#that’s MY country step away from it rn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stxrvel · 2 months ago

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remorse (5)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader... or not? content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! curse words, flashback, a lot of remorse, fights, stubborn people, lack of communication, angst. a/n. its finally here. i haven't re read this chapter bc im almost falling asleep and i have to work tomorrow, but i'll give this one another look in the weekend. a friend of mine helped me with the traduction bc i'm really really burnt out rn. also, chapters names changed!! i hope you guys like this one! see you on the next one🫶🏻

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“Oppa…”

Yoongi raised his head, his body leaning toward the piano acknowledging your presence in the room, and you could tell how he was physically struggling to move away from the instrument. Under his watchful gaze, you walked in his direction shuffling your feet, with a pitiful expression and every intention of openly complaining to one of the elders in your group of friends. But you relaxed your expression when you were a few steps away, recognizing his notebook on the piano lid and the trail of ink between his fingers at a safe distance from the keys.

His laughter confused you, and when you looked up, his lips were curved into a pretty smile. It was annoying. He was only two years older than you.

“What happened now?”

You remembered that you had come with a purpose, but your mind, as evasive and suggestible as ever, found more interest in what your eyes had caught.

“The usual,” you barely commented, moving to sit on your legs in front of Yoongi. “Were you writing?”

Yoongi glanced over to find his notebook, his shoulders shaking in a sigh because he knew he wouldn't be able to escape this conversation now that you had discovered him.

“Something like that…”

“Can I see it?”

“It's nothing decent. I don't think it's prudent.”

You pressed your lips together at his response, letting your shoulders droop, disappointed. But it was what you had expected; after all, Yoongi was quite secretive about his notebook, and it was rare for him to let you get this close and know so much about him. Even though you had probably known each other since you learned to swim and multiply, and surely knew more skeletons in his closet than he would like to admit, Yoongi still had a reluctance to show you or anyonw his writings. You had to catch him at a very relaxed moment.

So you set aside your emotions, not allowing Yoongi to respond as you pouted, and crossed your arms while turning your head away.

“Taehyung and Jungkook got so competitive on the court that they kicked us all out,” you frowned, remembering how the two had rushed past you and stolen the ball in the blink of an eye, moving so quickly and with cheeky laughter that you barely understood what was happening until you saw them tussling with the ball in front of the scoring area.

They were already in extracurricular hours, and although everyone had subjects to study and delve into, they decided to take a moment to take advantage of the fact that the school court would be empty and play for a while. Jin and Namjoon had left the game after two quarters because they simply couldn't keep up, and since one was in your group with Jimin and the other with the two kings of competition that day, they decided to kick them out and leave them as referees along with Hobi, who was the initial one.

Surprisingly, Yoongi also didn’t attend the game or his extracurricular class, choosing to get lost in the music room, taking advantage of the fact that it was empty that day because classes ended early.

“I don’t understand why they have to ruin everyone’s fun.”

Your little thirteen-year-old self, ignorant of many aspects of life, could only cross her arms and complain. Yoongi smiled, his two extra years of age giving him an understanding that perhaps you didn’t have access to, because it was inconceivable to you that such a sacrilege could be considered funny. Basketball hours were sacred!

“They're just messing around.”

“Oppa, you should've seen how they were pushing each other,” you shook your head, refusing to believe that Yoongi really wanted to defend them. “If you had been there, you could've stopped them.”

“And Jin?”

“He was laughing with them.”

“Ah,” Yoongi turned his head. “So the second best option was me?”

You shrugged. “Well, I thought I could convince you to go to the court, but…”

“But…?” Yoongi rested a hand on the bench, leaning in to see you on the floor.

“Maybe it’s more fun to listen to you play the piano.”

You smiled brightly, intertwining your fingers while Yoongi wore a half-smile. Without responding, he straightened up again, adopting the posture he had when you saw him through the glass of the door, before you interrupted his concentration. His fingers danced in the air for a few seconds, touching the notes in his head, recalling sound after sound, until the pressure on them gave way to a melody unknown to you.

It had to be a new piece, a new composition in his notebook. Yoongi played, calm and serene, focused and absorbed, letting the sound flow as if it came directly from nature.

Seeing Yoongi like this was… a strange event. Later, as time passed, you would think it was unbearable to have to see him everywhere, to hear his name around every corner, but at that moment you were lost in him, absorbing the sounds of his mind that his fingers materialized on the piano, allowing yourself to be carried away by the tide of his emotions, the way he conveyed so many words with his touches. The fast and slow notes, the change of tempo, all so meticulously created and organized to send a message, to describe an emotion, to paint a scene.

Yoongi was scared. Perhaps nervous, even. When he finished his piece, you could only look at him in awe, his shoulders moving a little faster due to the intensity with which he finished, keeping his head down, as if processing what he had just done. His fear was palpable, his hopelessness and unease.

“Oppa?”

“I don’t know…” he paused, dropping the lid over the keys and taking a calmer posture. “I don’t know if I’ll do the right thing when I graduate.”

“Why?” your brow furrowed, and you leaned forward in concern. “You’ve always talked about it. And you have a lot of talent, oppa, I know you’ll make it.”

Yoongi gave a nearly pained smile, as if he understood something you had no idea about.

“Jin is going to medical school.”

“I know. But it’s what he’s passionate about,” you moved closer to your friend, trying to give him some of the support he always gave you. “Isn’t music what you’re passionate about?”

The black-haired boy frowned. The answer was clear in his eyes, in the way he played the piano until he was breathless, but the gestures of his doubts were there too: when his fingers trembled with anxiety, his eyes gaining more shine as the seconds passed.

“Oppa,” you called, trying to break the silence, trying to prevent his thoughts from eating him alive. “If it’s what you love, you’ll succeed. I’m sure of that.”

You saw how the haze in his eyes disappeared, his features relaxing at least a little.

“I probably only have your support. I’ll have to rely on that.”

His small smile constricted your heart. In that moment, you didn’t know what you could do to show him that it was enough, but you were also unaware of the reality that his words held. It was probably due to your age, the age difference with Yoongi, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he would never be completely satisfied with that. You wondered if it was about you, just for a second, recalling the way he smiled when some of the other boys gave him words of encouragement.

Maybe he was just more vulnerable with you than with the others, but a thirteen-year-old's reasoning didn't go that far.

With your foolish conclusion, you came home that day with a heavy heart.

Speaking of loose ends and unresolved issues, there were some specific people who deserved to take home the award and the crown for the most intrigue of the century. Because when you entered Choi Dohyun's office, with Seojun and Yuna on either side, even knowing that there were things still pending answers and others you could barely understand, the last thing you expected was for those you weren’t even aware of to suddenly materialize, like a kick to the stomach.

But keeping your head high and your composure was something you had lacked the last time, and thus, against all odds, your face showed no emotion when you caught a glimpse of Min Yoongi storming out of the office looking angry, not even when his eyes moved towards your figure and his wires crossed for a millisecond, betraying his movements. The sound of his shoes against the floor didn’t even distract you, keeping your gaze fixed on the man who appeared behind the door, with a huge smile on his face and eyes that screamed that signing this contract might take more from you than it would give.

Min Yoongi flanked you, a nearly imperceptible gasp of surprise escaping him as you passed by his side, not even giving him a glance of acknowledgment over your shoulder, as if he were less than a mere insignificant dust particle, and he collected himself as best he could to keep walking, ignoring the astonished looks your companions shot him.

You flashed the biggest smile, a feeling of anger settling deep in your stomach, and you shook hands with Choi Dohyun, who was cheerfully introducing himself with a voice an octave higher than usual.

You didn’t miss the way he shot a glance down the hallway, where Min Yoongi should have been disappearing, and the bitter sensation in your throat intensified.

“Well, don’t take it the wrong way, I’m very happy because we finally have this,” Yuna beamed, raising the envelope with the contract as if it were her most cherished possession, just as they exited the large publishing house and the cool afternoon air greeted them, “but did we just see the damn Min Yoongi leave that office?”

You simply sighed, feeling the tension radiate from your brother’s body, who hadn’t separated from you since the moment you were ushered away by Choi Dohyun's secretary.

“That was… wow. I don’t even have words.”

Seojun rolled his eyes, and you had to suppress the urge to pinch his side when Yuna turned to look at you with the envelope in her hands while you all waited to see your father’s blue car navigate the avenue.

“Do you think… this means we’ll have more opportunities to meet the seven gods of Olympus than most people?”

Her smile made you feel nauseous, but out of her ignorance, you could do nothing but try to mimic it. Seojun, on the other hand, was making nothing but irritated faces.

“Maybe, if you work harder.”

Yuna let out another squeal of excitement, and you took a deep breath when she turned around to look at the cars again. Seojun wrapped his arm around yours, glaring at anyone who came too close, even by accident.

Your friend kept murmuring in disbelief, and all you could think was that she was probably holding in her hands the worst decision you had ever made.

Whatever the reason for your encounter with Min Yoongi, you had deduced that your bad luck came down to being out of the house. Putting a foot outside the holy altar of your home was proving lethal for your emotional stability, so you spent the rest of the day locked up, managing your social media and overseeing deliveries.

Dohyun had agreed that the publishing house would handle the entire printing, packaging, and shipping process of the books, as purchases were only growing with each passing day. His real offer was to leave you with nothing to do but continue planning your stories, because at that moment, you were a goldmine for him.

“Unbelievable! Jung Hoseok revealed the truth behind the distancing of the Korean entertainment dynasty.”

The voice coming from Yuna’s phone caught your attention. You lifted your head from the blank document on your computer screen, glancing sideways at your friend, who was comfortably sprawled on your bed with a furrowed brow and a conflicted expression, as intrigued as she was worried about what she had just heard.

“These past few days have been tough for the kings of entertainment, as the last public sighting of them was over a week ago when Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, and Jeon Jungkook left the businessman’s building and enthusiastically greeted all their fans. As good followers, we know it’s too strange not to see them often, and the last time this happened was when Jung Hoseok had the accident that prevented him from continuing to play professional tennis.”

Yuna looked intensely focused, biting her nail and awaiting the climax of the video. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but you couldn’t deny you were a bit curious about what news they would share, knowing that the boys weren’t ones to openly discuss their private matters.

“With their reputations at stake and rumors flying back and forth [how exaggerated], Jung Hoseok had to come out to clarify the situation. His official statement, which was informally published on the famous app Whotalks, said: ‘We’re all fine. Please be patient with us.’ Whether his statement implies misunderstandings among friends that are in the process of being resolved or if we should wait for an official statement from their leader, we’re not sure. But it’s concerning the—”

“Why would they make such a big deal about this if they aren’t even sure what that post implies?”

Yuna paused the video, giving you a confused look, surely thinking you were immersed in whatever you were doing on the computer (nothing), too busy to pay attention to these “insignificances,” as you used to say.

“Y/N, you really have no idea of the magnitude of power these men hold over the entertainment industry. With a snap of their fingers, they could shake everything.”

“And why did they get so much power?”

“They earned it. Through their hard work.”

You couldn’t help the huff that escaped you. You didn’t find what Yuna had said funny because it was true; they had worked incredibly hard to achieve what they had at that moment. At least you knew that their beginnings had been humble. But it annoyed you, inevitably, because you couldn’t control the resentment shaking in your chest. Healing my ass, you hadn’t forgotten anything from the last few years, no matter how much you wanted to convince yourself otherwise. So much effort to force them out of your life, only for them to find a way to disrupt it again in a week as if they had some right.

What a bunch of audacious—

“Oh. A message came in.”

Your friend sat up on the bed, and you sent her a confused look.

“Messages come in every second, Yuna.”

“It’s from a verified account.”

Without lifting her gaze in your direction, you froze in your chair.

“Oh—”

Oh no.

“No fucking way—” Yuna stood up in the bed, exclaiming loudly: “Kim Taehyung is in your DM's!”

“Tell him to go to hell.”

“¿¿Huh??”

The words slipped out before you could think twice. From the tense way the words left your mouth, you could tell Yuna was torn between asking more or simply contradicting you. Her eyes moved from the screen to your face, her fingers moving almost imperceptibly over the device.

“You know, every time you make it harder to understand what’s going on with these people.”

Finally, she locked her phone and dropped it on one of your pillows. You had never been a fan; your friend understood that. She had never questioned you about it… except for that random afternoon in this same room when she asked too many questions, but after the encounter with Yoongi that afternoon, you wondered what moment or what would need to happen for her to stop believing that it was just a matter of taste differences and for you to have to tell her the truth.

Before everything that happened a week ago, you had never considered it necessary to talk about it because so much time had passed, and you believed you were at a point where things related to them really didn’t affect you anymore, nor would you ever have to interact with them again to warrant giving your friend a statement. But of course, things were different now, and emotions would continue to clash with one another, and you hated to think that their attitudes meant they were trying to return to your life, or at least get involved to some extent, which would imply, strongly, that you would have to tell Yuna what had happened.

“Have you ever thought that you might have run into him if you had gone to the convention?”

“Yeah...” you sighed in defeat. It was impossible not to consider that alternative, how things might have turned out. If you would still have this overwhelming resentment in your chest or if they would have carved their way back into your heart once more.

The foolish you at eighteen would be thrilled right now.

“And even with that doubt... don’t you have even a little curiosity about what he says?”

You preferred not to, to be honest. You would rather just rip out every memory from your head with tweezers to be able to return to a semi-normal life, where your biggest worry should be saving enough for a trip and not when those damn lunatics were going to leave you alone.

But you found yourself stretching out your arm to take the phone when Yuna handed it to you, a grimace of insecurity settling on your face.

“I’m not going to ask,” Yuna spoke, and you sent her a glance just as she turned on the bed and took her own phone to continue watching her celebrity gossip. “I’m not going to pressure you.”

You didn’t respond. You lowered your gaze to the device in your hands, feeling a mix of relief and bitterness. Well, at least she had given you the opportunity to worry about that later.

The screen lit up, and there it was. A new message from Kim Taehyung.

thv Hi. It’s Jimin.

Huh?

You ?

The read notification arrived almost instantly after you replied. With your brow furrowed, you watched the bubble appear from his side of the chat.

thv I’m sorry for writing from Tae’s account, but you blocked me

Ah. Ah. Right.

After receiving the notification that Jungkook had followed you a few days ago, and especially because he had shown up at your work out of nowhere short after that, you had blocked everyone else with an Instagram account, just to be safe.

A small detail.

You Oh, yeah

That Jimin was trying to contact you, considering the context of the whole situation, wasn’t too outrageous. When you studied together, apart from being the first to start teasing others and fostering friendly banter, he was also the first to try to fix things because he couldn’t stand hostile and tense environments. It’s not that you thought he had a chance to fix anything now, but maybe you were a little interested in what he had to say. After several days, it was inevitable not to feel curious, right?

After the bubble appeared and disappeared several times, the message finally arrived.

thv Do you think we could talk in person?

You No.

thv I promise it'll just be me

You No.

thv It can be anywhere you choose

You I said no If you have something to say, write it If you don’t have anything interesting to say, then I’m going to block this account too

thv No Wait Okay.

The sound of Yuna’s phone had faded into the background of your mind. You kept your eyes on the typing bubble, fearing that maybe Jimin would change his mind and decide not to respond to the questions swirling in your head. Now that he was being so persistent, you were more eager to know. I mean, it was the least you deserved, right? Some kind of answer, some kind of reason, a why. Something to explain everything, because the root of that growing resentment in your chest was due to their lack of communication, to their ease in discarding you like a worthless piece of paper, not even caring if the air swept you away or the rain destroyed you.

They owed you something, and you had the right to an answer. You could have moved on, yes; you thought you had, yes; living with resentment in your heart affected a person’s life, yes... but God would be the only living being on earth and in the universe who wouldn’t feel even a pinch of pain for everything that had happened. For the inexplicable disappearance, for the disconnection, for the destruction of an incredible blind trust that was woven with that friendship you believed to be unconditional but ended up being one-sided. Who could really blame you for being cautious of them?

If when you cultivated that friendship, that friendly love, the fruits they returned to you were rotten, how could you simply trust? Who could?

thv I’m sorry for what happened. I know this was very abrupt, and it must have been strange for you

Strange, for lack of a better word. Strange was a euphemism.

thv I apologize on behalf of everyone.

You I’m not interested

thv If we could meet in person, I could explain better

You I’m not interested. That wouldn’t change anything.

thv I know this goes beyond what happened this week, but I don’t want you to have a bad impression

You You’re a damn audacious one, Jimin Do you think it’s only the latest thing that would make me see you all negatively? Is that the only thing you’ve done? Or well, what you haven’t done either

thv Okay, I expressed myself very poorly I know we were already on bad terms before; I meant that I didn’t want it to get worse

You Well, honestly, I didn’t think it could get worse until now.

thv I’m making it worse

You Wow, apparently you do have awareness and common sense For many years, I thought you lacked that

You blocked the phone, letting it drop onto the table, your heart racing because of the audacity that man had to refer to what had happened as if it were just a silly childhood memory, as if it had simply been a stupid basketball game where you weren’t allowed to play. That only reinforced your thinking, the only plausible reason you had given life to over the past few years, the only explanation you had for their disappearance: that they never cared about you as much as you did about them; that you were never truly fundamental in their lives. Because, come on, they had built a friendship and shared memories before you appeared on the scene; they knew each other beforehand with a depth you could never reach, long before your name reached their ears. They had a connection; you were never ignorant of that; there was something in them that kept them united, something that made them understand each other almost on a spiritual level, and naively, you believed they had made you a part of it; that you had managed to be part of that connection.

But no, it was never like that. It was always one-sided. Whether you were a game, a case of charity, or someone they simply couldn’t say no to, you had no idea, but none of those options felt too foreign to reality. Especially considering the way Jimin referred to the past as if it had been a child's game and nothing more. There was never more for them. You should've known that.

thv I’m really sorry, y/n I truly wish I could talk to you in person I promise I can explain many things

His messages shone on the lock screen, and more than feeling curious again, you felt rage. So now they could talk. Now they could fucking communicate. Where was that willingness ten years ago? Five years ago, even? You never thought you would see any of them so willing to offer you what you had longed for, maybe at least to finally bring closure to the whole situation.

But you didn’t want to give them the right to become the victims in this situation. They had time to do something, yes, now you knew, and they simply chose not to; it was high time you really let it go. Let them go. What would an explanation fix now? When, if there was still something of the friendship you built, it should've crumbled to dust. Their willingness now meant nothing. If you ever saw any of them again, you would rather rip their hair out in a fit of rage.

You Fuck you Fuck all of you

And you blocked Taehyung’s account.

Anticipating any possibility, you also blocked Jungkook and hoped that would be the end of it.

Finally, you would try to seek true healing, because it was about damn time.

You y/n, I'm so sorry y/n? y/n????????????????

Oh no. Taehyung's going to kill me.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Speaking of the king of Rome.

Park Jimin flinched, tightening his fingers around the phone he was holding, which clearly wasn’t his, literally caught red-handed. He swallowed hard when his friend’s footsteps drew closer, circling around to face what he feared most.

“Jimin...” Taehyung began, his confused expression turning into caution, quickly shifting his gaze between the phone and the wide-eyed blonde. “Tell me you didn’t do it.”

Jimin shrank even more, pursing his lips, realizing there was no escape. In his defense, he had fervently believed for a moment that he would succeed. Taehyung hadn’t agreed from the start, especially given how angry Yoongi had been that afternoon when he arrived at the penthouse and how he had locked himself in Namjoon’s office, and the tone of their voices hadn’t diminished for even a second, especially not when Jin arrived an hour later.

Taehyung and Jimin weren’t sure what had happened, but considering the recent events, they could make an educated guess.

It all led back to you.

They were surely paying for what they did.

“I told you it was a terrible idea!” Taehyung strode closer and snatched the phone from Jimin’s tightly clenched hands. Jimin let out a defeated sigh, sinking back against the couch as Taehyung began to scroll through the messages, growls escaping his throat.

“I didn’t think she’d be so...”

Jimin hesitated, and when he turned to look at his friend, his furrowed brow silently asked, “are you serious?”

Another defeated sigh escaped him.

“You’re not fixing anything. If Namjoon finds out about this...”

Taehyung didn’t finish his sentence, but Jimin understood. But could any of them really blame him? Let he who is without sin cast the first stone! No one was a saint in that place when it came to you. At least he had the decency to try to explain things when the others just charged in as if nothing had ever happened (for now, Taehyung and Jungkook, simply because he still had no idea what had happened with Yoongi).

The problem, of course, was that Jimin was better at comforting someone in person than through messages.

“There's no going back from this.” Taehyung murmured, still focused on the screen. The shine in his eyes gave Jimin an idea of what was going through his mind, and he remained silent until Taehyung looked up. “We really messed up.”

“Did you need this reality check?”

“Did you?” Taehyung frowned. “I don’t know why you expected a different response.”

“Well, what did you expect to happen doing what you did?”

Jimin watched his friend click his tongue.

“What did you expect me to do? I didn’t think it would snowball like this.” Taehyung shook his head, and Jimin barely recalled with a shudder how the atmosphere had felt in the penthouse after Tae had posted that story about your books on his Instagram. “I just wanted...”

Once again, Taehyung chose to remain silent, but in his absence of words, Jimin understood.

To make up for it.

“Obviously, I’m not going to say anything,” Taehyung added, shooting a sideways glance at his blonde friend. “After whatever happened with Yoongi, I don’t even want to imagine how Namjoon would react if he finds out about this.”

“If he finds out what?”

Jimin and Taehyung froze on the couch, watching through the reflection of the TV as the person appeared behind them before they could recognize the friendly yet concerned tone.

Jung Hoseok circled the couch, clearly troubled by what he had just heard. It was evident he had just returned from practice because his hair was wet and he looked somewhat flustered, his cheeks flushed despite the chilly weather that night. He dropped his training bag on one of the armchairs, and Jimin averted his gaze when he caught his friend's eyes. It wasn't that they usually kept secrets and tiptoed around the others, but ever since Jungkook had pulled that stunt of searching for you at work when Namjoon had expressly forbidden it, the waters between them had been a bit tense, and any topic involving you could explode any healthy and cooperative conversation in seconds.

Hoseok crossed his arms, allowing his cheerful expression at finally arriving at the penthouse to fade completely, hardening his features as he shot a stern look at the two young men.

Taehyung also averted his gaze. The moment he heard Hoseok's voice, he tucked the phone between his legs and probably looked tenser than he should have. He, just like Jimin, didn’t dare meet Hoseok’s eyes at that moment. Because Hobi had stopped at the door, and with whom they had in front of them, they couldn't hesitate. They both knew it, they both understood.

And Hoseok knew very well. He was aware of all the tricks the two shared and could sense from their silence that they were up to something. Besides, of course, their conversation had been overly revealing. They had to be thankful it was him who arrived in the midst of their confessions, and of course, he would demand to have a conversation of such gravity with such freedom.

But no, in that house, secrets were not kept.

“If he finds out what?” Hoseok emphasized the words, urging the stubborn young men to keep their mouths shut.

Hoseok then exhaled through his nose in a sigh.

“Is it about y/n?”

Jimin and Taehyung lifted their gazes, a bit tempted but diverting their eyes as if pretending to be uninterested. While the atmosphere had been very tense lately, Hoseok and Jin had kept themselves somewhat distanced from all that unease, mainly because their demanding jobs kept them away from the penthouse most of the time. Namjoon, for his part, couldn’t escape the topic as easily since he had an office at home, initially to monitor them in a healthy way, and now because he felt the need to keep an eye on each of them to prevent them from doing something stupid.

Yoongi... well, maybe he had tried to stay on the sidelines, but he had clearly failed miserably if he had ended up arguing with Namjoon and Jin.

“What did you guys do now?”

Hoseok's severe tone was chilling. Jimin remembered the times he had decided to participate in his dance classes, the few that he taught personally each month, and how he had felt Hoseok’s sharp gaze and his blunt comments about his steps in front of all the students. It was as if he became another person. Although it was terrifying, the two young men admitted it was refreshing to see him like that in the academy, because he had lost a bit of his spark since his accident. Before, he only looked that serene and committed when he was at his tennis practice.

At that moment, however, Jimin and Taehyung appeared more reluctant despite his severe attitude, because they didn’t know if he would spill the beans to Namjoon afterward.

“And what happened with Yoongi?”

The slight softness in his tone made Jimin lift his head. Still with his arms crossed over his chest, Hoseok sat across from them at the table in the center of the room.

Jimin sighed, and Taehyung shot him an alarmed look. Are we really going to give in this quickly?!

“We don’t know what happened with Yoongi. He just arrived in the afternoon, locked himself in the office with Namjoon, and they wouldn’t stop arguing. Then Jin came in, but that didn’t make them stop.”

Hoseok looked up, scanning the hallway. Now the house was silent, perhaps more grave and tense than usual. Hoseok didn’t know how it had come to this and hadn’t sensed that atmosphere immediately.

“Is Jin here?”

“I think he’s in his room,” Taehyung replied, shifting on the couch. “He stormed out of the office a while ago.”

Hoseok grimaced at the mere thought, causing a shiver.

“Then it is about y/n.”

Jimin and Taehyung once again averted their gazes.

“Oh, come on.” Hoseok uncrossed his arms, more frustrated than angry at that moment for not being able to fully understand what was causing so many arguments among his friends. “I’m not going to go talk to Namjoon later, regardless of what you tell me. I just want to understand.”

The two young men exchanged a glance, Hoseok believed, communicating mentally. It was always strange but interesting how those two could understand each other at such a level that often they didn’t even need a look. They could support each other's ideas without overthinking it, just like they were doing at that moment in front of him, and Hoseok couldn’t help but think that this topic could cause them more harm than they realized. That these two were even hesitant to share something with him now, fearing to do so, considering whom they could trust or not, spoke volumes about how this issue was being handled and it was not healthy at all.

Hoseok didn’t know that Namjoon had been arguing. The only time he had talked about that topic with the others was when Jungkook’s incident happened, because by crossing such a clear and blatant line, Namjoon saw the need to have a group meeting to set some ground rules. But whatever had continued to happen that he was unaware of was creating cracks in the trust of all the members, and that didn’t sit well with him at all.

“I wrote to her on Taehyung’s Instagram,” Jimin began, looking down with his hands intertwined on his legs. “And I might have made things a lot worse...”

“Might have?” Taehyung turned to look at the blonde, who barely raised his head to meet his gaze before Hoseok interrupted.

“And what did you say to her?”

Jimin pressed his lips together. “I asked if we could meet in person, and when she said no, I just tried to apologize for everything.”

“Don’t forget that you proceeded to carry out a rather undisguised gaslighting.” Taehyung added.

“I didn’t manipulate her!”

“You spoke to her as if everything that happened didn’t matter at all!”

“That’s not how it was! I just expressed myself very poorly,” Jimin exclaimed, facing Taehyung’s accusations, who remained with his arms crossed and chin raised, clearly in disagreement with him. “You, more than anyone, know that I don’t communicate well through text.”

“Because you overthink everything. You didn’t even need to text her in the first place. I told you it was a terrible idea. Now she hates us even more!”

“Did she say that?” Hoseok intervened.

Taehyung gave him a disbelieving look.

“And I quote: fuck all of you.”

Hoseok took a deep breath, trying to process the situation. Taehyung looked angry, and Jimin appeared offended that Taehyung was so upset about what he had done, in addition to misrepresenting his words, if Hoseok understood correctly. But the brown-haired guy had a point: it had indeed been a terrible idea, and Namjoon would lose all his hair if he found out. He understood Jimin’s motivation for trying to reach out, but Hoseok felt Jimin had lost some tact in the process by approaching you just to find a quick solution. Clearly, the atmosphere in the penthouse was affecting everyone, and not in a good way. He couldn’t judge or blame Jimin for trying to lighten the situation for both parties, even if he could have approached it differently.

So Hoseok sighed, understanding the magnitude of the problem they had, and turned to the two young men who were now looking at him attentively, after recently avoiding his gaze as if their lives depended on it.

“How did you think you were going to meet her with the level of fame you have?”

Hoseok knew Jimin had acted on impulse, and perhaps addressing the underlying reasoning would make him think better next time, if there was one.

Jimin opened his lips slightly, confused.

“I... I don’t know, but I would've found a way.”

Taehyung scoffed. That would have been impossible because, surely, only after Jungkook, Jimin was one of the most recognizable faces in the industry and, therefore, couldn’t walk freely down the streets without having a horde of fans behind him within seconds. If, for some divine reason, you had agreed to meet with Jimin, then he would have exposed you too much to the public eye and you would have had more problems before getting any answers.

“There’s no way, Jimin.” Hoseok spoke, as the blonde shot a fierce look at his brown-haired companion. “We’re no longer in a small town.”

The two young men turned to the elder, putting their silly squabbles aside. A feeling of nostalgia and longing filled the air, embracing them and bringing to the surface poorly buried memories in the gardens of their minds; the gusts of Hoseok’s words uncovered them easily.

“We can’t afford that luxury now. We lost the opportunity a long time ago.” Hoseok reminded them, with a hint of discord in his voice.

Taehyung hated remembering those times. Having had his hands tied, sealing his mouth voluntarily, believing he had no other option... it completely sickened him. For a long time, regret had physically drained him.

“I won’t talk to Namjoon, don’t worry.” Hoseok assured them, and although the two young men should've breathed with relief, the truth was that they already felt too shaken. “But be more careful about where you talk about these things.”

“What things?”

“Fuck!”

Taehyung jumped off the couch when the voice came from his right, being the closest to the source. The three friends turned to see Yoongi, walking down the hallway from his room to the main living area of the penthouse.

“Are you guys sharing secrets?”

Instead of being scared, Jimin and Taehyung fell back onto the couch, letting out an exhausted breath. Yoongi shot a confused look at Hoseok, who returned it with a more severe expression.

“Come here, Yoongi. We need to talk.”

i hope you guys enjoyed! and thanks to my friend for helping my unresponsive overworked ass.

[Friend: I don't know if the tags worked. I'm sorry!]

tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7 @11thenightwemet11 @yoongznme @queenbloody @lynnettys-world @darlingz99 @dreamerwasfound @chaotickyrith @kokoandkookie @midiplier @thunderg @lizzymizzy-blogg @ladymorrie @butnotmontana @lovelgirl22 @jjeonjjk7 @aurorathi @ot7stansthigs @kunacat @borahaetelevision @mylovingstars @ghostlyworld @talyaaas-blog @slowlyshycomputer @jjk174 @maynina @kariningss @juju-227592 @zippaur @v4ksk4tz @kookierry @idk179634 @canarystwin @jincapableoflove @notrustfratedjin @elliott-calls @devilzliaison @ismelllikechlorine247 @19yearoldjstryingtolivelife @thatgirliehan @yuuuumii @welcometomyworld13 @sugarbaby69x @whoa-jo @cerulean1riz @kawennote09 @angelfuzzy2 @themoonsblueside @damn-u-min-yoongi

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thirteenducks · 11 months ago

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feverish

(wriothesley x wife!reader) [sfw]

༻❁༺ content: fem!reader (reader is referred to by ‘wife’ and "she/her"), established relationship, marriage, reader has hair long enough to reach neck

༻❁༺ word count: ~1.5k

༻❁༺ tags: sickfic, banter while sick, this is just wrio taking care of you and being a butt while doing it, feat. sigewinne who does not get paid enough for this, if you are sick and reading this rn im so sorry and i hope you get well soon, coldsink wrio x heatsource wife agenda

༻❁༺ author’s note: my friend @mmmairon is sick and i am in another country and cannot help so i'm sending wrio on my behalf. pls enjoy especially if you don't feel well right now :(

After a restless night, Wriothesley is thrilled to hear that you're awake now. He wastes no time in rushing to your side.

Wriothesley’s pen scratches unpleasantly against a disciplinary notice, its point threatening to carve into the wood of the desk beneath. The owner mutters darkly under his breath as he completes a signature on the offending paper and slides it to his left. Immediately, another takes its place from the stack on his right.

For two hours, nothing else has broken the quiet of the Duke’s office. Two hours too long, by Wriothesley’s measure. He glances at the clock, hand continuing to sign his name by sheer muscle memory.

Are you getting any rest? Did the chamomile from your tea an hour ago help at all, or are the throes of fever keeping you awake? Does he have the right ingredients to make you beef stew? Preoccupied, he writes “soup” on the signature line of a prisoner release form by mistake.

He sighs, pinching the crooked bridge of his nose between his fingers. They’re as cold as ever. He misses the warmth of yours unspeakably.

The next thirty minutes pass like an eternity. Surely, Sigewinne would be at his side in an instant if you were awake. His presence there now would only serve to wake you from much-needed rest and defer his backlog of paperwork even more. Neither of these points keeps him from staring the clock down like he’s in the ring again.

Suddenly, there’s a quiet knock on his door and Wriothesley snaps to attention, nearly knocking over an inkwell in his haste. Sigewinne enters without his bidding, an unreadable expression on her kind face. She doesn’t wait for his question before she answers it.

“Yes, the tea put her to sleep, and yes, she’s awake now.”

His features relax in a moment, the furrow in his brow smoothing.

“I’m afraid she’s not any better than she was this morning, however. I would have really liked to see her fever come down by now...” The Melusine trails off, her small hand on her chin and a pout on her face. “The chill probably isn’t doing her much good, either.”

Her boss, however, is already halfway downstairs, pulling his coat on as he takes the steps two at a time. Sigewinne sighs as she turns to follow him at a much slower pace. So predictable when his wife is involved.

In contrast to the speed at which he crosses the fortress to your shared living quarters, Wriothesley’s steps are soft as he nears your bedroom door.

“Sweetheart? Are you up?”

A weak cough answers him. He’s by the bedside in a moment, kneeling and pushing aside the curtain that hides you from him. Your eyes squint a bit as the sickly light of the fortress filters in, and his hand moves up to shield your face as he appears in your field of vision.

Despite the red ringing your eyes and nose and the congestion in your breathing, you smile up at him and his heart almost jumps out of his chest.

“Hi, darling.”

The side of his mouth quirks up. “Hi. Feeling any better?”

You shake your head slightly, your hair fanning out on the pillow beneath you. He silently gathers it in one hand and moves it away from your neck as he waits for you to continue. The brush of his cool hand against your flushed skin feels incredible and you bring your hand to rest on his, a silent entreaty to keep it there.

“Sigewinne says I’m in the worst of it now and that from here-” you stop to cough, Wriothesley’s eyes raking over your frame as it shakes with the effort. “-from here it should be uphill. As long as I can rest up today.”

He pushes the hair back from your forehead with his other hand, stroking it absentmindedly. “Well, we’ll have to stick it out until tomorrow then, huh?” The grin he shoots you, all teeth, does more for you than you think any of the medicine on your bedside table has.

That’s why you’re as surprised as he is when the tears start to roll down your cheeks. You hadn’t even known they were there until now, but suddenly it’s so much harder to breathe than it was and Wriothesley is a swimming blur in front of you. The shooting pain in your head, dulled to an ache until now, comes back in full force as your body curls in on itself and your temple meets your husband’s shoulder.

You don’t know if you’re crying from the headache, from exhaustion, or from something else, and your mind is too foggy to care. All you can do is be held as his arms come to rest firmly around you and he pulls you to him, murmuring words of comfort.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry... I wish I could do more.” Your hands grip his collar a little tighter as you sob into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “I know, love. You’ll feel better soon, I promise. Sigewinne and I are gonna take care of everything, okay?”

There’s an edge of concern to his voice that you can hear even through the haze of sickness. You hate it. It’s likely just the seasonal flu; half the Fortress has had it at some point this winter. The thought of how much you were making him worry over something so small as this...

“I know what you’re thinking. Stop it,” Wriothesley gently reprimands, his cool fingers stroking your forehead again. You can feel the cold metal of his wedding ring against the heated skin. “You’re not being a baby about anything. You hear me?”

Your silence speaks volumes. He laughs a little, the sound loud in the silence of your bedroom. “I know you well, don’t I?”

It takes a while for your tears to completely subside. When you’re finished sniffling against his collar, he props you up against the headboard with pillows behind your back. You’re more congested than ever, something your husband has the nerve to laugh at as he hands you tissues, but there’s no unkindness in his tone.

He disappears into the kitchen for a few minutes as you doze, exhausted from the effort of crying for so long. When he eases the door open again, he’s carrying a tray with a teacup and pot (of course) and a bowl of something that smells warm and comforting.

“Hmm. Excellent room service this place has. The waiter is a little scruffy, though,” you say as Wriothesley places it on your lap, tucking in the covers around you.

He gives you a fake look of injury. “How dare you, ma’am. I’ll have you know I’m too worried about my wife to shave, who I’m afraid is deathly ill,” he sighs, stroking the stubble on his jaw. He spoons soup into your mouth before you can retort, stifling a smile.

Once you’ve drained half the soup, Wriothesley seems satisfied. He removes the tray from your lap and takes your hand, bringing it to his own forehead.

“Oh, no. How awful.” He shoots you a glance. “It appears the Duke of the Fortress has come down with something.”

You raise an eyebrow. His forehead is as cool as the rest of him is. “Really.”

“Oh, yes,” he says, flopping onto your lap. “It looks like he’ll be out of the office for the rest of the day.”

You laugh, wincing when it makes your head throb. “The Duke sounds like a slacker, if you ask me.”

“Well, everyone knows that,” Wriothesley murmurs, burying his face into your thigh. “They’ll have to tell my boss about it.” You feel him grin against your leg.

You sigh, feigning exasperation. “What a shame. I was just about to ask him to dinner, too.”

Wriothesley has migrated to his side of the bed by now and is nestling into your side with the stubbornness of a dog. “Don’t worry, I hear he’s a messy eater. Absolute carnivore.”

Your hands come to rest on his head, the soft grey strands tickling your palms. “You know you’re going to get sick, right? I’m highly contagious.”

No answer.

“You’re the head of the Fortress, Wrio. If you get laid up, Sigewinne might put a bounty out on you. She seems like the type.”

Your husband murmurs into your side, already half-asleep. “She’ll have to catch me first.”

Despite your many blankets and the body next to you, a sudden chill runs through you and you stiffen. He feels it, arms tightening around your waist.

“Fever pills are on the bedside in the white bottle. Water is next to it.”

You smile. “Thank you, darling.” He hums in response.

A few days later, you’re well enough to leave your room again. Sigewinne would be thrilled, if not for your husband, who looks more smug than any sick man has a right to be.

He sniffles, burrowing into your sheets again as the Melusine glares daggers at him. “I’ll be fine. My wife loves me and I have leftover soup in the fridge. What else does a man need?”

#wriothesley #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #wriothesley x reader #fem!reader #mairon if u see this please feel better #this is also lowkey for me the next time i get sick #just planning ahead ig #anyway. simp wrio agenda

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lorarri · 7 months ago

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★ . . . 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 , 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒

summary , being forced to go to a gp was not something on Y/N's 2023 bingo card but who knows maybe she will create a friendships that could help her thought this tough time

pairing , step dad! lewis hamilton x fem! young teen! reader

MOTHER Lewis has got us VIP tickets to the Australian gp Isn't that exciting!

Y/N but I have an archery comp on that weekend

MOTHER dw about it I've pulled you from the comp you can do the next

Y/N are you fucking kidding me you pulled me from a comp to go watch you boyfriend's race what the fuck?!?!?!

MOTHER language young lady first of all he my fiance and he is gonna be your step father soon

Y/N he is not gonna be my anything as far as I'm concerned and the only way I am going is if you drag me there kicking and screaming so fuck you

MINJI babe where is u at?

Y/N @ the Aussie Gp 💀 ... girl don't u remember me telling you guys about this 🙄

HANNI We do but your mom just called asking if we knew where you were 😭😭

Y/N wtf would you guys know where I am 😐

DANIELLE cuz aparently she can't find you and she thinks you are trying to catch a flight out of the country to avoid spending time with her and lewis 🫣

Y/N tf is this bitch on? I would never put that much effort into her let that be know first and for most 😝 second of all I'm hanging out with Max and Daniel 😌 so dw I'm not trynna skip town 😔

HAERIN Max and Daniel? as in like Red Bull's drivers Max and Daniel as in like Mad Max 😡 and big dick Danny ric 🤠

Y/N ew 🤢🤢🤮🤮 never say that again 🚫 but yes that would be them 👍

MINJI ... proof or it never happened 👀

Y/N

happy now?

HANNI okay but how did you even meet?

Y/N walked off to have a smoke and ran into them and started talking

DANIELLE ain't your mom gonna be pissed though?

Y/N why?

HAERIN cuz your created a better bond with Max and Daniel then what you have with Lewis

Y/N tbh I don't really fucking care Lewis seems like an alright guy ngl but I don't like how my mother is forcing me to spend time with him it's awkward and weird escpially since my dad is refusing to answer my calls or texts and everytime a ask my mother about it she says "maybe he is busy sweetheart" and "well look at it this way it will be the perfect opportunity to bond with Lewis" so yeah I have 0 shits to give rn anyway I need to go time for the race max says I can watch in the red bull garage

NANA (EX WIFE) my plan isn't working I thought by forcing you to stay away Y/N and Lewis could bond but I think she hates him more now

JUNHO (EX HUSBAND) no shit sherlock btw I'm coming to pick Y/N up this weekend she staying at my house till she has to go back to school

NANA (EX WIFE) is that bitch gonna be there?

JUNHO (EX HUSBAND) yes my girlfriend is going to be there and I am going to show you the correct way of introducing your kid to your new partner and that starts by telling them the truth about why you marriage ended in the first place and since you refuse to tell her I will read

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zvezdacito · 4 months ago

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Tbh I think a lot of people downplay the stakes Malleus is in that makes him overblot as just surface level loneliness by itself and that's why they think his overblot is unwarranted/annoying compared to the other six. It makes sense he jumps to such drastic measures to avoid facing whatever comes next because whatever it is will last not just a few years but literally a millennium + either way because of multiple systemic reasons he knows he's not just gonna be able to connect with a bunch of new people/explore a bunch of new experiences to make up for it.

Compared to other overblotters, it seems no matter what course of action Malleus will end up in a bad ending since he's a species seemingly among the few left of his kind while also being biologically predisposed to outliving everyone. It's as if he can never have a happy ending as long as he's himself, or that as a king (and symbolic "lord of all villains") his happiness will only come at the cost of others'.

I feel like a lot of people also give him the entire blame of his failures to connect properly with his peers. When even before they knew about his impulsivity or lack of cognitive empathy people were already jumping to conclusions about him. (Said mindsets came about from internalizing the depersonalization he was raised with, he's the sole heir of a country battered by colonization who place very high expectations on him to be a symbol of hope for them again after all)

Assuming the worse because of his powers, the reputation that came from it, and because of (the once again systemic issue) humans and people outside the Briar Valley barely knowing anything about/only having stereotypical rumors to go off the nocturnal fae who closed themselves off to try and stop humans from invading them more💀

So yeah givevn all of this Malleus was a ticking time bomb and even then he was about to just stand down and put his own feelings aside until he became accidentally convinced there was a way that didn't have to exclude him. It's an unfortunate clash of circumstances between different people and that's what TWST is all about. So yeah idk just kinda baffling some people are unironically out there saying things like "Malleus should've just held himself together for one night that's so selfish" when it's kinda made extremely clear by the story there's way more leading to the characters' making choices than that

From an outside point of view as the audience of course there are obvious steps Malleus could take to make the most out of what he has and to not inadvertently be a prick to others, but it pretty obvious why in his shoes it's not really feasible rn lol. Other than these things I could think of at the top of my head, a lot of the things people single him out as especially selfish or unreasonable for are things the other overblotters and characters in general also do lol.

> Like the class dynamics at play? NRC is literally rich boy central many characters express some kind of class privelege

> Not receiving consequences for his actions? This is a staple twst writing flaw for all its stories in general, most overblotters have gotten a slap on the wrist/their actions relatively covered up by the end. And Fellow legit just walks away from an undisclosed time of human trafficking like it was no big deal😭

Ironically Malleus will probably be the first overblotter to not have his actions hidden to only a select circle of people and receive severe repercussions for it because someone like him "should've been above that".

But yeah sometimes I feel like the extent of how some factors in Malleus's background, upbringing and environment determine his way of thinking and why he thinks he needs to do certain things is underestimated by the fandom and only the surface level of what he's doing is focused on which results in some people talking about his character and his flaws in a very dismissive way idk

#bumping into the most mid malleus opinions posts of all time has been stressing me out #im 3 seconds away from passing out rn so this is written kinda sloppily #malleus draconia #word barf #twisted wonderland

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verilly · 6 months ago

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On my knees for some post-Mithrun fluff rn.

POST MITHRUN FLUFF? I gotchu 😎 it’s going to be bullet points b t dubs, just so I can catch the right mind set… THANKSYU 4 THE REQUEST ILY <3

Mithrun x Reader

•••|•••|•••|•••|•••

Right. So after canon he heads back to Melini (with you, of course) to scout out monsters and demons with his side hustle of making noodles! So as a noble yourself, you follow him to help achieve his dreams!

However, Mithrun is still ticked off at the part where reviving isn’t a plausible option after death, so he’s extremely careful with you. So much so that after a month or so with you trailing with him on his search for monsters, he tosses you in the noodle shop (with the land he had claimed with his noble blood).

At this point, he’s been so surrounded in his want for monster/demon blood that he hasn’t exactly made any progress with the noodle making… and well, neither have you. So there you sat, alone in a big restaurant, with no customers at all, no one to keep you company or to keep you entertained!

So that’s when you decide to try to cook noodles on your own!

You grabbed as many how to guide’s you could from books all over your country, which included recipes from the western territories all the way to the eastern islands! You even scrounged up some old tattered papers from the ex-canaries, Senshi, and the trash.

Collecting herbs, grains, and whatever monster-like ingredients Laios sent to you through the mail.

You decided to keep most of your habits a secret from Mithrun, or at least as you can from him because you wanted to be the one to teach him when the day comes he wanted to pursue his other desire. You always schedule your time practicing for when he's away, and Mithrun being the man that he is always has a set pattern on doing things. Meaning he always came back home almost at the exact same time everyday.

The only other times he'd come home at a later time is when he gets lost, for he has the time of his life navigating the city streets. (This is rare because he likes using his teleportation magic a lot more than actually walking.)

So on this very special day, once you've decided your skills are up to the test, you served him home made noodles. Not only were they home made, so was the sauce/broth. You were quite proud of making such a delicious meal, now it was time to share your talent with your lover.

"Mithrun, wake up, I have a very special breakfast to share with you!" You say, pushing him back and forth from his sleeping state. You'd waken up hours earlier to prepare for this momentous occasion.

No response.

Maybe you should have planned the scheduling better? This was earlier than usual for the ex-captain to wake up... No! You were his partner, he should wake up for you!

"Mithrun wake up!!!" You groan loudly, stopping all your movements before shoving your face into his blanketed stomach, "Please please please please!"

With no words to utter, Mithrun begrudgingly arose from the bed, sitting right up to face you. You beamed with excitement as he looked to face you.

"Why don't you join me down at the resturaunt floor? I have set up something quite amazing down there." You put a finger to your chin and smile, "Plus I think you'll like it a lot!!"

Down the steps the two of you went, where in arrival was the bowl of noodles you had prepared only minutes before. They were served with scallions, mushrooms, a pantry load of seasonings, and whatever meat you had bought fresh from the market a day before.

"What is this?"

"It's noodles! That I made.. for you... 'cause you said you wanted to make them yourself and.... I can see where I messed up a little, but I did it so that I can help you in the future! When you wish to fufill your desire of noodle making!!!" You sheepishly say, a much smaller smile creeping up on your lips.

"I never said you messed up." He said smoothly, teleporting away from you and into the seat in front of the food. You follow closely behind him, sitting at the seat next to him.

"Go on, take a bite! It'll be all for nothing if we run out of time and you need to go out monster hunting." You tilt your head to the right, clasping your hands together.

He looks down at the meal in front of him, and his good eye flickers up and down between you and the noodles. After a few seconds past he picked up the nice utensils you placed next to the bowl and took his first bite.

"So how does it taste? Do you like it??!"

"I don't feel anything in particular for it." He murmurs calmly.

"Ah." Your world view shatters for a moment, before sucking in your pride, "So what makes you feel that way? I thought it was really good, but our tastes are quite different from each other..."

"It's a little too flavorful for me, but I'm... grateful that you spent so much time perfecting this for me. How long was it? A few months?"

"What!!? How did you know that I was..."

"You can't hide things from me, [name]. You'll never be able to succeed."

You stare at him for a second before collapsing on the table before you, "Arghh! I totally thought everything was going to go great, but as it turns out... Mithrun is just too good for me." You pull the bowl towards you, taking the utensils from Mithrun's hand, "And if you don't like it then you don't need to eat it."

"It's not my taste, but I don't mind. Please, I'd rather not leave any left overs, especially if it's a meal from you." His face seemed to soften as he said those few words, and your face reddened in response, letting out an "oh" as you correct your posture.

"Well then if you have time off anytime soon, you could stay here and I could teach you how to make your own noodles that suit your own taste. Then we could actually open the resturaunt to the people." You say sweetly, looking down at the food, watching it dissapear by each passing minute, "I'm sure every being here in Melini would love to eat food made by the hands of a noble. Maybe even the Canaries can home, I'm sure they'd enjoy a meal made by their captain."

"Mm... I'll stay here for today. My desire's growing after eating this d- uhm. Delicious meal you made for me." He states simply, putting the empty bowl and utensils to the side.

"Alright then." You get up from the seat next to him and take his hand, "I'll teach you everything I know." Another smile perks up on your lips as you pull him to the kitchen.

Mithrun in a kitchen. Who could've guessed?!

He's not very skilled at cutting, buthis use of magic fills in the void quite perfectly.

You help him a lot, which includes taking his hands in yours when he begrudgingly uses the knife.

He likes your touches but not the “weapon” in his hands.

You also teach him to pound the noodles, which you usually put lots of energy into, but for him not so much. You have to fill in for him most of the time.

There will come a day where Mithrun won’t go out on expeditions and instead stays with you in the restaurant, for a long time.

And to him, he wouldn’t want to spend his last few (hundreds of) years any differently.

•••|•••|•••|•••|•••

I tried to make it flufffy I don’t know if this is fluff

I hope you liked it :3 pls keep sending me stuff it’ll take like a day - ish for me to fill it out but I def will!!!!!!!

My masterlist is on profile :3

Lots of love, Yours truly.

#dungeon meshi x reader #mithrun #mithrun x reader #i dont know how else to tag this #mithrun dungeon meshi #mithrun fluff #please let me keep cooking #verilly

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lueurjun · 7 months ago

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guitarist boyfriend! jay

popstar!reader x guitarist boyfriend jay! in which you’re supplied with a new guitarist who just so happens to end up falling hopelessly in love with you. a/n—if this is bad, don’t blame me. it was a spur of the moment spark of motivation.

gather around and hold hands because this is everything to me

YOU GUYS are everything to me

that micheal scott meme where he’s holding jim and pam’s hands… that’s what it looks like. me holding you guys by the hands because i just love u both so much. i am apart of this relationship. i am the captain of this ship. the leader of- okay you get it

guitarist jay and his global popstar partner?? stop before i cry

okay ! let’s get started with how you guys came to be

it all started because your guitarist decided to seize an opportunity to permanently work for another pop star

traitor. i’ll set them on fire. ( for legal reasons that’s a joke ).

and you’re all for new opportunities and such but they happened to leave smack bang in the middle of your world tour

three hours before your concert

someone hand me a lighter rn-

so not only are you set to perform in front of a sold out stadium, in a country you’re not too familiar with, but you’re left with no guitarist either

cue the emotional meltdown backstage with all your stylists and staff around trying to calm you down

imagine you’re filming a documentary and they put in the scene where you’re sat on the floor just sobbing whilst people rush around you- the way i’d sue my own team

anyways lucky for you, yang jungwon is on your team — and he has a friend who has exceptional talent on the guitar, who also happens to be in the area

how convenient, it’s almost like this was written in the stars

jay arrives but he doesn’t even get to say hi to you before he’s carted off by your manager to be coached for the performance

so you really only saw the back of his head through teary eyes

but according to your stylist, he’s one hell of a babe

stylist is me btw lemme wipe away your tears. come here, pretty

you take their word for it and just try to mentally prepare for the concert ahead after the shock of being blindsided

it’s not until 5 minutes before you go on that you officially get to meet jay

and suddenly the concept of workplace crushes makes sense to you because bro looks like he’s just stepped out of a vogue magazine

models should be thankful he picked the idol industry

he looks super nervous as he shakes your hand, he’s all jittery and it makes your heart swell

of course, he’s polite as ever as he compliments your work and all that you do and expresses how much of an honour it is to play for you

he’s laying it on thick but i would too if i was in your presence tbh- you’re everything embedded in gold

there’s not much time for conversation before the pair of you are being ushered into position, but you catch the wink he gives you before he stalks away with the rest of the band

and you certainly don’t miss the knowing grin you receive from your drummer, sunoo

suddenly, you’re taking deep breaths to ease your pounding heart which is going crazy

not because of the thousands that are about to watch you perform live, but because of the small interaction you just shared with jay

oh you are so cooked- but personally, if i was jay, i’d never wash my hand again after shaking yours

anyways the performance goes smoothly, and jay excels just as jungwon said he would

you were surprised at how easy it was for him to get into the swing of things

and your fans seemed to love the new addition given ‘y/n’s guitarist’ trends on twitter afterwards

needless to say, concert one with jay is a great success so much so that he secures a permanent spot as your brand new guitarist

yesss bros getting a major bag and YOU? he’s living the dream fr

as the shows progress, you and jay seem to gravitate closer both on stage and off

if you’re not hanging out constantly, then you’re sharing winks and subtle glances across the stage whilst you’re performing

and as expected: a ship begins to set sail

your fans are begging for it to happen. your friends are begging for it to happen.

i’m begging for it to happen

and finally, it does.

jay bites the bullet and asks you out on a date

what’s the worst that can happen? you say no, oh wow-

we’re on a floating rock lovelies. shoot your shot 🫨

luckily for jay, you didn’t say no. in fact, you were more than delighted to say yes

onto the relationship because this is so long, i always do this

right off the bat he is OBSESSED with you

but would he swim across the ocean to get to you? i would. i would, y/n.

heart eyes constantly

so much so that fans literally have 30 min compilations on youtube of him just staring at you as though you were an aurora dancing across the sky

blowing kisses at him as you’re performing

alexa play that should be me

your discography is so shamelessly dedicated to him

everyone eats it up

iconic paparazzi photos

jay having you sat on his lap to teach you the guitar and him leaving gentle kisses against the nape of your neck

sighhhhh genuinely why do i do this to myself? someone take over because i am DEPRESSED

if you’re already able to play guitar, i can see the pair of you doing a little duet where you just stare at each other all 😍😍 whilst playing at each other

wearing one of his picks on a necklace

him having your name written on his guitar

also you get special treatment and your band members make sure you know it

“i moved his guitar out of the way so it didn’t get trampled on and he grabbed sunoo’s drum stick and threatened to shove it down my throat but you touch it and all of a sudden roses grow from his eyes? disgusting.”

sunghoon has had enough

yapping about him during interviews with the brightest smile on your face

this would be me as a celeb- i would not be able to keep my life private i’m a certified yapper

if you want to go for the more private approach

subtle exchanges on stage

it would be like private but not secret

cuddles backstage !!!

being seen wearing each others tour jackets when leaving the venue

crawling into his bunk on the tour bus late at night after everyone has fallen asleep but also being the last to wake up so everyone knows you’re in there anyway

him shielding your face from all the flashes of the camera

protective jay is everything to me.

he’ll definitely be your plus one to any event

and the two of you absolutely steal the show every single time

he also supplies your fandom with memes of you and they thank him for it

i better stop here because i’m getting too carried away shsjsjsk and i’m pretty sure i strayed off the prompt 😭

overall, you and jay? dream couple ☁️🤍

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terresdebrume · 4 months ago

Text

Work is kinda hectic rn, my knees are NOT liking how much traveling between floors I have to do, and I am missing sleep like crazy so my WIPs are staying largely untouched but I HAD to push out this concept for a maybe-someday fic in the I'm down on my knees universe

Written for the free square day of @painlandweek . Have some hurt/comfort ft Charles and how he feels about his mum. Also belatedly tagging @ghostinthelibrarywrites bc I think you'll enjoy it and I accidentally posted a thing that was meant to stay a draft again xD

Charles is sitting on the doorstep. It's almost eight PM on a weeknight, Edwin is just back from a fun-study session—which is really just Maren's way of saying she wants beer with her textbooks—tired, brain swimming with texts of law, and more than a little tipsy... And Charles Rowland is sitting on his doorstep. His building's doorstep. The difference is irrelevant.

Caught off guard, Edwin blinks, and stares at Charles.

He is curled up on the ground, spine back in that parenthesis shape it had back in school. His elbows are on his knees, hands buried into the hair at the back of his neck, his eyes closed. Edwin takes in the tension in Charles' shoulders, the way the fading sunlight catches the green vines tattooed on his left forearm, the slow, deliberate depth of movement around his ribcage, and decides against calling out to him. Instead, Edwin walks up to him until Charles can no longer ignore the footsteps, and waits for him to speak.

"Hi," Charles says, muffled, from between his elbows.

"Hi," Edwin replies, chest twisting when the last hope he had that Charles was just a bit tired evaporates like rhum from a flambé.

He steps forward again, then ignores the fresh layer of summer dust on the steps and sits down next to Charles, deliberately picking a position that makes their hips and shoulders touch. Charles leans into it immediately, turning a light contact into solid pressure, and Edwin sighs. Things could be worse.

"I did not expect you tonight," Edwin prompts, trying to make himself as gentle as he can.

Tuesday nights are when Charles and Niko's dance classes take place. Edwin has never known either of them to miss one, so Charles' presence here is one more sign that whatever is going on is not to be taken lightly. As if to confirm Edwin's suspicions, Charles sighs, and mumbles:

"I ran into my mum."

Edwin freezes. For some reason, in the few months since he and Charles reunited, it never quite clicked for him that Charles' parents, for all that Charles hasn't had any contact with them for nearly eight years now, exist in the same world they do. London is such a large, dense city, it is easy to make your life in a corner of it and never step outside its boundaries. Edwin's parents certainly treat Kensington like an insular country only worth leaving for the richer shores of Mayfair, when they deign to visit the capital at all. Just like Edwin and Charles existed less than ten minutes away from each other for months without having a clue, the possibility of him running into Mr. or Mrs. Rowland by accident did not even cross Edwin's mind. Nor Charles', from the look of things.

"That must have been a shock," Edwin says.

He does not know enough to infuse more feelings into his response. Charles, for all that he shares his smiles, his affections and the chief of his worldly possessions freely, has remained incredibly tight lipped about his past. The summary of what Edwin knows of Charles' youth is quite easy to make.

Fact the first: at the age of sixteen, not one term into his stay at St. Hilarion's School for Boys, Charles Rowland jumped into a pool full of a deadly allergy trigger to save Edwin's life.

Fact the second: for the remainder of that school year, Charles endeavoured to make Edwin's life as painless as possible. His presence remains, by far, the brightest highlight of Edwin's adolescence.

Fact the third: at the age of seventeen, or near enough, Charles ran away from what he described as a bad home situation exactly once and proceeded never to mention again. It is Edwin's understanding that Charles may have escaped with nothing but the clothes on his back that day.

Two of those facts, Edwin knows because he was a direct witness to them, and the third was only shared with him because he accidentally made it an implicit condition to renewing his acquaintance with Charles.

Charles Rowland is not an emotional sharer, and Edwin is sort of at a loss.

"Yeah," Charles mumbles after a beat. "It was a bloody shock alright."

Edwin bites on his bottom lip, resisting the urge to push his fists together.

"Would you like to talk about it?" He asks, hoping his voice conveys the appropriate mixture of care and caution.

Charles shrugs, sniffing and rubbing his face against one of his forearms. Edwin bites his lip a little harder, and cautiously raises his right hand to place it on Charles' back. He feels and sees the muscles tense, Charles arching his back like an angry cat for the half second it takes Edwin to take his hand back.

"I apologize," he says, hand hovering uselessly above Charles' shoulder blades, "I wanted—"

"Neck's fine," Charles mumbles, low enough that Edwin almost misses it.

He swallows thickly, pausing when the upstairs neighbors walk by with puzzled faces. Edwin doesn't quite glare at them but it's a near thing, and he turns back to Charles the second they're out of view.

"Alright," he says. "Neck, then."

He only touches two fingers to the nape of Charles' neck at first, trying to keep it light, but that makes Charles tense again so he changes to a more present grip, palm flat and only just brushing with the edge of Charles' hair. Charles doesn't move into it this time, but he doesn't flinch away either. Edwin feels Charles take a deep, soundless breath, like a swimmer before a dive, and braces.

"I. She asked how I was," he exhales at last, and the wind rushes out of Edwin's lungs with a punched out sound. "I haven't seen her in over seven years and she—"

Charles takes a shuddering breath, sharp and painful sounding, and his voice sounds utterly broken when he says:

"He used to beat me up, you know."

Edwin, who hadn't known but kept the possibility in his mind like a bad thorn, bites down on a sympathetic hiss and leans a little harder against Charles instead, stretching so he can lean his forehead against the back of Charles' skull.

"Charles, I'm so sorry," he murmurs, free hand grasping around until it can find the jut of Charles' left knee, and wrap his fingers around it, squeezing with as much reassurance as he can muster.

He wishes, abruptly, that he'd thought to take Charles inside before he started this talk. They both deserve better than the front step of Edwin's building, where another pair of neighbors gawks at them as they walk past. Yet, now that they're here, Edwin wouldn't cut Charles off for all the gold in the world. He fears with an intensity he didn't know he was capable of, that interrupting Charles now would send him back into his usual reserve, and Edwin knows with absolute certainty that he will go to great lengths to prevent that from happening.

"She never—every time he did it," Charles says, almost choking on the words, "she'd just stand—she didn't do anything! And now—now she—"

A long fit of coughing cuts Charles off, wracking his body and shaking Edwin's head even as he tightens his hold on Charles, as if he could make up for his childhood with how much he loves him.

"I'm so sorry," he tells Charles. "You deserved so much better."

Charles' cough subsides, melting into shuddering, soundless sobs that Edwin wants to take into his ribs and hide from the rest of the world. He straightens up and, as gently as he can, guides Charles to lean against him harder until his frame his half cradled in Edwin's arms.

"It's not bloody fair," Charles manages between sobs, gulping air like he's drowning, shaking against Edwin.

Edwin breathes in, tears crowding at the corner of his eyes, and holds Charles closer. He wishes, so desperately, that he could love him enough to erase the past and make all the pain go away.

"I love you," he says instead, recklessly, pressing a kiss into the side of Charles' hair. "I know it doesn't make anything better, but I love you."

They sit like this for a long time, Charles crying and Edwin rocking him lightly like a child, until things finally calm down enough that Charles is ready to go upstairs for tea. They drink it out of the blue mugs Monty bought when he and Edwin moved in, quietly sitting on the couch in one of those strange bubbles of relieved fragility that comes after a crisis. For a long while, they sit in silence on Edwin's couch.

Then Charles sighs, long and tired, and leans sideways until he can rest his head on Edwin's shoulder, one arm looping around his waist.

"I love you too, mate," he sighs, making Edwin freeze. "And it does make things better that you love me."

Edwin, his heart singing from Charles' declaration and bleeding from the way he meant it, nods, and drinks his tea.

#Painland Week #dead boy detectives #charles rowland #edwin payne #payneland #dbda fanfic #matt writes #s: I'm down on my knees #20n #30n #40n #50n #60n #70n #80n #90n #100n

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atinylittlepain · 2 years ago

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hello bestie im back here again with a joel idea <33

ur smut is so fucking good but im in need of some nice fluff rn because I love the last of us but god that show is hard to watch i get so emotional its hard to keep watching sometimes

but for a fluff idea where the reader, joel, and ellie settle down in jackson and Joel begins to realize that he's happy again and he becomes unsure because he feels guilty about sarah but it ends happily bc its what all of them deserve

my darling, my comrade, thank you for bringing this idea to me. i hope i did it justice <3

gif by @maygrant

Good

Joel Miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

Stuck between the despair of the past and fear for the future, Joel struggles to accept the goodness he's found in the present.

warnings | 18+ angst, living with grief, lovely sweetness

..........................

“I still can’t believe that. All that time in FEDRA school and they never taught you how to swim?” Ellie huffs at that, stomping a little further ahead of Joel as she mutters.

“It’s not like we had a fucking pool to do laps in, old man. Give me a break.” He breathes out a laugh, glancing away from the kid and toward his woman as she falls into step beside him.

“No time like the present, kid. Gonna have you swimming like a pro by the end of the day.” He can’t help but smile at her words, and in anticipation of the spectacle that watching her teach Ellie how to swim is going to be. They had lucked out, all three of them having this perfect summer day off from class and shifts in town, and had packed up their day in rucksacks to hike out to the nearby lake with the promise that Ellie would finally learn how to swim.

Life has been– he won’t think the word good, not wanting to jinx anything– but maybe normal? They’ve been living in Jackson for a few months now, and he never thought he’d get used to things like running water and home cooked food ever again, but it seems like he has. Ellie goes to classes while they pick up shifts wherever they’re needed, and at the end of the day, they all come… home. He supposes it is home now, and that makes him nervous as hell. He knows better than most that the minute you get used to something in this world, it tends to disappear on you, and maybe that’s what has been making him hold his woman - the same woman he crawled across the country with - a little closer when they go to sleep each night in their nice, comfortable bed.

His thoughts have been swirling between these fears for the future, and a deep despair for the past. If he stays surface level, he usually concludes that he doesn’t deserve any of this, any of the smiles, the easing laughs with Ellie, the sweet press of his woman’s palm along his shoulders letting him know she’s still there. Not after everything he did to get by before. But if he needles past the last twenty years, he hits something that stings even more when he remembers that any happiness he gets, Sarah will always be gone.

He’s starting to be pulled under by his mind as they continue hiking, but she keeps him buoyed with the way she tangles her fingers with his, offering him a smile as they near the lake. They all shrug off their packs in the grass, she and Ellie already toeing off their shoes. When he sits down with a groan, leaning back on his hands, she gives him a questioning look.

“You’re not coming in?” He squints up at her, the mid-day sun a halo around her head.

“Someone oughta keep lookout. You two go on.” Her mouth twists up, but she drops it with a shrug, pulling off her t-shirt to reveal the faded swimsuit she had managed to trade for along with Ellie’s. The kid is standing with her hands on her hips, looking out at the lake like she’s surveying a new planet. She sidles up alongside Ellie, slinging her arm over the girl’s shoulder and murmuring something about “proving the old man wrong” that makes her laugh, the worry scrunching up her face quick to relieve itself. Joel doesn’t even have time to be annoyed at what she called him, times like these making him quick to thaw, when the kid actually gets to be a kid.

As she is in most things, Ellie is a quick learner, after some initial trepidation, and soon Joel’s watching the two of them dip and swerve through the water, the picture of grace in the clear summer heat. He smiles to himself, remembering how Sarah learned how to swim. Tommy bribed her into the rec center pool with the promise of a strawberry milkshake, and by the end of the day, Joel had to bribe her out of the pool with the promise of fries to go with said milkshake. The pain is quick to settle in at the memory. He finds himself bringing a palm to his chest, trying to rub out the ache even though he knows it won’t ever go away.

His attention is pulled away by Ellie hauling herself out of the lake, bending over and shaking her dripping hair out before plopping down next to him to rummage through her pack. He glances down at his jeans, now darkened by spots of water from her aggressive shake-off, before turning and quirking his brow at her. Already scarfing down her sandwich, she shrugs, mumbling through a mouthful.

“What? I’m fucking starving, man.” He shakes his head, trying to look annoyed, but failing miserably with the smile he can’t fight off.

“Language, kid. And you’re gonna have to wait a while after eating that if you wanna get back in.” Her brow furrows at that.

“Why?”

“Because– because you– look, that’s just the rule, ok? S’what they always said– gotta wait a while after you eat if you wanna swim.”

“Who’s they?” That makes him huff.

“I don’t know, alright? Christ, do whatever you want.” He knows it’s too harsh, but he’s having a hard time staying in the present when the past is hanging so heavy over him. He sighs, resting his arms over his knees and leaning forward, his gaze unfocusing into the grass.

“Joel?”

“Hmm?” He keeps his gaze hung low, just tilting his head slightly toward Ellie to let her know he is listening.

“Are you ok?” The question catches him entirely off guard, his head whipping around to look at her, his eyes squinted.

“I’m fine.” Ellie mirrors his own expression, eyes squinting, mouth in a close line as she nods.

“You deserve to be ok, y’know? I believe that.” She just keeps surprising him, and he coughs hard, trying to clear the tightness in his throat before he responds.

“I know, kid. Thank you– I’ll be ok.” She nods again, seeming to accept his answer as she looks back out at the lake. His eyes follow, seeing his woman, floating on her back with a serene look on her face, her arms lightly swaying in the water. He knows Ellie had slipped and called her mom the other day. Maybe it wasn’t a slip at all.

“Well, if I can’t get back in right now, one of us might as well. Go on, old man. I’ll keep lookout.” He grumbles at the nickname that both of them seem to have settled on for him, but the heat has gotten to him just enough that he listens to her, getting up and shrugging out of his unlaced boots, his t-shirt and jeans quick to follow.

“Jesus, my eyes!” He huffs as Ellie cackles to herself, but is a little too focused on the look his woman is giving him from the middle of the lake to pay much mind to her jabs.

The water is cool, a relief to every aching joint in his body as he wades in. He can’t remember the last time he did something like this. She meets him in the middle of the lake, an easy smile on her lips as she winds her arms around the back of his neck.

“Hey, handsome.” Even after all this time, he’s still prone to blushing when she talks like that, all syrup and sweetness. He scoffs to hide the creeping heat, his one hand coming to skate up and down her back. She tilts her head, seeming to search his face as she murmurs lowly.

“You’ve been scowling all day. Gonna tell me what’s going on?” She can read him like a book, always could, and it drives him insane most of the time.

“M’fine.” By the look on her face, he knows she isn’t going to accept that answer. He sighs.

“I just– this doesn’t feel real. Like– it’s too good to be true, don’t you think?” Her brow furrows at his words.

“I think it’s good for sure. But I can understand what you mean– waiting for the other shoe to drop, right?” He nods, both of them swaying lightly in the ebb of the water.

“It’s that– but I can’t stop thinking about– about–” His words fizzle out in his throat as he catches sight of something, a flickering of movement hovering just above the water.

Wings. The smallest splotches of colors blinking like eyes. A butterfly. The only thing that runs through his mind is a name. Her name. His Sarah.

Suddenly, a breathy laugh is rolling out of him.

“What? What is it? Is this– are you having a stroke?” The ridiculousness of the genuine worry across her face just makes him laugh more, his hands finding purchase on her waist and pulling her closer.

“Joel, this isn’t funny. What’s–” He cuts her off with a smacking kiss, her face stunned when he pulls away.

“I’m fine, darlin. I’m gonna be fine.” He glances one more time at the butterfly, alighted on the surface of the lake for a second before it flutters away. But he knows she hasn’t really left him. Wherever he goes, he knows he has her with him.

He kisses his woman again, this time to the much-vocalized chagrin of Ellie on the water’s edge.

“Gross! You guys are scarring me for life here!” She pulls away from him with a laugh, hollering at Ellie to mind her own business before fixing her attention back on him with a grin.

“Good?” He nods.

“Good.”

#joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #tlou

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hanaaishi · 4 months ago

Text

PAIRING: Matt Rempe x AFAB! Reader

WORD COUNT: 4.7K

SUMMARY: A surprise bar fight in Gramercy lands Matt Rempe in Bellevue with a head laceration. But a missing bangle allows you to share an experience of a lifetime with him.

WARNINGS: Bigotry, Harassment, Hospitals, Medical Treatment, Swearing, and Violence

I dedicate this story to @2manytabsopen as part of the 2K24 Summer Fic Exchange.

This is my first time writing for a non-binary, asexual person of color. I tried my best to incorporate that into the story while following the instructions you provided in the initial ask. As a result, if I messed up on anything, I am deeply sorry.

That being said, it was lovely to write for you. I had a lot of fun researching Desi culture for the story.

@wyattjohnston @kurlyteuvo @callsign-denmark @avengedearth

The fluorescent lights of the Bellevue emergency room burned overhead as you knelt between endless rows of medical supplies in the storeroom with an open package of disposable syringes at your feet. You scooped a handful and placed them into their labeled plastic container alongside the others lining the chrome-wire shelf. After unloading and breaking down the cardboard, your eyes shifted to the Apple watch around your wrist, which read 6:09 pm. Unpacking today's delivery of medical supplies pared only a single hour away from your twelve-hour night shift, causing an exasperated sigh to fall from your lips. You adjusted your navy blue watch band and rose to your feet to provide your knees with much-needed relief after kneeling upon the hospital's mosaic tile floor for an extended period. A smile appeared as you took a few steps back to review your work and admire your pristine organization before tucking the cardboard under your arm and touching the light switch.

As you entered the hallway, an adagio melody of soft chatters reached your ears. Your nose picked up the remnants of a disinfectant miasma as if the hospital came to life and unleashed a deluge of germicide upon itself like the Overlook Hotel from The Shining. You look deeper into the hallway to your left and into the waiting room on your right, waiting for a code to begin over the intercom and a flock of nurses rushing around the corner with a crash cart. But the announcement never came, causing you to blink at the colleagues meandering past with their files and patients. The hospital's serenity continued to hold against the chaos of the bustling Manhattan streets outside, a rarity in the most populated metropolis in the country.

You closed the door behind you, waiting for the light on the card reader to turn red, signifying that the storeroom had locked. Afterward, you joined the flow of hospital staff wandering through the department on your way to the emergency room’s hospital bay, where the maintenance staff stored the recycling for easy disposal. Several nurses, who must have received a slight lull while waiting for new patients or test results, mulled around the central station. They stood against the white quartz countertop, filling out paperwork or discussing their plans for their next day off with the RNs assigned to monitor the systems for that shift. The handful of invalids who visited the emergency room that evening lay interspersed upon the flimsy white mattresses lining the hospital’s beds with their eyes fixated on their phones or a book in their hands. In one or two stations, a fortunate soul conversed with one of the scheduled doctors, who explained their diagnoses and proceeding prognosis through gestures toward their tablets and illuminated X-rays. Their mouths moved in gentle whispers, preventing you from picking on their reason for visiting. However, based on their relaxed demeanor, you deduced it was for non-critical injuries, like broken bones and simple sutures, and other everyday ailments as you wandered further from the department’s core.

After several moments, the expansive black sliding doors where the EMTs unloaded patients from their ambulances came into view. The sight added an extra bounce in your step, driving you to the recycling room in desperation to trash your cardboard and join your fellow nurses at the station or perhaps grab a cup of mediocre coffee the hospital stocked in the break area from local grocers. However, before you could take your break, one of the boxes slipped from your grasp and clattered to the floor, causing you to stop. As you bent down to retrieve it, a chill began to rise on your spine as the sound echoed through the ambulance bay. The hospital was well-lit, and you could still see bits of your co-workers' pastel scrubs in the distance, but an eerie silence had permeated the air. In the city that never sleeps, you often had a faint cacophony of horns honking and emergency services sirens always accompanying you. But there was nothing like seeing the dark storm clouds before hearing the thunder.

Suddenly, indistinct red and blue shimmers appeared on the off-white walls, causing you to lift your head and turn your attention to the dancing lights. You slouched your shoulders and rolled your eyes at the illuminations as the ambiance of the distant siren struck up once more and confirmed the proximity of an emergency service vehicle. Despite your odds, an incessant mantra began in your head, pleading with the lights to disappear and the siren to fade into as the New York City Police Department or Fire Department passed on their way to an emergency. The Universe sadly appeared to ignore your invocation as the lights and sirens grew ever closer to Bellevue, and you grimaced upon realizing that it was the FDNY, but not for a blazing inferno threatening to burn down several city blocks.

“Fuck!” you said under your breath as you recognized the youthful visage of one of the EMTs who often brought patients to the hospital through the bay doors. You grabbed the cardboard and leaned it against the recycling room door, making a mental note to dispose of it later if maintenance didn’t remove it first. Turning to the door, you grabbed a pair of sterile gloves from a nearby box and rushed out to meet the team.

The EMT smiled as he saw you emerging into the cool spring air from the building. “Evening! I have an interesting one for you: Matt, 22, got into a bar fight at The Foundry a few blocks down in Gramercy. His vitals are stable, and the only noticeable injury is this laceration on his forehead.” He pointed to a patch of gauze on the patient’s face, anchored with two pieces of medical tape. “Apparently, there was a group of rowdy patrons there, and Matt and his friends intervened, causing one of the guys to launch a beer bottle at Matt’s head. He declined to press charges, so no visits from PD, and seems alert. He’s also not too thrilled about getting checked out at the hospital because he’s afraid some guy named Peter would kill him, but I told him it was protocol.”

“Hi, Matt. I’m one of the nurses who works in the emergency room here. It looks like you have a nice cut on your head. We’re going to get you checked out and make sure you don’t have any other hidden injuries. And then, we should get you out by the end of the night. How does that sound?” you explained, approaching the stretcher and placing a comforting hand on the guardrail.

Matt turned his head, acknowledging you with his honey-almond eyes. Your grip around the bed rail tightened, and you tilted your head to study his features better as you neared the bed. Given the fact that the wound wasn’t actively bleeding, it appeared prime facie that the wound was superficial and wouldn’t cause a lasting scar to maim his handsome face. He wore a tense smile on his uneven pink lips and under an adorable button nose while a few strands of his long chestnut hair framed his square jaw. Noticeable dried blood spots on his white button-up peeked out from his dark grey blazer, but it was nothing that some coffee grounds would be able to take out. He also possessed a delicate aroma of juniper, possibly from a cologne that he bought on Fifth Avenue, which tied his outfit together and gave him a gentlemanly appearance. Intrusive began storming your subconscious, compelling you to remark on his handsomeness. However, despite the persistent urge, you remained in place and offered Matt a warm smile, hoping it would ease his fears. He regarded your face for a moment more before reciprocating your tenderness and spreading his lips into a more genuine smile.

The paramedic exchanged puzzled looks with his technicians waiting to roll Matt into the emergency room, wondering why you two were staring at each other. After a few moments, he cleared his throat to break the intimate encounter. “Yeah, so, that’s the story. Can we head into the emergency room to get him some help?”

“Oh, yes, I’m so sorry,” you replied as your brain uncrossed its wires, allowing you to re-comprehend human speech. You stepped back and turned your head to the aging brick wall constructing the hospital, pretending to stare at something to avoid eye contact with the technicians as they entered the ambulance bay.

Once they had passed, you fixed your eyes on their backs as they rolled Matt through the doors. The intrusive thoughts finally gave up the fight, but the battle left more questions than answers. You have worked at Bellevue for several years and received outstanding reviews on your bedside manner and standard of care for your patients. But you had never established an infatuation with a patient before. Perhaps it was his handsome appearance or the story of Matt selflessly placing himself between a group of drunk guys that made him sound like a hero in a fable. Whatever the reason, you pursed your lips at the thought of having to get back to work as you stumbled into the emergency room with the paramedic in tow.

The technicians guided Matt over to a nearby station at your instruction and parked the stretcher near the bed, allowing Matt to climb in on his own volition. It took some work, but he maneuvered his long, robust limbs comfortably onto the sterile striped sheets. You gave the EMTs a polite nod and thanked them for their assistance as they packed up their supplies and headed back to the ambulance with the stretcher, allowing you to return your attention to Matt. You raised the bed’s angle, giving Matt more solace and a better angle to examine his injury. Once everything was in place, you placed a hand on Matt’s shoulder and grabbed ahold of one of the pieces of medical tape.

“Alright, let’s look at this injury of yours. You’re going to feel a bit of discomfort, but it will only last a few seconds. Okay?” you explained. Matt responded with a nod, permitting you to remove the tape. Slowly, the adhesive separated from his ivory skin as you peeled it back, causing Matt to form a slight wince. The gauze lifted, revealing a long but otherwise clean cut an inch above Matt’s left eyebrow. “Oh, that’s not that bad. It’s a neat, straight cut, and there doesn’t appear to be any glass fragments there, which means that getting you sutured up will be easy. You relax here while I go see which general surgeon we have on call tonight.”

“Thank you,” Matt replied in his gruff tenor voice, shifting in his bed as he prepared to wait.

You returned to the storeroom once more and retrieved a series of butterfly strips and a non-adhesive bandage to help close the wound while you waited for the surgeon. As you tended to his wound, your eyes caught glimpses of a video playing on Matt’s phone. The pendant lights fastened from old canning jars hanging around the bar created a cozy ambiance for enjoying a nice stout or a lager after a long day at work, but it did not provide enough lighting for filming. Nevertheless, you could make out the contours of Matt’s stern face as he glared at another bar patron, who resembled the stereotypical blond, old-money villain from a romantic comedy. In the shadows, a man’s arm grabbed Matt’s bicep and attempted to drag him away from his scowling opponent, but Matt’s goliath frame stood firm. A few moments passed before the assailant launched himself at Matt, pushing him against one of the lacquered wood high-tops and punching him in the face. Matt's fierce right hook was the last thing you saw before the videographer concluded the recording, and the screen went black. After the video finished, Matt’s long fingers navigated out of full-screen mode and through the never-ending sea of comments and reactions from fans on Twitter.

“You have a nice punch there. Are you a boxer?” you asked as you focused on straightening a butterfly strip.

Matt let out a chuckle as he continued scrolling. “No, more like a hockey player. Some of the guys and I were out enjoying a couple of drinks before all of them returned home for the off-season, and we overheard a bunch of pricks from some Ivy League school out east. They were harassing some girls across the bar. I have two older sisters. If they talked to one of them like that, those guys wouldn’t be in the back of a police car; they would be in the back of a hearse.”

“Where did the beer bottle come from?”

“One of the douchebags bonked me over the head when I wasn’t looking. I’m lucky I got off with nothing but a simple cut.”

“You can say that again. On behalf of all female kind, I just want to say thanks.”

Matt furrowed his brow as you reapplied more medical tape to finish the dressage. “Female-kind? Not womankind?”

“Yeah, I’m non-binary,” you replied, grabbing wrappers and clicking the tape back into its case.

"Right on!” said Matt with a nod and his attention fixed on his Twitter feed.

You smiled and patted his shoulder as you rose from your stool and disposed of the wrappers in a nearby wastebasket. A warmth spread across your chest as you returned to the nurses' station to consult the on-call and see which number you needed to dial. You traced over each line until you saw the general surgeon’s name, a veteran with several years of experience in the hospital, and picked up the phone, tucking it between your shoulder and ear. In the several years you worked for New York City Health and Hospitals, you didn’t receive much hate for being a non-binary nurse. A few older patients would glare at you upon seeing the rose-colored button on your ID, informing them of your she/they pronouns. But they pursed their lips as you took their vitals, knowing that the wrong word would cause their bridge to healthcare to incinerate faster than the Great Fire of London. The others who accepted you often interrogated you on when you learned you were non-binary and what your thoughts were on the current political climate. While they were always well-intended, their line of questioning sometimes felt invasive. You weren’t participating in a pageant or running for city office, making your personal life irrelevant to their care. That is why Matt was such a breath of fresh air. He cared enough not to treat you like an oddity but didn’t overly care to the point that you became a fragile flower. He allowed you to be you without any regret.

A minute or two passed until a female voice belonging to the general surgeon came onto the line. You explained the situation and Matt’s status, prompting her to state she would be right down. The hospital stowed the surgeon's offices in another wing far from the emergency room, and it would take the doctor a few minutes to travel from her ivory tower. With little to keep you occupied, you returned to your stool in Matt’s station. The two of you conversed about anything you could devise — his hockey career, your nursing career, how he ended up in New York, how you found your way from Detroit. Eventually, the surgeon showed up and stitched together a nice line in his head before giving him instructions on proper wound care. The dissolving stitches would disappear over the next few weeks, but the hospital required Matt to return a week to ensure proper healing. Matt nodded at everything the surgeon said, causing a few more strands of hair to fall to his face. The surgeon’s voice faded to the back of your mind as you fiddled with your watch band once more, trying to ignore the melancholy weighing in your heart. Some of you wanted to see Matt and his aesthetic face again and listen to his charming cadence blather on about his summer. But he was a professional hockey player who had better things to do than visit one of the hundreds of nurses working in the Big Apple. He would likely visit the surgeon’s office through another entrance or even the Rangers’ physician. The possibility of seeing him again outside of one of the hospital’s entrances on your break did exist.

But would he remember you?

Unfortunately, despite your wishes, you never saw Matt again after that day. You rationalized that he must have slipped in and out to visit the surgeon on one of your days off. His presence left a bittersweet mark on your life, like a dent in a hockey rink, for you were glad you met him but sad he left so soon. But you had no time to dawdle on what could have been, for other patients required your attention. It was almost time for the City’s annual Desi Heritage Day, uniting the Indian, Pakistani, and Bangladeshi enclaves from around New York.

While reports of South Asians in the United States existed back to the 1700s, it wasn’t until the early 20th century that the Desi immigration began to increase. Today, New York City boasts one of the largest South Asian populations outside of California. It would only be befitting if the community celebrated their progress over the past 100 years. The Desi-American Association of New York obtains permission from the NYPD to block off a portion of Lexington Avenue at the heart of several Indian restaurants. They decorated the light poles and streets with colorful draping, flowers, and plastic folding tables lining the sidewalks, permeating the air with the delectable aroma of dishes from the local restaurants. You didn’t always receive a chance to visit the festival due to your work schedule, but you tried to get outside during your breaks to hear the dhols drumming in the distance.

This year, the hospital’s director of emergency medicine and human resources authorized you to have the day off to enjoy the festival after several previous tries. You immediately ran to your closet in your West Village loft and pulled out a gorgeous maroon kurta from the upper shelves amidst various clothes and sets of scrubs. It needed some cleaning and ironing from being stowed away for so long, but it was perfect for the occasion. The calf-length dress was solid in color, with two thin golden lines reaching from the shoulders down to the hemline. The tunic and the matching pants contrasted perfectly with the busyness of the dupatta, a long piece of chiffon with an aureate border and ornate flowers decorating the entity of the sheer fabric.

You made plans with a few friends to meet near 28th Street and put on your kurta, ready to enjoy some naan and biryani. But one thing was missing: a bangle your family gifted you before you left Michigan from New York. The only times you removed it were during showering and work. It always remained in a designated pocket in your bookbag, locked away in the nurses' lockers. But it disappeared without a trace over the past few days. You retraced your steps and searched high and low for any sign of it — your apartment, the hospital, and even the station where you treated Matt. However, there was no sign of it.

“Come on! Come on! You must be here somewhere!” you said as you lifted the pillows from your couch in the living area.

However, before you completed your quest, your phone rang an alarm, signifying it was time to gather your stuff and go. You hung your head and sighed, exasperated at your failure, before grabbing your phone off its charger in the kitchen and shoving it into a golden clutch. You also maneuvered a pair of crisscrossed chunky heals into place and draped the dupatta. After looking over your outfit again, you locked your unit door and went downstairs to the nearest subway station. It admittedly stung that you couldn’t find the bracelet, a treasured connection to your family and friends back home in the Midwest. But as the green line grew closer to the festivities, you remembered that the bangle could be replaced, but memories of celebrating your heritage with your friends could not. Outside the oblong subway windows, you caught glimpses of 28th Street Station’s tiled sign, causing you to rise from your plastic seat. The car stopped, allowing you and several other passengers to step out onto the musty underground. You followed the crowd through the exit turnstiles and the decrepit stairs toward the Manhattan streets. A familiar sound reverberated through the air as you returned above ground: the dhol with several other Desi instruments accompanying it. You followed the music until you came across a large gathering of Manhattanites and other New York residents of all ethnicities wandering through the blocked-off portions of the street. Women in delicate sarees and men in sleek jodhpuri suits mingled in the streets, catching up on lost time, while children did their best to draw mandalas with sidewalk chalk. The restaurants from the surrounding businesses help hand out sweet and savory Desi food to any souls who wander into the celebration, from butter chicken to jalebi.

“You look really nice today,” a man complimented behind you.

Your eyes grew wide upon recognizing that gruff tenor voice. A kaleidoscope of butterflies danced around your stomach as you mustered the courage to turn around to confirm the man’s identity. There was no chance it was an acquaintance or a co-worker from the hospital. It was Matt, and you knew it was Matt. Eventually, after several moments, you strengthened your resolve to turn your head around slowly. Matt met you with the warm smile he offered you as the FDNY rolled him into the ambulance bay. His laceration, which had long since lost its sutures, began to form a neat little line of scar tissue in his forehead. He had his hair brushed back, giving him adorable angel wings around the ears and wore a simple ensemble of a tan jacket and black jeans. Despite the casual attire, he still had a sense of suaveness as he shifted his tall frame around, waiting for you to break the awkward silence.

“Oh, thank you. It’s for the festival,” you replied, turning around to gesture and the frivolity behind you. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to return this,” said Matt as he dug out something from his pants pocket.

Your mouth fell open as he presented you with your lost bangle. You quickly grabbed it from his hands and spun it with your thumbs, searching for any scratches or scuffs under the light of the spring sun. But it was just as pristine and polished as the day it came out of the box. You shoved your hand through the middle of the bracelet, allowing it to gently slide down on your forearm near the three-quarter sleeves of your dress. “Where did you find it?” you asked after a few moments of silence.

“I saw it on the ground while I was leaving the hospital. It must have fallen out of your bag or something,” he replied.

“But why didn’t you return it to the nurse's station?”

“I held onto it because it seemed important, and I also wanted a reason to see you again. You seem like a cool person.”

“I appreciate that. But that also doesn’t explain how you knew I would be here.”

“Well, a famous office manager once quoted a famous hockey player in saying that you miss 100% of the shots that you don’t take. I remember you talking about a festival down the road, and this happened to be the only festival down the block from the hospital in the next few months, so I decided this was the best place to catch you, if any.”

You giggled at his reference and said, “It sounds like you went through a lot of trouble to get it back to me, and I appreciate it. This bracelet cost a pretty penny for my family, and it means a lot. So, thank you.”

“Of course, it’s not a problem. I hope to see you around. Have fun at your party,” Matt said, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning around to leave.

“Wait!” you cried out as you chased him, attempting to stop him before he became another face in the strangers walking up and down the sidewalks. He turned around and faced you upon hearing your exclamation, allowing you to catch up with his long gait. As you skidded to a halt before him, you continued, “You came all this way down to return my bracelet, so you might as well stay for the party. I know it seems overwhelming, but it’s actually a lot of fun and open to everyone. Think of it as a tiebreaker.”

“I do have to admit that it does look like a fun time. I was just under the impression I would be stepping on some toes by intruding,” he replied.

“Nonsense. You’re more than welcome here. Come on,” you protested before grabbing his hand and leading him towards the crowd.

It took some work, but you eventually found your friends mulling around your designated meeting area and introduced them to Matt. Their eyes widened as they watched you drag a rising defenseman from the New York Rangers over to them, but they quickly recovered and welcomed him into the group without complaint. As the sun climbed high into the sky, the lot of you led Matt around the streets, introducing him to other community members and showing him Desi cuisine. At first, you thought Matt might be nervous, being thrust into a world of new sounds and smells. But he took everything in stride as he slowly learned about the community’s history and customs. Even when he pronounced a word wrong, the two of you would share a laugh as you walked him through the word’s etymology. The same tingling sensation you felt at the hospital had returned as you watched Matt integrating himself into the culture. It had been a long season for the underrepresented demographics in the hockey community, leaving you a bit jaded over meeting stars like Matt. As the league says, business is business, and there seldom were any consequences for players who expressed maladaptive views. However, as you listened to Matt’s chuckle and how intently he listened to your heritage, you slowly began to believe that Matt could be one of the good ones.

The party went well into the afternoon until around dinner time when the Association determined it was time to pack everything up out of respect for the people who lived in Lennox Hill. You and Matt said goodbye to your friends before staying behind to assist the association volunteers in cleaning up from the celebration. Your hands gently guided a broom down the asphalt, pushing colorful flower petals into a pile, while Matt assisted in folding up the tables and loading them into the rental truck. The work went by relatively fast when you have a 6’8”, 240-lb man on the clock. Eventually, the attendees began to dwindle until you and Matt stood in the middle of the road. As you committed Matt's features to memory, a gentle breeze swayed your hair and dupatta.

“Thank you for such a wonderful time,” Matt eventually said, breaking the silence. “I definitely learned a lot.”

“It’s the least I could do after you return my bracelet.”

“I know you said this was a tiebreaker, but now I feel like I owe you again. Maybe I could leave you some tickets at will call when the season starts again. It would be my treat.”

“That sounds lovely. I think I’ll take you up on that offer in the fall,” you laughed. “I should probably get going. This kurta is beautiful, but I would prefer to change into something more comfortable.”

“Of course. If you don’t mind, may I escort you back to the subway,” replied Matt, offering you his elbow’s crook like a true gentleman.

You nodded and slinked your arm through the aperture he created. The two of you walked toward the Manhattan horizon, painted in soft hues of orange and yellow as the sun prepared to set, now friends brought together through the power of medicine.

#2k24 summer fic exchange #nhl #nhl hockey #nhl fic #new york rangers #matt rempe #matt rempe fic

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zelcii · 4 months ago

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sixteen | gally x reader

tmr.

fluffy angst for the soul. im bawling my eyes out and cannot be aesthetic rn because im stuck on page 255 of the death cure and i cannot for the life of me read on. oh my days, james dashner. why?

sum; your from group b and you meet gally at the bonfire in the safe haven, but he already knows you. god forbid newt is there though omfg.

cw; swearing, fluff, romance, lgbt themes, unresolved trauma from bein munies, character death.

a/n; all lowercase and not proofread because i cannot anymore holy motherfucking shit. also i would die for will poulter in the newtmas gut wrenching cus like yesssss!! please, will, PLEASEEEE

i want to love a boy, the way i loved the ocean...

homosexual angst, heterosexual comfort.

in your opinion, the safe haven was simply too good to be true. it was a sight to see children your age and younger strolling around without a care in the world. it was surreal. they played games, chased each other around the tall grass, and carried themselves with a certain carefree joy that you absoluetly envied.

you felt so out walking around sulking with your hair down and your clothes wrinkled and bedridden. you looked like a mess and you knew it because you refused to leave your tent for two days, fearing that once you stepped outside that maybe this was all just another test. a trick of the mind.

a trick of the mind that you'd grown used to in the wicked labs. the worst of it came from the sensations you'd feel on your legs and arms after sitting around for too long. pins and needles. if you held on long enough, your skin would eventually mimic the experience of the dozens of pins and pricks your limbs had to undergo. you could vividly see the tubes coming out of you, draining the very essence of your life away and replacing it with biochemical that didn't look, feel, or act natural. you remember being halfway full of the "fake blood." you could remember the feeling of barely being human.

at night, if you closed your eyes hard enough, you could still feel the bright, warm rays of the springs' artificially designed and wicked-engineered daylight on your skin. it would feel so real in your mind that you'd nearly have a panic attack, believeing that you had never escaped in the first place.

you'd spent your whole life (or at least the parts you remembered) in that cruel "life" simulation they called the maze trials. so long that you'd been conditioned to think that that was what home felt like. but no munie has ever felt truely at home before, so what gave vince the right to think that this place could be any different?

for the first time ever, you came out of your tent, looking around you as community unfurled before you. and although you wanted to tell yourself that you were safe, and that you were real, you couldn't help but call bullshit.

not long ago, your group had outsmarted your maze trials and joined the right arm. that was the first time you had truely seen hope after being sent up the lift and thrown into the sadistic evil wicked called "an expirement for good."

unfourtunately, it wasn't much longer then that you would realise that the hope that you had been given was futile and false.

because as soon as you did something nice for the others, you were thrown back into wicked's custody. the good die young and poor afterall. you were transported around the country, often with the tired asian boy you never learned the name of, but he was part of the group the right arm "saved." though you suppose nobody is ever safe anymore.

the scientists there subjected you to what felt like hundreds of graphic simulations. they forced you to watch your loved ones die over and over again—people whose faces you couldn't recognize but somehow knew you should've. You saw them getting ripped apart by shades, their guts spilling on the floor. Falling perilously off the cliff and crumbling in front of you in a gruesome splat of red. you watched your friends get buried alive under the damp soils of the springs, you digging the holes with no controls to stop yourself from hurting harriet, sonya, ximena, rachel, aris, miyoko, beth—the names went on. through it all, your mind was always awake, fully aware of every horrifying detail. the images burning itself into your dreams, gifting you with restless nights.

though you suppose you should be grateful in the slightest. because you wholeheartedly believed that you would still be in that pain if it weren't for the rouge wicked soldier that carried you out of the facility and onto a bus full of the children you'd seen before im the hallways. regardless, suspicion bubbled within you. you found yourself asking when you would start killing everyone.

aris walked up to you, calling out your name as his way of announcing himself, careful not to startle you. him, harriet and sonya were your most frequent visitors, talking to you from the otherside of the thin tent walls. you begged them to stay outside, anticipating your "turn for the worst."

you walked together as he told you about the bonfire vince would be holding that afternoon. "just like the good old days" he said, though you disagreed. the last "good day" you had was before the springs, lost somewhere in the mist of all the things you couldn't remember.

"maybe meet someof the other people?" aris suggested, his question laced with the sterness of an order. "it'll do you some good." he said. doubt it.

as aris walked away, your gaze was drawn to a pair of blue eyes watching you from a distance. they belonged to a tall blond boy who observed with a curious, almost wistfulness swimming in his eyes before it melted into a sombre look. the shade of blue in his eyes bubbled up a sense of familiarity deep within you, and you didn't even realise you were holding your breath until you forced yourself to look away.

that night, after vince's inspirational speech to keep the colony in high hopes, you lingered at the back of the crowd. small cliques spread about with wide grins and loud laughter as they ate and danced around the fire. you felt a streak of envy as you watched the children easily forget as if they hadn't been poked and prodded just days prior. yet, you were also grateful that the younger ones didn't have to face the worst of it. it was a bittersweet sight—knowing they could find joy despite everything, even if for just a moment.

behind the bonfire and displayed before the beach was the large slate of rock vince had mentioned in his speech. a few kids were already at work, carving dozens of names into the stone—tributes to the people they'd lost. one of them stood out, towering over the others with a quiet intensity. he skillfully carved the name "maya" at the top of the sculpture, his hands steady and deliberate. he went over the name a couple names, digging the name deep into the rock so it popped out the most comared to the others until he finished and did the same for the name "chuck" under his first. the sounds of the chisel against stone mixed with the crackling of the fire and the gentle lapping of waves from afar overlapped. the atmosphere thickened as each name was etched into the monument.

you came up behind the boy, tapping him gentely on the shoulder and he seemed to lean into your touch. oddly enough, he didn't have to turn around to know that he'd find you with your arm outstretched, asking for the sculpting tools.

in surprise, you stood there looking at the tools he carefully handed over to you, those blue eyes never leaving the name he carved in first. it startled you how in sync you seemed to be with this total stranger, you couldn't help but stare at the way his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, how his eyes glazed over the longer he stared at the names, and how his shoulders were tensed every time you had seen him. as if he was carrying the weight of the world.

in contrast to the boy, you got on your knees before the large stone slate, taking your time with the curves of each letter. she felt unworthy of writing the name into the rock, having killed her over and over and over again in so many different simulations. but when you brought it up with harriet, she simply gave your shoulder a squeeze in attempt to reassure you before pulling you into a hug, whispering soft "i know,"s into your hair, your eyes watering.

you made sure to do it justice, chipping away at the stone with intention in each stroke, a furrow of your eyebrows over your tired eyes as you made no mistake with each hit of your mallet. you had noticed that although he was finished on his names, the boy still hovered behind her, watching the way she shifted her entire focus into permanently engraving the name into the sculpture. she paid no mind to anything other than the work in front of her and the sound sof the sea. "beth" you had written, standing up and backing away to admire your works.

it was then that you realised that the boy was never looking at the names. he was looking at you, putting a respectful hand on the small of your back as you walked backwards, before pulling away to cross his arms over his chest. usually, you would lash out, yell at whoever thought to have the audacity to even think to touch you. but something about the way his caloused hand sat warm against your skin felt so natural. like you were meant to feel his skin against yours. so you didn't yell because maybe you were in the wrong.

your eyes flickered between the names and the blond beside you, studying the way soft freckles spread across his face from the cold and how he kept his head held high, his jaw clenched. you knew he could feel you staring, but you couldn't help but wonder why he felt so familiar, and you had a feeling he didn't care much.

it didn't startle you when his eyes locked on to yours. you bit your lip, taking notice of the way your heart rate picked up as you watched the darkest bits of his eyes dilate as he set his eyes on you and you failed to hold back the giddy smile that crawled onto your lips. he felt pathetic, searching for the familiar flakes of gold that swam within your irises. he searched your eyes for your soul only to feel himself melt, falling for you. again. all while you studied him for what would be the first time for you. his heart ached.

"do i know you?" you asked under bated breath. the way his eyes smiled and his gaze softened when he looked at you nearly convinced you to fall for him. how innocently he looked at you, void of any judgment.

he shook his head no, smiling at you with his lips pursed. his eyes were laced with a sort of pain that bubbled up in the middle of his chest. no, you didn't know him. but he knew you. he'd state it, his voice was low and gruff, as if he had just woken up.

"and your so sure?" the blond hummed. "why is that?" you laughed, and he simply looked at you. he looked at you like you'd disappear if he looked away. he offered you his hand and you glanced down at it hesitantly. your eyes traced over his calluses, worn hands, each scar and scrape a story to share. and in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to hear them. and for the first time in days, you let yourself believe that everything was real, because you wanted him to be real.

you took his hand and let him lead you down to the beach, neither of you walking farther behind the other. just together.

the two of you sat there in the sand. he sat with his arm resting against a leg, his other outstretched and his other hand proped under him to cary his weight. it was a vain attempt to relax despite the tension in his muscles. you sat your knees up to your chest, hugging them close and resting your chin on your knees. a vain attempt to feel safe around him. because no matter how much you doubted the world around you, the legitimacy of the people you met, and the control you had over your own actions, you still wanted a place to go back to that you could call home, or rather a person. he told you his name was gally. then your heart pleaded with the universe to let home be the boy you'd only met today.

"maya..." he muttered, picking up a handful of sand and let it slip through his fingers. "she loved the ocean. because each time the water left the shore, she knew it would come back." he finished, looking at you once again. he searched for any tell-tale sign that his words felt familiar to you. they didnt. "she told me that."

he could recall the way you used to talk with your hands, a bounce in your step, and your eyes wide with wonder and love as you spoke to him. you wasted your love on him, but he had overlooked it. he had overlooked you, missing the way your smile would falter when he changed the subject or how you would stumble over your words, desperately wishing he would just listen to you.

"she's a smart girl," you hummed, your eyes trained on the crash of the waves and the flutter of seagulls as the passed by. "can i ask... what happened?"

gally let out a shaky breath, inhaling the salty scent of the sea. "she was in trouble," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid to hear his own words. he spoke slowly, each word heavy and dry in his mouth. "she was in trouble, and i ignored her."

he remembered how you ran to him in the middle of the hallway, begging him to help you run away. you told him how you overheard the scientists discussing sending you to the maze trials, how you panicked at the thought of losing your memories and everything you'd worked for being wiped away. your voice trembled with fear and desperation, but he ignored you.

you gently nodded, letting him know you were listening, though you kept your eyes closed, allowing the sounds and smells of the beach to envelop you. you'd never seen water run the way the waves swayed against the wind, their movements both soothing and relentless. the way the water crashed against the rocks and sand with such urgency, only to retreat and disappear, fleeting from the very reason it fought so hard to get to.

"i grew selfish and i lost nearly everything i loved because of it," he sighed, reverent. he hated how you looked at him like you'd never seen him before, but you haven't. that was his fault. he wanted to you to see what he saw, to show you his memories, to make you feel what he felt. "we were sixteen."

he looked at you, his eyes desprate as the blue drew you in. they taunted you, and it hurt how you noticed every similarity between his his eyes and beth's. the green bits that crowded his irises, and the blue that reminded you of the waves on the shore before you. but he silently begged for you to stop thinking about her.

"i should know you shouldn't i?" the thought burned your heart.

gally nodded, his head hung low as he pursed his lips. he had hoped when he saw you in the last city, that seeing him could trigger your memories and bring you back to him. but as he saw you above the hill across the safe haven, staring at him with nothing but curiosity, he knew he had truely lost you. it got worse when he watched you write beth's into the stone so delicately.

"beth," you started, her name bitter on your tongue. "we were together in the springs." you explained to him everything you knew about the maze. you told him about your life back when you were just a sprout, a new arrival. you had come up from the lift just a month before beth, but when you saw her, you already knew her. he listened intently, watch how you smiled when you told him about her and the blue of her eyes.

"she was stung because of me," you admitted, recalling the day you snuck her into the maze. "when she went through the shift... i couldn't bare to stand the yelling. the screaming. i couldn't face the fact that she was like that because of me." you fidgeted with your shoelaces, twisting the fabric between your fingers as you spoke. "i didn't talk to her after that. and the last time i saw her—when i was finally ready to be there—she was bleeding out on the floor."

"that's the thing about people, isn't it?" she muttered. "they leave at the worse times, then come back when you stop needing them."

you let a tear slip as the weight of your words exhoed between the both of you, ringing true for different reason. gally could remember the exact moments your pleas had sunk in, but by then, the last time he'd seen you was on the screens of the security room, running the maze and killing a griever. he could still remember the desperation in your tone, the thought finally sinking in that you reached out to him—only him—because you wanted him to care.

his eyes glazed over, recalling the way he treated people before and after the maze. he could remember all the yelling he did, all the pain he could've caused. the most vividly though, chuck laying on the floor of the wicked facility, his blood pooling under him. he remembered falling to his knees, the pain is his shoulder numb compared to the hatred his heart held for him. "i was a terrible person..." he confessed, his voice breaking.

your brows furrowed as you frowned. gally kept his head low, glaring daggers at his feet with an intensity. the anger in his soul was the only thing more powerful than the vicious regret that gnawed at him from the inside.

"maybe you weren't," you shrugged, and for a moment you paused. you gently took his hand in yours, your skin smooth against his as you took your time to intertwine your fingers together in a way that felt right to you, yet familiar to gally. he let you lay your head against his shoulder, the only weight that felt comfortable on his shoulders, and you let him wrap his arm around you waste, the only touch you truely believed to be genuine. "maybe you were just sixteen."

guys do u get it. cus her name wss maya. yes like maya hawke. and she loved him but he didnt. and he lost sky when her memories got wiped. so he wrote her name on the stone thing. and he loves her now but she doesnt. she loves beth. but beth is dead. but they have the same eyes. cus theyre equivalents. so. they bother get second chances. hypothetically. they can finally be there for each other. but. she only loves him now. because he reminds her of beth. so all we can do now i pray that maya can love the boy the way she loved the ocean. though the ocean could also be all three of them. maya on shore then gally off shore. gally on shore then maya off. then maya and beth on shore then maya off. then maya on and beth off. now both gally and maya on shore. the shore representing love.

omg guys im losing it.

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star-quill · 1 year ago

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please more corruption kink!! peter taking a pretty innocent little thing and turning them into a huge slut who drops to their knees for him with just a look

this is truly the only thing in my head rn like!!!!!

you're such an angel to everyone in the neighbourhood, always the first one people ask for help. new parents going on date night? you're the babysitter. the lovely old lady across the road needs help with her garden? you're right over there planting new flowers and weeding her driveway. everyone absolutely adores you, complimenting your parents on what a wonderful job they did of raising you.

everyone adores you, especially peter. peter who's new to the neighbourhood but you make sure he knows if he needs any help, you're absolutely more than willing to help him. it starts off innocent at first, he asks you to help him put up a picture frame in the hallway, needing an extra pair of hands to make sure it's centred. then it's tagging along with him to the grocery store, after he realised just how little food he had left in his kitchen.

he's attractive, sure, you can admit that—but you daren't say it to his face. it's late one night and he calls your home phone, relieved when you answer.

"hey.. my grandpa is visiting some family across the country, and the fuckin'.. i don't even know, somethin' is wrong with the water.. i know it's late but i need another pair of hands for this.."

you don't even hesitate to agree and run over to his place, coming in the door without even knocking. he yells out from the bathroom and you gravitate to the sound of his voice. he's laying on the floor, head in the cupboard under the sink and fiddling with stuff. he tells you where to go and how to help and within an hour, the water's back on. then he insists on walking you home afterwards, says he couldn't live with himself if something happened to you.

you both get to your door and you just smile at him, walking inside and turning to shut the door while he just stands there. he's looking at you up and down, making you shiver slightly. he needs something but you're not sure what.

"do you.. uhm.. need any more help?"

"i noticed you.. y'know.."

he stepped forwards now, standing right on your doorstep, towering over you. you gulped and stared up at him, eyes big and wide.

"hm? noticed what?"

"you.. looking at me the way you do.. you wanna know what it's like, don't you.."

"i don't.. i don't know what you're talking about.."

"you ain't ever kissed anyone have you?"

"what.. wh-why.. peter it's late, you should get going.."

he just looked at you, tilted his head and you thought it was quiet enough but he heard you whine under your breath.

"could show you what it's like.. could show you what everything's like.. you want that honey?"

"i've kissed someone before.. and i've had sex.."

"mmhm.. you never been fucked though have you?"

"well, that's what sex is so—"

"no, no.. i mean like fucked.. like outta your mind fucked.."

"peter.."

you didn't really invite him in as such, more so he let himself in. he dragged you to your bedroom, and you went straight to your bed, laying down and waiting for him.

"uh-uh.. you gotta show me, baby.. show me what you know.."

he helped you out of your shorts and just watched as you slowly began to touch yourself, his eyes never leaving yours. you whined, almost obscenely, and he moved onto the bed, kneeling down, lifting your thighs to drape over his.

"keep goin', honey.. doin' real good.."

the sex was downright filthy, he had you reduced to nothing but a whimpering, shaking mess below him. and he had you hooked. you'd be ready at his beck and call whenever he needed anything. there was nothing innocent about the way he'd call you just to get you to suck his dick. there was nothing innocent about the way he'd drag you away from parties, take you home and bend you over the kitchen counter. and there was definitely nothing innocent about the way you were so desperate for him all the time. nothing got you off like he did. sometimes he didn't even have to call you, you'd just miss him and invite yourself over. and he'd be more than willing to give you what you wanted. even if he's busy watching a movie, you'd just sit on his thigh and get yourself off more than once, his soft, but slightly mean, praises ringing in your ear ("such a pretty lil' thing.. needed to get off that badly, hm? couldn't do it yourself?").

he always called you pretty. pretty when you were helping him with something and you smiled at him. pretty when you spun around his kitchen in a new dress and he would compliment you. pretty when you were on your knees, his dick filling up your mouth. pretty when you let him ram into you from behind, tears forming at your eyes. you were his pretty girl, his pretty angel he adored so much. before peter, you weren't ever really concerned with getting yourself off—now every waking thought you had was about him and how you would let him do the absolute nastiest, filthiest things to you. and he did.

#thinking..... but also not bc brain empty #nothing up there except peter #peter quill #peter quill drabble #peter quill headcanons #peter quill x reader #peter quill smut #guardians of the galaxy #gotg #✎ peter quill #answered #anon

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its-all-papaya · 3 months ago

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👗 and i'd LOVE to see either a friends-with benefits-to-lovers (bc they're jetting around the world and have basically no time for dating new ppl and sometimes you just have to. have an outlet for the stress, it's convenient yada yada) or! a pretending-to-be-the-s/o-to-get-him-out-of-an-uncomfy-situation from you <3 (like, in a club or smth where someone keeps bothering one of them and they freeze up (?) sooo the other to the rescue. and then it just keeps being handy/convenient to have an emergency fake bf by hand. until it's not that fake anymore or the media catches wind of it or smth n it gets out of control!)

okay sorry got distracted yesterday (stuck in elevator broke brain) and then had to go to work, but i FINALLY have put away all the clean clothes !! who cheered !!

↠ please make me do my chores

i LOVE FWB TO LOVERS THANK YOU !! i think it works absolutely so well for landoscar too bc in my brain, lando is extremely open and cavalier, so he's always chatting away about stuff like that, while oscar has always just... not seen the point to doing that at mclaren? it's work. f1 is literally his job. why would he talk about sex (or lack thereof) in any context at WORK? but obviously it reaches A Point where lando is like "we're both pent up and horny and i'm into you and you look at me Like That and we're trapped in who the fuck knows what country every week with not a ton of options... why not. like literally why not?" and eventually oscar is like "...sure, yeah, that's Some Logic fs but if i get to kiss lando about it... yeah. alright." also the adrenaline after races... having someone to burn through it with.... who's on the exact same level... yeah. and then you get so much delicious pining after that when they're both like oh shit why are my FEELINGS in this !!

okay and then pretending to be the bf also feels great. i'm picturing (again) drunk lando who likes Attention and doesn't realize the guy he's been chatting with is Serious and Aggressive and oscar stepping in to be like hey buddy. hey pal. do you... want him to be groping you rn? in public? rlly cool if so, just checking in!! just making sure!! and lando is like... you know what's better than random drunk man touching me? oscar touching me. so much better. so he just goes ahead and plasters himself to oscar instead and oscar's cool w that bc it means lando's safe, anyway, except eventually the other guy is like "hey what the fuck? i was talking to him?" and oscar's like "and now you're not :)" and he's like "and who are you? his boyfriend?" and oscar's brain is like !!!! oh???? but lando IS rlly just. cuddled into him. and oscar's arm is around him. so he's like. you know what? yeah. and fuck off, also. and it could so easily devolve from there.

anyway!!! thx for asking!!! thx for putting even more ideas in my goofy brain!!!

#answered #chore time #landoscar #mooooooore wips?#someone tell me no jfc

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ghostofsomebody · 3 months ago

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Idk what I'm doing but I wanna share some quick writing I did of dead chuuya skk to show ppl my writing although rn I have writers block

——

I love you chuuya

It was a cold, Saturday night. Dazai was walking through the outskirts of the city. Or at least, what remained of the city. The sky was dark, with only the small, dotted stars shining bright as the heavy rain fell down wildly down, soaking dazai and everything around it. The ground was wet, and the dirt was mushy. His footsteps echo with a little small mushy squeak that comes from his sturdy feet stepping down into the soaked dirt. He slowly walks off the ruins of the sidewalk to the park, he can feel the rain dripping down from his hair down his neck, then slowly soaking into the fabric of his clothes, his face was getting soaked, but he didn't care. Nobody was around, everyone was either hidden away in their houses or ran away. He slowly looks up at the ruins around him..

Now, you may ask yourself, 'Dazai? Why are you in the middle of a park as it thunderstorms and all of Yokohama got destroyed? Are you insane!? ' That's exactly what Kunikida said, everyone did. Why was he in a random park?? Chuuya used corruption without him around. You see, there was a threat of another country bombing all of Yokohama. And chuuya, he decided to use corruption. He knew it was stupid without dazai. And he should've at least waited for dazai to show up, since dazai was quite literally on the other side of the city. And not to mention there was no way he can get there quick anyway, as everyone was running away from Yokohama and everything, all the buses, taxis, everything was down and broken, only trains were working, but God forbid they stayed on their regular tracks, all the trains were heading out of Yokohama. Where he needed to go. But is that an explanation? No, that's the story.

The real reason he's sitting down in the park currently, is being Nakahara Chuuya, the most dangerous ability user, mafia executive, was dead. There he was actually. Dazai slowly steps up to pale body in the grass, in the middle of the park laid chuuya, hat knocked somewhere, jacket gone, body scarred from corruption. He looked so exhausted, even in death. Blood was dripping down his lips, body was already decaying, the heavy rain was hitting against his body, rolling down his face. Dazai weakly kneeled down by him, his hand softly reaching out to hold one of chuuya's hands in a tight clasp, right against his chest. His lips quiver, holding back tears as his eyes shut tight close. The rain pouring down his face makes it easy to hide.. Maybe, this time, he can't actually hide his tears. He gasps out weakly, with a little breathless sigh the tears start pouring down as his head falls down.

Tears and rain pouring down together, mixing in a mess of salty water. He gulps back his tears, saying sadly. "Chuuya.. You promised you wouldn't leave. I guess.. " he gulps and cried out a shaky breathe "I guess, I didn't expect you'd die so young, you know? I hope you enjoy your afterlife. Wherever it may be. " he gently held his face, clearing chuuya's messy, ginger hair from his wet face, gently leaning in and putting their foreheads together, before softly kissing his forehead as well. "Have a good afterlife, chuuya Nakahara." he softly reached back to chuuya's neck, and unclipped the chocker he once gave him while they were younger, he held it close. "You'll always be my friend. " he smiled, wiping away his tears and sighing. "I'll make sure they bury you next to Oda. Then, I'll be able to visit you both every day. I love you chuuya. "

He got up, weakly holding the chocker and looking at it, putting it to his chest, "you were a wonderful person. " he silently brought it to his neck and clipped it on, softly smiling. "You may take the body away now. " he silently spoke to the lower ranked mafia (idk what they're called). He sighs, then turns around to walk off. He looks up, gazing up at the clouds smiling. One of the stars flickers brighter then the others as suddenly a mafia (something idk) chased after dazai, softly saying 'Excuse me sir, what do we do with these? ' she shows him chuuya's hat, gloves and jacket, he softly took them "I'll keep them, thank you very much. " he gently looks down at them, folding up the jacket, putting the gloves on the folded jacket, before putting the hat on. "I guess now I'm the guy with the tacky hats and gloves. how the tables turned huh? " he looks up and spoke to the clouds. He gently walks away from the park. Despite knowing chuuya's dead, he can't help but be relived he can finally rest.

(I wasn't sure what to do but it's too short to be an ao3 or wattpad fic so I'm sharing it here but idk if it's too long for tumblr I'm too nervous for htuis also sorry if it sucks omg it's old I'm crying)

#bungou stray dogs #skk #soukoku #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #why am i like this #why do i do this to myself #writing #short fanfic #fanfic #idk how to tag this #old fic

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cardierreh15 · 1 year ago

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Traffic Stop

Lovely @deandoesthingstome gave me the permission to bring her thoughts to life! Just a little bit of my dazzle dazzle

Warnings 18+: Cursing , Black Mailing , Abuse of Power , Flirting , Smut - Unprotected Car Sex (wrap it the fuck up) , Begging , Female!Dom , Male!Sub , Mommy Kink , Choking .

Pairings: AU!Henry Cavill x SGT Marissa Calloway(black!female)

Description: Mr. Cavill speeds through traffic, and SGT Calloway pulls him over to reprimand him.

Side note: Body Cams don’t exist rn 💀

Word Count: 3.0K

Tagging: @nofoolywang , @headcannonxgalore

One Shot

23:43

Just a few more minutes and her shift was over. It’s been a calm night. She hated those. Nothing to pass the time over with her doing all this paperwork. She sometimes questioned her career choice.

Even though she knew what she was getting herself into, she couldn’t help but to feel regret. Cops weren’t liked especially in this time of the century. She had to tiptoe over broken glass with bare feet with the life she lived. Even her being out of her uniform, choices have to be thought through and logical.

Marissa was sitting secluded from traffic with her lights off when her speedometer tracker went off. ‘83 mph in a 35 zone?! Pssssh, what a nut case.’ She closed her laptop, clicked in her seatbelt and turned on her siren and lights.

It took her a minute to catch up with him, she had the slightest reason that they were going to try to take off, but they pulled over to the side.

Stepping out of her vehicle, she used her hands to do a routine check over her body to make sure she had everything she needed. Her left hand rested on her holster as she touched his back tail light with her finger tips.

Once she made it to the driver’s window, she was met with a familiar face. But she didn’t fold, she still had a job to do.

‘License and Registration please?’ Her voice was baritone, firm and stern.

He looked up at her with a twinkle in his deep blue orbs. A smile cracked on his lips before his eyes dropped from her pretty face to her chest, and her waist. ‘Damn, I’m lucky. Got myself a lady cop. How ya’ doin’ miss?’

‘Fine,’ her country accent slightly settling in with the word, she repeated, ‘License and Registration please.’

‘Hmph, yes ma’am!’ He smirked as he reached over and pulled his registration out of the glove compartment and then pulled his license out of his wallet.

Once he handed the paperwork over, she took a second to look down at his license. Hmph, it was him. District attorney, Henry Cavill.

Marissa was always fond of him, she admired his work and now that she had him in her grasp, she was not gonna let him slip away. Not with just a ticket no.

‘Alright, Mr. Cavill, hold tight. I will be right back.’ She shot him a half wink.

His eyes dropped from her face to her breast where her badge rested. Engraved in the pretty silver star, was her badge Number and her name: M. Calloway. He’d be sure to remember that. ‘Yes ma’am.’ He nodded, sticking his head out of the window to catch her walking away.

She was silhouetted by her Charger’s bright LED lights, emphasizing her curves and her tools and trinkets. ‘Damn.’ He mumbled before he bit into his bottom lip. He really did feel lucky.

Marissa sat down in her squad car with a smirk curled on her lips. Boy, the way those fuckers at the station were going to be kissing her feet after this one. How does one catch the damn district attorney out right breaking the law like this? Should she call it luck?

She started inputting his information in his file and rang her partner.

‘Yooo. What’s goin’ on Calloway?’

‘Listen, you won’t believe this shit Luis.’ She tried to keep her excitement under control.

‘Whatcha got?’

‘I just pulled over Henry Cavill.’

There was a pause on the other side of the receiver before Luis spoke up, ‘What? Wait, what do you mean?!’

A chuckle finally left her lips, ‘I mean I just pulled over the fucking district attorney! Did you not hear me the first time?!’

‘Holy shit!’ Luis laughed in disbelief, ‘How in the hell did you pull that off?! What was he doin’?!’

‘He was going 48 miles over the speed limit. It appears this is his 2nd offense. He was let off with a warning the last time but, I think I may teach him a lesson.’

And she had the perfect punishment in mind.

‘Damn. Sucks to suck. You need me to roll on by? I could watch your back.’

‘My back don’t need watching. I’m cool.’ She chuckled, ‘I’ll give you a shout once this is over with.’

Once they hung up the phone, she thought for a minute as she finished the final touches to the report. She left his belongings on the keyboard and stepped out her vehicle once again.

She did her routine touch on the back of his tail light and walked up to his window. ‘Mr. Cavill, do you know why I pulled you over this evening?’

Henry looked up at her for a moment as if he were trying to register her question in his brain, ‘I have an idea… but could you tell me, in case I’m wrong?’

Marissa placed her hand on her hip as her other hand rested on her gun handle. It was a habit of hers. She wouldn’t dare pull a gun out on her future boo thing. ‘You were going almost 50 over the speed limit.’

He sighed softly, his head falling forward as he chuckled in disbelief, ‘Jeez. I’m so sorry. That’s— that’s not like me. I just had a long day at the office, I’m working on this huge case and—‘

Marissa stared at him with eyes as dead as autumn leaves. Though on the inside, she felt for him. She wanted to wrap him up in a hug and say sorry and let him go. But her plans were just too sinister for that.

‘I’m sorry… could you just…’ he looked to the side, ‘Not write me the ticket?’

Her eyebrows tugged into one, ‘Listen, Mr. Cavill. I don’t know what kind of cops you’re used to but I’m not letting you off that easy. You could’ve seriously hurt someone and yourself! Or worse!’

He snapped his head over at her, blinking hard; not believing what he was hearing, ‘What?! What if— if I can give you money? I can give you money!’

There he was again… trying to bribe a police officer. Another crime.

Marissa’s eyes grew in shock, ‘Are you bribing me, Mr. Cavill?!’

Once he’d realized what he done, his mouth fell slightly and for a moment his eyes glazed over with fear, ‘wh—no! No, no— you’ve got it wrong! I—‘

‘Step out of the vehicle please!’ She demanded

‘You’re serious?’ He asked in disappointment.

‘As a heart attack. Get out of the car please.’

Henry grumbled and rolled his eyes as he clicked his seatbelt off and pushed it to the side. He pulled the handle gently and stepped out of the Jeep Gladiator.

He was much taller than she was, towering over her like a monument of muscle. He wore a cotton long sleeved shirt, dark denim jeans and black boots. Fuck. She couldn’t help but think to herself. He may be too much of a man for her to handle. But she wasn’t a quitter and her momma didn’t raise a bitch.

‘Turn around. Hands against the vehicle please.’

‘Yes ma’am.’ Henry let out an annoyed sigh as he placed his large hands on the roof of the vehicle. ‘What are ya’ gonna do? Frisk me?’ he scoffed at his little remark. He was hoping she’d do that and more.

Smirking at the joke, she placed her small hands around him and began to fill him out. Touching and squeezing on his soft pecks. ‘Don’t got anything that could stab or prick me, do ya?’ She asked as she continued to make her hands down his godly body.

‘No ma’am.’ his body tensed when she gave his thigh a firm squeeze, causing a tingling sensation in his groin to spark.

She raised a brow before standing up straight once again, ‘Well this isn’t exactly “District Attorney Office” attire. Where were you coming from again?’

‘The office! I got changed there. You know how it is being coped up in suits all day. I changed out of my suit before I left! It’s in the back seat.’

‘Mmhmm.’ She sounded a little bit skeptical. Anything to make him bend, she wanted him to feel inferior. Weak.

‘Alright, hands behind your back.’

‘What?! Are you arresting me?!’

Marissa let out a sigh as she rolled her eyes, ‘No, I’m not arresting you… yet. But you and I are going to have a little chat in my car. After this perhaps you could learn your lesson.’ She then clipped the metal handcuffs on his wrists and she grabbed his arm. The pair began on their short journey to the Charger.

‘You don’t have to do this! I think I’ve learned my lesson.’

‘I don’t think you have.’ She pulled open the back door and jerked her head over, ‘In with ya.’

With another roll of his eyes, he ducked his head down and sat in the vehicle.

‘Alright.’ she said as she began to undo her utility belt that held all of her weaponry and tools, ‘Let’s start our conversation.’

Henry glared up at her with confusion as she dropped her belongings on the front seat and turned off her radio. ‘What are you doing?’

A devious smirk curled on her lips as she began to undo her top, ‘You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this Mr. Cavill.’

‘And what exactly are you doing?’ he swallowed his spit as he watched her now push her uniform top off of her shoulders and toss it next to him. She was now standing in a white wife beater and her bottoms. Her hardened nipples pierced through her sports bra and revealed themselves through her white shirt.

‘That’s for me to know and you to find out.’ She said in a salacious tone.

Henry swallowed a large gulp as she began to undo her bottoms and crawled on top of his lap. ‘I’m assuming this is the conversation you wanted to have with me?’

‘Shhh… listen, you’re going to pay for your crimes tonight. You can either take this slap on the wrist,’ she grinded her middle part against his growing erection, ‘Or you can just say goodbye to your career… this is after all your second offense… and you’ll just become a liability. Your call Mr. District Attorney.’

He bit into his bottom lip as he peered up into her brown eyes that just reflected in the most lascivious of things. ‘Well if it means I get to feel you. Then count me in.’

A smirk curled on her lips, ‘Good boy. I will be referred to as ‘Mommy’ and right now mommy wants you to sit here and look pretty? Am I understood?’ Marissa crooned as she grabbed his chiseled jaw in her fingers and gave him a light squeeze.

Now, Henry was so hard he thought he would split rocks at this point. He loved when a woman was in tune with her body, knew what she wanted and knew how to get it. And Marissa was his ideal woman. ‘Yes ma’am. Anything for you.’

‘Good.’ she grinned as she leaned down and pressed her full lips against his. His lips were so warm and welcoming. They embraced hers like arms to a hug when his tongue slipped between her teeth, she found herself reaching between the both of them to undo his pants.

Once she broke the kiss, Henry looked up at her as she pulled her wife beater and then her sports bra over her head. Revealing her large perky sets of tits. ‘Mmm.’ he hummed as he grinded his hips upwards to ease that pain in his pants. He just wanted to wrap his lips around those sweet chocolate kisses for nipples. He was just dying to touch her. ‘Please! Officer–’

‘Mommy…’ she warned as she gently lifted her hips and pushed her pants off of her hips and then down to her ankles.

‘Mommy, could you please take these cuffs off. I wanna feel you.’ He was practically whining but he was desperate! He needed to touch her.

Marissa finally pulled his veiny, massive member out of his pants, practically drooling when she saw the sight. She felt like she hit a goldmine. ‘No touchy… Bad boys don’t get to touch. Maybe next time.’ She laughed out sinisterly as she positioned her body over his uncut member.

‘Aw man.’ he whined out.

She then slowly descended her hips down on his member, feeling him stretch and push past her. ‘Aah.’

Henry looked down between the both of them as she engulfed him with her goodness. His thighs twitched at the familiar yet, foreign feeling of her. She was so tight. So wet for him. Made just for him. ‘Uhhhh yes.’ He groaned out.

‘Damn,’ she shuddered out, feeling a sweet warmth of numbness travel down her spine, ‘You are a big boy aren’t you.’

‘Ooh yes. Fuck, mommy you’re so tight.’

She settled at the hilt of him, giving her walls time to adjust to his enormous size. Then, she lifted her hips slowly and dropped them down again, earning a louder groan from Henry. Marissa did that a few more times before she began to pick up her pace and bounce her hips on him.

Clap, clap, clap! Their bodies crashed into one another in a beautiful song. Henry’s eyebrows pulled into one as he watched her perfect breasts bounce with her movements. ‘Ooh shit. That’s it baby. More.’ He demanded.

Marissa moaned out as she began to mix her bouncing with grinding, ‘Aah! Fuck! Is that what you want babe? You want mo–’ and before she could finish, Henry adjusted his hips and began to thrust upwards. It stunted her for a second, causing a moan to be hitched in her throat. ‘Ooh! Fuck, that’s good baby. Uh huh!’ She began to drop her hips down to meet his thrusts, creating a new form of friction she hadn’t known before.

Her mouth hung open as she continued on with her rhythmic bounce. Henry’s hips had come to a stop and once again he was in a world full of ecstasy. ‘God-dammit, please don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.’ he begged as a bright shade of pink rose from the base of his neck to his jaws, and the rest of his face. He felt his balls squeeze as he felt so close to an orgasm. ‘Aah.’

She could feel him throbbing inside of her. Her tight walls stretching with each throb, she knew he was close. ‘Aht’ she slammed her hips down upon his, ‘Don’t you fucking dare! This is a punishment for you!’

‘Ugh! Grr, fuck!’ He growled out, ‘Yes! Yes ma’am.’

‘You come when I tell you,’ She reached forward and wrapped her small hands around his neck, ‘Do you understand?’

‘Y-yes mommy.’ He croaked out.

She began to lift her hips and dropped them in a slow, tantalizing rhythm. He lifted his hazy head once again to watch her engulf him over and over again. He was coated in a pretty white orgasm ring at the base of his dick. It pleased him to know that she could use him like this and make her feel good in the process.

She kept her hold around his neck as she slowly began to pick up the pace when she felt a special spark within her core. ‘Ooh,’ her breathing hitched as her grip around his neck began to tighten, ‘Aah! Fuck, I’m about to cum. Fuck,’ her breathing became sharp and short as her body tried to brace her for the impact. And to her surprise, Henry began to thrust his hips upward again but this time much faster than before. ‘UGH! AAH!’ she exclaimed as her hips became locked in place allowing him to just take over just for a moment.

‘Come! Please, please mommy. Come for me?’ He growled out, begging her for her release.

Her body tensed up when his words met her ears. She was instantly met with a shockwave in her core, a beautiful erotic twist in her womb, ‘AAAAHHH! FUCK MEEE!’ she sobbed out but Henry just kept thrusting, fucking her right through her orgasm. Her eyes brimmed with tears as he had seem to fuck her into another orgasm that caused her to fold, ‘You can come baby! You can come baby!’ she whined out as he continued to thrust upward.

Just the words he wanted to hear, he watched as she began to slowly grind her hips downward as he thrusted upward. ‘Ooh shit. I’m gonna… I'm gonna nut. Fuuuu-’ his cursing broke off when he was finally met with his own orgasm, spilling inside of her and filling her all the way up. His thick veins throbbed in his neck and forehead. Telltale signs that he emptied his tank and gave her all he could offer her. Letting out a shudder of disbelief and amazement, his head fell back against the seat once again as he tried to regain the air in his lungs. It was easier to breathe before.

And he never came like that either.

Letting out a sweet and satisfied sigh, she could down to him, ‘That’s momma’s good boy.’ Then, she carefully lifted her hips and began to get herself together.

Once she was finished getting ready and she had helped piece him back together, she uncuffed him and looked up at him as he rubbed his wrists. Marissa smiled up at him and folded her arms across her chest, ‘So, what did we learn?’

Henry smirked and looked to the side, ‘Not to do 50 over the speed limit. Also, not to bribe a … fine ass cop.’

Marissa smirked and nodded, ‘Hmm, seems like you’ve learned your lesson… here,’ She reached inside of her vehicle and grabbed his license and registration papers off of the keyboard of the laptop. ‘I expect you to behave now. You aint hard to get to.’ She shot him a wink as he carefully took the documents from her.

‘Yes ma’am…’ he looked down at her badge one more time, ‘Ms. Calloway.’ He'd be sure to find out more about this fascinating woman. He had to.

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