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negligenceatbest · 3 years ago

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Where we Start is Where we End. (Where we Live is Where we Die.)

Summary: You lost everything in the apocalypse. Everything you ever cared about, that is. After bouncing from survivor groups to other survivor groups you decide you can't live like a rule book anymore. So, you decide to travel the map and end up in Baltimore, MD.

You expect nothing more than to find a place to lay your head down and sightsee for a few months before keeping it going to the next place, like you had before. The apocalypse was a free vacation Afterall.

Maybe it'll start to cost you one day.

Relationship(s): Yandere Cult Leader Hannibal Lecter x Reader

Chapter Three: A Friend.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: This is a multi-chapter work. It takes a couple of chapters before reader and Hannibal first meet. If you see any grammar mistakes, please let me know.

Sorry for the wait! Next chapter is due as soon as possible, Enjoy!

"You’re not supposed to hug dogs you know." A voice said behind you.

You jumped, turning on your heels into a defensive pose. You jerked your pocketknife from its holster in your sock, holding it in one hand and swayed it side to side. The man in front of you jumped a little but didn’t cower. He showed strength. Something one desperately needed in the apocalypse.

You watched him stand there with boredom. His wavy brown hair blew in his face as the wind picked up. His blue eyes were relaxed and made contact with everything except your face, probably making sure you didn’t make a move to hurt him. You were strong and could take care of one or two people at a time, but something about this man intimidated you. Something said that he had long since been fighting- even before the outbreak.

This was his normal.

There was no doubt he could carry his own weight and maybe thrice times that.

You both stood there for a couple of minutes before he sighed; obviously tired of standing and staring.

"It’s not benefitting anyone for you to hold my dog hostage.” He quipped, holding his eyes on the knife. You grew suspicious if it was really his dog but let it go, putting your knife down. What were the odds that a random man was around at the same time a dog was?

His eyes fell from the knife with relief, but he still hadn’t looked at you. He, instead, paired his eyes onto his dog and patted his right leg two times. You watched and turned to the dog. He whined a little bit from your friendly touch lost but hurriedly made his way to the man’s side. He really was the owner then.

“You’re not going to ask why?” He asked, walking from the alleyway into the park again. His dog sniffed surrounding areas and near trees, finding a place to use the bathroom. You got up and walked hesitantly with the guy and his dog. You didn’t want to part ways so fast with the first dog you saw in ages.

You scanned the man’s face and eyes that only seemed to see his pet. “I don’t know.” You replied, pausing and thinking before replying. “I'm not much into making friends with other survivors.”

It was the truth. Even if you had mingled with them in the past, you never actually made friends or stuck around long enough to build that connection.

“I can agree with you on that.” He nodded, whistling a drawn-out note. The dog immediately laid down in the grass after it finished its business. “I’m not so social either.”

You didn’t know what to say back to that, so you didn’t say anything at all. After a couple of seconds, you decided to sit next to the Shepard. It’s tail wagged and it seemed to enjoy you. Or maybe it was just because you were a new person. You didn’t know how many people this dog had saw in its lifetime, but it probably wasn’t many.

Born in a world where it knows no different. You thought, maybe that’s a blessing.

“Name?” You asked.

“I don’t give out my name to strangers.” He replied. He watched you as you stared at his dog, petting it softly.

You made a face that seemed like it was between being pissed off and being constipated. You heard a snort to your side and whipped your head to the man. You really didn’t know what his deal was.

“Not you,” you made a ‘duh’ face, “Your dog.”

“Oh.” he blushed. “His name is Kylo.”

It was your turn to snort now.

“Star Wars Fan?”

“You too?”

“Yeah.” you finished the conversation with a head nod and a small smile. It seemed like he tried to smile back but all his face had shown was a sidewards line. He definitely wasn’t lying when he said he wasn’t very social. Maybe he wasn’t all that bad.

You invited the man to sit down next to you and his dog which he accepted. He just looked across the open park yard, seeming to be keeping an eye out for something- maybe someone.

“Someone else with you?” You asked, feeling worried. He looked puzzled, as if you had just said something crazy.

“What?” He scratched his face. “No.”

“Well, you look as if you’re expecting someone.” You blinked, taking your eyes off him. “Or maybe there’s someone out to get you.”

He laughed, seemingly surprised. “You’re smarter than I expected.” He said but then realized how it sounded as you arched an eyebrow. “Well-” He coughed. “Well, most survivors don’t know anything but fighting and hunting. Though, nothing's wrong with that, you seem like you had actually interacted with others before this whole thing happened.”

You grinned, “So I’m right?”

“Something like that.”

The conversation had ended awkwardly, but it left a smile on his face. He went silent, then brought Star Wars up again. You guys talked about that before he brought up a couple of different movies and shows he wanted to know if you had seen. You two had spent a lot of time talking about media you found exciting for a couple of hours. As well as some personal information of who you were before the apocalypse.

You had found out he was twenty-three years old (same as you) and loved murder mysteries. You shot him a quick few lines from the original Black Christmas and he reciprocated with his best impression of the police officer talking with Agnes. He told you about how he found his dog and how he had multiple others in a barn with self-feeding bowls, its own heating, and many other things the dogs could use themselves while he wasn’t there. He definitely loved his dogs. You told him you wanted to meet them sometime.

He agreed and you made him promise. He laughed at that again.

You went into detail with how much you despised documentaries and he laughed wholeheartedly with appreciation for your anger. You both talked and talked. Only stopping when it got dark. You eventually said goodbye to each other, and he walked you to your car, making sure you got in it safely.

You offered him a ride, but he said he had his own. He told you he would go to his dog's barn for the night, and you nodded, telling him you’d see him around sometime. It wasn’t as much of a lie as it was you just being hopeful. You had hoped you could see him again.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad making a friend this time around.

A friend.

*****

Will Graham. Thursday, January 1st, 2015

There are a lot of places i thought i would be by now. Out of state, at school, at home maybe…but I never thought I’d be at one of Hannibal’s guest rooms after a night of one of his famous dinner parties.

I drank, yes. Even if I’m not 21 it doesn’t matter because now that laws aren’t valid anymore, it doesn’t really matter. Hannibal had made the fanciest food id eaten for a while; the taste as delicious as usual.

I do wonder where he got most of his ingredients and when he had time to get them, but I really don’t put too much thought into it. I don’t care enough.

It’s strange though, Hannibal had come to me last night after the dinner party and said he was proud of me. Just… out of the blue. I would say that he said it to be nice, but he doesn’t care how he’s perceived or even to be nice, so I know that would be a lie.

I won’t say it didn’t make me happy- because it did. I just wish I could hear it from someone that doesn’t know all of my faults and problems. Maybe he said it because he knew my father never said it to me.

It would be nice if Hannibal was my actual father.

Maybe in another life.

Will Graham. Wednesday, January 7th, 2015

I need to start writing in this book more, especially with whatever the hell is going on in this subdivision (? if you would call it that.)

I don’t mind being here at times, because sometimes it’s nice being in the company of other people. But when you are around people who only obsess over one person and don’t seem to think of anything but them… it gets a little concerning. It makes me wonder what they would do without him.

I mean, it’s not too hard to imagine about what they would do. Whether it be they cry, go on rampages, kill anyone and everyone, or just change their admiration to some other poor sap. There are endless possibilities with these crazy weirdos.

Speaking of crazy, it’s almost impossible for people to leave this subdivision without anyone knowing. I found a way too and maybe they just let it go because I’m like Hannibal’s son, but anyone else who tries to leave gets shamed.

Like…mid evil shamed. I don’t know that’s just how I can describe it. I’m surprised they don’t stone them next.

Which brings me to my next point: Someone (besides me) actually has left. Well, no… no one actually knows if they’ve left or not, but they’re missing technically.

No one really cares. Everyone says that they never deserved to be in Hannibal’s presence anyway, and that they were a rude stuck-up prick who just sucked the life force out of others. Their words- not mine.

But I feel like someone has to know something. These people have eyes everywhere after all. Again, their words-not mine.

Will Graham. Thursday, January 15th, 2015

They still haven’t come back.

Surprisingly, I’m not shocked. Because if they really did leave, I don’t think anyone would let them be in peace. They’ve basically been shunned by everyone.

There's not much to write about today. Nothing is really going on.

I'm going to see if I can sneak back out to the house I found soon. I need a break.

When you had gotten back home, you hadn't done anything except flop on your bed and revel in the human connection you felt. It was one thing for you to meet a survivor, but it was another to meet one with the same interests as you.

You had realized on the way back that you hadn't gotten his name, too busy in conversation to introduce yourselves. You really hoped you could meet him again soon, and if you eventually were friends then maybe he could travel the states with you.

You then thought about his dogs and blanked. Sure, you really did want him to travel with you, but you would want his dogs to come as well. You couldn't figure out how that would work, maybe you could get an RV, one big enough to hold the dogs and two people.

This is getting weird, you blushed, I just met him.

You decided to read a couple more entries before laying down to sleep.

*****

Fuck, fuck, fuck... Will thought, running towards the tree line. His breath picked up as his legs overworked themselves, stumbling over a few overgrown patches of weeds and grass. He quickly took a look over his shoulder barely giving himself whiplash and jumped as he saw a hand reaching for him.

He dodged and heard a grunt as someone fell, he laughed and kept running. His dog ran near him, clearly more athletic than his owner. A voice yelled as they neared him, scaring the ever-loving shit out of Will as he ducked under some trees. His dog barked, urging his owner to follow him.

Will didn't hesitate and followed Kylo, hearing another rustle of leaves and then a frustrated bellow.

The two made a U-turn and exited the woods, running back to his abandoned car and putting it into drive. He distractedly put his seat belt on, tumbling over his own hands. He shouted "Fuck it" before pushing his foot on the gas, driving wild.

Will looked in his rear view and saw that one of the people had realized he was out of the woods. They shouted and waved animatedly to their buddies, yelling only what Will imagined as a looney toons-style scream. He breathed deeply checking on his dog quickly before ruffling his fur.

They had gotten pretty far away from the scene before Will stopped to give his dog some water, taking a bowl and water bottle out of his trunk.

He stood there, resting some of his body on the car and smiled as he recalled the look on their faces. An angry, entitled, self-pitying look befallen all of their masks. Hannibal's lackies sure had hated him.

Specially to get so worked up chasing after him.

He sighed and put everything back into his car, before wondering what Hannibal wanted now.

It had only been, what? Two or three weeks since he had ditched them, and it wasn't like he was leaving for good. He just needed a little bit of time before going back to that hell.

Hell, he would've invited Hannibal himself if his followers weren't such obsessive freaks.

Putting his car into drive again, he decided it was time for him to visit the old subdivision again.

A/N: hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!

#hannibal lecter #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal #hannibal x reader #hannibal x y/n #hannibal x you #hannibal fandom #hannibal fan #hannibal crack #hannibal and will #Apocalypse au #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

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Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (chapter 10 - FINALE)

series masterlist

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind. you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 6k

warnings: implied smut, angst, fluff, romcom tropes, lots of swearing, pregnancy mention/minor breeding kink

note: click the asterisk for a hyperlink to a translation when the time comes

Six months later...

“It’s good!” she beamed, setting down the last chunk of pages and taking off her reading glasses. “Oh man, that ending hurt, but it’s really, really good!”

You leaned back into the plush chair and sighed with relief. “You think so?”

“It’s best-seller material,” she assured. “With some editing, of course. God, I can’t believe you were sitting on this for so long.”

“What are the biggest changes you want to make?” you asked.

“Well, I’m thinking we’ll cut the romantic subplot,” she mentioned in passing, like it was no big deal. “It’s distracting.

“Distracing?” you repeated. “Nia, it’s the story. It’s a romance.”

“I thought it was a thriller,” she frowned.

“A romance disguised as a thriller,” you corrected.

“Listen, I get what you mean, but I didn’t get this—” she tapped the nameplate on her desk: ‘NIA BROWN, HEAD PUBLISHER’ in shiny letters— “for nothing. I know what I’m talking about, and I know what your readers want. Violence, gore, drama!”

“It has all that!” you defended. “But it’s all there to talk about the real love he finds in her!”

“What do you mean ‘real love’?” she pressed flatly.

“I mean…” you pondered. “I mean love where you feel like a version of yourself that you actually like. Love where you feel unjudged, no precedents or caveats or back-up plans. Love that fucking hurts because you never wanted to rely on anything or anybody. Love that lives in silence because you don’t even need words.”

She furrowed her brow. “That… sounds nice, I guess, but I don’t think anybody really has that. Everybody needs a back-up plan. Everybody needs words— a writer should know that.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god,” you groaned, your face falling into your hands. “I’m so fucking stupid. Jesus Christ, I’m a moron.”

“What? What’s going on?”

“I had that! I had that, and I let it go! I’m the dumbest bitch on the fucking face of the Earth.”

“Don’t say that,” she soothed, but you were already standing up.

“No, I need to find him,” you decided as you grabbed your coat and briefcase. “I need to go back and try to fix this. I love him, I’ve never— I didn’t know I could love like that, I didn’t know I could be loved like that… oh my god, I need to find him. It isn’t over.”

“It isn’t over?” she repeated incredulously. “You said Michael signed the papers!”

“It’s not Michael,” you rolled your eyes as you stormed out of the office. “It was never Michael.”

You ran into the first telephone box you could find, slamming the door shut as you searched your purse for the business card that probably wasn't even in there.

After a moment, you gasped with delight when you pulled it from a very bottom pocket and began punching in the number as fast as possible with shivering hands, long-distance charges be damned.

“Hello?” the confused voice on the other end answered.

“Mrs. Alberti, hi— does Sebastian still work for you?” you asked hastily.

“No, dear," she sighed, apparently recognizing you by just your voice (and likely your request), "he quit recently, and moved away.”

“Moved?" you repeated with a wrinkled brow. "Where?!”

“I assume back home, sweetheart; to Bucharest.”

“Shit,” you sighed. “Shit!”

“Are you having your ‘run through the airport’ moment, sweetheart?” she realized.

“Yes, I think so— do you have his address?”

“Well, no, but I’ll see what I can find.”

You waited rather impatiently as she shuffled through papers in the background, mumbling to herself as she apparently searched for information that could help you.

“All I’ve got is the address of a previous employer… a carpenter,” she finally explained, breaking the silence. “It was his only reference when he came to work here," she explained.

"Wow, you really did just hire him for his looks," you blurted out.

"He was desperate for work, that boy had nowhere else to go,” she defended.

“Right, well, I guess if that’s my only lead then I’ve gotta go for it,” you decided. “Thank you, Mrs. Alberti.”

“I told you to call me when that book was a hit. Did it happen yet?” she piped up.

“It’s not published yet,” you explained. “It needs some more work… but I think it’s almost ready.”

“I think so, too, dear.”

Learn Romanian in 10 Weeks! A practical language guide.

Week 1, Day 1: Greetings

Hello Salut

Goodbye La revedere

Thank you Mulțumesc

You’re welcome Cu plăcere

Good morning Bună dimineata

Good afternoon Bună ziua

Good evening Bună seara

Good night Noapte bună

You brushed your hair back out of your face with a sigh, turning the page as you mumbled the phrases to yourself. Broken Hungarian and your high school education in Latin were not getting you as far with this as you had been hoping.

How are you? Ce mai faci

I love you Te iubesc

“Te iubesc, te iubesc, te iubesc,” you repeated over and over in a whisper.

Each day you had a new routine: practice Romanian for an hour, check flight prices online (or call the airline), research what you knew about Sebastian and the address Mrs. Alberti had given you, and then get back to practicing Romanian again.

Oh, and occasionally you worked on the edits Nia wanted for your manuscript. You were focusing on the minor changes— grammar errors, rearranging sentences— and putting off her big request for the removal and replacement of the romantic aspects. More than ever, they seemed like the most important thing the book had to offer.

You had a small apartment, just a place to sleep and shower really; much too small to fit everything you’d already taken from Michael’s house (you know, the one that used to be your house) along with what he’d shipped to you that you forgot before. He included a letter in the package as well. You threw it out, unopened.

Truthfully, you never really fully unpacked. As much as you realized you probably should, in order to really feel like you had a real home, you couldn’t bring yourself to empty your suitcases when you knew you’d be packing them again any day now.

You also realized how outrageous this all was. Ignoring the unlikelihood of even finding him in the first place, Sebastian probably wouldn’t want anything to do with you after you broke his heart, left, and then randomly tracked him down after over half a year. But to be totally transparent, you weren’t really doing this to get him back, necessarily. You knew that was probably never going to happen. You were doing this because you needed to try. You needed to go there, and get hurt, and come back knowing you did everything you could: you’d never be able to live with yourself if you did anything less than that.

You couldn’t start your new life until you had put everything else to bed. And if that meant being 100%, painfully certain that you and Sebastian could never be together, then that was just how it needed to be.

After two weeks of looking, there still weren’t any reasonable flights to Bucharest, so you booked another trip by train, figuring you could use the three day trip to brush up on the key Romanian phrases you were going to need as well as prepare your speech.

Yes, your plan was a speech. You didn’t have a back-up plan. You didn’t even have a return ticket back to London yet.

A passage by Yeats came to mind; But I, being poor, have only my dreams. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.

In all your life, you’d never understood before why someone would want to only have their dreams. But now, here you were… and yes, it felt terrifying and vulnerable and uncomfortably naked, but it felt pretty damn good, too.

With a sigh, you scribbled out the last sentence you’d written, tossing the trash paper aside. You looked up out the window at the scenery flying by in a blur, worried that if you didn’t look out from the train every once in a while you’d get motion sickness.

The sun was beginning to set already, the green of hills and trees tinted orange. You only indulged in it for a moment, though, before getting back to this god-forsaken speech you were deadset on finishing before you arrived in Bucharest tomorrow. At first, you’d figured the translating would be the most difficult part… but writing in English wasn’t exactly a piece of cake, either. You had so much to say, and suddenly so few words for any of it.

You’d probably done more editing on this than any of your novels combined; the crumpled up pages spilling out of your wastebasket were proof enough of that.

“And I’m a fucking writer!” you groaned aloud, to no one in particular. “How is anybody else supposed to be able to do this, if I can’t?”

Other people aren’t as emotionally constipated as you, the voice of your inner critic reminded you plainly, making you roll your eyes at yourself.

A rap at your door made you sit up straighter and turn around. A stewardess slid open the frosted glass slightly to give you a friendly smile. “Is everything alright, ma’am?”

Your brows furrowed at the sound of her accent. “Is that a Romanian accent?” you asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” she nodded.

“So you’re fluent in Romanian and English,” you concluded.

“And Portuguese, yes ma’am,” she agreed.

“Could you come in here for a moment and help me translate something?”

She seemed slightly confused at the request but stepped forward, sliding the door most of the way shut behind her. Leaning beside you on the desk, she picked up your handwritten letter and blinked her wide, brown eyes a few times. You felt slightly embarrassed knowing she was reading such intimate thoughts, but that was how it felt the first time someone read anything you wrote so you were pretty much used to it by now.

“I usually ask the passengers what brings them to Bucharest,” she mumbled after a moment. “This is the most interesting thing so far. Am I reading this correctly, that you intend to confess your love to someone you met—” she scanned the page quickly— “during a vacation in Hungary?”

“Yup,” you smiled awkwardly, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word.

“And he doesn’t speak English?” she assumed; you nodded. “And… you don’t speak Romanian?”

You nodded again, and she breathed in and out quickly, sitting beside you as she stared at the letter.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she explained.

“Sorry for sucking you into the entropic vortex that is my life,” you chuckled.

“I don’t mean to pry,” she sighed, setting the letter down, and you laughed a little internally at the idea that she was worried about prying when she just read the most personal piece of writing you’d ever put to the page, “but do you think this is… enough? I mean, to build a relationship on?”

You just gave her a shrug. “I have no idea. But, you know, I spent my whole life worrying about stuff like that. I dated my husband for seven years before we got married, because I wanted to be sure. I was initially interested in him because he was successful and ambitious, and it made me feel like this was a really secure relationship that I could rely on. I double majored in English and Computer Science because I wanted a more stable career to fall back on in case being a writer didn’t work out, and even though it did, I’ve spent most of my career publishing what I thought people wanted to read instead of what I wanted to write, so I’d have a better shot at a good paycheck. I grew up thinking the best thing I could ever have was security. And now I’m divorced, watching my royalties shrink every month, more insecure in every way than I’ve ever been, and I’m realizing that the choices I made didn’t give me what I wanted. I gave up so much in the name of safety, and I let the one good thing I’d ever found go, so I could go back to being the same person I always was. I’m ready to settle again, if this doesn’t work… I’m ready to accept that this is just the way life goes, and be thankful that I got a taste of the kind of stuff I thought only existed in the sort of books I’d read but never write.”

She swallowed as she looked at you, and you felt your eyes water as you stared out the window towards the dimming scenery one more time, smiling at the sight of a distant village, a church with a steeple, vineyards and farms. Someone’s whole life is in that little town, you imagined, and they’re just watching your train go by like they see every other day.

“Sebastian gave me more security than I’d ever had before, even though the whole thing was such a ridiculous little whirlwind, and nothing like I ever imagined my life could be. But he made me want to be honest and raw and write sappy letters like the one you just read. He doesn’t have any money, at least as far as I know, and I haven’t known him for seven years, and on paper it makes no sense… but you would understand if you knew him. If you felt that joy that he radiates, if you saw him live his simple little life like it’s the best thing in the world. You would understand if you knew how much I needed this. You would understand if you had been just as miserable being who I’ve been for so long, and finally had a chance to be somebody you think you were maybe meant to be the whole time. So, if I never see him again, I hope I just get to thank him.”

You waited for her to say something, but furrowed your brow at the long moment of silence, looking back from the window finally and finding her staring at you with a tear running down her cheek. When you met her gaze, she quickly wiped it away with a sniffle and looked down at your desk again. “Let’s get to translating, shall we?” she announced with a half-smile.

You noticed the way the other passengers looked at you as everyone was in line to deboard from the train car; you stuck out like a sore thumb, since everybody else was carrying heavy luggage and all you had was a backpack.

In your defense, you really had no idea how to pack for a trip where you knew neither the duration nor the true final destination. So, it was mainly filled with your essentials, a few clothes for any kind of weather, and enough leu to buy anything else you needed along the way.

The stewardess was waving goodbye to everyone as they shuffled out into the train station, occasionally stopping to shake a hand or give directions to nearby destinations. When you were just about to pass by, though, she pulled you into a tight hug.

“Good luck,” she whispered, holding you just a moment too long before pulling back and giving you an encouraging look. “If he doesn’t take you back, feel free to blame my translation… because if he knows what’s in your heart, I know he’ll say yes.”

“Yeah, that’s the hard part isn’t it?” you laughed weakly. “Thank you for your help. I guess if I come back alone for the return trip tonight, you’ll know how bad it went.”

“Then I hope I don’t see you again,” she winked.

It being a major train station and all, cabs were waiting around every corner so it was pretty easy to grab one and give them the address you already had written down for this exact purpose.

“This is pretty far,” the driver explained, “on the edge of town. Not a tourist spot.”

“Good, because I’m not a tourist,” you nodded, already only giving him half your attention as you pulled out the translated speech to practice.

“And you can afford this?” he pressed. You sighed and dug through your bag, pulling out a haphazard stack of bills and handing them through the plastic partition.

“Is this enough?” you asked, and he didn’t answer, just taking the money and starting the car as you smiled and leaned back in your seat.

As much as you had tried to convince yourself to not get your hopes up, the butterflies in your stomach felt more like whole birds at this point, demanding to break free as you practiced the words hand-written on the page over and over again, committing it all to memory.

“What are you reading?” the cab driver asked after several minutes.

“Oh, nothing,” you mumbled, “sorry if I’m bothering you, you can turn on the radio.”

“No, it’s not bothering me, but what you are saying… it’s very odd. It sounds like something from a play, or movie,” he explained.

“Um, it’s not,” you replied, a little embarrassed. “But does it sound like it’s from a good movie? Like, if you heard a character say this to another character, would you think they should get together?”

“I… don’t know,” he answered, sounding confused. “I mean, it depends on what happened, right? How they met, how well they get along…”

So, you told him the whole story, as succinctly as possible (which is not very succinct at all). By the end, he was actually giving commentary as you spoke.

“Why the hell did you leave?” he interjected, clearly irritated with you. “You loved him!”

“Yeah, well, sometimes love isn’t enough! I loved my husband too, and look how that turned out,” you defended.

“But that’s different. That was love for all the wrong reasons.”

“I promise, it felt very real at the time,” you shrugged.

“And now?” he countered. “You realize that this man— Sebastian, right?— is real.”

“I hope I’m right this time,” you offered. “But even if I am, he may not agree.”

The driver scoffed, taking a hand off the wheel to wave dismissively. “If he’s anything like you said, then he will still be completely in love with you. After all, you still feel the same way after all this time apart, don’t you?”

“If anything, I love him more every day,” you admitted, your heart beating quickly just to say it aloud.

“You know, when I met my wife, she was engaged to another man. He was rich, good-looking, and he wasn’t even a bad guy unlike this husband you describe. He was a good man, but he wasn’t right for her. They were… content together, but she wasn’t truly happy. Every night I would come to her window and beg her to marry me, because I knew that she knew we were meant for each other, but she was scared because her family wouldn’t approve and she would be a poor man’s wife.”

“How did you convince her to marry you instead?” you asked eagerly, sucked into the story already.

“I didn’t. On the day of the wedding, some people told me to go and break it up but I didn’t. I thought it would be wrong, to try to ruin her happiness and take it for myself by making a scene at the wedding. I realized she was her own woman and if she wanted to choose him, I had to let her. I had locked myself in my house, not wanting to see anyone that day, and she appeared at my door. I didn’t need to convince her because she knew the truth in her heart, and called off the wedding herself.”

“Wow,” you smiled.

“She was still in her dress!” he recalled with a hearty laugh. “She looked like an angel. We were married just a few days later. And next month will be thirty years,” he added as he lifted his left hand to show the golden band on his finger.

“Thirty years, that’s… a long time,” you sighed.

“It wasn’t always easy,” he admitted. “But it was always worth it.”

Just as you wondered what you could possibly say to that, you felt the car slow down to a stop.

“This is the address you gave me, this is it,” he explained, pointing out his passenger-side window. You leaned up against the glass and gasped in dawning fear as you saw the storefront dark and empty inside.

“No, nonono,” you whispered rapidly to yourself as you swung open the door and hopped out, pressing your face against the glass to try to get a look inside and finding what was undeniably a closed carpentry business. There was a note on the door, taped on the inside of the glass, and you knew enough Romanian to know it said something about a vacation and three months.

“Shit!” you yelped, holding your face in your hands, wondering if your journey had come to an end before it really began.

“Are you alright?” the driver asked, rolling down his window to speak to you.

“This was my only lead, I don’t have his real address,” you explained. “He used to work here, I thought maybe someone would know him…”

He sighed, giving you a sympathetic look. “Get back in, we can search nearby. You came too far to give in yet.”

But getting back in the car felt like giving in, too, which you realized as you looked back at the note taped to the carpenter's door. This was the closest you'd gotten, and it felt wasteful to leave with nothing.

Just as you were ready to hop in the passenger seat and start searching aimlessly through suburban Bucharest, or maybe look around for a Romanian yellow pages, you heard a noise from behind you, across the street; a laugh. His laugh. But it couldn’t be because it was too good to be true… and yet you found yourself whipping your head around and hoping beyond all reason that it was Sebastian.

Across the street was a restaurant, with a large patio where patrons were dining and chatting as they sat at wrought iron tables, and your eyes searched the crowd for any signs of him.

And then your gaze landed on a head of thick brunette hair, red and gold highlights so obvious now when the sunlight hit it this way. Broad shoulders wrapped in a white button-up shirt. He was facing away from you but he was looking to the side so you could see his face; he was smiling, laughing at something someone had said. And it was his smile that you recognized; it was like everything else faded away, and in that moment you thought maybe you could almost be happy with just this, just seeing him be happy even if it had nothing to do with you.

“Sebastian,” you called out to him, but he didn’t react. “Sebastian!”

His whole body turned, his eyes met yours, and you couldn't help but let the tears well in your eyes as you ran across the road to him.

He looked, understandably, stunned, and you realized he was actually waiting on a table at the moment; he said something to them, apparently excusing himself, and stepped closer to you.

But he stopped walking, not coming any closer, not exactly dragging you into his arms like you might've preferred, but with a breath to try to soothe your racing mind, you summoned your memories of the practiced letter and began. *

“Când am venit în Ungaria…” you started slowly, doing your best to remember the words and hoping your pronunciation wasn’t too awful, “nu căutam dragoste. Căutam spațiu, claritate și poate o idee de carte de un milion de dolari. În schimb, am găsit tot ce am căutat toată viața mea…”

You did your best to bite back tears, especially when his expression was nearly unreadable and you had no idea how well this was going.

“Ești tu, Sebastian, bineînțeles că ești tu,” you sighed, laughing slightly. “Ai fost acolo pentru mine când nici nu știam ce vreau de la nimeni. Ai fost prietenul meu fără să spui vreodată un cuvânt - cel puțin nu un cuvânt pe care l-am înțeles. M-ai iubit și nu știam ce să fac cu asta, pentru că uitasem cu mult timp în urmă cum se simțea să fii iubit. Și ce simțeai să iubești cu adevărat pe cineva. Dar te iubesc. Și am fost prost să te las să pleci, atât de neconceput de prost. Vreau să fim noi, Sebastian. Lasă-mă să te iubesc, mai dă-mi o șansă și îți promit că nu te voi mai lăsa să pleci niciodată.

The first thing he said was your name, and just the way he said it made you fall in love with him all over again.

“I… I dream that you would come back,” he shakily replied. “But now I cannot believe. You are my dream.”

Tears were openly flowing at this point and you wanted to run into his arms, but you tried to stay calm and hear him out. He stepped closer, almost hesitant, like you would run away if he got too close too fast.

“I love you, very much that I am sure I am insane person,” he explained with a grin, and you giggled. “We will live anywhere, do anything you would like— be my wife.”

You gasped as he pulled you into him, gripping your arms tightly as his desperation became apparent.

“Marry me?” he asked softly.

“Da,” you nodded, “yes, of course, anything—”

He kissed you suddenly, but gently, and it said more than any words in any language could.

It was a small wedding, in the Hungarian countryside by the lake. You could remember diving into that lake for lost pages of your manuscript; you could remember looking out over the water and dreaming of this moment you were living right now, thinking it was impossible.

He didn’t have much family, but they welcomed you with open arms.

Your family, well, they were too busy with planning another wedding, for your ex-husband and your ex-sister. A few of them sent cards but the rest were suspiciously quiet. You honestly didn’t even notice… you had a new family to attend to, anyhow. And it wasn’t like you didn’t have any guests, since you were able to track down and invite a stewardess named Maria, and a cab driver named Andrei and his wife, Paola.

Sebastian’s cousins weaved flowers into your hair and his grandmother tailored her dress to fit you like a glove. A picture of his parents was hung nearby in tribute; he told you they would’ve wanted to see him get married but that he felt, in some way, they were able to even if they had passed away quite some time ago.

You realized you’d never seen him in anything even mildly formal before; in fact, the suit he wore was rather casual, all things considered, but he looked so painfully cute in it. Sometimes you thought he actually looked a bit out of place wearing a shirt, though, especially one that was buttoned up all the way.

Luckily, the shirt was halfway unbuttoned about ten minutes into the reception.

Mrs. Alberti cooked a massive dinner for everyone, and even grew the flowers that you carried down the cobblestone aisle.

And wow, can Romanians drink. You had to be careful not to try to keep up with them, because if you had you would’ve been blacked out halfway into the night and the last thing you wanted was to forget even a moment of this.

As the night started to wind down to a close, you and your new husband retired to the lakehouse, running up the stairs and finding them as creaky as always.

He wrapped his arms around you in the hall and kissed you eagerly as you stumbled back into the bedroom, tripping over the doorway and falling onto the bed together.

It felt so right to have his weight on top of you, to feel his smile against your lips, to wrap your arms around his neck.

“This room,” he mumbled into the kiss. “Do you remember first time?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “da, I remember, how could I forget?”

He grinned and moved his lips down to your neck. "I thought of you every day… I love you,” he whispered.

“Te iubesc,” you whispered back.

It was almost like the first time in so many ways: passionate, yet oddly hesitant as you rediscovered each other. It was comfortable, though… you couldn’t think of any other person you felt so comfortable with, somebody who finally got you out of your own head and who made you want to experience everything life had to offer.

You were sure you’d never gone so long without worrying about something in all your life.

“My wife,” he whispered against your skin. “This is all I had wanted… from seeing you in very beginning.”

“You’re all I ever wanted,” you sighed in return, “ești tot ce mi-am dorit vreodată, Sebastian.”

Life with Sebastian was beautifully simple. You spent most of the day writing, usually, while he built furniture to sell and occasionally gardened with his spare time. You could always tell how busy you’d been with a new novel lately by how perfectly groomed the hydrangea bushes were.

You’d told him once that you’d come to Hungary looking for a million-dollar book idea. A Killer in Disguise performed alright, but not anywhere near that. The Language of Love, on the other hand, was definitely a million-dollar idea… about eleven times over. Sebastian didn’t seem to worry too much about how much money you made, though; he was just proud to say that he was the inspiration for your hit novel. You secretly suspected that he was more proud of your work reaching enough international notoriety to be translated into Romanian.

His English still needed some work, but you found it endearing. He was determined to get better and spent at least a half-hour each day practicing, but you hoped he wouldn’t get too perfect because you would miss the silly little mistakes he made. At least you could be sure he’d keep the accent forever… damn, that accent; and he knew exactly what it did to you, too.

In fact, you were crossing through the hall in your robe one evening when your husband’s voice stopped you.

“Darling wife,” you heard Sebastian call from the bedroom in a playful sing-song.

“What is it, Seba?” you asked with a smirk.

“Come in here, please…”

You opened the bedroom door to find most of the room covered in rose petals: most of all the bed, which was surrounded by candles, and topped with a shirtless (as per usual) Sebastian, laid on his side seductively with a long-stemmed rose (one you recognized from his very own garden) between his teeth.

“What are you doing?” you laughed. “Is this some sort of special occasion I’ve forgotten?”

You were already searching your mind for what it could be, but your two-year anniversary had passed a few months ago already and since it was spring it couldn’t be the anniversary of when you first met since that was late in the summer.

“Iss not quite a thpecial occathion yeth,” he answered before taking the rose from his mouth so he actually made sense. “I was considering it could be a special occasion, when we’re done…”

You smirked and climbed over the candles and into bed with him, taking the opportunity to run your hands over his chest. “And what occasion would that be?”

“A year from now, it could be the anniversary of when our child was conceived,” he answered.

Your breath caught in your throat, your voice reduced to a whisper of surprise. “Seba—”

“If you’re not ready, I will be understand,” he instantly added, stern yet soft. “Only if you want this, I just thought that maybe—”

You silenced him with a kiss, lacing your fingers into his hair and letting him roll you onto your back. He pulled back just enough to let you answer, but your noses were still bumping into each other and you smiled.

“I’m ready, Sebastian. More than ready,” you whispered.

He grinned and kissed you again, deeper and slower as he held your face with one hand and gripped your waist with the other. As his lips trailed down to your neck, you were interrupted with one pressing thought.

“Can I ask you something?”

He popped up and looked down at you with a smile. “Sure!”

“Why are you wearing ratty old jeans?” you laughed.

“Hey, these worked on you the first time,” he defended.

You gasped. “You don’t mean those are the jeans—”

“Yes,” he nodded, “the jeans that I had been wearing when I was working on Mrs. Alberti’s cottage. And, truly, when I was finding an excuse to work outside your window.”

“Wait,” you sat up, “did you actually work outside my window on purpose?”

He laughed, hanging his head quickly before looking back at you again with a sparkle in his eye. “You are very smart, my love, except for those times when you are— how do you say? Oblivious.”

You chuckled, unfortunately very aware that he was right.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why I was building a window frame, nearly a dozen metres away from the window it was for?”

You thought for a moment before dropping your face into your hands and laughing. “No, I didn’t notice that. I was too busy giving you a thorough eye-fuck,” you recalled.

“Yes, because I was not wearing a shirt and this distracted you,” he pondered, sounding suddenly like a scientist explaining a theorem or something. “See, that’s the beauty of wearing the jeans and no shirt. The body distracts you while the jeans seduce you.”

“How about you take the jeans off and put that body on me, capisce?” you pleaded; not that you didn’t love his humor or anything, but maybe his funny bone wasn’t exactly the bone you were interested in at the moment.

He grinned devilishly and suddenly pulled your legs apart, settling his body between them as he kissed your neck again, nipping at your jawline and ear. “You’re being impatient, dragă,” he purred. “You want to have my baby that badly?”

You whined involuntarily, arching your back as his hands roamed your body and finally began to untie your robe and push the silk out of the way. “Yes, Sebastian, please—”

“Let’s just say, theoretically, I wanted to have more than one? Would you have another of my children?” he asked softly as he reached up and palmed at your breasts, teasing your nipples which were already much too hard and sensitive for how little he’d touched you. The rough denim rubbing against the inside of your thighs was oddly arousing— maybe it was the sensation itself, or maybe it was just that this was almost like the first thing you imagined when you saw Sebastian all those years ago.

“Yes,” you moaned out your answer, “yes, you know I’d do anything for you.”

“What if I wanted a big family?” he pressed. “Really big? Like, Catholic big?”

“We can have our own fuckin’ Brady Bunch, Seb, I just need you right now,” you begged, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into a hot and desperate kiss.

He decided to wait until afterwards to ask what a ‘Brady Bunch’ was. You decided to wait until afterwards to ask when he’d learned how to use the word ‘theoretically’.

sfarsit; the end

#sebastian stan x reader

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eenasbabysmom · 3 years ago

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Fic ideas that keep me in a fog at inappropriate times throughout the day: Part 3

Zhancheng De-Aging!AU

10 years after the death of WWX, JC and LWJ clash on a night hunt with their own group of disciples. JC ends up taking a curse from a demonic cultivator that would have hit LJY (why is it deaging? I don't know-the demonic cultivator is bad at his job-he's looking for nonlethal methods of getting rid of the threat posed by cultivators when they interrupt him because he's actually just super interested in necromancy as like a field of study and not as a grab for power-the mad scientist without a cause/clue-IDK, I want it to be a stupid reason).

ANYWAY-Lan Wangji ends up with two groups of juniors and one baby sect leader who doesn't like anyone but Jin Ling and refuses to let anyone else touch him. JC is de-aged to about three years of age and calls JL Ling-gege and LWJ stupid-face-gege and LWJ doesn't WANT to take them all to Cloud Recesses, but SL Jiang is cursed for protecting one of his charges and also the Lans are very good at curse breaking. The Jiang disciples not down with going to CR, wanting to go back to LP, but LWJ pulls rank and they all end up going, but they're miffed about it and are planning on being absolutely vile while they are 'unlawfully detained'.

(LJY absolutely scandalized that anyone would talk about Hanguang Jun like that, right in front of his salad, but also feeling guilty mostly because Jin Ling can't go two minutes without declaring this whole thing is Jingyi's fault so when the Jiang disciples also start referring to LWJ as stupid-face-gege under their breaths where he can hear them he wants to yell at them but feels like he can't and ends up looking very constipated).

Cut to Jiang disciples being loud in the CR, because they are not 'guests' of Lan sect, but rather 'political prisoners' and when Lan juniors demand to know how they came to that conclusion, Jiang disciples challenge them to duels rather than answering. Jiang disciples lining up in a random courtyard and running back and forth, one end to the other, screaming they have to keep up their training regiment or SL Jiang will break their legs when he recovers. SL Jiang is three years old and nods very solemnly in agreement when this is shouted where he can hear. LWJ trying to lock himself in the Jingshi to avoid responsibility for all this but LQR forcing him to take charge of the Jiang disciples because he's the one who insisted on bringing them here and LWJ wants to know what Shufu would have done with twenty thirteen years and a cursed not-a-toddler and then LXC announces that he's contacted the Jiang sect Head Disciple who is coming to take charge of the Jiang juniors and check up on JC.

The Lan Cursebreakers are not impressed by the curse that struck SL Jiang. It's exasperatingly messy-not difficult to straighten out but not something they can do all at once. It's requires several stages of curse breaking over the course of nearly a month. It also requires their particular brand of curse breaking so he has to stay there. Head Disciple Jiang Meixiu wants to know what will happen if SL Jiang is just taken back to LP and they assure her that he wouldn't die or anything, but the curse will wear off naturally only after a long time (we're talking years). JL is very distressed, cries that he can't have a baby for a jiujiu for YEARS and it is very quickly decided that SL Jiang will stay for treatment. Jiang Meixiu takes her juniors out of CR (the sheer RELIEF at their departure is palpable and makes said juniors very proud that even if they couldn't help their SL, they were still a nuisance to people SL doesn't like). JL also has to leave because he is due in Lanling and LXC takes him as they come up with some sort of acceptable story for why JC is not dropping off his nephew like he always does (one that JGY will know automatically is a lie but the more he pulls at that thread, the less he gets because none of his imagined plots have anything to do with toddlerizing the scariest sect leader in the jianghu).

LQR is still not impressed by the chaos that has overtaken the CR; refuses to let JC stay with the younger children in the nursery because that would raise too many questions. Drops a toddler JC in LWJ's lap and says the Lan equivalent of "you break it you buy it" before leaving. Both toddler!JC and LWJ are unimpressed with this, but LWJ does know how to take care of a small child, has LSZ's childhood things stored in the Jingshi. He does not like sharing these items with SL Jiang, especially not since the toddler version still insists on calling him stupid-face-gege. LWJ prepares for a trying month.

First application of curse breaking results in JC growing overnight. He goes to bed three years old and wakes up about six/seven. This JC has manners, no longer calls LWJ stupid-face-gege, and also wants his parents and/or his older sister and/or his three puppies. LXC and LQR arrive to deliver a 'not technically a lie' explanation to the young sect leader who thinks he's still a sect heir and then again abandon his care to LWJ. JC at this stage is a very quiet child, working hard to gain LWJ's approval by obeying the rules he sometimes quotes at JC. LWJ occupies his time by giving JC 'lessons', reading/writing whatever it is that age group learns in Gusu Lan sect. He 'rewards' JC for good work with trips to the bunny meadows. JC is hungry for praise, is breathless when LWJ gives it in short phrases and encouraging nods. LWJ thinking LSZ was once like this, but not this eager. Speak of the devil, the thirteen year old and LJY arrive to check on things. JC in awe of the new arrivals because they HAVE SWORDS (LWJ also has a sword, but to JC he is a fully grown adult and therefore it isn't as exciting as two older CHILDREN with SWORDS). LWJ sending JC with the two for some time in the afternoons to take a break himself. One day LSZ and LJY returning JC with somber looks-explains that JC explained some things about his home life that made the other two feel bad.

("He said he likes it here, because you're happy to teach him and happy he's learning," LSZ confesses, "and at home, his parents send him to tutors and don't really pay attention when he tries to demonstrate what he's learnt unless there's something wrong with it. He says you find less things wrong with his work than his parents-and then he said he would want to live here forever if only his jiejie could come-oh, and his puppies too,")

Next stage of treatment brings JC to about 9/10 years of age and this JC constantly asks for WWX. This causes a negative reaction from LWJ, who becomes cold to JC whenever he asks. LQR and LXC appear again to explain away his predicament with another 'not a lie' lie, and LWJ is still in charge of JC. One day he asks if JC really wants WWX with him, and JC gets defensive when he argues that he does because "WWX is my shixiong and it's weird to be here without him-we do everything together, we're always together". This is the worst time that they spend together.

Next stage of treatment and JC is about 14. LQR deems him old enough for a version of the truth. They explain that JC is actually older than he appears, that there is a curse upon him that he has been sent to CR to break. This JC is the most rule-abiding version of himself. He accepts the explanation and reasoning for why more info is not forthcoming without a complaint. His first question afterwards is again about WWX ("Wait-what about WWX? Is he all right?" "Why wouldn't he be?" "Well, I was cursed on a nighthunt, right? He would have been there with me-did something happen to him? Why isn't he here?"). LXC makes an offhand comment on how if the sect heir is disposed, where would the Head Disciple be required to be (LXC, not technically lying sucessfully for 30 plus years). This version of JC is given back his sword and LWJ mostly occupies him with training and sparring. He gets too aggressive one day, when JC is insistent on writing to his family back home and WWX in particular, keeps mentioning WWX casually all the time in complete ignorance to his own part in Wei Ying's death. LWJ has a moment of weakness and JC runs off scared. JC is gone for half a day before they find him trying to get around the Lan wards to go home.

("You're lying about WWX-I know you are! He would never leave me here like this, on my own!"

The utter certainty in his voice makes even LQR kind of sad.)

JC refuses to spend more time in the Jingshi. The next stage of treatment happens and JC is almost identical to what he looked like before the curse, fewer muscles, narrower soldiers. He's about 20 and there is a shadow of ever present anxiety in his eyes. He goes through all the explanations without interruption and asks to speak with LWJ alone, after.

("Something happened to him, didn't it?" There are tears in the young sect leader's eyes. "I knew it would-I tried so hard to bring him home but he wouldn't leave them and the Jins wouldn't leave him. I thought when we first went back to LP he would get better-but he never did. You know, I hate that he's run off with these Wen dogs, whatever the reason-but sometimes it makes me a little relieved. He was drinking himself to death back home and I didn't know how long before he either left or ended up dead-my shixiong never came back from the war. But after he took them to that place, whenever I go, he seems more like himself again. I hate that he couldn't do that at home, but that he could do it at all seemed like a prayer answered. But they're not going to leave him alone-they'll never just let him be. He won't understand that-no matter how much I try to explain it. Maybe he already knows and he doesn't care. Maybe he'd really rather be with them than be with us. I just wish I knew what I had done to drive him away-then maybe I could reverse and find a way to bring him back. Have you seen him, lately Lan-er-gonzi? He always seems happy to talk to you-maybe you've had better luck."

LWJ doesn't have an answer to that.)

This is the longest phase since he first cursed. LWJ can barely stand the sight of him. JC responds to his aversion with scalding poisonous baiting. LQR bans them from the training grounds for fear that someone will be killed or horribly maimed. They fight all the time regardless, fuming asides and calculated accusations. LWJ hasn't spoken so many words at one time in his whole life. There is no leaving an argument with JC unless LWJ can leave him utterly lost and desolated. In the midst of one of these verbal brawls, JC slips up about losing his core and then shuts up, refusing to say another word. LWJ is infuriated by all this, because before JC wouldn't shut up and now he won't engage and there's something vital and important there that JC is hiding from LWJ and LWJ wants to pull that thing from JC's chest with his bare hands. His mind makes up scenarios, fed by so many suspicions, and JC barricades himself in his guest rooms to avoid LWJ.

The next stage of treatment arrives and LWJ almost tries to delay it because he wants answers. JC ages again, but ends up seemingly catatonic. He doesn't move, doesn't speak, just stares into the distance, slumped over if they try to make him sit or eyes fixed on the ceiling if they leave him be. Alarmed, they write to Jiang Meixiu and nothing changes in the meanwhile. JMX arrives and sits with her SL for a long time before coming out and explaining.

"He was like this before, right after Nightless City. He wouldn't move, wouldn't speak-like he was gone even though his body was here. We couldn't even get him to eat or drink. We thought he had been cursed; Healer Tan asked us how much death and loss we expected a twenty year old to hold. We thought he would die like that, and maybe he would have-but Madam Jin arrived one day with JL crying in her arms. She slapped him and told him that her friend's last living child would have to live because he had a duty to his sister's child. She put JL in his lap and went back to Koi Tower, and I am grateful everyday that she did because it finally brought him back."

The next treatment is the final one. LWJ hasn't been back to JC's room in the healing pavilion for days. He couldn't stand to see the blankness on a face that was normally so violently expressive. He didn't want to see the toll of all these years on a man he is determined to hate because all this anger and negativity from losing Wei Ying has to go somewhere and JC FAILED Wei Ying by his own admission-but there is also that secret that he slipped up about, that LWJ doesn't know the full truth of, that his mind keeps poking at and finding no satisfying resolution.

(There are so many clues, but his mind won't put them together in a satisfactory way. Between 14 and 19, three wounds appeared, marring the formerly smooth expanse of JC's chest and shoulder. They are ugly, twisted things. There are 4 or 5 of them-his back twinges in sympathy before his mind is able to quiet the impulse.

JC had been rubbing at those wounds when he made that slip-up, alerted LWJ to the fact that there was a secret he carried, a secret probably tied to those scars, and it was MADDENING that LWJ didn't know, couldn't force an answer-that three weeks ago JC was 6 and thought the world of LWJ and then he was 14 and scared of LWJ, and now he is himself and he is back to hating LWJ).

JC thanks the Lan sect for their help, pledges LP will always be open to Lan sect members whenever they needed help in recompense for their aid in this time. LXC is sectleader-ly back at JC, recommends he send a letter to JL before heading out, and there is an uncomfortable stare-off between LWJ and JC that goes on for way too long before JC and JMX finally leave CR for LP.

Months later, another night hunt. The mad scientist demonic cultivator has now created curses that bind a cultivator to the nearest thing that he hates/dislikes. LWJ and JC are STUCK together (LJY is stuck to like five different Jiang juniors). This time they go to LP, where Jiang healers have been brushing up on their curse-breaking abilities. LSZ and the other Lan juniors are handed off to Yu Xiuying (3rd ranked Jiang senior), and she tries her best to corrupt them. LWJ is too frustrated with his current predicament to pay close enough attention (LAN JUNIORS ARE RUNNING AROUND THE PIERS AND SCREECHING AS THEY JUMP INTO THE LAKES AND LAN JINGYI IS THE INFIRMARY FOR CURSE BREAKING AND NOT ALLOWED TO JOIN).

LWJ is a bitchy king ("Of all the demonic cultivators you've trapped and killed-why is it this one that you refuse to use deadly force against?"

"Demonic cultivator? He raised two fierce corpses, and then only to see if he could, and at most had they do heavy lifting for a couple of days before putting them back to rest. He moved on from necromancy to alchemy months ago-he's not a demonic cultivator. He's a bloody nuisance! His whole purpose in life is to invent incapacitating but stupid curses so he can go on with his stupid, dangerous experimentation. I was only on his tail because the idiot is trying to replicate the process of creating a yao in a laboratory setting-FOR SCIENCE, he says! Irresponsible, reckless, and damned certain of his own superior intellect and morality-do you know how many times I've tested him to make sure he isn't WWX come back to life? Because if WWX was going to come back to life, I fully believe his first bit of business would be trying to annoy me to death!"

LWJ cannot deny the possibility without lying, so stays silent but slightly murderous in countenance). This curse is easier to break-the Lan are back on the way to CR within a week. JC sends them off with a "let's never do this again, okay Hanguang Jun?" and LWJ leaves with a "do your job better then" and only JMX stops a swordfight from breaking out so early in the morning.

And that's it-that would be the fic. There would be a sequel, where they end up fucking a lot about a bunch of different things, but mostly about that secret LWJ wants to know and that JC refuses to acknowledges exists ("Secrets? Why would I need to keep secrets, Hanguang Jun? I am a man of honour").

#jiang cheng #lan wangji #fic ideas #the case of the mad scientist demon cultivator who doesn't even cultivate demonically that much

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benecare-hospital · 2 years ago

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5 Tips for Recovering from a Vaginal Delivery

Introduction

Moms-to-be spend months getting ready for the big day. Understanding what to anticipate following a vaginal delivery is one approach to getting ready. Recent mothers are aware that while giving birth is a great experience, it is also incredibly taxing on your body. Even while your body is built to recover from a vaginal delivery on its own, you can take these suggestions to quicken the process and feel better. As per guidance in the Best Maternity Hospital in Pune below are some essential tips for recovery from vaginal delivery.

Most Essential Tips

1. Ease Soreness

Do you have a "down there" ache? It's typical to experience pain after delivery, especially if you tore during delivery. Soak a maxi-pad in witch hazel to relieve the agony. Additionally, you can place gauze pads atop a maxi-pad after soaking them in witch hazel. Witch hazel has anti-inflammatory properties and can help you feel better. For even quicker relief, freeze the witch hazel. If your pain continues beyond the first few weeks or worsens, call your doctor.

2. Prepare for Bleeding

During pregnancy, your blood volume almost doubles. In the weeks following the birth of your child, your body eliminates this surplus blood. So, be prepared for some vaginal bleeding. However, avoid using tampons. They may obstruct healing. Use maxi-pads instead until the bleeding stops, which often takes 2 to 6 weeks. If your bleeding doesn't stop, is bright red, or has huge clots, consult your doctor.

3. Handle Hemorrhoids

After giving birth, some women get hemorrhoids, which are enlarged veins in and around the anus and rectum. Bowel movements may become painful due to the uncomfortable surrounding tissue. Take frequent hot baths to relieve the discomfort. Including fiber and lots of fluids in your diet also helps you avoid constipation. Consult your doctor before taking a topical hemorrhoid cream or a stool softener.

4. Work your Muscles

Kegel exercises can help your perineum—the region between your vagina and rectum that stretches and occasionally tears during delivery—heal by strengthening your pelvic muscles. Use the same muscles you'd use to stop pee from flowing to squeeze. Repeat ten to fifteen times, holding for ten seconds before letting go. Work your way up to 10 seconds if you can't do it straight away. Try to perform two to three Kegel sets each day.

5. Baby your Breasts

Whether or whether you intend to breastfeed your baby, your breasts will get ready to do so after delivery. If you decide to bottle feed, avoid pumping and take care of swollen breasts by donning a supportive bra. If you are nursing, feed your child frequently or pump to avoid engorgement and leakage. Discuss the causes of clogged milk ducts, how to treat them, and breast symptoms that should lead you to call your doctor or lactation nurse.

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disgruntledspacedad · 4 years ago

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in defense of Din’s subdued reaction to losing the kid...

gif by @quantam-widow

I know we were all thinking it. We got a 2 second reaction shot to the destruction of the Razor Crest (may she forever rest in peace), but then, Grogu gets taken, and... nothing?

What the fuck, Din? we all protest. That’s your baby on that ship! Don’t you care? Scream, curse, kick a rock, cry, make a fist, something!!

I will acknowledge that so far, the show has been excellent with giving us emotional payoff, am I right? I mean, just today we got Din laughing, twice. Twice in a row. I honestly never thought we’d see that. There have been so many excellent, precious soft!Din moments this season, and they all feel deliciously earned.

So, from a meta POV, I guess I’m saying that I have faith in the writers to get it right, and in Pedro to deliver. Duh.

In universe, though, I think it’s fair to point out the obvious - that Din is a pretty reserved guy. He’s much more of a thinker than a feeler. He’s used to keeping things bottled up, and I would even argue that his life often depends on his ability to dissociate from his emotions. Din’s entire journey so far has been about how one little baby yodito shakes his worldview to its very foundations. He’s getting there, but it’s a slow process.

And also, consider this - we haven’t seen Din alone yet, not since Grogu was taken. For a guy who lives a guarded life literally encased in fucking armor, any display of emotion is going to be carefully protected until he’s in private.

But anyway, Din is detached, rational, a little emotionally constipated, and definitely comfortable in a stressful situation. A true ISTP if you ask me (yeah, I know you didn’t, but whatever). Often, it seems that these cool headed, logical types who have never ruffled a feather over anything in their lives are the least adept at handling genuine fear. In other words, when panic does strike, it strikes them hard.

And guys, Din was definitely panicking during this episode.

He’s clearly unsettled from the jump - that outburst of “dank farrik!” in the cockpit sells it, and his distress only becomes more obvious from there. Talking out loud, trying to convince himself that the best thing for Grogu is for him to be trained as a Jedi. Reminding himself of the creed. His overt caution as they approach the seeing stone. His impatience, “Are you seeing anything??”

Then there’s the effects of long term stress. Sure, a bounty hunter in the outer rim doesn’t exactly live an easy life, but Din is definitely used to the drama being on his terms. Compare Din’s body language in the opening scene of season one to when Boba confronts him in chapter fourteen. You can just feel the anxiety, the weariness, the frustration. Din has been on the run for months now, constantly looking over his shoulder, sleeping with one eye open. Notice how he even startles at Fennec’s voice? Season one Din would never have given that much away, regardless of the situation. Long term stress has clearly taken a toll on him.

So we have unsettled, stressed out Din in an emotionally charged situation. He’s exhausted, he’s scared, he’s desperate. This scenario is a recipe for even the most level-headed of adrenaline junkies to loose their cool, and that’s exactly what happens to Din. He panics, and he makes some pretty big fuckups because of it. Leaving Grogu unprotected, twice. Trying three different times to break through that “force field,” even when he knew he couldn’t. Dropping that jetpack and then just forgetting about it (I know we were all screaming about that one, or at least, I was).

So, fear is a positive feedback loop. Those neurotransmitters that do us good in a bad situation - raising heart rate, narrowing focus, shunting blood to the muscles - can also be detrimental if we get too high of a dose - tachypnea and tachycardia, inability to think critically and see the big picture, lack of blood and oxygen to the brain. Epinephrine, in particular, even inhibits the laying down of new memory pathways. In other words, stress leads to poor performance, and poor performance leads to more stress, which leads to... you get the idea.

Then, in the middle of all this chaos, they fucking blast the Razor Crest.

More epinephrine, more cortisol, more stress.

By the end of it all, Din is a fucking shitstorm of stress hormones and pent up emotions. Notice how he seems to be on autopilot in the immediate aftermath, robotically scanning the ashes of the Crest for anything that might be left intact. Notice how empty his voice is when he says, “the child is gone.” This is a dead man walking. Din has nothing left. His whole life has just gone up in smoke, and he can do nothing about it.

Guys, Din is holding onto his sanity by a fucking thread in this scene. “The child is gone,” he says, like he’s reminding himself, grounding himself in his shitty reality. He’s stunned.

And helpless. There’s literally nothing he can do for Grogu. He has no ship, no credits, no resources, nothing to bargain with, nothing to offer. Din literally cannot allow himself the luxury of feelings right now. He’s just got to focus on surviving this very shitty day.

Then, Boba Fett upholds his end of the deal, and suddenly, Din has something to hold onto. An ally, a badass friend, some hope. I don’t think Boba shows Din that chain code in order to verify his claim on the armor - he’s already wearing it, for godssake. I think Boba shows him the code in order to catch Din’s attention - hey friend, I know you’re hurting, but I’m a man of my word. When I make a vow, I keep it. Let’s regroup and go find your kid.

And Din would totally latch onto that. A fighting chance? Din fucking leaps at it. There’s a job to do. A kid to save. All of those stress hormones are going to keep on stewing, because Din has never really come down from his adrenaline high.

It’s like this in real life, too. There isn’t time to be afraid. There isn’t time to be sad, or second-guess, or say, oh how terrible, or wonder what if it doesn’t work? There’s just you and the job, and if you are the only thing standing between life and death, you will put everything else aside and do what you have to do, for as long as you have to do it.

And that’s where Din is at this moment. He’s running on the fumes of his adrenaline, all tempered focus, all strategy and no bullshit.

Emotional shock, my therapist buddy calls it. Apparently, it’s normal. Expected, even.

But guys, the fallout of this kind of crazy ass adrenaline high is insanely intense. I’m talking collapse to the floor, legs won't hold you, trembling, crying so hard you sling snot, shuddering breaths, stare dead-eyed and spent at the ceiling because you’re just too wiped out to even sleep kind of intense.

And then, after the breakdown comes the angst. The detailed thinking. The oh god, what if this had happened, or, should I have done that instead? It seems like every emotion that gets put on the back burner in the moment comes back to bite you with twofold intensity when all is said and done.

In other words, Din is definitely going to feels some things .A lot of very intense things. A reckoning is coming, my dudes. Trust me. It’s just not quite here yet.

That being said, here’s what I can expect from Din going forward:

Just like he’s is slow to acknowledge his growing parental feelings for Grogu, I think Din’s going to be slow at processing his grief at Grogu’s loss. In the next episode, he’s got plenty to distract him - getting together his hit team to take back the kid and coordinating an attack on the empire.

However, I do think we’ll get a slow moment with Din, probably sometime at the beginning of next week’s episode if the pattern holds. I doubt it’s the full-blown breakdown that we’re all needing, but I’m willing to bet money that we’ll see Din grappling with the fact that his kid is gone. I also think that badass beskar murder machine Din from chapter three will resurface. Stress and desperation make us do irrational things, and anger is one of the stages of grief that Din will inevitably have to work through (I think he’s flickering between denial and bargaining for now).

But then, after Din gets Grogu back? I think that’s we’ll have our big, dearly earned emotional payoff.

For one thing, Din won’t be able to deny his feelings anymore. He wants to keep this kid, it’s so very obvious. Losing him just forces it all to the forefront.

And then the relief/joy/regret/guilt that Din is going to feel once he’s got Grogu back? Not to mention the physical exhaustion? All of the fear/terror/angst/grief that he ignored in favor of just going pedal to the metal, guns blazing, get the kid or die trying? That shit’s going to crash into him with all the subtly of a fucking tsunami. I guarantee you, we’re going to get some sort of confession, or adoption vow, or face revel, or other sort of profound softness from Dad!Din in the falling action of this season (At least, I hope we get it at the end this season but I wouldn’t put it past them to kick it into the premier of season three, just for pacing reasons, but then again, I obviously have trust issues).

Personally, I would love to see Din grappling with the long-term fallout of losing Grogu - night terrors, guilt, paranoia, etc. That’s probably the stuff of fanfiction - mandalorians don't have nightmares on screen, surely - but still, some lingering effects Grogu’s kidnapping would be realistic, and I would absolutely live for it.

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heyyywa · 4 years ago

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Kirikacchako thingy

Ok so a while back (2 years actually lolz) i made a post about bnha poly ships and kirikacchako is one of my faves so here are some thoughts i had on those three:

In my mind, kiribaku got together first in early 2nd year because our boi kiri may be dense, but emotionally constipated he is not. He asked baku out and they’ve been together ever since.

Now, Kiri is aware of the chemistry (and sometimes tension) between Baku and Ura and is very chill about it. He thinks she is very manly and believes she is going to be a great hero someday. Because of that, he develops a crush on her and decides to feel her out. He invites her to more work out sesions with him and Baku and the three start to share a deeper bond than just classmates. Between Baku’s grumpy, yet quite intuitive disposition, Ura’s friendly and hard-working personality and Kiri’s easy-going and honest character, they mesh well and cancel each other’s shortcomings.

Kiri manages to talk to his boyf about his growing feelings for their friend and Baku (because he’s a lil shit) makes it a challenge bc why not? So, whoever manages to ask her out first gets braging rights (and a bj *ahem*)

Que a frankly, ridiculous month of will they won’t they (because of course the rest of the class know at this point) and to everyone’s relief and exasperation, Todoroki asks Uraraka publicly if she decided whether she will date the boys or not. Ura is quite oblivious to what was happening prior to Todo’s callout bc hello??? Two hot guys want to actually date her? WHat? Before she even has enough time to process this new info, she has to stop Baku from killing Todo with the help of Kiri and Deku.

Eventually, they sort their shit out but since a poly relationship is still a new concept to them, they take it slow. Once they become more solid, they begin talking about what they imagine their future will be like.

I think they would move in together after graduation and concentrate on their individual careers for the first few years of hero work.

hhh that’s all i have for now. i might write a one-shot about the boys’ courting and generally about how the three of them got together but i have finals this year that will determine my acceptance to the uni of my choice, so i gotta spend a lot of time studying.

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jjungkookislife · 4 years ago

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The Key to My Drawer Ch. 5

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: bf2l, angst, smut 18+

wc: 3.6k

warnings: cursing, virgin!tae, virgin!reader, sex on the beach, marking (hickeys), unprotected sex, creampie, alcohol mention/use (drunk phone call), ~_~ = flashback

date: June 29, 2020

Despite getting ready for bed, which you admit, you have done prematurely; you stay up a little longer. You’re now on the 23rd letter, your hands gripping it tightly. The sheets are pulled up to your chest as you wiggle in further to get into bed.

Your mom called today, she wanted us to come home for the weekend because our parents want to have a cookout. We packed our bags and drove down and we stayed at your place. It wouldn’t have mattered if I had gone to mine and you to yours, our parents know I’d wake up in your room or you in mine.

You woke up before me though. I tried to pull you back to bed, but you insisted you get up and start making our coffee. You stroked my hair until I fell asleep once again.

When you came to wake me, you had my coffee in your hands. You refused to give it to me until I sat up, but sleep called my name. You set the coffee on your nightstand, grabbed your pillow and smacked me with it, which caused a pillow fight to ensue.

Your mom came into your room, smiling when she saw us laughing on your bed. She said it reminded her of old times. Then she told us to come down for breakfast because she had something she wanted to give us.

After breakfast, your mom sat us down in the living room. I thought we were in trouble; I was sweating beside you, but you held my hand and calmed me down with a smile. I think your mom noticed the way I stare fondly at you. I think she knows that I love you…

Relief flooded through my body when she gave us each a photo album, she said all our pictures were in there. From our moms’ maternity pictures to the last visit we made home. Everything was in there...everything.

I’m not that surprised to see your mom had a picture of our first kiss. I’m sure my brother is the culprit behind that… I want to be mad at him, but I’m secretly grateful. It was at our fifteenth birthday party and you had made me play spin the bottle with you and our friends. I didn’t want to; I thought it was dumb, but you wanted to play and so I did. I know at the time I loathed the idea, but now looking back, it makes me happy that we could have shared that first together.

~_~

I was nervous. I didn’t want to fuck it up and everyone had their eyes on us. My hands were sweating, and I worried my breath may have been bad, but you looked so excited; I couldn’t say no.

The bottle spun and spun… and then suddenly all the girls moved out of the way. I’m not gonna lie, it offended me… was I that bad? Turns out, my brother had told them I liked you. Like liked you. Which wasn’t true at the time, but the girls thought it was romantic and the bottle landed on you, anyway?

I felt like throwing up. Not because I had to kiss you, but because I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. Where do I put my hands? Do I hold your waist? Do I use my tongue? Do I give you a peck and call it a day?

I didn’t have time to decide because you grew tired of waiting! You gripped me by the collar of my Resident Evil shirt and kissed me. It was one hell of a kiss! You took me by surprise and of course, my brother had to take a picture of it and send it to our moms.

~_~

I wonder if our parents knew that I would fall for you; if that’s what they hoped for?

I thanked your mother, hugged her.

You know what she told me, Y/n?

She said, “I know, Taehyung. I know.”

The color drained from my face, panic clear in my eyes as I looked over my shoulder to check if you had heard. You were too engrossed in the album to pay us any attention. I looked back at your mother. She winked and left us alone in the room.

“Tae! Look!” you exclaimed, waving me over and patting the spot beside you. I sat, my shoulder brushing yours. You pointed at our prom picture. I cringed, my hair wasn’t as cool as it was now. I remember how badly you wanted to go to prom, but I didn’t want to go because it was lame. It baffled me when you kept turning down everyone who asked you… I thought you had wanted to go?

Maybe I was an idiot or maybe I… I don’t know, Y/n. It confused me. Why were you turning down dates if you wanted to go so badly?

It wasn’t until Jimin came up to me after school two days before prom. He asked me if I had asked you to prom already. My brows shot up. Me? Why did you want me to ask you? Jimin smacked me upside the head. Apparently you had told his girlfriend you wanted to go with me.

My heart sank to my chest. You only wanted to go to prom with me, as a friend or as more, I’m not sure. I felt like an asshole, I’m so sorry, baby. Forgive me?

Jimin helped plan a cute way to ask you. He even arranged for his mom to do your nails, hair and makeup that day. He’s a lifesaver.

My mom called your mom, and they took you dress shopping the following day. Trust me, I got an earful from both of them about asking you so last minute, but they both had been browsing shops for your prom dress since middle school, so they knew which places to hit.

We were a tad late to prom, but you didn’t care so as long as we got to take our picture together. Most people only go for the picture, anyway.

We left prom after slow dancing, your hands wrapped around my neck as we swayed to the music. You still look at me the same way you did back then when we dance, although less often. I always want to hold you, always want your hand in mine.

Remember how we ended up at the beach that night? I held your heels in my hand as we walked down to the shore while the rest of our friends and their dates partied in Jin’s beach house.

You looked at me, your hair still piled beautifully on top of your head, thanks to Jimin’s mom. You smiled, “Tae?”

“Hmm?” I looked away from the waves crashing, smoothing out the blanket we were sitting on. You pulled the blanket wrapped around your shoulders tighter around you as you looked back at the ocean.

“Are you scared too?” Your voice trembled, I laced my fingers with yours.

“Scared of what, Y/n?”

“Graduation. Being an adult. The world. We just turned 18 in December and now we’re being tossed into the wild not even 6 months later, Tae. We still have to ask permission to go to the bathroom and they expect us to go to college, pick a major, and work for the rest of our lives. What if it all goes wrong?” You sigh as you look out at the ocean, the full moon illuminating the waves.

“Hey, Y/n. Look at me, love.” You did, your cheek resting on your knees that you had pulled into your chest.

“I’m going to be right by your side, okay?”

“What if we’re not friends anymore in college, Tae?” Your eyes watered but I kissed your cheek.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Y/n. It’s been 18 years, 19 if you count gestation,” you grimaced before laughing and shoving my shoulder.

“Don’t be gross!”

“I’m not!” I protested, but you continued to laugh. The stars had nothing on the sparkle in your eyes. Maybe I already loved you then?

The laughter died down, you squeezed my hand, “I just don’t want to live in a world where you’re not the only person I’ve kissed.”

I gulped, I didn’t know what to say. Now I think I realize that you probably loved me then… I’m an idiot, aren’t I?

I didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t matter. You kissed me and time stopped. Nothing mattered but you and me as we kissed. You pulled the lapels of my tux, nearly choked me with my tie as you pulled me on top of you.

I barely caught myself on my hands before your lips were back on mine. I remember every moment in significant detail… every kiss, every touch, every moan.

Never in a million years did I think we’d give ourselves to each other on prom night on the beach. Your dress was a nightmare to get you out of, I’m still sorry I ripped it… haha.

Do you still think of that night? It’s been so long since I last did, but it’s all coming back now. The way your hair unraveled, framing your face as you got on top. Your hands planted firmly on my chest, my hands on your hips as I sat up to hold you tighter.

My lips marked the column of your throat, your head thrown back as you moaned my name. Fuck… that still sends shivers down my back, baby.

That was the best night of my life, I swear. Having you in my arms, holding you close as the moonlight illuminates your body as you throw your head back, grinding down on me. Your back arched, your sinful moans drowned out by the crashing waves as you cum around my cock.

Fuck.

Fuck!

We went all night, into the early morning. You fell asleep in my lap with my arms wrapped around you under the blanket.

Jimin came looking for us when he woke up the next morning. It worried him when he hadn’t seen us go inside, but once he saw that you were sleeping he left. I think he knew then… he had to have known.

I wish I could say everything was sunshine and rainbows when you woke up, but it wasn’t. We watched the sunrise before we got dressed. You put my suit jacket on and I held your heels as I took your hand and led you to the house.

We didn’t talk about it… should we have?

Would we be dating right now if we had? Or would we be strangers? I don’t know, honestly. I loved you then, Y/n. Never doubt that but I wasn’t in love with you like I am now. Or maybe I always have been and I just never realized it.

You know, if I could express my feelings, we wouldn’t be twenty-three letters deep, Yet. here we are, babe. You’ve got an emotionally constipated best friend who’s hopelessly in love with you.

I’m sorry, Y/n.

If you’ve loved me since then and I’m just now realizing. I want to ask you, but what if you don’t anymore? What if I've missed my chance with you? Oh god, please tell me I still have a chance? Oh, no. Oh no, Y/n.

Please.

Please tell me I’ve got a chance.

Y/n, I love you!

I will tell you.

Today.

I will tell you today, baby.

Wait for me…

You fold the letter back up, flashes of prom and the days leading up to it hit you like a ton of bricks. It’s been so long since you thought of your school days, but you remember clearly now.

~_~

Jimin’s girlfriend, Adriana, had been going on and on about prom, while you hummed only half-listening as she talked about Jimin’s mom doing her hair and makeup before the grand event.

“When are we picking you and Tae up?” Adriana asks as she shoves her books in her lockers.

“You’re not, he didn’t ask me. He thinks it’s lame,” you mumble as you clasped your books to your chest. Adriana slammed her locker door shut.

“What do you mean he didn’t ask you?! Is he going with someone else? Because I can fix that real quick! Who is it? I’ll settle this right now.”

“Adriana, no! He just didn’t ask, and I turned down everyone else who asked. I don’t wanna go if Tae's not going, okay?”

Adriana scowled but nodded before she walked with you to your locker so you could grab your bag.

Later that same night, Taehyung had shown up at your house with a huge cake with a picture of the both of you. ‘Will you go to prom with me?’ was written in icing.

“You wanna go to prom? With me?”

Taehyung nodded, his boxy smile making an appearance.

“Did my mom put you up to this?” you asked as you looked over your shoulder where your parents were smiling at the two of you.

Taehyung’s eyes widened, shaking his head, “no! no! “

You accepted and allowed him to eat cake with you as you talked about all the details before he went home that night.

Once he had left, you had run up to your room to write about it in your diary. You were going to prom with your best friend, Taehyung. Taehyung who you’d had a crush on since he gave you your first kiss all those years ago. Your fingertips brushed your lips, a smile tugging at your lips as you squealed in excitement and kicked your feet on your bed.

Prom had been a blur for you. You didn’t care to remember the bland food, the shitty music or the people. All you cared about was that night on the beach with Taehyung. You loved him then… so, so much. You felt sparks every time he touched you. His touch elicited a surge of heat throughout your body. He’d made the night so special for you despite not wanting to go originally.

You had often sat in your room wondering if he felt the same way about you. You didn’t think so, so you never said a thing. That night, however, you wanted him. You wanted him to be your first (and only), so you gave yourself to him and he to you. You didn’t care about the consequences. You would worry about those when the morning came, not when his cock was buried inside you to the hilt, drawing out sweet moans from your lips.

You knew nothing would change between the two of you. If he wanted to talk about it, you would, but if not, you’d let that night be a once in a lifetime moment.

And so it was.

~_~

Your thighs pressed together at the memory of that night. Taehyung had handled you with so much tender love and care. You had fallen deeper for him then, but it hurt when nothing came of it.

You wonder if you should have said something? Would he have loved you then? You didn’t think so.

Your phone rings, a picture of Taehyung kissing your cheek while you smile with your eyes closed, mid-laugh, lights up your screen. You fumble with your phone as you answer it.

“Tae?”

“Shit, it’s late…” Taehyung’s words are slightly slurred but you know he’s still coherent.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, baby. I just… I miss you. And Tannie, yeah, Tannie.”

You nod, sitting up, “he’s fine, Taetae. Go have fun with Jimin and Kook. I’m sure they won’t be too thrilled that you’re on the phone with me instead of drinking.”

“Fuck ’em. I miss you so much and that’s more important than taking another shot,” Taehyung mutters, but you’re unable to make any of it out.

“Tae…?”

“This is the furthest we’ve ever been from each other. I don’t fucking like it,” Taehyung sighs, a bit of anger coming through in his tone.

He’s right, though. The two of you have always been either next door, with each other or in the same city. You had never parted without the other. Hell, even your family went on vacation together because the two of you would sob hysterically if they separated you. It happened once when you were both 8 and never again.

“I wanna see you, Y/n.” His whisper has you rolling on your side, thighs pressed together. You ignore the heat that pools deep in your belly.

“You saw me today, Tae,” you remind him in a breathy tone that has his breath growing ragged as he excuses himself from his friends to go outside of the bar they’re in.

“Yeah,” he breathes, his voice huskier than he intended it to be, but it drives you wild. “You stole my shirt, Y/n”

You bite your lip, “I think it looks better on me. Don’t you agree, Taetae?”

Taehyung leans against the brick wall, his head lolling back as he puts the phone down to his side, with his other hand, he cards his fingers through his hair, murmuring, “fuck, she’s fucking gonna make me hard calling me that.”

When he places his phone back against his ear, he can hear you calling his name.

“Tae,” you breathe, he can almost hear the pout on your lips.

“I’m here, baby.” you want to squeal at the endearment but you refrain.

“You left,” you whisper, your finger toying with the hem of your shirt.

“Just for a second,” he laughs, you’re so cute.

“I know but I miss you,” you admit rather bashfully. Taehyung grins, he knows this is the first time you’ve been apart and he won’t see you tomorrow unless he video calls you and even then, that doesn't seem like it’s enough. He doesn’t want to think about it.

“Taehyung, man! Come on! We’re going to 201!” Jungkook shouts as Jimin and the rest of their friends pile out of the bar to go to another. Taehyung sighs heavily.

“I gotta go, Y/n. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yes, Tae. Be safe and have fun,” you whisper back, sad that he has to go but you eye the next letter. You’ll spend all day tomorrow reading the rest of them, but you can read one more tonight.

“I will, Y/n. Goodnight, b-” Taehyung stops himself, he’s already let himself slip a few times tonight. He sighs, “Goodnight, Y/n… dream of me?”

You smile, “always, Tae. Always.”

I fucked up.

It’s over…

I waited too damn long!

Fuck!

I went over to your place today, ready to tell you, but when you opened the door and let me in, you told me you had to tell me something. I was worried, but you said it wasn’t anything bad…

I asked what it was, my hands trembling as I slipped them in my pockets.

“I have a boyfriend,” you giggled as you showed me a picture of him on your phone. I swear I could hear my heart crack right down the middle. I felt the familiar sting of tears in my eyes but I blinked them away.

“I… uh, I didn’t know you were dating.”

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything just in case it didn’t go anywhere but Justin is amazing. You’ll like him,” you assured me, but I didn’t want to like him. Hell, I didn’t want to meet him.

“Yeah… sure. Listen, I have to go. I forgot I told Jimin I’d return his book.”

“But you just got here,” you pout, but I looked away. I couldn’t look at you, I might sob in front of you and that’s the last thing I wanted to do. I shook my head and rushed out of there, promising to text you later or the following day.

I won’t stand in your way, Y/n. No matter what happens in our lives or who comes into them, your happiness will always come first.

I’m glad you and Jonathan are together.

You deserve to be happy and I’ll be here cheering you on.

Be happy, Y/n… be happy.

You grimace before laughing at Tae changing Justin’s name to Jonathan. Justin and you hadn’t lasted too long, three, almost four months at most.

You didn’t like him all that much once you truly got to know him, but he was the first boy who had caught your attention since Taehyung. You had kissed Justin a handful of times and no more. He eventually broke up with you when you wouldn’t sleep with him. Good riddance.

You grab one more letter, not surprised it’s a short one.

Fuck yeah!

Fuck! Yes! Yes!

Oh, I’m so happy I could cry!

Y/n and Jackson broke up! I never liked him, he was an asshole to me, but I socked him in the face when I found out he tried to pressure you into sex. Fuck him! He’s out of our lives for good.

It was torture seeing you in another man’s arms, but if he made you happy at the time, then I’m happy for you. You’re mad at me for punching him, but I caught you smiling while you scolded me. You were more worried about me going to jail than me punching him.

Should I tell you how I feel?

Should I wait?

You just broke up with that scumbag…

I should wait… give you time to get over him, right? I don’t wanna be a rebound. Yeah, I’ll wait a bit. Not too long, though. I don’t want to lose you again. Once was enough.

Wait for me, baby.

I promise, I’ll tell you soon enough.

I love you, Y/n.

I love you...

<< previous / next >>

#bangtanarmynet #smutcentralnet #the key to my drawer taehyung #taehyung fanfic #bts fanfic #taehyung x you #taehyung x yn #taehyung x reader insert #taehyung angst #taehyung smut #best friend!au #best friend!taehyung #taehyung non idol au #taehyung bf2l #the key to my drawer jjungkookislife

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geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde · 4 years ago

Text

Misery and Happiness Ch. 1

Chapter 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Summary: Word of an injured, possibly dead witcher has reached Jaskier in his travels and as much as he would like to walk away, he knows he can't.

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Jaskier frowned heavily into his ale while listening to the three men behind him gossip.

For two days, every tavern he entered was subject to strange mutterings about a witcher, gone mad and injured, probably dying. The bard was used to hearing gossip about witchers but never before had it seemed so factual. The words whispered seemed to hold a grain of truth to them that had Jaskier worrying.

Jaskier had been trying not to think of witchers in general for the past six months, or at least one particular, angry, emotionally constipated witcher, but the worry was starting to overpower the ache in his heart.

“Hey, where did you say that witcher was last seen?”

Geralt was moving through the woods that supposedly held a wyvern nest, trying to quiet his mind. Ever since that blasted mountain his mind had been working overtime, making sure he remembered every mistake he had made, every life he had managed to ruin. More painfully, he kept hearing himself, yelling awful, destructive words at the one person that had never judged him, never abandoned him.

The pounding in his temples grows as he thinks of his bard. No, not his bard, the bard. The bard that had spent most of the last two decades by his side, doing everything he could to make Geralt’s life easier. The bard that Geralt used to be able to think of as his own but now, after Geralt had used harsh words to push him away, now he was simply the bard that Geralt wasn’t sure he would be able to live without.

Finding the nest, Geralt makes quick work of the wyverns. He acted on instinct and killed like the monster he was made to be. It wasn’t until after the wyverns were dead, he noticed the sharp stinging and intense throbbing in his side. Looking he could tell his armor had been seriously pierced and his side seemed to be flayed open. A mistake, one that could cost him his life, a witcher’s retirement.

Jaskier would be so mad that he let himself get hurt.

No, he quickly cut off that thought process. Jaskier was gone, had left when Geralt attacked with the sharp stab of words.

Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, Geralt held his side and stumbled away from the nest. Finding an outcropping of rocks not too far away, he quickly sunk to his knees before downing a bottle of swallow. He laid on his uninjured side and soon was unconscious.

Faces flitted through Geralt’s subconscious, the shadow he remembers of his mother, the pride on Vesemir’s face after he survived the trials, the shock on Pavetta’s face when Geralt claimed the law of surprise, the anger on Yennefer’s face upon learning of his unwanted child, the pain on Jaskier’s face when Geralt accused him of causing every problem destiny had thrown him.

The village Jaskier had been pointed to was only a day away from the one in which he had been, so he set out immediately. The chance that the rumors were true, that there was a witcher hurt and in need of help, was too large to be ignored. Even if it weren’t the witcher Jaskier knew so well, he would do everything in his power to help.

The village was small and only had one inn so Jaskier quickly hurried there, hoping the innkeep would have some information. Heading inside the inn Jaskier went to the bar, “Hello, my good sir” he greeted the innkeep enthusiastically, “might there have been a witcher in town, a few days ago perhaps?” he finished with a smile.

The innkeep frowned, “Aye, took a contract for something stealing livestock, lived in the woods. Witcher went in never came out.”

“I’ve heard word the witcher was injured, if he never came out how does anyone know that?” Jaskier questioned, smiling falling.

“Well, the livestock ain’t been attacked since so one of the boys went looking around the woods. Found the witcher, hurt and lying in a cave. The boy tried to help him but the witcher was out of his mind, wouldn’t let the boy near him. Poor Tomas came back a right mess,” explained the innkeep.

“How long ago was this?”

“Four days back.”

“Where is Tomas? I need to talk to him.”

The innkeep pointed to a table in the corner where a tall lanky young man was eating from a bowl. Jaskier nodded his thanks and quickly made his way to where Tomas was seated.

“Hello,” Jaskier started, sitting across from Tomas, “I don’t mean to bother you during your meal I just need to know where you found that witcher.”

“U-uhm, I wouldn’t go looking for the likes of him. Was dangerous, didn’t know what was happening around him. Honestly probably dead now, didn’t look very well,” Tomas startled out, wide eyed.

Jaskier smiled tightly, eyes glinting dangerously, “Tomas, darling, none of that information was what I asked. Where. Is. The. Witcher.”

Jaskier leaned further over the table toward Tomas and the boy leaned away quickly and hurried to tell Jaskier exactly how to get to the rock outcropping where he had found the witcher.

“One last thing, could you describe what he looked like? The witcher?”

“Ahh, well. Big. Yellow eyes like a cat. White hair.”

Jaskier felt a heavy weight settle in his stomach and hurried back to the innkeep, “the witcher’s horse, did he leave it or take it with him?”

The innkeep frowned, “she’s still stabled up here, didn’t want him coming back to me having sold her off. Figured I’d wait a couple weeks,” the man explained.

“Well I’ll be taking her off your hands,” the innkeep immediately started to protest Jaskier’s words before the bard cut him off, “here, for the trouble of keeping her stabled.”

The innkeep looked at the generous pile of coin Jaskier had set on the bar before nodding to the bard.

Jaskier hurried to the stable and breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Roach. He quickly saddled her up and led her out of the stable, “C’mon girl, it’s time to find our witcher.”

Jaskier’s heart thunders as he rides along the edge of the woods searching for a rock outcropping said to hold a dying witcher. The wood here was sparse, the trees spaced far apart and the light from the noon sun was filtering through nicely. He should be able to spot Geralt.

Soon enough Jaskier spotted an outcropping ahead that matched Tomas’ description and he urged Roach faster.

And there, under the rocks, was Geralt.

Jaskier jumped off Roach and rushed to Geralt’s side. The witcher was filthy, covered in blood and dust and dirt and Jaskier heard himself let out a sob as he reached for the witcher to check for a pulse. He closed his eyes waiting and finally felt the witchers slow heartbeat, slower than normal, Jaskier thought. And certainly weaker than it should be.

Shaking Geralt gently, Jaskier tried to wake him, but the best he got was a muttered cry that Jaskier couldn’t understand. Jaskier frowned, the witcher, who normally ran on the colder side of body temperatures, was burning up. Taking stock of the witcher’s body Jaskier found a large gash in his side that, while it seemed mostly closed, also seemed incredibly infected.

With a great bit of struggle Jaskier, with Roach’s help, manages to get Geralt up and in her saddle before quickly climbing up behind him.

Geralt rouses some on the ride but his eyes remain unfocused and he doesn’t respond to anything Jaskier says, almost as if he can’t even tell he’s there, pressed up behind him, holding tightly enough to keep him on the horse.

“Geralt please say something,” Jaskier pleads.

Geralt lets out a pained moan and slumps further into Jaskier’s embrace as his eyes close again.

#mine #fanfiction #also posted on ao3 #misery and happiness #chapter 1 #the witcher #the witcher fandom #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #eventual geraskier #the boys are dumb but theyll get there #geralt whump #future mentions of referenced suicidal ideation #but not yet

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nyctolovian · 4 years ago

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this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore

This was written for @tma-safehouse-fest day 3-5 prompt (pining). But its sorta a dedication to the way the romance is written cos jon and martin legit try so hard to make things work :’ Please enjoy it!!

Summary: A study of Jon's love for Martin and why he kept it. (set in S4)

link to AO3

Jon knew exactly what this was—pining. Very useless and painful pining.

He was surprised by how quickly he recognised it. Less emotionally constipated people have taken longer to notice their romantic feelings for another. It was all rather strange and hilarious, if you asked him. (But he’d heard plenty of people criticise his sense of humour so he suggested you take this opinion with a pinch of salt.)

During the first few months in the hospital, despite his coma, he heard Martin—sensed him even. He noticed Martin not in words, though Jon knew he was being spoken to, but in presence and genuineness. And he came often, and would always be exuding tender care. Then, his presence began to dwindle with each passing visit, before it dropped off altogether.

Jon didn't (or couldn't, given his unconscious state) think much of it. Then, while asking Basira about what happened in the Unknowing, he was abruptly reminded of him—Martin, where was he? How was he?

Then, came the first thing he would Know after becoming an Avatar. Jon was overwhelmed with the somehow already deep-seated knowledge that he had feelings for Martin, something that had apparently been left brewing like wine in his chest during his Not-Death.

Almost immediately after he came to this realisation however, he was also struck with the fact that he hadn't been visiting lately. Not within the last month. Suddenly, cold dread that Martin didn't care about Jon anymore thrummed in his chest. Had their affections missed each other? Like two fleeting trains on opposite sides glancing off one another?

No, Jon was to learn that it was much worse. Martin was working for the Lonely.

Jon's chest tightened with worry at the thought. What was he doing? Didn't he know working for any of the Fears was bad news? Jon didn't want Martin to be put in danger like this. He didn't want Martin to become… like him, whatever that meant—not human, trying hard to be not-monster…

The dread expanded in his chest when he finally saw Martin. The sheer relief he had felt when he first set his eyes upon Martin could easily set him afloat. He had lost a little weight and grown slightly pale, but he was still alive and well nonetheless, cupping a mug of tea and wearing his usual large faded sweaters.

Jon, on the other hand, must have looked awful with his coma-induced haggardness and messy bun.

When Jon called out to Martin, a look of shock passed over his face at the sight of the man. His eyes darted down to Jon's outfit.

Self-consciously, Jon fiddled with the sides of his ankle-length skirt. His usual clothes had been more or less destroyed by his numerous kidnappings and near-deaths so he had to get new ones. He had made the decision to ditch professionalism entirely and gone for 100% comfort as a petty rebellion against the institution he was trapped within. Unfortunately, his outfits of choice resembled that of a little old Grandma, he belatedly realised.

When he glanced back up nervously, Martin's initial shock was already plastered over with composure. Cheekily, however, the Eye had let Jon Know that Martin's glances were rather appreciative ones and that sent his heart fluttering uselessly.

This short interaction replayed in Jon's mind for days and days, and he found himself drenching in mortification. Every interaction after that too. He would find himself thinking back to it and regretting his every word and twitch. (Not seeking Martin though. He never regretted seeking him.) And after the first sting of embarrassment subsided, he was left with the gentle aftertaste of his pining. To be frank, it was a bitter thing, as expected of something left brewing as long as it had.

He often found himself lying in bed, bolster held tightly against his chest, imagining Martin in his arms. And he'd feel a pang of pain. One that could only be relieved by the warmth of another.

Pining was not something Jon was familiar with. He was not the type to develop crushes to begin with. On the off chance he did, however, he had always been quick to stamp out the first flames of affection, with Georgie as the only other exception. Thus, the pain of yearning for someone you could only watch and think about from afar was incredibly foreign to Jon.

It was pathetic. It was embarrassing. It was unbearable.

But he cradled it in his palms, gently cherishing, refusing to let drop. Anyone who so much as implied that this feeling was something he couldn’t help would be dead wrong.

Jon chose Martin.

He had decided for himself—vowed it to whatever sick god that was watching him—that he was going to love Martin. He found the nascent affection growing in his chest and chose to keep it, let it bloom, chose to foster it even. He saw the red string of fate on his pinky and stubbornly wound it around his wrist, twice, thrice, over and over, tethering himself to this stupid love against all rationality.

He wasn't letting go.

He wasn't letting go of Martin.

Because everyone seemed to think he was gone, lost to doing the Lonely’s bidding. Not Jon. When Martin reassured him that he was doing everything for their sake, to protect them, Jon wholeheartedly believed those words. Martin wouldn’t do anything to hurt them. He didn’t just Know this; Jon trusted him.

But if Martin kept giving and giving, what would be left of him by the end? Surely somebody had to give something back. Jon couldn’t just watch him wither away into nothingness under the aegis of the Lonely.

Who was going to pull Martin out of the Lonely when it's time for him to return? (Surely he would come back. He'd come back when this was all over. He had to.)

Jon knew it had to be himself. Because Jon loved Martin, and loving him was the most natural thing to do. And, by god, Jon was fighting tooth and nail till his body fell apart to protect this.

If he had to die to keep his love, he would.

***

“Uh,” Martin muttered. “Jon, I, uh, I appreciate this but um…”

Jon looked down at their interlocked hands, not quite registering.

“I have to open the door.”

“Oh.” Jon’s face heated. “Oh. Yes, of course.” Reluctantly, he released Martin’s right hand, shivering as he did so. This was the first brush of cool air against his now-sweaty palms in hours.

He hadn’t noticed how long they had their hands linked like this. They must have been holding hands since their reunion inside the Lonely’s realm. He had been so petrified of losing Martin again that he had clasped his hand in an almost-death grip while he navigated through the mists and fogs.

Yet, Jon found himself missing the contact already. It hadn’t even been three seconds and already Jon was longing for Martin’s touch like a needy child. His fingers were growing cold and his heart was palpitating with the ferocious urge to just grasp Martin’s hand and superglue it to his. Never in his life had he ever felt this possessive but he really couldn’t be blamed after losing so much.

As soon as Martin got his front door to open though, he turned to look at Jon with the most tender smile, and held his left hand towards him. “How about we switch hands? My other one’s gotten quite moist.”

The warmth that swelled in Jon’s chest was a ridiculous thing but he quickly snatched up that offered hand anyway.

It was stupid, trying to pack clothes into a suitcase with two hands of two different people, but they somehow made it work. And when it was Jon’s turn to pack his bag, they allowed the same silly process to repeat itself. And if they shared a hug in the middle of the living room, no one would ever know.

Jon wasn’t letting go.

And Martin wasn’t letting go either.

#tmasafehousefest #jonmartin #pining #tma #the magnus archives #magpod #tma fanfic #fanfic #my writing #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #hurt/comfort #tma season four

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dilly-oh · 4 years ago

Text

Three Strikes

“Listen up, team,” Captain Yamato says, his face deathly serious, “we are going to murder these guys. They are going to be sent home in body-bags. They’re the enemy, and we’re gonna slaughter them.”

Kakashi glances over at the other team. They look like a bunch of sweaty highschool kids, same as them, though their baseball uniforms look like they’ve seen better days. Or months. Two messy brown-haired boys are passing around a joint, a douchey-looking kid with silver hair is blatantly screwing around on his phone, and another is straight up sleeping on the bench. Their Captain is facing them, hands on his hips as he tries to rouse his teammates, ponytail bouncing at the effort. It seems a lost cause, just like their chances of winning.

“Even their parents aren’t going to be able to identify their remains.”

Yamato’s doing that thing again where he gets too serious and starts creeping everyone out. Kakashi looks over at Coach Minato to see if he’s going to put a stop to this, but he’s too busy giggling and sexting his wife to notice. As usual.

“Kakashi, we’re counting on your pitches to really massacre them, got it?” Yamato fixes him with that soul-killing stare, all blank and dead-eyed.

“Mmm,” Kakashi hums noncommittally, his lower face hidden behind his catcher’s mitt. He finds the smell comforting. Also, Asuma is sitting next to him, and reeks of a nauseating combination of B.O., cigarette smoke and Kurenai’s perfume. As if they’re fooling anyone by claiming to be ‘just friends’.

“Can we hurry this up?” Genma cuts in, snapping his gum. “I have a hot date in, like, two hours.”

“I’m sitting right here,” Raido states. “You’re so fucking embarrassing.”

“Love you too, babe.”

“Where the hell is Gai?” Asuma asks, glancing around.

“He ate too many protein bars again. He’s in the can.”

Kakashi can’t wait for this to be over so he can go home and chill with the dogs. All eight of them. He makes a mental reminder to pick up some more Milkbones on the way home.

The thing is, Kakashi is damn good at baseball, even though he loathes it. He’d drop it in a heartbeat and spend all his free time playing CoD, except his father insists he play a sport to ‘round out his resume’. As if his straight A’s since Kindergarten and 160 IQ wasn’t enough. Kakashi’s pitches are precise, powerful, and virtually unstoppable. The ball almost seems to move as if he controls it himself. He strikes everyone out with 99.9% accuracy, able to analyze an opponent in a single glance and determine their weaknesses. It’s the reason their team has made it so far, despite his teammate’s determined efforts to goof off.

The two coaches finally get their shit together and shake hands (the other coach is an elderly man who winks at Asuma for some reason, who groans). The game begins, and Kakashi takes his place on the pitcher’s mound, rolling the ball soothingly around in his hand. The other team’s Captain is up first. After adjusting his ponytail under his helmet, he walks to the plate, taps the ground with his bat, and looks up at Kakashi just as he winds up to throw.

He’s a nerdy looking kid with gangly arms, a scar over the bridge of his nose, and a determined scowl on his face.

He’s the most gorgeous thing Kakashi’s ever seen.

The ball slips off his fingers, goes spinning off in a corkscrew, and clocks a drink right out of a bystander’s hand. Soda sprays everywhere, thoroughly coating a good portion of the meager crowd.

“Foul!” the umpire cries. The boy blinks in surprise, then squares up again, bat waving tauntingly. Kakashi gets another ball and winds up.

This time his ball hits a car in the parking lot, the burglar alarm wailing away. The car’s owner wails even louder.

“Foul!”

Kakashi throws another foul. And another.

“Ball!”

The boy walks. He glances at Kakashi as he trots by him, confused. Kakashi keeps his eyes on the ground, cursing inwardly.

This will not happen again.

It happens again.

And again.

It’s not so bad when the boy’s on second base, because then he’s directly behind Kakashi and out of his line of sight. But when he’s on first or third, he can see him out of the corner of his eye, and his gaze is naturally drawn to him, concentration wavering. It’s even worse when he’s on the bench, because then Kakashi can see him in his natural state, smiling and chatting amicably with his teammates.

But nothing compares to when he’s up to the plate, standing ready for the pitch. The intensity of those deep brown eyes is staggering, making his legs weak. He walks each time, Kakashi’s near-perfect pitches always spinning out of control and destroying something of value. He’s just glad he’s hit mostly inanimate objects and not people.

After several innings of this, Captain Yamato has had enough, and he calls a time-out, dragging Kakashi to the side of the dugout for a polite chat.

“Kakashi, the fuck is going on? You’re throwing the damn game! Literally!”

“I’m sorry,” Kakashi mumbles, miserable. “I...I don’t know-”

“Are you feeling alright?” Captain Minato has decided to finally do his job and actually act like a Coach, walking over to join them.

“M’fine.” Kakashi shakes his head, hiding his face behind his glove. “It’s just...I keep getting...distracted.” Yamato sputters indignantly, but Minato’s studying him, a thoughtful look on his face. He glances over at the other team, and Kakashi’s traitorous eyes follow, latching onto the boy, who is busy scolding his teammates again, cheeks flushed with frustration. Kakashi’s ears start to burn. Minato chuckles and he hurriedly snaps his gaze back.

“...I think I see what the problem is.” He pats Kakashi’s shoulder with a knowing grin. “Listen, Kakashi...why don’t you sit this one out? Just...relax and enjoy the view.”

It feels like Kakashi’s ears are going to burn down to nubs.

“What?! He can’t sit out, we need him! How else are we going to bathe in their blood?”

“Bathe in their- what? Christ, Yamato, it’s just a game. Calm down. Are we going to have to have another talk?”

Kakashi drags his feet back to the bench and plonks himself down. The others glance over at him in concern.

“What’s up, Kakashi?” Genma asks. “Constipated?”

“Gai, give him some of your protein bars.” Raido elbows the other boy in the gut, who groans.

Nevermind, they’re just idiots. Kakashi cowers behind his mitt in shame.

The game continues, and his teammates manage to do remarkably well without him. Gai makes a surprisingly good substitute pitcher, although he screams “Dynamic Pitch!!” every time he throws the ball until Coach Minato tells him to cut it out. Asuma is jacked enough that he can hit a home-run every time he connects, and Kakashi is pretty sure the other team is terrified of Yamato and his intimidating stare. The game makes a quick turnaround, and in the blink of an eye, they’ve won. He’s been staring nonstop at the boy, too, so that might have something to do with the quick win.

Everyone cheers and high-fives while Kakashi quickly grabs his stuff, shoves it in his duffle, and scuttles off towards the bus. Coach Minato is suddenly next to him, blocking his way.

“Why don’t you go say hi?” he suggests, nodding his head at the other team.

Kakashi can’t think of anything more horrible.

“This was an away game,” Minato reminds him. “You might never see him again.”

...Dammit.

Dropping his bag in the dirt, Kakashi forces himself to turn around and walk robotically towards the boy, who is just wrapping up a speech to his teammates about how they’re still winners for doing their best, but no-one’s really listening. He turns away from them, shaking his head in exasperation, and blinks in surprise as Kakashi stops in front of him. He’s even cuter up close. Kakashi keeps his eyes on the ground to keep from being blinded.

“...Hi.”

“Uh. Hey.” The boy regards him warily. “You alright out there? The Coach made you sit down.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” Kakashi pauses long enough for the silence to turn painfully awkward. “I’m Kakashi, by the way.”

“Iruka.” God, even his name is cute. Kakashi scrambles to think of something to talk about.

“So, um. Do you...like baseball?”

“Not really, no,” Iruka answers. “I’d rather be home playing CoD, to tell the truth.”

“Oh my God, me too,” Kakashi slumps over, awash with relief. “Have you seen the latest updates? They have a new map that-”

The next five minutes are incomprehensible gibberish to everyone but them as they debate the best maps, guns, and loadouts.

“Iruka, let’s go!” a voice calls impatiently from the parking lot.

“Yeah, yeah, just a minute,” he calls back, waving at his teammates. Kakashi’s stomach tightens.

This is it. His last chance.

“Hey, uh...” He takes a deep breath. “You wanna...hang out sometime?”

Iruka stares back at him blankly.

“I live, like, twenty miles away from you.”

“Oh.” Kakashi blinks. “Right. Sorry.” He feels like a complete idiot. Here he was, thinking he actually had a chance-

“Here’s my phone number. Message me so I can friend you and we’ll play later.”

...Then again, maybe he did.

They exchange numbers, Kakashi happily adding a dolphin emoji after Iruka’s name.

“So is this a friend thing, or a boyfriend thing?” Iruka asks, blunt as can be. Kakashi just gapes at him, wide-eyed in horror. His face feels like it’s on fire, and he desperately wishes he’d brought his glove to hide behind.

“...Only...if you want it to be,” he croaks out. Iruka stares at him a beat longer, then breaks out into a blinding grin.

“Yeah, sure, why not. You were pretty cute out there, spazzing out every time I was up to bat. I’m surprised you didn’t hit a bird.”

Oh my God. He knew. Oh my GOD.

“I have to warn you, though...” Iruka went on, grinning cheekily, “three strikes, and you’re out.”

Kakashi has never been more in love.

(Written for @kakairu-fest, Week 1 Prompt: Summer Sports)

#kakairu #kakairu fest #hatake kakashi #Umino Iruka #modern au #fanfic #summer sports #baseball #highschool #little bit of swearing sorry #language #also a lil bit of pot #rated t for teen

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