what if I say something weird?”

“You’re not going to say something weird!” Eddie exclaims. “You literally helped me prep, they were already very impressed with the things you thought off. It’s going to be fine. You are the most likable person to walk on the planet.”

“You think so?” Buck’s voice is tinged with insecurity, but also something that Eddie can never place, but always makes him feel soft, makes him want to reach out to Buck.

Unsure of how he feels about that, he pushes it all down and into the box of things he doesn’t think about and replies: “Yeah, man. You’re like a gentle giant.”

“Thanks.” He can hear the smile.

“Think you’re okay for the rest of your shift now?”

“Probably. Uh, thank you. For calming me down.”

“Always. Just text if you start driving yourself crazy again, I think Hen would murder me if I let you irritate her with your pacing.”

“Rude.”

“Have a good shift,” Eddie grins.

“You’re a dick, give Chris a hug from me.”

Buck ends up texting Eddie two more times and they have another prep night like they had for Eddie the night before Buck has to go.

Like Eddie, Buck pulls out his wedding suit the day of the interview. It sends an odd swooping sensation through his stomach to see him in that suit again, Eddie supposes it’s some sort of nostalgia. It’s been years already. It seems so short ago, but it’s been quite long already, that must throw him off. It was supposed to be a short thing, but they just never stopped.

When Buck stays away quite a bit, Eddie gets nervous. He wants to text, maybe call, but he doesn’t want to seem overbearing or like he doesn’t trust Buck. Because he does. Trust Buck, that is. He trusts Buck more than himself some days. He just knows how worried Buck was and taking more time seems foreboding, what if they’re not as inclusive as they claimed and this is another PT situation. What if Buck can never be Chris’s dad somewhere again?

With those anxious thoughts running through his head, he jumps up when he hears the lock jingle as it’s opened.

He is there before Buck is even entirely inside, nervously asking: “How did it go? Did it go well?”

Before he even answers, Eddie can see the big grin on Buck’s face and Eddie’s shoulders release the tension as Buck says: “It went great. I stayed later, because they showed me the science labs and possible accommodations. Since Chris has been on that science kick lately, I wanted to be sure he could safely participate.”

Warmth threatens to overtake Eddie. Of course Buck stayed later, because he wanted to make sure Chris could do the thing he loves safely. Sometimes he wonders what he had done in a past life to deserve running into Buck. He’s the best friend Eddie has ever had.

“And then I kind of got sidetracked talking to the science teacher. She’s really cool,” Buck continues talking. He ended up getting caught up in a conversation about fire. It’s very Buck and a little endearing if Eddie lets himself think that.

As he talks, Buck toes off his shoes and moves to the kitchen, Eddie trailing after him. He is about ten minutes into his rant as he starts up dinner when he realizes what he’s doing and trails off with a blush. “Ah, sorry, I’m babbling.”

“I don’t mind your babbling,” Eddie tells him honestly. “Just give me some of those vegetables to chop and babble away.”

Buck gives him a look he can’t decipher, which is unusual, but it seems to be a positive emotion, so he can let it go for now. Softly Buck asks: “You really don’t mind?”

“Nah, it’s pretty interesting,” Eddie answers honestly.

The undecipherable look morphs into a beaming smile and Eddie feels that warmth again. He pushes it away and takes the cutting board and knife and half of the eggplants, as Buck starts up again.

However, the settled domestic feeling can’t last. Halloween is another disappointing pill to swallow for Buck. Bobby has tried to schedule as many of the parents off as he can, which means Buck is working and Eddie isn’t.

Eddie tries to switch their shifts, but Bobby won’t let him, stating that Buck will survive missing his frat party for this one year. He was off last Halloween, Eddie should enjoy trick or treating with Christopher.

In turn, Eddie wants to explain that he hates trick or treating and it will be hell for him, so it’ll be much better for Chris to go with Buck, if only Bobby would let them swap. Sadly, he cannot do that and Bobby isn’t convinced Buck isn’t trying to manipulate Eddie into it.

So, Buck takes many photos of him and Chris in costume, before he has to leave for work, obviously attempting to hide his disappointment and Eddie suffers through too much small talk and Chris on a sugar high.

Eddie vows that next year, Buck will get to do Halloween.

The thought takes him aback for a moment. The surprise of having the stability to plan a year into the future is not something he’s used to. And he shouldn’t get too used to it. He forcefully reminds himself that this won’t last forever.

At some point he’ll feel the need to get out there, find a girl and Buck likely feels the same. And yeah, he’ll be there for Chris and Eddie can mentally plan Halloween, but he shouldn’t let himself slip like that.

With Halloween behind them, it is a slow march towards Thanksgiving and Christmas. They’ve never really been a Thanksgiving kind of family and both of them have to work on the day anyway, so Chris is going to stay with tía Pepa, but they are going to do something for Christmas, luckily not go to Texas or have his parents come here. His mom is disappointed, but air fair is expensive.

For now the plan to have a small elaborate dinner with just the three of them and Pepa, but Buck is thinking about inviting Maddie. However, before they can invite Maddie, they have to loop her into their scheme.

“Would you be okay with me telling her?” he asks.

“It was you who didn’t want to tell her, I was always fine with it,” Eddie reminds him.

“I wanted to ease her into it,” Buck pouts. “She had just run from her abusive marriage, I didn’t want to drop ‘oh I’m married, but not like that, however, you are an aunt’ on her.” And he didn’t want it to come back to his parents, or Doug, if the running didn’t turn out to be permanent, but he doesn’t want to rehash that.

“Yeah, yeah, you said so back then,” Eddie waves him off. “But you want to tell her now? That’s cool. Want me to come with?”

Buck seriously considers it for a second, because having back up to face Maddie’s inevitable wrath when she finds out he’s been keeping this from her will be lovely. But after the whole getting drugged debacle where she learned about his crush on Eddie, he’d prefer to be able to set the record straight, before she can assume and reveal it to Eddie. “Nah, I’ll be okay on my own, but thanks.”

“Alright.”

Come Friday, Eddie watches Buck stress out, pulling out multiple outfits and changing a hundred times, before he has to settle on what he’s wearing if he doesn’t want to be late. It’s a little amusing, Eddie must admit. It’s kind of like watching Buck get ready for a date. Somehow that thought sours the moment.

Once Buck is hustled out the door, the feeling lingers, though it has turned into anxiety. How will Maddie react to the news? And what will she think of Eddie?

She has been nothing but kind to him thus far, but she doesn’t know that Eddie dragged her little brother into his teen dad, struggling to provide life. Buck has always described her as protective, he doesn’t want to imagine what she might do to him when she learns Eddie prevented Buck from having his early twenties. How he trapped him in a marriage…

God, this is all going to go horrible.

He distracts himself by ordering pizza with Chris and watching a plethora of animated movies as they cuddle up on the couch. He knows most men of his age are out drinking with friends or hooking up, but that was never really his scene and he missed out on so many nights like these that he’ll never tire of playing catch up.

At some point Chris does fall asleep, head pillowed against Eddie’s side. It makes him feel emotions he can’t verbalize and he finishes the entire movie by himself with as little movement as possible, just soaking in the warmth of his son.

When the credits roll, he carefully shifts so he can lift Chris and carry him to his room. They held movie night in their pajamas, so he doesn’t have to worry about that as he tucks him in, smoothing down his hair, before giving him one fond look and softly closing the door.

In the kitchen he checks his phone. No word from Buck. It’s already late, but not absurdly late, still the hour and the radio silence pave the way for the anxiety to return.

A telenovella doesn’t work as well as a distraction as Chris did, no matter how invested he’s been in this storyline (though he will deny that if asked). So, he marinates in his own nerves until the door unlocks and Buck comes in.

He looks… confused? Eddie doesn’t know what to do with that, doesn’t know what that says about his talk with Maddie. He is also quiet. Which is worrying. After watching him just standing there for a few seconds, he tentatively asks: “So, how did she take the news?”

“I didn’t tell her.” Buck’s voice is vacant as he says it.

“What?”

“I didn’t tell her,” Buck repeats, more present this time.

“You were there for hours?” Eddie says. Now he is confused.

“Yeah and so was Chimney.”

“Chimney?”

“Yes, Chimney!” Buck exclaims as he sits down on the couch, gesturing as he continues: “It’s like I looked away for two seconds and he has infiltrated her life everywhere! Apparently it is buff-friday which is a tradition, because they eat take out together often enough for Chimney to have picked up on her indecisiveness. And they do karaoke. Karaoke! I didn’t even know Maddie liked karaoke! It is a Chimney thing, not a Maddie thing, but now it’s a them together thing. They’re dating in every sense except officially.”

Okay, so he got stuck hanging out with both of them and couldn’t tell her, makes sense. The confusion is also explained, since Chimney’s presence had clearly been a surprise to Buck. “Did you plan something new with her without Chimney so you can tell her?”

“No!” Buck says vehemently, taking Eddie by surprise.

“No?”

“She can never know now,” Buck says wide eyed. “I know she is good at secrets, she kept so much from everyone, probably still keeps a bunch of stuff from me, but she doesn’t like keeping secrets. I can’t make her keep this from Chim and then she’ll tell him and we’re done for. Chimney can’t keep shit to himself.”

“He’s not that bad, is he?”

“I once watched Hen tell him not to tell Bobby she forgot the coffee at the grocery store only for him to come up the stairs and for Chimney to tell him immediately. He barely lasted three seconds. Three!”

“Okay, that is pretty bad,” Eddie winces. “But you can still tell Maddie. She’ll get keeping this, just like tía Pepa and Abuela do. What about Christmas?”

“I guess Christmas is going to have to suck,” Buck sighs, collapsing further into the couch. “She was still running when she got here, she was too scared to live her life. Now she’s finally putting herself out there again, I don’t want to mess with that. It’ll make it more complicated anyway.”

Guilt churns in Eddie’s gut at that. He’s made Buck’s life complicated, he pulled him into this and took the job at the 118 despite it all. And now here Buck is, not only missing out on things with Chris, but also missing out on things with Maddie. He missed her getting close to Chimney and now he’ll also miss a Christmas with her, all because of Eddie.

“Are you sure?” he checks again just to make sure. He’ll respect what Buck wants, since it’s his sister, but that same selfish part of him hopes that Buck will change his mind, even if it were only to soothe his own guilt.

“Yeah,” Buck says with a tired smile that doesn’t feel like a smile. Then he gets up from the couch with a groan, before stretching and saying: “I’m gonna turn in early. ‘Night, Eddie.”

“Goodnight,” Eddie replies, watching him go with a heavy feeling in his stomach.

He sits on the couch by himself until he hears the door to Buck’s bedroom close, then he gets up and quietly goes through his own routine. It’s less fun than it is when Buck is there, flossing way too diligently, because he once went on a dental hygiene research spree and now has some medical anxiety around it. He wonders when something so menial as brushing teeth became fun.

Probably around the same time he and Buck started living with each together instead of alongside each other and he was there when Eddie brushed his teeth. Buck makes everything more fun, more bearable.

Buck does so much for Eddie, from helping him prep for a school interview to make him feel ready and look better, to helping him organize child care when Abuela broke her hip, to caring for Chris for a year while he was on tour, to making sure Chris got the care when the PT place was shit. He does so much and what does Eddie do in turn? Nothing. He just saddles Buck with more problems and more worries.

It’s not fair on Buck. Instead of worrying over an outfit for a date, he’s worrying about looking good to maybe upset his sister. Instead of celebrating Christmas with family, he’ll have a complicated balance to make up between not upsetting Chris or Maddie. Not to mention all the trouble Eddie brings him at work.

Eddie is a horrible friend, who only takes and takes. He can’t do it on his own, he is too weak to provide and he’s making it Buck’s problem. He shouldn’t keep doing this.

They spend the next day with Chris at the aquarium and Buck seems fine enough, even throughout his shift on Sunday there is no sign of him being upset. But Eddie knows Buck is good at hiding, he’s sure it must be worse than it seems.

So when they’re off on Monday and have taken their naps after their 24 hour shift, Eddie comes up to him while he’s in the kitchen doing the dishes. Eddie picks up a towel and starts drying, hyping himself up to start the conversation.

“Are you okay?” Buck asks, because of course he does. Of course he notices Eddie is being weird and tries to do something about it. Tries to help.

The question only strengthens his resolve and even though it hurts for reasons he can’t explain, he rips off the band aid. “I think we should get divorced.”

A/N:

I am quite sad to be cutting Shannon’s return, because it would be quite interesting to explore, but it doesn’t fit with the story I wanna tell, so she is going to live! Good for her honestly xp (if you are very saddened by Shannon’s absence keep your eye on the AUAU this Friday!)

Also, >:333

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years ago

Text

LO$ER=?, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Life is just a path and you walk it. Until Jeon Jungkook. He made you run, sprinting through winding side roads and alleys, fighting, bleeding, losing. Your paths split, but life is made of orbits. Now that they have overlapped once more, his hand is fiercely holding yours and he won't let go again. Nothing matters if he's with you. Thus, you run once more, laughing like you've gone mad.

continuation of 0X1=?, m | jjk – click here to read

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of sexual assault (not heavily described, however, please note reader is the victim of said assault); actually predominantly fluff; mentions of previous angst; mentions of physical fighting; smut (fem reader, fingering, cowgirl, scratching / marking, penetrative sex); non-idol!BTS - tattooed, previously rich!Jungkook x rebellious!reader (mostly reader's POV, a tiny bit of JK's POV), ft cameo of Kim Taehyung as JK’s best friend and crossover with 'bao, t/m | myg' au

yes, I waited until the TXT's 'LO$ER=LO♡ER' was released to write this XD there's a ton of TXT references as well, enjoy!

now playing – LO$ER=LO♡ER by txt

"Jeon Jungkook! Yah! Jeon Jungkook! Come out of that whore's home!"

You were about to remove the groceries from your front seat, but then you stopped at the shouting, peering up at the second story of the apartment complex to see… ah, yes, a young woman yelling at your front doorstep. One look at the imported, Western, black car with heavily tinted windows and you were well aware that the woman in a matching designer two-piece – a ruffled pink suit jacket and flared skirt – complete with immaculately pulled back hair in a half-ponytail must be...

She turned around, fuming, pretty features twisted in rage, and screamed in frustration.

You quickly jerked your head back out of her line of sight and clicked your tongue.

Your boyfriend's ex-fiancé had some lungs on her.

You waited until she finished shrieking like a banshee and peered out to see her spin on her heel and return to pounding on your apartment door with her small, manicured fists. You spotted her beige, black cap-toed slender heels.

Chanel.

Huh.

You stayed in your car.

Reached over to your bag and pulled out the single ice cream you bought to share with Jungkook but, at this rate, you would have to buy another. You pulled off the cap and folded it in half, curving it like a spoon, and began to eat the mango sorbet. Hm, well, it was better this way. Jungkook would probably prefer chocolate or straight up diabetes over mango sorbet.

He would eat pretty much anything though.

You scooped up some of the frigid, melting sweet into your mouth and watched his ex-fiancé shout at no one.

True, you could go up there and throw her down the stairs. But there was something hilarious about this, her beating and howling at your apartment door, completely ignoring the fact that no one was answering it and that she was very clearly causing a public disturbance, all because of her own personal problem.

You glanced up to watch her slide down the door, openly crying now. You pressed the button of your car window to roll it down a crack to listen to her sobbing above you.

"–can't believe you would do this to me... you know I need this marriage... my family's company depends on it..."

You slowed, licking off your makeshift spoon.

"I'll be left with nothing... nothing unless I get married..."

Crocodile tears or not, the woes of the rich did not earn much sympathy with you.

You rolled your window back up, leaving your car on idle for the air conditioning.

It was a mix of previously being constantly berated by Jungkook's wealthy parents that now exiled him over a fucking eyebrow piercing and being a member of the working, lower middle class. For some reason, that latter fact was also offensive to Jungkook’s parents. Everyone was accepting until money got involved. You hummed, eating another scoop. You didn’t like it, but you understood that his parents wouldn’t believe that you have no interest in their money. What you didn't understand was why his ex-fiancé was so hellbent on yelling at your door. From what you could tell, she wasn't ugly. Couldn't she find someone else?

You scraped the last of your small ice cream out and ate it up.

You checked your phone.

Jungkook wouldn't be out of work for at least another three hours. You had found him a job at the local bao shop through your own job as an accountant. You assisted the family in sorting the finances for their small business and personal tax forms. The owner had back surgery and so the daughter had been working there by herself with one other employee that delivered the orders. They wanted to hire another to help with cooking and cleaning, perhaps even open up the front counter again to accept pick-up orders instead of only delivery. However, it was hard to find someone trustworthy and reliable. The best way was through word of mouth.

They won't mind my tattoos?

Whenever I drop by, the delivery guy is wearing a leather jacket, ripped jeans, and has a resting bitch face. You'll be fine. Also, I think the daughter and him are dating.

Jungkook had blinked at you.

You know. In case they disappear for ten minutes, unexplained.

You loved Jungkook's laugh.

He didn't complain or whine for some other job. He only asked when he started and how to get there. You bought him a secondhand bicycle and he was off to work, five to six days a week. Sometimes you would drop him off with your car if was too rainy. Occasionally, when he had to stay late for a large order, the delivery guy would drive Jungkook and his bike back home.

That's how it was here, in the world of everyone else, minus the rich.

The fuck is all this?

Manager gave me a bunch of leftovers. She said I'm a fast learner. Did you know Taehyung stops by there? He's never said shit! He said it was his little secret, that ass–

You smiled as you remembered Jungkook's animated face and annoyance at his best friend for not sharing what he thought was crucial information. Jungkook would speak excitedly, hauling a bag of buns and spilling them over your clean kitchen counter, scrambling to catch them as he explained the different ones to you and how they were made, telling you all the things he was learning and funny stories about customers.

You almost forgot this Jungkook.

It was strange, feeling something after such a long time of feeling nothing, strange to find your time occupied once again by him, when at many times you vowed not to get involved with Jungkook anymore, only for him to show up and make you throw your promises to yourself to the wind, recklessly chasing the anger, wondering, hating, loathing how much you still loved him after he left, recalling him standing there, stone silent as his parents' verbal lashes ripped you to shreds.

You turned the car off, pulling the keys out and pocketing them, not wanting to the drain the battery.

Maybe.

Maybe you were stupid for loving him so much.

Maybe you were as pathetic as the woman up there in some ways.

Then again.

Maybe that was just how everyone lived.

You heard a soft tap by your car window.

You jerked your head to see Jeon Jungkook, in the flesh, peering at you through the glass, clutching his bike. You could see half of his head, short black hair and large, curious brown eyes, nose pressed up to the bottom of your car window. He was wearing his work clothes, light wash jeans and an aqua blue t-shirt, lightly dusted in flour. He pointed up and you noticed his ex-fiancé had switched back to yelling at the door, no longer facing the street.

You shooed him back and opened the car door, eyes wide.

"Why are you home?" you whispered, crouching down to speak to him.

He grabbed your hand, gasping as he gripped it. You shivered at the coldness of his fingers, but there was a warmth in between your and his frozen palms, melting each other.

"Oh, shit, your hand is so cold!"

"So is yours!"

"I was biking! My hands get cold from the wind. What's your excuse?"

You held up the empty mango sorbet container in your other hand, shifting your eyes guiltily.

"And you didn't share?!" Jungkook hissed, his windswept hair giving him a fierce appearance, dismay clear in his glistening dark brown orbs despite trying to sound angry.

You spied his other hand on his bike. There was a large, wrapped bandage on his left forearm. You ticked your chin towards it, furrowing your brows. "What happened?"

"Ack, I burned myself and manager-nim told me to go home early. I told her I could still work, but there were only a few hours left and it seemed like she wanted to be alone with Yoongi-hyung..."

You raised your eyebrows.

"What are they gonna do, bonk in the kitchen?"

"You wouldn't want to bonk me in the kitchen?"

You grinned at him and Jungkook grinned back, eyebrow piercing flashing in the sun.

"JEON JUNGKOOK!"

"Oh shit–"

You scrambled out of your car, locking it, slamming the door as the young woman wailed his name and pointed at you and him, furiously wiping her tears.

"You bitch! How dare you take him from me! He was mine! I had him wrapped around my finger!" She hiked up her skirt and swiftly power-walked to the stairs, looking back to yell more at you as Jungkook placed his bicycle down. "He would do anything for me!"

You raised your eyebrows, again.

Jungkook yanked on your t-shirt sleeve, ushering you to get on the bike with him.

"Doesn't seem like it!" you called back casually, chucking your trash at her, causing the empty ice cream container to smack her in the shoulder and roll across the sidewalk.

"You–"

You cackled and got on the bike, hooking your arms around Jungkook's shoulders and adjusting your feet as she stomped up to you two, conventionally attractive features contorted in rage.

"He was my dog!"

Your eye twitched.

"You were gonna marry a freak who was into bestiality? No wonder you left," you remarked, patting him on the chest as Jungkook burst out laughing, loud and rich, shaking his head.

"You can't do this to me, Jungkook! You can't leave me with that other guy!"

You felt it.

Pause.

You felt Jungkook stiffen under your hands and you turned yourself, hearing the helpless plea in her voice now, throwing herself to the ground, designer knees in common dirt, anguish on her face, tears streaming down her made-up cheeks, sniffling hard, and, with your breath lodged in your throat, you realized she was restraining her pained sobs, so trained in maintaining appearances that it seemed like she couldn’t even cry properly in front of others.

"You can't... you know how they are... I can't marry him, you saw what kind of man he is... that's the whole reason I tried to find another husband..."

There was no more anger in her voice, only fear and dread, and you didn't understand, and yet you could for some reason, for some reason you could see it as if it was tangible, the realness in her enigmatic words. Jungkook's hands tightened on the handlebars of the bicycle, his knuckles turning white, tense shoulders under your arms, and for a second, a moment, an instant...

You thought he might go back.

"You should run."

The crying woman on the ground lifted her head, hiccupping, cheeks blotchy pink, still somehow beautiful.

"W-What?"

Jungkook turned his head and looked down at her. "You should run away, like I did. Find someone who actually loves you. Getting married to me will only make both of us miserable, even if it saves you from that other guy."

She looked from you to him, and you recognized that look in her eyes, jealousy and envy, but not directed at you. It was directed at the warmth between the coldness of his hands and yours, directed at the orbits of his and yours finally overlapping, meeting in the vastness of space once more, his zero and your zero becoming one, not you, but his ability to throw everything away, his wealth, his comfort, the world he knew, all for a feeling she had yet to feel.

"What... what if I can't?" she asked weakly. "What if I can't find what you have?"

Jungkook lifted his foot off the asphalt and placed it on the pedal. He raised his head, and you found his eyes on yours for a brief moment before casting them back down to his ex-fiancé.

"Then keep running. It's better than being married to him, right?"

He began to turn the handles, about to pedal away.

She screamed after him, words choked with agony.

"Love won't solve our problems, Jungkook!"

You held on tight, chest to his back, fingers clutching in Jungkook's shirt, nose in his hair, his warmth under your cold hands.

"It won't!" he yelled over his shoulder, gaining speed with a grin. "But it sure as hell makes the problems worth shouldering!"

“Hey! Get back here!”

You snickered and chucked the plastic bag into the basket connected to the bicycle, jumping on quickly, pedaling away as Jungkook ran after you at top speed, breathless and laughing, his black hair flying back, aqua shirt molding to his muscular chest, long legs sprinting after you and the bike, your grinning face looking back periodically to catch his smile, going not too fast, but still fast enough so he couldn’t quite catch up. Golden hour brought out the tan on his skin and his high cheekbones, both of you tearing out of the gas station at high speed, drawing stares and shaking heads, but neither of you noticed or cared, his booming voice calling your name and you sticking your tongue out at him childishly.

“Watch out!”

You jerked aside and sped past a group of five young men with skateboards, two with shorter black hair, one with long black hair and white highlights, one with ash gray hair, and one platinum blond, all very tall, but you didn’t have time to stop and stare at the impressive height of them, turning into a side alley towards to the creek nearby, avoiding pedestrians, Jungkook following close behind until you got to your destination, grabbing the plastic bag in the basket and throwing the bike down, cackling as Jungkook snatched you from the air, his heart racing against your back as you kicked the air, him still somehow effortlessly carrying you despite sprinting so hard, panting into your hair.

“Get off!”

But instead of letting you go, Jungkook held on tighter, fierce kisses into your neck, wiping his sweat all over you and making you cringe amidst your laughter. It was already late, the sun dipping into the horizon, slowly taking its warmth with it. Water trickled meekly down the creek, barely coating the rock bottom due to the hot summer.

“Stop, stop, the ice cream is melting,” you finally gasped out, shoving Jungkook aside, wiping your neck with the back of your hand, pretending to be disgusted, but Jungkook just grinned and seized your cheeks, pressing his lips against yours.

“I love you,” he breathed.

“Ack, I love you too, fuck, get off–”

You two sat on the swings of the empty playground, watching the sun disappear, eating ice cream with the lids of the containers. As predicted, Jungkook got the chocolate that seemed to have everything in it but the kitchen sink. You, on the other hand, got red bean this time.

“Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

He looked up from his ice cream, shoving a large lidful into his mouth.

It was strange how beautiful he looked, even with his black hair sticking up every which way, his cheeks filled with the frozen sweet, the faint rays of sunlight catching the silver of his jewelry – eyebrow piercing, earrings, silver chain around his neck with the compass star pendant – all paired with his oversized aqua blue t-shirt and baggy jeans, still with bits of flour on his thighs from work.

“What did that man do to her?”

A darkness clouded his features even though he tried to hide it from you with a neutral expression.

“Ah… He just… Just wasn’t really the kind of guy who thought of women as people,” Jungkook finally got out, looking away from you. “You know, the kind of guy you really hate.”

“That’s you,” you joked.

“I know I can’t do anything,” Jungkook continued, ignoring your quip and you suddenly regretted it, seeing the way he lowered his hands, exhaling slowly. “I am not responsible for anyone else’s behavior but my own.”

Come crawling back to me on your knees when she reaffirms to you that I'll be the best fuck you'll ever have.

She'll never make you feel as good as I can make you feel.

Enjoy your piranha.

“I’m sorry.”

Jungkook looked up at your sudden declaration.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, coughing awkwardly. “I’m sorry for saying the things I said about her.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t be. Just because she was in a shit situation doesn’t excuse her for being a shit person.” He shoved the lid into the empty ice cream container and rubbed the back of his neck, pushing his hair back with a sigh. “Just like how it doesn’t excuse me from being a shit person for what I did to you.”

His eyes shifted away.

“You don’t have to–”

“Yeah, I do,” he muttered, cutting you off. “I’m a fucking loser.”

The streetlights began to turn on, but no one was in a place like this, two adults in a place for kids, stuck wondering what adulthood was supposed to feel like because it still felt like an endless cycle of forever learning and forever running, wandering to find out what the finish line meant.

“I wasted time you can’t get back and I will spend the rest of my life chasing the time I wasted.”

Jungkook sucked in a shuddering breath, hand falling from his hair, rueful smile on his face.

“I can only hope you can put up with me for so long.”

You blinked slowly.

He turned his head, brown eyes finding yours, those irises catching the streetlights like how his jewelry had caught the sun, proving that Jeon Jungkook was, indeed, already adorned with nature’s very own jewelry.

You scooped out the last of your red bean ice cream and ate it, looking away from him.

“Sounds like forever,” you remarked, feeling the chilled sweet cool your heated cheeks, swallowing slowly, savoring the way the cold warmed you in its own way.

“Hm?”

“Sounds like I’m stuck with you forever then,” you said, turning back to him with a smirk. “Kinda sucks.”

He smirked back, cocking an eyebrow. “Yeah. Major suck. Speaking of my dick–”

“Oh, shut up.”

But you said it with a smile and he knew you didn’t mean it.

“Why the fuck do you have that?”

“It’s from work. Gimmie your arm.”

“Why?”

You extended your arm, frowning, stopping under the streetlight, one hand on the bike as Jungkook held the black permanent marker with his right hand. He used two fingers to uncap it and tucked the lid neatly into his palm, spinning the marker with the adjacent two fingers to readjust it so that he could write on your arm.

“Do you wanna get a tattoo with me?”

“Of what?”

You looked down to him scribbling on your skin, his own black tattoos standing out, covering his entire right arm and up to his shoulder. You wondered if he would end up tattooing his back and maybe his other arm – but, then again, he kind of needed money to have pay for such large pieces.

“Couples tattoo.”

You looked down when he drew back, grinning, reading the word upside down.

LO♡ER

You raised an eyebrow.

“You want to get ‘lover’ tattooed?” you asked, skeptical, turning your arm this way and that, unsure if you liked the placement on your forearm, near your wrist. “You don’t have any space on your right arm anyway.”

“That’s why I would get it on my left.”

And he curved his wrist to write on the bandage on his left forearm, messily writing on top of it.

LO$ER

Now you raised both eyebrows.

“You want to get… ‘loser’ tattooed onto your body?” you snorted disbelievingly.

Jungkook grinned, recapping the black marker with one hand, tapping the dollar sign on the bandage with the marker lid. “Doesn’t it describe me? ‘Cause I had money, and now I don’t.” He pointed to the heart on your skin. “You love me. I love you. A lover with a dollar sign is a loser, right?”

Laughter and skateboards sped past, five blurs of black along the street, spinning around the parked cars, people yelling after them to stop being so reckless, but you were too busy staring at Jungkook to notice the ruckus, too busy staring at that smile and those brown orbs lit up by streetlights.

“Are you stupid?”

Jungkook’s grin widened, mole underneath clearly visible. “Yeah, kind of. Stupidly in love with you.”

You both instantly pretended to gag, trying to mask your smiles, you shoving him and him shoving back, playful and laughing like mad, falling into him, dropping the bike with a loud clang, swept up in his arms and his kiss, your hands hooking behind his neck, love you, love you, love you, not sure about this whole tattoo idea, but, hell, maybe, just maybe if he annoyed you enough about it.

Shit, the groceries...

Are they still good?

The green onions look kind of wilted, but so do you and you're still good... I think.

Shut up.

You didn't need him, but being without him was like being frozen in time.

Not that you had any big dreams or aspirations anyone could be envious about. It always been like that, casually cruising through life, existing for the sake of existing, no real reason needed. It just was, and there was no reason to stop, so you kept going. The path was there, so you kept walking.

But, then.

Jeon Jungkook.

Jungkook made you run.

It's not washing off.

Tragic.

Easy for you to say, you wrote yours on your bandage, 'loser'.

So terrible that you have 'lover' written in you by your lover - hey, pfft, stop! Put the showerhead down!

It was truly by chance to meet him, a moment of terror and then he was there, yelling, get off her, don't fucking touch her, and you didn't understand, didn't understand why some random guy would suddenly intervene between an interaction of two strangers, how could he sense your discomfort and fear, and now he was throwing fists, brawling with not one but three guys, friends of the one who slipped his phone and his hands under your skirt, the stranger smashing the phone with venomous rage, fighting in a dress shirt, slacks, leather loafers, and expensive-looking rings, giving you a chance to escape.

A winner at life.

Not like you, you who let something happen because you froze up in that second, disbelieving that such a thing could happen to you, a nobody, a loser.

He kicked one of them in the knee, growling, a howl followed by the sharp crack during the fight.

You could turn and escape.

Or?

You heard sirens.

You grabbed your protector's flying fist and clenched into it tightly, panicking.

Run!

This was before the tattoos.

This was before the pain.

This was before the piercing.

Jeon Jungkook had whipped his head around at the foreign touch, in this mess because he had witnessed something disgusting and because he simply wanted to fight, just wanted to beat someone up, wanted to cause real pain to someone because he couldn't control his own life, wanted to fight something.

Needed to fight.

A hand around his hand.

Run!

Never once had Jungkook thought about escape.

Not until he saw that face, fear and panic and rage and determination, stunningly beautiful, hand around his hand, not letting go, pulling, sirens screaming in the distance, his legs already moving, following, running, running, running, into the sea of the unknown.

Sinking into it.

Lungs screaming, clumsily flying through alleys, on wings of adrenaline, running after the girl in the white hoodie and red plaid skirt holding his hand, falling, falling, falling, skidding across the concrete, her arms around his, her head buried into his chest, his hands around her head to protect it, hitting a dumpster with a pained wheeze.

The sirens sped past.

He was holding her and she was holding him.

It was chance.

Just chance.

His hands were scraped up, bleeding from the trip and tumble, her white hoodie dirtied and ripped from the fall, scrapes on her legs and knees.

I'm sorry...

It was ridiculous chance.

Just ridiculous.

You clung to this stranger and laughed, laughed like a maniac, laughed like you had gone mad, crying into his dirty navy dress shirt, thank you, thank you, thank you, not knowing you were holding the one who would make you run, not knowing who or how affluent he was, now knowing of how it felt to hold his hand and kiss his lips and hear his laugh, not knowing how you would introduce him to a friend who was a tattoo artist and start his interest in them, not knowing you would sit by him for long hours and watch the art grow on his skin...

Holding him, crying, thank you, thank you, thank you for saving me, leaning against a dumpster as the stranger hugged you tightly, I got you, it's okay, don't cry, don't cry, don’t cry please, rubbing your back.

Not knowing.

Not knowing he would make you zero, not knowing you would be standing there, time and time again, verbally beaten by his own parents as he looked away, unable to fight.

And you would escape.

You would run.

He would come back.

An endless cycle until you broke it.

Then he started the endless cycle again, broken as it was, his whispers to your cheeks, I love you, cheeks that were dried of tears because you were cried out and left with a mechanical heart, I love you, heart to heartless because of wasted time, I love you, time wasted but you still loved him, no matter what you did.

Did that make you pathetic?

Did that make you stupid?

Did that make you the loser?

I love you.

Why did it matter?

Even winners die.

I love you too, Jungkook.

"Get your hands off my tits."

"Why?"

You glared at him. Jungkook grinned and spun you around, hair still a little damp, kisses on your face that made you cringe as your naked bodies tumbled on the bed, him doing it on purpose, your grumble against his kisses, should have known, his smirk against your scowl, thought you knew me well by now, capturing his lips to shut him up, sinking into his arms and the ocean that was Jeon Jungkook, the one who made you want to run through the maze of life instead of aimlessly walk down the path.

His hands on your face, staring into your eyes.

You looked back, into those eyes that once had everything, but you.

And yet, he chose to lose it all and have nothing, but you.

It didn't really make sense, being in love.

You searched for regret, but there was none to be found.

"Am I forever your waste of time?" Jungkook whispered, breath drifting over your lips.

You smirked.

"Always was and always will be."

I know you said I was a waste of time. But I was your waste of time and that was all I ever wanted to be.

"Let me at least..."

"Ah, f-fuck, Jungkook!"

Your hands faltered a little, rolling the condom down while biting your lip, gasping as his two fingers plunged into you, him moaning at the wetness, thrusting slowly and deeply.

"What, you think I can't feel good with only your dick?"

"No," Jungkook snickered, pulling his slick fingers out of your pussy and bringing them to his face, cocking an eyebrow. "Just want a taste."

You rolled your eyes as he shoved his fingers into his mouth, sucking them off, eyelids fluttering.

"You're so annoying."

He grinned around his fingers, slowly pulling them out and tracing his wet lips.

You narrowed your eyes.

You don't have to take me back. I understand now, you know... I get it. Everyone... everyone will tell you you're crazy and to not to take me back.

I'm not taking you anywhere.

I... I wouldn't blame you. I promise.

Jungkook, please, shut the fuck up.

Your hands on his chest, smacking your hips down, his head thrown back on the pillows, breathless moan at your tightness, matching his sound with your own, stretching yourself out and feeling him swell even more at the pulse of your walls wrapped around him, rolling your hips into his, wet, intense smacks, his right hand flying up and wrapping around your left wrist, watching you through his lashes with effort, losing himself in your pace, no need to ask because you could see it in his face, his open mouth and glazed over eyes, fingers slipping down, curling your nails into his skin.

“P… Please…”

Raking your nails down his chest, his back arching and eyes closing, groaning in pleasure and pain, fucking him into your mattress so hard that the bedframe squealed, setting your jaw and closing your eyes too, savoring his fullness and thickness, sinking into the ocean of pleasure that was Jeon Jungkook, the one who made you feel like no one else, the one who could make and unmake your mechanical heart, funny how that worked, your nails in his skin creating crescents of lust, your eyes snapping open as you felt his chest rise, his back arching, his hands flat on the bed and thrusting his hips up into you, one eye partly open, black hair pushed back, open-mouthed smirk on his lips.

That dark brown orb partly obscured by his lashes, but revealing all to you.

You ticked your chin at him.

“Look at me.”

His eyes fully opening, pupils dilated, hazed over with lust and stubborn love.

“Nothing is more important to me than loving you,” he panted before sinking his teeth into his lower lip, mole underneath flashing, smacking his hips up into yours hard and fast, and it took no time at all, staring at his face and the way the moonlight cradled his strong jaw and toned muscle, catching the low light and bringing out the fervor in his gaze, filling you just right, pleasure blossoming from your core and yet concentrated tightly at the same time, moan of his name falling from your lips, spilling out from your lips and in between your legs, covering him with the sweet scent and harsh squeezes of orgasm, even wetter now, his eyes rolling back, cock twitching, satisfied hiss of your name spilling out with spurts of cum filling the condom, his length shivering inside you, your thighs closing in and holding him in the air so you could feel it all.

His pleasure and him.

I won’t make it to heaven. I don’t belong there.

It’s not like I belong there either, Jungkook.

Are you sure? Only an angel would take me back.

I didn’t take you back. Only your body walked away. Your heart never left me, did it?

“You sure you don’t want to get a couples tattoo with me?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around how your dumb ass wants to get ‘loser’ tattooed and how you think that’s romantic.”

He pressed his right forearm against your left and grinned, watching you suck in a breath as he pushed into you again, other condom already in the trash, new one on, your right leg against his chest, sandwiched between your bodies.

“But yeah, if you want, I’ll get a ‘lover’ tattoo.”

He paused, blinking rapidly. “Really?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Why not?”

“You never wanted a tattoo before.”

Now you raised both eyebrows. “Did you ever ask me before?”

Jungkook looked down at you, hair a mess, smile blossoming on his face, somewhere between giddiness and mania, diving down and showering you with kisses, you smacking his arms and telling him, you’re bending me in half, the fuck are you doing, and he laughed, lifting both your legs now, I’ll show you bent in half, placing them between his arms, leaning down, sinking in as deep as possible, your moan and his moan mixing together.

You’re still here.

Of course, I am, this is my fucking apartment. Ugh, your black eye looks even uglier than before.

You don’t… you don’t want me to leave?

Did I say that? Uh… why are you crying?

F… Forget I said a-anything…

Hey, stop. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, Jungkook, please…

“Fuck, you feel so good, fuck…!”

Your hands in his hair, teasing grin on your face, and he was looking down at you, I love your smug smile, fuck, your fingers combing through his hair, pushing it back and away from his face, letting him see your smug smile without any obstructions, you always fuck me so well, Jungkook, the smile breaking out over his handsome features, breathing erratic and labored, hard and rough and deep, you rising your hips to meet him for every loud smack, exhales and moans blending together, tight, wet, full, your grip on his hair tightening, closer, closer, racing to the edge of the cliff and the edge of the world, Jungkook in your hands, taking him with you, or was he the one who was leading you?

“Jungkook…”

Breathless as if you were running, winded from the pleasure, tightening around him, his head lowering, your name washing over your cheeks in a hot gasp, putting more weight on you, nearly folded in half but it felt better this way, gratifying in how hard he could fuck you in this position, staring into those dark brown orbs, his body on yours, knowing he was yours, always was, always will be, and you were his, always was, always will be.

Head pressing into the pillows, moaning his name again, loud and unashamed, the overwhelming feeling taking over, muscles tense and nerves on fire, pouring it all into the pleasure, pulsing around his jerking length, his moan of your name on your skin, shooting shivering strings of cum into the condom, massaged and milked by the strength of your orgasm, locking him in your embrace and his arms closing in, lips on lips, a fierce kiss dominated by shuddering aftershocks, trembling in each other’s hold and taking the other’s breath away, blazing hot all over even though this frozen world cared about no one.

The kiss lasted a long, long time.

It fell apart slowly, leaving you both lightheaded from the intensity.

“You’re a waste of time, Jungkook,” you whispered, heated. “But you’re my time.”

The side of his lips quirked upward, sweaty, panting, chuckling.

“That’s all I ever wanted to be.”

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years ago

Text

a love that endures | Yoongi

→ summary:

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look who’s coming over to say hello!”

{or alternatively: Yoongi and Y/N. Y/N and Yoongi. High school sweethearts that were never meant to last, until a reunion ten years later manages to reignite a flame that never quite burnt out.}

→ genre: high school reunion!au, exes to lovers, fluff, humor, minor angst → warnings: shy!yoongi and shy!oc live rent free in my brain, mutual pining is poggers, hoseok and seokjin aren’t evil for once in a cinnaminsvga fic, implied smut so it’s pg-13 because i’m a wimp → words: 14.4K → a/n: SHE’S ALIVE!! this is dedicated to @himbeaux-joon who commissioned this piece ages ago. thank you again for requesting this because this was honestly so much fun to write. i’ve been in a bit of writing slump these past few weeks but this fic came out so easily and got way longer than expected (perhaps because it’s about yoongi and he’s always been the easiest one to write for me). enjoy!! ;o;

The mere sight of him is enough to knock the wind out of you.

Your body freezes, the hand curled around your paper cup filled with punch tightening ever so slightly. It isn’t like you’re surprised that he came; you aren’t supposed to be. Of course, you should have expected his arrival, but you’ve been hoping all night that he might have been too busy to attend.

He isn’t even on time—it has almost been two hours since the event started and you had been filled with a false hope that perhaps he had RSVP’d and decided he couldn’t make it.

You had seen Hoseok, his best friend from your younger days, standing outside the entrance of the ballroom before they had started letting people in. The moment Hoseok saw you, he immediately came over to sweep you into a tight hug, his infectious laughter ringing in your ears. He had greeted you happily, expressing how much he missed you since high school, but never once bringing up the elephant in the room.

It wasn’t like you were going to bring him up first. No, that would be weird on your part. Nevermind the fact that going to high school reunions was a recipe for reliving past traumas and seeing all your childhood friends either married or pregnant—you weren’t going to be that person who asked where their ex was. You refused to be the person craning their neck to spy on the entrance every two minutes, hoping to catch sight of an old familiar face.

The problem is that you are that person, and you kind of hate yourself for it. However, it is also the reason why you are probably the only person in the entire ballroom who notices his quiet arrival.

He has never liked causing commotions, which is often apparent from the way he conducts himself. He walks into the room just as a loud round of applause breaks out; an old schoolmate of yours is walking up to the podium, probably the person who had arranged the get-together in the first place. It is a perfect distraction for him as he slinks past the door, keeping near the wall so as not to be seen by anyone just yet.

(Except he has been seen—he just doesn’t know it yet.)

You do not know for how long you stare at him, just that it takes you a moment to realize you haven’t taken a breath since he stepped foot into the same space as you. You take a deep, shuddering breath, forcing your racing heartbeat to calm down. You swallow thickly, throat so unbearably dry that even drinking from your lukewarm cup of punch doesn’t seem to do anything.

But the undeniable truth is there, standing only a few meters away from you, and nothing on earth will be able to wash away the nerves flooding through your system.

After ten years of radio silence, Min Yoongi is in your orbit once again.

In the grand scheme of things, ten years wasn’t all that long. Four years in university had passed by in a blur, and the absolute chaos that ensued right after you graduated as you scrambled to secure a job and move out of your hometown had made the days seem shorter than they actually were. You had not even noticed that time was passing until you found that cream envelope waiting for you one day after work, your alma mater’s school crest painfully recognizable even after all these years.

During all that time, the world around you shifted without you noticing, and that meant people were changing too.

Yoongi is 28 now. And so are you, after many months of denial. You have not seen each other since you were both 18—both of you far too young to know about any of the things you would experience in the next ten years.

He might have grown a little taller since then, something you are sure that your brother will find amusing. His hair isn’t dyed like you remembered, as he has opted to keep it his natural dark black that you have not seen since you were both in middle school. It’s styled differently too: combed over and gelled back, with his bangs pushed back and his forehead exposed. When he turns his head to the side, a gasp spills past your lips before you can stop it.

“Is that a fucking undercut?” you mutter in shock, your eyes straining out of their sockets as you try to drink him in. Even under the dim lighting of the ballroom, his new haircut is hard to miss. No one else seems to be undergoing the same mental collapse as you, judging by how everyone’s attention is still fixated on the person speaking at the podium. How the hell is no one else losing their fucking minds to the sight of Min Yoongi with a fucking undercut? Some questions are impossible to answer, you surmise.

When you decided to attend the reunion, you had not once thought about how Yoongi would look like. Somehow, you had developed this stagnant picture of him in your head, even after all these years. To you, he will always be the boy with the stark blonde hair, the mismatched eyelids, the pouty lips, the dumpling cheeks. He is the boy who can’t wear his own contact lenses to save his life, the boy who sometimes wears his favorite leather jacket to sleep, the boy who only drinks Americanos like it was water.

Gone are those days, you realize. That image of him has been smashed to pieces, instead replaced by this dashing (and incredibly hot) man—a stranger. A stranger with unbleached (and healthy) hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He has his glasses kept away, and there is no leather jacket in sight.

But you can see him, if you look hard enough. The same spark in his eye, the same curve of his lips. You catch him smiling for a second, and his cheeks still puff up like dough. Maybe it’s just hopeless thinking, but you see him. It’s still him. To you, he will always be your 18-year-old Min Yoongi, the one who would greet you with a sweet kiss on the forehead every time you would—

Raucous applause breaks you from your train of thought, and you blink rapidly in surprise. You have to forcibly pull yourself out of your Yoongi-induced trance, clapping alongside everyone without really knowing what was going on. All of the extra noise sounds like buzzing in your ears, especially when it is drowned out by the roar of your blood rushing to your head all at once.

“Once again, I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. We will begin the program right after dinner, so please feel free to help yourselves to the buffet! Cheers everyone!” You faintly hear your old schoolmate speak, before her voice is quickly overrun by the commotion of people walking over to the extravagant display of food. It takes a moment for the crowd of heads to disperse, so when you can finally look back to where you last saw Yoongi, he is no longer alone.

Hoseok has his arm slung around Yoongi, his infectious laughter loud enough to be heard over clinking plates and silverware. The two are as different as night and day, with Hoseok practically bouncing from excitement and Yoongi rolling his eyes from annoyance. But it is easy to see that his pout is nothing but a ruse; you can already catch the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

You feel your own seams breaking, unwittingly sporting a grin of your own. It is nice to know that Yoongi hasn’t been alone all this time, that he still seems close with his old best friend. You cannot count the number of friendships that you have lost over time, and you still grieve many of them during your quiet moments. Alas, it was often never even anyone’s fault, the strains of adulthood often being the biggest deal breakers in your relationships.

That is, of course, except for one.

“Enjoying yourself? I didn’t think we’d share the same voyeuristic tendencies,” says a voice, creeping up behind you. Now, normal people would not usually expect other sane people to invade your personal space and breathe directly into your ear, but that’s just your humble opinion. What you do know is that one certain individual enjoys breaking the mold when it comes to societal norms, and it is none other than…

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shriek, nearly sucker-punching the offending degenerate in the face. You hold back your fist from connecting with his face, but your resulting irritation remains. Whether that irritation is because you regret holding back or not will unfortunately also have to remain unanswered. “Oh God, it’s you.”

“Oh, no need for that. Most people usually call me Seokjin,” he snickers, thoroughly enjoying your flushed face. Kim Seokjin pats you on the shoulder, his trademark “pretty boy” smile still as radiant as you remembered. It does nothing to quell your urge to raise your fists again, however. “Hello, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here!”

“The feeling is not mutual,” you snort. Much like how Yoongi was with Hoseok, your derision is nothing but a rouse. As much as you want to kick Seokjin in the nuts, you also cannot ignore how much you want to hug him the slimy bastard—but you definitely will not be the first one to admit it. So like the tsundere that you are, you decide to insult him instead. “Why are you here? You’re not even from this class. Don’t you have other things to do? Or rather, people to do?”

“My heart! You wound me,�� he gasps, grasping his chest as though he’d been shot. “How could you say that to your best friend in the entire world? Don’t you know how much I missed you?”

“Easy. I do it because the only other alternative would lead me straight to prison,” you shrug, but your grin betrays you.

This time, you don’t jolt away when he closes in for a hug. “And I guess I miss you too,” you say, your words slightly muffled into his chest. Like always, he sees through your prickly act because as much as you like to pretend, Kim Seokjin is kind of amazing—loose bolts and all.

“It’s nice to know that your tongue hasn’t lost its edge, though I suppose I wouldn’t be intimately knowledgeable in that area. After all, I still am very much a raging homosexual and pussy isn’t really my forte,” Seokjin guffaws, his volume causing a few nearby guests to raise their heads in alarm.

You bow at them, sheepishly apologizing on his behalf before grabbing him by the collar.

“Will you stop being embarrassing for just one second? I swear, I thought I retired from my babysitting job when I graduated high school,” you hiss, but the way his mouth curls up with mischief is answer enough. God, you missed this son of a bitch.

“Unfortunately for you, being a pest is part of my DNA,” he smirks, carefully plucking your hands off from his neck, as though your nails were not mere inches away from ripping his trachea into pieces. “Though, I am offended by your assumption that I am still the same slut that you knew. I’ve grown up a little, you know! I’m a changed man!”

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you of all people have settled down,” you laugh, not missing the way Seokjin’s perfectly stenciled brow raises slightly.

“I know we haven’t seen each other since Christmas, but come on Y/N! You of all people should be applauding me for my improved behavior! You must have noticed how much I changed when I visited.”

“When you visited me last Christmas, you immediately insulted my taste in kitchen towels, went on Grindr to find a hookup despite my numerous pleas, and promptly desecrated my guest bedroom that no housekeeper or priest is willing to exorcise to this day,” you gag, shuddering at the memory. “And then you ate all my ice cream and proceeded to clog my toilet!”

“Um? Aren’t you forgetting that I also bought you that dress you wanted? Rude,” Seokjin retorts, not the least bit remorseful. “Well, that’s what you get for agreeing to be my best bitch for life. You know that I take pinky promises very seriously.”

Unfortunately, he does take his promises seriously. It is probably the only thing he’ll ever be serious about, as much as the man enjoys parading his depravity. “Okay, whatever. I’ll bite. Who’s the unlucky man you’ve managed to deceive into a relationship?”

“Oh, it’s someone we both used to know. I’m his plus one for tonight,” he says, supplying you with the most useless non-answer imaginable.

“Seokjin. We’re at a high school reunion. We know everyone here. That could be anyone!” you exclaim.

“Well, isn’t that fun? Then we can do a scavenger hunt!” Seokjin grins, clapping his hands together excitedly. He pulls you in front of him, forcing the two of you to survey the crowd. “Okay, hold your arm out like this—” After a few seconds of you failing to resist him, he manages to get you to unfurl your finger as if you were about to order something from the dollar menu at McDonalds. Unfortunately for you, the tall twink is stronger than he appears. “—and just keep pointing around until I tell you that you’re getting warmer!”

“Seokjin, I don’t think this is very—” you start, but Seokjin is already moving your arm for you. Like a hurricane, Kim Seokjin listens to no one but his own homewrecking whims.

“Park Chanyeol? Close, but not really. You should know that I don’t double dip with past flings,” he says, shifting you to the left. “Kim Namjoon? Now that’s a hunk of meat that I wish I’d taken a bite of, but unfortunately he’s as straight as a ruler. Pass,” he hums, continuing to move you bit by bit.

You’re both getting uncomfortably close to where Yoongi is, and Seokjin doesn’t appear to be stopping any time soon. You did notice that Yoongi had come dateless to the reunion (a fact, by the way, that you did not rejoice over when you had noticed), but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s single. You have known Seokjin for more than a decade at this point, and despite your odd friendship, you are sure that he would never do anything to hurt you on purpose.

Though, that does beg the question… How far does his dick thirst really go? Maybe you’ll finally find out today.

“Warmer, getting warmer…” Seokjin inches you closer and closer to where Yoongi is standing. You feel frozen in his grasp, unsure if you wanted to know anymore. If Seokjin really is dating Yoongi, then what? It’s not like you were dating him anyway… What difference does it make if it’s Seokjin?

(It makes all the difference, but you refuse to think about it.)

“Nope, not Wonho... A little bit to the left… Bingo!” Seokjin declares, stopping your finger right on— “No, Y/N! Stop moving! You’ve gone too far to the wall! I was pointing at him.”

“H-Hoseok? You’re dating Hoseok?!” You squeak, an avalanche of relief flooding through you. You don’t even have the energy to pretend to be composed as your entire body starts untensing involuntarily, your shoulders slumping as though a weight has been lifted from you. “Why couldn’t you have just told me like a normal person? Why must everything be tortuous and dramatic when it comes to you?”

“I am a naturally insufferable and theatrical person. Sue me,” he shrugs, greatly enjoying the exhausted look on your face. “What? Were you actually scared that I was dating your sloppy seconds? What do you think I am? An asshole?”

You stare at him. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

Seokjin scoffs. “If I wanted to get roasted, I would approach two tops at a gay bar.” He pauses. “Wait, are you seriously not going to congratulate me for finally snagging a boy who has a functioning moral compass?”

“Define ‘snagging.’ Did you, like, tie him up and blackmail him to become your boyfriend like those terrible One Direction Wattpad fanfics, or—” You stop halfway, giggling at your friend’s unamused pout. “Okay, okay. Yes, Seokjin. I am very proud of you. Congrats on finally becoming an adult. Your hoe days are over.”

“Who said they were over?” He snorts. Noticing your alarm, Seokjin rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Oh, don’t give me that look! I’m not into infidelity and you know that. I just meant that I’m still a hoe with significantly fewer options.”

“How did that even happen in the first place?” you say, jabbing your thumb in Hoseok’s direction. Thankfully, the man in question is still busy talking to Yoongi, though you don’t know for how much longer. If Seokjin isn’t lying, then there’s a high chance they’re going to walk over to say hi and you’re not sure if you’re mentally prepared to go through the five stages of grief all over again.

“Believe me, I’m surprised as well. I started dating Hoseok after he asked me for help with his sister’s wedding gift. He asked me to help arrange an itinerary for her sister’s honeymoon in America,” Seokjin explains with a dreamy smile. He sighs, holding a hand up to his chest. You can physically see the heart emojis circling his head like a halo. “We hit it off from there and dare I say… Not only is he the only person who can keep up with my high maintenance lifestyle, but dear Lord, he could totally be recruited into the NDA for his astounding dick game—”

“Ever heard of TMI? Gross,” you interrupt, your face crumpling in disgust. You shove him away when his loud cackles start rattling your eardrums.

“You were scared though, right?” he says through his giggles. “When you thought that I was dating Yoongi?”

Of course Seokjin had noticed your mini-mental breakdown, judging from the shit-eating grin on his face.

“N-no,” you stutter, but your heated cheeks and averted gaze give you away. “E-either way, I wouldn’t have cared if you did!” you say. You know, like a liar.

“I bet you don’t care that Yoongi got significantly hotter in the past ten years too, huh?” Seokjin teases, snickering loudly. Under the harsh lighting of the fluorescent chandelier lights, you might have mistaken the boy in front of you for the devil instead of your best friend of almost twenty years.

“I sincerely rue the day I introduced myself to you in the third grade,” you hiss, sipping from your cup to hide your humiliation.

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re all embarrassed,” Seokjin coos, pinching your cheeks with the gentleness of an ape. You slap his hand away, unable to think of any retort.

“Cat got your tongue? You didn’t even deny it when I accused you,” Seokjin laughs. He claps his hands jovially, acting as though he’s enjoying a show at the circus. Given your performance tonight, that statement isn’t all that far from reality.

“I don’t need to defend myself from you,” you say, puffing your cheeks indignantly. “I just… think he looks handsome. Is that illegal or something?”

“Certainly not. Though, you might want to dial down the pining a teensy bit,” he singsongs. “That’s how I found you in the first place. I sensed your pining from a mile away and came as soon as I could!”

“I wasn’t pining!” you exclaim. “I was just… admiring the plant beside him.”

“Right, sure,” Seokjin says, arching an eyebrow in challenge. You feel your hackles rising at his smug expression, your ‘Seokjin-is-about-to-ruin-your-life’ alarm ringing in your ears. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I brought you over there to say hello? After all, my boyfriend is over there and as much as I enjoy pestering you, I also want to be with him very much.”

You whistle lowly, impressed. “Wow, that’s actually kind of sweet of you.”

“Yes, I know. Kim Seokjin’s heart grew three sizes that day, yada yada yada.” Seokjin says sarcastically, but his lovesick smile ruins the effect. When he opens his mouth once more, the mirage instantly disappears. “But you would understand if you saw how much he’s packing—”

“Shut up, I didn’t ask—”

“Fine, then let’s ask the man himself! Besides, you know you’re being ridiculous, right?” Seokjin tuts, annoyed. He fixes you with a glare, making you feel like a scolded child. “It’s just Yoongi. You and I both know he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and probably would love to see you after so long.”

You wave your hands around helplessly, almost sloshing your drink onto a nearby bystander. After muttering a meek apology at your harried classmate, you turn back to Seokjin with a defeated sigh.

You know that he’s right, and you absolutely hate him for it. “Jinnie, I’m a mess! I can hardly think with Yoongi standing meters away from me, much less if he were to stand right in front of me! I’m just going to embarrass myself,” you lament, holding your head in your hand.

“That’s true. You will definitely embarrass yourself,” Seokjin hums, nodding sagely. He shrugs his shoulders. “All the more reason we should do it. Relax, I’ll be your wingman like old times! All we have to do is remind him of all the fantastic, mind-blowing coitus you had in your youth and he’ll be a goner for sure.”

“If by goner, you mean he’ll be gone from my life permanently this time, then you’re right,” you groan. You have a half a mind to dump the remainder of your disgusting punch all over his expensive Bottega Veneta coat, though you also don’t want to spend the next three months receiving packaged turds from Seokjin in your mailbox. “Please, just let me suffer in silence for the remainder of the night, okay? Is that really too much to ask?”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

Swiveling around, you see that your intuition is right: Yoongi and Hoseok are swiftly making their way through the crowd, one of them appearing to be more enthusiastic than the other. You swallow thickly, your palms growing damp as they get closer to where the two of you stand.

"Seokjin, we gotta go!" you hiss, but your panic goes largely ignored as your best friend leaves you to envelop his lover in a dramatic embrace.

The two men exchange teary and heartfelt touches, acting as if they had been separated by years of war instead of the meager minutes they had spent apart to greet their long-time friends.

"My honeybunch! Oh, how I've missed you so much!" Seokjin cries, nuzzling his nose into Hoseok's neck. You might have mistaken him for a vampire with how aggressively he sniffs Hoseok's skin. Had Seokjin been 5% more unhinged, you do not doubt that he might have started suckling on his boyfriend like a leech.

"Oh, hyung. It's barely been an hour, but why does it feel like it has been forever?" Hoseok sighs forlornly, jaw clenching as though he's in pain. He croaks out a sob, lifting Seokjin in the air and spinning him around. "My love, let us never part again!"

You take a few steps away from them, trying to make it apparent to all the bewildered onlookers that you have nothing to do with homosexual Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

"What kind of shitty production is this? I want my money back," you murmur, fake-gagging behind the two of them. The lovesick fools pay no mind to your disgust; in fact, they seem to relish in it. Their efforts double, their theatrical kissy-smoochy sound effects causing goosebumps to form on your arms. "Seriously, I've had enough of this and I've only been forced to witness it for two seconds."

"Tell me about it," says a voice to your left. Startled, you nearly let out a shocked gasp when you realize that Yoongi had found his way by your side, his own disgusted gaze fixed on the bumbling buffoons still lost in their world. He glances at you for a second, quirking his lips into a small smile. "Hey, Y/N."

In just six words, Min Yoongi manages to make time grind to a halt. You gape at him, your brain ceasing in function. It takes you a full minute to realize that the man standing beside you is not a figment of your imagination. You had been so caught up in the absurdity of the situation that for a moment you had forgotten that Yoongi is a real person.

It's Yoongi, your first love. The person you haven't seen or spoken to in years. The man who has haunted your dreams for over a decade. He's standing right beside you, and he's smiling at you. He's here, he's hot, and he's saying hello.

Like the incredibly eloquent and profound person that you are, you reply: "Yellow!"

You had meant to say "Yoongi, hello!" like a normal person, but your brain had amalgamated your words during its rebooting process. And so, you are left standing there silently, frozen by your embarrassment. You swear you can hear a pin drop as you beg for the earth to swallow you whole.

Unfortunately for you, the floor remains painfully tangible beneath your feet, forcing you to clear your throat and expound on your mystifying exclamation. Yoongi watches you with curious eyes, patiently waiting for you to speak.

"W-what I meant to say is, uh," you stammer, your cheeks heating up to an alarming degree. "Those yellow streamers are pretty tacky, don't you think?"

Nice one. In terms of comebacks, you would personally give yourself a C for effort. (Note: C stands for "Can I please shove a fist up my ass and crabwalk the fuck out of here?")

Yoongi contemplates the tacky decorations in question, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess. They pretty much look like the stuff we'd make in elementary school during Arts and Crafts." He points to your mutual friends, grimacing in annoyance. "Them, on the other hand? No child should ever come into contact with those heathens."

"You're right," you snort, shaking your head.

There is a long and awkward pause. Yoongi clears his throat, swaying from side to side while staring at his shoes. You aren't any better, twiddling your thumbs as you will your cheeks to stop flushing. Your senses are practically screaming at you to run away and hide forever, but your limbs feel disjointed from the rest of you.

It's like we're at the zoo on a date and the monkeys won't stop fucking each other, your mind unhelpfully supplies, offering you an image that will permanently make its home on the backs of your eyelids.

Desperate to break the silence, eventually you say, "Hey, Yoongi—"

Right at the same time, Yoongi says, "Hey, Y/N—"

Another pause, but this one is slightly less tense. The two of you share a nervous laugh, though yours sounds a little bit more hysterical. You motion for him to speak first.

"I, uh... wanted to say that you look great. Yeah. Like, you haven't aged a day at all. N-not to say that I don't think you've matured or..." Yoongi stumbles over his words, his voice cracking.

Instead of feeling relieved that he's just as nervous as you, his anxiety only exacerbates your own. There's a reason you have never been good at public speaking, and this is a good example of why:

"No! I get what you mean, don't worry about it," you laugh, on the verge of a mental breakdown. What the fuck is this conversation, even? "You look exactly the same too. Umm... Of course, except for the, uh, hair?"

"Oh, you mean the gray hairs?"

"No, no! Of course not! I m-meant your hair looks really hot—I mean good! It looks GOOD," you repeat, frantically emphasizing the last bit. You had instinctively panicked, your voice rising in pitch. If your cheeks weren't flaming hot already, then they're definitely redder than Seokjin's ass after a Friday night of fun.

The apples of Yoongi's cheek match your own flustered state, though you can imagine that you’re probably at least a hundred times worse. “Well, thank you. I was actually feeling self-conscious about my hair, so hearing that from you is really… nice,” he says, brushing his hair shyly. “I’m kinda done with bright colored hair for now, so seeing my hair in its natural state is still kind of weird.”

“I seriously doubt that Y/N was talking about your hair color, Yoongi,” Hoseok interjects, magically reappearing behind you when you don’t notice. You flinch in surprise, causing him to let out a hearty chuckle at your jumpiness. It seems that today is “Let’s scare the living shit out of Y/N” day with how many people have crept up on you in just one night.

Beside him, Seokjin looks like a bomb ready to explode, his fist jammed up his mouth to keep his guffaws from slipping out. “God, this is even better than the cringe compilations I watch on Youtube,” he wheezes, wiping a stray tear.

“Don’t be so mean to them, hyung! Don’t mind him,” Hoseok says to you, bowing apologetically. He smiles cherubically at Yoongi. “See, Yoongi? I told you that Y/N is even hotter up close!”

“God, fucking kill me,” you hear Yoongi groan.

“So, have you guys caught up yet, or have you just been fumbling around each other like a couple of horny teenagers?” Seokjin snickers, narrowly avoiding your heel stomping his foot.

“We’ve only just said hello. Leave us alone, jackass,” you huff.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, Hoseok and I can go on our merry ways if you wish—”

“Yoongi! Did you tell Y/N about your work back in Seoul? I bet she’d love to hear about it,” Hoseok interrupts smoothly, saving you from further embarrassment (courtesy of his infuriating goblin of a boyfriend.)

You blink in surprise, turning to the man in question. “You live in Seoul now? Did you move there after finishing university?” you ask.

“Well,” Yoongi starts, clearing his throat. He’s permanently pink at this point, not that you mind in the slightest. He always did have the cutest blush (and once upon a time, you used to love teasing him about it.) “I sort of dropped out of university early. Decided it wasn’t really my thing, you know?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Yoongi. You were a fantastic student. I’m sure Y/N remembers how smart you are,” Hoseok says, winking inconspicuously at you.

You force out a laugh in response. You know perfectly well what he was trying to do; Hoseok isn’t slick in the slightest, though you do admit that you are intrigued to find out what Yoongi had done over the years.

It isn’t like you haven’t been keeping tabs on him. In your defense, it’s hard to stay away from news about Yoongi when he’s such a big deal. So what if you’ve watched a couple of his interviews and streamed all of his songs? He’s always been talented with music, and all the radio shows seem to agree. You couldn’t get away from him if you tried (and it’s not like you were trying very hard, anyway.)

Yoongi shrugs, rubbing his neck bashfully. “E-either way, I decided to tough it out, you know? Follow my dreams and all that, even if it nearly killed me.”

“And now, he’s working in a famous idol company as one of their head producers,” Hoseok finishes for him, chest puffing up in pride. He slaps his best friend on the back, not noticing that he had inadvertently caused Yoongi's spine to cave in from his strength. “Yoongi is so cool, and humble too! He’s been working behind the scenes for a bunch of big names and never got greedy for attention even though he totally deserves it.”

“Damn, so no street cred? Bit schewpid, innit? Imagine all the chicks you could’ve landed, bruv!” Seokjin says, imitating a terrible British accent. You make a move to hit him in the groin, but for once, Hoseok beats you to the punch.

“Nope! Yoongi-chi is super single, aren’t you?” Hoseok says with a sweet grin, ignoring the pained groans of his lover on the floor.

“No need to rub it in, Seok-ah,” Yoongi grumbles defensively. He coughs into his fist, grinding his foot into the floor. He throws a glance your way. “Just been… too busy, I guess.”

From the floor, Seokjin holds up a hand, grasping at Hoseok’s pant leg to hoist himself up. “What a coincidence. Y/N is super single too. In fact, her pussy is so dry that there’d be no chance for any yeast infections to develop—WAIT, DON’T HIT ME AGAIN I PROMISE I’LL BEHAVE!” Seokjin is on his knees, holding his arms up in surrender as Hoseok’s boot is about to connect with his stomach.

“I know I said I was into BDSM, but not like this!” Seokjin says, faking a sob.

“Then behave, darling,” Hoseok replies, eyes lighting dangerously. When he returns his attention to you, you and Yoongi back away instinctively. “Sorry about him. We have an… arrangement,” he says, waving his hands vaguely.

“Understood,” you both say, not understanding but also not wanting to.

Seokjin manages to straighten up eventually, his skin slightly paler than it was before. “A-as I was saying,” he exhales, still gingerly cupping his crotch. “Y/N has been single for so long, but I don’t blame her. Not after that awful disaster of a boyfriend, right? God, Sungjae fucking sucked ass, and not even in the sexy way.”

“Um, yeah…” you say hesitantly, avoiding eye contact. You can feel Hoseok’s and Yoongi’s eyes trained on you, but you’re not confident enough to know that you can keep your face neutral.

With your gaze averted, you don’t notice the way Yoongi’s posture tenses. “Is that so,” he says carefully.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hoseok says. You can hear the genuine sadness in his tone, and you chance a peek at him. He pats your shoulder gently, giving you a soft smile. “Honestly, I feel you. I’ve definitely been there, done that. That’s why I’m grateful for Seokjin-hyung, believe it or not. He’s been really good for me.”

“Hah, I told you I’m a good person!” Seokjin says. Again, he goes ignored.

“It’s fine. It’s all water under the bridge,” you say, shrugging. You can still feel Yoongi’s persistent gaze on the side of your head like a brand. You’re kind of afraid to see what sort of expression he has despite the curiosity burning inside of you.

You are still in the middle of debating if it’s worth explaining or not (and to a lesser extent, why you feel like you need to explain yourself to anyone), everyone’s attention is caught by the onslaught of waiters bringing in a fresh batch of food to the buffet. Your stomach growls in response, and you are reminded of the fact that you haven’t eaten since breakfast in preparation for tonight’s event.

“Hold that thought, Y/N,” Hoseok says, holding up a finger. “Hyung! I saw a platter of tuna belly and I know that shit is gonna disappear in two seconds. Let’s head out!” He tugs Seokjin in a hurry, the elder’s gangly legs flying about as he trips over himself to keep up. Seokjin yelps and hollers for him to slow down, but the hangry Hoseok train stops for no one. They run off, leaving Hoseok-and-Seokjin-shaped dust clouds in their wakes.

“Wow,” Yoongi says, dumbfounded. “Did we just get ditched by our two self-proclaimed best friends in the world?”

You nod, equally dumbfounded. “I guess we did.”

He shakes his head. “Fucking traitors.”

And just like that, the conversation dies.

Without your friends acting as buffers, the pair of you return to your painfully awkward states. You rack your brain for a conversation topic, anything to keep the tension at bay. You don’t feel nearly comfortable enough to ask him about his love life, even though you want nothing more than to shake the details right out of him. For perfectly sane reasons, of course.

Lucky for you, Yoongi thinks of a solution. “Um, I guess we should go grab our food as well? I’m assuming we’ll be sitting together since our friends are... you know. Unless you don’t want to, then that’s also perfectly fine with me. I can find somewhere else to sit.”

“I’d love to sit with you,” you say, cringing at your choice of words. Love to? What are you, desperate?! your brain screeches at you, and you mentally beat yourself in the coochie.

Deep down, you know that you’re overreacting, but you can’t help acting like a blushy teenager talking to your crush when you’re around Yoongi. It’s almost as if you’ve reverted to your high school days, back when you’d both started to notice your feelings for each other and the steady flow of butterflies erupting in your stomach had felt less like a burden and more like a revelation.

After tossing your disgusting drink into a nearby bin, you and Yoongi line up behind the rest of your classmates for the buffet, the scene reminiscent of having lunch at your old high school cafeteria. You’re still mildly distracted by Yoongi’s proximity, not looking at what food you were getting and randomly scooping and hoping you don’t dislike all of them.

From the corner of your eye, you notice that Yoongi’s plate is steadily piling up, probably with enough food to feed two people. You’ve never known Yoongi to be much of a heavy eater, but you suppose that free food is still free food at the end of the day.

“So,” Yoongi says after a beat. He pulls you from your trance, and you catch the small smile on his face that tells you that he figured you had been distracted. “How is Jungkook, by the way? He graduated from university a year ago or something, right?”

You pause, your hand stilling on the metal tongs. “How did you know he graduated last year?”

He shrugs. “Well, assuming that he didn’t take any gap years, I did the math and figured he should be at the age where he’s looking for a job.” He turns to you with a sly grin. “Plus, I’m still his friend on Facebook.”

“That’s surprising,” you comment. You backtrack a little, “And I mean it’s surprising in the sense that… All his posts are reshares from dank meme pages and I thought you wouldn’t be into that.”

Yoongi laughs. “I’m not. But… it’s nice to know how things are back home, I guess.”

Do you wonder about me, too? you think, but you internally shake your head. But why would he? He doesn’t owe you anything.

“And your dad? I heard he got hip surgery last fall,” Yoongi says.

“Wait, Jungkook has been posting about our dad’s surgery on his Facebook?”

“Oh! No, not exactly.” Yoongi clears his throat, suddenly nervous. He heaps a big portion of kimchi, some of it staining his sleeve. “I… called him a few days ago, to catch up.”

You’re staring at him, and you dimly register the people lined up behind you huffing impatiently. “You… called him? You have his cell number, too?”

“No, I just… happen to still have your home telephone number memorized and hoped that you guys hadn’t moved,” he says, a little guiltily.

You’re silent for a moment, thoughtlessly scooping more bean sprouts onto your plate than any sane person would be comfortable eating. The two of you inch along the buffet display as you attempt to process his sudden confession.

On one hand, you’re slightly betrayed that your own brother hadn’t thought to mention that your ex had called him, but on the other hand, what would you have done if he did? Ask if you could say hello? The Y/N from last month probably would have laughed if she had known that Min Yoongi still cared enough to call and check on her family, much less have her landline memorized even after all these years.

He still cared.

Unbeknownst to everyone in the room, your heart skips a beat at the thought. You cradle a hand to your chest, urging your nerves to quell. Keep it together, you beg your stupid, naive heart. You can survive one night without falling in love again, can’t you?

...can you?

“I…” you stammer. You swallow thickly, desperate for something to say, anything to stop your mind from going in the wrong direction. “They miss you, you know? You have no idea how many times my parents ask if you’re coming home for Christmas, or—I don’t know.”

“Yeah, my parents are the same. They always wanna know if I’m coming home for the holidays, and they,” he hesitates, swallowing thickly, “They always ask about you, too.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you mutter lamely. Your cheeks feel like they’ve been lit on fire the moment you got here, and you haven’t even visited the bar yet.

You finally make it to the end of the long buffet table where there is a large chocolate fountain just begging for you to ravage if only your stomach wasn’t besieged by butterflies. Yoongi glances at you, his own hands too full to get any desserts, but he still pauses as if he’s waiting for you. When you make it apparent you aren’t interested in the mouthwatering cakes and pastries (a big fat lie, but you also don’t want to vomit in front of him and your hundreds of schoolmates), he raises a brow as though he’s surprised.

“What? I’m not that much of a sweet tooth,” you scoff.

“This is coming from the girl who broke into her little brother’s piggy bank to buy some ice cream from a passing street vendor?” he teases.

“That’s the old me. Now, I make enough money to buy my own sweets,” you say smugly.

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.” If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought he looked endeared.

The pair of you search for Hoseok and Seokjin, only to find that the couple had somehow found a table for all of you somewhere near the back. With one last longing glance at the wondrous chocolate fountain, you walk away with Yoongi in tow. You have to push through throngs of people, a few old familiar faces stopping to say hello before they notice the precarious situation on Yoongi’s plate and let you through. You wave at them, promising to greet them later before turning to Yoongi.

“Isn’t it kind of weird to see all these people again? Not gonna lie, it’s almost hard to recognize a few of them.” You note some of the crazy hair colors and drastic fashion choices that you never thought you’d see a decade ago. An even stranger sight, however, is the occasional schoolmates with little ones attached to their hips. You recognize one of the new parents, your mouth dropping in shock.

“Wait, is that Seulgi? And is that her—”

“Her son? Jesus Christ,” Yoongi mutters, equally as bewildered as you. “Damn, I did not expect her of all people to be one of the first to have a kid. I’d always thought it’d be Sooyoung.”

You nod in agreement. You observe the little boy tug roughly at her skirt, his tiny fists making grabbing motions at the cookies on her plate. “Yeah. I always thought I’d have a kid before Seulgi, at least. What a surprise.”

You speak before you think, and it takes longer than it should have for you to realize your mistake. By then, Yoongi’s expression had already morphed into astonishment, his eyes bugging out as he chokes on his spit.

Your cheeks are burning, your mouth opening and closing as pure panic seizes you. You cannot believe that you just said that! No fucking way! Did you eat lube this morning or something? Why are words just spilling out of your mouth at an unprecedented rate?! You’re begging your brain to come up with something, anything, to control the damage, but alas your thoughts remain resolutely frozen.

If aliens were to choose to study the human race right now, they’d be sorely disappointed to find the lack of intelligent lifeforms. No complex thoughts going on over here! Not one goddamn neuron firing in this bitch!

“O-oh, well, that’s…” he trails off. He clears his throat, his jaw clenched as he awkwardly tries to feign composure. “I didn’t know you were, um, interested? Well, n-not that I think you were averse to the idea of having kids, since I remember you mentioning it when we were, um,” he pauses, struggling to find a word other than dating, or together, or in love, or not painstakingly careful around each other, like every conversation topic was a fucking minefield.

“Younger?” you supply. A safe, neutral word. Yay for you! You deserve a snack from your animal care keeper right about now.

“Right,” he nods. He looks down at his shoes, revealing his flushed neck. He’s frustratingly adorable like this, but it does nothing except distract you. “Were you, um, planning on having a kid with your ex-boyfriend? Before you broke up?”

Ex-boyfriend? Why is he bringing him up all of a sudden? You stare at him in confusion for half a second before realization strikes you. Thankfully (or unthankfully), it seems that Yoongi misunderstands the implication behind your words and has taken your little slip-up the wrong way. For once, you are so thankful that Yoongi almost failed Math during the 10th grade and never learned to put two and two together.

“Definitely not,” you bark out a laugh, but it sounds incredibly forced, even to your own ears. You stare at the plate of food in your hands, a wave of unpleasant memories washing over you. “I doubt he’d ever want kids, anyway. Seokjin used to make fun of him and call him the world’s biggest toddler.”

Yoongi winces, his brow furrowing. “How long were you together?”

“Like, two years?” You shrug. “It felt longer, to be honest. Even if we dated for so long, I could never imagine myself having a family with him,” you say.

It was almost the truth, but not quite. While your ex-boyfriend had undoubtedly been a pain in your ass, he wasn’t completely bad, especially in the beginning. You had enough self-respect that you would have ended the relationship earlier if he didn’t have any redeeming qualities. The main problem was that he had a tough act to follow, and you don’t think any man on earth would be able to live up to your lofty expectations at this point, not when you’d constantly be comparing everyone to—

Yoongi speaks up again. “Seokjin seems to really dislike him. Was he really that bad?”

“Seokjin has never really liked any of my past flings,” you admit, rolling your eyes. (You fail to mention that Yoongi has always been the only exception.) “Despite his own disgustingly high body count, I can’t say he was wrong. Sungjae was a self-centered prick who never gave me the time of day. Hell, I was almost thankful when I caught him cheating. It was the final push I needed.”

Even though it’s been so long, the pain of seeing your ex-boyfriend locking lips with a stranger he had randomly picked up from the street still throbs inside of you. It wasn’t like you were particularly sad or surprised to find out, but you’d always been a bit sensitive to people who kept secrets from you. Plus, it kinda sucked to know that they had fucked on your favorite Egyptian cotton sheets.

“Fucking bastard. If I ever saw him in person, I’d definitely kick his nuts ‘til he’s left with a concave crotch,” he seethes, eyes narrowing.

You laugh. You have to confess that the mental image is satisfying. “You don’t even know what he looks like though!”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure Seokjin would tell me if I asked,” he huffs. He mutters something else after, but his volume drops to a whisper and you have to step closer to properly hear him.

“What? Sorry, I missed that,” you say, but you could have sworn he said something like “I wouldn’t have done that if it were me” but you couldn’t be completely sure.

“N-nothing,” he stutters, waving off your confusion. He tacks on a smile, but you can tell that he must have been embarrassed by whatever he’d said. If it was anything like what you thought he’d said, then you could understand. It wasn’t like he was wrong, anyway.

He makes a move to rub the back of his neck, but he greatly underestimates the weight of his platter and nearly drops everything. Something deep inside of you kicks in, and your body instinctively moves to hold his plate with your free hand, saving him from a very messy situation. However, that also means that your hands are now touching each other, your fingertips grazing his knuckles.

Instead of letting him go like a normal person, your ape brain makes the first move (as per usual).

“Your hands are still cold,” you say dumbly. You had wanted to say more, like “your hands are still as cold as they were from when we were younger,” but bringing up your past together, even for something so harmless, still feels taboo. You keep your hands where they are, your eyes locked on his. It feels like you’re in the middle of a dramatic TV show while I Will Go To You by Ailee plays in the background. You can almost imagine the numerous ads for random Korean cosmetic products framing the two of you in slow motion.

Yoongi chuckles, reluctantly pulling away from you. You already miss the sensation of his skin on yours. “I guess some things never change, huh?” he says, wavering slightly. He stares at you for another moment before shaking his head, as though he’s pushing away some unwelcome thoughts. He turns away, leaving you behind to make his way to your table.

Despite the unbidden emotions bubbling up your throat and threatening to spill over, you have no choice but to follow.

At the table, Seokjin and Hoseok speak mutely with each other, though the exaggerated expressions on both their faces tell you that they had been in the middle of an argument. When Yoongi takes his place beside Hoseok, the couple pauses in their bickering to greet you.

Hoseok looks at Yoongi’s overflowing plate. “Dude. I know I teased you about being a skinny twig a while ago, but I wasn’t implying that you gorge yourself.”

Yoongi jolts in surprise before staring back at his plate. Weirdly enough, he looks just as shocked as Hoseok to find the amount of food he had gotten, as though he hadn’t even noticed.

Perhaps he was just as distracted as you had been? you think, staring at your own meager pickings. Oops, you definitely didn’t get enough food to fill your ravenous appetite.

“That’s fine. I can share with you guys,” Yoongi says.

Seokjin peers at your plate, smirking knowingly. “Oh, yes. I’m sure Y/N would love to get some of your food. It seems like the two of you either over or underestimated how much you’d eat.”

“Aww, cute!” Hoseok coos, pinching Yoongi’s cheek. “You still have the habit of getting food for her. That’s so sweet that you still remember that about her!”

You had been in the middle of taking a swig of your water, but Hoseok’s comment nearly causes it to spew out from your nose. You cough harshly, beating your chest as your nose burns, among other things.

“Hoseok!” Yoongi scolds. He hits his friend on the shoulder, but Hoseok’s giggles refuse to stop.

“Oh shit, you’re totally right! Remember all those times when either one of us was forced to third-wheel with them?” Seokjin guffaws. “Y/N always orders something gross whenever we eat out together, and Yoongi ends up having to share half of his food with her when she starts moping.”

“I did not mope!” you retort vehemently.

“You kind of did,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, but you catch him this time.

You cross your arms, scowling. “Did not!”

Yoongi covers his mouth to fake a cough, but you can tell he’s smiling from how his eyes start to crinkle.

“You guys are so cute,” Hoseok sighs, squeezing Yoongi into a hug. Yoongi paws at him weakly, but you know that he enjoys skinship too much to push his friend away. Still, he pouts cutely, his cheeks puffing up like a pastry.

“Anyway, why were you guys arguing a while ago?” Yoongi asks, changing the subject. “Seokjin-hyung is kinda red in the face.”

“Oh, we weren’t really arguing. Hyung had gotten some wine from the bar but he forgot to get me some,” Hoseok says. He glares sharply at Seokjin. “Bastard.”

“You just said we weren’t fighting!” Seokjin whines. He stands up, raising his arms in surrender. “But fine! I’ll go get your damn wine,” he sulks, groaning when he stretches his back and a few worrisome pops resound from his joints.

“Damn, hyung. I know I told you that I hope you grow up well when we were kids, but I didn’t think you’d take it that literally,” Yoongi jokes, earning a sharp laugh from you. Yoongi glances at you then, visibly proud when he catches the wide grin on your face.

Seokjin gasps, offended. “I am not old! I’m literally a year older than you guys! And here I was, about to get you both drinks as well! It sucks to be the nice one in a friend group,” he sniffs.

“Yes, we are eternally grateful for your service,” Hoseok says sarcastically. “Oh, and remember to get some drinks for Y/N and Yoongi-chi too!” Hoseok adds, slamming his palm on Seokjin’s sore back.

Seokjin yelps, before biting his lip. “Owwie, that hurt,” he moans, winking salaciously.

As the closest person to him, you make it your right to jam your heeled foot onto his gelatinous and push away with a shout of disgust. “Leave, wench!” you snarl, but you’re unfortunately drowned out by his cackling. Even so, he does make his leave, affording your table some level of peace.

“So,” Hoseok starts, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. He cradles his chin with his hands, smiling innocuously at the two of you. “How’s it goin’? Are you both having fun?” he says, laced with meaning.

Ah, you had forgotten; peace was never an option.

Though he is undoubtedly less annoying than Seokjin, you still don’t trust the way he’s staring at you, like he’s waiting for one of you to jump into the other’s lap and recreate his favorite porn scene.

(A terrible thought to have, especially when you’d probably be as begrudging as you should be if you were swayed sufficiently.)

“It’s going fine, thank you very much,” Yoongi responds, giving his best friend a stern look.

You nod wordlessly, unable to trust yourself to keep from stammering and making your frayed nerves apparent (if they aren’t already.) You grab your glass and busy yourself with your drink to delay answering.

You don’t notice that you had taken Yoongi’s cup by accident until you’ve already gulped a third of his water, dropping it with a loud clunk. “Oh shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to drink from yours,” you say sheepishly.

Yoongi smiles at your concern. “No worries. It’s just a cup.”

“Sharing cups too? Damn, what happened while Seokjin and I were away?” Hoseok laughs. Yoongi flicks him lightly on the wrist in retaliation.

“It’s just a cup,” he repeats before turning to you. “Sorry, I think he’s a bit drunk.”

“Haven’t had a single drop of alcohol but whatever,” Hoseok says, shoveling a large piece of tuna belly into his mouth.

The sight of him eating reminds you of your own hunger, your food slightly colder now after talking to Yoongi and your friends for so long. You take a spoonful of chicken, the taste not terrible but not as good as you would like. Your face must give your disappointment away because you hear Yoongi chuckling beside you.

“Bad food again? Guess you really are the same,” Yoongi says, low enough that Hoseok wouldn’t hear. He pushes his plate towards you, carefully nudging some of his bulgogi onto yours. “This tastes kind of sweet, so I’m not really into it. But you prefer it sweeter right?”

All you can do is nod in agreement, watching as he piles your plate with his food. His sleeves, which had already been stained previously by some stray bits of kimchi, become even more saturated with sauces and oils. Now that you see it up close, his sleeves seem a bit too long for him, his palms half covered like sweater paws.

Without thinking too hard, you place your hands over Yoongi’s wrists, his entire body freezing as he waits for what you will do. Gently, as though you’re approaching a frightened kitten, you fold his sleeves until they’re no longer dangling into his food. The gesture is more intimate than you had intended, his proximity allowing you to smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne.

Paco Rabanne, your mind reminds you. Of course.

You pull away, trying your best to appear as unfazed as possible. You clench your hands and dig your nails into your skin to keep them from trembling. “If I’m the same, you’re no better. You always used to forget to pull back your sleeves before eating.”

After a beat, Yoongi returns from his stupor, licking his lips. “My hands were cold,” he explains.

“I know.” You lick your lips too, suddenly parched despite all the water you have drunk.

A forgotten treasure trove of memories resurrects inside of you, things that you had thought had been buried too deep for you to find again. You are filled with this odd feeling, an awareness. An old wound has resurfaced, one that you thought had healed long ago.

That wound throbs, still.

It’s so strange, being with him like this. A piece of your past that has come to your present, both the same and different as you remember. He knows parts of you that no one else will, as do you with him. But those parts were only ever supposed to stay buried: memories, after all, aren’t supposed to be tangible.

And yet, here he stands: real, alive, close.

It leaves you feeling emptier than before.

The atmosphere grows somber after that, neither of you offering much to the conversation. Hoseok is more than happy to pick up the slack, filling the stark silence along with the occasional hums from Yoongi. When Seokjin returns, he makes no note of the change in mood and focuses more on eating and talking with his partner. It allows the two of you to remain deep in thought.

You are pushing your remaining bits of food around your plate when the soft instrumental music playing on the overhead speaker stops abruptly, and the sound of a microphone being tapped prompts everyone to turn to the front of the ballroom. The host of the event announces that the next part of the reunion will begin shortly and encourages all the performers to head to the sound booth to prepare. A couple of your schoolmates rise from their seats, most of whom were the students you remembered being part of choir or band.

You half-expect Yoongi to stand up as well, but he stays rooted to the spot. Apparently, Hoseok is wondering the same thing.

“Yoongi? Didn’t you say that the organizers asked you to perform some of your songs?” Hoseok questions.

“They did.”

“But?”

Yoongi brings his fingers to his teeth, biting on them anxiously. Your hand makes a move to pull them away, but you think better of it. No need to supply your friends with more teasing ammunition. “But I changed my mind last minute. I felt kind of embarrassed to be performing my own songs. I’m more of a producer, not a performer.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Yoongi. You’re poggers, as the kids like to say,” Seokjin pipes up.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but he’s right. A lot of people like your music and think you’re a great performer,” you assure him. “And I like your music, too,” you add shyly.

Yoongi’s hand drops from his mouth, eyes glittering with disbelief. He looks like he wants to disagree with you, but eventually decides to just smile in gratitude. “I didn’t know you listened to my music,” he says quietly.

Before you can reply, Seokjin chooses to interrupt with his migraine-inducing cackle and ruin the moment (as he is prone to do.) “Oh bitch! If you only knew how much this girl loves your music. She even buys your physical CDs AND collects your photocards.”

“I do not!” You scream, flinging a piece of bread at his head. You refuse to peek at Yoongi.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I collect his photocards too. Wanna trade sometime? I’m missing the one when he still had mint hair,” Hoseok giggles.

“Will the two of you stop? God, it’s like you both had been planning to embarrass us as much as possible,” Yoongi exclaims, incensed.

When neither of them responds, you and Yoongi whip your heads towards them only to find two self-satisfied, smirking shitheads.

“Why watch reality shows when you can make your own?” Seokjin says in lieu of an answer, pointing finger guns. He blows you a kiss with a wink.

You clutch your chest, pretending to wince in pain. “Augh! Poison damage!”

Seokjin scoffs. “Swagever, man. You’re just mad because you’re angry,” he retorts, sticking out his tongue.

While you were occupied bickering with Seokjin, you had not seen that one of your old schoolmates had invited herself to your table. She sandwiches herself in the space between you and Yoongi, bumping you roughly enough to topple you out of your chair.

“What the fuck?” you yelp in surprise, holding onto the table to balance yourself. After straightening back into your seat, you find that your view of the world has become obscured by asscheeks the size of beachballs.

“Hi Yoongi,” she purrs seductively. Or at least, what she thinks is seductive. To you, her voice sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard.

“Hello?” Yoongi says, but it comes out sounding more like a question. It’s clear that he doesn’t remember her name, as he searches your eyes for help. You shrug unhelpfully; you deleted almost all the names of everyone that you had gone to school with right after graduation. Besides, her horrendous plastic surgery makes it even twice as hard to discern her identity.

“Hi Hyejin,” Hoseok speaks up, answering your unspoken question. Oh, right. The name does ring a bell, somewhat. You don’t recall her looking like a cartoon character before, but you suppose beauty standards are meant to be subjective. Maybe she wanted to look like a One Piece character.

Hyejin purses her lips into a tight smile but doesn’t return his greeting. She turns back to Yoongi, bending forward until her boobs are practically smooshed against his face. You wonder idly if stabbing her chest with your chopsticks would cause them to burst like a balloon, or perhaps drain like a puss-filled pimple. Both, you surmise, would be very entertaining to watch.

“It’s been a while since we’ve last seen each other, hm? I heard you’ve been very busy ever since we graduated from high school,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

“Uh, yeah? Some of us have jobs,” he says, passively dissing her. You let out a strangled laugh, causing Hyejin to aim a glare back at you. You bring your (his) cup of water to your lips, feigning innocence.

Hyejin rolls her eyes. “Right. But I meant that you’ve become a real star back in Seoul! I didn’t know you were such a musical prodigy!”

“I’m really not. I just work hard,” he shrugs. He’s visibly uncomfortable, especially since Hyejin was pretty much breathing the same air as him. Every time he leans away from her, she takes it as an invitation to come closer. He is nearly lying horizontally at this point, his back parallel with the floor.

“Humble as well as handsome? My, my. I didn’t think you’d be such a charmer,” she laughs, saccharine sweet. She twirls her dyed brown hair with her perfectly manicured acrylic nails. You rub at the goosebumps forming on your arms, cringing at the phantom sensation of her nails digging into your skin.

“Just spit it out. What the hell do you want so you can leave,” Seokjin interjects. Everything about his demeanor says calm and collected, but the way he presses his lips into a thin line says otherwise. You can sense the air dropping in temperature, despite the embers burning behind his eyes.

“I came over here to ask if Yoongi could give me his autograph, that’s all. I am his biggest fan, after all,” she sulks. She winks at him for extra measure. “And maybe his number too? I’d love to discuss your music with you sometime!”

“Oh, um. That’s—” he cuts off, hesitant to answer. He tugs at his ears nervously, exchanging subtly alarmed glances with you.

You remember that signal very distinctly; it’s a distress call that he would do whenever he needed a way out. He used to do it a lot when you were at social gatherings, especially when people would trap him in boring or awkward conversations. He never did like socializing with people outside his circle, but he was often dragged to parties by his more extroverted friends.

He might be hot as hell with his stylish clothes and jaw-dropping undercut, but he’s still awkward as hell around strangers. When the universe created him, they made sure to keep everything in balance. If they hadn’t been fair, you certainly would’ve died much earlier.

“Yoongi, don’t you have spare CDs of your music?” you quip, dragging Hyejin’s attention onto you. Her eyes narrow imperceptibly, suspicious.

“I do?” He stares at you blankly.

You resist hitting your forehead in exasperation. “Yes, Yoongi. Remember? You left a couple of them in my car.”

Yoongi’s eyes light up in understanding. “Oh, right! I left my CDs. In your car. That we drove here. Together. We came here. Together. Yes, correct.”

From your periphery, you can sense Hoseok barely holding onto his sanity after witnessing that pitiful display. Who can blame him when Yoongi’s infamously terrible acting skills are having their first appearance in over ten years? How he managed to pass Drama class is still a mystery to this day.

“Yup,” you say, popping your p. You give Hyejin a winsome smile, your hands folded neatly on your lap. You can almost see the steam blowing out of her ears. It fills you with delicious satisfaction. “Why don’t Yoongi and I go get them so he can sign one?”

If her eyes had been made of lasers, you’d be a cauterized mess jumble of organs by now. Can’t say you would regret it either way.

“How kind of you.” She sneers. “Also, I wasn’t aware that you two were still a thing.”

“I wasn’t aware that we were required to inform you of anything,” you retort placidly. You plaster on your fakest grin. “Now, if you can please move your fat ass—I mean, if you can please move out of the way so I can go to my car...” you trail off, gesturing for her to leave.

After a few more indignant sputters on her end, she eventually makes her exit. She throws a couple of poisonous glares, but they go largely ignored by you and your friends. With her gone, you feel as though you can finally breathe fresh air again.

“Great stuff, Y/N! Congrats on winning your first bitch-off,” Seokjin chirps, back to his usual self. You roll your eyes at his antics but smile nonetheless.

“Thanks. I learned from the best.”

Yoongi clears his throat. “So, are we still gonna go?” He looks back and forth from her to you. “Just so we can pretend you actually have my albums in your car?”

“Trust me, Yoongi-chi. She does have your albums in her car.” Seokjin titters. “I wasn’t kidding about the photocard collection.”

“Ignore him. And yes, I do have your albums. I listen to them in my car from time to time,” you say, attempting nonchalance. “I’d hate to give them away to that bitch, but if it keeps her away...”

Away from you is left unsaid, but it’s heavily implied.

(No, you aren’t jealous. You’re above jealousy. It’s not like that bitch would ever have a chance with him anyway, unlike you—!

Woah there, cowgirl. Let’s stay on the right path. Don’t want your heart getting chewed up and spat back out all over again, do you?)

“I’ll just mail you a new one. Signed, if you want. You can probably sell it on eBay or whatever.” He tries to say it like a joke, but his brow is too furrowed to be convincing. (You want to kiss him there and make it go away.)

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so all you do is nod mutely. You stand up and Yoongi follows suit.

“We’ll be right back. If she comes back before then, tell her to scram,” you tell Hoseok and Seokjin. They salute you in response (well, Hoseok does. Seokjin does a very rude gesture with his fingers that is supposed to mimic something explicit. Feel free to use your imagination.)

The walk to the parking lot is a quiet one. The two of you stay side by side, his strides naturally matching your own. Unlike before, you don’t feel the need to fill the silence for once, content to just be in each other’s presence.

The hotel that your reunion is being held at is unusually unpopulated. The lobby consists of a handful of employees milling about, a few of whom look ready to fall asleep on their feet. You nod politely at the bellboy who opens the main doors for you, declining his offer to call the valet service to fetch your car.

“Just hand me my keys. I’ll look for my car in the parking lot.” It wouldn’t be hard to find, anyway. Your beat-up Toyota Corolla looks as though it’s been through three wars and then some.

It isn’t long until you find it parked close to the entrance. You unlock your car from the passenger seat, shimmying the glove compartment open to reveal your collection of CDs.

“Wow, you weren’t lying when you said you listened to my music,” Yoongi says, voice loud amidst the tranquil night. It startles you, and you accidentally knock over some of the albums onto your car floor. On top of the pile lies Yoongi’s most recent album, the one you recall he had released a couple of months ago.

Strange, how just hours ago you were listening to his music on the way to the reunion, only for the boy on the cover of the album to be just inches away from you.

“Yeah, well. You’re a pretty good artist,” you say.

“Only pretty good?” he repeats, amused.

“Don’t push it,” you snort. You grab the album on top, waving it in front of him. “This should be good enough, right?”

He plucks it from your grasp, an unreadable expression clouding his eyes. He chuckles, but there’s an edge of sadness in his tone. “Good enough,” he agrees solemnly.

His sudden quietness is different from the peaceful one before. It’s sorrowful, maybe regretful. He looks like a man stuck in grief.

“Did you know that I didn’t finish this album before releasing it?”

The question seems a little out of the blue, but you answer regardless. “No, I didn’t. They don’t sound unfinished to me.”

“The songs themselves aren’t unfinished,” he explains. He turns the album over, his finger running down the back where the tracklist is printed. “One of my songs never made it in.”

“Couldn’t you have delayed the album launch so you could complete it?”

He shakes his head. “It was actually the first song I finished out of all of them.”

“Then..?”

“It didn’t matter, at the time. I wrote it for someone specifically, but I didn’t want to put it on the album if she—they didn’t listen to it. It wouldn’t matter if the whole world heard that song because only they would understand it.”

“But now? What changed?” Fear and hope run down your spine in tandem when the question tumbles out of you. You hold your breath, and the world shifts from its axis.

But he doesn’t elaborate further.

x x x x x

You return to the hotel after acquiring both an album and some more tension. The album feels heavy in your hands, weighed down by secrets you are still too afraid to uncover. Not that Yoongi would ever willingly divulge them to you—because revealing them would make them real, and making them real would mean you would have to accept them, and accepting them would cause you to—

“They’re gone,” Yoongi announces when you reenter the ballroom. You can’t spot your table from the entranceway, but the certainty in Yoongi’s tone makes you believe him.

“No fucking way. Did those two little shits ditch us to exchange body fluids or something?”

Yoongi grimaces. “Please don’t say it like that. It’s bad enough that I was sitting close enough to Hoseok a while ago that I got accidentally footsie’d by Seokjin hyung.”

You wince, placing a pitying hand on his shoulder. “God didn’t make us his strongest soldiers.”

Yoongi tries dialing Hoseok a few times, but none of the calls connect. “Just my rotten luck,” he groans. He types angrily into his phone, worry creasing his forehead. “He was supposed to be my ride back to his place.”

“Seokjin isn’t answering his phone either,” you say apologetically. “How much do you wanna bet this is part of their evil scheme to leave us together?”

“I don’t doubt it in the slightest,” he deadpans. He sighs tiredly, rubbing his temples. “I suppose I can take a taxi there, but I also don’t know if he’ll be home to open the door for me.”

“Then why don’t you just stay with me?”

You don’t know what you’re doing.

In your head, the offer makes sense. He’s just a friend, you remind yourself. Nothing is stopping you from rekindling a friendship with him. You have purely platonic intentions. Friends help each other out.

Never mind the fact that your heart hasn’t stopped fluttering the entire night. Never mind the fact that you’ve caught yourself staring at him just as many times as you’ve caught him staring at you. Never mind the fact that you don’t want the night to end, not now not ever.

(Never mind the fact that you’ve never quite stopped loving him.)

So when he accepts, you convince yourself that offering had been the right thing to do.

(Maybe. Hopefully. You just wish your heart doesn’t end up as collateral damage.)

The drive home is short, thanks to the late hour. You had asked him if he had wanted to stay until the end of the reunion, but he had declined. “Nothing else left for me there,” he says.

You feel as though he’s hinting at something. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. “At least I get to keep my album.”

Yoongi laughs, short and sweet.

As much as you try to fight it, sitting in the car with him brings up a lot of memories.

The two of you in the backseat as his older brother drives you to his house for dinner, backpacks filled with crumpled notes and loose pens, a promise of an intense study session for your upcoming exams ready to be broken. You remember how the sky would turn orange in the afternoon, the warm light streaming through the car window and washing Yoongi’s skin with a soft glow.

His cheeks had looked inviting, his lips even more. And you would lean over, kissing him like it was easy. Because it was easy, and you never had to think twice about it.

Your trip down memory lane doesn’t end in the car. As you walk up the steps to your childhood home, you hesitate by the door, your keys frozen over the lock. You can hear Yoongi’s soft breathing behind you, but his presence doesn’t feel as stifling as you thought it would be.

You’re far from being at ease, but you aren’t frightened either. Mostly, you’re just filled with anticipation. Of what? You aren’t sure.

“Excuse the mess. Jungkook is in the middle of moving out so there’s just stuff everywhere,” you say just as you open the door. You toe off your shoes by the entrance, kicking them off haphazardly into the pile of sneakers and boots.

You hear Yoongi huff out a laugh behind you. “Aish, that kid. Still hasn’t let go of his Timbs, huh?”

“He has also been really into chunky sneakers these days. I think he’s finalizing his transformation into Thumper,” you joke. “He’s staying at his new apartment for the weekend with my parents, so you won’t be seeing them. They’re helping him settle in.”

“Really? He didn’t mention moving when we spoke. Where is he moving to?”

“Busan. He and his best friend from college are going to start a restaurant in his hometown. Which is funny, since neither of them are the best chefs.”

Yoongi whistles. “Still, that’s impressive. I can’t remove the image from my head of when he was a kid. He was so scared of anything. He wouldn’t let go of your mom’s leg even if his life depended on it.”

He steps deeper into the house, his gaze jumping from end to end as he surveys your childhood home. You watch him, noting how right he looks standing there in the middle of your living room, like a chipped painting that has been restored.

It’s scary, how easily you’ve accepted him back into this place.

He stays rooted to the spot, the moonlight filtering through the kitchen windows and illuminating his frame. The air pulses with something magical, something dream-like, and it muddles your vision. It’s the only explanation you have for why your chest tightens when he turns to face you, with a gaze filled with sadness, mourning, yearning.

“Jungkook’s height chart is still here,” he murmurs. The small nicks on the kitchen door frame are hard to see, and other people have mistaken them for signs of wear and tear. But he knows what they are because he was there when your mother had etched the first scratch.

He looks at your ancient dining table, his hand brushing over the surface. “This too,” he says, rubbing at a large burn mark on the wood.

“Mom made sure to use placemats after that. I didn’t think a sizzling plate would burn through the table like that,” you say, giggling as you reminisce. “You know, we still use your mom’s galbi jjim recipe. We haven’t found a better one.”

“I’m sure she would love to hear that,” Yoongi smiles, but it fades just as quickly. “It’s so… strange. Being here again and seeing that nothing really changed.”

But things did change. Upstairs, in your bedroom. That night, ten years ago.

You still remember what you had said to him, when you had said it to him, how you had said it to him.

It was a sunny afternoon, the time of day when you’d be on your way home from school. The two of you had stood in your room, neither of you wanting to sit because sitting meant staying, and staying only made this harder.

There hadn’t been many tears in that moment; those were shed only after the realization had sunk in, when you’d fully understood what had happened. At the time, the decision had been as easy as breathing.

Except you had both been drowning. The clock was ticking down to the end of high school, and the inevitable wasn’t slowing down.

Yoongi wanted to chase his dreams in Seoul. You wanted to stay closer to home, with your friends and family.

You weren’t going to be the one to hold him down. You weren’t going to be that person, not when he’s destined for greater things than his hometown could offer—not even a girl who loved him would be worth staying for.

He had suggested it, first. He had been prepared for you to cry, or maybe scream, but you did none of that. Instead, you pulled him close, hugging him tighter than you ever had before. You wanted to make it last, imprint the sensation onto your brain so that his warmth might stay with you, even after he’s little more than a distant memory. You trembled, terribly so, even though the beginnings of summer crept on your skin like a brand.

It’s time to let him go, Time whispered. You refused to listen, just for another moment.

Let me have this last moment, you beg. But Time refused to listen.

“Do you know?” Yoongi had spoken into your neck, had hoped his words would stain there. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Love, not loved. “I did,” you say. You think better of it. “I do.”

When you separated, for good this time, it had left an ache deeper than you could have ever imagined.

But you were young. Young love was supposed to hurt, but it wasn’t supposed to last. “You’ll find others,” your mother had said, brushing a soothing hand through your hair as you sobbed.

Then why? Then why has it lasted this long?

It has been a question you’ve asked yourself, and you’re starting to think that the answer has always been right in front of you.

The answer is standing in front of you: real, alive, close.

“Why didn’t you ever date again?” you ask. You ask even though you know he can lie, if he wants. He can tell you anything and you would believe him.

But he wouldn’t; you know he wouldn’t.

“I was afraid of closing a door that I never meant to close in the first place,” he says. His voice crackles like static, but that might be the blood rushing to your head. He moves toward you but keeps a hand’s width away. Still too far.

He continues. “After that day, when I left,” he swallows, “after I left, I think… I think I left a piece of me with you. A-and I don’t think I ever stopped…” he cuts off, exhaling shakily.

“Stopped what?” you breathe.

“You know.” He waves his hands around helplessly. They fall heavily back down to his sides, defeated. “You know?” he repeats.

You do. Because you are the same. The old wound had never healed; it burns and it bleeds like new.

Your skull feels like it’s stuffed with cotton when you close the distance between the two of you. He circles his arms around your waist, tentative, but he relaxes when you wind your arms around his neck. Your vision is warped, so you choose to close them. You wait, with bated breath, as his warmth inched closer and closer.

The sensation of his lips on yours jolts you back to your senses. His kiss reminds you of your youth, of a love that had made you excited to start your day. Even now, your body remembers, and it rejoices.

The tenderness does not last long before it turns fervent, tongue and teeth crashing like waves against the shore. If his kisses could speak, they would tell you stories of how much he missed you, of how much he mourned the time you had both lost. They would tell you of the days when he’d almost pressed your number onto his phone, of the nights when he’d stare at the polaroids he had kept of you.

They would ask if you still love him like he still loves you.

He tastes of desperation, and you are likely to be the same. It is a desperation you haven’t tasted in years—but it doesn’t feel scary like it used to. Time no longer feels like it’s racing against you, like you had something to prove before the hour was over. This reckless abandon feels like home against your skin—it is an ache being soothed after having ripped your scabs over and over again.

It’s Yoongi.

And when he pulls you to your room, he doesn’t even need his eyes to find his way as his feet still memorize the floorboards. He struggles with the doorknob, forgetting that it always jammed, but it’s okay because you can always teach him again. You can teach him everything again.

The bed creaks under your weights and even the mattress sounds like it is sighing in relief. That sigh echoes from your lips when his hand slips under your clothes, his palm stopping over your heart.

“I won’t break it, this time,” he says. He promises. “If you let me.”

You wonder if he can feel your heart soaring, pounding against your ribs. “I think the line has long been crossed to ask for my permission.” You place your hand over where his is laid. You squeeze tight.

This time, you don’t let him go.

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singswan-springswan · 2 years ago

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Kanera Faerie AU because I think that would be really fun and my brain won’t shut up so here we go.

Kanan first meets her at Okadiah’s place, where he runs the bar sometimes and ubers people around after hours. She is stunning when she walks in. Her long, mysterious cloak flutters in a heavy way, accentuating every motion with a regality that doesn’t belong in this part of town. Kanan does his best to keep his composure. he makes it a total of .3 seconds until he hears her speak and that’s it, he’s whipped. flirtatiously, he tells her that her glamour has slipped, and he thinks she must be fair folk because her voice is enchanting, and her beauty is a rich allure---but she pays him no mind, and Kanan can’t feel magic in her. she’s just an ordinary woman.

haHa uNleSs---

Her name is Hera, and she’s travelling on secret business. She can handle herself in a fight, thank you. She doesn’t require assistance of any kind. And kriff, Kanan knows she can’t be fae but she sure can act like one. Her words are clever, and everyone she meets is caught in her gravity, pulled in as though spellbound.

Against his better judgement, Kanan finds himself involved in her secret affairs. He knows, instinctively, that Hera is a grand kind of woman. She will do things---great things, immense things, things that draw attention---and it won’t be a safe bet for Kanan to have any affiliation because ever since the Emperor rose and slandered the fae, Kanan’s people have been undergoing a slow, silent slaughter.

He doesn’t want to be ousted and risk the hunt that’s sure to follow. it’s safe to pass as a man, to hide in plain sight, to construct a magic façade around his inhuman looks and devastating presence, to pretend that he can’t pour fire from his hands or heal fatalities with song. He’s lost count of fae who couldn’t pretend, who couldn’t hide. The horns of a fae sell for more money than jewels or silks; if carved out just right, they still hold magic. These days, many bounty hunters and the like spend their time sniffing out fae to kill. Fae weren’t beloved to begin with---more mythical than tangible anyway, feared for their power and rumors of abduction, entrapment, illusion, and other obscene acts---but the Emperor’s open enmity with them only seemed to justify the hatred now common throughout the land. it wasn’t safe to be fae.

The way Hera behaves, someone will find out Kanan’s secret; it’s only a matter of time. but he has nothing better to do. besides, Grandfather Windu didn’t approve of the uber hustle, so joining Hera on her secret adventure is a good way to give Okadiah the slip on that one.

This is the part where I get snagged on the worldbuilding because I want to parallel events from A New Dawn for this AU but like it’s hard in a fantasy setting lol. I just want Kanan to have dark, wiry horns and eyes that could literally drown a soul and pointy ears and serious kriffing cheekbones and force powers except he can bend light to his will and turn it to fire or sparkles and such and I want him to be this cocky gunslinger guy who’s trying to be a rebellious grandson and not hide way deep in the mystical woodland of the courts like the remainder of his family wants him to because he knows his people aren’t safe grouped together they’ve been massacred that way before and charming humans and toying with them and amusing himself by trolling them is part of who he is as a faerie so he’s gotta be near them not holed away and disconnected.

I want Hera to be doing some dramatic espionage work and I want her to be annoyed by Kanan tagging along and his uncanny ability to charm everyone they come across. I want her to be vicariously hyper fixated on her cause to the point that she shrugs off serious issues like the genocide of the fae and the way that this racism married to the irresponsible industrialism of the empire is poisoning their land and draining away its magic. I want her to ask Kanan how old he is and watch him flounder for a good response (he’s only 100 something-ish. baby boy). I want her to stare at him in utter bewilderment as he whistles (he’s bored) an eerie tune and proceeds to get escorted by a murder of crows for the next few km of their journey. I want her to bat her eyelashes sweetly and talk to him in low tones so she can con him into giving her that cool shiny thing the crows found (it’s the key she uses to access her lockbox with reports and intel exchanged between her and her contact kriff Kanan hand it over). I want her to toss him a weapon during a fight (a dagger? a gun? do they have guns in this time period?) and have him hiss like a feral cat and duck to the side to avoid touching it (iron). I want her to be flabbergasted when Kanan is revealed to be fae because it really catches her off guard.

The angstiest way to stage the reveal is to have the villain figure it out and expose Kanan in front of Hera and whatever other friends they’ve accumulated along their quest (ghost crew maybe? unless you want to keep this set in the A New Dawn stretch) since they got captured in all their spy osik and possibly threatening to torture him and mount his head on a wall or something or other classic medieval shenanigans. Hera is forced to watch while she’s still shocked and trying to process the fact that he’s not human.

Alternatively, Kanan reveals himself like he did in the book by using his powers to save Hera and it’s the spur of the moment so she’s shocked obviously, but there’s no time to sit around and chat about this new development so Kanan’s hauling her up by the arm, yelling at her to keep moving (I’m sure there are explosions in the background), and she trips a little doing as she’s told because his glamour has burned up like mist in the morning sun and he’s so... ethereal, and it’s hard to look away and her brain is short-circuiting. Kanan flashing a cocky grin and winking to hide how much he’s panicking internally 🤌Him reconstructing the glamour after the fact while also having a meltdown and trying not to hyperventilate because he wasn’t sure how Hera felt towards fae before and even though he’s sure she’s in love with him (he’s very hard to resist) there’s still a chance she can expose his identity.

But this whole thing has been a learning experience for Hera. She’s finally able to forage up some convictions about fae, despite being heavily wary of them in the past, like any sane person. and she already cares very deeply about Kanan so she’s willing to protect his secret.

hmm anyone please write this I would do it but I have too many other commitments lol send me the story I will drown you with kudos any takers?

#kanera #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #kanan x hera #star wars rebels #star wars rebels au #star wars au #kanera au #faerie au #fae #fae kanan jarrus #star wars imagine

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the-charlie-ryan-saga · 3 years ago

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Could you maybe share some stuff about Stanley and Smudger's relationship in your au? 👉👈 I am intrigued

I wanna say that this post may contain sensitive topics such as s*lf-h*rm, s**cide attempts, PTSD, child abuse (religious and verbal), homophobia, themes relating to death and mortality, and alcohol and cigarette usage/abuse. While some are mentioned, they are still advised, so please be cautioned. Thank you.

YOOOO okay! I'm excited. I wanna keep some details a secret and slowly show them out on my narrow gauge blog (which is still in the works cause I'm lazy and dumb), but I'm willing to share a summarized story of how they met, when they started dating, and when they got married (YES, as of 2010 in my AU they are married).

But first I wanna give you some notes about the two:

Stanley - Stanley fought in the Vietnam War and lost his brother due to a headshot, and since then has been diagnosed with PTSD.

Smudger - Smudger was abused religiously and verbally as a child, and his parents the best when it came to being gay. Also Smudger has ADHD.

I also wanna say that this story is still a work in progress. Some of the elements will change depending on whether a headcanon is outdated or there's an element that I personally just distain now. There are also some parts that just don't make sense now or were 10x better in my head, so yeah!

Anyway, notes aside, now here's the story:

(Late 1970s)

Smudger and Stanley met when Andreas introduced Stanley to, of course, Smudger and Albert. Smudger, having trust issues at the time, took a quick liking to the big guy, but still wasn't sure.

Okay keep reminder that because Stanley has PTSD, he's a tad more irritable, so he was skeptical about the two, especially Albert, who was sassy at the time.

Actually, the double S's never talked on their first impressions, as Stanley didn't wanna force him to talk, and Smudger really wasn't talking a lot throughout the conversation. Actually he never talked a lot to Andreas and Albert. You could say he was masking due to trauma, but I digress.

They first spoke to eachother when Stanley was walking from Albert's home, after the two made friends, and heading to his own place. As cliche as it sounds, the two bumped into eachother, and were awkward about it. But they just said said their apologies, and went on with their day.

It wasn't until the double As and the double S's had another friend meetup, ya know to simply talk and hang out. After the double As left, Smudger went up to Stanley, and asked if the two could hang out together, like go out for coffee or something like that. Stanley was hesitant, but thought that would be nice.

So yeah, the two met up, and that's when they really started talking. Smudger opened up more, and became the gremlin he held back for a while. Stanley opened up more as well, more about his feelings, and genuinely, the two became more open as time went on.

This is one bit that sounded way better in my head, and I kind of cringe at, but after some time past, they moved in with eachother because of how close they were, and went from friends to best friends in an instant.

But however, Smudger was developing feels for Stanley, and he was still ashamed for being gay due to his family, so he tried to suppress them hard.

(1980s)

This is where the trigger warnings start taking place. So please, if you wish to skip this part, you may, but you are missing a VERY big part of the story, but it is whatever you makes you comfortable.

This era is when Stanley was low. Like very low. His PTSD was getting worse and worse as time went on, and Smudger was always there to comfort him, or at least try, but how he said it or worded it might have come across as rude.

As time went on, he just got worse, nearly becoming a burden, but he tried to keep himself up and closed. Until, he couldn't anymore.

On Smudger's side, he noticed the changes in Stanley, and was worried for him. He knew some about Stanley's past, and he knew sometimes he would wake up restless due to nightmares, but he never expected Stanley to get this depressed. It kind of made him upset, and made him think about past events kind of.

That's when he found out Stanley was self harming, which instantly sent him into a panic. Stanley was sent to the hospital to get bandaged up, but that didn't stop him for some time.

This is when things get rough...

One day, Stanley couldn't take it anymore, and overdosed himself on medications he was prescribed, which he survived luckily. Smudger instantly went to tears after that, and was upset through all the way, especially after Stanley got home from the hospital. He didn't want it to happen again, so he was watchful.

After Stanley came back from the hospital, Smudger tried to be there more for Stanley, asking him how was doing from time to time and just asking Stanley if he wanted to do anything.

Stanley confronted Smudger, telling him that his presence alone made him happy, and that Smudger didn't need to people please anymore. That was when Stanley realized he had feelings for Smudger too, which he was kind of ashamed, due to how America was in the 1960s about homosexuality. But Stanley wasn't fully gay, he was bi.

After the entire depressing situation the two got closer, and the next part is where the romance gush kicks in.

(1990s)

Alright, the moment you've been waiting for!

So the two got closer, and their relationship grew, as well as their feelings towards eachother. That's when Stanley started to notice Smudger acting weird. He was pretty touchy, not in that way, only cuddly and needing hugs a lot. Another weird behaviour Smudger exhibited was sometimes, Smudger would touch Stanley's knee. Of course, Smudger would let go, feeling silly, but respected his space when needed.

Stanley wasn't safe either from weird behaviour. He usually stuttered when he was around Smudger, and fidgeted more. He also felt joy whenever seeing Smudger.

That wasn't until one day, Stanley asked if the two could go out somewhere, which Smudger said yes instantly. After having dinner, having a walk around the park, they sat down on the bench, and talked, until Smudger finally confessed, and Stanley confessed. And then, bam, just like that, they were in love, and shared their first kiss.

This made the two very happy, and glad they got the feelings off their chest. They were happy together, and enjoyed their time together.

(2000s)

Nothing had changed too much except that Stanley got better, as well as Smudger with his personal trauma. Both got therapy, and diagnosed with their respective disorders. Both got the help they needed, and noticed an incredible spike in mood.

They also met some old friends from the Mid Sodor Primary, Duke, Jim, Jennings, Andreas, Albert, Tim and Minerva.

So everything was going, until one day, it happened.

Stanley asked Smudger if they wanted to go to that park they did as on their first date, and Smudger happily accepted. After having the time of their life, Stanley got down on one knee, and proposed to Smudger, which was filled if tears and love.

(Stanley is grateful for Andreas' help, since Andreas was married before, so he has experience).

(2010s)

Stanley and Smudger are living happily on the Island of Sodor, married together after so long. They now live in the Skarloey towns and enjoy seeing the familiar and unfamiliar faces of the other narrow gauges.

And that's about their entire story! I gotta say ... I'm not proud of this backstory as I used to be. This all feels dumb and immature, even though that was not my intention, but of course you know how every 12-13 year old is.

But I appreciate you asking, and it was a joy but a tad bit of stress writing this. But I enjoyed it and hope other people did too. You may send your criticism, I don't mind. I'm always willing to make my AU better. :)

#thomas and friends #ttte #ttte human au #ttte humanized #ttte ask #ttte backstory #ttte smudger #ttte stanley #ttte shipping #ttte andreas #ttte albert #ttte narrow gauge

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xmalereader · 4 years ago

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Helmut Zemo X Male Reader

|| Masterlist ||

Contains spoilers from tfatws episodes 1-6 and its a Mandalorian AU, this idea was inspired by this user: @clints-lucky-arrow I read their idea about Zemo owning the Darksaber and couldn’t help but feel inspired to write something about it! :)

Summary: After the avengers broke up, Helmut Zemo was never captured or attempted suicide. Instead he went searching for an old artifact that comes from a different planet and that somehow ended up on earth.

Warnings: Slight dark theme, the mandalorian crossover, mandalorian history, darksaber, slight angst, tfatws spoilers, reader is Zemos partner.

—

Romania — 2016

Two strangers have been searching for a special artifact for years, it was first found out about when they attended an auction a few years back. Zemo had been trying to get his hands on some Hydra files and a special notebook that contained the code words that can control the Winter Soldier. During their exploring they heard about an artifact that had come from a different planet located far away from their solar system.

Most people would scoff, asking themselves on how something so special could end up on earth, but many people believed that this artifact was real due to them already seeing strange things appearing in their cities and having to deal with alien existence. Zemo had stolen the red notebook and the information about this powerful artifact that has been around for years. He had given this information to his trustworthy partner, allowing him to read and decipher the files. Hoping that it’ll help guide him to this powerful artifact.

His partner, y/n, has been working with Zemo for as long as he can remember. The two have been through thick and thin. They were both loyal and truthful and not once have they thought about betraying the other. After Zemo had given him the files he would spend hours trying to figure out more about this artifacts history and why it was considered important. Both he and Zemo would visit multiple libraries from around the world, reading books that could help them find more information, but they always reached a dead end.

Both he and Zemo were close to giving up until they find something hidden in the Hydra files that were leaked a few years back. Zemo was able to decipher those files, finding information about the artifact and where it could be located.

“They called it the Darksaber.” Zemo read out loud as he sets a picture down in front of y/n, the Darksaber was straight, rectangular shape, with a guard. It didn’t look anything special to him as he raised a brow at the picture. “Where was it Last located?” He asks, pushing his book aside.

“Romania.” Zemo replies back, looking through the hydra files as he sets it down on the coffee table. “It says here that the Darksaber was a unique black bladed saber that was created by someone named Tarre Vizsla.” Zemo sits across from y/n as he explains where the Darksaber came from. “It says that the Darksaber came from a planet named Mandalore, a home planet where the most powerful and strongest warriors lived. They called themselves Mandalorians.”

Y/n looks at the hydra files and bites his lip. “Why do you think Hydra has this information? I mean—this Darksaber must’ve been important to these mandalorians.” He said. “So, why is it here or how did it end up here?” He asks. “The Darksaber is a powerful weapon that is won during battle and whoever wields it can claim the throne on Mandalore.” Said Zemo, giving him a small grin and a small tilt of his head.

“Wait, so your saying that if we find this Darksaber. It could be possible that we could rule a whole unknown planet?” The other whispers out in shock, not believing that a weapon like this could gain control over a lot of people and a whole planet. “Even if we find it here, it won’t be possible to rule over Mandalore. The planets location is unknown to us and the artifact is millions of years old, we don’t know if Mandalorians are still around.” Zemo explains. “Also, we don’t know much about them that it’s hard to say on how this Darksaber ended up here in the first place.”

The two wanted to find this Darksaber but still had a lot of questions about these Mandalorians and their planet, they still don’t know how important this artifact is or the history behind it. All they know that it used to belong to someone and that it’s used to claim the throne, but nothing else is mentioned. They don’t know what Mandalorians are or what they do, they don’t know anything about their culture or their ways of living. It all still remained a mystery.

After getting enough information they were able to find the Darksabers location near Romania, hidden deep inside a castle. Both y/n and Zemo had to find ways on how to find the Darksaber in the castle, they would take tours around the castle, hoping to find something that’ll tell them where it’s located. Sometimes they would break in late at night, taking out the guards and stealing their outfits as they searched around the castle grounds. It didn’t take long for Y/n to find the Darksaber, hearing a soft whisper through the tunnels during one of their late night break ins.

Claim me

Y/n felt himself shiver, not knowing if he was hearing things or slowly going crazy. He searches for Zemo that night, telling him that he could hear whispers around the castle. He expected Zemo to brush it off and tell him that it’s probably nothing, but the older man could only stare at him with wide eyes as he says.

“You hear it too?”

The two followed the voice through the tunnels, hearing it grow louder as they approached their destination. Y/n had to cover his ears at one point, not being able to take the voice anymore. It felt dark and desperate, wanting someone to claim it. Zemo was able pinpoint its location. The Darksaber was hidden behind a wall with Mandalore writing, but the two had no way of understanding the language.

The break in again the next night, bringing useful tool that’ll help them break open the wall. The two took turns breaking down the wall, hearing the voice grow louder as they got closer to the Darksaber.

Claim

The voice continued to chant as Zemo finally breaks a hole through the wall, Hearing the voice die down as a cloud of dust blocks their vision. Y/n coughs and waves his hand around, clearing out the dust as he look inside to see the Grey hilt lying inside. Zemo steps up and reaches inside, taking the hilt in his hand as he looks at it carefully.

Y/n looks back inside to see a small cylinder, reaching in he takes out the strange cylinder and places it in his hand. “What—?” He gasps in shock as the strange device lights up, showing a hologram of a stranger wearing silver armor.

“My name is Din Djarin, Ruler of Mandalore.”

Zemo steps up and gently takes the device from y/n, holding it out for the two of them to see.

“If you are receiving this message, it is because Mandalore has fallen. Throughout the years, Mandalorians have been trying to search for peace, wanting to claim Mandalore back and to rebuild their home planet. But, due to my claim of the throne the Mandalorians have split up. Some wanting to follow a leader that’ll help them through both battle and politics while others wish to follow a leader that followed the old ways.” Din explains.

“I won the Darksaber in battle by protecting my son. I had no reason to claim the throne on Mandalore and did not want this responsibility. I have tried many times on getting rid of the Darksaber, but due to our stories the only way that it can be taken is if the rightful ruler is battled for the throne.” Din goes silent for a few seconds before letting out a small sigh. “My people saw me as the rightful ruler of mandalore. They saw me as their leader and as someone they could look up too. I’ve lead a planet to peace and not war, I’ve worked my way through politics and wanting to keep my people safe, until a certain Mandalorian named Bo-Katan, challenged me for the Darksaber. She has battled me many times and not once did she succeed.” Dins shoulder tense as his helmet tilts to the side. “Bo-Katan always wanted power. She was selfish and didn’t think about her own decisions which caused another purge on Mandalore. The Darksaber is too powerful and dangerous, which is why I kept It hidden. If this message reaches you than please, keep the Darksaber safe. This is the way.”

The holo comes to an end as it turns off on its own, leaving he room in silence as Y/n and Zemo stare at the empty holo. Y/n gently lowers his arm down, gripping the holo as he sighs deeply and slips it inside his bag, turning back to Zemo. “A purge on their home planet, all because of that.” He points at the grey hilt that Zemo held in his hand.

“The Darksaber is a symbol to them, a symbol of leadership. Something that his people believed in until one of them focused more on the power of this weapon than on the symbolism that it represents.” Said Zemo. He tilts the hilt to the side and placed his hand on the small trigger, awakening the Darksaber as it ignites its dark blade.

Y/n’s widen in amazement as he steps closer, feeling the heat as he stares at the black balded saber. “Like the king said, we must keep it safe.” He hears Zemo say as he too stares at the blade before switching it off and seeing the blade disappear.

Germany — 2024

“Why is he out of prison?!” Sam shouts at Bucky as they stood in the same garage as Zemo. A few years ago Zemo was captured by t’challa, sending him to prison for the murder of his father. Zemo spent 6 years in prison until he officially broke himself out in order to help both Bucky and Sam with their super soldier situation.

“If I may—“

“No!”

Both Bucky and Sam say at the same time as they glare at Zemo.

“—apologize.” Zemo mumbles the last part in a soft whisper as he allows the others to argue like an old married couple while he makes his way around the garage, collecting some clothes to change into since he was still wearing the guards clothes.

“So what can you tell us about the super soldier serum?” Asked Sam as they followed the man closely as Zemo explains to them on how to find the serum and how he has connections with people that can help them out.

“But first, I suggest getting ready before we head off.” He gives the two a smile before leaving to change, he pulls out his phone and dials a number, placing the phone near his ear as he smiles at the sound of his partners soft voice.

“Liebling, prepare a private plane, I’m coming home.”

“Who’s this?” Sam asks as he nods towards the other man who stood outside of the private jet. Zemo smirks as he approaches the other man, “Liebling.” He says as he leans forward to place a kiss on his husbands lips. “This is Y/n, my husband.” He introduces to both Bucky and Sam.

Bucky scoffs. “That can’t be right.”

Y/n glares. “Is their a problem with me being married to a man?”

“I’m not worried about you getting married to a man, I’m worried on how you got married to him.” Bucky points at Zemo who only rolls his eyes and boards the plane. “Who I marry shouldn’t matter to you.” Y/n says back harshly as he boards the plane, sitting across from Zemo as he leans back in his seat.

“Hast du es mitgebracht?” Asked Zemo

Did you bring it?

Y/n opens the left side of his coat to show Zemo the Darksaber clipped to his belt. “I always keep it close, just as promised.” He answers back. The Darksaber has been in their lives for awhile now. They have been keeping it safe and away from people that’ll abuse it’s power. The Darksaber was special, it had spoken to them many times about its history and the darkness behind it. But, both Zemo and Y/n try their best to control the blades darkness and to not allow it to corrupt them.

“Where exactly are we heading?” Y/n asks as he takes Zemo’s book and flips through the first few pages. “Madripoor, their will find someone who will give us information about the serum and who is making it.” He explains, watching y/n closely as he bites his lip and sets the book aside. “Let’s hope we don’t get into any trouble.” He added with crossed arms as he too stares back at Zemo. The two making eye contact.

“I hate to break the sexual tension but—how exactly did you two meet?” Sam asks, causing y/n to blush hard as he looks out the window, ignoring both Sam and Bucky.

“Y/n and I used to work together, before Sokovia. He helped me through missions and planning the battle between the avengers.” He explains, noticing Bucky turn his harsh glare towards y/n. “He helped you find the records?”

“Actually, he helped on finding your code words.” Said Zemo, “the rest I did myself.” He adds in the end.

Y/n glanced over to Sam and Bucky and glares back. “You can be upset as you want, because what we did was the right choice.” He hissed out, curling up on the chair as he turns on his side. His back facing them as he tries to sleep for the rest of the flight.

Zemo chuckles and gives the other two a shrug. “I suggest not getting on my husbands nerves, he won’t hesitate to cause harm and I won’t be able to hold him back.” It was true, both y/n and Zemo were powerful together.

Both Bucky and Sam decide to ignore Zemo and try to get some sleep before they arrive to Madripoor to deal with the trouble that is coming for them.

Their mission to Madripoor become a disaster after their cover was blown. But, lucky for them they were able to find an ally who helped them through their issues. Sharon was able to find the scientist that was creating the super soldier serum, giving them the location and allowing them to deal with the man.

After Zemo had shot the scientist, chaos erupted around them. The place was blown up and bounty hunters were after them, wanting to claim the price on their heads. As Bucky and Sam struggled with killing off the hunters they quickly forgot about Zemo and Y/n who had disappeared a few minutes ago.

Y/n soon appears, dropping down in front of Sam and Bucky as he wore a black mask over his mouth. Covering half of his face as he glared at the bounty hunters. He removes the Darksaber from his belt and ignites it, feeling the power run through his body as he strikes down the first person In front of him. It only takes him a few minutes to take down all of the bounty hunters, using the Darksaber to block the bullets as he cuts them down.

Once the shooting grew quiet he stands over the dead bodies, removing his mask as he turns off the Darksaber and clips it back onto his belt. He turns around to face the others who stares back at him with fear in their eyes. Y/n sighs and turns back around to see Zemo approaching them with a car, giving them all a friendly smile. Y/n rolls his eyes and chuckles, “thought you left me behind.” He says and hops into the front seat.

Zemo shakes his head. “I would never.” He leans forward to kiss his head before driving off once Bucky and Sam get in. They drive back to their private jet, leaving the car behind once they arrived. As they board the plane once again they sit on their usual spots, with Zemo watching y/n read.

“What was that back there?”

Zemo raises a brow. “What was what?” He questions, tilting his head towards Sam. “That thing he had-“ he nods towards y/n. “What was it?” Sam grew curious, wanting to know what the weapon was.

Y/n sits up and removes the Darksaber from his belt, setting it on the middle of the table that stood between him and Zemo. “It’s called the Darksaber, it’s an ancient weapon that was found far away from our solar system.” Explained y/n. “The Darksaber already claimed Zemo as his owner, but it trusts me and allows me to use it.”

“That thing speaks to you?”

Zemo clears his throat. “It’s ancient and from another world. It only speaks to its owner or who they think is the rightful owner.” He takes the Darksaber in his own hand and smiles at the powerful feeling. “It is very powerful and special, we both keep it safe from prying hands.”

Bucky chuckles. “A weapon that dangerous shouldn’t be wielded by either of you.” He said. “We saw what you did back there, you slaughter those men like it was nothing.” He tells y/n who glares at him angrily. “Those men almost killed us, your lucky I saved your life or else I would’ve left you to die. This weapon protected me and saved us.” He hissed out.

“Besides, the Darksaber doesn’t respond to just anyone. It only obeys the wielder.” Y/n adds, looking at the Darksaber. Zemo holds the saber in his hand and gives it back to y/n, trusting him to keep it safe for the mean time. “I trust him to keep it safe.” He whispers under his breath, already knowing that the Darksaber was speaking to him.

“Will be making a stop in Riga, for now, get some rest.” Said Zemo.

Y/n Stands up and walks towards the back of the plane where a private room was setup for only him and Zemo. He pushes the curtain aside as he steps inside and closes it behind him, removing his coat and tossing it aside as he flops down on the bed. Letting out a loud moan, shifting into a more comfortable position.

It didn’t take long for Zemo to enter the private room, sitting on the bed as he leans down to kiss y/n’s temple. “Any word on the mandalorians?” He asks.

Y/n shifts onto his back with a sigh, removing the Darksaber from his hand as he hands it back to Zemo. “A few months back I met a Mandalorian—he was quiet small but powerful.” He furrows his brows together. “He said that he has been searching for the Darksaber for years, that it belonged to his father Din Djarin. I asked him if he was still around but the formal leader of Mandalore passed away many years ago.” He still remembers hearing the mandalorians voice go soft as he mentions his deceased father, feeling upset.

“I asked if he came to take the Darksaber back and he said no, told me that he does not wish to have saber. Said that it’s best for it to continue staying here on earth, far away from anyone else. He said that the Darksaber held too much power.”

Zemo examines the hilt as he listens y/n explain his interaction with a mandalorian. A group of people that they thought had either gone extinct or into hiding.

“He knows your the wielder and was able to feel the connection that both you and the saber have.” He hears y/n say. “The Mandalorian trusts us with it and believes that will take care of it.” Y/n leans his head on Zemos shoulder.

“As long as it stays here, it is safe.” Zemo responded back, setting the Darksaber to the side as he pulls his husband into a hug, placing a kiss on his neck as the two enjoy each other’s company, knowing that this powerful weapon could lead them into discovering new things that this world doesn’t know quiet yet.

#male reader #helmut zemo #helmut Zemo x male reader #zemo x male reader #baron zemo x male reader #baron zemo #the mandalorain #the mandalorian crossover #au #crossover

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aizawa-needs-coffee · 3 years ago

Note

do you do soulmate aus at all? if u do id like a dabi x reader, yandere or not! tho i would prefer yandere plz xxxx

I love me a soulmate AU, there are so many so I hope you like this one.

Soulmate AU where your soulmates first words to you are written on your skin but appear when your 16.

Yandere!Dabi x Reader No smut but dark themes Soulmate AU GN/NB reader Word count: 1,350 No proof reading

Everybody In The World Knows I’m A Little Bit Twisted

In a world of quirks, it didn’t seem so odd that soulmates should exist either, the words your soulmate would first say to you would appear somewhere on your skin when you reached the age of sixteen, everyone was always so excited to see what beautiful words would appear. Words that would encourage them through the dark times, keep them going when they were low, put smiles on their face at the end of a day. The comfort and warmth from knowing somewhere out there the perfect person was waiting.

Not everyone was so lucky though, you could remember the day you got yours appeared on your wrist, a bracelet of beautifully written words, italics, elegant and tasteful, at least they would have been if their contents weren’t so ugly.

“Won’t you let me ruin you?”

You didn’t understand the words at first, how your parents exchanged such pained looks, watching as their child’s skin was marred with such a violent promise. As you grew up you hated them, covered them in winter with long sleeves, a thick sweat band in summer. You’d gone to places for a tattoo, you wanted the threat on your skin gone, washed away to forget about but nowhere would do it, not wanting the bad karma of messing with destiny, no matter how doomed it would make you.

All your life would were jealous of your friends and their sweet or sometimes silly soulmate marks, you’d never share yours and whenever the subject came up you’d go silent or excuse yourself form the group. It wasn’t fair, although school and as you worked you feared every person you met, everyone a potential threat to harm you. You preyed every day you never met your partner.

You had dated people, not everyone let themselves be bound by their mark, trying to find someone until then, trying to ignore the complications of settling down with someone, making a life and a future just for their true soulmate to appear and shatter whatever illusions of happiness they’d held before.

Time passes, time makes you complacent and helps you forget. Years passed and your circle of friends never mentioned soul mates around you, not even when one by one they all found theirs, getting into happy, picture perfect relationships, you did your best to be happy for them, but you never gave your missing soulmate a second thought. You would rather die alone then picture the person capable of uttering those words to you.

Walking home one night after your last single friend announced they were getting married after just a short year of being with their soulmate had you wanting to drown your sorrows, you’d been subtle as you downed shots and took free drinks from your celebrating friends, all too distracted by the happiness of their friend to notice you slowly sinking into the abyss you’d settled into.

You stumbled along the sidewalk, on your way home, cursing at each piece of trash that blew across your path, blaming your almost tripping on your own feet on the mess. You didn’t live in the best nor worst area, but hero’s always patrolled. You hoped they wouldn’t harass you or come to your aid, you didn’t need anyone trying to pull you out of your misery.

Content to stumble and drag yourself home, drink more until you were too inebriated to think, to feel, to do anything other then cry in the shower before falling asleep alone in your big empty bed. You sighed feeling your head spinning too much to focus on the steps you took, the pavement being rude by shaking. Your eyelids too heavy to stay open, you saw the ally, it looked empty enough, you were proud of yourself for climbing on a crate to sit atop the stack, taking a deep breath, the cold air felt good against your burning up skin, shrugging off your jacket you rubbed your arms, goosebumps that your drunk mind didn’t register.

You closed your eyes, for just a second, trying to ignore how the darkness behind your lids even swam and twirled making you regret every choice you’d made that evening. You ignored the footsteps, the crunching of glass under food, someone walking past the allies opening, you hoped it wasn’t some patronizing hero coming to ‘walk you home’ or lecture you on being this drunk or alone at night.

The steps echoed in the ally, and you let your tired eyes flutter open, brows furrowed and ready to give the hero a mouthful of attitude, not in the mood for any more bullshit from people in a better place in life to talk down to you with. You couldn’t handle another pitying tone tonight.

He stood there, head cock to the side with bright blue eyes looking you over, regarding the slouched position you’d allowed yourself to slip into with a crooked grin. The intense look in the black haired mans eyes caused even you in your drunken stupor to sit up straight, clutching for your jacket and to where your cell phone was nestled in your pocket, but the clothing slipped down the back of the wooden stack of crates you used as your drunken throne.

Dabi stared at you, the smirk on his marked-up face growing greater as you just stared at him wide eyed, sloshed out of your mind, he could smell the booze and feel the sheer bitterness of your situation roll off you. He didn’t say a word as he took one step closer, hands in his pockets, the way his heavy boots crunched on the gravel echoing in the dead silent ally.

Neither of you broke the painful silence, your fear pushing the drunk nonchalance from your cloudy head, something about him, his face, ringing a bell somewhere in your subconscious told you to run, escape this man with the bright blue eyes and patchwork skin was going to be your end. Both staring at each other, the eye contact intense, until you scrambled and hopped off of the stack of junk, hitting the ground and almost falling flat on your face, hands scuffed against the dirty floor as you used your palms to push yourself up and forward with all your might, the stranger let out a laugh, deep, gravely like the ground you tried to propel yourself forward on.

Running, limping, tripping over your feet, legs, were your limbs always this long or were you that fucked that gravity and your mass confused you so much? You didn’t care, your mind just screaming at you as you ran down the ally, a chain link fence at the end, without a second thought you launched yourself at it, the clinking and rustling so loud in your pounding head. Your feet struggled to find purchase in the holes, you scrabbled halfway up just to cut yourself on a sharp piece that stuck out, you let out a whine and fell back down.

Another laugh from Dabi had you turning around, pressing yourself so hard against the metal fence it felt like it could cut you into cubes, digging into your skin as your heart and head raced, the sweat rolling down your face as you gripped the chain with trembling fingers, he caged you in, big boots either side of your feet.

“Leave me alone, please” your voice so small but what you said had those beautiful dangerous looking eyes widen, the smirk on his face gone for a second before an even wicked one replaced it.

He slammed one hand onto the fence next to your head, the manic look on his face as he used his other hand to pull up the sleeve of his trench coat. There in font that looked like it had been ink in the rain, half on good skin half disfigured like the burns on his flesh but you could still make out the words written there, the very same ones that you had pleaded to him just moments ago.

“Won’t you let me ruin you?”

#yandere dabi #yandere themes #no smut #yandere bnha #yandere boku no hero academia #dabi x reader #dabi x gender neutral reader #nb reader #gn reader #touya todoroki x reader #dark themes #sfw

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fleursdemeduse · 3 years ago

Text

Remembrance AU: Fighting For the Right Side

Warnings: Nightmare [Depiction of child death] ; Mention of death ; Allusion to mass murder and bombs

Words: 3.3k

You were quick to settle into your position in Pogtopia. Every day was primarily spent with Techno, but it was relaxing. You farmed, took trips to the bastion you two had met at, he protected you in fortresses, you two even went mining together. He was a comfortable constant in your world. Even when the voices got to be too much, you were with him. But that might have been what caused it all in the first place.

Settling into the small alcove Tommy said you could use, you decided that you could take this brief moment of quiet to read. You felt safe in the ravine, so much so that you had shed your armor back in Techno’s hidden stronghold.

Once sat in front of the fire, you tossed another small log in the flames. You'd have to go find more wood tomorrow but this was enough; The fire burning was bright enough you didn't need to light a torch and waste extra materials they might need, and the air warm enough you only needed a small throw blanket for added comfort to cuddle during the parts of your book the suspense physically got to you.

And so you got comfortable. You relaxed against the wall and you opened your book. Page 47.

Suddenly, sounds bombarded the child - a mad rustling, and then, twit twit, echoing over and over. They were familiar sounds, not particularly frightening, but unplaceable. A heartbeat was louder than anything else and the small nine year old could only wish that the sound were quieter. That everything was quieter.

The maze was an overgrown thing. Something so large that anyone who encountered it knew they could never escape. The shadows kept moving though; rushing faster than legs could ever hope to outrun. Faster and faster they crawled like vines all around. And soon the child was engulfed. Darkness spread to every limb, smothering wails that spilled from parted lips. There were no cries for help or alerts to any who would listen. Soon, nothing remained.

The crash had startled you awake. Your nightmare releasing it’s hold from you at the sudden sound. You relaxed quickly, however, seeing Wilbur in a heap next to the stairs. He must have fallen again. You pressed your lips together, remembering Techno’s words. “We used to have railin’s but Wilbur, he just really enjoyed fallin’ to his death.”

The brunet slowly got up and pat himself off before looking up at you and smiling. A smile like that could have made sunflowers turn to revel in its glow.

“Oh, hey. Sorry for waking you.” His voice was soft, probably to not wake anyone else if they hadn’t already been awoken already.

"Don't worry about it. It wasn’t a very good dream.” He nodded at you in understanding. “What were you doing out? On a secret mission?”

The teasing smile on your lips grew bigger when his smile soured and he scoffed, grumbling to himself about how every mission was technically a secret one.

Yours fell away when he started walking off, his softness darkened with the thought of what happened during his outing. You hesitated. You didn’t want to wake Techno. You two were only just growing closer and you didn’t know how the hybrid reacted to missing out on the little sleep he was actually getting. But you didn’t want to be with your thoughts. Despite not being even remotely close to the man now leaving you behind, you reached out for him. “Hey Wilbur?” He turned to look at you. "Can you stay? Just for tonight, please. I don't want to be alone after that."

You watched his brown eyes brighten and a boyish grin overtake his lips. It reminded you of Tommy’s. You briefly wondered if his mood always swung this dramatically. “I'll stay for as long as you need." He made his way to sit with you and you added another log to the fire, sitting up so the rock digging into your spine shifted away. Wilbur sat across from you, his presence immediately making you relax.

"So, Mr. Leader," You taunted once more, "What was the secret mission?"

In the coming days, you and Wilbur spent more time together. He’d tell you the most random facts about himself whilst you two worked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pay it any mind.

"Hey [y/n], guess what?"

"Hm?"

"I was born on September 14th. That makes me a Virgo."

"Did you know I can play guitar?"

"I think everyone knows that about you, Wilbur. Why do you ask?"

"I just thought you might wanna hear me play you something sometime..."

"You know, I was once married to this wonderful salmon named Sally. You remind me of her sometimes."

“With you on our side, [y/n], I know that we’re going to win L’manburg back. And I promise you’ll have a spot in my cabinet.”

It was decided. Techno and yourself would attend the festival while Wilbur and Tommy hung back and watched from a safe distance. You were nervous. A bad feeling grew like a stone in your stomach as they all prepared.

"Hey [y/n], come here a moment, will you?" Sighing as you stood from the chest you were going through, you felt your back pop in a few different places and you hissed before walking to where Wilbur stood. It was silent in the ravine, everyone just as anxious about the festival as you.

"Yeah?" You asked, resting a hand on his arm as you peeked around him at the paper on the table. It was a map of Manburg with “x”s scattered across it.

"Are you prepared?" He glanced down at you, watching the crease in your eyebrows deepen as you examined the plans.

"Mhm." You hummed, finally looking up at him. His eyes were so warm when they looked at you, just like Techno’s. Even if he didn’t have a smile, they were always filled with that same warmth that made you feel important. The two were more like brothers than either cared to admit. "Why?"

"Can I tell you something and you keep it a secret from Tommy and Techno?" Everything around you felt like it had stilled. Everything waiting for the other shoe to drop. The stone suddenly felt heavier.

"What is it?” He continued looking at you and you found it almost hard to breathe. "Wilbur?"

His hand reached to cup your cheek gently. They weren’t calloused like Technoblade’s. They were the hands of a poet, of a musician, of someone whose hand reached for the quill not the sword. They smelled of gunpowder. Your heart felt like it was in your throat when you realized what all of those “x”s were.

“You would risk letting all those people die just so you could have L’manburg back? Why?”

His voice came out hoarse when he finally brought himself to speak. "Because if I can’t have it, no one can, [y/n]. I'm so sorry."

Your lips trembled. You thought of all of the innocent people who would never see it coming. You thought of Tommy and Techno, getting ready in another part of the ravine who wouldn’t know until it was too late. You thought of the man before you who probably felt like he was doomed to keep repeating this action again and again. When had blowing something up ever worked in his past lifetimes? He had to know that this was crazy, right?

Wilbur continued to stare at your frightened face for a moment. He looked so serious. His dark eyebrows drawn together and lips turned just the slightest bit downward. But his eyes? The warmth that filled them seemed to be slowly draining and being replaced with dark melancholy. You hated that look on him and drew your hand up to hold the one cradling your face. “You don’t have to do this, y’know. There is always another way.”

Wilbur stepped forward, pulling you into an embrace that smelled of cedar and leather. His hand left your cheek to instead hold your head to his chest. You didn’t like this hug. This hug felt like he knew things were going to go horribly wrong and he didn’t want you to see the aftermath of it. “If there were one, we would have found it by now.”

Your hands gripped the soft material of his trench coat and you pressed your face into his sweater. You didn’t want this. You were happy to help where you could, but you didn’t want to be a part of the destruction of a nation. You just wanted to help your friends overthrow a tyrant. “I wish I were as brave as you, Wil.”

The soft huff of a chuckle reverberated through his chest as he squeezed you tighter. “Did you know that that’s the first time you’ve called me something other than my name?” His voice was uplifted at the end. He almost sounded happy by the thought. It was squashed when he sighed, pressing his face into your hair. “I wouldn’t call it bravery, though. Still, I promise that we’ll all end up on the other side of this together.”

You tilted your head up a bit to look at him. “Where else would we be?”

He didn’t answer you, just held you tighter.

If there was one thing Wilbur couldn’t describe himself as, it was good.

In previous lives, he had been a cruel, sadistic god. He forced hundreds of people to compete for his entertainment. They were rats, moles, ants, sometimes even just humans while he played the part of omnipotent creator. He had been a king sometimes, or a hero. And time and time again, he was just an older brother. But no matter what, he couldn’t seem to save the people who loved him the most. He couldn’t protect the ones who looked up to him; be it because he found sick joy in their deaths, or because he wasn’t strong enough.

He never felt strong enough.

When Technoblade had told him of the strange person whom he had met in the nether, he almost brushed it off. There was no way he had met someone whom he hadn’t shared at least one lifetime with. There was no such thing as new players who weren’t just NPCs.

However, when you stepped into the ravine, inventory absolutely filled with different items that you just willingly handed over to the pink haired hybrid with a smile, he was utterly floored. The curve of your lips, the tone of your voice, even the look in your eyes were all new to him. He had never once met you.

He approached the two of you with hurried steps, wondering what kind of trick you were playing, only to freeze when you turned your gaze to him. He could hear his own blood rushing through his ears and, for a moment, he wondered if you could hear it too. The expression you wore unnerved him. It was as if you had seen every lifetime, every possibility. Yet you still had the nerve to smile shyly at him. When you waved at him in silent greeting, he knew Technoblade had been completely correct in his assumption. Your lives were missing from your wrist.

You were an investment.

But no one made him feel as powerless as you did.

You were able to try things over and over and over again. You weren’t held back by memories of mistakes or fears. The tiny flits of trauma they all seemed to feel were just… absent in your being. You were unapologetic about running errands in Manburg and doing reconnaissance whilst you were out, seemingly unafraid during the recounts you had given him of meeting Schlatt and Tubbo for the first time.

And this seemed to hold true in your interactions with Tubbo. He didn’t treat you with the same feral energy he shared with Tommy or the attitude he put forth for his leaders. When you weren’t spending almost every waking moment with Technoblade, the soft murmur of your soft voices being heard through the stone walls that led to the farm, you were interacting with one or both of the teenagers that helped fuel the rebellion. Tubbo told you about new ideas he had, or described to you his day, or even just explained to you things that even he himself knew he would have trouble understanding, despite Tubbo being the one to explain them. Wilbur noticed that you just did that. You listened patiently while someone talked, despite the knowing look in your eye that made him feel like you already knew exactly what they were about to say. And this seemed to carry over into your relationship with Tommy.

You paid rapt attention to the blond, reminding him that even if he was still technically a child, that doesn’t mean he didn’t deserve to be listened to. The oddest part he found, though? Tommy actually returned the favor in kind. It wasn’t so much that you would go on long-winded tangents and he’d be forced to sit there and listen. It was that when you asked or told the sixteen year old to do something, he did it without too much of a fight. That’s not to say he wouldn’t talk back to you, he did almost every time, but it was the point that he would still do what you said without much hesitation. And every single time, Wilbur felt the sharpest stab of envy.

He had questioned Tommy after the first couple instances of it happening before him. He had cornered the very person who had been his younger brother in many previous lives against the cold stone wall on one of the walk ways while you and Techno were out gathering things from the nether and demanded to know why. However, the young soldier just shrugged in response. “They just usually have very fun ideas.” He had stared long and hard at the blonde, the other fiddling with the hem of his dirty shirt. He made a mental note to ask if you’d be willing to do laundry for them when you next went to Manburg. “That and…”

“And?” Wilbur had immediately prompted, knowing the time he had to question the younger was running short.

“They just have that tone of voice. And something makes me feel like I should listen when they tell me to do something.” Wilbur rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to berate him. “Sometimes it feels like they know way more than they should. Like they already know what’s going to happen.”

The brunet’s words died on his tongue.

They all felt like that.

But if you knew so much, why did you never talk about any of your past lives like the rest of them did? If you knew what was going to happen, why were you so patient and let them make mistake after mistake?

The thought sat bitterly at the forefront of his mind as he pat himself off, having fallen off the side of the walkway yet again. He almost regretted removing the child-proofing, but he was an adult, and he didn’t need them, and he certainly wasn’t going to recant his insistence that they didn’t need them. He turned when he heard shifting and saw you slumped against the side of the ravine.

In the dim lighting, you looked different. You were cuddled under a thin blanket, eyebrows furrowed and mouth pressed into a pout that reminded him of a child. He must have awoken you. You looked rather cute like this, though.

He smiled at you despite himself. He was still a little hesitant about being around you. He didn’t need help in his daily activities like Technoblade, he didn’t need a guiding hand like Tommy, and he felt plenty listened to daily, unlike Tubbo.

But somehow, he didn’t feel as loved as you were.

“Oh hey, sorry for waking you.” The words had slipped from his mouth before he had had a chance to stop them. Now he’d be forced to converse with you. He watched your eyes look away from him, even in the dim light.

"It wasn’t a very good dream.” You didn’t have good dreams? What was there to have a nightmare of? He tucked that piece of information away for later, your eyes were back on him. “What were you doing out? On a secret mission?”

His mood immediately dropped, especially when he saw the mocking grin that planted itself on your face. It was as if this were a game to you. “Every mission we pursue is a secret one, you of all people should know that.”

The grin just grew and he felt his chest tighten. How could you act so lax when you seemed to know exactly what happened when he was out there? He turned to walk back to his desk to write about the events that had transpired and quell his anger. He wasn’t truly upset with you, he knew that, and he didn’t want to take that out on the one person that seemed to be holding together his fellow usurpers, but you almost irritated him. His soft steps reverberated through their base.

“Hey Wilbur?”

His steps faltered. Despite your previous mood, you suddenly sounded so small. Afraid. He looked at you from over his shoulder and was surprised to see your extended hand.

“Can you stay for tonight? I don’t want to be alone after that.”

A new feeling sparked in him.

You wanted him? The one who had been so helpful for everyone else, to the cause, even to him on occasion, needed his help? How bad had your dream been? You looked so distraught, so powerless. He didn’t feel so weak when you looked at him like that.

“I’ll stay for as long as you need.” Your eyes held a warmth that could rival the fire in front of them. You moved to feed it and he sat across from you. You two weren’t close in either sense of emotionally or physically.

When had that changed?

He felt compelled to check up on you more after that night, use you as the investment that he believed you to be. No one in Manburg knew of your status, and he was planning on using it to their advantage.

Or, he had been.

But you made him feel safe about sharing things about himself. You were easy to talk to, easy to work around, easy to listen to. You would have been so easy to use.

Maybe that’s why he told you of the plan he and Tubbo had come up with.

You had found your way into much more than his good graces, just like the rest of them, and he didn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire. You were so susceptible to influence, he feared you’d start to see him as a villain. He knew what people would say about him. He wanted you to know his thoughts and feelings before you could be tainted by their remarks.

He had shared memories with you before. They all had. Words seemed to fall unencumbered whenever you were around and they were all victim to it. But you hadn’t judged any of them on the actions they had taken in their previous lives. You didn’t even judge them on the actions they had taken in this one. Despite this, he was still scared you’d be turned against him if he wasn’t the one to tell you.

“I think everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves.”

It was his turn to prove that they were fighting for the right side.

#RemembranceAU #dsmp au #dream smp au #dsmp x reader #dream smp x reader #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x reader #mcyt x reader #tw: nightmares #tw: death #tw: child death #tw: genocide #tw: bomb

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jingabitch · 4 years ago

Text

To Love an Empress

SUMMARY: Despite the acrimonious beginning to your relationship, Yoongi is drawn to you.

PAIRING: emperor!yoongi x empress!reader

RATING: E

WORD COUNT: 9.8k

A/N: My final submission for the BTS Ghostie bingo, yay! This one fills the secret admirer tile. This fic is kind of based on Henry VII and Elizabeth of York’s early relationship, and inspired by The White Princess, so if some of the dialogue and scenes are similar, that’s why.

Shoutout to my lovely betas @knjkitten and @yoongs-jeontae for helping me beta this! Banner by @jkeuphoriadreamland 💕 i’ve never had a banner on a fic before this is fun hehe

Min Yoongi was a hard man, and he knew it. He’d won his throne on the battlefield, running his sword through the old king and crowning himself right there on the blood-stained grass.

You knew it too, could never forget it when you looked at your husband. The scar on his face from an injury he’d sustained during the decisive battle for his crown; the memory of how coldly he’d treated you at the beginning; the baby growing inside you as a result of Yoongi’s insistence that you demonstrate your ability to provide him with heirs before he would marry you. As if he’d had a choice, when your bloodline was the cornerstone of his legitimacy.

After all the angry words and hostility between the two of you, he knew there was no chance you would forgive him. And yet, a part of him craved it. He saw the kindness you lavished on your ladies-in-waiting, the servants, and all the children running around the palace who were sons and daughters of the nobles and the army of servants working here. Was it so wrong of him to want just a little of that for himself? You were his wife, after all.

Yoongi was a warrior. He’d trained all his life to take control of the kingdom. War was all he knew.

Which made him, unfortunately, woefully inept when it came to wooing a lady, especially one so resistant to him. He’d relied on his looks before, but now that he had the scar on his face, it seemed that even that tool was no longer at his disposal. God knows you hated it.

With no one else to turn to, he asked his eunuch what he should do. At first, the portly man just blinked at him, confused. “She’s your wife, you don’t have to persuade her to warm your bed,” he pointed out.

Yoongi grimaced. “I know that,” he grumbled. “I want her to like me.”

Sambo snorted. “Should have thought about that before you made her ‘prove her fertility’ to you.”

Sulking, Yoongi got up and stormed away from his eunuch. Obviously, he knew that, and he wished that no one else did. It wasn’t like him to force a lady like that, but tensions had been running high at the time and he hadn’t trusted a woman from the house of L/n. You must have run to your lady-in-waiting and cried to her when it was over, because Sambo had gotten quite the shelling from her the next day.

Sambo, who’d quickly grown used to the antics of his master, just hurried along beside Yoongi. “Just give her something pretty,” he advised. “Women like that.”

Yoongi stopped short. Why hadn’t he thought of that? “That’s a great idea,” he enthused. “You’re useful for once, Sambo,” he praised his eunuch.

Sambo rolled his eyes to hide his pleased smile. “You’d think a grown man would know something like that,” he jibed. “Taking love advice from someone who can’t even perform must be a new low for you.”

“Whatever.” Yoongi waved off the insult. “I’ll get her a nice hairpin,” he decided. “But don’t tell her it’s from me.” He didn’t want you throwing it out in disgust.

“She’s obviously going to know,” Sambo pointed out. “There is no man in Joseon suicidal enough to woo the empress. That’s treason.”

Frowning, Yoongi snapped, “Just do it,” before stalking back into his room with a huff and shutting the door in Sambo’s face. The eunuch really didn’t need to rain on his parade like that, even if he was probably right. Hopefully you wouldn’t immediately come to the conclusion that it was him. It wasn’t just that he was afraid you’d throw out a gift from him—he wanted to make you smile. Not because you were bound to him and might as well exhibit some fondness towards your husband, but because he was really, truly capable of making you happy.

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Pregnancy had been difficult for you so far. Without your mother around, you were left to go through it by yourself. At least Ling, your personal servant-turned-lady-in-waiting, was here with you. You’d been together since you were a child and she was a young teen, and she was like a sister to you.

The morning sickness was starting to fade, thankfully, but you still got nauseous sometimes, so Ling suggested that you have your breakfast in the courtyard to enjoy some fresh air and sunshine while the cleaners dusted and polished your quarters.

When you finally got back to your room after being bullied by Ling into taking a little walk – exercise was good for the baby, she insisted – there was a hairpin lying on your table, next to the novel you’d been reading. Curiously, you knelt down to pick it up.

“What’s this?” you asked Ling, who was trailing a few steps behind you.

“It’s a hairpin, milady,” she responded somewhat cluelessly.

“Yes,” you said patiently, “but why is it here? I’ve never seen this before.” Looking more closely at it, you turned it over a few times in your hand. It truly was pretty, a delicate gold phoenix carved into the end of the pin, decorated with pink flowers and milky jade balls around the base of the phoenix.

Sitting down on the other side of the table, Ling pulled your hand holding the pin closer to her so she could examine it too. “I don’t know, but it’s so pretty,” she sighed. “Maybe you have a secret admirer,” she giggled.

“Yes, the pregnant empress has a secret admirer,” you said drolly. Everything about your existence, from the gilded cage you were trapped in, to your marriage to the most powerful man in Joseon, to the heir you were carrying in you, screamed that you were taken, owned by a man. And not just any man, of course, but the one whose wife was strictly, on pain of death, off-limits.

“Well, you never know,” Ling said lightly. “Just take it for what it is,” she advised. “Someone wants to make you happy!”

“All right,” you accepted skeptically, but you couldn’t quite stop the smile from stealing across your face. After living as a political pawn for so many years because of your family and giving up everything for the man who’d killed your uncle, it did feel nice to think that there was someone out there who liked you for you.

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You weren’t stupid, of course. You had considered that it was your husband who’d had the pin sent to you. It made sense, after all – he was the only man in the whole of Joseon who could do something like that. It didn’t take long for you to disabuse yourself of that notion, however. Yoongi hated you, considered you the snake in his midst. Taking a L/n bride after defeating the House of L/n was the last thing he’d wanted to do, and he’d made that abundantly clear when you met. Hell, even before that, when he’d sent a platoon to your residence in the countryside to retrieve you.

Your first interaction with the new emperor had gone woefully poorly, with cruel words said on both sides.

As angry and resentful as you were about being claimed as his wife, you weren’t in any mood to be supplicant to the new emperor. When they brought you to meet him, in an admittedly charming gazebo, you knelt without bowing or greeting him, refusing to even look straight at him.

“Are you just going to sulk, then?” he drawled, and you barely resisted the urge to strangle him with your bare hands.

“We’ve done nothing right; surely you aren’t insisting that we follow tradition now?” you replied, your light tone doing little to hide your displeasure. This was all wrong, you knew. Despite Ling hovering just out of earshot keeping a watchful eye on things, you knew that your reputation was at stake simply from meeting the emperor alone before you were married.

It was unusual for you to enter the palace knowing that you were to be the empress, too. Usually the empress dowager chose her son’s bride, based on a series of tests that demonstrated her suitability for the throne. But, you knew, you were already the best candidate, purely based on your bloodlines.

Yoongi leaned forward, steepling his fingers in front of him. “Of course not,” he said, and his low, dangerous voice caused your breath to catch as you jerked your head forward to look at him properly for the first time. You couldn’t help but gasp at the long scab slicing through his eye. Catching you staring at it, he smiled bitterly.

“Are you afraid of your fiancé?” he asked.

“Of course not,” you hissed. “Just horrified that I have to lie with a disfigured monster.”

You remembered the way he’d jerked back, as if scalded. Okay, so you weren’t blameless in the current state of affairs you found yourself in, this hateful sham of a marriage that neither of you enjoyed. Still, given the acrimonious relationship you had with your husband, it seemed less than likely that he was your secret admirer.

“Poor, pitiful L/n Y/n,” he responded coldly. “Why don’t we get it over with, then?”

“What?!” you gasped, your hand flying to your mouth.

He smiled at you coldly. “I will not repeat the mistakes of previous emperors,” he informed you, and your lips pursed in displeasure, recognizing his comment for the jibe that it was – most of the previous emperors in the history of the kingdom had been your ancestors. “Having no legitimate heir is a recipe for disaster.”

Despite your best attempts to avoid giving him the satisfaction of your reaction, you couldn’t hold back the blanch. Smirking in satisfaction at having gotten back at you for the cruel insult, he continued, “We will be wed only when you are pregnant.”

Really, after all was said and done, it was no wonder that you and your husband despised each other.

Still, maybe there was a part of you that wished the pin had come from him. It wasn’t that you were in love with Yoongi or something insipid like that, it was just… you were kind of lonely here in the palace, with hardly anyone you knew around. The only person you’d been allowed to bring with you was Ling, because she’d been your servant for so long.

It would be nice to feel, just once more in your life, like you had a friend around you.

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As your pregnancy progressed, you grew increasingly miserable and annoyed, and your secret admirer stepped up his efforts to cheer you up. From pretty flowers on your pillow to new books when you finished your existing ones, even pretty ribbons and once, a bag of a rare tea that was supposed to alleviate morning sickness, this mysterious individual was showing you more care than your own husband.

You rarely saw Yoongi these days, since he was usually busy in the throne hall, setting the country back to rights. Being a woman, you never got to attend the morning meetings and reading of the petitions, but from what you heard, Yoongi wasn’t the most competent politician. It frustrated you to no end – you were the daughter and niece of the past two emperors, had grown up learning about politics, history and economics, and yet your role was basically being a baby incubator while your inexperienced husband was led down all sorts of rabbit holes as the ministers tried to take advantage of the situation to fatten their own coffers.

The last straw came when you heard of a proposed tax increase for the peasants, purportedly to shore up the kingdom’s defenses. You knew Minister Su, who was in charge of defense, was greedy and corrupt, but very eloquent and had many supporters among the cabinet. Overcoming your own reluctance to speak to your husband directly, you stormed into his private quarters one evening, while he was relaxing with a drink.

“Get out,” you ordered his eunuch, who was kneeling by his side.

Sambo looked over at Yoongi, who nodded at him. Once the doors slid shut behind the eunuch, you knelt in front of your husband. Since you were about six months pregnant now, it was difficult for you to maneuver, but you managed. “I need to talk to you,” you told him.

“I gathered that,” he said dryly. “Could this not wait for a more appropriate audience?”

“No,” you rejected him flatly. “I heard that you’re considering a new tax on the peasants.”

“That’s none of your business.” He leaned back slightly and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You should reject the tax proposal, Your Grace,” you said quietly.

“I said, that’s none of your business,” he thundered, slamming his fist down on the table.

You winced, but continued, undeterred. “Minister Su does not have the best interests of the kingdom in mind, Your Grace. There was a bad harvest this year, and the people will not stand for a tax now, especially when they are already so tired of conflict.”

It seemed that bringing up the civil war that had just been fought between Yoongi and your uncle was a bad idea, as he looked even more furious. He sucked in a deep breath to yell at you, but you quickly continued, cutting him off before he could start.

“Your reign is still new, Your Grace, and the people are still unsure about you. Now is the time for generosity, so that they learn to love you.”

“Why does a L/n empress care about whether the people love me? You and your family hate me; you fought a war against me,” he scoffed, leaning back on his hands in a casual pose to show just how little he cared.

Bristling indignantly, you bit back, “You raised an army against my family! You are the usurper! Make no mistake of it, sir, I advise you not because of any attachment to you, but because I care about this kingdom.”

At that, some of the fire left him. “Everyone claims to care about the kingdom, but all they really care about is themselves. Do you think I don’t know that my ministers are watching me, waiting to take advantage? That people are plotting against me as we speak?”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s what it means to be the emperor. My father had the same thing, as did my uncle – from you.” Maybe goading him wasn’t the best thing to do right now, but you were pregnant, uncomfortable and irritated.

“Then how do I know that I can trust you?” he retorted, his frustration with the current situation bleeding through his voice.

You were going to murder this man, you swore. He wouldn’t need to wait for any plot coming from outside the palace walls. How could someone be capable enough to enact a coup against the emperor, and yet so frustratingly dim when it came to politics?

“Because my wagon is tied to yours, you idiot. I am your empress now before I am a L/n woman, and this child I carry inside me is a Min child. Do you think that if your rule fails, I can just go home, and all will be well for me? I will be executed together with you, and so will our child.”

That seemed to shut him up. “I’ll think about it,” he finally allowed grudgingly.

“Thank you,” you said, bowing with your forehead pressed to the back of your palms over the floor.

After you’d left, Yoongi thought about how that was the first time you’d bowed to him. It seemed there was much he didn’t know about his wife.

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The next afternoon, you heard from Ling that the tax on the peasants had been rejected, and a jeweled comb was delivered to your room. This particular gift came directly from Sambo, so you knew that it was from Yoongi, and you accepted it for the apology that it was.

Two weeks later, proof of Minister Su’s corruption and embezzlement came to light, and he was sent into exile. You might have felt slightly smug about it, since you’d hated Minister Su ever since your own father was the emperor, but mostly you felt a little bad for Yoongi, having to deal with something like that so soon after coming to power.

That same night, Yoongi invited you to have dinner with him. Well, it was more like an order, because you weren’t in any position to turn down the emperor, but Ling was excited nonetheless as she got you ready, helping you into your pretty jeogori and braiding your hair into an elaborate bun.

“I’m so happy for you,” she gushed as she stood in front of you, tying the jeogori. “This could be the start of a new relationship between the two of you!”

“You know I can’t get more pregnant, right?” you asked drolly, raising a brow. In fact, you’d pretty much expected him to leave you alone for the rest of the pregnancy and only call on you once you were recovered enough to perform your conjugal duties once more.

“Oh, hush,” she giggled. “I’m sure he wants to see how you’re doing. You are carrying his heir, after all.”

“Sure, that’s me,” you muttered. “The incubator.”

“Be nice,” she admonished. “You want him to like you, so that he’ll give you more privileges. When your son becomes emperor, then you can swan around all day like the crone.” Suffice it to say, neither of you liked your mother-in-law that much.

“I know,” you sighed. “I’m just uncomfortable all the time.” Entering your third trimester of pregnancy, you were having trouble standing around and kneeling on the ground? Impossible. You’d had a table and chair moved into your room so that you could sit comfortably, but as far as you knew, Yoongi still sat on the ground for most of the day.

Ling didn’t know about your late-night meeting with the emperor a few weeks prior, but you wondered if this dinner had something to do with that.

In Yoongi’s room, something similar was happening, as Sambo fussed over his master’s robes.

“Sambo, enough,” Yoongi sighed. “I don’t have to look nice; she’s already my wife.”

Sambo scoffed. “I said the same thing to you about sending her those gifts, but you insisted then too.”

Yoongi glared at his eunuch without saying anything, mostly because he had no argument against that. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted the man; he’d done nothing but tease him about his crush since he found out.

Thankfully, your arrival cut Sambo’s fussing short – yet another thing he had to be grateful to you for, he supposed. It stung a little that his wife apparently knew more about politics than he did, but you seemed to want to help him, so there was that.

“Your Grace,” you greeted, bowing slightly.

“Good evening,” he responded. “Please, sit,” he invited, gesturing towards the table he had brought into his room just for this. He remembered how much you’d struggled with kneeling on the ground, and then getting up, the last time you’d come to visit him, and thought that this would make it easier for you.

You’d seen the table as soon as you entered the room, of course – it was kind of hard to miss, since the room was mostly empty. Accepting his offer with a gracious smile, you sat yourself down and clasped your hands together demurely in your lap. Yoongi sat across from you and nodded at the servant standing in the corner, and that was the signal for the food to start coming in.

To be honest, you’d expected to see Yoongi’s favourite dishes being served tonight, since everything at your wedding banquet had been his favourite foods, so you were pleasantly surprised to note that it was the food you’d been repeatedly requesting due to your cravings instead.

When the servants left, closing the doors after them, Yoongi spoke. “Please eat.” He gestured at the spread, and you acquiesced, picking up your chopsticks.

“Thank you for the advice,” he started.

The food you were holding with your chopsticks fell back onto your bowl of rice as your hand went limp in shock. “Wh-what?” Of all the things he could have said, that was the one you’d been expecting the least. In all honesty, you’d expected something more like admonishment for interfering – and a lack of other punishment that would serve as tacit acknowledgement that you’d been right. It was how your father had been with your mother.

To be fair, it looked like it was costing him dearly to thank you. “You were right about the tax,” he ground out.

“Oh…” You recovered quickly and nodded, graciously accepting his thanks.

“But don’t make a habit of interfering,” he continued. Right… so there was a catch, after all.

You rolled your eyes. “Of course not,” you said sarcastically. “I’m just the brainless baby incubator, after all. It’s not like I grew up here, or have any knowledge and experience of palace politics, or anything of the sort.”

“You’re a woman—” he thundered, slamming his chopsticks down on the table.

“I am your empress,” you cut him off. “You insisted on marrying me precisely because of my bloodline, so I will not be sidelined, especially when we both know you could use all the help you can get!”

“Help that I can get from my advisors,” he huffed.

“One of your ministers was literally just exiled for corruption, so I don’t know why you want to throw in your lot with them, but sure.” You rolled your eyes. “Now, if that was all, I think I can take my meal in my own quarters tonight.”

Unfortunately, your dramatic exit was foiled by how much you struggled to get out of your seat. Biting back his smile at how cute you looked with your belly, Yoongi leapt to your aid – you were, after all, still his wife and carrying his child, so it was the least he could do.

You pinned him with a glare as he got up to assist you, but were left with no choice but to accept, holding on to his proffered arm and letting him basically hoist you up. “If you need anything…” he started, looking slightly contrite.

“Don’t worry, Your Grace,” you said. “I might be ‘just a woman’ –” your tone made it clear that you were mocking him, and he had the grace to look slightly chagrined – “but I am the empress, and I am carrying the heir to Joseon, so I get everything I ask for.”

“Good, that’s good…” he looked slightly shifty now, and you couldn’t help but feel a little bad for him. He’d been acting like a bit of a dick, but to be fair, you supposed, it wasn’t like his attitude was uncommon. With Ling’s reminder ringing in your ears, you took his hand and brought it to the swell of your belly. Your child was strong and healthy, and even through the layers of your clothes Yoongi could feel the flutter of kicks.

“Wow…” he looked entranced, and you couldn’t help but smile at him. Your child had been conceived in hatred and anger, but you were determined that you would not raise him in that environment. No, he would know only love. You were sure of it.

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Even though the dinner hadn’t gone according to plan, it was still somewhat of a shift in your relationship with your husband. Now when your paths crossed, he smiled at you instead of just walking by stonily.

The gifts from your secret admirer continued too, which made things kind of confusing for you. On the one hand, you were trying to make this thing with your husband work, if only so that your child could grow up in a positive environment. It was difficult enough growing up in the palace, something you were keenly aware of.

And yet, the continued attention from this unknown person was starting to tug at your heartstrings. You hardly knew who it was but being shown kindness without any ulterior motive was certainly enough for you to think fondly of your secret admirer. He didn’t send gifts that often, usually once every other week or so, but each one brought a smile to your face. Sometimes it was your favourite flower, or a snack from another part of the world, or a cute trinket from the market, but all of them were equally dear to you.

The fluttering feeling that you got in your chest when you saw that he’d left you another gift was somewhat tempered by the guilt over the whole situation. Were you allowed to enjoy this attention? You looked furtively around, slightly worried that someone was going to knock the Japanese cakes out of your hand.

“You know,” Sambo said, standing next to Yoongi, who was peering at you from his hidden position behind a wall, “Some of your subjects might find it unseemly for their emperor to spend his days spying on his wife.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi grumbled, although the words had no heat to them, given how distracted he currently was. He hoped you liked the cakes.

“If you want to spend time with her, you can just ask, you know,” Sambo pointed out. “Haven’t you two been getting along better lately?”

“She still gets annoyed at me every time,” he sighed. “I don’t want to upset her, she looks miserable enough as is.”

Sambo, watching you rub the small of your back as Ling fussed over you, had to agree. At eight months pregnant, you looked fit to pop. “Well, she’ll give birth soon, and then things will be better,” he said, patting the emperor on the back. “You really need to be more discreet, though. She can tell it’s you from a mile away.”

Yoongi looked over at Sambo and scowled. “No way,” he denied.

“Really? So there are lots of men walking around decked out in the emperor’s robes, and have blonde hair, then?”

“Fine.” Yoongi sulked. “Let’s go, then.”

“You know you have a bunch of petitions to review, right?”

“I get it.”

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

To put it mildly, labour sucked. But at the end of it, you had a beautiful little boy, handed to you wrapped in a blanket. “Wow,” you marveled at your son, stroking his cheek with your thumb as you cuddled him close. Your own dear boy. Cradling him in your arms, it hardly mattered that he was a Min, that he represented the end of your house on the throne. Your son was all that mattered now.

Looking up, you saw Yoongi hovering by the entrance to the room, looking on hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure if he would be welcome. The idea was laughable to you – he was the emperor, there was nowhere he couldn’t go. You remembered your own father striding around as if he owned the place, because he did. No matter how fond he’d been of your mother, it had always been clear in the way he acted that he knew he was the boss. At best, she was a favoured subordinate.

You could see some of that attitude in Yoongi, and you accepted it – that was how men were, after all. But sometimes, peeking through the haughty exterior, you caught glimpses of someone kind and considerate. Someone you could grow fond of.

“Come in and meet him,” you invited.

As he came closer, he breathed, “It’s a boy?” His voice was slightly choked.

Smiling, you nodded. He knelt next to you and peered into the blanket, staring down at his son for the first time. Then he turned his head slightly to regard you. “You look beautiful,” he complimented, and you looked up, surprised. You didn’t know exactly what you looked like, but you were sure you were a mess after labour and childbirth. Your hair was a matted, sweaty mess, and you were dressed simply, in a cotton underdress.

Still, from the way he watched you holding the baby, you could have been dressed in the most beautiful of clothes and jewels.

“Do you want to hold him?” you asked, and his eyes lit up.

“Can I?” he asked. You nodded, passing the little bundle over to him.

“My son,” he said softly, leaning his head down to get closer to the baby. “Min Man-bok.” The name had been chosen by the astrologers, who said it would bring him great fortune throughout his life. You hoped it was true. This boy would grow up to be the emperor that united the warring houses of Min and L/n, and finally put an end to all the senseless violence that had stolen the lives of your brothers, and later, your uncle.

As you watched them – your husband and your son – you felt a sense of contentment like you’d never known before. In that moment, it hardly mattered that they were the emperor and the crown prince, that the weight of the kingdom rested upon your baby’s tiny shoulders. For that brief window, they could just be… yours.

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

The birth of your son changed everything. The gifts that had once been so dear to you because they meant that someone was out there thinking of you now seemed almost uncomfortable, like unwanted attention that threatened the security of your family. You knew it was ridiculous – after all, the giver of said gifts had been quietly doing so for months, never trying to push his luck or making his identity known to you.

Still, though, as you became closer to your husband, that nagging feeling that you were doing something wrong wouldn’t leave you. Thankfully, the gifts seemed to dry up, and you wondered if your anonymous admirer was really that astute. Whoever he was, you owed him your gratitude. He’d known when to start, and, it seemed, just when to stop.

In actuality, Yoongi had just been too busy to think about sending the gifts. Having a son took up much of the time that he wasn’t already spending governing, which had also increased in the past month or so. There was so much entertaining to do, as the lords and ladies of the land came to express their fealty to the crown prince, and as Yoongi made ever more ambitious diplomatic alliances with other kingdoms now that his reign was secured with the birth of his son.

In whatever spare time he had, he was constantly hanging around you and Man-bok, fawning over his son and enjoying your company. Despite your confinement, you thwarted the rules by sitting right outside your door to get a little sun and fresh air, often holding your son while you did so. It was a beautiful sight, one he wanted to continue to drink in for the rest of his days.

It was no surprise, therefore, that his priority wasn’t sending cute gifts to you anonymously, since he was always around you. When your confinement finally ended, he threw a little two-person party, ordering the kitchen to make all of the food you’d been craving since you were pregnant that had been off-limits for you, including your old favourites. He even managed to get the cook from your country estate into the palace, to make your childhood favourite.

“Thank you for dinner,” you said at the end of it, resisting the urge to lean back on your hands to give your stomach more space.

“Thank you,” he countered. “I am forever in your debt.”

“It was my duty,” you demurred. It was the truth – you’d always known that it would be your job to bring heirs to your husband.

“Still.” There was a beat of silence as a servant rushed to fill your cups with rice wine. He lifted his cup to toast you. “You have brought new hope to this kingdom. An emperor who will unite the houses of Min and L/n.”

“I thought our marriage accomplished that,” you giggled. You might have had too much alcohol tonight, after almost a year of not having any.

“You really think so?” he breathed, looking at you like you’d hung the stars in the sky and told him they were for him.

“Yoongi…” It was the first time you’d called him by name. In your defense, the open, vulnerable way he was looking at you made it difficult to remember that he was a warrior king, despite the scar on his face that attested to his experience fighting a war. “Of course, Your Grace.” You recovered from your slip quickly, and you flushed slightly, hoping he wouldn’t remember it.

Of course, that was a doomed wish. He’d committed it to memory, the sound of your precious voice speaking his name, and in that almost fond and tender tone, too. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest, and knew he was done for.

When he left your quarters that night after dinner, he barely waited till he’d descended the steps to pump his fist in the air. That was the most successful interaction you’d had with him to date, not counting when Man-bok was born, of course, since he was pretty sure you were so exhausted you couldn’t snipe at him if you tried then.

“Your Grace!” Sambo, walking a step behind him, sounded scandalized.

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

“So, tonight went well,” Ling prompted as she helped you get ready for bed. You sat in front of her, letting her take the pins out of your hair and sighing in relief. Your updo was often twisted so tightly it pulled on your scalp, and the giant metal pins hurt, to say the least.

“How would you know that?” you murmured, trying to keep a straight face. Ling would never let you live this down if you confessed to her just how much you enjoyed the company of your husband these days. Not after you’d screamed so loudly and for so long about how you hated him and didn’t ever want him to touch you.

In your defense, he’d really been a nightmare to live with at the beginning, cold and angry, mistrustful of your intentions. Not that he’d had any reason to trust you based on the way you’d treated him. You still cringed to think of the angry, cruel words that had been exchanged between you. You’d mocked the scar on his face from your uncle, the previous emperor, and he’d taken pleasure in describing the way he ran his sword through him in exchange. You’d laughed at his tenuous grip on the throne, and he’d—

Well. Suffice it to say, both of you had moved past that.

Ling reached over you to shift the mirror so that you could see your own face in it. “You’ve always had a shitty poker face, milady,” she explained. “You can’t hide anything from me.”

You sighed. “I knew I should have gotten different servants when I came,” you responded without any heat.

“Please, as if you have the patience to teach someone else just how you like your morning routine,” Ling scoffed, recognizing your teasing for what it was. Finally removing the last pin from your hair, she smoothed her hands over it as it tumbled down your back, then picked up the brush to comb through it.

“You’re right. I guess I’m stuck with you,” you responded, tilting the mirror slightly so you could look at Ling in it.

“Whatever. Stop trying to change the subject,” Ling ordered. “What happened tonight? You looked so happy when he left, and he could barely hold back his grin.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not that,” you said defensively. “I’m barely even recovered from giving birth; I’m hardly ready for more.”

“All right,” Ling conceded, though you could tell from her tone that she was still amused. Belatedly, you realised that your defense hadn’t been about how you felt about your husband at all. “Have a good night, milady.”

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

Having a son changed everything. You knew, perhaps better than anyone else, save your brothers, the dangers that came with being an heir to the throne, and it worried you to pieces that his life would never be safe.

You’d told your husband before, completely unsympathetically, that this was what being the king would entail. Having people after you, coveting what was yours, always lurking in the shadows and waiting for a time to strike… the idea that your own son would be subject to the travails of being the emperor made you want to clutch him to your breast and never let him go.

Yoongi caught you in one of your moods one afternoon, sitting in the gazebo in your private gardens, leaning against a pillar as you rested your son against your thighs. You cooed at him as you played with his hands and feet, smiling as he laughed back at you, but the furrow of your brow gave you away.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, sitting down next to you. It was rare for you two to be alone – Ling and Sambo were usually hanging around, and Man-bok’s nanny and wet nurse weren’t too far from the baby either. But you’d wanted a little time to bond with your son alone, so they were hanging out by the pond a small distance away. Ling had become friends with the nanny and nurse, and they were more than happy to have a little free time to gossip.

You picked up your infant son’s hand and used it to wave at him. “Hello, daddy,” you said in a high-pitched baby voice, and Yoongi smiled tenderly at the both of you, although you were still looking down at Man-bok and didn’t see it.

“Hello, my son,” he replied, leaning in to pick Man-bok up. You straightened his clothes a little as Yoongi stood the baby up on his lap, bouncing him a little. Yoongi was truly a remarkably involved father, especially for being the emperor.

“Yoongi, I’m worried about Man-bok,” you confessed in a small voice, looking up at your husband for the first time. Even the scar on his face now was a reminder of how difficult it was to be the emperor – Yoongi had been lucky to escape with just a disfigured face. He hadn’t even lost his vision.

“What’s wrong with him?” Yoongi asked with a frown, turning the boy slightly in his grasp to inspect him. He looked healthy enough, but you never knew with babies, really.

“Nothing,” you rushed to reassure him. “It’s just that being the crown prince is dangerous, and being the emperor is even worse.” Your voice choked up as you explained. Saying the words out loud made them more real somehow, and you almost wished you hadn’t.

“Y/n…” Yoongi looked over at you, shifting Man-bok so that he was being held more securely against him. “Is this about your uncle?” At the beginning, he’d never thought much about the fact that you were related to the previous emperors, but now the fact that he’d basically murdered your uncle in cold blood hung over his head like the sword of Damocles.

“Y/n… I’m sorry.” The words stuck in his craw, but he forced himself to say them anyway. It was a lie, but if it was what you needed to feel better…

Instead of accepting his apology, you made a rude noise. “For what?” you asked.

“For your uncle…?” Confused now, Yoongi cocked his head at you and furrowed his brow.

“Why would you need to apologize? Of course you raised an army to take the throne. It was his fault for leaving potential heirs alive.” The nonchalant way you expressed that sentiment gave him pause. He’d never taken you for someone so cavalier about violence and death. “He did the same thing to my brothers.”

The way your lips tightened as you said it clued him in to the fact that that was what was really bothering you. Of course, your brothers. The two princes that your uncle had had imprisoned and then murdered to secure his rule. When your father had died, your uncle had been declared regent since the crown prince wasn’t old enough to rule, and he’d wasted no time cementing his own authority instead.

“Y/n…” You avoided his gaze, instead reaching for Man-bok. He relinquished the boy to you and you hugged him close, needing to feel your son’s warm, healthy body pressed against you. “I promise you,” he continued, his voice full of conviction. “Nothing will ever happen to our son. Not so long as I live and breathe.” Ducking in, he pressed a tender kiss to the top of Man-bok’s head.

“Really?” The faint hope in your voice made his heart clench. In all the time he’d spent alternately admiring your kindness and cursing your stubborn, know-it-all streak, he’d never seen the vulnerability that you were showing him now. In hindsight, it was silly that he hadn’t realized this earlier, but of course you were scarred from the civil conflict that had been raging. Your family was in the thick of it all, and as much as the men and women involved were royalty, they were also your blood relatives. Really, it was a wonder you’d turned out as normal as you had.

“I swear on my life.” He’d never meant anything as much as he did now.

“Thank you, Yoongi.” Holding Man-bok with one hand, you reached for him with the other, sliding your arm along his shoulder to pull him close for a kiss. It was sweet and tender, a wonderful, perfectly fitting first kiss. His eyes fluttered shut as you drew close, wanting to savour the moment for as long as he could. Your lips were soft and you smelled like roses, just like the perfume he’d given you in secret.

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

It was highly unusual for the emperor to share a bed with his empress. Intimacy was carefully planned based on auspicious dates, and after the deed was done, you both got dressed and went your separate ways. You knew that, and yet you slipped into his room that night, after Man-bok’s 100-day celebration.

You’d gotten mostly undressed after the banquet ended, grateful to be out of your restrictive clothing. Man-bok was sleeping, of course, with his nanny, and you’d dismissed Ling too after she helped you out of the empress robes. Dressed in just your pajamas, you pulled a warm shawl over your shoulders and left your quarters. You just had so much pent-up energy from earlier, and you needed to talk to someone about it.

“Hey,” you said softly, slipping in through the doors just as Sambo was leaving. He gave you a sideways glance, but you ignored it.

“Hey,” Yoongi greeted, smiling at you. He too was in his pajamas, already in bed, the covers pooling around his waist as he sat up. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I just…” You swallowed, feeling a little silly now. This could have waited till tomorrow. “I guess I didn’t want the night to be over,” you confessed. It had been so much fun tonight, getting to meet and talk to everyone. Your sisters and old friends had come to the palace, and Man-bok had been so cute in his little ceremonial robes.

“I get it,” he said. “Come sit.”

You came closer, sliding the shawl off your shoulders, and knelt next to his futon. Illuminated in the soft light of the lamp nearby, the long blonde hair he’d left to tumble over his shoulders seemed to glow softly. Your own hair had been hastily put back in a bun – a lady never left her rooms with her hair down, after all. It was nowhere near as intricate as anything Ling could do for you, but it sufficed.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” he asked with a soft smile.

“You know I did,” you giggled, leaning closer.

“Yes, I saw you having a grand old time with your sisters,” he teased, fondness evident in his voice. Ever since the kiss you’d shared, your relationship had been evolving. Yoongi didn’t know if you would ever forgive him for what he’d done to your family – despite your dismissive attitude towards your uncle – but he was content with this. You letting your guard down around him, seeking him out and enjoying his company… it was more than he’d allowed himself to hope for.

“Oh, I haven’t seen them in over a year,” you enthused. “It was so nice to see them all again! Thank you for inviting them,” you said, more quietly now. “I know it wasn’t an easy decision, inviting the L/n clan tonight.” Despite everything, you knew he was still insecure about his rule.

“You’re welcome.” He smiled at you, then noticed for the first time the soft light glinting off the hairpin you were wearing, the one he’d bought for you. “Oh, you’re wearing the pin! I was right, it does look good on you,” he complimented.

“You— what?” Your voice was shaky, your eyes wide as you reached up to wrap your fingers around the pin, and Yoongi realized that he’d fucked up.

Just to be sure that it was the right one, you pulled it from your hair, causing the long locks to tumble over your shoulders. Brushing it aside impatiently, you inspected the pin. Sure enough, it was the same one that you’d received almost a year ago, and you’d never found out who sent it to you.

“It was you?” The words trembled, fragile in the darkness of the room, barely there, like a wisp of smoke.

“I… yes.” Yoongi was watching you carefully, his hands held out placatingly in front of him.

“But why?” It felt like your mind was shutting down, unable to reconcile this new information. Back when you’d gotten this pin, you could barely stand to be in the same room as your husband. You hadn’t even started being friendly until after Man-bok was born. To know that he hadn’t felt the same way, that he’d been quietly watching you, thinking of you…

“I just wanted to make you smile,” he said honestly with a half shrug.

“Yoongi…” Your voice was choked up, and he was starting to panic now, not quite sure what he’d done wrong. Even if you hadn’t welcomed his advances, he hadn’t overstepped, right? All he’d wanted to do was make you less miserable, and now he was thinking that he would have been better off leaving you alone altogether.

“Is… is that okay?” The words were hesitant, Yoongi ducking slightly to look at your face.

Sniffling, you nodded, swiping at your tears impatiently so you could look at him clearly. In the dim, flickering light, Yoongi’s face was the most beautiful, dear thing you’d ever laid eyes on. Your eyes roamed his face, seeing him as if for the first time. He was so handsome, your husband, your emperor.

“Are you disappointed? Is that why you’re crying?” Worry crinkled Yoongi’s brow. He knew he wasn’t the greatest catch. Throne aside, his hair was a strange colour and the scar running dramatically across his face marred him permanently. He was short and quiet, awkward, caustic… The insecurities came roaring to the forefront.

“No,” you denied, grabbing his hands and bringing them to your chest. You shuffled closer yet, so that your forehead rested against his. “I’m not disappointed at all. Yoongi…” you breathed, your eyes fluttering shut as you brushed your lips across his softly. “Thank you.” For caring about you even when you’d cursed him. For being by your side, even when you hadn’t known it. Just for being him.

Yoongi’s hand slipped from your grasp before reaching up to cup your face, his thumb running across your cheekbone tenderly. “You’re welcome.” He understood what you meant and responded in kind. “You give me more than you know, Y/n.”

The urge to give him more was rising within you. Holding onto his shoulders for balance, you swung one leg over his lap, so that you were straddling him. His hands went to your waist, supporting you and tugging you closer. “Y/n,” he groaned. “What do you want from me?”

Your response was unequivocal. “Everything.”

That was all the permission he needed. Yoongi’s hand travelled up from your waist to the back of your head, bringing you in for a fiery kiss. He poured all of the longing of the past months into it, his lips moving over yours with urgency. Try as you might to keep up, you couldn’t. You’d only had sex with him to conceive before, and it had always been a hasty, dispassionate affair. You didn’t know what to do with your hands or your mouth, your palms resting lightly on his shoulders. You liked this, enjoyed the way his tongue slid against yours, but your body was rigid with uncertainty.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Yoongi broke away from the torrid kiss to ask. His hand on your waist rubbed you soothingly as he leaned back to take a good look at you.

“Uh, yeah, I…” You stammered. “This isn’t like before,” you finally said. All you knew of sex was what he’d shown you before, quick thrusts with his hands holding onto your thighs while you clutched the bedsheets and tried not to let your pain and discomfort show.

It was vague, but Yoongi knew what you meant, and he flushed with shame. “I’m going to make it up to you, okay?” he said, wrapping his arms around you and turning so that you were lowered onto the futon. His forearms bracketed your body, holding his weight up as he lowered his head for another kiss. “I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he slurred against your lips, one hand reaching for the tie of your shirt.

“Yoongi,” you breathed, your hands sliding around his waist as you held on to his clothes, tugging him closer to you. You felt the hard press of his erection against your belly, and were filled with curiosity. Before, you’d never really wanted to get close to it, and he’d basically just shoved it into you with little fanfare. You’d never even gotten a good look before.

Undoing the ties to his trousers, you slid your hand in, running your fingers hesitantly along his cock.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and you jerked your hand back as if scalded.

“I’m sorry,” you started to apologize, and he backtracked immediately.

“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he reassured you, nosing at your chin before he trailed kisses down your neck. You sighed and tilted your head, giving him more room.

“Really?” you asked.

“Yes, really,” he said, sucking a little mark right over your collarbone. Emboldened now, you tried again, this time wrapping your hand softly around the shaft. His skin was soft here, and so smooth, but you could feel the steely hardness underneath.

“Ah, you’re so good,” he praised, and you started stroking him lightly, carefully.

“Allow me,” he breathed as he slid his hand down your body, groaning as he found the wetness between your legs. “So perfect for me,” he sighed as he started stroking your clit softly, watching you for your reaction.

You moaned luxuriantly, throwing your head back as your hips rocked. You’d never felt anything like this before, and if this was what sex could be, it was no wonder everyone seemed to like it so much. As you grew distracted with the pleasure suffusing your being, your hand slowed down and then stopped on his erection, but he didn’t mind. Coaxing the sighs and moans from you was more than enough for him.

“I’m going to put my finger in now,” he warned you, and your eyes opened in confusion.

“Why?” you wondered.

“I have to stretch you out, love, so you can take me easily,” he answered, leaning down to kiss you.

“You didn’t before,” you pointed out, and he grimaced.

“Please forget everything I did before,” he groaned, sounding very much like he was in pain. “None of it was right, and I want to show you how much I love you.”

“You—what?” That was new. You hadn’t expected it so soon, if ever.

“Oh, fuck.” He reared back at that and clapped his hands over his mouth in horror. “I didn’t mean to say that! Please ignore it,” he pleaded. Honestly, he wouldn’t blame you if you put your clothes back on and ran out of there right now. What an embarrassing lapse of decorum.

To his surprise, you did none of that, instead wrapping your hands around his wrists and tugging them away from his face. “Did you mean it?”

“Y/n—” he whined, his face hot.

“Yoongi, please,” you said, and the tenderness in your voice gave him courage.

“Yes,” he admitted. “But I don’t expect you to say it back! I know it’s too soon, and you might never feel that way about me, and that’s okay, really, I—”

You cut him off by tugging him close to you and kissing him. “I love you too,” you murmured softly when you separated.

“Really?” His voice was small, and you smiled as you nodded.

“Fuck, I’m going to make it all better,” he swore, his voice deepening into a growl towards the end. With a renewed sense of purpose, he pushed you back into the futon. His hands were everywhere as they stripped you of your clothing, and you felt a little exposed lying there bare for him to see. You were more than aware that your body hadn’t quite bounced back from pregnancy, and he’d never seen you completely nude anyway.

The sheer reverence reflected in his gaze did much to boost your confidence, though. “You’re so gorgeous,” he rasped, bending to tug a nipple into his mouth. You cried out, your back arching as he laved at it, his hand returning to its previous mission of getting you ready to take him. His thumb rolled over your clit gently as he slid his fingers into you, first one, then two, pumping slowly to loosen you up. The wet, lewd sound soon echoed through the room.

“Yoongi,” you breathed to get his attention, pushing his shirt over his shoulders. The tie had already come undone and the front was hanging rather uselessly by his sides, and it wasn’t difficult to remove it. Yoongi got the message, though, stripping himself off with far less fanfare than he’d done for you before coming back with a vengeance, as if the seconds he’d spent away from your body were too much to bear.

“Yoongi, c’mon,” you begged inarticulately, pulling his body down to yours by wrapping your arms and legs around him.

“Stop it,” he admonished. “I’m going to get you nice and ready for me. You have to be patient.” But you could see the way his jaw clenched.

“Yoongi, I want you to fuck me,” you whined, writhing on the mattress.

That certainly got his attention, and he looked back up at your face, seeing the expression of wild abandon painted across your features. Your eyes were shut and your mouth open as you lost yourself to the pleasure he was giving you, long hair spread across his pillow.

“You ruin me,” he accused as he withdrew his hand, using the slick coating his fingers to lube up his cock before he positioned it at your entrance. You moaned and arched, tightening your legs around him to draw him in deeper.

Before, when he’d done this, it had hurt. You’d been dry and he hadn’t put any effort into preparing you or making it a pleasurable experience for you, and you tensed up, remembering how unpleasant the experience had been before. You wanted to make him feel good, though, because he’d done the same for you, and it was that which motivated you to urge him into your body.

When he slid in, inch by glorious inch, contrary to your expectations you didn’t feel pain. No, there was a stretch, but it was intensely pleasurable, and you writhed against him. “Ah, Yoongi, it feels so good,” you gasped.

“Yeah?” he said, sucking marks into your neck. “You like that?” When he finally bottomed out, he rested his forehead against yours, panting as he tried to retain some control.

“Yes, Yoongi,” you moaned, wriggling and clenching down on him, desperate for more.

“Fuck, don’t move,” he gasped, his eyes wide as he clutched your hip. “I want to make this good for you.”

“It is good,” you insisted, ignoring his instructions.

“Y/n, you don’t even know,” he groaned, bracing himself as he started to move his hips. He was gentle at first, making sure that it didn’t hurt, but you were impatient, whining that you wanted more, and before he knew it, he was really going at it, one arm hooked around your leg to hold you open for him.

“Yoongi, yes, yes,” you exulted, thrilled. The expression on his face, his brow furrowed tightly, was endlessly exciting for you, and you loved the motion of his jaw as he clenched hard, focusing on pleasing you.

Adjusting his position, he started thrusting again, this time skidding against your g-spot with every thrust. To really seal the deal, he reached down to rub at your clit with his fingers, drinking your every sound and movement up eagerly. You raked your nails down his back as your legs tightened around him, clenching down on him hard as you came.

Faced with the sensation of your walls fluttering around him rhythmically, he couldn’t hold it together much longer, pressing his forehead into your neck as he reached his own orgasm, groaning as his hips stuttered sporadically.

When it was over, he slumped down over you, barely remembering to tilt his body at the last second so that he slid off you and onto the futon. “I love you,” he gasped, throwing one sweaty arm over your chest to drag you closer to him so he could press kisses over your face. “I love you so much.”

Smiling, you turned your head, rubbing your nose against his affectionately. “I love you too, Your Grace.” The teasing lilt in your voice as you called him that warmed his heart. Before he could say much more, however, you yawned and turned, slinging your arm around his waist. “Good night,” you murmured, burying your face in his chest.

“Good night.” He rested his hand on the back of your head. His empress, his wife. His love.

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

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winterscaptain · 4 years ago

Text

inherited.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: this popped into my head fully formed. when i thought too hard about it, i cried. It’s sweet. enjoy! tell me what you think! this takes place in au!october 2022

words: 2k warnings: language, tooth-rotting fluff

summary: “i don’t have stepchildren, i have children who happened to be born before i met them.” – unknown

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

You’re laid out flat on the bed, tooling around on your phone, when Jack comes in, gets a running start, and flops onto the bed beside you. His feet hang off the opposite side yours do, your heads close together.

Elliot and the girls are napping the early afternoon away, Jack had an early-release day from school, Aaron’s taking a half-day, and Isaac’s still stuck on that 750-piece puzzle on your office floor. You left one of the baby monitors in the nursery and one with him, just in case. The faint, staticky sound of him talking to himself grumbles through the little speaker on Aaron’s bedside table.

Jack doesn’t say anything, but pulls his phone out and starts doing whatever newly-minted seventeen-year-olds do on his phone beside you.

You, on the other hand, need to take care of an email from Aaron.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

CC: [email protected]

SSA Hotchner,

See attached for your quarterly performance evaluation from your supervisor, BAU Unit Chief SSA Emily Prentiss, cc’d here. Please direct any questions or concerns to SSA Prentiss.

Best, SSA Aaron Hotchner, J.D. Northeast Investigations and Operations Support Section Chief Quantico, VA

P.S. Leaving the office in 30. See you soon xx

You draft a quick reply and send it.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Received.

Thanks, Hotch.

Best, SSA _______ Hotchner Behavioral Analysis Unit, Quantico, VA

P.S. Come in quietly thru the garage - C, S, E are still out.

With a roll of your eyes, you put your phone down and take a moment to look at Jack.

He’s nearly a man, the baby fat falling from his jaw and cheekbones, getting taller by the day. Much to Aaron’s chagrin, they’re about the same height now.

Jack’s eyes flicker from his phone and meet yours for a split second. “What?”

“Just lookin’ at you.”

A little puff of a laugh leaves his nose. “Why?”

One side of your mouth lifts. “I know you’re tired of hearing this, but if you ever have kids of your own, you’ll get it.”

He hums, tossing his phone onto the pillow behind him. “Well, yeah. I got that, but why?”

You roll onto your side, curling your legs fully onto the bed. It’s a good question, and one for which you’re not sure you have an answer. Thinking for a moment, you sigh. “So, with you, for example. I can’t really put it into words, but you’re a bit of a miracle.”

He squints (just like Aaron) and you continue.

“I have the privilege of being your mom, which is a title that isn’t really mine.” You tuck the inside of your lip between your teeth, trying to figure out how to articulate it.

It’s not that I don't want to be your mom but in the world where I’m not your mom, Haley is still here.

But there are some days I miss her so much I wish I didn’t have to be your mom. She was always going to be ‘mom.’

But then it’s the best thing in the world to be your mom and I wouldn’t want it any other way…

Fuck.

You start slow. “It’s a bit of a bittersweet thing. I never expected to be ‘mom’ to you while Haley was alive. No matter what would have or could have happened between your dad and me, Haley is your mom. So, the knowledge that we’re here - you and I, in this house with your brothers and sisters and your dad, the way we are - is very much grounded in Haley’s absence.”

You shake your head, realizing you’re getting off topic. “All this to say, it’s a bit of a miracle that I get to be your mom, and not just mom to those other little gremlins infesting this house.”

You both smile.

“And sometimes, I just need to stare at you, make sure you’re real, and sit in that kind of...feeling that I can’t quite articulate.”

Jack’s been listening the whole time, his brown eyes soft and open. “I think I get that. It makes sense - even if you and Dad still got married and had more kids, Haley would be ‘Mom’ and you would be...something else.”

You smile a little. “I guess you could say I inherited the title, in some ways.”

“That’s a good way to put it.” His eyes wander up to the ceiling, pensive.

“You know, I can’t remember a time when you weren’t around. Like, not every memory has you in it because you weren’t always there, but...there isn’t a single, like, phase of my life when you weren’t in it.”

It's your turn to listen.

“And I don’t remember my mother very well. You and Dad always made sure I knew who she was - I feel like I know everything about her, but like…” He trails off for a second before looking back at you. “She still feels like a stranger, a little bit.”

You nod. “Someone distant, maybe?”

“Yeah. Like I feel connected to her and everything but you’re my mom. You’ve always been that person for as long as I can remember. I can’t imagine anything else.” He shakes his head a little. “It wouldn’t be right to call you anything else.”

A shaky breath leaves you through your mouth, unexpected tears springing into your eyes. Since you’re on the deep end of the conversation pool, you switch gears a little. “Is it ever weird? Having the little ones around? Your dad and I having more kids?”

He immediately shakes his head. “Nah. I can really remember when it was just the two of us - me ‘n Dad - and then then three of us after that one Christmas. But I don’t really miss it? Like, sometimes it gets so fucking loud in this house -”

“Language,” you chastise. It’s weak, at best.

He snorts, revising. “Sometimes, it gets really loud in this house and I have those moments of like, ‘oh my god why are they so loud why can’t it just be me and Mom and Dad again,’ but they never last long.” He laughs a little. “Like right now, they’re just in the other room napping and I miss them.”

“You know when you laugh like that you look just like your mother?”

That sunshine smile breaks across his face again. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm.” You reach out to him, brushing the apple of his cheek with the side of your finger - just a second, just an affectionate little bit of contact. His smile gets wide enough that you’re treated to one dimple. “But those,” you poke the little indent by the corner of his mouth and he screws his face up. “Those are all your dad’s.”

Jack grows pensive again. “Dad said he’d tell me about the divorce if I wanted to ask.”

Many of your conversations bounce around like this. Fifteen years of life together make up for seemingly contextless non-sequiturs. You know, just like you do with Aaron, he has more to say.

You wait him out.

“If I asked, would you tell me?”

With a sigh, “I can tell you how it was for me as their friend, but I won’t speak for Dad or Haley.”

Jack nods, understanding. “What was it like? Like, the...actual divorce? Did you get caught in the middle?”

“It sucked. It really sucked, but no, I never got caught up in it that way. Sure, they vented to me about each other after it was all over - which,” you add, “by the way, was its own form of comedy.”

That gets a smile out of Jack.

“But they never asked me to tell them they were right or made me feel like I had to choose a side. I would have hated to become a carrier pigeon for their bullshit.” With a chuckle: That’s a recipe for disaster.”

“Ah yeah, miscommunication as a plot device. We covered that in English last semester.”

You laugh. “Exactly. Even then, though, they loved each other so much and they both tried their hardest to make it work, but couldn’t.”

Jack’s thinking again, looking more and more pressed by the minute as he stares at the ceiling.

“What?” You ask.

“I just -” His mouth presses into a thin line, revealing a dimple, and you thank your lucky stars you love Aaron as much as you do because right now, you’re looking at his clone. “I just...I’m trying to think of something that could, like, break you and Dad up...but I literally can’t think of anything. You guys just work.”

He’s thinking out loud, finding the question as he goes. You let him. “Even as mad as you get at each other sometimes, I’ve never been afraid. Even when you’re upset with each other you’re still...I dunno...like, two parts of the same person?” He shakes his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“No, my love, it does. Your father and I…”

You sigh, knowing you’re exposing yourself for the person you are, instead of hiding behind your role as a parent.

“...we need each other too much, perhaps to a fault. He’s my favorite person and my biggest weakness. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for him, and I know he’s the same way about me.” You pause. “We don’t really know how not to be a team.”

Jack’s seen that in them almost all his life. It doesn't surprise him. He’s not sure he believes in soulmates, but he’d imagine you and Aaron are pretty damn close.

His mouth twists. “I’d imagine a lot of people feel that way until the shit hits the fan.”

You nod, your head wavering from side to side. “Well...yeah. Not everyone feels that way about their spouse, though.”

“Sure,” he relents, looking a bit like a lawyer. “But if they do, how do you get to that place where you call it quits, you know? How do you decide you don’t need each other or love each other? And how do you know who’s wrong?”

Good question.

“I mean, it’s less about who’s wrong, and more about who’s right that causes all the trouble, I think, at least from an outside perspective. With your parents, they were both right in a lot of ways.”

You think for a minute, changing directions a bit. “When there are two right answers that are mutually exclusive, there’s not much you can do. Nobody’s wrong - everyone just wants what they want, and there isn’t a clear compromise. Sometimes, the compromise is too much...So, you can still love each other but not be married, like your dad and Haley.”

“Your mom left,” you continue, “because she reached a breaking point. Her needs and your dad’s needs were mutually exclusive - no compromise existed. And, again, in a lot of ways, they were both right.”

You shrug, admitting, “They both made bad choices and mistakes in that process, but nobody was the bad guy. In some ways, that’s harder. You love them, but you can’t have them in your life in that way.”

His face clears up. “That makes a lot of sense, actually. Like, I’m thinking about friends and stuff - how some friends are really great outside of school but I would never want to do a group project with them - but for...you know, marriage.”

You laugh. “Yeah, it’s a lot like that. And you were just about the only thing your parents could agree on at any given time.”

“Really?”

“Yep. They love you, and always want what’s best for you.” Your eyes flicker to the photo on Aaron’s dresser - the one of you and Haley and Jack nearly fifteen years ago, sandwiching his cheeks in kisses. “When you’re a good parent with that kind of mindset, it’s easy to work as a team for your children.”

“Like you and Dad.”

“Like me and Dad.”

Jack quiets for a minute. “Can I tell you something?”

You turn toward him, reaching kind of up and away for his hand. Your clasped fingers end up between your faces. “Always, my love.”

“Sometimes...Sometimes, I wish I looked more like you.”

Your brow pinches. “Why?” The question is soft, all curiosity.

“I dunno? I think I just like, want to resemble you because you’re my mom, you know?”

You let out a laugh. “Jack you have no idea. You should ask your father how much you resemble me.”

He shakes his head, a confused little smile on his face. “I don’t get it.”

“You have picked up eighty percent of my mannerisms and it drives your dad up the wall.” You sit up, releasing his hand and ruffling his soft dark hair as you pretzel-cross your legs. “So if we’re going by his book, you inherited plenty from me. In fact, more than enough.”

“Alright, see, now that makes sense.” Jack sits up across from you right as the door from the garage opens.

You both wait, quiet, with little smiles on your faces, listening to his car keys hit the kitchen counter (and slide a little - he tossed them), the short walk to his office where he sets his briefcase down and removes his suit jacket (to be hung up later, if he remembers). You can hear him travel to your office, checking on Isaac and looking for you, before taking the stairs two at a time to the baby’s room.

Jack looks over his shoulder and you follow his gaze, tuned into the baby monitor. There’s a shaky kind of sigh that crackles through the speaker, and you can almost see him reaching into the crib.

“If he wakes that baby up,” you say, dead serious, “I’ll kill him.”

Jack sniffs, all business. “I’ll grab the shovel and trash bags and you drive, yeah?”

You offer your hand. Jack shakes on it before dissolving into a fit of conspiratorial giggles. He falls into you, turning so his back is against your chest and his head tipped back against your shoulder.

It’s moments like this where he feels five years old again.

As big as he is and as much of a shit as he can be, he’s still the same boy.

The pair of you are so caught up in your own private joke that you don’t hear Aaron as he crosses the house and leans on the door jamb. When you both catch sight of him, it only makes you laugh harder. You wrap your arms around Jack, trapping him close to you as you hook your chin over his shoulder.

He’s examining you both, brow a little furrowed, mouth a little open in an almost-smile. He’s seen the Mom and Jack Show before - it’s a series that started about ten years ago with about a thousand episodes and no cancellation in sight. “What on earth are you two doing in here?”

Jack drops into a deadpan. “Hypothetically plotting your demise for the hypothetical instance that you hypothetically wake Elliot and hypothetically deprive Mom of her hypothetical peace and quiet.”

Aaron nods, as if deeply considering it. “I see. Well, luckily, we’ve narrowly avoided that hypothetical scenario.”

You smile at him. “So thus, you live another day. Congratulations.”

Aaron breaks with a smile, his commitment to the bit evaporating in the presence of two of his favorite faces. He toes off his shoes and crosses to you both, still all wrapped up and letting little laughs escape. He kisses Jack on the head and you lightly on the lips before flopping down on his back with a satisfied sigh.

You share a devious glance with Jack. Aaron throws a pillow over his face, his voice muffled.

“Yeah, alright, you two. That’s enough.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @zizzlekwum @lcvischmitt @qvid-pro-qvo @mandylove1000 @simsiddy @jeor @synonymforlame @roses-and-grasses @bwbatta @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @cevanswhre @joanofarkansass @infinity1321 @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @spencerelds @ssahotchnerr @this-broken-band-girl @winqhster @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

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anagentinwriting · 4 years ago

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Lifeline - Part 13

Summary: (First Responders!AU) Moving to Los Angeles and living with your brother, Thor, was never part of your plan nor was being a 9-1-1 dispatcher, but plans change when you are faced with your own emergencies. In your case, it was leaving behind a relationship that wasn’t as perfect as it seemed. Will this be the fresh start you were hoping for or will your past find a way to catch up with you?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Odinson!Sister Reader

Word Count: 7700+ (Whoops!)

Warnings: Fire, triggers, angst, fluff, trauma, arson, language

Lifeline Masterlist / Main Masterlist

AN: Flashbacks in italics

“Okay, Team, we have a single-level house fire in a local suburb. A neighbor called it in but isn’t sure if anyone is home. The owners of the house are newly married, Ian Boothby and Darcy Lewis. He suspected the husband to be home since he saw him mowing the lawn earlier this morning. Now, when we get on scene, I want Steve to stay with the truck engine in case the ventilation team needs help on site. On ventilation I want...” Carol continued to give demands to the rest of the team. “As for Thor and Bucky, search the home.” Everyone agreed with Danver’s orders, and Steve nodded, looking out the window of the truck.

“Hey man, you alright?” Sam asked Steve through his headset, taking in his appearance, sitting across from him.

“Yeah, I’m good. Getting my head in the game.”

“Okay.” Sam narrowed his eyes, nodding but not believing him. “Let’s do this, boys and girls.”

At the scene, Bucky and Thor went to the hatch to grab their tanks and masks before running into the burning house in record time.

“I’ll go left, and you go right,” Thor commanded over the walkie.

“Got it,” Bucky added. “First bedroom clear.”

“Living room clear,” Thor voiced.

Steve went to talk with the ventilation team but noticed the house’s skylight on the roof was already broken, so the ladder truck wouldn’t be needed. He rushed back over to Danver’s to figure out the next game plan when Thor’s voice broke through the walkie.

“Found Ian in the kitchen, heading out now. Val, get the gurney ready.”

Steve watched Thor run out with Ian in his arms, coughing. He placed him on the gurney, and Val put an oxygen mask on him, but he immediately pulled it off.

“My wife, Darcy,” he wheezed in a British accent. “She’s still in there. Please...please save her.”

“Barnes, his wife is still in there somewhere,” Carol commanded into her walkie, but there was no reply. “Barnes.”

A second later, Bucky was running out of the burning house with Darcy in his arms. He laid her on the ground and tore off his mask, and shouted, “she’s not breathing.” Sam rushed to their side and started chest compressions.

Ian jumped off the gurney and ran over to them. “Please...please help her. Don’t let her die,” Ian cried, holding onto Darcy’s hand. “I don’t know what I would do without her.”

Steve’s eyes stayed glued to the scene before him. His mouth went dry, and he started to hear his heartbeat in his ears. He tried to concentrate on breathing evenly, but it didn’t help. He turned away from the scene, stumbling to the side of the truck. He squeezed his eyes shut as flashes of Peggy drifted to the front of his mind: her smiling at him as they laid in bed together, her waving goodbye to him when he went off to work, and her lying motionless on the cold ground. He put a hand on the truck to hold himself steady, feeling his chin start to tremble and his chest start to tighten with every breath he took.

Steve heard a cry of relief behind him, forcing his eyes to snap open. He glanced over his shoulder as all the oxygen left his lungs, seeing Darcy sitting up and hugging her husband. He turned back to the truck, closing his eyes, causing a few tears to slide down his cheeks. He shook his head, knowing he should be happy Darcy is alive, and we got to her in time, but his mind continued to drift back to the worst day of his life.

“You okay, pal?” Bucky inquired in a soothing voice.

Steve’s eyes shot open, rubbing his hand on his cheeks before he turned around. “Yeah.” He nodded his head a little too much, waving it off. “It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure, pal, because you don’t look fine to me.”

“I will be--” he licked his lips “--how...how is she?”

“She’s breathing. They’re both on their way to the hospital now.”

“Good,” Steve swallowed, letting out a deep sigh of relief. “That’s good.”

“Hey, I’m here if you need me.” Bucky patted him on the back before stepping away to help calm down the blaze.

“You okay, Rogers?” Carol asked, and Steve snapped his head in her direction.

“Yeah, Carol. I’m fine--” he leaned against the truck “--think I--I think I inhaled a little too much smoke. Heads a little fuzzy.”

“That makes total sense, considering you were nowhere near the smoke,” she recalled, earning a slight smirk from Steve. He shook his head about to say something, but she beat him to it. “Hey, I get it.” He gulped, rubbing his lips together. “It’s always hard when you’re working a call, and something triggers a memory. Good, bad, or whatever, but it pulls you back to that day, making you feel something you wish you didn’t have to feel again.” She paused, shaking her head. “I know what you went through, but it’s one of the reasons I hired you to be a part of my team. I might sound like a terrible person for saying this, but you know what loss is, and sometimes if you experience it, you will do whatever it takes to make sure others don’t feel that way.”

Steve bit his lip, nodding at the ground.

“You’re a great member to our team, Rogers. And I want you to know that there are counselors available to you in case you need to talk, or if you want to talk to the team, we’re all here for you.”

“Thanks, Ace, but I’ve gotten the whole run down before and talked to someone in Brooklyn after everything happened.”

“Take advantage of it here, too. It will help, or you can always talk to someone else,” she suggested with a half shrug.

“Thanks, I’ll consider it.” He nodded as she patted him on the shoulder and returned to the front line.

_________

You sat down on the couch, pulling a blanket over you, and switched on the tv. You browsed through the many streaming services you had, along with a few Loki paid for. The sound of the front gate buzzing forced you to let out a loud annoyed sigh. You crawled out from under your warm blanket and went to the digital screen to see who was at the front gate. Your eyes widened, realizing it was Steve. You haven’t talked to him since you ran out of his house like a crazy person, but what was he doing here? Thor and Steve were on the same shift tonight, and judging by the small screen, he was still wearing his fire station logo shirt.

“Fuck, something happened to Thor,” you mumbled, buzzing Steve in as you started pacing the front doorway. He knocked on the door, and you took in a sharp breath, opening the door. Steve was still a little dirty, but you could tell he tried to clean himself up. His ears and some of his neck still had smoke residue on them, but something in his blue eyes told you something was wrong.

“Is everything okay, Steve? Did something happen to Thor?”

“No, no, he's fine,” He looked down at his appearance. “I’m sorry. I wasn't thinking when I came straight here, but yeah, yes, your brother is fine.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. Everyone’s okay, that’s all that matters,” you replied, furrowing your brows together. “But...but are you okay? Here come in.” You opened the door for him and closed it behind him.

“It’s about the other night when you rushed out of my apartment after breaking the wine glass.”

“Oh, um, yeah. I’m sorry about that, again.” Your voice cracked, crossing your arms across your chest.

“Hey, it wasn’t your fault. No need to apologize for it.” He held up his hands to show he wasn’t going to hurt you. “I hope you know that it was an accident, and accidents happen all the time.” He shrugged, putting his hands in his front pockets.

“I know,” you whispered, rubbing your hands over your upper arms.

“I got to thinking about how it might have triggered something like...like a memory with Billy.” He paused, licking his lips as he watched your eyes flash to his. “I remember you mentioning a wine glass before, but I’m only asking because before I came here, I had a trigger. A memory of something I would rather forget and move on from, but I can’t.”

“What sort of memory?” You questioned, stepping a little closer to him.

He stared at the ground, rubbing his scruff with his hand, and let out a deep breath, and his eyes connected with yours. “It reminded me of my wife and how I didn't get to her in time to save her.”

Your eyes widened, and you didn't know what to say. “I’m so sorry, Steve. I had no idea.”

“Most people don’t,” he shrugged with his hands still in his pockets.

Steve crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the back of your couch, staring off into the distance. Steve was doing what you always did. Replaying the same scene over and over again, trying to come forth with a different solution, but it would always end the same way.

You stepped closer to Steve to see his eyes drift back up to you. You offer him your hand and lead him to the other side of the couch.

“Thinking about her now feels like it all happened ages ago.” He stared at the coffee table, folding his hands together in front of him.

“Was her name Peggy?” His eyes shot to yours, and he nodded. “How did you two meet?”

Steve smirked to himself before looking over at you. “We met when I was a junior in high school. She was going to this fancy prep school for the elite, and I was in public school. I don’t know how I caught her attention…

Steve was in the public library, researching information for his english final. His cheek throbbed after getting into a fight earlier today that his mom would ground him for later, but right now, he needed to get this done. His family didn’t own a computer, and he always ended up using Bucky’s for projects but knew he could get it done if he spent enough time at the library.

There was some commotion behind him, and from the reflection on the computer screen, it was a group of girls sitting down at a table. They were whispering about something, and Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Libraries are quiet for a reason, so people can focus on what they came to do and leave when it's done.

He sighed, glancing over his shoulders after hearing more loud whispers and a few giggles. They were from an elite school, judging by their uniforms. Three of them were looking at him and smiling, but the one had her head in a book. He couldn’t help but notice her brunette hair and the bright red lipstick on her lips that he couldn't help but feel drawn to. She looked up, and he nodded at them, slipping on his headphones and getting back to work. On the computer screen, he could see Red Lips staring at him every so often, and he couldn’t help but smirk.

He was working on the conclusion when someone patted him on the back, and he looked over to see Bucky, narrowing his eyebrows at him.

“What’s up, man?” He asked, taking off his headphones.

“Whoa, pal, what happened to your face?”

“It will heal.” Steve shrugged, biting his bottom lip. “It was just a little fight. Not a big deal.”

“Why do you always have to pick on the big guy?”

“Usually, he's the jerk.”

“Right,” Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “Did you see those elite girls behind you? I mean, Wow!” Bucky winked in their direction, and they giggled.

“Yeah, hard to miss with all their giggles. I had to put my headphones on,” Steve added, looking over at them, immediately finding Red Lips. She rolled her eyes, but he didn’t miss the small subtle smirk on her lips that she was trying to hide.

“Pal, I think they were trying to get your attention.”

“Why?”

“You don’t know a damn thing about women, do you?” Bucky grinned, putting his hands in his pockets and leaning against one of the computer chairs next to him.

“Like you do? We’re still in high school, Buck. We don’t really know anything about women.”

“Speak for yourself, champ.”

Steve rolled his eyes after saving everything to a flash drive and stood up. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Then, a week later, I saw her again, but she was alone this time. She sat at the same table, chewing on the tip of her pencil, reading through her textbook, and taking notes. She was still in her school uniform, and her lips were still the same shade of red…

“Not with your friends today?” Steve asked, taking off this backpack.

She looked around her as if he was talking to someone else, but then her eyes connected with his. “I could say the same about your friend.”

His eyes widened at hearing a British accent pass her lips. “I focus better when he’s not here. He can get pretty annoying.”

“I’ll have to agree with you there. All the excessive giggling isn’t a good focus aid either,” She smirked, shaking her head. “It’s nice to see your bruise is healing nicely on your cheek.”

“Oh ah, yeah,” Steve reached up to touch his cheek. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

“Peggy Carter.”

“Every week, like clockwork, I would see her, and we ended up doing homework together. Not like we were learning the same things, but just to be in the same room together. It took me a while to finally get the nerve to ask her out. I still remember her response to this day--” he smiled to himself “--Wow, you really don’t know a bloody thing about women because you should’ve done this months ago,” Steve voiced in a British accent.

“She sounds like she knew how to put you in your place,” you smirked at him, and he nodded.

“She did.”

“What happened after high school?”

“I didn’t end up going to college much to my parent's disapproval, but I didn’t know what I wanted to do. So instead, I went straight into work while Peggy went to college. I worked a variety of different jobs, trying to find my niche. I ended up working in construction for a couple of years, realizing I like building homes and giving back to the community. It was a satisfying feeling, but I knew I wanted to do more, but I didn’t know how. Weird enough, Peggy was the one who mentioned joining the fire department.”

“Steve,” Peggy called, walking into their small studio apartment to find Steve making supper.

“Hey, doll. How was class?”

“Dull, but it’s law school. And, Steven, don’t call me that I'm not made of porcelain.” She walked over, hitting him playfully on the shoulder and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, making his smile spread wider. “At least you won’t look like a choir boy once this grows in,” she joked, rubbing her thumb over his cheek feeling the scruff starting to grow on his face. “Oh, I saw something today on one of the many bulletin boards on campus.”

“What was that?”

“Joining the fire department.”

“To be a firefighter?”

“Yes, I grabbed the brochure.” She pulled it out of her purse and handed it to him.

“I’ll look at it later,” he nodded, putting it on the counter behind him.

“I bet you’d love it, and seeing you in that uniform. Woooo!” Peggy fanned herself with her hand as she walked into the bathroom. “I would swoon dear, swoon.”

He chuckled to himself and picked up the brochure, reading parts of it out loud. “‘What fuels your fire?’ Interesting way to grab someone's attention, I guess. ‘We teach, we train, we serve together.’” He hummed, flipping open the brochure and reading it to himself. When he got to the last section, something stuck with him. “As a firefighter, you are a role model, and you will make a difference.”

“I think someone is sold on the idea,” Peggy smiled, wrapping her arms around his waist, and he put his arm around her, pulling her in closer to his side. “And, if you don’t like it, you can quit and find something else.”

“It might be worth a shot,” he grinned, leaning down and kissing Peggy. “Thanks for looking out for me, Peg.”

“Swoon, can I say I love her?” you commented, hearing him let out a soft chuckle.

“Everyone did, and after she showed me that brochure, I went to do the 14-week program at the Fire Academy in New Jersey, and she was right, I loved it. Being able to work with a team and build a sense of camaraderie with each other. It was like having an extended family.” He paused, wringing his hands together. “When Peggy graduated law school, she was offered a prestigious position at a law firm in Manhattan, and I got recruited by one of the fire stations in Brooklyn. Then, I finally went out and bought Peggy a ring with the money I saved up working all those odd-end jobs…

“Steve, what about this big one? It says, sorry boys, I’m taken when she’s at the office, and it’s enough to make her friends jealous,” Bucky commented, pointing at the rings in the case.

Steve shook her head, “She’s not like that, Buck. She doesn’t want a big rock; she wants something practical enough to wear to work and put away the bad guys, but pretty enough that she can show it off.”

“Sounds like you are in a real debacle, pal.”

Steve hummed, scanning over the many different styles of ring. He wasn’t an expert, but he knew what Peggy would like and not like.

“Hey, Steve. I am actually in a bit of a debacle myself.” Bucky confided, leaning against one of the ring cases.

“What about?”

“I got offered a position at one of the Los Angeles Fire Department stations.”

“You want to leave Brooklyn?” Steve questioned, narrowing his eyes at him.

"I don’t know, it sounds like a great opportunity. And, I kind of always felt like getting out of here, living somewhere else, and trying something new.”

“I get it, and there isn’t much holding you here besides your friends and family. I mean, who cares about them, am I right?" Steve sighed, shrugging his shoulders in defeat as he continued to search for a ring.

“I've already talked with them about it, and they think I should do it.”

“Wait, really?" Steve's head snapped to Bucky, and he nodded. "To be honest, Buck, I will miss you and Peggy will, too, but if it’s an opportunity you don’t want to pass up, then I think you should do it.”

"Really?"

"Yeah," Steve smiled, and Bucky pulled him in for an abrupt hug. Steve patted Bucky on the back a few times before they separated. "You just have to promise me you won’t do anything stupid out there.”

"How can I? When I’m keeping all the stupid here with you.”

“Are you gentlemen looking for anything in particular?” Steve looked up at the guy behind the counter. This name tag read Broker, and he probably had the best eyebrows in the business.

“Um, yeah, an engagement ring that is stylish but still practical and pretty.”

“You got anything like that,” Bucky asked, crossing his arms.

“I might have a few; excuse me for a second,” Broker nodded, walking into the back room.

“So when you find this ring? How are you going to do it?”

“At the public library.”

“I’m sorry, that old place,” Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “I thought you would take her out to a romantic dinner and hide it in her dessert or in her wine glass."

“We met there, and it’s kind of symbolic in a way. And hiding the ring in dessert, do you know nothing about woman Bucky? Most women just want to eat their dessert, not make it a scavenger hunt and be a reason to break a tooth."

“Good point,” he agreed, pointing his finger at him. “I’m sure whatever you do, Peggy will love it.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Here we are, gentlemen. I found these three rings that are both elegant and practical.”

Steve stared down at them, and his eyes continued traveling to one. He picked it up with a small smirk on his lips and glanced over at Bucky.

“It’s perfect, pal.” Bucky grinned, patting him on the back.

“Did you end up proposing at the public library?” You couldn’t help the warm smile gracing your lips.

“Yes,” he nodded. “And she loved it. She said it was cheesy, but she loved it.”

“Any girl would.”

“Anyways, we got married at her family's estate. It was a small yet charming wedding. She wore this amazing dress, but my favorite part was the red lipstick she wore.” His face flushed at the memory, letting out a content sigh. “We ended up moving to Brooklyn after her parents helped us put a down payment on a small four-story home, and it was way better than any studio apartment we crammed into.”

“Steve, I don’t think I will ever get tired of this kitchen,” Peggy smiled, cutting some lettuce on one side of the island while Steve formed burgers on the other side. They were having a little housewarming slash Fourth of July Birthday bash for him.

Steve smiled at her comment as his eyes wandered around the kitchen. The cabinets were teal with a stony black countertop. The ceiling had exposed wooden beams, giving it a rustic flair. Three lights hung down over a wooden oak island in the center of the kitchen. It was a kitchen you would see in a home magazine, but instead, it was their kitchen. It even had two sinks, but he didn’t understand the purpose of them both. Although, he did enjoy the huge fridge and the amount of space in the walk-in pantry. It was a professional kitchen for two amateur cooks.

“If it wasn’t the kitchen that sold me on this house, then it was that huge bathtub in the master bathroom. No more all in one shower and bath.” She grinned, starting to cut the vegetables for the veggie plate.

“My favorite is the rooftop deck.”

“Of course it is--” she shook her head “--it’s gonna turn into a man cave up there soon. I mean, I did buy you that new grill for your birthday today, but I wonder what else you and the guys are gonna drag up there.”

“It won’t be anything too crazy.”

“That’s what you say now,” she winked.

“It does sound like a kitchen you’d see in a magazine.”

“Yeah.” His calming smile drifted away, leaving a frown in its place. “Remember when you mentioned the Arson Artist, Aldrich Killian?”

“Yeah, the guy that targeted first responder's families.” You nodded, not missing how Steve's jaw clenched at your statement.

“I wasn’t completely honest when I told you I knew some people that lost someone during his reign--” his eyes drifted to yours as he let out a deep breath “--my...my wife, Peggy, died in his last so-called masterpiece.”

You didn’t know what to say to him. His wife was killed, and a simple sorry wasn't going to bring her back or make him feel any better. Without hesitation, you reached out and grabbed a hold of his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. His eyes traveled down to your conjoined hands, and he interlocked his fingers between yours.

Steve remained silent, staring down at the coffee table. His elbow rested on his knee as his head rested in his other hand. Steve squeezed his eyes shut, lowering his head in his hand, resting it against his forehead. He let out a shaky breath, and you gave his hand another comforting squeeze.

"Steve, you don't have to tell me this if it's going to upset you. I understand better than anyone when it comes to talking about the messy things in life. You don't owe me an explanation," you explained, placing your other hand on his forearm. He turned his head in his hand to you, seeing his tearful eyes looking back at you. He sat up, rubbing his hand down his face and scratching at his jaw. He sniffled, staring back at you.

“I know that…but…um...I want to," He breathed, clearing his throat. “So..um...there’s this one day I kind of have engraved in my head, and as much as I try to forget what happened, I can’t. In my head, that day never changes and always has the same ending. The ending I hate reliving whenever I’m triggered…

Steve sighed, laying in his bed with Peggy asleep next to him. He looked over at her, noticing she was laying on her stomach with her head almost off her pillow, breathing heavily in and out. Her hair was sticking up in all directions and her mouth was slightly open. He loved waking up next to her and seeing this site before him. He smirked, reaching over to grab his phone, knowing he had a 24 hours shift starting in 5 hours. He wouldn’t get to wake up next to her pretty face tomorrow, so he decided to snap a picture to smile at tomorrow or to blackmail her with it later. He snapped the picture.

“You better delete that, or I will kill you, Steve Rogers.”

He chuckled. “Okay, yup, deleted.” He reached over, setting his phone back down on the end table.

“You’re a horrible liar." She looked up at the alarm clock and sighed, putting her head back on the pillow.

“You know what would be fun to do this morning?”

“Making me breakfast.”

“I can do that after,” he scooted closer to Peggy.

“Or you can do it now,” Peggy stated, not moving away from Steve's advances as Steve put his hand around her waist and flipped her over, so he was on top of her.

“I’m not going to see you for a full 24 hours.”

“I’m sure you have pictures.”

“Pictures don’t do you justice, Red Lips.” He leaned down, puckering his lips and waiting for her kiss. She rolled her eyes with a loud sigh, leaning up and giving in to his kiss.

After an energetic morning he made Peggy her favorite breakfast before taking a quick shower and getting dressed in his uniform. He came downstairs to see Peggy waiting for him by the door.

“If you didn’t have to go to work right now, I would take you upstairs for round 3,” she winked, giving him a quick kiss.

“I will definitely take you up on that offer if you’re up for it, Peg.” He wiggled his eyebrows, forcing her to laugh as he wrapped his arms around her. “Love you.” He leaned down and kissed her again.

“Love you, too, Steven.” She hugged him close.

“Stay safe.”

“I will.”

“The day started out like any other day, and there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. A few calls came in about car accidents, heart attacks, and a grease fire at a local restaurant. And things were looking up with the Arson Artist case because the FBI brought in Anvil to help with the investigation. Around six that night, we got dispatched to a house fire in Brooklyn….”

“Alright boys, you know the drill,” Captain Phillips stated over their headphones. “It could be a house fire, but keep your eyes peeled for anything that looks suspicious.”

Steve looked out the window of the engine, and he realized this was the main road he took to work. His heart started to beat rapidly against his chest as he looked out the front window to see what street they were going to turn down. When they turned down his street, all the air left his lungs; his home was on fire.

The truck didn’t even come to a complete stop, and he was out of the truck engine. He sprinted towards his front door, tossing on his jacket and his helmet as he heard his Captain yelling his name, but he ignored it. He skipped up the steps he so casually walked down earlier that morning.

When he kicked the front door in, all he saw was flames. “PEGGY,” he shouted, coughing into his sleeve. “PEGGY.” He hid his face with the sleeve of his jacket, running inside. He squinted his eyes against the smoke, not seeing anything, but something dark in the kitchen caught his eye. He stepped over to the kitchen, coughing as his eyes watered from the excessive amount of smoke in the air. When he reached the kitchen, he saw her tied to a chair with her head hanging down on her chest.

His heart broke, putting her chin in his hands. “Peggy,” he cried, feeling his eyes start to fill with real tears.

Dum Dum came in and grabbed ahold of Steve, pushing him towards the front door, and Gabe cut Peggy free from the restraints, carrying her in his arms. Once Steve was outside, he ran to Peggy seeing her body weak, barely clinging to life. Gabe laid her on the ground, and Jim felt for a heartbeat.

“Starting compressions,” Jim stated.

“Please, please help her,” Steve cried, leaning down next to her. “Come on, Peggy.”

“Checking for a pulse, nothing. Starting compressions again.”

“Come on, Pegs. Please.”

“I got a pulse, but it’s faint. Let’s get her on the gurney and to the hospital, stat.” Jim and Dum Dum lifted her body onto the gurney and slid it into the back of the ambulance.

“Steve, go,” Dum Dum commanded. “We’ll do all we can here.”

He nodded, hopping into the back of the ambulance, grabbing a hold of Peggy’s hand. He brought her hand to his lips, and he cried, staring down at her. “I’m so sorry, Pegs.” Jim put an oxygen mask on her and a heart rate monitor clip on her finger.

“Man, it’s not your fault it was the Arson Artist,” Jim replied, and Steve shot him a quick nod.

He clutched onto her hand, not wanting to let go. He couldn’t lose her. They were just starting their lives together, and he didn’t know what he would do without her. They had so many things they still wanted to do: get weird hobbies, travel the world, start a family. She’ll pull through this; she has to.

“Almost there, Stevie.” Jim squeezed his shoulder, but he couldn’t remove his eyes from Peggy’s form.

He squeezed his eyes shut, realizing Peggy was going to be okay. They were going to get to the hospital, and she was going to make it, and he wouldn’t have to say goodbye.

Peggy’s heart rate monitor flatlined, and Steve’s eyes shot open. Jim went to the side of the gurney, pushing Steve out of the way, and administered CPR again. Steve’s eyes started to fill with tears once he realized his worst fear was becoming a reality.

The back of the ambulance doors flung open, and Jim shook his head. Steve grabbed ahold of Peggy’s hand once more and removed her oxygen mask. He cradled her face with one hand, holding on tight to her hand with the other. He stared at her, thinking it was all a dream and he would wake up to her smacking him with a pillow. He could feel his heartache with every shaky breath he took. He gulped, letting out a sob, running his thumb across her bottom lip. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Peg.”

Your heart broke as a stray tear slid down your cheek, and you wiped it away. “Steve, I’m ahh…”

“I know." His tear-filled eyes flashed to yours, and he blinked them away, not giving them a chance to fall.

Without a second thought, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. He was tense at first but then relaxed, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him. You heard him let out a sniffle, forcing you to squeeze him a little tighter. You rubbed his back, trying to keep your tears at bay but having little success. “Please tell me you still have that picture of her sleeping.” You could feel Steve let out a soft chuckle as he loosened his grip and pulled away from you.

“I do,” he sniffled, clearing his throat.

You eyed him, noticing the reminisce of tears on his cheeks. You grabbed the box of tissues sitting on the coffee table, taking a few, and handing them to Steve. He sighed, wiping the tears away, leaning back against the couch. He ran his hands down his face and tried to refocus.

“After everything happened, I was a mess. I didn’t want to believe she was gone. I hoped it was all a dream, but it wasn’t, and I blamed myself for not getting to her in time.” He paused, clearing his throat. “I was constantly thinking about the what if’s and the if onlys of what I could’ve done differently. Not like it mattered much because she wasn’t coming back,” he breathed, blinking away tears that started to form in the corner of his eyes.

“But it wasn’t your fault.”

“You’re right to someone else looking in, it wasn’t my fault, it was Killians, but I didn’t want to see it that way. I thought if I stayed mad at myself, it would somehow fix it, but I wasn’t in my right mind. I was hurting and pushing those who cared about me away. I was depressed but was too stubborn to admit it.

When I returned to work after my leave, my captain, Captain Phillips, declared me unstable and took me off active duty. He thought it was safer for me and everyone else if he put me behind a desk. I know he was looking out for me and wanted me to get better, but all I had left was my job, and he took it away from me.” Steve shrugged, running a hand through his hair.

“After about eight months, Phillips gave me an ultimatum. The only way I would be reinstated to active duty is if I talked to one of the department's assigned therapists at Ancient One and Associates.” He let out a deep breath. “It wasn’t so much an option as it was an order. I wasn’t myself, and I haven’t been. He wasn’t the only one who saw it, but my squad did too. Whether it was from seeing the bags under my eyes due to the lack of sleep or from my pants getting looser from skipping meals. I was numb, lonely, and my family and friends didn’t know what to say to me. I shut them out, even the ones who reached out and tried to help me. I didn’t know how to talk about it, I didn’t want to talk about it, and I didn’t want to let her go. I didn’t want this to be my new reality. I knew there was no other way for me to get around this by myself, so I decided to go to therapy.”

You remained silent as he paused, biting his lip, trying to figure out what to say next. He stared at the coffee table, and you couldn’t help but admire him. Steve’s been through so much, and you never would’ve suspected any of this with the way he carries himself. He seems so sure of himself and always has his feelings in check, but deep down, he has been through hell and back.

“When I first went to therapy, I thought it wouldn’t help me. On the first day, the Ancient One called me out on it, saying heroes are the ones who don’t think they need help, but sometimes they need it the most and are simply ashamed to admit it. She was right,” Steve mumbled with a half shrug.

“With everything that happened, I had a hard time accepting the truth and forgiving myself because I didn’t want to forget her. Peggy was so special to me, and I didn’t want to push her aside as if I didn’t love her anymore. I still did, and a part of me still does.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and wringing his hands together in front of him. “The Ancient One helped me see things from a different perspective, and in ways, I never thought possible. There was one point when she reversed our roles, asking how Peggy would have responded if I was the one who died. To be honest, I never thought of it like that because I always wished I died with her, but when I thought about it, I know Peggy would’ve accepted it sooner than I did. Sure, she would’ve been emotional that I was gone, but I know she would’ve been strong for everyone else, and when she’d go home alone, she would grieve. Then, if Peggy ever found someone new, who cared for her like I did or more, I’d want her to get remarried. All I would want is for her to be happy.

After realizing this new perspective, I knew Peggy would’ve wanted the same for me. To be able to move on and be happy. So, I focused on getting better and going to therapy, which then got me reinstated to active duty. Things were looking up for the better, and I knew Peggy would be happy for me.

I even started reaching out to a few friends I shut out, one of them being Bucky. I hadn’t spoken to him since Peggy’s funeral, but I hoped he’d answer and accept my apology. We ended up talking at least once a week, and then he mentioned a job opening at his station in L.A. I saw it as a chance to start over, so I took it.” He let out a deep breath. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved Brooklyn, but it felt off after Peggy died, and then my mom passed away, which was inevitable because she had been sick for a while. But with all that happened, Brooklyn didn’t feel like home, it was just a city filled with traffic, noise, and crowds. I felt alone in a city filled with people,” he sighed, shaking his head, looking over at you.

“You make moving on sound so easy.”

“It’s not. It’s probably one of the hardest things to do; it takes time, and it’s about moving on from the past and living in the now. Before I came out here, I talked about everything and made amends with my coworkers, apologized to my friends for being so selfish, and said goodbye to my parents and Peggy. It took me a while to get to that point, but I’m happy to be where I am today.” Steve nodded, shooting you a closed-mouth smile.

“What do you think she thinks about you moving to LA and leaving Brooklyn?”

“She’d understand, and I know she’d want me to be happy and to try to move on from her. I know she’d be proud to see how far I’ve come, but she knows I’ll never forget her.” You reached out and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He smirked, his eyes drifting to yours. “To be honest, I don’t think I’ve talked about Peggy with anyone I wasn’t paying.”

“Remind me to send you the bill,” you said, removing your hand from his and pointing at him.

He chuckled, “I’ll look for it, but mail does get lost quite a bit.”

“Can I ask what triggered you to tell me all this?” You asked, earning a quick nod from Steve.

“Today, I saw a husband watch his wife get carried out of their burning home. He cried, begging us to bring her back, not wanting to lose the other half of himself. He didn’t, but to me, it brought back the worst day of my life.” He turned towards you, staring into your eyes. “There is always going to be a trigger. It can either be a good memory or a bad one, but whatever happens, it’s nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about.”

Your eyes flashed to his, and you gulped, knowing he was referring to the wine glass incident. You nodded, “It's just every once in a while I see something or feel something that reminds me of him, and it triggers something in me, and I can't be pulled back.”

“I get it. You always hear time heals things, but the truth is ignoring it and not talking about it only compounds the damage and makes it worse. You’re hoping it fades away, but it’s always in the back of your mind, haunting you and reminding you of everything that happened. The Ancient One told me it is better to allow yourself to feel what you went through because pretending you’re not hurt is not the same thing as healing; it just prolongs it. We may have experienced a different kind of loss. I lost my wife, and you lost yourself. It’s a different scenario, but the advice is the same.”

“How are you so full of wise words?”

“Therapy helps and life experiences,” Steve nodded with a soft chuckle. “Is that cliche?”

“A little,” you smiled. “Both our lives have been pretty messed up, huh?”

“Maybe it's fate’s way of giving us a second chance.”

“If you believe in that spiritual mumbo jumbo sort of thing,” you snorted, making him roll his eyes. “Why did you decide to tell me about Peggy?”

“You see, there is this girl I like, and I felt like I owed it to myself and her to be honest about it since she shared her story with me. I wanted her to get to know the side I don’t share with many people,” he smirked with a tint of pink hitting his cheeks. He reached up, rubbing the back of his neck.

A sweet smile graced your lips, feeling a rush of heat to your face. “Well, she appreciates you telling her, and I can inform you that she feels the same way about you.”

“That’s good,” he cracked a smile, looking over at you with his blue eyes sparkling. “At least now I know I didn’t make a complete fool of myself.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” you chuckled, feeling his body vibrate at your side with a silent snicker. “Are you going to be okay with going back to work?”

“Yeah, I have a good support system there, and I know my team has my back. It’s like one big messy extended family,” he smirked, nodding your head in agreement. “Speaking of work, I should probably get back to my shift before another call comes in, and Carol wonders why this detour is taking me so long.” He winked, pushing himself off the couch.

“Yeah, you don’t want to get on her bad side.” You joked, standing up off the couch and following him to the door.

“Are you going to be okay?” Steve asked, opening the door and turning to face you. He furrowed his brows together, forming a small crease between them. “Are we going to be okay?”

“Yeah, we’re okay.” You nodded, your eyes drifting to the ground. “I’m getting a little better every day--” you shrugged, not wanting to talk about it “-- it just takes time, right?”

His hand lifted your chin and your eyes flashed to his. “I know you’ll get there.” He shot you a shy smile, brushing his thumb along your cheek, sending a rush of heat to your face. He dropped his hand, grabbing a hold of yours. “Remember, if you need someone to listen and is full of wisdom, I’m here for you. And don’t be ashamed to give therapy a chance; trust me, it will help more than you think.”

“Okay, hot stuff. I get it, “ you scoffed, shaking your head. “Stay safe out there.”

“I will. Have a good night, YN.” He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it, letting it go. You rolled your eyes at his gesture, but you couldn’t stop the smile inching its way across your face.

You watched him walk down the sidewalk to your front gate, and he turned around one more time, waving goodbye. You waved back before he opened the gate and it clicked shut behind him. You closed your front door and leaned against it, covering your face in your hands, and let out a loud sigh. Steve seemed ready to take the next step, but were you?

You walked back over to the couch, returning to your blanket and switching the tv back on. You picked out a random movie to watch, but soon it became white noise in the background. You haven’t been in a relationship since Billy, and to be frank, you were scared to give the whole relationship thing another shot. You and Steve joked about it, but you never thought it would actually happen. Even though Steve and Billy are two very different people, you couldn’t help but be reminded of all the negatives that could come with it. Were you even ready? Should you have even been hanging out with Steve? Were you leading him on? What if he did the same thing Billy did? With all the negatives that came to your mind, maybe Steve was right, maybe it was time to give therapy a chance.

____________

AN: Thanks for reading Part 13! If you haven't noticed yet, I'm all for angst, I don't like feeling it, but I like writing it!! This is probably one of my favorite chapters in this series because it's both emotional and tragic. I'm really hoping that while reading this part you fell in love with Peggy. Her part wasn't huge huge, but I hope it made you realize what Steve lost and how much she meant to him. Emotions, am I right!! Also, I felt doing the whole flashback thing for Steve would show the different relationship dynamic that Peggy and Steve had versus her and Billy's. Huge difference obviously, and I felt like it would be better to show how they communicated and acted towards each other rather then just talking about it. It's also why I went into a little more detail in the last chapter with Laura and Clint's relationship...again, showing the relationship dynamic. Sorry for that unnecessary ramble! 😂😂 Anyways, do you think she is gonna give therapy a chance? What did you think about Steves backstory? And do you think this slow burn will finally end, and they will finally get together or will it be just a little longer?! 😂 Comments always welcome, and until next week, thanks again!

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msmarvelouswinchester · 4 years ago

Text

Lost Years

Summary - After spending five years in LA, Dean comes back to Lawrence and meets up with his bestfriend or rather his then bestfriend. Y/N isn't exactly happy on seeing Dean either. Will he be able to fix his strained relationship with her?

Pairing - Rockstar!Dean Winchester x Y/N

Warning - Cheesy fluff, angst, mentions of unrequited love, mentions of divorce, parents separation, drinking, bad dates, kissing, unprotected sex 18+ (wrap it before you tap it), p in v smut, oral sex (fem receiving), sex in the Impala.

WC - 5.3k+ (....oops)

Square filled - Angst ( @girl-next-door-writes ) and “Why the fuck would you laugh at that?” ( @anyfandomgoesbingo )

A/N - This is my submission to @downanddirtydean's 500 followers writing challenge (Congratulations again, Lyd). Prompt is in bold.

This is an AU. Flashbacks are in Italics.

Beta'd by @miss-nerd95 (Thank you so much, hon) and thank you to @whatareyousearchingfordean for giving this a read and leaving some valuable comments❤️

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

“Fuckin’ brilliant!” A weary exclamation left the woman's mouth as she read the text displayed on the device's screen in her hand.

There was a very significant reason why she didn't believe in blind dates, but Jo had been stubborn and insistent. And with Valentine's Day approaching, Y/N didn't want to spend the day in her pjs, crying over The Notebook again. So she had agreed to give a chance to Jo’s friend, or to be more precise, her friend's cousin. His name was Gabriel, and from what she had heard from her mutual friend circle, he seemed to be a decent guy.

But now all she wanted was to go back in time and change her decision to give into Jo’s request, because looking at the empty chair in front of her, she regretted allowing her friend to even try to interfere in her love life.

She signaled the waiter to bring over her check after downing the entire glass of wine. The restaurant was quite busy tonight. It was packed with people on this fine Saturday evening - from lovestruck couples to families with crying kids, Y/N found herself feeling quite lonely as she had stupidly waited on her date to show up for such a long time. Heat crept up her neck in embarrassment when the waiter showed up, the latter’s eyes filled with sympathy as Y/N paid the price of her drink.

Within no time, she was out of the restaurant.

Glancing down at her green dress, she swore under her breath. She tried to book a cab to return to the comfort of her home when her eyes caught the glowing signboard of The Roadhouse right around the corner of the street. The only thing she could think of was to get black-out drunk now. Y/N, still in her high heels, trudged down the path to Ellen’s bar.

Dressed up all for nothing. Rolling her eyes at herself, she went inside the establishment, heading straight towards the counter and taking a seat there. Like any other weekend nights, the place was stuffed. Y/N let her eyes trail over the many patrons of the dingy bar, landing finally on the middle-aged brunette who ran the place

“Ellen!” She called out to the woman.

“Hey, honey,” she approached Y/N, all the while glaring daggers at the drunk she had just previously been arguing with, “A bit overdressed for this place, don't ya think?”

“Your daughter is officially fired from matchmaking services,” Y/N sighed.

“Boy troubles, huh? What can I get ya, hon?” Sympathy was evident in Ellen’s eyes as she spoke. Y/N was as much of a daughter to her as Jo was. The girl had been through so much heartbreak, all Ellen wanted was to see a smile on her face.

“The usual,” Y/N gave a sad smile.

“Rough night indeed, huh?” She raised an eyebrow. The woman in question shrugged defeatedly. Ellen patted her arm in comfort before she left her to arrange for her drink, leaving Y/N to wallow in self-pity.

She thought back to when her life had taken such a traumatic turn. All her friends were either getting engaged, married, or popping out kids. But not Y/n... she was in her late twenties now, and she couldn't even find herself an eligible man.

Ellen pushed the glass towards her. Sighing, she picked it up as she admired the liquid in it. She drank slowly, every sip creating a burning sensation at the back of her throat. Fingers still wrapped around the glassware, she set it down, looking around the bar. The place was filled with mad chatters and howling laughs along with the music blasting from the stereo placed on the deck inside the room, a stark contrast to how lonely she felt. She signaled Ellen for another round, who nodded before giving her that sad understanding smile Y/N was now starting to hate. Frowning, she dropped her head and exhaled.

“Sweetheart, where did that pretty smile for yours go?” Y/N was quickly pulled out from her daze by a very familiar voice; a voice she hadn't heard in a few years. It couldn't be him, he was supposed to be in LA!

“Ella?” The term of endearment brought back dozens of memories, some good and some bad, but all were about him - the freckled face teenage boy with dirty blonde hair and eyes as green as the forest in the summertime she had once fallen for. It brought up the painful memory of their first meet which she had tried to forget so hard.

She remembered the day of their first drama practice when Dean had grudgingly walked into the room. He had reluctantly agreed to play the Prince in the Cinderella act after Cas who was supposed to be the Prince had accidentally ended up with a broken leg. He didn’t know her name, so he had called her ‘Ella’ to get her attention which was the start of their epic friendship.

Y/N didn't dare to turn around to look at him, after all, he wasn't the scrawny teenager from Lawrence anymore. He was now the lead singer and guitarist of a popular rock band with a fancy name and songs that were in the top ten of Billboard music charts. Yes, she did keep up with his rising fame, sometimes even listening to one of his songs before she was once again reminded of the heartbreak he had caused.

“You can't even look at me.” His voice was barely a whisper but loud enough for her to hear as he slid into the stool beside her.

Gathering enough courage, she raised her head. “Dean.” His name rolled off her tongue so easily, but her heart ached for the past. Dean cracked a smile at her as his emerald eyes did not leave hers once. It was as if he was memorizing every tiny detail of her face and if anyone would've asked him, he would've replied that he was.

Y/N hadn't changed much over the years he had spent in LA. She was still the same girl he had first met in school and the last time he had seen her at their graduation. She was a shy girl but they had clicked instantly. Growing up, she was his best friend, his person, his escape.

“Dean Winchester has walked into my bar. Must be my lucky day!” Ellen’s voice thundered across the room, grabbing the attention of a few intoxicated people. “How's LA treating you, boy?”

“Ellen! It's awesome to see you again.” A grin broke out on Dean's face as he jumped out of his seat and pulled the lady into a bear hug. “LA’s pretty okay. It is as good as the industry can be.”

“Heard some of your songs, I knew you had the talent,” Ellen said, jabbing her finger into his chest to prove her point. “Now what can I get ya? On the house.”

“A beer will be just fine. Don't want to show up to the Winchester house drunk!” He chuckled.

“Alright, coming right up. Y/N, honey, you want another round or a glass of water?” The lady asked.

“I'll be leaving in a few. Glass of water it is, El.” She replied but was then interrupted by Dean.

“One drink, with me. It's on me, Ella.” There it was again, that fucking name. A few years ago, that name would have made her cheeks heat up but now, it just made her blood boil. She clenched her hand into fists, tears pricking at her eyes as she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Do not call me that.” She hissed, surprising Dean. Y/N turned towards the man, finally taking a good look at him. He had changed a lot, had become more handsome but LA had not modified his clothing style because he was still wearing his signature flannel and jeans accompanied by a jacket. She wondered how many girls had stopped him for a picture or an autograph on his way back to Lawrence, jealousy seeping into her. She hated the way he still had that effect on her.

“Y/N-” She knew what he was going to say. ‘I am sorry’, but she wasn't ready to forgive him now, if ever.

“No. Don't.” She stopped him mid-sentence, hands digging into her purse as she pulled out the money for her drinks, dropping them on the counter.

“El, I am going home.” Ellen, who was silently watching their whole exchange, nodded her head before asking, “Want me to call a cab for you?”

“No. I'm going to crash at your place. I need to have a word with Jo.” Y/N said since it was near impossible for her to walk back to her house, considering she was quite tipsy and still in heels, but she also didn't want to wait until the woman called a cab with Dean Winchester anywhere nearby. After getting her belongings, she got out of the barstool and left the place on wobbly legs. Her feet would no doubt be screaming in pain the next day.

Stepping out, she inhaled deeply, letting a few tears fall as the cool air hit her face. After their graduation, Y/N had sworn she would try her best to forget the older Winchester. She wasn't quite successful in her aim, because many times she would come across his gorgeous face on the cover of a magazine or his song would be playing on the radio, striking up old memories of their time spent together in high school.

Still lost in her thoughts, she took a step forward, only to misjudge the cobblestone path and end up losing her balance. She braced herself for the impending fall but was saved by a pair of strong hands wrapped around her waist.

“Watch your step, sweetheart,” Dean said, letting her down gently. “Lemme see, did you hurt your ankle?” He went down on his knees in front of her, pulling a low gasp out of her as he examined her feet.

“Were you following me?” Y/N gritted out those words.

“No.” He shook his head but she clearly saw through the lie.

“I’m fine. You can go now.” She said, her eyes looking everywhere but the man.

“Come on, don't be so stubborn. Get in the car, I'll drop you off at your house or Jo’s place if you want.” He said looking up, trying to catch her eyes but she was adamant about not giving him that satisfaction. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, lips quivering before she answered.

“Leave me alone.” She muttered, a tear running down her cheek. All that preparation for not breaking down in front of Dean and her body still betrayed her. The man got up. Y/N noticed that he was now wearing a cap, probably to hide from any bystander who might recognize him.

“Y/N/N, I-” Dean was at a loss of words. He hated seeing her so heartbroken and he loathed himself for being the cause of it. He tried to reach out and hold her hand but she recoiled back, making him wince. “Please, Ella.”

“Stop calling me that, Winchester. How many times do I have to repeat that?” Her voice came out as a little whine, making Dean chuckle. He missed it - her tone, the timbre, the intensity in her pitch, and the words it said, which used to be his voice of reason; he missed his best friend. “Why the fuck would you laugh at that? I am not doing stand up comedy out here.” Y/N was still the strong-headed girl he adored.

“You'll probably hurt yourself if you walk in those heels again with how tipsy you are right now. Get in the car, I know you missed cruising around the town in Baby because she missed you for sure.” And that thankfully got the exact reaction out of her that he had anticipated. She finally looked right at him, her face lit up at the pretense of seeing the beloved black car again.

“I thought she was in LA with you.” Y/N said and then it dawned on her, “Did you drive across the States?”

“Damn right I did!” He beamed in reply like he had won a trophy, his heart swelling with happiness when he saw the smile forming on her face mixed with awe and surprise. He still had to go a long way to get her back, but he had to take baby steps. At least he managed to make her smile. “So? Want to go out, just like the old times?”

The smile instantly disappeared from Y/N’s lips and Dean knew he fucked up right then. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned the good ol’ days. “Sweetheart, I'm sorry-”

“Just drop me off at Jo’s. That's it.” She said, lowering her gaze. He waved her over to the direction where his car was parked. Y/N started to walk along as Dean wordlessly followed her.

Y/N felt a wave of nausea hit her. She didn't do well in social gatherings and this was her graduation ceremony. One wrong step, one wrong word, or a wardrobe malfunction, and the day could turn into a disaster in an instant.

“Honey, you're gonna be excellent out there! We're all very proud of you.” Mary said while hugging Y/N tightly as they both waited on the former's older son to come downstairs who was running late, as usual. She had grown incredibly close to the Winchester family over the years. They were her rock, especially Dean who was there with her at every step as she went through the separation of her parents.

“Are you and John going to join my parents at the ceremony? Someone needs to stop them before they end up killing each other.” She grimaced.

“Isn't this going to be the first time they are together in one single room, since their….you know-” Sam asked as he came out of the kitchen, a green smoothie in his hands. Dean might have been her best friend, her confidante, but Sam was the little brother she never thought she needed.

“First get that green drink outta my sight, I already feel like I'm gonna throw up. Second, you can speak about the divorce. It's not taboo and it was a long time coming. Everyone knew that.” Y/N reluctantly said. The separation of her parents might have been foreseeable but, nevertheless, it still hurt her to see her parents walkout in two separate ways once the divorce was finalized. The house had become much quieter these days which she was thankful for but she also felt the evident absence of her father.

“Mom and Dad will definitely be there!” Dean announced loudly as he came down the stairs. “Come on let's go. Don't wanna be late for our own graduation ceremony!” She could always count on him to make her day better.

“I should have told you.”

“W-what?” Y/N asked dumbfoundedly as Dean’s gruff voice broke her out of the reverie and pulled her back to reality. A minute passed when she noticed even if his hands were on the steering, he wasn't driving anymore.

“This-” she looked out of the window, “this isn't Jo’s place.”

“No, this is our place,” Dean said.

“Dean.” This was the last place she wanted to be at, let alone be here with Dean. It had taken every ounce of her strength to not run back to this place over the past few years whenever she missed her best friend, only to realize that he had left her in the dust on his path to fame and didn't care about her as much as she used to think. Too many memories were attached to this particular place.

“I missed this, Y/N.” He said, killing the engine and slowly opening the door on his side. Y/N understood what he was trying to do and her mind screamed at her in protest to not follow him but her heart told her to follow the man it belonged to.

Dean finally stepped out of the car and walked over to the closed door on her side. She opened the door herself before he could and stepped out as well with a huff. The place was the same as it ever was. “I haven't been here since graduation.” She blurted out.

“I should have told you,” Dean said as they started to walk to their spot. Y/N chose to remain quiet. “Ella, please say somethin’.”

“I am not your Ella anymore, Dean. Stop calling me that.” She said but this time it wasn't a whine, instead, she yelled it out. She was sick and tired of yearning for the man who had broken her heart several years ago and now she was scared that he was gonna leave her once again.

“You'll always be my Ella.” He said.

“The Prince didn't lie to Cinderella and leave her behind but you- it hurts me to remember how close we were then. You left me without even a simple goodbye, so no, I am not your Ella anymore.” She flinched when he reached out for her.

He had stopped walking now and so had she. Dean moved closer to her before standing exactly in front of her. His hands lightly traced her jaw as she looked up at him. She looked just as enchanting under the moonlight as he remembered. He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs gently caressed her cheeks. She had given up fighting herself now, driven only by instinct. All the walls that she had put up came crumbling down with one touch of his.

“Why do you think I didn't say goodbye to you?” Dean whispered.

“Maybe all the years that we spent together meant nothing to you.” Her voice was like a melody to his ears but the words broke his heart even further.

“Because it was too damn hard. When RC Records called me up three days before graduation, you were the first person I wanted to tell, but I couldn't, ‘cause if I did, I wouldn't have made it to where I am right now.” He said, not a trace of mirth on his face.

“I wouldn't have held you back.” It was simple. Y/N always wanted to stay in Lawrence and look over her mother's bakery shop, and that's what she ended up doing. She now owned the shop and her business was thriving. Dean had wanted to become a singer ever since he was ten when he was forced to play the Prince, opposite to Y/N’s lead. He had found his passion and she had always encouraged it, even when John had strongly protested against him choosing music as his major. “You know I always supported you.”

“I know that, but thinking about not seeing you every day made me not want to go. I kept imagining you upset and that's why I didn't have it in me to tell you about my break.” He said. Y/N grabbed his hands pushing them away from her face.

“You ended up making me sad anyway. So why the fuck are you back?” She was enraged.

“Ella-” Dean tried to come closer but she stepped back, “I came to see my family.”

“Then why are you wasting your time here with me?”

“Because you're the most important person in my life and every day I spent away from you, you were the only person on my mind.” Dean smiled.

“What?”

“You were the first thought when I woke up and the last thought when I went to sleep.” He said and pulled her close when she finally stopped fighting. “I love you, Y/N Y/L/N. I know I am late and probably missed my chance, but five years in LA have taught me to take the risks. I love you, Ella.”

“I can't-” Dean’s smile felt but he quickly recovered.

“I-I understand.” He let out a dry chuckle, “You got a man back at home waiting for you. He sure is one lucky bastard.”

“No. You do not fucking understand! You are just so in your head, it's just-” She flailed her arms around in utter frustration. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to move on? I have been on so many dates but no man was ever enough for me, all because of your sorry ass! The Graduation Day - I knew you always thought of me as your best friend, so I had decided to ask you out myself,”

“Y/N-”

“No, let me finish. You have to fucking listen about how much pain you put me through these five years! The next day, I went to your house only to hear from your parents that you were on your way to LA. I fucking hate you!” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I fucking hate how much I still love you, Dean!”

His eyes widened in surprise as he kept opening and closing his mouth like a damn fish. He was unable to form a coherent sentence and so he cupped Y/N’s cheeks in his big, warm hands once more, but now he dipped down, tilting his face and pulling her in for a kiss. His teeth grazed her bottom lips, making her moan into his mouth. She could feel the blood rush to her cheeks as she found herself completely enamored by him. Her hands snuck to the back of his neck as she steadied herself. Her knees buckled under his hypnotic touch as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, her whole body tingled and toes curled up as his tongue explored every inch of her mouth.

“De,” Y/N tried to catch her breath when Dean finally let go of her lips, already missing the feel of her on him.

His hands traveled down her body, making her gasp aloud at the feel. He lowered his mouth as he started to leave a trail of kisses along her jaw and down her neck. “Dean, please. Don't.” Her three short words made him stop.

“Alright.” He gulped.

“I don't want to get my heart broken again, Winchester, I don't think I can survive it again.” Y/N knew he would return to LA within a week, and so she didn't want to take this any further. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me, right?”

“I won't. I am not going back.” Y/N looked at him, surprise evident in her eyes, “I don't care about my career anymore. Five years without you was like living in hell and my bandmates are probably so tired of hearing how much I missed you. I will write my songs from here in Lawrence if it means that I'll be closer to you.”

“You would do that for me?” She asked sincerely.

“I would. I was a stupid kid back then but now I have realized that nothing's more important to me than you. I don't want to lose my Ella ever again.” He said, “I'm sorry for taking so long to understand that. There is no way-” His words were cut off as Y/N captured his lips with her own. The sudden kiss caught him off guard but he quickly pulled himself together to kiss her back. “Shit, Y/N-” he gasped when he felt his dick twitch. He picked her up in quick motion and went towards the car. Y/N giggled when her back lightly collided with Baby’s door. Dean dropped his head, nipping at the pulse point on her neck.

“Dean-” She moaned, which was better than any music he had ever made as his hands slipped under her dress, his fingers hovering over her soaked panties. Her thighs clenched in anticipation.

“You have no idea how long I dreamt of having you. You're soaked, sweetheart. ” He huskily said, his fingers hooking on the waistband of her cotton panties. “Tell me to stop and I will, in a heartbeat. No questions.”

“N-no. Don't stop.” Y/N cooed. Dean dragged down her panties which pooled at her feet. He picked it up and stuffed it into his pocket. Thankfully, there was no one around but the thrill of being out in the open with Dean got her even more hot and bothered. Her hands grasped onto his biceps tightly so that she wouldn't topple over when Dean slipped a finger into her tight pussy. Her mouth fell open, her head dropping on his shoulder as he started pumping slowly, every drag of his finger pushing her closer to the edge.

Dean felt his pants tighten as he heard the sweet moan of his name leave her lips. Her raspy voice was one he could hear all day long, her heavy pants tickling his skin. With one hand he unbuckled his belt, trying to relieve himself a little, but when a cry of pleasure left her lips as he slipped in another finger, he hoped that he wouldn't cream his pants like a freaking teenage boy.

Y/N felt the coil in her stomach tighten as she inched towards her climax. Dean quickened his pace, curling his fingers inside her and brushing her g-spot, each time eliciting a low moan out of her. “Dean….” She couldn't form any coherent words other than chanting his name over and over again and a moment later, the coil snapped as she felt herself coming undone. He delicately pulled his fingers out of her, which were covered in her juice. Dean reached behind her, yanking the door open as he nudged her to go in. She readily obliged and slid into the seat with shaky legs. He climbed into the backseat after her, closing the door behind him.

Her dress had ridden up her thigh, exposing her glistening pussy. Dean’s eyes darkened at the sight before him as he swiftly pulled his shirt over his head, discarding it somewhere in the front. He pushed her dress further up. She raised her hands as he successfully got her out of the garment and unhooked her bra. Y/N moved further back into the seat, her back resting against the door on the other side as Dean started to leave kisses down her body.

“Have you ever thought about this? ‘Cause I did, every freaking day.” Dean asked, kissing the valley between her breasts, the rumble of his voice sending shivers down her spine.

“E-every time I touched myself, I thought of you.” She said, gasping out loud at every word when his mouth found her breasts and started to suck on the soft skin, flicking a nipple with his tongue and twirling the other within his fingers.

“Oh-” Dean raised his head to look at her before he moved south, “Did you think about me between your legs just like this-” He said as he left kisses along her thigh, his stubble creating soft burns on her skin in its wake that she would definitely remember. He finally stopped at her nether regions, his hot breath fanning against her throbbing pussy. “Did you think about me tasting you like this?”

Y/N threw her head back in pleasure when his mouth latched onto her sensitive bundle of nerves, his tongue flicking at her aching nub. Her hands traveled down to his head, her fingers getting tangled up in his soft hair and pulled at the strands, making him groan.

“Fuck-” She exclaimed as Dean hungrily devoured her, his tongue repeatedly assaulting her sensitive pussy, sucking needily on her bundle of nerves. Y/N threw her head back in pleasure as she felt the coil in your stomach tighten before a wave of pleasure washed over her. “Shit!” She gasped as Dean’s tongue lapped her juices hungrily.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you taste so good.” He panted before he unbuttoned his pants pushing them down along with his boxers, freeing his erection sprung from his confines. “Son of a bitch, I don’t have-” Y/N sensed his uneasiness.

“I’m on the pill.” She smirked as she stared at his toned body.

“Well, I’m clean.” She reached out to touch his stomach, hands then traveling down to his length. Dean dropped his head, biting down on his lips, “Y/N-” He pushed her hands away, smirking as he ran his hand along his hardened cock, giving it a few strokes, the tip beaded with precum. He looked at Y/N once and lined himself with her dripping entrance when she gave him a nod to go ahead.

His swollen tip teasingly nudged at her opening before he pushed himself into her.

“Shit Y/N-” Dean grunted, simultaneously as Y/N hissed out at the painful sensation at the beginning as he pushed himself into her, letting her adjust around his size before she told him to move. He circled his hips as he slowly pulled out, leaving only the tip of his engorged cock inside her, before pushing back in again, deeper than before.

“Holy fuck-” Y/N moaned out when he quickened his pace, hitting her g-spot repeatedly with every thrust as they both inched towards their release. Dean kissed her as he continued to thrust deep into her, their breathing growing erratic, the windows of the chevy fogged up and the car filled with their groans and moans as they both chased their release. She hooked her arms at the small of his back as he started to nibble at her sweet spot. His hand moved south, his thumb rubbing circles on her clit which further edged her.

“Shit De!” Y/N cried out loud as her walls fluttered around his pulsating length when she felt herself coming undone. Dean’s thrusts became sloppy as he grunted into the crook of her neck before he spilled into her with one cry of her name, painting her walls with his seed. He dropped his head, trying to catch his breath before he gently pulled out.

“Fuck sweetheart.” Dean panted, beads of sweat lining his forehead as they both laid in each other’s arms, basking in the post-coital bliss. “Was this better than your fantasies? ‘Cause, ‘twas surely better than mine.” Dean smirked, reaching out to grab a piece of cloth to clean themselves up. “We should have done this sooner.”

“If only you hadn't been such a coward.” Y/n teased with a giggle.

“Your dumbass could have called me up. I wasted five years being one, terrified to hear how much you hate me.” He grumbled, cleaning up the mess on the seat. Honestly, she could have but she didn't ‘cause she was scared to hear the truth as well; that Dean had truly left her.

“So, you’re sayin’ we’re both a couple of dumbasses.” Y/N chuckled, putting on her bra.

“Your words, not mine.” Dean gave her a sly smirk. “The Winchester household will be so delighted, once they know I finally got my head out of my ass and looked at the beautiful woman right in front of me.” He was right in every sense. The Winchesters, all of them had always believed that those two would end up together. Everyone saw how in love they were except Y/N and Dean.

“Isn't it too early for the introduce-the-girlfriend-to-the-family thing?” She asked which got an eye roll out of the man. “Panties?”

“I don't have them.” Dean sneakily raised his hands.

“I saw you stuff them into your pocket.” He grabbed her dress from the front seat, throwing it at her.

“Put this on, or preferably, just don't.” He gave her a boyish smile, getting a raised eyebrow in reply, “Oh I'm not done with you. Gotta make up for the lost years, sweetheart.” Dean's eyes darkened at the thought as Y/N gulped, knowing she wouldn't be able to walk properly for weeks.

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