#ray isn’t perfect but damn do i feel seen by him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

simp999 · 2 years ago

Text

I'm so proud of you, Pt. 2☆

Ship: Giacomo x GN! Reader

Series: Pokémon

Word count: 4.2k(9.1k total)

A/N: My longest fic yet, I stayed up 'til 4 am for this, I wrote every lyric out myself help

Warnings: swears in song lyrics, skipped some lyrics to shorten it up. You can skip playing the songs, but I'd suggest playing the last one for sure!

Themes: Comfort, fluff, friends to lovers

Taglist: @ultranimallover33 @5centsanhour

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Giacomo woke up to rays of sun shining into his room, getting too bright for him to continue snoozing. He laid on his side, his arms in front of him, almost as if he should have been holding something. …Hey, hold on a sec. He should be holding something, or rather, someone.

‘No, no, no! This can’t be right, it was too real! It couldn’t have just been a dream,... right? I finally had the guts to confess and it was just in a dream?’ His face starts to feel warm, and he begins to feel his eyes sting slightly. Giacomo attempts to smile to himself.

‘Man, I sure am hopeless.’

Giacomo is about to roll back over to fall asleep to waste the rest of the day away, but an odd smell interrupts him. It smells like food. Tasty food. Pancakes? His nose forces his body to sit up and turn around to look at the kitchen area of his dorm out of curiosity. There he spots you, slightly swaying your hips and bopping your head to the sound coming from- are those his headphones? Sneaky.

He can’t help but notice his heart skip a beat, or two. Maybe three if he pays close attention. Giacomo lets out a breath he didn’t notice he was holding in, and silently makes his way over to you with a smile on his face.

He gently puts his arms around your waist and his head in the crease of your shoulder, reassuring him that yes, you’re really here. You, on the other hand, were completely focused on your pancakes and may or may not have gotten spooked by Giacomo. You pull his headphones off of your ears to rest on the counter next to you, clicking the button on them to pause the music. Bluetooth headphones sure are nice.

“Mornin’ sleeping beauty.”

Giacomo begins to sway a little, just like last night.

“Mm, can I help?” His voice is deep and muffled, given that he just woke up and has his head in the crook of your neck.

“Nah, m’ almost done.” You begin to put some carefully cut strawberries on top of your guys’ pancakes. Giacomo glances over at the nearby clock that reads 11:09. ‘No point in going to school now, I guess.’ Not that he minds spending the rest of his day with you, of course.

“How long've you been up?” Man, you could definitely get used to his morning voice. And clinginess.

“Hmm, since around seven or so.” You had to thank your mental alarm clock for that. It can be useful, you’re just about never late for school, but it even happens on days off at times. There were so many mornings where you’d wake up every hour, or even half an hour, in fear of missing school and being a 'bad example'. You finish up the pancakes by sprinkling a tiny bit of icing sugar on top, asking Giacomo to bring the maple syrup to the table so he can decide how much he wants.

“Damn, this is hella good.” He was genuinely surprised at how good the food is. Yes, it did smell amazing, but he’s also seen your sandwich skills. Yeah, not too hot when it comes to those.

You snicker at his phrasing and tell him that it’s one of your favorite breakfasts for the days when you’ve got time to yourself. Which doesn’t happen often, so it’s more of a weekend kinda thing, but this is an exception.

“And Gia?” He looks up at you from his place, his mouth completely stuffed and you can barely hear an ‘mhmm?’ from him. “Thank you. For yesterday, I mean.” You now have his full attention, “All this ‘trying to be a good example’ and being ‘the perfect champion’ isn’t something I can do anymore. It’s not like I’m just gonna quit being champ or anything, but I’ll try to take it easy from now on. Which means I won’t care about what others might think of me anymore, and I’ll be more outgoing and expressive in public. Y’know, let the people think and do whatever they want.”

“Cool.”

You look at him expecting to get more of an answer, but you look over to him only to see him shove even more pancakes in his mouth. Okay sure, that’s cute and all but come on, man.

“Gia…”

“Mhrm?” Once again, very muffled. You’re so close to laughing but you’ve got to keep your composure!

“This means I’d like to hang out more, outside of just our dorm rooms n’ stuff.”

He’s quick to chew up the last bit of food he had in his mouth, (and may have choked on it a bit).

“Oh.”

He looks at you like you’re kidding, even a little. You know that people are going to assume stuff about the two of you, and are probably going to make fun of you for hanging out with a former ‘bad guy’, right? He can’t tell what emotion was written across your face, but he could tell you weren’t joking.

“Wait like, for realsies? I’m not exactly a good example.”

You sigh, it seems this really isn’t getting through his thick skull. You grab his hand.

“Yes, for realsies. I mean it when I say I don’t care what they think anymore. And I’d say you teaching that new student guitar made you a perfect example, sweetheart. Just depends on the subject.”

He flushes a little at the mention of that scene, you remember him teaching that kid? That was forever ago. Right around the time you guys first started meeting up to battle, right? Guess you really meant it. Yet again, his heart can’t seem to slow down. So you guys will be hanging out a lot more, then. That’s fine, that’s completely fine. He’s not nervous about that, not at all. Why would he ever be nervous, huh? Not like you guys never hung out outside of school. In public. With other people around.

It’s normal for your heart to feel like this, right?

Man, you’re good at making him feel weak.

He stands up from his chair, collecting all of the dishes you two just dirtied. After he clears his mind a little, he’s back in reality.

“Um, then, what now?” He fidgets with the sleeve of the hoodie he fell asleep in.

“Well, my team and I make it a point to go outside at least once a day, and it’s quite nice outside, so how about a walk to the park?”

Of course, he’s down to go. He grabs his hat and pokéballs from the corner of his desk and Mabosstiff is already at the door, wagging his tail, ears perked up at the mention of the word 'walk'.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Mabosstiff is enjoying the walk and the warmth of the sun, while Giacomo notices a slight irritated frown on your face. He asks if something’s up, and you know that you said that you wouldn’t be worrying about stuff like this, but there’s somebody sneaking pictures of the two of you from behind. Seems like it might be someone from the journaling club. You’re not annoyed that they’re getting pictures of you and Giacomo and probably going to write about you two, actually, you might like the idea. Not that you'd admit that to Giacomo, though. But cutting in on your personal time with him? What a pain.

As soon as you mutter “Photographer, five O’clock.”, he’s making his way behind you to shield your body from the camera in one swift motion. You eventually notice that the dude left after giving up, but it seems Gia hasn’t. Makes sense, he’s probably not used to this. You bring your hand up to his and lock pinkies, bringing him back up beside you to show that you guys had nothing to worry about now. You begin to swing your arms back and forth absentmindedly.

‘Cute.’

The two of you finally make your way to the park and take a seat while your pokemon start to play. Skeledirge crawls over to Mabosstiff and they start to carefully duke it out. You find it funny how gentle Skeledirge is with its chomp, and the same goes for Mabosstiff when it uses ice fang instead of using crunch or payback.

The playfight reminds Giacomo of a certain dark-type user who’s supposed to come tour in town. He heard that he had another artist he respects from Unova coming to make a special appearance, too. Now, how is he supposed to bring this up casually? You still have a busy schedule, right?

“Hey, so, um-”

Is he asking you on a date? No. Why’s he so nervous about this then? It should just be pure excitement, given that this artist is his favorite.

“If you’re not busy tonight, I heard that there’s a concert going on in Levincia later if you wanna go?”

“Of course, who’s going to play?”

“A dark-type user from Galar, He does lots of rock and alternative music. Heard he just recently retired from being a gym leader, so now he’s got time to tour.”

“Piers?! Man, the one time I didn’t check online to see if he was touring he comes right here. He’s my favorite artist, know just about all of his songs, too. And yeah, Marnie, his younger sibling, took over the gym for him.” It was pretty hard to contain your excitement. With how busy you’ve been lately you haven’t had time to even consider concerts or anything of the like, but you’re taking a day off, so who cares? If you aren’t going to worry about what others think anymore, then why not take it to the max?

“Hey, think I have time to get a haircut and get some new clothes? I’d rather fit in with the crowd more there.”

“For sure, let’s go to the hairdresser’s and get you a new fit. Actually, would you be down for getting your makeup done too?” He’s shocked that you know the artist, and so very glad that you enjoy his music. Better make this a memory worth remembering, so he’ll give it all he has to make this the best concert you’ve ever gone to.

“Depends, what were you thinking?”

“Hmm, black eyeliner and messy black eyeshadow?”

“Bet.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The next few hours were spent shopping for alternative style clothes. You’ve always loved punk and alternative fashion, but you haven’t been able to wear it comfortably while being champion. Layering accessories and wearing messy clothes is so fun, you’ve seriously gotta do this more often. Now that you’ve got your outfit on and your hair done, it’s time for the makeup. Your accent color is red, you wanted to match the hot pink that Piers has but it seems there aren’t lots of pink accessories with the style you were going for. One last look in the bathroom mirror and you walk out to see Giacomo on his swivel chair with all the makeup beside him.

“Damn, you look awesome. Ya’ ready for the makeup?”

You give him a nod and walk over to him, unsure of what to do next. He pats his lap, silently telling you to come sit. Once you’re all settled, he gets to work.

It doesn’t take long, he just has to messily put on some black eyeshadow, whatever thickness eyeliner you chose, and a bit of red under your eye to make it all pop- and match your accent color.

Okay sure, maybe he took a little longer since he couldn’t help but lock eyes a few times. And maybe steal a few glances at your lips. And when you asked if he had black lipstick? Even better, a good excuse for him to keep staring. And is that technically and indirect kiss? Never mind, forget about that. Maybe he took advantage of the situation and kept his hand on your chin and face whenever possible. But whatever, it’s all done now, and you look so “damn badass” right now.

You’re finally allowed to look in the mirror on the desk, and you’re elated with the outcome! The smile on your face says it all. It’s not one of those ‘kind, respectful’ smiles, it’s the one that shows all your teeth, and had you grinning from ear to ear. He’s surprisingly good at makeup, and your eyeliner is really even and sharp. You’re really about to go see your favorite artist with your favorite person. It doesn’t get much better than this, does it? You’re about to stand up to go make any last adjustments, but not before sneaking a quick peck on Giacomo’s cheek to thank him for his efforts. It takes him a minute to remember where he was and what he was doing, maybe even who he was.

“Hey, get back here! I gotta fix your lipstick now, idiot!”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The two of you finally make it to the concert, definitely not the first people there, but you’ve got a good view of the stage from where you are. The hype builds up as the crowd continues to grow, the time of the concert nearing.

“Get ready for a mosh pit with me and my party. Levincia, it’s time to rock!”

You grab Giacomo’s hand in anticipation, excited to finally be able to belt out the lyrics of your favorite songs at full volume.

“I’ve got a shotgun tongue”

“And tick like a timebomb,”

“All black everything.”

“I’ve got a switchblade wit”

“That cuts like a bitch,”

“And I think you two should meet.”

You take a deep breath in, and let it all out. Finally able to enjoy yourself and have fun for the first time in what feels like forever.

“I wanna BREAK FREE from my humanity,”

“I wanna release the animal in me.”

“B-B-B-Break free your curiosity,”

“You’re gonna give me what I need.”

Giacomo has never seen you like this before. He never expected this side of you. You just keep breaking that fake, perfect image of yours, and he’ll admit it’s pretty hot. The bright lights of the stage beaming on your face, and the giant smile written across your face contrasting the darkness of your clothing were seriously something to cherish. He’s only ever seen you this happy a few times. In, and out. Deep breaths. He’s ready for the next verse.

“I’ve got blood on my hands,”

“No guilt on my conscience.”

“The war in your path,”

“The sex in your violence,”

“ALL OF MY FLAWS, I WEAR THEM WITH HONOR!”

“A purple heartbreak for all we’ve suffered.”

“I am the enemy,”

“I am the enemy”

He could have sworn he heard your voice raise just for that one line.

Piers got the crowd to wave their hands, to jump, to yell, to do whatever he wanted the crowd to do and it was awesome.

“Give me liberty or death”

“Charge me more and pay me less,”

“I SAID GIVE ME LIBERTY OR DEATH!”

“Ahh f**k, it, just give me death.”

He chuckled a little at that line, it almost sounded like you made it personal when you sang it. The concert was going so well, he’s so glad you seemed to be enjoying it.

“ALL OF MY FLAWS I WEAR EM’ WITH HONOR!”

“A purple heartbreak for all we’ve suffered!”

“I am the enemy,”

“BRAND NEW NUMB!”

And that was the first song. Giacomo looked over to see you trying to catch your breath, him doing the same. What an experience, there sure isn’t anything that can match this, not even playing it as loud as you can at home can even compare.

The next song immediately had a catchy beat. It was pretty cool to immediately see everyone bounce almost in sync.

“I see a red door and I want it painted black,”

“No colors anymore, I want them to turn black.”

“I see the girls walk by, dressed in their summer clothes,”

“I have to turn my head until my darkness goes.”

“I see a line of cars, and they’re all painted black,”

“With flowers and my love both never to come back.”

The song gets even catchier, and Giacomo notices the way the chains on your belt jump while you bounce to the beat.

“I see people turn their heads and quickly look away.”

“Like a newborn baby, it just happens every day!”

You notice how he’s looking at you every so often and you smile at him, as well as offer a thumbs up to show that you’re doing good. He must be checking up on you, concerts can get overwhelming, after all. But you’re having the time of your life.

“Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts,”

“It’s not easy facing up when your whole world is black!”

“No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue,”

“I could not foresee this thing happening to you!”

“If I look hard enough into the setting sun,”

“My love will laugh with me, before the morning comes.”

“I wanna see it painted, painted, painted black!”

“Black as night, black as coal”

“I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky.”

“I wanna see it painted, painted, Painted black!”

Lots of good tunes so far, you definitely remember blaring these songs from your headphones lots of times in the past.

The next song was very sudden, but as soon as you heard the first lyrics, you knew it was about to get hella loud.

“Suffocate, everything,”

“They complicate, everything,”

“They steal your fate, every day,”

“But you can’t believe it!”

“Take yourself far away from nothingness,”

“A million miles from emptiness.”

You loved to see the way Piers rocked out to all of his music, it was definitely his passion. He’s a lot more enthusiastic when he plays live than when he battles.

“Remember the days, of the innocence,”

“Before it came in waves?”

“Remember the trust? It was blown away,”

“Into oblivion.”

“Remember love,”

You glance over at Giacomo for a quick second, seeing him scream the lyrics at the top of his lungs. He sure does have a nice voice, you’d love to hear him make at least one cover. But the right song hasn’t come on yet.

“Remember hate, remember everything,”

“They said just to break you again.”

“Remember all, all of your enemies,”

“Forever and ever, they,”

“Suffocate everything, they”

“Complicate everything, they”

“Steal your fate, every day”

“But you can’t believe it!”

A taller person ends up in front of the two of you, and Giacomo can tell you’re struggling to see Piers. He motions for you to get on his back after bending down for you. You can’t hear him over the music, but can tell what he’s getting at. Now that you can both see, it’s back to enjoying the music.

“Forget the decay, and the endlessness,”

“Of all of our mistakes,”

“Forget all the blame, and the apathy,”

“And throw it all away.”

“FORGET THE PAIN,”

“FORGET THE HATE,”

“FORGET ALL YOUR ENEMIES,”

“THEY WILL NEVER BREAK YOU AGAIN!”

He could feel how powerful your voice was thanks to how close you were to him, he could feel your belly and chest move every time you took a deep breath.

“LEAVE IT ALL BEHIND YOU!”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It had now been nearly an hour since Piers had shown up on stage.

“You all better enjoy this, I don’t do encores, and we have a guest artist joining us for our last song.”

The crowd went crazy when a short girl with white hair walked onto the stage.

“Yeah! Ya’ll better get hyped for this last one!” Roxie's voice came over the speakers.

You looked at Giacomo in disbelief, he never mentioned having Roxie up on stage tonight! He just shrugged and smiled at you.

Your heads immediately turned to the stage as soon as you heard the first note. Another note along with the first lyric, and you were singing the hardest you have all night, hoping and praying to Arceus that Giacomo knew the lyrics. There was a good chance you’d lose your voice after this one, you’d definitely need to drink lots of water tomorrow.

“You’ll never take us alive!"

He looked over at you and started singing his part, almost like he was waiting for this moment the whole time. Not like he checked the setlist beforehand, or anything.

“We swore that death with do us part,”

“They’ll call our crimes a work of art!”

You started bouncing in place to the beat, so excited to be right here, right now, with him.

“You’ll never take us alive!”

“We’ll live like spoiled royalty, LOVERS AND PARTNERS,”

“PARTNERS IN CRIME!”

“Partners in crime~”

You grab his hand again and squeeze it tight, grounding yourself. This is one of your favorite songs, you had no idea he even knew this song existed.

“This, the tale of, reckless love, living a life of crime on the run,”

“I brush to a gun, to paint the states green, and red.”

“Everybody freeze!”

“Nobody move!”

“Put the money in the bag,”

“Or we will shoot!”

“Empty out the vault, and me and my doll will be on our way,”

“Our paper faces flood the streets,”

“And if the heat comes close enough, then we’ll play with fire, ‘cause!”

“You’ll never take us alive!”

“We swore that death will do us part,"

“They’ll call our crimes a work of art”

“You’ll never take us alive,”

“We’ll live like spoiled royalty, lover and partners,”

“Partners in crime!”

“Partners in crime~”

“Here we find our omnipotent outlaws, fall behind the grind tonight.”

“Left unaware that the lone store owner,”

“Won’t go down without a fight!”

“Where we gonna go?!”

“He’s got us pinned!”

“Baby I’m a little scared,”

“Now don’t you quit!”

“He sounded the alarm, I hear the sirens closing in!”

“Our paper faces flood the streets,”

“And if the heat come close enough, then we’re burning this place to the ground, ‘cause!”

“You’ll never take us alive!”

“We swore that death will do us part, they’ll call our crimes a work of art.”

“You’ll never take us alive,”

“We’ll live like spoiled royalty, lovers and partners,”

“Partners in crime!”

“Partners in crime~”

(The Placerville sheriff’s police department, come out with your hands up, we have the place surrounded. Put your weapons down, PUT YOUR WEAPONS DOWN! Ready men, aim, FIRE!)

The thrill and excitement coursing through yours’ and Giacomo’s veins were the only thing keeping you two from getting flustered over the lyrics. This is like a dream come true. Was this basically you two shouting your love for each other? Yeah, and you both were none the wiser.

“The skies are black, with lead-filled rain,”

“A morbid painting on display!”

“This is the night the young love died,”

“Buried at each other’s side.”

“You’ll never take us alive,”

“We swore that death will do us part,”

“So now we haunt you in the dark,”

“You never took us alive,”

“We live as ghosts among these streets,”

“Lovers and partners, partners in crime!”

"Partners in criiiiiime~"

“PARTNERS IN CRIME!”

With both of you completely out of breath, no longer able to hear anything but the crowd cheering, you jump tackle Giacomo for a hug. He spins you around and you can barely tell what he’s saying, only thanks to the way you saw his lips move could you tell what he was saying.

“That was epic!”

He knew that you couldn’t hear him, so he figured he’d chat with you more after the concert.

People slowly started getting out of the way, you and Giacomo were pushing through the crowd, attempting to get some merch. You ended up getting ahead of the crowd, and you bought shirts, keychains, bracelets, and pins for yourself and him, and got him a CD of Piers’ latest album. You even managed to get a quick picture with Piers and Roxie after and got him to sign the CD.

Only after all the commotion was over and you guys were back at his dorm, you on his bed and him on his chair, did he start to think more clearly.

“Hey, you spent a ton today, didn’t you? You shouldn’t have bought me all of that stuff at the concert, at least let me pay you back. I could have bought my own stuff you know.”

You bring your head up from where it was resting.

“You can’t even buy half a potion, shut up.” You snicker a bit at that, always taking any opportunity to make fun of Gia. “But seriously, you’re like, the best. Ever. I should be thanking you.”

You look at him and your smile turns sincere.

“You deserve the best, love.”

His cheeks go pink at the nickname, but he’s not too flustered for a comeback.

“You are the best, sweetheart.”

Songs used in order:

Brand new numb - Motionless in white

Paint it, black - The Rolling Stones

Leave It All behind - Cult To Follow

Partners in Crime - Set it Off (my favorite band!!🔷️⏳)

5h 20m

Jan.25-26.23

125 notes · View notes

jodilin65 · 10 months ago

Text

Well, the Tingo adventure ended almost as fast as it began because their site is unbelievably glitchy as hell. Never seen anything like it. I guess they’re just seriously understaffed what with how expensive it is to run AI stuff. Unless you’re a huge company like Bing, it’s very hard to afford from what Tom explained to me.

It explains why I was surprised to see so many pitifully old, ugly characters. Some people might find that appealing but that many?

It will no longer let me create characters I want but it will sometimes create randomly generated ones and sometimes I get these old, fat, ugly bitches. So the others I’m seeing on the Discover page probably didn’t intend to create them either but the users didn’t bother to delete them.

Tom signed up using a disposable email since verifications weren’t going to real email addresses for some reason, so I could get 20 coins but then I realized that he didn’t need to sign up. I could have done this myself with a disposable email address.

Anyway, I tried contacting them on their social media accounts and through email but have been ignored. I don’t see how they can expect anyone to want to pay for something so insanely glitchy.

Ray just got in. I like it when he’s out at night because that’s one less chance for him to decide to blast his TV. He’s still been pretty good for the most part, though. Still, I’ll like it better when he and the other snowbirds get the hell out. Two more months!

The planes are back to being annoying in the evening but I’m hoping that’s just because of the heavy cloud coverage due to the rain we’ve had in the last couple of days.

Jessie asked me if I knew any French and I told her that I can read some but never studied it as much as other languages because I don’t like it. She said she and David were thinking of celebrating their 30th anniversary in St Lucia so she thought it would be nice to know some French. I recommended Duolingo to her. I can’t imagine her learning much French, though, because it’s not only a tough language but languages just aren’t her thing any more than their Tom’s thing. She can barely write in her own language. She’s definitely a numbers girl.

Looked on the map and saw that it’s close to Martinique and remembered what my nieces said if you can believe the little bitches. They said it was the worst vacation they were ever on because they hate Americans and were very rude.

Either way, I’m happy for her but a little frustrated for us. I know it’s supposed to be “bad thinking” but hey, sometimes we can’t help how we feel and it’s okay to have our feelings, whatever they are. Our own 30th anniversary is a few months away and I’m going to be bogged down with heavy fatigue after my second shingles shot and even if I wasn’t, we’re too poor to ever vacation anywhere again. I honestly believe that the flight here was our last. I always believed that but at least I got to go to different places and it’s not like I’ve never been anywhere. But they’re still working and we’re retired and you’re usually pretty damn low income when you’re retired. I would still rather have him home and not have money than have money and have him working all the time which I know he would hate. Money is nice but it isn’t everything and it’s not always worth it if you’re just going to be miserable. We’ve got enough to pay our bills but we’re still in debt and I don’t even know if we’ll even be able to do Red Lobster or get some Chinese food. He’s not a fan of either of these, though, so it’s no big deal. We’ll celebrate at home while I deal with vax side effects.

That’s the shitty thing about getting old like I said in my last entry, is that there aren’t many opportunities or surprises in your future. Sure, I may win a trip somewhere or a ton of money but what are the odds of that? Not that life was perfect when we were younger but the door was definitely open to more possibilities in our 20s and 30s and even our 40s and 50s as opposed to me getting close to my 60s and him getting close to his 70s.

I really like using my secondary Facebook account for all kinds of things from journals to pics to random thoughts that I would normally tweet. Maybe I won’t use Twitter much anymore. I decided to hold off on sharing current journals over there until I catch up with copying old stuff over there. I think it would be a bit confusing to go back and forth between old and new stuff.

0 notes

yerion · 2 years ago

Text

OH MY FRICKING GAWD… it’s finally here??? it’s actually here… first of all, before i mf panic about how this is actually the real thing—a real mf finale—a real ending to another series you created with your own hands, efforts and brainpower… i literally want to express my HUUUGEEEE congratulations for tying this journey up with the prettiest ribbon!! ;-; <333 i fr know how much u suffered and how desperately u wanted to deliver the absolute best ending possible for all the people waiting!! the countless nights u actually slaved after running laps in the hospital is respectable and u deserve all mf applaud for this… idk if i’m just biased but this is lowkey.. ever so slightly bittersweet because i feel like this series was the start to the legacy of ~maiverie~ and every time we talk, we’d always refer things to triage!heeseung unknowingly?! LIKE I KNOW for a fact this won’t die out at all, but it do be a little sad to see our precious little bean go now.. so,,, i suppose we just have to anticipate a sequel of them going into university??? where we watch heeseung become the most popular king ever for being good at everything he does??? his bowties turns into ties and his glasses turn into contact lenses???

BUT… MOVING ONTO OUR LAST RAY OF SUNLIGHT WE’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!!! <3333

this entire chapter was actually perfect in a sense of “this is exactly how it should’ve ended” and as mentioned, also extremely bittersweet??..?? let’s just declare that ryujin is going to be the worldwide punching bag from now on because the way u portrayed her was LITERALLY SO DAMN REAL… her intentions were so clear and i loved seeing the contrast of our two main protagonists dealing with her in such different ways—their personalities shined in different colours—like u said, miss sunset was all the fiery reds, oranges, pinks and purples while heeseung represents the whole pastel palette?!

i honestly got emotional straight away, like the way u have such a great grasp on the characters u build and ur able to deliver their feelings wrapped in the most purest descriptions is so impressive, it really felt like u adored each character so much… T^T… (hold my tissue…) it was so heartbreaking to read both of them going through this entire roller coaster of emotions but.. HEYYYY?? they deserve one, small, single obstacle before marriage… and their chemistry is also so angelic—like genuinely a match made in heaven?? ALL THEIR DIALOGUES WERE SO MEMORABLE LIKE A PUNCH?? (y/n didn’t punch ryujin but she definitely punched me!!) like… bro.. the way i had to screenshot how fricking cute heeseung was throughout that entire confession??

HE HAS NO BUSINESS BEING THIS ADORABLE?? this was my favourite dialogue from him because this was the very first time he was ever bold towards y/n?? it just touched me to know that he’s willing to drop it all to slide in a sincere confession for someone he likes?? ladies and gentlemen, there is no man in the world like him…

AGAIDIEHWSJDH^{*~*?£.€… *be cautious of a rabid woman coming up soon*… this was SO CUTE… so painfully cute that this is where i got most emotional (ur gonna be like… wut… why this out of ALL parts… she’s so weird…) HOWEVER!!! it’s just that a character like him is a one of a kind and to think we won’t be knowing about his whereabouts after this is just…….. there is only pain……. ur gonna get constant harassment in ur mail asking—how’s triage!heeseung and triage!y/n going today!!! are they on dates!!! did they have a second kiss?!? when and where??

GOD…… i can’t believe it’s finally over, mr. rover…..

thank you so much for this—not only is it the softest and purest fanfiction i’ve ever read, but it’s also one of those stories that’ll go down history, at least in my lane it will… u said ‘triage’ isn’t truly my cup of tea, but i literally do genuinely enjoy any genre as long as it!!! holds!!! a secure premise!!! like u and i both can agree we’ve seen many… in fact, too many… interesting stories out there that tickles us in our sleep… so, really, BABY!!! WIFE!!! MY BESTIE!!! thank you for putting in every ounce of ur effort to publish this—not only is ur love carried in the story but there’s an overwhelming number of readers who cherish this story exactly like i do!!

(please excuse me if i made any mistakes cus i’m seriously bed bound at the moment…)

TRIAGE! ┊ a lee heeseung series — FINALE ♡

you try to teach the nerd how to date.

synopsis: heeseung is not, by any measure, date-able. he’s dorky, he’s nerdy, and he does this weird thing where he snorts loudly every time he laughs. in fact, he loves everything that normal people are allergic to — computer science, collecting rare comic books, and birdwatching on the weekend.

given that you two have obviously nothing in common, you find yourself utterly flabbergasted when you receive a letter in your locker, on which heeseung has written, "hi. will you please teach me how to date?"

MASTERLIST HERE !

kayla’s playlist (@/miiiwaa) ♡ my shitty og playlist . tags : #.*triage .

TAGLIST

@enhyflirt @dreamyenskz @icedcoffeesunwoo @ssolari @skazoo @jjunis @heejake-en @koroktsuya @jeongwins @tinykoi-s @en-boyz @soobin-chois @blessed-sky @jhyunieee @kisswon @vbxrin @cosmicsunghoon @bloomedberry @jungwonielove @miiiwaa @jungwoniee @lhsng @missharubear @deonuism @sarahxy537 @bambisgirl @hrrhmay-primaryblog @yeonzzun @msxflower @sunsunu @jangwonie @sweetjaemss @seungstarss @tokyoflies @solelyenha @softforqiankun @goodforgyu @va1ry @taekbokki @ashxxkook @moon-gyus @jakeified @markleeisdabestdrug @wccycc @viagumi @pisss111 @outrologist @fairfairee @hiqhkey @ctrlemis

chapter five (finale)

word count: 8k | navigation: previous / MASTERLIST warnings: swearing, (verbal) bullying a/n: final chapter; thank you so much for reading this far. sorry this took so long to get to you :(

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎

‘let’s have a little talk, you dweeb.’

heeseung had been backed into a corner.

while he often liked to reserve that idiom for metaphoric effect, he means it quite literally — ryujin and taehyun had literally backed him into a corner of a bedroom with no way out.

it was obvious he had stumbled across something he shouldn’t have.

ryujin and taehyun kissing? how disturbing.

if it were up to him, he truly wouldn’t have meddled in their business. however, the way they’re sneering at him leads him to believe that they think his actions were intentional. he wants to insist that no part of this was deliberate—that he was honestly just trying to find you—but tense silence circulates the trio and he has no inclination to speak first.

“who the fuck do you think you are?” ryujin punctuates the silence with her malice, making him inwardly wince. her hands find their way to her hips as she openly scowls with disdain. “god, you’re annoying.”

“i-i should go,” heeseung lowers his head, scratching the nape of his neck. “i didn’t mean to intrude,” he laughs nervously in an attempt to dispel their hostility, “i was just trying to find—”

“no, you should stay.” taehyun suggests, a smirk slithering to his lips. he rolls his head around his neck before sighing contently. “you should stay and play with us.”

play…?

heeseung physically recoils with horror, stomach twisting with unease. there’s something about taehyun’s predatory stare that flares goosebumps all the way across his arms. he realises that the most wise decision right now is to escape the enclosed space as soon as possible.

“sorry, i-i don’t want to keep my parents waiting,” he lies, lowering his head. “they’re downstairs.”

the two exchange impish glances.

“well, we won’t be long,” ryujin stifles a laugh before taking a seat on the bed. she folds one leg over the other, leaning back with her arms propped up. “since you were creeping on us, we thought you could exchange the favour and tell us all about your girlfriend.”

“girlfriend?” heeseung blinks. he doesn’t have a girlfr— oh.

miss sunset.

you? his… girlfriend?

as if.

“oh,” heeseung dips his head shyly. “n-no, you’re mistaken. she’s, um… she’s not my girlfriend.”

if he were being honest, he was kind of hoping to change that some day.

“what, so you guys haven’t fucked yet?” ryujin bats her lashes, a playful stare in her eyes.

heeseung’s brows instantly furrow, a frown on his lips. frankly, he was a little bugged by their vulgarity and the tone used to address you. this was the same type of contempt he noticed in other people in his life — like his aunt at her wedding, who pulled him aside and cautioned that ‘girls like that are foxes, heeseung! they’re nothing but trouble.’

it shouldn't matter, because they’re all wrong.

every single one of them.

they're wrong.

it boggles his mind that people can’t see what he sees.

then again, it can’t be helped that all the best things about you are what can’t be seen. sure, you’re so pretty that sometimes he can’t even meet your eyes properly, but you’re also warmer and kinder than you give yourself credit to be. you must not realise, but he notices the little things you do for him — like the way you clean his glasses when he places them down on the table to sleep; or the way you pretend you’re full so he can finish the rest of your lunch; or the way you scribble encouraging little notes and drawings on his textbooks when you know he has a long night of studying ahead of him.

it boggles his mind that some people may never have the privilege of peeking behind the curtain to see that you’re warm, and funny, and kind, and caring. you embody everything that his well-fitting nickname suggests. miss sunset — a blaze of colour; an explosion of soft yellows, bright oranges, fierce reds, pearly pinks and vibrant purples.

you’re a fiery kiss to the sky.

it’s both a shame and an honour that he’s able to keep you to himself.

“you know she likes you, right?” ryujin smirks, erecting from the bed.

heeseung’s eyes instantly round. “wh-what?”

“yeah,” she slowly slinks toward him. “she told me.”

“r-really?”

“duh. why wouldn’t she? we’re best friends,” ryujin scoffs, arms folded. “and i know her better than anyone. we’ve known each other since we were little kids, you know.”

heeseung notices that you don’t often talk about your relationship with ryujin and taehyun. you don’t really tell heeseung much about anything from your past, but he would certainly consider your old friendships to be the biggest elephant in the room. he doesn’t doubt that you were all once close friends, but he knows you haven’t been in contact with them for a while now. it’s obvious why, in his opinion — they’re mean-spirited people who enjoy sinking their claws into people and injecting poison.

they’re callous and vicious and hateful. they’re everything that you’re not.

‘best friends’? he felt insulted for you.

it was like trying to hold a candle to the sun.

“what… what was she like?” heeseung can’t help but ask, his stomach doing a little flip at the thought of you as a child. he knows he should probably leave the room, but the temptation runs too deep — he wants to consume everything about you.

what did your hair look like? what did your laugh sound like? did you prefer playing outside or staying inside? what made you smile during the day and what kept you up at night?

his heart began to thump at the thought of these answers before reluctance settled in.

was it wrong to wonder these many things about you?

was he allowed to be curious?

would that truly be okay — given that you were a goddess and he was next to nothing?

“cute,” ryujin replies, head bobbing. “she was cute.”

aha!

heeseung can’t help but smile profusely. “of course! i knew it,” he mumbles, blushing to himself. of course she was cute; beauty like that must have been obvious even at a young age.

ryujin’s razor-sharp stare remained. she seemed to study heeseung carefully before lowering her gaze. “she was also kind of mean, i guess,” she continued, inspecting her nails nonchalantly. “a bit of a bully.”

taehyun stifled a laugh at this, and they exchanged knowing glances as though they were indulging in an inside joke. “oh, yeah, i remember she once bullied that kid for sitting in her seat.”

bullied?

heeseung frowned, doubtful about their claims. he reminds himself that they’re both the type of people to embellish any story for their own entertainment. “you’re wrong,” he frowns. “she wouldn’t do something like that. sh-she’s not like you. she’s different.”

ryujin’s lips extend into a smile. “how well do you think you know her?”

his frown deepened. “better than you do.”

the pair instantly burst into cacophonous laughter that seems to poison the air in the room.

heeseung bites his bottom lip, feeling unease swirling around at the pit of his stomach.

“really?” ryujin defies him with a raised brow. “you really think you know her that well?”

he nods slowly.

“okay,” she tilts her head, “then where is she right now?”

heeseung’s eyes flicker to the ground. he didn’t know the answer to that question, but that wasn’t indicative of anything. “well, i-i don’t know, but… she’ll be back—”

“obviously, she ditched you. she left you, heeseung, it’s something we used to do a lot. we’d invite two or three suckers to a party, get them drunk as shit, and then make them entertain us for the next few hours.”

his eyes widened as he fell into momentary silence, forming as many rational justifications as he could. “but… i was the one who asked her to come with me. and… and you just told me that she… she likes me.”

ryujin rolled her eyes. “the only reason yuna invited you was because we thought it’d be funny. plus, don’t get me wrong — i’m sure she likes you, but don’t put any weight on that. it’s like how a person can like a helpless puppy. it’s pity; that’s all it is.”

“th-that doesn’t mean anything.” heeseung felt discomfort sprout inside his chest, branching insidiously in his lungs and up his throat. “that has nothing to do with her! she’s… she’s an angel.”

“really?” ryujin slithered over toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder, clenching it tightly to bring their faces close. “then why’d she tell us about that letter of yours?”

heeseung felt his heart drop to his feet. “wh-what?”

“the letter you left in her locker,” ryujin continued. “what did it say again? something like…” she pretended to brainstorm, tapping her chin with a finger. “oh! right… wasn’t it something like hi, will you please teach me how to date?” ryujin giggled as taehyun joined in snickering from behind.

his breathing quickened. the letter.

you told him you never told anyone about that.

did you lie?

maybe they’re bluffing — you wouldn’t do that. and even if you did lie, you would have definitely told heeseung afterward, right?

“the funniest part was the fact that you signed it off like the fucking virgin-loser you are. kind regards, lee heeseu—” they cackled again, this time even louder. they continued to banter with one another by echoing the contents of the letters.

heeseung felt himself shrink. hot tears burned his eyes as he felt their humiliation pile on and on as though they were determined in hammering him into the ground.

“oh my god,” ryujin laughed, wiping the tears from her eyes. “gee, thanks for tonight’s entertainment, heeseung,” she chuckles off the rest of her amusement, “i wish i took a photo of the letter or something. so that i could share it around with—”

“no!” heeseung cried as he swallowed the lump in his throat and began to enter a swivet of panic. “d-don’t! i-i—”

“you’re shaking like a leaf!” ryujin pouts, reaching to grab his shoulder before he flinches. “it’s okay. i won’t tell anyone. unlike your girlfriend, i know how to keep secrets,” she whistled. “say, heeseung… i’m keeping a lot of secrets these days, aren’t i?” she brushed his hair with her fingers.

“even yours.”

he stopped dead, chest rising up and down as he attempted to breathe. he tried to clear his tears with rapid blinking, but it only resulted

“don’t worry. we’ve been nice. we haven’t told her your secret yet,” she winked.

yet?

“listen,” ryujin’s voice lowers, her finger lifting his chin so that he faces her. “i really don’t want to keep your parents waiting for too long, so i’ll say this: your girlfriend’s not a saint. she’s vicious in her own way. and if you hate us for the things we make you do, then you should hate her, too. why? because she and i are exactly the same — everything we’ve done to you, she’s done to someone else.”

“y-you’re… you’re wrong.” he turned away from her finger.

ryujin hummed once. “well, let’s face the facts.” her lips slowly lifted into a grin. “you’re alone right now, heeseung. she’s not even here. she left you. i saw her get in the car and leave just earlier. go ahead and look outside if you don’t believe me.”

heeseung’s gaze flickered to the ground.

“but anyway,” ryujin whirls around and exchanges a smile with taehyun. “we gotta go… we wouldn’t want to stay out too late since we have an early morning, right?” she smirks. “we’ll see you tomorrow, heeseung. at the police station.”

“wh-what? why?”

“because someone ratted us out,” taehyun chimes in, eyes rolling. “so we’ll keep your secret so long as you do one more favour for us.”

you can have your puzzle back. i don't want it anymore.

“you can have your puzzle back.” your little sun says, his voice lowering into a register so low that you almost miss it. “i don’t want it anymore.”

the room remained dark as heeseung’s words hung like ghosts in dead silence.

it was deafening, the way his whisper was the softest sound you’d ever heard. you were holding your breath, fearing a reality in which i don’t want it anymore meant something beyond what you could hear at face value.

“i don’t want your stupid gift,” he croaks, burying his face in his hands, stifling a sob. “j-just… please, just leave me alone.”

finding him sitting in the dark room alone and crying made your heart shatter. it was easy to confront the idea that ryujin or taehyun had hurt him, but you weren’t equipped to face the possibility that it might have been you. the distance he was creating between the two of you allowed your inner antagonisms to fester — your chest tightened with unease, exacerbated by the pressure of fear expanding within you.

“h-heeseung,” you blurted in surprise, your throat so parched that it forced you to swallow and brace yourself for what felt like impending heartbreak. “why…”

you were so stunned that it honestly felt as though time had stopped moving for a moment. you allowed space to pour between the two of you — you let a beat pass, then two, then three, then four, and with each one that scurried by, you grew more and more apprehensive that he wasn’t going to retrace his steps. you thought there was a chance he’d backpedal his words and tell you they’d sprung from his chest in the heat of the moment, but instead, he let you soak in abject misery.

your heart sank. above everything, you were terrified — he was slipping away from you like dust between your fingertips. it wasn’t long before tears followed — they blurred your vision, no matter how many times you’d tried to dismiss them with your hands.

“h-heeseung?” you called his name softly and hoped to peel his fingers away from his face, but he flinched at your touch. in every attempt you make in closing the distance, you find that heeseung draws a line between you; each harsher than the last. he recoils at your touch, shrivels at the sound of your voice, and offers you nothing but a view of his back that shields you away.

he was cowering from you.

it made you feel ill. sick. like the taste of bile was rising to your mouth and leaving an acidic, ghostly burn in your throat. bit by bit, your resolve was crumbling like a house of cards.

“tell me what’s wrong,” you begged him, crouching before him on the carpet though he curled away from you. “i promise i’ll fix it, okay? i’ll fix everything.”

“y-you can’t,” he sniffled.

you felt your throat constrict. “why not?”

“because…” heeseung finally lifted his head, and the moment your eyes locked with his bloodshot ones, it felt as though his fear, hurt, and pain ricocheted back to you tenfold and struck you like a stab to the heart. he sniffled again. “because you lied,” you saw his eyes well with tears again, “and i lied, and—” his voice became smaller. “all we do is lie to each other.”

perhaps this was what you’d always feared — that you were going to be the one to break him.

after all, you had a tendency to do precisely that. you can’t even count the number of times you’d accidentally shattered the dishes in the kitchen that your mother adored so dearly. or the number of bones you’d broken during wild dares from late nights. or the countless number of fractured friendships in your life because you never really struggled with breaking — whether they were dishes, or bones, or promises, or hearts.

was he another?

was heeseung just another one of those things you were always bound to break?

“please leave,” his voice was becoming softer, and softer, and softer, further eclipsed by his cries. you could tell he was struggling to make out his words. you could also tell that he was being honest.

you’ve never had anyone beg you like this before.

“okay,” you whisper, tears littering the carpet. “i’ll leave.”

unable to look at him any further, you twist on your heels. you do what you do best — you run. you run down the stairs and out the house and run and run and run, ashamed that this story has unfolded the exact way anyone could have predicted.

he hates you, you may love him, and neither of you are puzzle pieces that fit together.

perhaps heeseung was right; perhaps you truly are sunrises and sunsets, because alike parallel lines, the two never meet.

perhaps heeseung never taught you to heal after all. perhaps broken bones and hearts can never properly heal, the same way cuts and grazes may leave permanent scars on our bodies. perhaps your body did what it could to fix what broke, but it only took one gust of wind to retrace old scars and re-break what will always remain broken.

you’ve never been very good with your emotions.

you constantly misrepresent them.

you smile when you’re sad, frown when you’re happy, say things you don’t mean and omit the words that you resonate deepest with.

after the party, you cried like you have never cried before. it was a foreign, almost out-of-body experience. every emotion exploded and pierced through the thin surface they were bubbling beneath. your scathing tears had soaked everything — your eyes, your cheeks, and your pillow late through the night. the worst of it was the heaviness inside your chest that ceased to subside, one so hefty that it was the reason you felt like you were sinking to the bottom of an ocean.

it was only until the next morning that anger, the emotion you consider to be the easiest to wear, brought you the energy to pay a visit to ryujin. you were going to get the answers to all your questions.

after all, that was what you’d learned over the years — anger is the only emotion that gets you answers.

which is why you began with ruthlessly banging your fist on her front door.

“open the door, ryujin!” you bellow.

bang! bang! bang!

what could she have possibly said to heeseung?

bang! bang! bang!

why? why was it that ryujin was so insistent on butting in your life?

bang! bang! bang!

was this some form of karmic reparation? was the universe simply rescinding what should have never been yours in the first place?

you didn’t know what you were going to do. or say, for that matter. yet here you were, desperately trying to claw your way up to the surface where the sun kisses the water. to hell you were going to let this heaviness make you sink and give ryujin the satisfaction.

with no response on the other end, you began to kick the door now.

bang! bang! bang!

“i said, open this fucking d—”

it finally swings open.

“are you fucking nuts?” ryujin shrieks from the other side, face contorted with outrage and disbelief. she glances at the door before openly gaping at you. “what the hell? you’re going to break the fucking do—”

you waste no time in lunging toward her. you shove her with both hands, thrusting her so far behind that she lurches back and stumbles onto the floor. while sprawled on the ground, ryujin instantly snaps her head up at you and scowls. “what the fuck is wro—”

yet again, you don’t give her much time to react. you step toward her, making her scramble back before her back hits the wall. as the distance between the two of you closes, you crouch in front of her and roughly push the side of her head with a finger.

“what, ryujin?” you smirk vindictively. “did that hurt?”

her chest sharply rises heavily when she meets your icy glower. “get out.”

though she attempts to pick herself up from the floor, you harshly grip her shoulder and force her back down. you reach over and tap her cheek condescendingly, your voice now a lowly whisper.

“how funny,” you scoff, head tilted. “i thought i told you to stay out of my life.”

she grits her teeth. “i said, get out.”

“why should i? you’re the one who keeps insisting on getting involved in my shit.”

“you’re batshit.” she gapes at you. “is this about that dweeb?”

“his name is heeseung.” you snap at her, bunching the collar of her shirt in your fist. you yank her toward you, your other fist lifted and curled.

ryujin barks out a dry laugh when her eyes flit to the sight of your fist. “you’re going to punch me?” she snickers again in disbelief. the sight of her grin makes your fist tighten under her shirt. anger. you felt your anger simmer at cautionary temperatures and slowly branch up in your neck to your face.

“what did you do to him?” you grit your teeth, breathing slowly to control your emotions.

it was difficult, because you felt as though she relished at the sight of your anger. she must have recognised your most familiar emotion and felt as though you had shifted back into becoming your old self. you saw it in the way her lips curled, and the way her brows had lifted, and most notably, in the way her eyes paraded a small, tiny, starry glint that conveyed her amusement.

it made you wonder if she was doing this all intentionally.

just to get a reaction out of you.

just to get something.

“it wasn’t exactly what we did to him,” she smirked. “it was what he did to himself, really.”

“where’s taehyun?” you reach over and slowly comb your fingers through her hair, before closing your fist and grasping a bundle of her strands, jerking her head backwards. “i want him to see your face all battered up. you know, before i beat the living shit out of him, too.”

she sneers at you. “why don’t you ask heeseung? i’m sure he’ll know exactly where taehyun is.”

you narrow your eyes at her. “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“they’re probably together right now.”

heeseung and taehyun? together?

you scoff. “what?”

she stifles a laugh, and there it is again — that glint. like a tiny star amidst a midnight canvas. you could feel the anger grow like an inferno within you. that glint was pestering you; it was almost begging for you to reach over and extinguish it. you grip her hair harsher, this time yanking her head backward.

she yelps as you pin her down with a glower. “tell me where.”

she hisses at the pain of your grip on her hair and narrows her eyes. “police station, obviously,” she spat with a glare.

her eyes met yours, where your confusion must have been evident. those midnight eyes turned with patronising pity. “wow,” she remarked sarcastically. “the idiot still hasn’t told you.”

“ryujin,” you lean toward her and hiss slowly, with the intended effect that each syllable augments your hostility, “say one more thing about him and i’ll bash your skull against the cement.”

“now tell me,” you hiss, “what are they doing at the police station?” though your words appeared to be laced with composed venom, the truth remained that your heart had begun to drum. everything was coming at a surprise — you couldn’t imagine what would ever bring heeseung to a police station, though you could enumerate a thousand reasons for taehyun.

“like i said, heeseung did it to himself.”

not satisfied with her answer, you yank her hair again and this time she attempts to strike you with her free arm, but you grab her wrist and desist her from doing so. she winces when you pull her hair tighter, prompting her to quickly open her mouth and elaborate. “okay, okay!” she cries. “he was the one who agreed to take the drug test for taehyun!”

your lips drop into a frown. “what?”

“then the police found out, okay?” she seethed. “we needed him to come in and deny everything. happy?”

you stopped in confusion. what the hell was she talking about? as you sifted through the many thoughts that raced in your mind, you finally froze when you began to comprehend the situation.

you remember now. it was that day — the day you’d first met heeseung in the school hallway, when taehyun had set his eyes upon and sunken his claws into his latest victim.

taehyun was a drug user, and when he was finally caught by the school, he was mandated to perform probationary urine tests. he constantly evaded these tests by intimidating somebody into giving him fake samples. this was common practice, and it just so happened that heeseung was his chosen victim the day you two had first met.

heeseung never told you that.

he never told you that he went through with it.

“i mean, maybe if he’d kept his mouth shut or done a better job at peeing in a fucking cup, things wouldn’t be like this. in saying that, whose fault is it really?” ryujin rambled on, rubbing salt to the wound as your anger multiplied. “it was still fun at least. especially when we got to talk about you.”

your hand balled into a tighter fist.

“me?” you pin her down with a dark gaze. “what the fuck did you say about me?”

she shrugs smugly. you watched as a sly smile slithered to her lips and her eyes pooled with shiny darkness. “nothing that wasn’t true.”

your heart drops to your feet.

“you know, it’s funny,” ryujin stifles a laugh, “because he denied it at first. said that you were…” she lifts her hands and uses her fingers to show quotation marks, “different.” you felt your anxiety pierce and gush into your stomach. “we laughed in his face. different, my ass. you didn’t tell him, did you? that you’re actually as much of a piece of shit as we are. he even called you an angel, you know that?”

angel.

“so we decided to set the record straight and we told him what he had the right to know.” she giggled. “you didn’t forget, did you?”

you stared.

“the letter,” she reminds you. “he was so embarrassed i think that was when he started to cry.”

you froze.

the letter.

fuck.

you wanted nothing more than to run to heeseung and clarify the misunderstanding as best that you could. you wanted to talk to him. hold him. apologise and tell him you’d never intentionally hurt him. that it was an accident — that you lied, yes, but you just didn’t want him to feel embarrassed at that time. that it was a lapse in judgement.

but for some reason, something holds you back.

anger.

anger holds you back.

the thing about anger is that while it may be your most familiar emotion, it is also the most paralysing of them all. and when it’s combined with resentment, it becomes insidious. the reality about anger is that it exists only in the absence of control, a dangerous condition to find yourself in.

nevertheless, you feel that way.

you feel out of control.

helpless. angry. frustrated.

why? because that glint is still there. the gleaming, ostentatious star in her eyes that flounces around in her own delight. mocking you.

ryujin is staring at you expectantly, anticipating your reaction.

you know that she’s waiting for you to punch her. to show her you prefer fists over words. to show her you have not changed in the slightest. everything she has done is aimed to get a rise out of you; she doesn’t care about anything else but avenging the fact you had tossed your friendship to the side — that you had tossed her aside.

in this moment, you realise that no matter how hard you try, you know that ryujin has won. she doesn’t even need to try very hard to show you that you will never be able to change into a better person. your efforts have come to naught. even now, you are held by anger; you want it to control you — even if it means reversing everything heeseung had taught you about not acting upon your impulses; about not fighting fire with fire.

you wonder how heeseung would react if he found out what you’d done today. that you’d allowed anger to override you and that you had already used your hands on ryujin.

you pushed her, shoved her to the ground and pulled her hair without a second thought.

after all, you’d proven her right — you are still the same person.

how would he react?

these very thoughts loosen your grip on ryujin’s collar.

you slowly retract your hands from her, feeling the heaviness inside your chest gnaw at you. why are you stooping to her level? as you swallow and salvage whatever amount of sense you have left, you shake your head and slowly rise to your feet.

if heeseung saw you now, he’d probably be scared.

he’d probably see them in you.

your sudden withdrawal makes ryujin freeze. she seems taken off guard. she watches you suspiciously as you attempt to compose yourself, noticeably irked by your lack of response. “you’re… not going to hit me?” she hesitates, sitting up slowly.

“ryujin, you and i are done.” you attempt to stabilise your shaky breaths. for some reason, focusing on heeseung helps your mind from spinning. he’s your anchor and when you use him as your moral compass, he brings the clarity you need. “for real this time.”

“what?” ryujin splutters with disbelief. she pauses, openly gawking. “what the fuck?” she scrambles to her feet and storms over toward you before abruptly shoving you into the door — the impact thunders down your spine and instantly releases a grunt from you, head spinning.

“hit me!” she taunts you by sneering in your face. “i made your little boy cry. hit me.”

“if he wanted me to, i honestly would,” you spit at her. “you should thank him you’re not bleeding out right now.”

she yells as you storm away from her house and it occurs to you that there’s really only one person you want to see right now.

you want to tell him that he was right.

you are different from ryujin after all.

and you will do whatever it takes to stray further and further away from being anything remotely similar.

‘you never know.’ ‘you might wake up one day and find that the sun is gone.’ ‘and then it’s like, poof — no more sunsets.’

heeseung was right.

the day you two had first met, you laughed and called him a loser for taking photos of the sunset. after all, he was attempting to immortalise something that was already a cosmic promise.

honestly, you didn’t get it.

what was the point of taking a photo of something he could see every day?

you realise now that he was right all along – it really was possible to wake up one day and find the sun gone.

everybody just has a different idea of what the sun is to them. for you, yours disappeared when you realised heeseung was doing whatever it took to avoid you over the weekend.

your texts were left unanswered.

calls were sent to voicemail.

he was shutting you out.

you tried to visit his house on sunday morning, but his mother faced you with a regretful smile and asked you not to come in. you didn’t know what else you could do because he seemed to close down every avenue you pursued.

you were so eager on monday morning to see him at school. you were an hour and a half early as you roamed everywhere, attempting to control your nerves. you didn’t know whether or not you should have waited at the school entrance, or by his locker, or just outside the classroom door.

it didn't matter, because he was late.

you were already halfway through the day when you had almost given up, though you got your first glimpse of him in days when he had finally showed up.

he looked almost as horrible as you did.

the darkness under his eyes had grown. his brown hair was fluffy and in plain disarray compared to how he usually styled it. his eyes were so puffy that it looked like he’d been crying all weekend, the same way you had. you tried to catch his eyes, but he didn’t return your gaze and instead slid into his desk quietly with his shoulders slumped.

there was a pang in your chest. his appearance made guilt expand within you.

did you do the impossible? did you break the sun and make it rain?

when class finished, you waited outside the door and stopped him when he tried to leave. it was only then that he finally looked back at you and you felt your heart stop. it took you all the strength to not cry, so you snaked a hand around his wrist and led the way to the school’s court garden.

“heeseung,” you faced him when you both stopped at a quiet place inside the open garden. his gaze was affixed to the grass beneath his shoes, so you took a deep breath and let the words flow from your chest.

“heeseung, i’m so sorry for lying to you about the letter.”

he didn’t reply.

it stung to hear silence on the other end because you weren’t used to it. you were used to heeseung’s warmth; his smiles, his laughs, and the bright stars in his eyes. instead, he seemed to have retreated back into a shell of dejection.

you gulped and fiddled with your hands. “i-i should have told you the truth. ryujin saw it, yes, but it wasn’t because i showed her. i-i just… she was there when i found it in my locker. that’s it. it’s not an excuse for lying, but i promise i would never intentionally embarrass you.”

you waited for his response and still found silence. this was when panic slowly crept up inside you.

“i-i really fucked up when i lied to you. i just didn’t want to embarrass you, and the more time that went on, the weirder it felt to bring it up. but i should have told you the truth. i’m sorry, heeseung.”

there was a pause before he finally lifted his head.

“stop apologising,” he whispered so gently you almost missed it.

“wh-what?”

“it was here,” he tucked his bottom lip between his teeth and roamed the area with his eyes. “i-i think it was here when you told me to stop apologising to people. you said i said sorry too much.”

god, you felt relief in your chest, it felt nice to hear his voice again. you were worried he might never talk to you again.

as you briefly considered his answer, you glanced around and recognised the bench you two had sat on when he’d tried to confess to lia. he was right — it was exactly here that you two had your first real conversation. your stomach twisted. he always remembers everything.

“i’m really sorry for ignoring you over the weekend.” heeseung finally returned your stare, and once your eyes had met, you felt your heart squeeze at the sight of misery in his pretty eyes. you hate the sight of him like this. this must be one of the worst things you’ve ever done. you wanted nothing more than for the rain to stop and the clouds to pave way for your sunshine.

“i-i just needed some space,” he continued gently. “and actually… mom thought it was a better idea for her to take my phone, so i didn’t see your texts.”

“oh,” you replied, noticing the distant tone in his voice. “it’s okay, heeseung. i understand.”

“but, um… i did a lot of thinking,” he says, smiling weakly.

you smiled back, though trepidation edged along your nerves. “o-okay.”

his eyes diverted to the side. “i… i wasn’t sad over the weekend because of the letter. i—” you saw his eyes flicker upwards toward the sky, as though he was attempting to contain his tears. “i-i think… i was just upset because…” he bit on his lips as you watched him deliberate over his next words. your heart was beating faster and faster at the possibility this may be the last conversation you ever have with him. it was selfish, but you didn’t know if that would be manageable for you.

because even if he didn’t need you, you needed him.

“because i didn’t tell you about taehyun,” his lips fell into a sad frown. “thing is, i… i was really embarrassed about it. and… well, i-i…” he took a deep, shaky breath.

you knew he was gathering as much courage as he could to speak with you.

“i just really, really, really hate embarrassing myself in front of the person that i like.”

he finally looked up at you and everything in you stopped. blood felt like the crackling of lightning in your veins. every other sound seemed to dull into a deafening silence.

“to clarify, th-that’s you. y-you’re the person that i like. a lot. i like you really a lot— that... doesn’t make sense,” he winced at himself, eyes shut tightly. “i’m sorry, i… i sound so stupid right now.” he slumped his shoulders.

“heeseung, i—”

“wait. p-please let me continue,” he looked up at you through his glasses and you fell straight into his deer-like eyes.

“okay,” you whispered. “go on.”

“i… i just want to be good enough for you,” he finally admitted and you felt everything around you crash. him? good enough for you? he already was; he was more than enough. you were the one struggling to catch up with him. “be someone you can depend on. someone you can trust and be proud of.”

“heeseung,” you step toward him and clasp his hands with yours, forcing him to look back at you. “you’re right. you really do sound stupid.”

“h-huh?” he peered up at you as you saw panic flicker like disco lights in his eyes. “i-i’m sorry, i… i just wanted to come clean and not lie to you anymore. i’m really sorry for pressuring you, i—”

“no,” you shook your head, silencing him immediately. “it’s not because of that.”

you dropped his hands and slid yours in the spaces under his arms where you could wrap around his waist and embrace him into a tight hug. he instantly froze while you allowed yourself to melt into him, your face in his chest.

“fuck,” you mumbled against his uniform, inhaling the scent of his laundry powder. “i missed you like crazy.”

his heart was hammering inside his chest and you squeezed yourself tighter, finding solace in the synchronicity of your beat with his.

“two days and i felt like i was going insane,” you gripped his blazer tightly, “i… i thought you hated me.”

“hate you? n-no way…”

a stupidly wide smile stretched across your lips. slowly, you noticed heeseung was beginning to return your embrace. his arms slowly found their way to your back, and once they rested on your body, you allowed yourself to take a proper breath, engraving memories associated with his scent.

“i like you too, dummy,” you mumbled against the fabric. “ceaselessly. probably way more than you like me.”

“you—”

“yes, me.”

“y-you… you really like me? for real?”

when you release him, his bewildered expression makes you instantly erupt into a fit of laughter. he seems to take this as an indication that you’re messing him because of the way lips return into a point.

“are you kidding?” you scoffed playfully, grabbing his face and cradling it with both hands, his soft skin against yours. “you make it ridiculously easy to.”

“a-are you serious?” he pointed to himself, lashes batting innocently. “you really like me? me? heeseung? you like lee heeseung? you know i’m heeseung, right?”

you stare, astounded by his reaction. “you’re crazy.”

“no, i just told you i’m heeseung,” he deadpanned.

idiot. “yes, heeseung. you. i like you like crazy. it’s sickening how much i do.”

heeseung watched you expressionless for a moment before you watched his face explode with sunshine. speckles of gold dust returned to his eyes and twinkled like constellations. his smile swept his face and instantly made your heart thump out your ears.

“you’re not lying, right? you really like me? and it’s definitely because of my bowties, right?”

you almost wanted to groan aloud and slap yourself in the face, but you stifled down this desire and shook your head instead. sickening, you thought to yourself. his sunshine is so sickeningly sweet.

and if there’s one thing about you — it’s that you have a sweet tooth; and heeseung is a taste you have been dying to have.

“yes. it’s definitely the bowties. they’re basically chick magnets,” you remarked, a smirk forming. “do you know what happens to chick magnets?”

heeseung quickly shook his head.

you smiled. “they get devoured.”

heeseung’s brows slightly furrowed, his head tilted to the side in what appeared to be confusion. he blinked, not quite understanding your implication.

“in other words, i’m going to kiss you.”

that, he understood.

heeseung’s eyes instantly rounded like saucers. “h-huh?”

“i know you heard me,” you took a step toward him, circling your arms around the back of his neck to ring him in close. he blushed at the proximity, and if you were being honest, so did you.

frankly, you were more nervous than you’d thought you would be. this was the fastest and hardest you’d ever felt your heart beat; it almost threatened to leap up through your throat.

perhaps it was because heeseung was an expert at annihilating everything you thought you knew about yourself. he was great at that: showing you that you were much further from who you thought you were, and close to who you thought you could never be. there were no more first, second, third, and fourth experiences anymore. just a life before him and after him.

when you felt his breath nearing and the heat from his chest, you thought your head spun for a moment. it felt as though the distance between your lips were simultaneously the closest and farthest distances apart. it wasn’t until he sighed – a release of just the faintest, softest breath — that the sound swept through your chest like a hurricane, and you felt everything within you topple over.

your whole body sank forward into his and you kissed him. you shut your eyes and did what you feared most — you opened up your heart to him and let everything you had within you flow out so that he could feel every inch of your warmth and sincerity. you led the movement first, noticing the way he tried to mimic your movements. he was slow and uncertain at first, until he followed through with what felt right.

when he began to kiss you back, it felt like fireworks shattered within you. you instantly softened when he looped his arms around your waist and hugged you tightly, because there was no safer feeling than being in his arms.

you knew it.

heeseung is good at everything he tries.

when the kiss deepened, you thought he tasted like he fell from the clouds and the stars. like stardust and eternity and endlessness. you liked the taste of that. all you’ve ever known are temporary people, the leaving and the waiting and the hoping, so it makes all the more sense when you crumble and melt at the taste of forever and focus on carving this memory onto your soul.

you couldn’t deny it any further — you were falling in love with him. in fact, you’d fallen down a slippery slope that led you into a pit with no way of crawling yourself out.

when your lips pull away, you’re both panting for a proper breath. it isn’t until your eyes meet that the world stops moving and something warm ignites like a candle.

you allowed time to pass you by as your eyes raked every feature of his face; drinking in his beauty, indulging in the rare moment you were able to admire him so closely. you felt bewitched by the way the sunlight gently radiated his features; they shone through the sky and struck him like a spotlight, even in broad daylight. being this close to him brought forward all of his prettiest, most finely drawn features – the mole on the left side of his lips, his long, wispy lashes, and the slight scrunch of his brows.

you should’ve stopped, but you couldn’t, because he was prettier the longer you stared.

time slowed while you were slipping further and further into an enchanting spell.

falling.

you always hated that — the sensation of falling. being out of control; being helpless. but somehow, with heeseung it felt different — you were falling through time and space and the stars and the sky and everything in between. it was really beautiful.

you’ve been falling for days and weeks and what felt like lifetime across lifetimes. you fell until it no longer felt like falling, but flying.

“heeseung, you’re really bad at kissing, you know that?”

you felt so bad when his entire face fell and he looked at you with complete horror. “wh-what?”

you placed a finger on his lips to keep him from talking. “since you’re so bad, i think you need a few more lessons,” you smiled. “let’s ditch school and go to back to mine. you know, for education’s sake.” you winked.

heeseung tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, smiling shyly. “o-okay.”

fin.

a/n: and then they went home and watched Star Wars :) ANYWAYS. guys u do not understand I actually went thru 32842378 cycles of frustration, anger, and giddiness while trying to wrap this series up. I'm not lying when I say I have about 6 different versions of this chapter, but I decided to keep it simple and straight to the point because ultimately that's what I felt triage was all about :) if you came here looking for genuine dating tips& got lost im sorry i can’t help u cos I'm in my healing era (subtext: literally no man wants me). but anyways I hope this series brought you a little bit of joy somehow or another. I honestly had the best time writing it ^^ all the best! hope i to see u in my future works too! thanks for reading! love u so much! <3 (also feedback would be vv nice if u have the time!) MWAH

#THIS IS UTTERLY INSANE #she’s literally so fricking good at expressing emotions #how is that possible when she’s literally a crackhead irl #SHE FINISHED ANOTHER STORY!!!#my bestie is too good at what she does #now onto the next story <333

585 notes · View notes

starwarsloverpizza · 2 years ago

Text

Again - 2

Maverick x Iceman x Reader/(Y/N)

Again: 1, 2,

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Fighting, blood, bruises, cursing, somebody saying that genderneutrality isn’t a real gender to Fog, just in case you wanted to know. Slight sexual mentions, character death, someone calling the reader a whore so again just to let you know.

Taglist: @mobiusismyfav, @iceman-goose1, if you wanna be added lemme know!

Notes: Readers callsign is Dragon, their R.I.O. is Ray “Axel” Jones, Fog is readers best friend, reader is a good fighter. Also, give me a word in my asks and I’ll give you a sentence for the next part that’s being made :D

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

“What do you mean?” You asked slowly. You walked up to Tom and cupped his face in your hands. He wouldn’t meet your gaze, he looked down with shame laced into his features.

“Tom, love, whatever happened it wasn’t your fau-”

“No. They flew into my jet wash. I was so damn cocky, I just should’ve let Maverick take the shot. But no, I had to be a bitch and look at what I’ve done! Goose it dead…” He sobbed. His glassy eyes met yours, so many emotions and thoughts behind them. His brown eyes, his beautiful brown eyes, were laced with the deepest guilt you’ve ever seen. Sadness, regret, denial, grief, all of it.

You wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him into a hug. He froze for a moment, unsure of what was happening.

“B-but, I killed him!” He cried.

“No, Tom, you didn’t, you can’t blame yourself, ‘aight?” You whispered firmly. You heard him chuckle lightly before giving back in to his sobs. You could feel him crumbling, emotionally, but also physically.

While you could deal with this in bed, you couldn’t hold him up.

You let go of him and sat on the floor, back against the wall with lockers. He lowered himself to the floor and laid his head on your left shoulder as he weeped. Your sobs joined Toms as you clutched each other tighter. You two stayed there for god knows how long undisturbed.

You kept thinking back to yesterday, you were just singing with him while he played Great Balls of Fire on the piano yesterday. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t fair.

But that’s what life does to you.

“Wonder where Pete is at,” You mumbled as you looked around.

“M’right here,” Pete answered. His eyes were bloodshot and he was in regular clothes. You three shared a moment of silence. There were three emotions you could feel from this silence.

Sadness.

Guilt.

Fear.

The last two were coming from Tom. The fearless pilot was in a raging mental war.

His father was never proud of him, ever. That’s what made Tom’s need to be perfect. It’s how he became the pilot he was. It’s also what tears him apart from time to time. There were other things he had wanted to do but never did because of his father. But the path he took led him to where he was now.

With you two.

“Pete, I’m so sorry for what I did,” Tom began, fresh tears streaming down his face. Pete looked absolutely heartbroken hearing this from him. He strode over to you two and cupped Tom’s face in his hands.

“My love, it’s not your fault. I do not blame you for what happened. I love you, nothing can change that,” He explained, his voice was hoarse. He proceeded to press a soft kiss onto Tom’s forehead. When he pulled away he laid his head on your right shoulder.

In the silence you three mourned and cried.

You had to get it out before you saw Carole and Bradley again.

This morning you didn’t put on jeans and a t - shirt.

Mav didn’t put on his leather jacket when he left your house.

Tom wasn’t swinging his car keys on his finger once he got outside.

Fog wasn’t cracking a joke.

The four of you put on sunglasses as you approached your mustang.

The four of you were in uniform.

The four of you were leaving for Nick’s funeral.

Honestly, you were guilty for how fast this was going by. You guys had already given your speeches.

Pete had already put the wings on Nick’s casket. This would hurt for him for a long time. You could tell even from where you sat that he wished that he would never have to do it again. After he knocked in the wings, he let his hand rest on Nick’s casket for a brief moment.

His final farewell.

Carole was being handed the flag, Bradley at her side.

Bradley.

He loved his father so much. He’s so young, he didn’t deserve this.

Goose didn’t deserve this.

A single tear escaped your eye once the reception was over. Nick was gone. One of your best friends was gone. Not on a mission and set to return at some unknown time, but forever.

Dead.

“Fuck,” You whispered through gritted teeth, only Fog hearing you. They could just tell what was up with you, when you were sad, when you needed comfort, even if you didn’t know.

“He’s still happy,” They whispered under their breath to you. You smiled, that's what you needed to hear.

Interesting.

“Bradley!” You called out to him. He cocked his head towards you and began to walk over to where you were standing. You kneeled down to his eye level and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t give up on your dreams. If someone tells you you can’t do it, holds you back, whatever else, you can. Don’t forget that,” You stated. The kid gave you a bit of a confused look before smiling and falling into your embrace. You hoped he took it to heart.

You really did.

It’s been two days since the funeral. You three had been carrying out Top Gun as usual. You all knew Maverick was having a hard time flying, but you didn’t blame him. Fog was still with you, thank god. It was great having them there. You four had been in your house until recently that afternoon, you left to go to the base to get a couple of things.

You ended up in an indoor common room, which was a main hangout for everyone other than the bar. There were a lot of people in the room. You waved that off.

All of your tears were spent, but you were still empty. Fog could tell. They might not have been as close to Nick as you three, but they continued to grieve with you. They were always by your side. They came over as soon as they heard, which was two hours after you three had left the locker room. They had raced to your house and went inside with their key. Fog being here for you, for the three of you, made you so happy you couldn’t even explain it.

You were sitting on a table with Fog, Ice and Mav were leaning against it. Sundown walked up to you. You hadn’t talked to him much, simple greetings were all.

“Hey, (Y/N), Fog, boys, I wanted to give you guys my condolences for Goose,” He stated. He was about eye level with you ‘cause you were sitting on the table. He was probably a couple inches taller than you. As was pretty much everyone.

Except for Mav.

2 inches.

“Thanks man,” You said with a dry voice.

“I also wanted to tell you four something,” He added, venom seeping into his voice. The fuck was going on?

“Fog, go fuck yourself. You and your ‘gender’ make no sense,” He began. As soon as he began you jumped off the table and got into his face. Even with Fog weighing it down, the table slid back a good four feet.

“Take that back right now! I do not have the self restraint to not beat you the fuck up if you continue,” You growled. Ice and Mav stood behind you.

“Maverick, you can’t fly! You were never meant to anyway. You and your family are a disgrace to the Navy,” He continued. You swung your right fist as hard as you could, aiming for his very punchable face. Ice caught your wrist.

“(Y/N), he isn’t worth it,” He whispered. His voice was apologetic, he knew Sundown was way outta fucking line. You still needed to kick the shit out of him though.

“Ice, let me hit him,” You hissed as a warning, near harmonizing. Ice shook his head slowly, his eyes were filled with warning and worry.

He knew you could fight. Hell, everyone did, Fog especially. You were probably one of the best fighters in the Navy. Whenever you got in a fight you always came out on top, always. Mind you, you had to have been in around 50 in your many years.

You groaned in annoyance, and swung with your left hand. You didn’t hit as hard with your left hand, and you weren’t able to carry out your momentum because Ice had a strong grasp on your right side.

You were aiming for the center of his stomach, but Maverick caught your hand. Your eyes widened. You had never been held back from a fight before, and you weren’t gonna hurt either of them to get to Sundown.

You struggled against both of their grips, giving a good fight for it, but they held you where you were all the same.

“Heh, Ice has some sense in him. He’s still the fault for Goose's death, you three all know that. However, Maverick isn’t without blame-”

“You motherfucker! Take it back!” You yelled at him, tears forming in your eyes. You had the attention of many personnel right now. You struggled more against your lovers’ grips, but you couldn’t get out of them. You growled and kicked at Sundown, but he just laughed in amusement. You felt helpless, not being able to stand up for your friends in one of the best ways you could.

“Sundown! As an order from your superior, stop talking!” Fog said as they stood in between you two, causing you to stop kicking.

“I don’t give a damn about what you say, even if you’re a five star admiral! Sit down bitch,” He exclaimed as he shoved them to the side. You yelled a string of curses and threats at him for that.

“Ha, aren’t you powerless right now,” He noted. This must’ve been an interesting scene for the people watching. Your feet were planted on the floor and you kept leaning forward against Ice and Mav’s grip as an attempt to even lay a single hit on this bitch.

With your fighting reputation, you would’ve at least shoved the people holding you back by now but you hadn’t.

You wouldn’t.

You can’t.

“Let me hit him!” You pleaded one last time. You didn’t even look back to them, you knew they wouldn’t. You stopped struggling against their grip and stood still. They didn’t lessen their grip though. Smart decision.

“You better run the fuck out of here before they let me go. I’ll give you a ten second head start. When I get to you though, I will break your goddamn nose,” You bargained. Sundown laughed.

“I haven’t even gotten to you yet!” He said hysterically. Your eyes shot daggers at him as you panted. You used too much energy trying to get to him. You needed to gain some so you could beat him up as much as you wanted.

“You’re just gonna be another pilot to be forgotten once you're gone-”

“Same to you you cold-hearted fuck!” You retorted. He gave you a poison laced smirk before continuing.

“You’ll leave no legacy or any mark of importance upon the Navy.” You could tell Ice and Mav were giving him a look, and seriously considering letting you go.

“As for you and your personal life,” He began, leaning down to meet your gaze, “you’re nothing but another whore unworthy of actual love-”

Your right fist connected with his nose. Your left fist to the side of his head. And you hit his nose with your right hand again. Blood was pouring from it. You kicked his stomach with your right foot and he staggered back a few inches.

You glanced at Ice and Mav, as a thanks for them for letting you go at him.

You smiled with the satisfaction of finally being able to hit him. You were drawing blood too, an added perk.

“Ok Dragon, let’s get out of here before things get out of hand,” Fog stated. It sounded more like a plea in a way.

“Too late,” Sundown replied. He ran at you, ramming you into the table you were sitting on earlier. You let out a grunt of pain when your lower back hit it.

“My turn,” He declared before grabbing your shoulders and pushing you down so your back was against the table.

Wait.

You knew what he was about to do-

He pushed you back against the table three times, head hitting it hard. Your vision blurred a bit and there was a faint ringing in your ears that echoed throughout your head.

You definitely had a concussion.

Well, maybe.

You didn’t know.

You shook your head, getting rid of most of the ringing.

Ice was about to hit Sundown. While you appreciated the gesture, no one interfered in your fights.

“Ice, don’t worry, I got this,” You slurred. Your head hurt so bad. You looked at Sundown with bloodthirsty eyes. You stood back up, swaying on the spot. Oh shit, hitting him wouldn’t be easy, but adrenaline seemed to help clear the blurriness a lot.

You looked at him, and even for all of his talk, you saw fear behind his eyes.

He should be scared. You gave him a smirk and the room filled with anticipation.

“Never,” you punched him in the face, “Ever,” You hit him in the face again, “Ever!” You yelled as you elbowed him in the gut. “Talk to me-” You backhanded him with your fist with so much force he fell to the ground, “Or any of them,” you kicked his stomach three times. He kicked you in the gut, but you grabbed his legs and stomped down on his gut with your right foot, “Like that-” He punched you on the right collarbone. “Ever-” You grabbed his right arm and punched his right shoulder back until you had dislocated it. “Again!” You had stopped your main rampage. You were kneeling on the floor and had his face pinned to the floor with your left hand.

“Understand Sundown?” You asked with sarcastic innocence. He growled as he punched you in the face with his left arm. It fucking hurt. You could taste blood in your mouth. You hit him in the gut again and pinned his left arm to the floor with your right foot and lined up a punch with his nose. From this angle it would break easily.

“Apologize and I’ll let you walk away,” You offered.

This is what made you unique when you fought. Before you would land the blow that would make them regret every life decision leading up to this moment, you would give them the chance to apologize and walk off with what they had.

Otherwise, they were gonna have an even worse day.

“I don’t take it back,” He growled with an edge of defiance. You shrugged and reeled back your arm. You drove it forward.

Crack

His nose was broken.

Job was done.

Murmurs fell across the room.

“Oh, I’m gonna win Top Gun this year too,” You said to him slyly. He was groaning on the floor, left hand cradling his nose. You looked over yourself. Your knuckles were bleeding and bruised. Your nose was bleeding and you had split your lip-

“Dragon?” You heard a voice ask.

“I copy,” You joked, leaning against a nearby table.

“Good fight!” You heard Slider continue. He was the person who called your callsign previously.

“Thanks bro. Also, congrats to all who witnessed! I’ll be giving out autographs next Tuesday,” You joked. A wave of laughter fell across the room, but only lightly among your nearby friends.

“Oh shit, (Y/N), you’re pretty fucked up,” Pete noted, his voice was laced with worry.

“Other than the concussion-”

“Not a concussion, doesn’t hurt as much,” You cut Tom off. He gave a relieved sigh before continuing.

“You're bruised badly, bleeding from the face, and the back of your head,” Tom added. You could tell you were fucked up too.

And why suddenly switching to their names? Dunno. You guess you were scared, so that explained it for ya.

“Thanks for letting me know, but I need to see Viper now,” You said. Fog had gotten some napkins for your face, which you took quickly. It stung a little bit, but it was better than having blood run down your face.

“I’m right here Dragon. Sundown, get the fuck out of here,” You heard Viper say. Sundown groaned before leaving the room. He might have to go to the hospital because of what you did to him, but he deserved it.

“Ah! Nice to see you sir!” You greeted him with a smile. You were holding the napkins against your nose so he could see it. He gave you one too, but his brows were knitted together.

“You fought well, I was watching,” He said with an edge of mystery. You nodded upon hearing that, not knowing how to respond.

“Anyway, I’m gonna check if your head’s ok, but you’ll have to deal with the rest,” He explained as he led you four out of the room.

“Yea, I know, I know,” You trailed off, like you had said it before. Which you have, multiple times before. Mostly to Fog though, they were there with you for about 75% of your fights. They were the one who would patch you up afterwards if needed.

“Dragon, you should stop getting into fights, one’s gonna fuck you up bad!” Fog started as they came up to your side.

“No, no, no,” You grinned as you wagged a finger, “I know what I’m doing. Besides, you know my rule when it comes to fighting!”

You two smiled at each other for a second.

“Whatever you do to me, I do to you tenfold,” You two recited, causing you two to burst out laughing.

“Does that rule apply to us in bed?” Tom smirked into your ear.

“Mother fuckerrrrrrrrr, you can’t do that to meeeeee” You whined as heat spread across your face.

“Especially while I’m around,” Viper added from ahead of you four. Your breath caught in your throat as you gave life a disgruntled growl.

“Forget you heard that,” Pete whispered.

106 notes · View notes

artificialbreezy · 3 years ago

Text

Jake Kiszka NSFW Alphabet

1Warnings: minors DNI, smut smut smut

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word count: 1464

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

Biggest dom in the book man. So he obviously knows how to take care of you. He always has water on the bedside table, and a towel ready to wipe your face. After he gets you kinda cleaned up, he'll run you a shower and get you in and then jump in himself and wash your body, and then your hair. And he'll carry you to bed once he gets you cleaned up fully.

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

On you, it's definitely your legs, man he loves your legs. Firm believer in thick thighs saves lives. They're always so soft and comfortable for when he lays in your lap, but also amazing ear muffs for when he devours you.

On himself, the man plays guitar. His hands. He can move his fingers rather fast and he knows how much that drives you crazy. And plus, his hands just look good. Especially, wrapped around your throat.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Honestly, the man will ONLY cum inside you. He's a possessive man. It's his way of marking you as his. And my god, the view of his cum leaking out of you, just drives him up a wall. LOVES it.

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

His biggest fantasy right now, is to fuck in an empty concert venue. He knows it's a little risky, but something about the thought just gets him really going. But he also knows that there is never really a time to do that so for now he will keep daydreaming about it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's a rockstar so you'd think pretty experienced. But before you, he was a nerdy, emo kid from frankenmuth. So he really didn't get too much action. But he wasn't a virgin by any means when you two got together. He has always gotten you off, so he knows what to do.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Honestly, it depends on his mood. Sometimes it's doggie and other times it's missionary and then sometimes it's riding.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He loves a little bit of giggle if it's not a punishment session, or a rougher session.

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

Pretty well kept up to be honest. He doesn't keep it bare, but he does have a slight stubble.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

All about you, making sure you get praised. Sweet, and soft kisses along your jawline and neck. Gentle touches to your body, slow and sweet sex. Just making sure you feel loved.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Honestly, he'll do it if he needs to. Like if you're not there, or for some reason you're not in the mood. Other than that, if he does do it, he prefers to have you on facetime or a phone call so he can hear your noises as you guys get off together.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Man has a lot, here we go. But we'll do the top 3.

Breeding kink- he LIVES to see his cum dripping out of you

Daddy/Sir kink- he is 100% dom. And when in those sessions, he will only accept daddy or sir

Breath play- He loves hearing you struggle to breathe when his hands around your throat. And that smile you get when he first chokes you, my god he knows you're a slut for him and he loves it.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Mainly the bedroom, he likes to have some sort of privacy when he ruins you. But he`s also pretty hype to fuck you on the couch.

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

Your body, my god. He has never seen anything more perfect to him.

Watching you jam out against the barricade at his show. He knows you're gonna be drenched when he's done and he honestly can't wait to devour you once he's done. Thankfully he has a guitar to hide his boner.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

CNC. Absolutely not. He can't seem to get into that, it scares him a little bit and he wouldn't do anything to even hurt you like that. Whether you wanted him to or not. Hard no from Jacob Kiszka.

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

Man loves when you ride his face. Just having you grind against his tongue when he makes a mess of you, my god yes.

But if youre giving, man oh man, he loves the way your mouth feels wrapped around him. He doesn't know what you do or even how you do it, all he knows is he will nut in probably 5 minutes.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends. Sometimes he`s fast as fuck and rough and other times hes slow and sweet.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

YES. Just yes, sometimes he just needs to feel you before a show or even just while you guys are at his parents. He'll sneak into the bathroom while you're showering, just so he can get you off.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Absolutely, he`ll try mostly anything once, as long as you're game to try too.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can last a while quite honestly. And you're not complaining. Usually that can equal up to 3 hours of a session.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

My god yes. He really doesn't use them on himself, just you. But only to tease you, never to fully get you off because that's his job. Unless he's not there. Then you have options on which toy youre feeling, on one condition, you call so he can hear you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He will tease you for hours, until you are so desperate he laughs. He calls you his pathetic little toy and my god that just sends you over the edge.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He always had to share a room with Josh growing up, and he's always with his band mates so he's typically pretty quiet. Unless you're alone. Then he's pretty vocal. But even when he has to be quiet, he'll get in your ear and whisper sweet nothings, or he'll degrade you and get you so far on the edge you're crying.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He was sitting on the tour bus one night while the guys were sleeping. It was around 3:30 in the morning and he just couldn't sleep. The only thing on his mind was you. So he did what he could, since he couldn't call and talk you through anything, he texted you. To which you replied. ``Baby, I can't get you off my mind. Can I please see you?`` is what the text read, you left him on read for a couple minutes so he thought you'd fallen asleep. To his surprise, he got a picture of your half naked body on his side of the bed, which just sent him over the edge. He needed to get off and he needed too soon. Before he could respond he got a video, it was kind of dark but he could make out that it was a toy between your legs, just going to town, trying to get yourself off. He quickly grabbed his headphones and started playing the videos. ``Oh god, please Sir.`` You sounded so desperate and needy. The minute he heard you moan his name he was done for. Mess all over his chest and he knew it was his turn to encourage you to get off.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Okay, so he isn't HUGE. But he is kinda packing. Around 7 and half inches with a slight curve.

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

Man is horny damn near 24/7. So any time you truly are in the mood, he jumps right on it.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He usually falls asleep pretty quickly quite honestly. He'll pull you close to him after your guys` shower, and he'll just pass out holding you.

302 notes · View notes

lizzybizzyzzz · 4 years ago

Text

some more sam wilson headcanons that I'll take to my grave

he's so flexible and light on his feat despite being such a big guy because he was a dancer. ballet, tap, ballroom, jazz, you name it he knows it.

sam is a good kisser. don't ask me how I know, I just do

sam loves hugs. goodmorning hugs, goodnight hugs, see-you-not-soon-enough hugs, he'll use any excuse to hug once he knows the other person is okay with it

stress baker. he shows up at sarah's doorstep at three in the morning with homemade sourdough french toast sticks and they eat them together in the kitchen and she talks about her day to soothe him

sam takes the kids to buy mother's day presents for sarah every year since her husband has died

loves parties and going clubbing

every year when the anniversary of riley's death comes along he holes himself up in his room and doesn't come out until its over. he doesn't move, doesn't eat, just stares and the wall as the day replays in his mind over and over again (sarah tries to help but he doesn't let her)

his favorite holiday is definitely christmas. the food, the family, the decorations, gift giving

absolutely bathes in sunlight any chance he gets soaks it all up because it feels like the rays of sun are running across his skin, lays right in the grass of on the hard wood of the dock and lets his feet dangle in the water

everytime sam has a nightmare about rhodey hitting the ground he doesn't hesitate to hit the call button because rhodey always answers in that grumpy fatherly whats the matter with you this time but there's no bite and all concern. rhodey talks about his day and his physical therapy until sam is snoring on the line

sam is really good at everything domestic. laundry? perfect. hosting dinner guests? classy. you name it, he's good at it

probably sits on his porch everynight and is the neighbor that's overly friendly, sarah drags him in by the collar with a leave those damn people alone, sam

belts adele songs on his cleaning sprees

doesn't read directions when he puts furniture together

dad jokes that make everyone within a 5 mile radius groan while sam laughs hysterically

loves being kissed on the cheek

sam signed up for the air force the night he got back from his father's funeral. he'd tucked sarah to bed, turned out the lights then enlisted.

sam is very ticklish and his favorite color is probably orange or yellow

a dinosaur nerd if I've ever seen one. naturally excels at science and math. probably watches history documentaries when everyone has fallen asleep and no one can make fun if him for it

he unabashedly loves people. sam is open to sharing kindness but isn't open to accepting it for himself. he bleeds his heart out for the world but can't take a single band aid in return. he is the glass half full that humanity does not deserve, but should strive to be

plays guitar with a little clumsy fingerings but its still soothing nonetheless

#tfatws #sam wilson #sam wilson headcanons #marvel #mcu

496 notes · View notes

a-hazbin-spider · 9 months ago

Note

He may not know what cathode rays are, but he does know what glass is! And- certainly knows a handsome face! He’s no fool! And Vox likely isn’t either. Actually, it is proven to him near every day that the overlord here really did have a good, sharp mind. “I ain’t seen much else from ya, you’s pretty smart, and yeh, I’d say yer face’s definitely got charm to it! Ain’t hard to gain admirers I reckon.”

Talking about all the performances live, or rolling for a live audience, single tapes to adhere to..? Yeah he might not know too much about its magic, aside from the rare bliss that perfection gives him, but it made Vox happy. That’s easy to see! Almost like it was a bit easy to hear and essentially feel the verbal mistake he’d made. Vox grimaces, and yet again, Angel is faced with the Shocking Revelation that bullshit he deals with was not in itself a funny story to tell.

“Well I hope not! Though I can only imagine not everythin runs smooth fer broadcast. But. If it’s any consolation t’you? I’d say yer head don’t look like it’ll be fallin off anytime soon.” Haha- he thinks he’s clever with a joke like that, doesn’t he, just look at that cheeky little grin. “Th’writers? I guess you could say that. They still got deadlines n’ shit, but even without? At least in my work, I’d argue some of the shit I gotta try an’ read might be the most insane brain hemorrhage worthy horsepiss from anywhere.”

Oh- those little flashes of color, those were actually rather precious. Vox’s smile turned into something far too sweet to exist, he’s not entirely opposed to it though. Neither is he a stranger to distraction. Likely not in the same way of course. “I can’t even imagine. I already have trouble jus’ remembering how to speak English sometimes, or if I need to do math and somethin’ else together? Pretty much impossible. I get distracted by the controls on a car window. Yer success sounds like one that was damn well earned. You really put yer work in for it, a’right? Everythin goin on, you took time to organize. like them big computers. All the wires an’ cables can tangle if you ain’t take th’ time to sort em.” Not that he knows much. But, he remembers enough, evidently. He’s been around for a while. “I kinda hope it ain’t so obnoxious a thing for ya anymore. That’s kinda my role.”

His hand got held, and squeezed. Oh… hey that was- really nice. Warm and strangely he felt comfort when he didn’t think he’d need any to feel. Maybe it was just him? Yeah. “Heh- hey, don’t worry about my family. Either way, you’d prolly be a good brother. Sure got a good head on ya shoulders if nothin’ else~”

That good head that can roll with any punch given to him on live adaptations, and screenings, quick wit for interview and feedback: not to mention high influence over a goddamn city. It was incredible. “I get it. Any performances I gotta do better be perfect. Heh, no matter how much yer hurtin’ or how terrified ya might be, had a few bones fucked on a pole routine, but th’ show must go on! Entertainers are crazy. We’re totally batshit.” That last bit sounds like a new self discovery. If you’re crazy and I’m crazy? Who’s flying the plane?

Vox decided to allow him a demonstration, and it was clear that Angel was into it- or, interested might be a better phrasing. A light chitter sounds and the message is read with what can only be a sort of wonder and delight! “That already looks like my messages do..! Heh! That’s so cool..!”

Don’t look too close, he’s probably getting serotonin from those petnames for the next month. Can’t say they aren’t paying his brain any rent! That and- the levels of control that Vox had over shit? That was nothing short of incredible. No wonder he’s got such a grip over the shit in the business. Almost could make a guy jealous- that’s a pretty big gig. He’d remember to send over messages with plenty of cute hearts. It is only fair!

#the ball rolled back!: reply #angel dust; y’know from tv?#vox: find a love or a power plug #voxiiferous #whoosh! gay spider be upoj ye

21 notes · View notes

ackerfics · 4 years ago

Note

hi, rory! <3 what majors would the sc veterans take if they were in the modern world?

hi, anon !! thank you so much for this ask, this is heaven in disguise from all my schoolwork. tbh, the whole time i was working for a lab report, my mind will go back to this ask bc i wanted to have the association as accurate as possible hhhajshw

i asked one of my friends for help and thank God for them bc my single brain cell really said 'it's time for you to rest' after staring at one backlog. without further ado, here are the veterans' majors if they're studying in university:

first off, hange zoe, because if you ask me this question in real life, they would be the only one i can answer. every damn time i would think of them in a college setting, being a biology major is really hange's forte. at this point, this is what everyone would associate them with.

hange is all about experimenting and doing brilliant breakthroughs in any field of science but knowing that they have this unparalleled fascination with the unusual and unexpected life-forms (ahem titans ahem), the biology lab would be the surest place where you could find hange. i feel like biology is too broad so i will add that microbiology or bacteriology are just some of the specializations they will be taking in their time in college.

imagine, being lab partners with hange and immediately knowing that you will have one of the highest grades in the class because they're that well-versed in a specific lab report. and if you're partners with them for the rest of the academic year, you might as well have a shot at an immaculate grade. i'm not saying that you should depend on them too much though hHHHH, hange is still a member of the majority of the student body who relies heavily on caffeine to keep them invigorated. who isn't at this point?

so far, some of the biology majors that i encountered (well, more like chatted behind a screen — online classes suck), they have this energy that could drain my social battery too quickly and hange fits that description. (note that this doesn't apply to any college bc i observed this in mine soooo 🤭) they're the type to always go on a tangent on a certain science article or coerce you into joining this org thing. i can imagine levi just looking at hange like they're the one sucking his brain cells out whenever they speak about a documentary in bbc they watched the night before.

and if you're stuck on anything biology-related, hange will be the best person to ask help from. they're the first ray of sunlight you get while waking up. they're that approachable.

okay, so erwin smith.

don't come at me but he just radiates this ceo vibes and with that, one of his probably majors is business administration. i know this is so stereotypical of me but let's face it, erwin is a smooth talker through and through and if he doesn't take up marketing, business is one way to spend his college years. knowing his personality in attack on titan of establishing deals easily with a determined resolve, he fits the broadest description of being a business administration major. (again, don't come at me because my consultant for this statement is google and nobody comes after google sometimes hhhhh)

just for the benefit of myself, i will add what google says about this major, "[they] learn the mechanics of business through classes in fundamentals, such as finance, accounting and marketing ... students find ways to solve problems using data and they develop communication and managerial skills." and i thank you.

he's also probably the most well-spoken and most professional when conversing with others among his friends (and i'm not saying this to drag the other characters but this is what i pick up on) and that is exactly the qualities his major specializes. it is expected for them to strike deals and be a people person and who better character for the job than our very own erwin smith 🤩

now i mentioned 'one of the probable majors' and yes, aside from business administration, philosophy just exudes erwin smith. ngl, when i imagined erwin in a college setting, this major will always come first. his mind is just so sexy to me??? and i hope you guys think the same, too, because i don't want to be the only one who thinks that 👀 kidding aside, erwin is one of the smartest people in attack on titan and every time he speaks in one episode, my brain will instantly go mush, and that's what i feel when i hear philosophy majors talk.

philosophy majors (according to any other youtuber who does lookbooks for various majors hhhhhh) challenge what is unanswerable and analyze questions with no right answer. i feel like erwin, like hange, will talk all night to explain a theory. just imagine a date with him and you just listen to him rant about a topic that they should be making a report on. just listen to this man, okay?? it's adorable when he lets his guard down to include you in his little bubble of philosophies. he would also mention random things that he learned in classes, sometimes finding joy in knowing the philosophies of other people, or even deciphering levi's dream of an apocalyptic world. (it pisses levi off but he just leave him be.)

if you want a man who can do both of these majors, erwin smith is the answer 😉

sigh, mike zacharias.

this man holds so many talents and will forever amaze me.

i assume all of us here watched the movie perfume. and no, i'm not saying that mike is going to be a murderer but just like the main character of that film, making perfumes will be his forte with that sense of smell of his. and here, i conclude that mike will definitely take up chemical engineering.

he gives me the vibes that if it covers the one thing he does best, he will love his major. (mr. zacharias, can you please spare me that quality because i really need that now 😩) being in the labs while experimenting mundane things that can be found in the environment to create different scents is also a likely situation you can find him in, again, very much like hange. he's the type of student who really puts so much effort in staying afloat the honors list, even to the point of topping midterms in his major, for the sake of his dream. there will never be a moment where you will catch him complain about his major and professors.

he's that type of friend in college who agrees to any rant you say but in reality, he's got his life easy 😭

i headcanon mike owning a perfume shop after college just like how levi always dreamed of having a tea shop.

okay, imagine this little scenario if you're dating mike where he creates this unique perfumes as random gifts for you. they're not the typical perfumes that can seep through the room and can make you gag for no reason, they're subtle scents that will stay for the duration of the day. because again, he's got a sensitive nose, so making perfumes according to what his sense of smell dictates will always result in a revolutionary experiment. if you're randomly blurting out that you want a fusion of flowers and fruits as your perfume, say no more, he's your man.

now, the veteran who i find the hardest to associate a major with — levi ackerman.

after much deliberation and a break from plant physiology, i see him taking up law or criminology.

(i asked some of this from my mom because she attended law school :>>>)

levi is so organized and detailed in the things that he do and he fits in either of these majors since they require tedious memorizations and analysis of laws and crime scenes while being assertive enough to defend someone. he's the typical person who blurts out the true situation of a crime scene when watching film adaptations. yeah, he's that person, the one who sucks the enthusiasm out of you while watching a movie because he just had to correct some of the scenes. nevertheless, he means well though, he just wanted you to understand the reality unlike how films portray gruesome murders. movie nights always end up with levi ranting about half-assed mystery clichés.

levi's binder of readings are always too bright for everyone's good. his notes are full of highlighters and scribbles that it can blind someone. for one, he's always up all night studying his readings and cases for a practice court so by choosing neon highlighters, it's a way for him to wake up. there isn't one book in his possession that he doesn't highlight like it's a fricking coloring book. hange once jokingly said that his binder now acts like his bible and for once, he agrees because he was never seen without one. hange had a field day since levi never agrees with them.

when doing practice courts though, his go-to resting bitch face always come in handy when carrying out his role as one of the lawyers. he's just so sexy with his hands in the pockets of his slacks as he tries to justify his supposed client. the way he questions the accused definitely isn't hot because he's like one of the panelists in your thesis defense, the one who just comes up with questions that have you melting on the spot. he's dangerous i tell you. it also doesn't help if you accidentally hurt one of his friends or just landed randomly in his blacklist for being annoying as hell. relax though, he doesn't mean harm other than the fact that he's ready to throw some hands from all the pent-up rage he gathered in his body.

of course, i couldn't forget how he dresses up like a typical dark academia fanatic so look out for eye-candy.

if you want someone who can recite articles from the constitution, this man is perfect for you 😌

i had so much fun doing this !! again, i'm not generalizing every major i've talked about in these little headcanons, this is all for fun and based on the people i encountered in college. if you want more of this, don't hesitate to ask !! 😚

#attack on titan #aot #levi ackerman #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #snk #levi ackerman x reader #attack on titan headcanons #hange zoe #hange zoe x reader #mike zacharias #mike zacharias x reader #erwin smith #college au #erwin smith x reader

161 notes · View notes

sanguineness-wings · 4 years ago

Text

Why are you running?

(read on ao3)

Pairing: Hawks x gn!Reader

Rating: SFW

Warnings: bird traits/instincts

hawks/raptors have this instinct to chase and attack if you turn your back on them, so what if you accidentally trigger it 👀

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

The sun was dipping low on the horizon, sending amber rays of light between the tightly packed skyscrapers. You shield your eyes from the light as you step out of the convenience store, your groceries in hand. After you take a moment for your eyes to adjust, you note a small crowd gathering just up the sidewalk from you. And from the center of it sprouts a large pair of crimson wings.

It’s a dead giveaway, those wings were plastered everywhere across the city, on billboards, on buses. There’s no escaping Hawks’ image.

As you watch on, the man himself suddenly hovers above his adoring fans, stretching out his impressive wing span leisurely. Leaving you with a perfect view of his wind tossed hair kissed with dying sunlight and a lopsided smile on his lips.

It makes your heart clench as you look on with awe. He’s so effortlessly beautiful it hurts to look at him. It’s also incredibly intimidating. How can those fans just talk to him like it’s nothing. You couldn’t even imagine.

Your staring must have caught his attention as suddenly his gaze turns and locks onto yours. You feel your stomach lurch, frozen with embarrassment. Hawks has the audacity to offer you a softer smile, making your cheeks heat up instantly.

Your brain screams at you to leave now. Your shyness urging you flee the unexpected attention. So you sharply turn your back to the crowd, and the gorgeous Pro Hero, and hurriedly make your escape.

Without consciously knowing why, you take a final glance over your shoulder. Even with Hawks’ signature visor over is eyes, you can see his pupils dilate, nearly completely blown black before constricting to tiny pin pricks in a split second. His smile has fallen from his face, leaving behind a cold blankness. A shiver runs through you and a cold sweat breaks out under your collar.

Your brain unhelpfully supplies, “Haha, I’m in danger!” Adrenaline courses through your veins and you run. A full sprint down the sidewalk in panic. It’s a ridiculous response in hindsight, but you’ve never seen such an inhuman look on Hawks’ face.

You barely make it a few feet before you feel a gust of wind behind you and suddenly your vision is nothing but red. Massive wings envelope you entirely as powerful arms lock around your waist, almost bruising in their strength. You’re dragged to your knees as the body behind you curls over your spine. You feel the prickle of stubble against your neck and jaw, hot puffs of breath against your skin. You’re utterly trapped.

All logical thoughts are thrown out the window with your heart thundering against your ribs. You don’t dare move a muscle.

An indiscernible amount of time passes before you hear a huffed laugh next to your ear, making you shudder.

“Well, isn’t this embarrassing, damn. I’m really sorry about all this. Are you alright?” Hawks says in a tight voice as he slowly releases you from his grip.

You’re shaking as you awkwardly stumble to your feet, Hawks aiding with a gentle, gloved hand on your elbow. When you finally get the courage to glance at his face, your heart does a somersault in your chest. A light blush dusts the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. He has a hand behind his head sheepishly, using the other to steady you on your jelly-like legs.

“I haven’t done something like that since I was a teenager in training,” he admits, bashfulness coloring his voice.

“…and what was that exactly?” You finally find your voice, wincing inwardly at how shaken it sounds.

“Oh you know, like…bird stuff? Well, hawk stuff? Like predator instinct?” Hawks shifts from foot to foot, looking anywhere but you.

“Like...you thought I was prey?”

“No! No, it’s not like that. Well, I mean kind of. But not really? It’s hard to explain. You turned your back and I just…couldn’t help myself. I’m really sorry. Did I hurt you at all?” Seeing this level of uncomfortableness on Hawks was so jarring from how he normally carries himself in the public eye. It was like all of his confidence was parred away.

“I’m okay, really. Just gave me a fright, that’s all.” You’re really trying your best to sound casual, adding a weak laugh to hopefully defuse the tension.

He humors you, offering a half-hearted smile as he stoops down to gather up your groceries that you didn’t notice had spilled across the sidewalk.

"Well, if you’re sure you’re okay, I should be off. A hero’s job never stops.”

And with that he’s gone, taking off into the sky. You stand there dumbly on the sidewalk in shock for a few beats.

You then hear murmuring, whispering, and the click of photos being captured. Horrified, you realize Hawks’ fans were watching everything and recorded every second of it. You curse under your breath as you start rushing home, ignoring the growing crowd behind you. If Hawks wasn’t going to eat you alive, the internet certainly was.

---

Get it together, Hawks. What the hell was that?

The winged hero cursed at himself with gritted teeth and a furrowed brow as he shot across the sky. He shouldn’t have done that. He was trained not to do that. The Commission pushed him hard to ignore the animalistic pull to hunt and another traits they deemed unsightly or dangerous. And he had gotten good at suppressing those instincts. He passed all of their tests and drills after years of intense training. He never had a slip up since starting his Pro career.

His mind was racing as he tried to pin point what made him react like that. Did he let his guard down? Got too comfortable in the moment?

He thought of the way you trembled in his arms, immobilized with fear. The thundering of your panicked heart and the quiver of your voice. A shiver crept down his spine, making his hair and feathers stand on end. He liked it. The thrill of it all lighting up parts of his brain long neglected.

A frustrated growl escaped his lips, lost to the roar of the wind around him. He really shouldn’t be entertaining those thoughts, even for a moment. He felt gross.

He dug his phone from his pocket, sending a text to his PR manager. The least he could do was give them a heads up. Though pictures and videos of the whole incident were probably already circulating. His PR team had their work cut out for them, it was a seriously bad look for the hero.

Almost immediately after he sent the text his phone buzzed angrily with replies from his team and an incoming call from the Commission. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach. It was going to be a long night.

---

The days following were a nightmarish blur of embarrassment and anxiety. Your brief brush with Hawks was plastered across every social media platform. You couldn’t escape all of the memes and GIFs. You wanted nothing more than to blink from existence.

Most people thought the whole thing was funny, even wishing it was them tackled to the sidewalk by Hawks. Your coworkers teased you mercilessly, constantly asking if you at least got his number afterwards.

There weren’t many, but a few comments filled you with anger. They were using this to fuel for their hatred towards those with heteromorphic quirks. They claimed that this proved they were dangerous, nothing more than animals. Which, of course, was ridiculous.

But you did your best to keep your head down and ignore the notifications on your phone. You kept reassuring yourself that this would all blow over soon. And sure enough by the end of the week the internet was distracted by “leaked” selfies of Hawks in grey sweatpants, posing in front of a bathroom mirror.

---

Hawks had just started an early morning patrol as he glided and weaved through the streets. He’d been taking on extra hours lately, finding it easier to distract himself on the job rather than staring at his bedroom ceiling. Who needed sleep anyway. If he stopped, all he could think about was you. The fear on your face. Your frantic pulse against his skin. Guilt gnawed away at him. He didn’t want to scare you, what type of hero would he be if he did.

Instead of dwelling on the thoughts eating at him, he focused on the streets below him. It was relatively quiet, only a scattering of people going about their lives. He swooped lower, maneuvering between lamp posts just for his own entertainment. He pulled up short abruptly, nearly smacking into one of them.

His heart lurched in his chest, recognizing you immediately as you made your way down the street. He had a little mental battle with himself. Half of him wanted to talk to you, just reassure himself that you were truly okay after all this madness. The other have was telling him to leave you alone, that he’d only made it worse.

After hovering awkwardly for a few moments he made his decision. He made a show of circling ahead of you before landing, trying not to startle you.

---

Having Hawks appear in front of you was the very last thing you expected on your walk to work. You had convinced yourself that you’d never see him again and that, even if your paths crossed, he wouldn’t want to be seen with you.

Yet here he was, with a charming smile on his face and feathers gleaming in the sun.

You approach him cautiously, pulling out your earbuds. “Um, hi?” you start apprehensively, not sure what the hero could possibly want from you.

As you catch up to him he starts walking beside you, joining you on your commute. His wing stretches out behind you and curls around your side. Smart, you think. Even if the two of you catch someone’s eye, you were largely blocked from view.

It’s comfortably warm beneath his wing, with your shoulders brushing against each other as you walk. Your heart speeds up a little, being this close to him is a little overwhelming. Especially with the memory of him being pressed over you still fresh in your mind.

“So, I wanted to start over, if that’s alright with you. I don’t think I gave you the best first impression,” Hawks explains, his eyes fixed ahead.

“Definitely a memorable one,” you quip lightheartedly. You were more mortified by all of the unwanted attention. You knew deep down you were never in any real danger.

Hawks snorts, making you glance at him. You watch him roll his eyes. “Not my best moment. I’m really sorry I scared you so badly. I swear I’m not going to hurt you, or anyone.”

It makes you pause as you stare at the side of his face. “I know you wouldn’t. And you didn’t even leave a mark. We can just say it was a...weird, unexpected hug. Leave it at that.”

Hawks’ gaze catches yours for a brief moment before looking away quickly, a serious look sliding onto his features. “You know that’s not what it was.”

“I know but...I’m not going to judge you for your bird stuff, or whatever it is. You’re still human. Even with the wings. We all have weird, awkward tendencies. I’m a mess of them too, and I don’t even have a Quirk. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.

“So don’t beat yourself up too much,” you say, gaining a bit of confidence the more you speak. “You’re not a monster.”

Silence stretches between the two of you, both lost in thought. You surprise yourself when you are the first to break it.

“Besides, I thought we were starting over. I’m y/n,” you begin, nudging his shoulder with your own as you offer him a warm smile.

“I’m Hawks, but you already knew that. Say, why don’t I treat you to some coffee. There’s this great little cafe not far from here. They have these pastries that are to die for. Trust me, you’ll love it!” The hero chatters away, with you still safely tucked away under his wing.

#hawks #hawks bnha #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #hawks x reader #echo writes

470 notes · View notes

stardustincarnate · 4 years ago

Text

SAY YES TO HEAVEN // L Lawliet x Reader

word count : 2989 genre : fluff <333 song inspiration here!

The day marked as a cloudy Wednesday in England. The air was mildly harsh and cold, the wind blowing my bangs back as I looked up to the sky with a smile on my face. My heart throbbed in a feeling I couldn't explain. It was more than just euphoria. I was feeling nervous, excited, happy— all the emotions were mixing inside me, but I was mostly happy, and I became overwhelmed that I didn't notice I dropped a single tear.

"Why are you crying [Y/N]? Don't!!"

"I suppose it's normal for someone to cry before getting married. Am I right [Y/N]?" Mello asked as he held my other arm. I softly nodded and chuckled before looking at the time. I soon told the three of them that we should be heading to the said location already. I certainly didn't want to be late for my own wedding, even if it's just a minute.

Matt and Mello were bickering at each other as they held either sides of my arm. Near was walking in front of me, silent as usual. I only smiled while observing them. I found it cute that I was being accompanied by these little successors who kept on joking and making me smile along the way. As we left Wammy's House, we took a hidden route that would lead us to an English garden that is also owned by Mr. Wammy.

By the time we've reached the garden, I told them to halt for a moment as I wanted to fix the creases on my dress first. I wore a simple yet elegant looking one. And I also needed to make sure I still looked nice.. at least for L's eyes.

"Guys, I need a mirror."

The three of them looked at each other before shrugging and looking at me. "None of us have one."

I puffed my cheeks, frantically fixing every imperfections I could see in myself. I gently touched my hair just to make sure that it was still styled and untangled. I lost count of how many times I asked them about how I looked— I couldn't help it.

"You look magnificent [Y/N]. Don't worry."

"Wow.. he actually talks." Matt playfully whispered to my ear. I lightly elbowed him before thanking Near who was slightly smiling at me. We had stayed on the entrance for a moment until we heard something coming from the structure on the back of the garden. It was faint, but I knew it was the sound of the piano.

My feet decided before my brain and I found myself already walking ahead of them towards the structure. The heavenly tune which was growing more and more loud had already ascended my soul to the heavens. It felt as if I was in paradise, add the scenery I was currently stepping foot on for more visuals. The flowers swayed to the rhythm of the wind, with few petals lying on the ground and leaves raining down on me.

My heart throbbed in euphoria, causing a smile to form on my lips the moment I stepped inside the opened vintage structure. The place almost resembled a Cathedral with it being so huge on the inside, the only source of light was the pale rays of the sun that barely made it through the heavy clouds above. Even the ventilation was natural as we were relying on the frigid wind that seeped through openings high up above and on the sides, including the opening that I just entered on. Shadows were playing on the walls and some amount of dusts were on every corner. And despite it being an opened construction, the melody of the piano still somehow managed to echo, giving it a rich surround sound.

My three companions soon catched up to me, walking behind me, holding me a little as I wandered deeper until the image of the man who was playing the piano became clearer to my vision. His back was facing us as he let his slender fingers continue creating the heavenly tune that was the only thing we could hear. He was wearing a suit, I could tell, and even if I had only seen the back I knew damn well that he looked good in it.

But to be honest, in my eyes, he'd certainly look good with anything.

Even without clothes—

Shush! What was I thinking? That would have to wait...

Say yes to heaven...

I stepped closer and closer, and then I realized that my little companions were no longer accompanying me at al—- but instead, they had ran up to L, placing a crown of flowers with different hues which I had no idea where it came from above his head. Mello held another flower crown, and the three hastily ran back to me.

Say yes to me...

I kneeled down to match their heights, with Mello soon placing the flower crown above my head. I smiled and blushed, murmuring a thank you.

I've got my eye on you...

L gave me a brief glance, a soft smile on his face. My heart thumped loudly as I got closer to the center. And there I was, standing beside the grand piano he was using as the music ended.

I've got my eye on you...

He closed his eyes as if savoring the moment of playing the last notes. Dumbfounded, I stared at his beauty, all the overwhelming emotions mixing inside me, causing me to slightly tremble.

L stood up from his seat, his hunched figure walking closer to me until we were facing each other. He looked down to me with the softest gaze, and even though his smile was only small, I could tell he was just as happy as I was. I covered my mouth, smiling, with tears also threatening to fall from the corners of my eyes.

Mr. Wammy stepped and halted in front of us. I beamed as I looked at him, and then back to L. His eyes gleamed even under the dull light, filled with glee that I almost cried at the spot.

Well, every bride really does cry on her wedding day..

All that small and huge bumps in the journey of our relationship is what made us what we are right now. It helped us grow stronger, made us realize that there's nothing like a perfect relationship, but there is a beautiful one. The scars in our relationship is what made it even more beautiful. Our wedding felt like some sort of achievement— not only because I could confirm I was the luckiest woman in the world for being the world's greatest detective's lover, but also because that day was our trophy. After all the hardships we went through, we still ended up there— we still won.

And isn't it beautiful to think that in the end, even after all the difficulties we've encountered that led us to almost giving up, we still win?

We're still winning.

And I was glad that I never gave up on him, because God knows how much I love him, even though sometimes he's unbothered, offensive, and seemed not to give a fuck about me at all.

"Don't cry. You'll ruin your make-up." L whispered. I chuckled, about to rub my eyes, but I realized that I was wearing mascara so I only looked up and smiled.

"I'm just happy. I mean.. y-you're finally going to be my husband. Oh my God, look! I can't even say it without smiling like an idiot."

"My idiot, that is." L put his hands on my shoulders and glanced at Mr. Wammy. "Let's get going with the ceremony already, then. I can't wait for this girl to be my wife already."

I looked down and smiled so wide my face could've had deformed. I then looked at him as Mr. Wammy formally started the short ceremony. The little successors' gazes were all on us, and I heard them whispering stuffs that only made me grin.

To be honest, I didn't even prepare any vows. I just needed to say what I really felt like saying at the time. Even though not always, the truth will turn out to be more beautiful— no sugarcoating or anything, but just the plain truth.

"Promise is overrated. We can't always keep our promises, can we? The word try is more appropriate, I suppose. Perhaps I might not be able to keep my word for eternity, and it's not that I intend to break that, but I will try to keep it from breaking. I know the road ahead of us won't always be full of glee because that's just how life works, but I'm willing to go through it all as long as you're with me. I know we can overcome anything and still win in the end, and even after the end. I.. I sincerely love you, not only as your soon-to-be-wife, but as your closest friend and your family."

L's smile surprisingly grew wider. And of course, he wasn't gonna let himself get beaten by me. He also didn't prepare any vows as I could tell.

"You are right. We made it this far despite of how many times we had argued, even over the pettiest things. There will be more, I assure, but I can endure your whining and complaining. In fact, I'm already prone to it."

I laughed.

"I hope to make it with you until the end. Come what may, but I won't leave you. I've surprisingly become highly attached to you, that I want you to be with me until I had enough of your presence. I adore you a lot, [Y/N]."

He took my hand and slipped a ring on my finger. I did the same to him, still trembling, my vision already obscured. I must've had looked like a mess by the time because I couldn't stop crying.

He kissed the back of my hand, staring at me.

"Very well. You are now pronounced man and wife. You two may kiss."

L unexpectedly wrapped his arms around my waist, whispering, "If I do it wrong, tell me. I'll do it again until it feels right."

I merely nodded. I didn't even know what felt right or wrong— I never kissed anyone in the lips for my entire life. But I had always wondered how his lips would feel. His lips that probably tasted like strawberries and coffee—

The feeling I imagined became tangible as he pressed his lips against mine. I closed my eyes and wrapped my arm around his neck, not knowing whether I should kiss back or not. I was kinda shy— but I eventually kissed him back.

We pulled away, and after some time of silence and just staring at each other, I heard Matt screaming in glee.

"YESSS! The list of successors are going to increase!"

"What do you mean—"

"Hey!" I blushed and shook my head before looking at L. "Well.. we're not planning that yet, aren't we?"

"Now that you mention, we haven't really seriously talked about it yet, have we? Anytime is fine with me. And when you're ready, of course."

"I'm ready, but at the same time I'm not. Weird, right?" I chuckled. "But thinking about mini-Ls running around and.. Oh!" I squealed, bashfully looking away.

"My [Y/N] seems more shy today. Although, I do like the sound of that. But not just mini-mes, little versions of you too. Let's see.." He mumbled, thinking about something. "Does five children sound good to you?"

"Five..?!"

"They said the more the merrier."

"Sounds fine to me.. Good, actually.. Hehe.."

My face felt so hot. Because for the love of law, I couldn't stop thinking about the process of making children!

Snap out of it, [Y/N]!

Ugh, but I didn't.

"Another five successors? Wow. This is gonna be challenging." Mello grinned.

"Actually, I don't intend to make our children as my successors. I would like them to be raised normally. Wouldn't you agree with me, [Y/N]?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Good. But anyway, we'll talk more about it later. I do remember that we're still going to do some things, right Watari?"

"Yes. We should head out now." The old man replied. We exited the structure and onto the garden where we took a lot of photos. Most of them included the successors just trolling around and being mischievous to L and I. There were some romantic photos though, where you can find L doing all the things I never thought he'd do. It was heartwarming that my cheeks hurt so bad after all that smiling. It felt like they were almost being torned. But it was such an amazing day!

The photoshoot ended before five, and we decided that it was way too early for us to head back. And I guess you could call it L's day-off that day.

We couldn't really watch a proper sunset since the sky was shrouded with clouds. But it's alright, the weather was fine and so was the scenery. It even felt better because my loved ones were there.

L and I were sitting on a bench, his arm put over my shoulder. We were watching his successors have fun in the garden. I smiled at the thought of our future children doing the same thing.

Soon.

It began to grow dark. L stood up, motioning me to do the same thing. I did what I was told and the next thing I knew was that I was being carried in bridal style. That was... unexpected. I hooked my arms around his neck, and he leaned his face closer to mine until our lips were pressed.

I closed my eyes as I squirmed a little. As I kissed him back, he left me shocked when he started nibbling my lower lip, gentle at first, but it soon turned rough, his lips moving in a way that indicated he needed more, if possible.

I had seen couples making out both in real life and movies, so I only copied them and did what I thought was good, opening my mouth just a little, and L dominantly invaded it with his tongue. I shut my eyes tighter and gripped his collar as he moved his tongue against mine, back and forth and in circular motions.

He slowly put my legs down, making me stand up without even breaking the kiss. He wrapped his arms around my waist, his hands soon travelling up to caress my right cheek. My legs felt like jelly and I moaned in the kiss. After that, we pulled away to catch out breaths.

I looked at him, our bodies pressed against each other's. His lips looked swollen from the kiss— and there was this enigmatic, predator-like look in his eyes.

It was ghost-quiet. And.. I didn't moan that loud, did I?

And, where in the world did L learn how to kiss like that?

He was setting me in the mood. I didn't like it. Not when we were still at the garden.. I thought it had to wait until we were completely alone! Why did he do it there?!

"L, is this really you? I mean.. how did you learn to do that? I thought you were inexperienced when it comes to kissing. That was honestly, err, intense."

"To tell the truth I've been watching people do that. I suppose I learned by watching."

I flushed and cleared my throat. "Well.. You are the world's greatest detective after all. There's not a thing that you can't learn."

"You are right." He snickered. "And given my title and judging from your actions, you are horny by now, aren't you?"

"WHAT?! N-No way!"

"No need to deny it. After all, I am too."

Before I could even reply, he snatched my moment. "I could take you here right now. If you don't mind?"

"L— what are you talking about? I do mind! We're in public, for heaven's sake. You should at least control your hormones.. Hmp."

"Sorry. I just got in the mood."

"Yes, and you infected me with that mood. Now we're both in the mood. It's your fault."

I looked to the side and saw the successors looking at the both of us in utter silence. And they weren't blinking too.

"Oh! Hi— how long have you all been standing there...?"

"Long enough to see you two doing that adult stuff. Watari told us to call you since it's getting dark and we should head back.. But—"

"But you two were busy.. so we just waited."

I mentally facepalmed. I elbowed L in the stomach with a scowl.

"So, you saw the whole thing?"

"Yes. Even though I wasn't completely focusing on it, unlike these two." Near replied.

"Oh dear. This is your fault, L."

"You said that for the second time already. I know. I'm only sorry that you have to see a sight. Although, why did you continue watching it?"

"It's his fault!" Mello pointed to Matt, who looked as if he was betrayed.

"Psh! I was curious. I needed to get some answers. Why do couples moan when they kiss? It's a bit annoying, especially when they start to look like they're being possessed by the eye-rolling thing. Is it really that good when you taste another person's saliva? What benefit will it do you?"

"I suggest you not think too much about it." L replied.

"Totally right... Err, we should be going home now! Come on, let's go."

"Alright. I can't wait to get home anyways." He gave me a knowing look, licking his lips. I blushed and hit his arm. This pervert!

The three walked ahead of us in awkward silence. L and I followed, our arms hooked together, ready to go home as a newly wedded couple.

#l lawliet #Death Note #death note L #death note x reader #l lawliet x reader #l x reader #mello death note #matt death note #near death note #death note imagines #l x you #death note fluff #l lawliet imagine #character x you

150 notes · View notes

gaiuswrites · 4 years ago

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Page of Swords

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | three

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: You attempt a new skill. Mando attempts to teach you.

Word count: 4.7k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings/tags: gun usage/mentioning throughout, mature language, pining, more dirty thots-ish, angst because why not, does this count as fluff? sure, gun kink if you squint w/o your glasses

Notes: As the reader (you/us) begins to become more familiar with Mando, his perspective starts bleeding in to the narrative, without a blocked off POV. Also, the reader’s past will start weaving (incoherently?) into the story as well. The large italicized chunks denote past tense interactions (which is probably obvious but who knows any more). Cheers x (gif credit: @djarinsgf)

A shot rings out.

Birds explode from the canopy with offended squawks, squalling in a winged flurry to scatter every which way until they recede again into the green, disappearing back into their hiding places. You groan. You thought you’d be better at this.

It’s not that you thought you were some sort of savant, you just didn’t expect to be this bad. Honestly, it’s embarrassing—you’re embarrassingly terrible— like statistically, you should have hit something by now, but you just keep missing—a crowded tree line in front of you, and not a scratch in sight—nary a singed branch nor a bullet holed trunk. It’s almost impressive how poor of a shot you are—and you would be, if you weren’t so damn exasperated with the whole affair. With a frustrated grunt, you throw your hands up, brandishing the weapon haphazardly.

“Careful,” Mando warns slyly, “you could hurt someone with that thing.”

“Yeah, well at least I’d hit something,” you grumble.

The kid had been fussy - almost unbearably so - in the weeks that followed your short stint on Bajic, and your party was itching for some time off the Razor Crest. After his third tantrum in a day, Mando decided to land on some unknown planet you couldn’t even spell to stretch your legs and take a breather.

You had almost sobbed when you saw him drag his menagerie of weaponry over. You knew what this meant, you knew what came next—his weekly, routine buff.

You think he’s doing it on purpose.

Ever since the first time, when you damn near had a conniption ogling him, you swear it’s like he’s doing it just to mess with you. He isn’t—of course he isn’t, rationally you knew that, in fact there was plenty of evidence to the contrary. He’s a Mandalorian—weapons are apart of his religion for kriff’s sake—but Maker does it seem intentional. Premeditated. It’s like you can feel the blistering ray of his gaze on you as he takes his time, roving a leathered hand over the bulge of the shaft—greasing it, stripping it, part by metal part…

It’s all in your head, you told yourself. It’s all in your fucking head and you need to get a grip.

Immediately you sprang into action, busying yourself with anything you could get your stupid, little hands on—in this case, being one of his many blasters.

“I wanna give it a go,” you said.

He let you, surprisingly. He hesitated, at first, his helmet tipping at a disbelieving angle. But he gave in—it took less effort on your part than you’d figured—and Mando conceded. He obliged.

How hard could it be? You thought.

Famous last words.

He’s parked there, settled on a throne of crates pushed flush to the Crest, slouched against the outer hull of the ship as he cleans, from the looks of it, every item in his arsenal—a front row seat to your pathetic endeavor and you’re failing—epically, ridiculously—shot after errant shot.

You line yourself up, scrunching your face in concentration as you bare the blaster in your hands. Maybe this time…

You fire off a round and an animal scampers scared in the thicket. Nothing. Another sublime miss.

You hear a noise come from Mando’s direction, something subtle like a blip of static through his helmet - Maker, he’s laughing at you - and you pivot around to him.

“What,” you ask, although it's less of a question and more of a griping pout. He replies with silence, that fickle language he's mastered to perfection all on his own, his focus pitched down to the bristled rod he’s driving in and out of his rifle, scouring out the residue from the inner barrel. “Ugh, what Mando?” you say, just shy of a whine, one hand slotted on your hip, the other dangling by your side, the pistol foreign and cumbersome in your grasp.

“Didn’t say anything,” he replies with a half shrug, his pauldrons shifting so imperceptibly you almost miss it. You pause, hurling him a look that misses him completely before you heave a frustrated sound.

“Fine, you show me how it’s done then.”

The T of his visor finds you. Its cold and unknowable as he rolls his helmet, tilting it up to you, hands slowing their ministrations to a rest. He’s wears a glare, carved into the steel hollow of the plates—unamused and smoldering—and with it, you feel small; microscopic and withering under his pointed gaze— suddenly too exposed in the open patch of jungled wilderness they’ve landed in and your mouth tweaks, teeth grazing the plush there. You assume he won’t do it. There’s no way he’ll rise to such obvious of a challenge, but he’s sighing—you can see it in the slant of his armor—and marching towards you before you can take it back, drawing closer and closer until Mando’s slated in front of you, expectant and postured and you forget— like the skip of a record, you forget why he’s even there— not a foot before you— and your eyes dance across his helm, flickering back and forth.

“May I?” he nods down to the pistol in your hand and you start - oh, shit - and offer it to him clumsily.

Mando squares off against the untamed green. The air lays hot and sticky around them. There is no trace of wind, no glimmer of breeze, and his cape hangs mute down his back. You’d never seen him fire his weapon. He surrounded himself with them, sure, always had at least two strapped to him at all times— probably even slept with one, you reckon— but you’ve never seen him use one.

With one solid movement, he cranes his arm, taking aim.

Now, you aren’t one to condone violence, but he just looks right doing it; an extension of himself with how natural it is, how innate— an added appendage, born unto him. The pistol looks good in his fist, like it couldn’t possibly belong anywhere else, the orange tips of his glove curling around the hilt, looping over that sensitive release.

He has practiced hands. Methodical. Sturdy. It’s sensual, to watch him like this. Pornographic even— sacrilege in a way. A part of you wants to look away and turn your gaze, grant him privacy as he handles the blaster— delicately, confidently. It’s intimate.

The pistol croons in his palm. She bends, supple and lilting. He knows just where to touch, where to stroke— she does anything he tells her. She melts for him.

Warmth pools in your mouth. Mando pulls the trigger.

He lands an impressive shot onto an impossibly narrow tree trunk nestled further in, and your features contort with amazement. Maybe you want to see it again—like a nosy neighbor peeping in through drawn curtains. Maybe you’re being reckless and smarmy, and maybe you know it. A Mandalorian’s got a gun in his hand and you’re prodding him - brilliant strategy, top marks - but your adrenaline is pumping something fierce and you feel yourself grow bold with each seize of your heart.

“Lucky shot,” you huff.

He pans to you, lolling his head, visor locked onto your face. Without flinching, without gracing you with a remark, he raises his arm and fires— doesn’t even have to kriffing look. The scorch mark sizzles - haughtily, jeering - no more than a few inches away from the first. You nearly choke on the arrogance of it— the lazy, smug performance— like he can’t be bothered with any of it, as if your taunts are all so beneath him.

You have to bite down on your lip to stop it from snaking into a wicked grin.

Mando offers the pistol back to you, flipping it grip-side up in a fancy flourish before striding - strutting - back to his post. You shake your head, a determined set to your jaw and you retake your aim, squinting in the hazy afternoon light, pulling the trigger— and nothing happens.

Again, click. Nothing, click after fruitless click. You make a face, pinching—

“Safety’s on.”

You flush, thanking the Maker that your back is towards him, and switch it down with your thumb. “Right,” you mumble sheepishly, wetting your lip. You align your sights, bracing yourself for the impact—

“It’s your stance.”

Three words.

Three words, the only solace Mando provides before devoutly returning to his work.

You wait for him to elaborate, to edify you— for any manner of sage advice— but the explanation never comes; he leaves you like this, marooned with three fucking words and you have to screw your eyes shut. This man is baffling— maddeningly unhelpful— infuriatingly sparse. It makes you want to howl and rip your hair out— and you whip around violently.

“What about my st-”

Your question comes scampering to a halt, tail between your legs, throat gone dry. Mando has planted himself directly behind you— standing so close you can see your reflection in his beskar, see the blush blurring your cheek under the alien sun.

“What uh, what about my stance?” you ask, mousier now, swallowed up by the sheer size of him so near to you.

“It’s not wide enough.”

You glance down at your feet before looking back up to him. “What do you mean?”

“Turn around,” he says.

You quirk your brow at him before he repeats himself. “Turn around and spread your legs. Hips distance apart.”

Fuck, he has no business sounding like that— like bourbon and smoke and iron tang—but you do as he says. You’re shakier than you want to be— you wish you could be cool and collected but you’re not. You’re anything but, and you’re nervous. Maker, Mando makes you nervous— it’s not just the weapon in your hand, it’s him— setting you off and giving you butterflies like you’re some sort of forlorn schoolgirl. You’re a grown woman, and this is what he’s rendered you to— jittery, molten mush. It’s embarrassing. Fucking mortifying.

You guess it’s the day for it.

He doesn’t touch you, but it hardly matters; you can sense him there all the same, a shadow in your peripheral. He leaves a thick breath of space between your bodies and with your back towards him, you can feel the waves of heat radiate off the bounty hunter, pulsing out out out from him and it’s almost intolerable— as if you’ve flown too close to the sun, waxed wings melting in pearled streaks down your spine.

You scuttle your feet open, parting just outside your hips.

“Arms up,” he says, and you hoist them into position. You’re sure you look as awkward as you feel, if not more, all the angles of your body feeling perfectly wrong and misplaced. “Relax your elbows,” he adds, and you do— you try to, at least.

“Too much. Somewhere in between.”

You try again, strengthening through your triceps and down your forearms.

“Better,” Mando gives. You think you feel him nodding approvingly behind you. “The important-”

Kriff, you panic.

You spin towards him, dropping your form and cutting him off with a humbled, worried look, throwing up barricades and hurdles— landmines for him to dodge. Or step on.

“Wait hey Mando, you don’t- I don’t want to take up your time,” you begin.

“You aren’t.”

“I’m serious, I don’t want to bother you with this.”

“You’re not.”

You blink.

“If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it right.”

He speaks so plainly, unvarnished and matte— unflinchingly earnest in a way that gives you pause. It leaves no wiggle room for interpretation and you sigh, defeated, shoulders slumping as you haul yourself back around.

“Arms up,” he reiterates, but there’s no malice there; he sounds kind— untroubled. It always surprises you how mild he can be— Mando should be anything but, he’d have every reason to, but he’s calm. Patient. You wonder if he even realizes it, if he even recognizes the tenor of his own voice— how gentle it can be— under the helmet. Despite it.

“Think of your posture as firm, without tensing,” Mando explains. “Soften your knees, don’t lock them— same goes for your arms— don’t stiffen against the recoil, let your body absorb it.”

You mirror what he coaches, shooting him a curious, hopeful look over your shoulder.

“There. Good,” he says. “Now, which is your dominant eye?”

Your arms fall down to your sides. “My what?”

“Dominant eye.”

You give him a baffled look like he’s speaking another language - in all fairness, he is - and Mando emits another puff of air through his modulator, chortling.

“Eye dominance. We’re all either right handed or left handed. Eyes work the same— right eyed or left eyed. We favor one or the other— you’ll focus that one to aim.”

Oh, huh.

You still appreciatively, basking in the novelty of the information. “Really? I didn’t know that. That’s- that’s actually pretty interesting,” you muse. “Brains and brawn, huh?” You flash a cheeky grin back at him.

Mando grunts, nondescript and unaffected and robotic but he swears he can feel pink creep over his clavicle, tainting the tan of his skin concealed there.

He fits his gloved hand over yours, if only for a second, and you do your best to ignore the rough patch of his leather grazing against the thin flesh there. You try to ignore the chill that sweeps across the curve of your waist, how the peach fuzz prickles up, electrified and magnetized, as he unfurls your fingers from the gun, letting it slip from your grasp. He tucks it under his arm, keeping it pinned there with his bicep.

“Hold your hands out like this.” Mando shows you, creating an oval with his fingers— like a view finder or a scope. You mimic him, feeling like every bit of an idiot, but you don’t contradict him— you do as he does. “Now, set your focus out on a fixed point through your hands,” he instructs and you do, setting your sights on a gnarled tree branch.

“Got it?” he asks.

“Got it,” you respond.

“Now alternate closing each eye. The image should stay in the frame with one, and then shift out of it with the other.”

You frown, concentrating, and close the right before blinking over to the left— kriff, he’s right.

“Oh shit,” you mumble. “My left. It’s my left eye.”

“You sure?”

You check again, squinting through either eye, the tree bouncing in and out of the frame of your fingers. “Mhm. Yeah, my left eye keeps it centered.”

He makes a thoughtful sound. “Left eyed but right handed. Interesting,” Mando murmurs.

You glance up to him, dropping your hands. “Why is that interesting?”

“Not common. The brain’s typically wired the same way all the way down— one side of the body will be dominant. It’s not usually split.”

“You telling me my brain doesn’t work properly, Mando?” you quip dryly.

“You said it, not me.”

He holds the blaster out to you and you swipe it from him with a huffed snort, returning towards the tree line and stars your face hurts. Your face hurts and it’s burning with this asinine smile that’s digging mercilessly into your cheeks. It makes you want to massage your jaw, get the damn thing to relax. Honestly, it makes you want to give yourself a slap.

“Make sure to cross your center with it. Line it up towards the left.”

“Maker, do you think about all this every time you shoot?” you ask, mystified, as you fix your aim.

“Muscle memory takes over eventually. You’ll get there with enough practice.” Mando replies gruffly and you guffaw, loud and wonderfully ugly. You seriously doubt it.

After a series of very near misses— you are getting closer, you’ll give yourself that— your arms grow tired; the joints and muscles protest as you extend them out from your body, taut and tense�� the gun dead weight in your wobbly hands.

Your shoulder smarts where you injured the tendon in the explosion. You roll it out, earning snaps and pops as it notches over the bone there. They told you you were lucky. They congratulated you - it’s not a complete tear! - and it’s on the mend well enough, but it’s weak. It doesn’t matter the weight of the object.

The longer you hold anything, the heavier it feels.

You suppose you could throw in the towel at any point, but the fact of the matter— as terrible and true as it may be— is you want to impress him. That awful, nagging feeling— you want to impress the Mandalorian. You want him proud of you— you want to be nice and shiny for him to admire, like one of the guns he polishes until it’s sparkling, until he can mount it on display and show it off. It’s absolutely nauseating— but you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to, and you don’t. You don’t want to.

He isn’t blind to it. He sees the exertion, the tax— how beads of sweat congress around your temples, dampening the base of your scalp, butterfly kissing your skin with a sheen. A trail of wet salt, one lone pilgrim, ventures down the back of your neck, wandering lower and lower, past the hem of your shirt, disappearing into the soft valley of your spine where Mando can’t follow. His throat bobs rough against his cowl.

Transferring the pistol into one hand, you shake out the other, flexing through it and relaxing your grip.

“Wait,” he says and you cock your head back at him. Mando’s retreating to his pile of guns, rifling through the metal anthill before selecting something sleek and chrome. “Here,” you exchange pistols, giving him back the bulkier of the two. Immediately you feel the relief of this new one— it’s lighter and smaller, slighter in your grasp, too— and you turn it over in your hands, noting the way the nozzlelike barrel glitters in the sun.

You’d almost consider it pretty if it weren’t a literal killing machine.

“That’s a CDEF model. Lightweight, reliable, Dedlanite casing, standard issue for CorSec officers.”

You nod along, as if you have any clue what he’s talking about— you don’t. You really, truly don’t.

“Should be easier.”

“Mm,” you hum out in ignorant agreement, slotting your arms back up into position.

“Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to fire.” You rest it against the slide of the barrel, hovering nearby.

Mando shifts closer towards you, the grass grinding under his feet as he takes a half step in to your backside.

“Breathe. Don’t hold it in. Let me hear it.”

Fuck, this feels like a sin; this small gap of distance he’s erected between you as tense, as strained and feverish, as whispered confessions in the dark. Like sneaking back into your parent’s house late at night— the morning moon peering down at you with a heavy lidded gaze— knowing, knowing, keeping your secrets to herself, pressing them to her chest, winking sleepily.

It would be so much easier, so much simpler, if he just put his hands on you. Placed your body where he knows it should be, force you into the shapes and positions he’s so intimate with himself, but he doesn’t. He draws it out. He respects your space and autonomy and it makes it worse. Your imagination fills the void separating you two, and it’s running wild and rampant and depraved and—

“Focus,” he utters, his voice no louder than a purr. You’ve never heard something so mechanical make a sound so deliriously smooth, and you have to suppress a nervous scoff. Focus, he says, as if he isn’t suffocating you with how close he’s standing— as if you aren’t enjoying it— as if you aren’t vibrating down to your very bones at the proximity of the bounty hunter—so close, you bet he can hear them, rattling and slapping against each other deep beneath your skin.

“Remember what I said about your posture,” he suggests quiet-like and murmured, without a trace of condescension there—a harmless reminder. You make the adjustment, fixing your shoulders down your back, and release the stress in your arms.

“Firm without tensing,” you respond under your breath—more for your sake than his— striking it from your mental checklist.

“‘Atta girl.”

No.

No no no, Maker, you feel it. You can fucking feel it—how something low and resonant spasms beyond your belly, the clench of your empty cunt at the encouragement—the heady praise of it all.

Atta girl.

He said it softly - rudely husky - just above a whisper, something tailored specifically for you—almost like it slipped from his lips and he didn’t even notice its passing. It meandered out of him, so easy—too easy. It practically sauntered.

You’re trembling— stars, you hope Mando doesn’t see it. It’s humid and muggy and yet you’re shaking as if it’s freezing, as if you’ve got icicled snot dripping from your nose, and your nerves go haywire, fraying in every direction as you sip in a whistled breath.

You can do this. You can do this. Focus.

“Take the shot,” he orders.

Focus.

Pressing into the slope of the trigger, you fire.

You gasp excitedly— a surprised, whooping laugh tearing through you and you whip around, giddy and beaming - bright, beautiful - a lock of hair sticking to your lip. It’s the youngest, the freest, Mando’s ever seen you; maybe the happiest, too, and his stomach twists at the sight, a tourniquet cinching around him, winding and coiling until he’s convinced it’ll burst. His fingers twitch, every instinct begging him— demanding him— to reach out and return the stray strand behind your ear alongside the others but you beat him to it. Deftly, you flit it away yourself instead, and he’s relieved.

Devastated, too. Gutted.

“Did you see that?” you ask, gleeful as a child.

He pries himself off you, dragging his gaze over your shoulder to where you struck the trunk, a coaled mark charred there into the bark, before returning his attention back to you. You meet his eyes, despite the blackness of his helm— you hold them, for a breathless, ageless moment, you hold him there.

“Not bad.”

He can’t muffle the jolt of his heart as it rumbles through his chest, breaking his mouth wide open into an aching smirk. He doesn’t know if you hear it. He fears you might.

He prays you do.

///

“Cooling vents,”

Metal scrapes against the table as you place the delicate bits down, deconstructing the blaster. The Mandalorian nods, silent as a specter.

“Gas refill valve,”

Another clunk.

“Actuating blaster…” You turn over a particularly knobby bulb before peeking up at Mando through your lashes, a wry grin tugging rosy and coy at your lips. “… thing-”

“Module,” Din corrects.

“Module, right, that’s what I said.”

He sits across the galley from you, arms folded over his chest as he eases back against the hull of the ship, overseeing as you take apart the blaster, the slender little thing he gave to you - he rarely uses it anyways - as you name the pieces and parts just like he’s taught you.

“Keep it,” he told you.

You resisted. You fought it, laughed it off incredulously— stubborn to the end— argued you wouldn’t even have a need for it.

“What am I gonna do with a gun, Mando?” you balked, and Maker he’d hoped you’d never have to use it, would never have to see a firefight in your damn life let alone be in the middle of one, but he wants you to have it— have a part of him, strapped to your hip— the closest he’ll get.

He’s selfish. Din is a greedy, selfish man. He wants to see himself on you, wants you to carry him around like a souvenir from something unforgettable— something irreplaceable— a memory like warm bathwater you dip into long after it passes, and he’ll take whatever he can get— just like you, hungry for anything you’re gracious enough to feed him. And fuck, if he doesn’t hate it— doesn’t want to bury that feeling, cold and lifeless, six feet under the earth. No ceremony. No elegies. Dead and gone, returning to the dust from whence it came, crawling back into the ribcage it sprung from.

Din said your name. Firm— gentle, too.

“Keep it.”

They’ve been at this ever since you managed to hit the target that first time. Hours have passed, dawdling by on the fat little legs of a toddler, plodding and slow. The sun had set, and winged bugs the length of your palm had taken up residency in the dark rainforest, making themselves known with a haunting tune, screeching and singing into the lush wood. After the child had tried making a pass at one, no doubt in the mood for a quick snack - isn’t he always - you had agreed to retire back inside the Crest.

You were so excited, your whole face lit up— like fireworks he remembered once, through the eyes of a boy in the summered night— and you wanted more; like a sponge, sopping up all you could, sucking Din in and ringing him out for it and fuck, he couldn’t say no.

He can’t say no to you.

You start prattling out questions about everything and nothing - what blaster do you prefer, do you have a favorite rifle, what’s the difference between plasma and gas charges, you have a flamethrower on your wrist? - and before long you get him lecturing, going on about weapon safety and trigger discipline and slide bites and ammunition rounds and gun brands and serial numbers and Din knows this isn’t you. You’re a borderline pacifist for kriff’s sake— he’s almost certain that if push came to shove, you’d rather lay down your life than take one. You’re no gunslinger, and you don’t hold any aspirations to become one.

But here you are, fist tucked under your chin and leaning in to him, hanging off his every word.

You have no personal interest in weapons. Frankly you’d be pleased if you never held a gun again in your life. No, and whether Mando realizes it or not, you want to know because it’s him. You want to know him. And maybe it’s because its the most he’s given to you since you stepped foot aboard the Razor Crest— almost a month, and what you’ve gotten from him today alone has been more than he’s given in weeks— not a door so much as it is a window into his life, an allowance, a glimpse behind the beskar. Its more attention, more words and insights, more tiny gestures and maybe you’ve been a little starved for it— maybe you’ll eat up any scraps Mando tosses with a calloused glove, molded and rotting, from his plate.

Even if it’s this, even if its fucking firearms.

You want to know.

It’s who you are: it doesn’t matter what someone’s passionate about, you’re interested in their interests. You care what they care about. If they matter, then it matters. It’s who you are, webbed and weaved into the innermost fabric of your being, and you can’t pretend to be anything else; you don’t know how to unbecome.

You’re splayed before him— a bleating heart, kaleidoscoping and blooming and twisting in his hands. If only you could pry open your chest— turn yourself inside out at the seams, spill yourself to splatter, sanguined and slippery right there on the deck. You’d do it, if you could.

Am I loving enough Am I giving enough Have I paid my debts Am I worth this now, finally— Worth that which I offer, have I earned it back

So effortless, this vignette, seated here in his galley, dismembering a blaster and labeling the parts, terminology klutzy on your tongue— tripping over yourself just to get it out— looking to him for hints and clues, fluttering your doe eyes with cartoonish bats.

He answers. You laugh. He smiles.

The kid is in his pram, entranced by all the shiny baubles and bobbins just out of his reach - thank the Maker - and giggles at their little game— happy, for once, just to watch.

You and me both kid, Din thinks. You and me both.

211 notes · View notes

no-pucks-given · 4 years ago

Text

ANTHONY BEAUVILLIER | THE WAY BACK HOME

A/N: Honestly the amount of excitement I received from people when I told them what I’m working on has been amazing. From brainstorming in the middle of the night to finding ‘the perfect sentence’ during dinner, it’s been one hell of a ride together. So thank you to anyone who shared my excitement over this story. I hope you all enjoy this one as much as I did!

Warnings: Angst, a lot of tears, some swearwords, soft Tito.

Word Count: 5.8K

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. They say time will heal all wounds. They say all kinds of things, but you know deep down they aren’t true, it isn’t that easy. Your chest still tightens almost painfully every time his name comes up, every time you hear something, anything about him. It hurts, even after all these years apart.

It wasn’t a mutual decision to break things off, it was your decision. A decision that until this day is the hardest one you ever made, still doubting if you made the right choice. It seemed like the most logical solution, break things off with Anthony so you can see more of the world. Anthony was already drafted, playing his ass off in the league to prove himself. You didn’t and couldn’t ask him to give that up, it was his dream. Just like it was your dream to travel the world and see all the amazing things this planet had to offer.

You can remember the conversation you had with Anthony word by word. It still haunts you, it still makes unwanted appearances in your dreams, nightmares, everywhere. He begged you, oh he begged you to stay, to try long distance, to try anything except breaking up. You cried, trying to get him to see your point, trying to convince him letting go was the right option, even though you weren’t truly convinced yourself.

It was the hardest thing you ever did, leaving both of you heartbroken. His face, swollen eyes, tears streaming down his face still make you tear up whenever it pops back into your mind. Opening the door of your apartment and closing it behind you broke you. Leaving behind the guy you were hopelessly in love with, the guy you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, your soulmate, it was an experience you don’t wish upon anyone. It wrecked you, closing the door, not only to your apartment, but also to him, to his heart, and even to your own heart.

You broke his heart that day, breaking your own in the process. Never, not even a minute, you felt whole again. It always felt like there was something missing and you knew what it was. It was him. You missed him all those years ago, and you still miss him now. Nothing changed for you, your feelings for Anthony haven’t changed. You still love him as much as you did when you were in a relationship with him.

You can’t help but wonder if he ever thinks about you. Do you ever cross his mind? Does his chest still tighten when you come up in a conversation? Does he still scroll through the endless pictures trying to remember all the good times you two shared? Because you do, every damn time. Anthony is like a ghost of your past, always present, never leaving you alone. You’re not even sure if you want him to leave you alone at this point. You’d rather have those memories, those feelings, those pictures than nothing.

It would mean that it’s over for real, and that’s something you aren’t ready for yet. It might sound stupid, keeping hope after all these years. But it’s the one thing that kept you going after you realized your massive mistake. Often you wonder if it’s all been worth it. You traveled the world, visited all the places you dreamed of, ate all the crazy things you could imagine, but you did it all alone. You did everything without him. Sure, you made friends along the way, but it’s different.

It has never been the same, you barely remember what life before Anthony felt like. You sure as hell know how life after Anthony feels like, and you hate every single second of it. As soon as the adrenaline, the thrill of traveling alone wore off you knew. You knew you fucked up, you fucked up big time.

You’ve come to the conclusion you should’ve handled things differently. You try to blame it on yourself, you even try to blame it on Anthony even though you know that isn’t fair, you try to come up with a reasonable explanation, but you were just young and stupid. Oh, you were so stupid. How could you let him go like that? Why did you let him go like that? You could scream, yell, cry, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. Why? Why did you have to do it that way?

Your mind doesn’t stop thinking tonight, making it awfully hard to fall asleep. You twist and turn, utterly frustrated with yourself. Another night spent looking at your ceiling, thinking about everything that could’ve been. It’s almost a habit now, torturing yourself with memories and scenarios that won’t ever happen. You royally fucked up and this is how you cope. Healthy? Nope, definitely not, but it does feel like you deserve this.

You’ve been back in New York for a few weeks, deciding to stop traveling after almost 3 years of nonstop planes, boats and busses. It was only logical to come home. New York still feels like home to you, with or without Anthony. You didn’t have to give it a second thought, until you realized you made it more and more difficult for yourself to get over Anthony. You forgot he isn’t the rookie anymore, who still has to prove himself. He proved himself, and it seems like you can’t go anywhere without hearing or seeing something about him.

The thought crosses your mind for just a second. Just like it did last night and the night before. Your fingers itch to grab your phone and message him, call him even. You have no idea if he still has the same number, for all you know he could’ve blocked you the moment you walked out of that door. You shouldn’t do it, you know you shouldn’t, but you want to, you want to so bad. You just want to hear his voice, his laugh, you just want to hear him.

With shaking hands you grab your phone, the bright light blinding you for a second. You scroll through your contacts, until you come across his name. His nickname brings a smile to your face, it’s been a while since you’ve seen it. Your finger hovers over his number, while you’re trying to collect your thoughts. You have no idea what you’re going to say to him if he picks up. What if he doesn’t pick up? Fuck, no, you don’t need to think like that right now.

“Come on, y/n. Just do it,” you mumble to yourself, trying to convince yourself that this is a good idea. You take a deep breath and press on his number. Heart beating in your chest, the panic rising inside your chest. You bring the phone to your ear, begging, praying you’ll hear it ring. Never felt seconds this long, it feels like hours went by before you hear that dreaded message, your worst fear confirmed.

‘The number you're trying to reach has been disconnected.’

“Fuck!” you cry out, holding the phone tightly against your chest. No longer able to hide your emotions you let it all go. Tears streaming down your face, you grab your phone like it’s your lifeline, like it’s the only thing that will keep you grounded. You sob against your pillow, letting the pain, the grief consume you. It isn’t fair, it shouldn’t go like this, is this what you deserve for abandoning him all those years ago? Maybe this is a sign, a sign to move on, to give up.

At some point you fell asleep, utterly exhausted by all your intrusive thoughts, crying until the early morning light seeped through your curtains. You blink a few times, before groaning into your pillow. You’d almost think you’re hungover, because that headache for sure doesn’t lie.

After failing to fall back asleep you force yourself out of bed and into the shower. The hot water soothes your skin, and you try, you try so hard to keep the tears away. But you can’t stop them from falling, letting the water wash them away. You continue your shower routine through your tears, scrubbing your skin until it sees red. Eventually you calm down again, gaining back some composure.

It’s when you’re brushing your teeth that you look into the mirror for the first time. You would laugh at your reflection if you weren’t feeling so shitty. You’re glad it’s your day off, no amount of makeup can help you with this. You put on your makeup, trying to at least hide some of the puffiness around your eyes. You sigh, while walking over to your closet, grabbing a pair of skinny jeans and your favorite sweater.

You lounge around in your apartment for a few hours, entertaining yourself with some mind-numbing show on Netflix, before you decide you definitely need to get out of here for a while. It’s been a while since you just walked around the city and simply enjoyed the familiar buildings and people. You decide it’s the perfect activity to do right now, making a mental note to grab something to eat later, food is the last thing on your mind right now. Grabbing your jacket on the way out, you head into the city, trying to clear your mind and soul.

It’s funny how much a city can change in almost 3 years, but also stay exactly the same. There are so many new shops, but the sweet man on the corner of the street is still there. You smile at him, while he gives you a nod in return. It’s nice to be outside again, feeling the rays of sunshine on your skin.

Your walk comes to an abrupt stop when you end up on a street you weren’t planning on visiting any time soon. All your daydreaming probably led you to this place. You’ve been walking on autopilot for a while, so familiar surroundings turned into familiar patterns, steering you into the direction you walked every single day for months.

You catch yourself thinking about the possibilities of walking in and knocking on his door, or catching Anthony as he leaves the apartment. “This is a stupid idea, even for you,” you mumble, shaking your head at the fact that you’re even considering it. Without giving it a second thought you walk inside, burying your hands inside your pockets to keep them from shaking.

It’s a weird feeling to be back here, you walked through these halls so many times. There are so many memories here, so many good times were spent in this building. You try to focus on the happy memories instead of the dark cloud that hovers over your very last memory of this place, the very last time you left this place.

You try to talk some courage into yourself, even though the thought of seeing him again scares you more than you want to admit. “You can do this,” you tell yourself, encouraging yourself to either knock on that door or walk away. You slip your hand out of your pocket, softly knocking on the door.

Your breath hitches in your throat, heart beating so fast it might explode when you hear movement behind the door. The moment the door opens you let out the breath you’ve been holding. Not from relief, but from acceptance. Because the guy in front of you for sure isn’t Anthony. “Can I help you?” the stranger in front of you asks.

You smile, shaking your head. “Yeah, no, I don’t know? My boyfriend and I used to live here,” you start, before frowning. “or my ex-boyfriend, it’s a weird situation if I’m being honest.”

The guy in front of you nods, holding out his hand to you. “I’m Simon, and you look like you need someone to talk to,” he chuckles.

You laugh at his bold move, accepting his hand. “I do. I’m y/n,” you say, shaking Simon’s hand. You talk to him for a few minutes, explaining why you showed up on his doorstep. Simon listens intently, only interrupting you to give you some well needed advice.

“If you were looking for another sign to move on, I’d say this is it, y/n,” Simon says, leaning against the doorway, watching you with an empathetic look.

You sigh, smiling at the helpful stranger in front of you. “You’re right about that, this is what I needed,” you nod.

For a man you just met a few minutes ago he’s definitely the support you’ve been missing these past few months. Knowing kindness goes a long way, you try to tell him how grateful you are for his words, for his help, but he simply waves it away. “Do you by any chance know any good places around here that serve some killer coffee and pastries? It changed a lot here, so I’m kind of lost,” you say, chuckling at yourself. Simon directs you towards a new coffee shop two streets down that’s supposedly serving the best coffee in town. “I don’t want to interrupt whatever you were doing any longer, Simon. Thank you for your help and advice,” you say, waving at the kind man.

“Good luck, y/n. It was a pleasure meeting you,” Simon says, waving back at you. You smile at yourself, even though this didn’t end the way you hoped, it still helped you. At least you got some closure now, you don’t have to wonder anymore if he’s still here, if there’s a chance at rekindling. The universe gave you a massive ‘nope’ sign right there.

You find the coffee shop Simon recommended easily. You smile at the cozy looking place, this is exactly the kind of place you would’ve picked yourself. You walk through the door, inhaling the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Greeted by the kind older woman behind the counter you look around, amazed by all the delicious looking pastries. “What can I do for you, love?” the woman asks, smiling softly at you.

You chuckle, excusing yourself for not paying attention. “I’d like one of those strawberry filled turnovers and a cappuccino, please,” you say, rummaging through your bag to find your wallet. You pay for your order, saying a quick ‘thank you’ to the kind lady before finding a place to sit.

You use your time here wisely, enjoying the pastry and coffee to the absolute maximum. It amazes you how relaxed you are under the circumstances, it’s not every day you realize your relationship is really over. It’s not that you’re in denial or anything, but maybe the realization hasn’t set in completely. You knew the ‘perfect’ outcome was a long shot, but you’re glad you at least tried. You can’t blame yourself for trying, it’s all part of the process of getting over someone. It wouldn’t feel right to you if you’d never tried to talk things through with Anthony, trying to clear up some big mistakes.

All the signs you got these past few days might suggest otherwise, maybe it’s okay like this, maybe this is better for you, better for both of you. Would it even be useful to reopen old wounds? It’s probably for the better that it went like this. You’re not proud of how you handled things 3 years ago, but you know you grew as a person. This whole experience has been a true life lesson for you, making sure you’ll learn from your past mistakes.

You spend more time here than you initially planned, honestly this has been the happiest you felt in weeks, maybe even months. Perhaps relieved is a better word, it’s like a weight fell off your shoulders. It’s time, time to move on, but also time to grief. It’s time to give your past life with Anthony a place where it belongs; in the past. It’s no longer part of your future how hard it might sound right now.

You take your time to reflect back on some of the happiest moments you shared with Anthony. No better place to do that than in this cozy coffee shop, right? Your favorite memory is also the hardest one to look back at, even though you’re so proud of him for making his dreams come true. It’s also exactly the reason why you couldn’t ask him to come with you, why you didn’t work out in the end. The day Anthony got drafted was a day filled with so many emotions. Tears flowed freely that day, mixed with the most wholesome smiles you’d ever seen. It was a day to never forget. It was amazing to watch him get picked and drafted, to watch his dream suddenly came reality. It meant the world to you to see him like that, but it also started the downfall of your relationship. You didn’t know that yet until months later.

The day Anthony asked you to move in with him is definitely a second on that list. You always dreamed of moving in with Anthony, living together sounded like paradise. The prospect of coming home to him, or the other way around, was something you really looked forward to. The day he actually asked you that very question came unexpectedly. It happened after a rough game, a loss Anthony took personally. The two of you were lounging around in Anthony’s apartment, his head on your chest, one arm wrapped around you. His fingers were playing with your own, his eyes focused on nothing particular. He moved his head, locking eyes with you. ‘Move in with me?’ he’d asked you, an uncertain smile on his lips. He surprised you with his question, but waited patiently until you remembered how to speak again. ‘I would love to, Tito,’ you told him, hugging him closer to your body. ‘Wouldn’t want to spend another day without you, baby,’ he told you, softly pecking your lips.

You frown at the memory, hating the fact that the exact opposite happened. You shake your head, trying to clear your mind of that very moment. You’ve been completely consumed by your thinking that you didn’t even realize your cup is empty. Deciding to just grab another one to take with you on the walk home you turn your head to look how long the waiting line currently is. Your eyes lock on the ones you hadn’t expected to see today, maybe ever again. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mumble underneath your breath. What the hell is the universe trying to tell you? The look on Anthony’s face is one of surprise and shock, he definitely didn’t expect you to be here as well. You stay rooted to your seat, incapable of moving. You’re not even sure what you need to do right now. Breaking off the eye contact you look down at the table, playing with your empty cup.

“y/n?” God, his voice sends chills all over your body, almost bringing tears to your eyes. It for sure is one of your favorite sounds in this whole world.

“Hey,” you say, unsure what to exactly say to him.

Anthony gives you an uncertain smile, scratching the back of his head. “Can I sit down? Please?” he asks. You nod your head, suddenly feeling all kinds of nervous. It’s a weird experience sitting across your ex, across the man you thought you wouldn’t see again, let alone talk to again.

“I didn’t know you were back,” Anthony says, eyes locking on yours.

You want to laugh at his statement, because how could he have known that? “Yeah, I’ve been back a few weeks now,” you say instead, letting your eyes trail over the man before you.

“So you did it, huh? Traveled the world and stuff.”

This time you do laugh, which makes Anthony smile as well. “I did! But nothing felt like home, nothing except New York and...” you trail off, before shaking your head as Anthony raises his eyebrow in question. “Never mind. New York will always be my home, no matter how beautiful the rest of the world is.”

Anthony looks like he wants to say a thousand things, but all he does is stare at you. His eyes follow every movement you make, it doesn’t make you uncomfortable at all. Anthony is still Anthony, his eyes on your body still does something to you. It’s the fact he doesn’t say anything else, while you try to make conversation with him. You talked and asked, while he just answered and listened. Maybe he’s nervous, maybe he’s just not that interested in catching up. Whatever it is, you’re not waiting around any longer. It’s time to head home before it’s getting too dark outside.

You rummage through your bag, trying to find a pen and something to write on. You grab a business card since it’s the only piece of paper available right now unfortunately. You scribble your phone number on the back, sliding it across the table towards Anthony. “If you want to catch up some more or ever need anything, call me,” you say, before standing up and making your way over to the exit, completely forgetting about that cup of coffee you promised yourself.

You didn’t even realize Anthony followed you until you heard his voice. You turn around, facing the man who was once yours. “Was it worth it, y/n?” Anthony asks you, his hand gesturing between the two of you.

You know what he means, it’s a question you asked yourself a lot lately. You give him half a smile, before shaking your head. “No, it wasn’t. It absolutely wasn’t,” you say sadly, before walking out of the store, leaving Anthony behind for the second time in life.

You’re walking around in a haze, it doesn’t do anything to calm your nerves. The events that occurred these past few days have been confusing to say the least. If that was the message the universe tried to send you it definitely worked. By the time you get home you’re absolutely exhausted mentally and physically.

Two weeks go by without a message or call from Anthony. You didn’t expect him to reach out, but you kind of hoped he would. You’re getting more and more used to living in the city again, working your ass off at your new job. It took you some time to get adjusted to the typical city life again, but you’re slowly getting the hang of it more and more every day.

If you’re being honest with yourself, meeting Anthony again puts your mind to rest, it gives you some form of peace, and so did working yourself to absolute exhaustion at work. So when your phone rings at 11am on a Friday night you don’t bother to look who’s calling you, instead you answer without letting it ring more than three times.

“Who blesses me with a phone call this late?” you almost sing out, too tired to even care.

“Uhm, it’s Anthony. I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” Anthony says from the other side of the line. You blink a few times realizing it’s really him.

“No, you aren’t. I’m just too tired to properly function,” you laugh.

“I just got home from a game, so that makes two of us,” Anthony chuckles. You smile to yourself, enjoying the sound of his voice. “I can call you tomorrow if that’s better?” he asks, a hint of uncertainty lacing his voice.

You shake your head at his question, he’s always so caring. “You don’t have to, we already got this far,” you tell him softly, not wanting to let him go already. You can hear him chuckling at your answer from the other side of the line.

“I wanted to ask you something actually,” Anthony says, making your heartbeat a little harder in a mixture of fear and hope.

“Yeah?” you ask him, urging him to go on.

You hear his deep intake of breath, the slight stutter in his voice. “Do you want to have dinner tomorrow at my place? Maybe watch a movie or something, catch up?”

You want to scream a ‘fuck yes!’ into the phone right now, but instead you take a deep breath collecting your thoughts for a moment. You’re scared to see this as a positive thing, scared to look too much into it, while on the other hand there isn’t another reason for him to invite you over than that he really wants to see or talk to you. “I’d love that,” you tell him, closing your eyes while you wait for his response.

You hear the breath he lets out, and you know he’s smiling on the other side. “I’ll see you at 6 then? I’ll text you the address.”

You hum your agreement, smiling at the perspective of seeing Anthony tomorrow. “I’ll be there at 6. Good night, Tito,” you tell him softly, cursing to yourself for using his nickname. If Anthony noticed your slip of the tongue at all he doesn’t show it.

“See you tomorrow. Sleep well, y/n,” he says, before ending the call.

You lay on your couch for a few minutes, smiling to yourself like some idiot. This evening for sure took an unexpected turn. You hadn’t expected him to call you, you for sure hadn’t expected him to call you and ask you to come over for dinner and movies. The talk however worries you, you know there is a lot unsaid, at least from your side. You’re pretty sure Anthony has a lot to say as well, and that’s exactly what worries you.

You decide to call it a night, tomorrow is a brand new day. A brand new day full of exciting events to look forward to, full of life changing conversations, and most importantly full of hope. Hope at better times, hope at peace and closure, hope at rekindling old flames, there are a lot of things to hope for, you just have to wait and see which one will come true. For the first time in months, maybe even years, you fall asleep without overthinking, without playing happy memories over and over in your head, because for the first time in years you have something to look forward to, something to hold on to. That something being Anthony all over again.

The soft morning light wakes you up out of your deep slumber. It’s been a while since you felt this well rested, and for a moment you forget the reason for your peaceful night of sleep. Just for a moment though, because as soon as you grab your phone from the nightstand you remember. Anthony. A text message with his address flashes across your screen, making you smile. So you didn’t imagine everything, huh? This is really happening.

You spend your whole morning cleaning your apartment, a nervous habit you inherited from your mother. There’s just something soothing and mind-numbing about deep cleaning your kitchen, bathroom and toilet. The smell of all the cleaning products infiltrate your nostrils, making you sigh contently. There’s nothing you like more than a spotless apartment. Cleaning equals happiness. Well, that’s not completely true, but it sure as hell helps a lot.

Before you know it’s time to get yourself cleaned up and ready for the evening. You’re tempted to just throw on some sweats, but decide against it. Picking out some black skinny jeans and a yellow sweater to wear later, you make your way over to the shower. The warm water soothes your skin, washing away all the chemicals you used today. The smell of your favorite soap replaces the almost bleachy smell. You can’t help but reach for the razor, making sure your skin is absolutely as smooth as possible. Not for him, but for you, this is all for you.

You decide to skip the makeup for the night. It’s not like Anthony hasn’t seen you without it before, and if this evening decides to take a turn down memory lane, it might be nice to just be able to wipe your eyes without smudging your makeup all over your face. You roll your eyes at your reflection in the mirror. There are so many ways this evening can go, so many possible outcomes. Getting nervous about all of them is some absolute bullshit. “You’ll be fine either way,” you tell your reflection sternly, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves.

It’s a little after 5:30 when you leave your apartment, the Uber driver already waiting outside for you. The drive to Anthony isn’t that far, but you’d rather be a little early than late. If there’s one thing you absolutely hate it’s being late to anything. When the driver pulls up in front of an impressive looking building you can’t help the nerves that settle in your stomach. You thank the driver before heading inside.

The moment you reach Anthony’s door you take a deep breath. It almost feels like a deja vu if you think about yesterday. The only difference is that this time you know he’s here, you know he’ll be the one to open the door when you knock. So that’s exactly what you do, your knuckles hitting the door in a certain rhythm only Anthony will understand. Patiently you wait until he opens the door, his smile greeting you as soon as he opens up. “I already thought that was you,” he chuckles, inviting you into his apartment.

“Old habit.”

You hand Anthony your coat, while simultaneously kicking off your shoes. You follow him further inside of his apartment. The view over the city leaves you absolutely speechless. “Damn, Anthony. Hockey sure did you some good,” you chuckle, looking back at him. You catch him already looking at you, which makes you only smile some more.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Anthony answers, turning his head to look across the skyline.

It’s weird how easy the two of you seem to fall back into familiar patterns. There are no awkward silences, it’s simply you and him again. You’re seated on his couch, when Anthony comes back into the room with a bag full of food. “I hope you still love that place downtown, y/n,” he says, smirking when he sees the look on your face.

“I do! I haven’t been there in forever,” you laugh, holding out your hands for your portion of the food.

Anthony picks some random movie on Netflix you both haven’t seen yet. The two of you eat your food in silence, simply enjoying the moment. “It’s weird that it almost feels like nothing has changed, huh?” Anthony says, turning his head to look at you.

You sigh, putting your leftover food back on the table. “It does, but we both know a lot has changed, ever since...” you trail off, not sure if you should talk about that right now.

“You left me?” Anthony finishes your sentences, his eyes locked on yours.

He doesn’t look mad, he looks like he’s simply stating facts. You frown, thinking about your next words, but Anthony is faster than you. “I’m not mad at you. Yeah, you could’ve handled things better, a lot better. But I just let you go as well, I didn’t try harder,” Anthony says, a painful look crosses his face. You open your mouth to say something, but he holds up his hand, indicating he isn’t finished yet. “You followed your dreams, just like I did. I can’t blame you for that. Trust me, I tried, but it isn’t fair of me to think that way when I also followed my own dreams,” Anthony says, shaking his head.

You ponder over his words, there’s a certain truth behind them. The two of you did follow your dreams, it wouldn’t have been fair to neither of you if you had stayed. “Why didn’t you try harder?” you ask, almost feeling stupid for asking this, because you didn’t try harder to right the wrongs until you got back to New York.

Anthony smiles at you, stretching his arms above his head. “Because I knew you’d find your way back to me one day.”

You tilt your head, letting his words sink in. “Just like that?” you ask.

“Just like that.”

You let your eyes travel over his body, taking in his whole appearance. It’s been a long time since you’ve been able to look at him, so you’ll take all the time you need to get familiar with him again. Until your eyes fall on a very, very familiar piece. The chain you gave him for your 2 years anniversary. “Anthony?” you ask quietly, eyes locked on his chain. Anthony hums, indicating he heard you. He looks at you, while you can’t help but bite on your bottom lip. “You’re still wearing the chain?” you ask, even though it isn’t really a question, you’ve seen it with your own two eyes. Anthony simply looks at you for a moment, brushing his fingers through his hair before he answers.

“I do, I do, y/n,” he sighs, his fingers closing around the chain.

“Why? Why do you still wear it?” You can’t help but ask the burning question, you need to know his answer. Anthony looks at you, his large hand closing around your much smaller one.

He smiles softly at you, squeezing your hand. “Because I always belonged to you. Even after all these years,” Anthony says, his eyes showing there’s nothing but truth behind his words. You can almost feel the color drain from your face, out of all the things he could’ve told you this definitely was the one you didn’t expect. You can’t contain your tears any longer, the relief flooding through your body.

“No, no, don’t cry, baby,” Anthony whispers, pulling you close to him. You bury your head in the crook of his neck, his familiar scent flooding your senses. The moment his arms close around you, pulling you impossible close to his chest, you remember. You remember how home feels like. This is it, this is home. No matter how many years will pass, how many times you hit rock bottom, home will always be here in Anthony’s arms. The place you feel the safest, the place that gives you all the love you need and deserve, the place that brings you the most happiness.

There’s still so much that needs to be discussed, so many things left unsaid, but all of that can wait a little longer. Being back in Anthony’s embrace and keeping him close to you seems like the better choice right now. All that matters for now is the fact that you’re finally home again.

#anthony beauvillier #anthony beauvillier imagine #anthony beauvillier x reader #anthony beauvillier fic #nhl fic #hockey fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfiction #tito beauvillier

226 notes · View notes