#the ungodly smell that's woken me up today

[starryspeculation]

of course my brother wanted to """"experiment"""" in the kitchen the day after i deep cleaned the house

[clintbartonswife]

these hands that hold

Pairings: Clint Barton / Bucky Barnes Summary: clint has no coordination when it comes to his crush Whumptober prompt #1 : swooning / 'how many fingers am i holding up?' Notes: we're making an attempt at whumptober! i'm in no way promising a fic every day, but hopefully this will get me back into writing :)) if you have any fic ideas that you want me to write, my requests are open as always. HAPPY OCTOBER!! this is slightly more fluffy than the rest will be - i just cant resist fluffy winterhawk masterlist   || whumptober2023

"Another day, another sucky mission waking me up before noon."

"As optimistic as always," Nat drawled, rolling her eyes fondly as Clint pouted, "I made a fresh pot for you."

He kissed her forehead grinning, rushing over to the steaming pot of coffee, "Natasha, this is why I love you."

"Keep that in mind for when I say -"

"Oh god -"

"You're with Bucky today."

Clint's smile dropped instantly. "Nat. You cant do this to me - last time I was in the same room as him I literally tripped over thin air. Thin air, Nat! I can't think straight when I'm around him -"

"Tough shit, sorry. We need two snipers on this one, so suck it up big boy." She slid off her chair, patting his shoulder condescendingly. "Be nice to him, okay?"

"You - he - he's the one that's mean to me!"

She guffawed, walking out the room. "Quinjet in ten!"

Clint let his head drop on to the kitchen counter, hand gripping the handle of the coffee pot impossibly tighter. "Get it together, Barton."

"Talking to yourself again?" An amused voice from the doorway interrupted his pity party, Clint holding back a groan.

"It's too early for this shit" he shot back, lifting his head to glare at Bucky leaning against the doorframe.

"Early for you maybe - y'know normal people don't sleep in until 3pm?"

"Says the fossil."

"Ouch, you really hurt me with that one," Bucky replied, hand over his chest and a smirk on his lips.

Clint stomped down the butterflies that threatened to make him blush, instead levelling the brunet with what he hoped was a convincing death stare.

Rolling his eyes - and damn did he look good when he did that - Bucky pushed off the doorframe, walking over to Clint and picking the pot out of his hand as if it was nothing.

"Hey! Get your own coffee!"

Bucky didnt reply, instead lifting the pot to his lips and taking a large swig, maintaining eye contact as he did so.

"Asshole." Clint frowned, snatching the pot back as soon as he could. "If you think that will stop me from drinking it, you're sorely mistaken. Nothing gets in between me and my caffeine intake - especially when I've been woken up at an ungodly hour."

With that he stormed out of the room heading towards the quinjet hangar, resolutely ignoring Bucky's scoffed 'It's 11am' from behind him.

"Snipers, that's Clint and Bucky, will be stationed on this rooftop here," Steve explained, pointing to a location on the hologram map. "Due to the limited sightlines, this is the best vantage point in the city. Clint will be covering the north-western approach, while Bucky covers the south-east."

"Roger that, Cap." Clint replied, definitely ignoring the way that Bucky's arms flexed as he put his shoulder length hair into a bun. He wasted absolutely no brain power on the way his hair looked especially soft today. None at all.

He especially did not smell his hair when he leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Who knows, if all goes well we might get you home in time for your nap."

His shampoo was coconut scented.

"Very funny - har har. Y'know getting enough sleep is vital to being a functioning human being, so not the insult you thought that was, actually."

Bucky huffed a laugh, standing back up to his full height. Natasha caught his eye from across the quinjet, giving him a sarcastic thumbs up.

He flipped her off in return.

" - essential that we do this quietly, swiftly and with as little damage as possible. That being said, Bruce we need you on comms and on medical standby - we hopefully won't need to call a code green."

Bruce nodded at this, tugging on his sweater nervously. "Im not the most anxious to get back out there after..."

He trailed off, Steve nodding understandingly. "Don't worry, we have multiple back up plans in place. Now, since Thor is off-world and Tony is sitting this one out -"

"He was literally thrown through a wall last week -"

"We'll be a little short on air support. Sam, we're going to need you to cover twice the amount you usually do."

"Redwing will watch over what I can't - if anything goes wrong I'll be there in seconds."

"Natasha and Wanda, you're with me on the ground. We get in, grab the prisoner, and get out. Is everyone clear on their assignment?"

Affirmative words spread around the room, Clint moving over to Natasha to get his bow and arrows.

"Y'know, you should use this time to make your move." she murmured, smirking.

"By what? Making an even bigger fool of myself?"

Natasha hummed, "Possibly. Or you could... I don't know, use that Hawkeye charm and flirt?"

Clint scoffed, ducking away as she tried to ruffle his blond hair. "Bite me."

"Oka-"

He leapt away as far as he could, hands thrown up in self defence, "Kidding! I was kidding!"

Steve huffed a laugh, patting Clint on the shoulder as he passed, "You should know better than that by now."

"Yes Cap..."

Sliding the shield on his back, he signalled for Bruce to open the quinjet doors. "Get in your groups, get to your stations and then call it in on comms - keep it clear from chatter. We do this fast and clean."

Clint swallowed heavily as he felt Bucky move to stand behind him, very aware of how close he was. His breath hitched as he felt Bucky lean closer, "I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing Stevie barking commands - since getting my memory back all I can see is the little punk from Brooklyn."

Clint smiled, head tilting slightly as he looked at Steve. "I find it impossible to imagine him with spindly limbs - surely his head would be too big for his body."

Bucky barked a laugh, earning the attention of the rest of the team. Steve narrowed his eyes, though Clint could see a hint of joy shining through, as if he was hearing a long lost song.

"'S so funny, Buck?"

"You - uhh, nothing Stevie." Bucky tried to muffle his laughter, coughing before throwing on a mask of indifference. "Lets do this."

Steve just nodded, though his eyes flicked between Clint and Bucky for a few moments, calculating. "Move out."

Clint shook himself slightly, clearing his head. Readjusting his arrow sheath, he followed Bucky out of the quinjet, climbing in to the passenger seat of the car.

"You sure you can drive?"

"I was driving before you were born, smart ass."

"Hey, just wondering if you were used to riding something that didn't eat grass and say neigh."

Bucky snorted, "We didn't ride horses."

"Really? There goes that dream." He pouted, followed by a sad 'yeehaw'.

Bucky shot him a weird look, suppressing a smile as he pulled away from the jet, driving towards their lookout point. On their arrival, Bucky reached into the back of the car and pulled out his sniper case.

Clint looked at the building distastefully, the crumbling plaster and boarded up windows doing nothing for its curb appeal.

"D'you think the elevator in this thing is still working?"

"Not for years - we're going to have to take the fire escape."

"Ugh, I hate climbing."

Bucky flashed him an odd look, seemingly swallowing down a question before pulling down the metal ladder. "Hawks first."

"Why thank you"

As they climbed, Clint made a very conscious effort to control his footing, aware that the last time he was alone with Bucky he ended up on his ass.

He was determined not to make a fool of himself this time.

"Okay, I've got to know. What was with that look you gave me when I said I don't like climbing?"

"Wha - well, okay. I just thought it was a bit ironic, coming from the guy who likes being up high all the time."

"Fair enough. I can see where the confusion comes in."

There was a pause. "Why don't you?"

"Like climbing? Um..." he thought about his answer, before deciding to play it safe, defaulting to making light of it. "Too much effort. Much prefer being carried places."

Bucky seemed as if he was going to dig further, Clint thanking his lucky stars that they had run out of fire escape. Scrambling on to the roof, he shrugged his bow off his shoulder, pressing his coms to activate it. "Hawkeye and Barnes in position."

Bucky huffed, shaking his head as he took out his sniper from its case, prepping his scope.

Steve's voiced crackled on, "Copy that. We're two minutes from target. Falcon, sitrep."

"Redwing made a preliminary scan - we count 5 hostiles guarding the front entrance, plus 2 hostiles on every exit. Seems to be more inside, but something is blocking the signal from reaching that far in."

"Electrical interference?" Natasha asked, sounding like she already knew the answer.

"Yep. Seems like its coming from the south-west side of the building."

"I'll see what I can do."

Cap chimed back in, "About to head in - keep this channel clear."

Clint pressed his com once, turning his mic off before settling into position, eyes scanning back and forth across his assigned area. Behind him, Bucky did the same.

Focused silence settled over the two of them, only to be broken after a few minutes.

"I can almost hear you thinking," Clint said, words hanging in the air precariously. "What is it?"

"Your response back there? I'm calling bullshit."

"Okay, wow."

Bucky audibly shrugged. "You asked me, I responded."

"Is now really the best time for thi-?"

Nat's voice interrupted him, com flaring to life once more. "Signal box down. Do you have visual?"

"Affirmative. There's 20 bodies in there - woah what the hell?"

"Sam?"

"We have an enhanced on the field. Looks like they're -"

He was cut off by Wanda, her voice shaking. "Flying? Yeah - Cap they're coming towards you. Heading towards the west exit of the building. Got the jump on me -"

"Copy that. You okay?"

"Fine - just some bruises."

Clint rolled his shoulders in anticipation, pressing his com to leave the line open.

For the next few minutes, Clint allowed himself to fully settle into his position, sniper training allowing him to relax whilst still being fully vigilant. In an instant, he had extracted an arrow from his sheathe and pressed it against his bow.

"I've got eyes-on. Target is moving fast - have a minute window maybe less."

"Take the shot, non lethal if possible."

Clint huffed. Of course it was possible. He could hit an apple from the top of a baby's head at this range.

He swallowed down his need to brag, quickly aiming and firing at the target. His arrow soared through the air, hitting it's mark in the man's shoulder.

"Target hit - he's going down just outside the mini mart. Shot to the shoulder."

"I have no visual," Natasha said, frown audible, "Wanda?"

"Neither."

"I'm on my way," Sam added, "No visual from the surrounding areas."

"Fan out around the surrounding buildings, he's got to be here somewhere."

Sudden movement from behind him broke Clint's focus, Bucky pushing him out of the way as a man descended on them from the sky, knife in hand. He blocked the attack with his metal arm, the sound of clashing metal ringing through the air.

Clint swore under his breath, whipping his bow into it's baton form and charging forwards, landing a solid blow to the target's arm. The knife fell from his grip.

It devolved into a scuffle, Bucky and Clint working in unison to knock the guy down.

In between hits, Bucky managed to re-open his com link. "Target is on us, I repeat target is on our roof."

Clint winced as a particularly harsh hit landed on his jaw, responding by hitting the man's throat. The enhanced fell to the floor with a wheeze, eyes narrowing as his fist closed around the hilt of the previously dropped knife.

Time seemed to move in slow motion as he jumped back up, the silver blade just narrowly missing the soft flesh of Clint's neck. Bucky immediately moved to Clint's aid, pushing him out of the way as the blade returned.

Toppled off balance, he careened into the brick that lined the roof's edge, head smashing against it.

Through hazy eyes, he watched Bucky tackled the target, manipulating him until his knee was on their back.

He was hot when he fought.

Ringing was followed by the return of his limited hearing, faint and muffled, as Bucky yelled something unintelligible over comms. He heard no response, frowning, before realising his hearing aid had fallen out.

His coms were built in - a fancy upgrade from a lab-bound Tony.

Blinking heavily, he tried to refocus his eyes. Whilst two Bucky's had definitely been a part of countless recent dreams, he wasn't exactly fond of the lack of clear sight that went along with the double vision.

The Buckys knelt in front of him, metal wings descending behind him. Sam had arrived. He was saying something, concern painted across every line of his face.

Clint could only blink back dumbly, eyes narrowing as he tried to read his lips. Lips - Bucky's lips. They were very nice lips -

Bucky was clicking in his face now, two slowly merging back into one.

'Hear?'

Bucky was signing. He didn't know Bucky knew how to sign. The hand movements were clunky, but deliberate.

Clint shook his head in response, the sudden movement making his world spin on it's axis.

'One moment.'

Bucky had left his side, looking on the ground for something and standing up with a triumphant 'aha!'. Soon the device was pressed into his hand, guided up towards his ear by Bucky's gloved ones.

Common sense finally catching up to him, Clint placed the hearing aid back into his ear, slumping in relief as his senses returned.

"- ou hear me? Clint? Hey."

"Present"

Bucky held his hand up once more, "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Really?"

"Don't be cute, how many fingers?"

"One, two... three."

Bucky rolled his eyes, though Clint could see relief rush through him at the realisation he hadnt lost all his brain cells when he hit the bricks.

"How's your head? Can you stand?"

"We won't know 'til we try, I guess."

He accepted the hand that Bucky offered - the human one - and lifted himself up. The weight of gravity seemed to have tripled, attempting to drag him back down with a vengeance as soon as he was fully upright.

Bucky moved just as quickly, spare hand wrapping around his waist to keep him upright, anchoring him against his body.

Did he just - did Clint really just swoon?

What kind of disney princess shit was happening? He quickly looked around, half expecting to see cartoon birds still circling his head.

"Shit - okay." He was lowered down to the ground again. "Cap we're going to need med-evac for Barton. He can't stand."

The back of Clint's neck flushed red, "I'm fine -"

"I'll believe you when you don't fall over your own feet."

"Ask Nat, I do that all the time!"

She immediately replied, voice flat. "Don't use me as your excuse. We're coming to get you."

Clint groaned.

Bucky knelt down beside him, grabbing Clint's chin and moving him so that he could look into his eyes.

"Your pupils are a bit big - looking pale too -"

"Well you don't look too hot yourself," Clint replied, banishing all impure thoughts from his mind. This eye contact was doing something to him.

Bucky just shook his head, releasing his grip and sitting down, running a hand through his hair. "I - I'm sorry."

Clint's eyes widened, "No - I mean, you look beautiful. Not that you owe anyone to be conventionally attractive - you are though, and strong too! Not that you cant be both attractive and strong - you know, I think I'm - please just cut me off I'm losing my mind over here."

Bucky breathed a laugh, shaking his head slightly. "You're a mess."

"Yeah." Clint's chest clenched. "Yeah I know."

"I was apologising for hurting you." Bucky finally clarified, "I - I'm still not fully aware of my strength I guess."

"You saved me."

"I hurt you." He repeated.

"Okay, fine. You pushed me into a wall -"

"Exactly, I -"

"And away from the mad flying man who was about to plunge a knife into my head."

Bucky just sighed, realising this was one battle he was not going to win, and looked over at Sam. Clint had forgotten the other two were still on the roof, avoiding looking over at them as his cheeks blazed. Yet another captive audience to witness Clint's never-ending embarrassment.

"Don't look at me, man." Sam said, tightening his grip as the enhanced attempted to slip from his grip, "I've got my hands full."

"Useless bird."

"Metal bitch."

The roar of the quinjet interrupted, hovering by the edge of the roof as the platform descended, Bruce rushing out.

"Help me get him up," he demanded, looping Clint's left arm over his shoulder and gesturing for Bucky to do the same on his right.

As the three of them slowly made it back to the quinjet, Steve and Wanda moved to help Sam with the enhanced.

"I'm really fine," Clint complained, "this is all unnecessary."

Natasha glared at him from her spot next to the makeshift medical corner of the quinjet, pointing at the stretcher.

Bucky backed away, dipping out from under Clint's arm as Bruce helped him on to it, immediately beginning his medical checks.

Behind him, Natasha and Bucky talked indistinctly, backs turned to him. How inconsiderate.

Bruce moved back into his line of vision, stealing back his attention. "Any pain in your head?"

"No"

"That's a lie and you damn well know it. You're bleeding."

"Oh that? Yeah I guess it's a bit sore."

"I'm only trying to help Clint. The quicker you're truthful with me the quicker I can stop trying to probe you for answers."

"Right - sorry, doc."

"Any blurred vision? Nausea? Tingling?"

"Vision was blurred but is slightly better now and yeah, but I think it's cos I'm hungry. No tingling"

Bruce frowned, "Your pupils are blown, you have no balance - you have a concussion. Seems to be a mild one, but if you get any tingling or headache you tell me right away."

Clint saluted, "Yes sir."

Bruce rolled his eyes, though his smile remained kind. "Glad you're okay, Barton."

"Likewise!"

"So, doc - how long 'til he can have that promised nap?"

Bruce huffed, "The no sleep thing is a medical myth - you just have to be sure to wake him every 3 hours to check for any new symptoms."

"Bruce, I could kiss you."

"Don't."

The two laughed as Bruce retreated to the cockpit, Bucky replacing him by his side.

"All's good?"

"Like I said, I'm fit as a damn fiddle" Clint grinned, jumping off the stretcher with flair, only to pitch sideways. Bucky's arms wrapped around him once more, keeping him upright.

"Nothing wrong, huh?" he asked, raising his eyebrow unimpressed.

Clint cleared his throat, but made no effort to move. "Okay, so that's not completely true - but it's not life threatening so I'd call that a win."

Bucky laughed, "You know, I'm starting to think you just like my arms around you."

He shrugged coyly. "There are worse places to be."

Not expecting that reply, Bucky took a step back, arms loosening.

Clint immediately panicked. "I'm - that was stupid. I'm sorry."

"These arms..." Bucky trailed off, staring at his hands. "These hands. I've killed people with these hands. More than I can count -"

"You weren't in control -"

"They were still my actions. I did those things with the very arms you think -" he broke off, voice lowering to a whisper. "How can you think being in these arms is safe when you know how much blood they spilt."

Clint reached out, taking both of Bucky's hands into his. "These hands belong to you now, Buck. You're in control of them. You use them to fill out your stupid crossword puzzles - to steal my coffee. You used them today to save my life."

"I hurt you -"

"You saved me. I'd happily take a minor head wound over a stab wound any day."

"You're missing the point -"

"No. You're missing the point. You're a good person Bucky, and I'll say that as many times as it takes to make you believe me."

They stood there for a few more moments, Clint leaning against the stretcher for some support.

"Once more."

"Huh?"

Bucky finally looked up, meeting Clint's eyes. "Say it once more."

He smiled, reaching up and cupping Bucky's cheek in his hand. "You are a good person, Bucky."

"I - you'll need someone to watch over you for the next few hours..."

"It's a date." Clint smiled as Bucky's eyes widened, "You can kiss me now."

Bucky laughed, "You're bold when you're concussed."

"Hey, if I knew that I would've got a concussion earlier."

"Idiot."

Their lips finally met, smiling and warm.

They were going to be okay.

[wooahaeproductions]

Up with the Birds (SVT Seungkwan)

Boo Seungkwan x Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: Fluff, friends to lovers au

Word Count: 1.5k

Rating: PG

Warnings: I really don’t think there are any?

A/N: This is my submission for the @k-vanity spring event, Idols Over Flowers. The bouquet being: Roses and Tulips (Romance and Adventure), Thistle (Own au), ivy (f2l), with a white ribbon (bicycle ride).

I’ve had this idea to bring a different side of Boo to life and this event was perfect for it.

Special thanks to my lovely beta readers @the-boy-meets-evil and @ericssmile 💕

~Bee

Early morning light had begun sinking in underneath your curtains and the chirping of birds woke you from your slumber. If the 7 am time that stared at you from your bedside clock hadn’t been an indicator that spring had arrived, the constant sounds from the feathered annoyances certainly had.

You put your arm over your eyes, attempting to block out the light when your bedroom door flung open. You turned on your side trying to bury your face in the covers, hoping your crazy best friend hadn’t seen you were awake yet. “Y/N, I saw you. Wake up,” Seungkwan demanded.

You groaned, knowing he would have woken you up either way. He dramatically flopped himself on top of you, shaking you and forcing the air from your lungs. You got up abruptly, nearly knocking him off the bed. “Alright, alright. I’m awake,” you surrendered, catching your breath back.

“Let’s go on an adventure,” he said, a childlike smile that reached his eyes appeared on his face and you knew resistance was even more futile. Your heart always melted when he smiled like that and you would go along with whatever crazy thing he had planned, even at an ungodly hour of the morning.

Actually, you’d been in love with Boo Seungkwan since you were kids and most of your resistance was for show because you knew you would give in anyway. Not that you’d ever let him know that. You were scared of things changing if you told him, so you’d rather be close to him as his best friend over not being anything at all.

“Okay out, so I can get dressed,” you said, pushing him more off the bed and toward the open door.

“Yesss!” he exclaimed with a victorious punch in the air. You rolled your eyes and flipped the covers off, heading over to your dresser to find some clothes.

“Of course, you are driving. Okay, bye!” Seungkwan, the faster talker you knew, disappeared as he closed your door and before you could protest. You weren’t sure why he mentioned that anyway, he didn’t have his license but you did.

After picking out a t-shirt and some jeans, you ran a comb through your hair and brushed your teeth before heading out to the living room to find Seungkwan. You were greeted with the smell of coffee wafting from the kitchen and before you could make your way toward it, a cup appeared in front of you. You took the warm caffeinated drink from your friend.

“Here’s your ‘let’s go” juice, grumpy gills,” Seungkwan said, transfering the mug to your waiting hands. You took a drink and gave a content sigh. Nothing was better than the first sip of coffee in the morning. “Better?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Better,” you confirmed, continuing to sip from the mug. “Now, where am I chauffeuring us to today?” you asked wryly.

“It’s a surprise. If we leave now, we’ll get there around lunchtime,” Seungkwan mused, looking at the time on his phone. You choked on your coffee.

“You are making me drive halfway across Korea and won’t even tell me where?” you asked, incredulous at his “plan”.

“Yup,” he responded simply, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word. “So finish your coffee and let’s get going!”

You mumbled something incoherent under your breath in irritation as you finished the last bit of your coffee.

You walked to the other side of the apartment, deposited your empty mug into the kitchen sink before heading toward the door where Seungkwan was waiting rather impatiently. You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. He always looked so adorably excited every single time he had adventures planned.

He had your favorite sweatshirt and your car keys already in his hands, ready for you to take. You took them, looking up to find the mischievous twinkle in his eyes that always charmed you. You hand brushed against his and you wondered if felt the same electricity as he did.

After pulling on the sweatshirt and making sure you had your phone, the two of you went out the front door and made your way to the car. Although you were driving, Seungkwan always made sure to open the door for you and then got in on the other side.

When you were settled, you pulled the phone cord from the console and handed it to Seungkwan. If you were the one who always drove, then he was the one who always chose the music. You watched the screen in the middle as he chose one of the road-trip mixes you made together and shortly after the map from the GPS system popped up, the voice of the navigation lady telling you to go out of the parking lot.

You did a double take at the trip length. “4 hours?!” you balked. Now you knew why he wanted to leave this early and you also were pretty sure you had an idea of where you were going. While Seungkwan had made this trip to one of his favorite places multiple times by train, you had never gone with him.

“I promise, it’ll be worth the drive,” he responded cheekily and you continued driving onto the long freeway that would take you to Seungkwan’s destination. You may have been grumpy that morning, but it didn’t take long to settle into the comfort and giddiness that a road trip brought.

Windows were cracked, letting the spring breeze flow through the car as you and Seungkwan sang along with the music. Snacks that were bought at one of the rest stops on the way were passed back and forth. Finally, in an area of the Busan countryside, the GPS mentioned the destination was coming up.

You pulled into the tiny parking lot to find you had arrived at a bicycle rental place. “I drove 4 hours to ride a bike?” you huffed, but you were more curious than anything. Seungkwan liked to do crazy things, but this seemed a little different for him. He shrugged at you, making you all the more curious.

“Let’s get going then, I want to make sure we get there early,” he let slip.

“Early for what?” your eyes squinting at his peculiar behavior.

“Let’s just go!” He exclaimed, dodging your question and getting out of the car.

You sighed and followed behind him as he walked into the small shop and started talking to the worker at the counter. You caught the words ‘tandem bike’ and wondered why Seungkwan asked for that rather than two single ones. The guy at the counter gave him the key to a lock and told him where the bike was in the yard out back.

Once out there, he unlocked the bike from the stall it was in, pulled it out and got on after putting the break down. “Hop on,” he said, nodding to the seat behind him. You hesitated before he gave you a reassuring smile. You slowly approached the bike, heaving your leg over the seat and having to use Seungkwan’s shoulders as leverage before you managed to be settled on the seat behind him.

He started pedaling, leading the bike to the road and you eventually placed your feet on your own pedals to help him. You looked forward and saw the road winding into some rolling hills, fields of pretty yellow flowers spanning the horizon. The breeze pushed your hair around and made a soothing swishing sound in the tall grass that lined the road. You were too absorbed in the warm feeling of spring to realize that Seungkwan had stopped the bike.

“We’re here,” he announced.

“What?” you asked, realizing that there were fields of those yellow flowers as far as the eye could see. Seungkwan had gotten off the bike and grabbed you by the hand, pulling you with him and letting the bicycle fall to the ground on the side of the road. Before you could protest, he started running into the closest field, dragging you along with him. The rush of adrenaline, confusion, and the ever present electricity of your hand in his pushed a laugh out of you.

You continued giggling, memories of running through meadows as a kid coming into your mind and you were happy to be in this moment with Seungkwan. Suddenly, he stopped and you crashed into his back. “Seungkwan?” you questioned. He mumbled something, but you couldn’t hear him. “Huh? I can’t hear you.” you said.

He turned around, worry in his eyes instead of the lightness that usually shone in them. He took a deep breath and repeated himself, “I like you. As my best friend and more. I like you, Y/N,” The world stopped as you looked at him, the wind pushed his bangs over his forehead and his honey colored eyes spoke the truth.

You smiled and flung yourself into his arms, “I like you too,” You could feel an exhale of breath that he was holding and his arms engulfed you in a hug. Seungkwan was spring itself and you couldn’t be happier than right now.

©️wooahaeproductions

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[gracefulsunflower]

CONTRARY - FINN SHELBY X READER; PART 7

PUBLISHED: 18/05/2022

!!FIRST PART HERE!!

Part 1

THIRD PERSON'S POV

(A/N: I haven't been to a wedding in yonks so this and the next chapter is me really just making stuff up as I go lmao)

Today was the anticipated day. The union between (Y/N) Gold and Finn Shelby. You had woken up a nervous wreck.

You hadn't even been able to eat anything, not even biscuits with your tea, something that made Esmeralda and Saoirse concerned — you had always had an ungodly amount of biscuits, at least four, whenever you had a cup of tea. Once, Esmeralda was sure she counted twelve on your saucer.

It was now eight in the morning, and your sisters were begging you to eat at least one mouthful of the feast Polly had cooked for you and your bridal party. You had all slept at your residence, while Finn and his groomsmen were getting ready at Tommy's.

You picked up a pancake, and took a small bite — it was fluffy and soft. You chewed it, and mindlessly began drumming your fingers on the tabletop.

"So, I'm walking down the aisle with Arthur, Tommy with Lizzie, Bonnie with Ada, and Isiah with Ezzie." Polly reminded the girls at the table, who all nodded.

"And I get to throw the flower petals!" Saoirse cheered, making Polly chuckle.

"Yes you do, my dear." Polly said with a smile towards the small girl, who was now playing with a doll.

"(Y/N), go shower, we leave in three hours!" Ezzie hissed, making you hurry on eating your pancake.

"And Finn will be here in two and a half to drop off your something new," Ada pointed out, making you curious.

Once you were done your pancake, you walked to the bathroom, and had a quick shower, washing your hair and body with some nice smelling shampoo, conditioner and body wash set Lizzie had gifted you. You trusted her, she seemed to know what the men liked. You also quickly went over your legs and underarms with a razor, and brushed your teeth. You weren't that cruel to make Finn kiss you with morning breath.

You hopped out of the shower, dried yourself and wrapped a towel around your body, then wrapped your hair up in another towel, this one being a microfiber one to help it dry quicker. You walked to your room, where Ezzie was sitting on the bed.

"You're putting on that set," Ezzie said with a stern look on her face.

You knew that look. That look was the one she gave when she meant something was final. The first and last time you disobeyed that look, you ended up with a rather nasty bruise in the shape of her paddle brush. You didn't want another, so you begrudgingly put on the set of lingerie you had bought yesterday.

"It's not like he's going to see it," You grumbled, trying — and failing — to clip up your bra behind you.

Ezzie came over and wordlessly helped you, then handed you a bottle of lotion. It looked as if it came from the same set as the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, and as you opened the bottle and the smell hit your nose, your thoughts were confirmed.

You quickly put some lotion on, then put on your slip. You looked up at the clock.

Two hours left. You felt the pit in your stomach get deeper. What would happen after you and Finn officially got married? Would you continue on acting civil all your lives, never to love each other but being bound to each other for all eternity? Or would Tommy be kind enough to let you get with different people, and the marriage only be for show? It was all a big mess of confusion, and you hated it.

•••

"Your hair is going up today," Ezzie informed you casually, not bothering to look at you, making your heart stop.

"I can't do braids or anything," You said quietly, making Ezzie look at you.

"That's why I'll be doing it," She reassured, giving you a small smile, "It's only me."

You took a deep breath, but nodded. She was right. It was Ezzie. She wasn't going to hurt you.

"Come sit," She instructed, and you did so.

You handed her your hairbrush, and she started detangling your long, (H/C) locks, starting at the ends then moving up to the roots. Once your hair was knot free, she parted your hair in the usual spot.

In the reflection, you spotted Polly and your Dad come to stand in the doorway of your bedroom. The first thing Polly noticed as your sister started braiding your hair was how tightly you were gripping the legs of the vanity. Your knuckles were white. She noticed that you were sitting stiff as a board, as if getting ready to jump out of your chair at a moments' notice.

"Hi," You greeted your Dad softly, still unsure of whether you wanted to interact with him or not.

"Hello, Bee," Aberama replied, staying in the doorway, giving you a wide berth for your own peace of mind.

You grinned at the nickname. Your Dad had nicknamed all of you kids after something that was the colour of your favourite colour — you were Bee, Esmeralda was Turtle, Bonnie was Tiger, and Saoirse hadn't settled on a colour yet.

"You'd think her sister was about to murder her," Polly whispered to your Dad, who pursed his lips.

He sniffed and cleared his throat, "Marian, she — she would never let (Y/N) put her hair up, so it would get really knotted, I'm talking nearly matted, Polly — and then she would make (Y/N) sit as she would pull the brush through her hair and (Y/N)'s body would have no chance but to follow the brush and (Y/N) would be in so much pain and that slut would enjoy every minute of what she'd put my Bee through."

Polly put a hand to her mouth, horrified that someone could do that to their baby. She could never, ever imagine doing that to her Michael, or her Anna.

Aberama and Polly watched as Esmeralda carefully braided your hair into a crown, leaving wisps out to frame your face, then delicately put wildflowers into the braid.

Polly looked at the clock. One hour left. She quickly got the dress from your wardrobe, and Ezzie ushered you out of your seat, and Ezzie helped you into your dress. You weren't wearing shoes — high heels and yourself weren't the best of friends. You weren't even acquaintances.

•••

You were now pacing in your bedroom, waiting for Finn to come give you your something new. The pit in your stomach had gotten worse, and it was taking everything in you to not spit out your gum and start chewing your nails.

A knock sounded on your door. You stopped your pacing and spun around, facing the door. You took a deep, steadying breath.

"Come in," You called, your voice shaky.

The door opened, and there stood Finn Shelby.

You gasped softly. He walked in, shutting the door behind him. He looked a vision, standing there in his suit. You'd be lying if you said that you didn't find him attractive right now. You wouldn't mind someone painting a portrait of this moment in time so you could always look back at it, just to see this version of Finn again.

You realised you were staring, and quickly looked away.

Finn, however, was too busy admiring you to notice. This was the first time he had seen you with your hair up. You looked like some kind of angel, but not the ones he read about in the Bible with Jeremiah. The pretty kind. To him, in this moment, you looked divine.

"Hi, Finn," You said shyly, feeling awkward under his gaze.

"Hi, (Y/N)," Finn greeted, sounding breathless, "You look — amazing, honest."

"You don't look too bad yourself," You teased as you looked back at him.

He grinned, then remembered what he came for. He fished a small box out of his pocket.

"These are our something new." He explained as you walked closer to him.

He opened the box, revealing two silver pendants, each the shape of half a heart.

"They're beautiful," You stated, looking up at Finn.

He felt pleased that you liked it. He had out a lot of thought into it, and there wasn't really much good stuff a person could get in five days.

He gently grabbed the one with his initials out and handed it to you, "Yours. We wear each other's initials."

"Can you put it on me?" You asked, scared the clasp would get caught in your hair and you would ruin your sister's handiwork.

Finn nodded, swapping you the box for your necklace. He undid the clasp, and put it around your neck, then did it back up again. He saw your spine peeking out of the top of your dress, and couldn't resist softly dragging the tip of his index finger up it, which made you gasp and shiver.

"Sorry," He mumbled, not feeling sorry at all.

Your skin was soft. He wanted to feel it again someday. And, when he was this close, he could smell your perfume. He liked the smell of it. He’d have to buy you more.

"Would you like me to put yours on you?" You questioned, turning back around.

"Yeah, please," Finn replied, handing you the box.

You went and stood behind him, necklace in hand.

"Can you bend your knees a little?" You asked the brown haired boy — he was a little bit taller than you.

Finn did as you asked, and you put the necklace on him. He spotted your bridal bouquet on the vanity, Aberama's tie wrapped around it, and chuckled.

"What?" You demanded, peeking around him to look in the same direction.

"You have silver bells in your bouquet — Mistress Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow? With silver bells and cockle shells and pretty pairs all in a row," Finn recited, "You and Mary, you've both got silver bells and pretty maids both in a row and you're both contrary."

"I'm not contrary!" You snapped, frowning as Finn turned to face you, "I've got ... layers."

He nodded sagely, "Like an onion."

You gave him a funny look, "What the fuck are you comparing me to an onion for?"

"I don't know, the boys had fried ones for breakfast!" Finn defended, putting his hands up.

"Did you have any? I don't care that it's a wedding, I won't become lip locked with you if you've eaten onions this morning!" You threatened, jabbing a finger to his chest.

"I haven't!" Finn said truthfully, but you narrowed your eyes at him.

"Let me smell your breath," You commanded, and he  complied, breathing heavily your face.

"You're lucky," You warned after the minty breath entered your nose.

Finn chuckled, which made you realise how ridiculous you were being. You started giggling along with him, then the door was knocked upon.

"Finn's got to go!" Ada said through the door.

You looked at the door, then back at Finn.

"See you there," You said quietly, the magic of the previous moment gone as reality set back in.

Finn nodded, "See you there.”

He turned to walk out of the bedroom, and you had the urge to grab his hand to make him stop, but you ignored it. He exited the room, leaving you in silence once more.

§§§

THE NEXT CHAPTER IS THE WEDDING AHHHH — I apologise for not much Finn and reader interaction but eh

Love y’all ❤️

- Sunflower x

NEXT PART

Part 8

[namariea]

Devil’s Advocate | I

“So for argument’s sake... let’s just say Do Kyungsoo really is the boring square you say he is..” 

“Don’t you want to find out what makes him tick?”

Pairing: Kyungsoo x Reader

Words: 4.4k

Genre: Romance, Slowburn, Smut

It started with a knock on your door.

“Jongin is coming over tonight, that cool?”

Looking up from your laptop screen, you stared at your roommate who was leaning against your doorway. Blinking slowly, you processed her words.

“Jongin is coming over.”

“Yes, that’s what I just said.”

“And will Mr. Kim be staying over?”

“That would be a correct assumption, yes.”

“Sleeping in your room.”

“Why, did you want him to sleep here with you? Not what I was expecting, but I’m all down for polygamy.”

With a sigh, you saved the document you were working on and began to close your laptop. Collecting the various papers and books scattered around you, you began to tuck them away neatly into your backpack. Sliding off of the bed, you walked the length of the room and began to rifle through your drawers, pulling out some clothes.

Frowning, Jennie walked over to you and looked over your shoulder as you began refolding them and putting them in a gym bag.

“What are you doing?”

“I have a paper I need to finish proofing for tomorrow and I highly doubt I will get any work done with the two of you going at it like animals.”

Jennie didn’t even look fazed at the comment, shrugging non committedly while throwing some pajama shorts your way. Rolling your eyes you passed through the joined bathroom and threw in your toiletries. As you were zipping up your bag a knock came at the door causing you to pause.

Well, that was fast.

Turning around, you looked at the brunette behind you with raised eyebrows, and only then she had the decency to look the slightest bit sheepish.

“Have I told you how much I love you today?”

With your roommate trailing at your heels blabbering about how you are the greatest roommate ever and how she owes you a life debt, you opened the front door and were greeted with Jongin holding what appeared to be a party sized bucket of KFC. Before he could open his mouth you stuck out your hand, waiting.

Blinking down at your outstretched palm, he gave you a confused look.

“Keys. Since you are kicking me out of my bed I’m taking yours”

Jennie snorted behind you as Jongin’s face split into a wide grin.

“You know, I always knew you were a great person.” fishing out his keys from his pocket he handed them to you.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you gave the couple a wave of your hand and began to make your way down the hall. You were halfway to the elevators when Jongin's loud voice stopped you.

“Oh by the way, Kyungsoo isn’t around tonight, so feel free to raid the fridge before he gets back.”

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

Jongin’s presence at your apartment wasn’t a new occurrence.

In the beginning, it was just him coming over during the day to help Jennie with her design assignments. Which was ok, amazing actually, since it helped her out a lot and saved you dealing with her stress meltdowns.

Then it progressed to Jongin appearing at your dinner table every Friday to partake in Chinese takeout nights. Which was fine, again, since he picked it up on his way over and pitched in. He also somehow was able to sweet talk the old woman who owned the store and managed to get extra egg rolls. Can’t go wrong with that.

It wasn’t until Jennie gave you the look while the older boy excused himself to use the bathroom after one said dinner that you took the hint.

Now, Jongin occasionally stays over during the weekends, where you would find him in the living room at ungodly hours watching the Pirates of the Carribean all the while eating a family sized package of oreo’s. Which was mildly perturbing on two counts. First, was the fact that this was probably the 5th time you’ve seen him watch that movie, and second, those were your oreos.

The final straw was not until the weekend that just past where you were woken up a loud banging. It was not until you were  halfway to Jennie’s door in a frantic scramble that your sleep deprived brain caught up with you and realized it was very much not a violent murder taking place in the room over.

Animals.

It was then you all agreed to establish some sort of door-sock system.

Which in essence was - if Jongin was coming over, it was probably best to just find somewhere else to crash.

You didn’t actually mind leaving as much as you thought you would. Jennie was one of your closests friends and it was clear as day that Jongin made her happy. You didn’t even mind hanging out with the guy, he was fun and always brought snacks in return for practically living at your place. Even if his tastes in movies were highly questionable.

It was just sometimes - like right now where you had a Business Ethics paper due at 7AM - where you needed all the quiet you could get.

Reaching the apartment, you slotted the key into the lock, you pushed open the door to Jongin and Kyungsoo’s apartment. Stepping through the threshold you were greeted by darkness.

Flicking on the lights you took in the apartment. You had been in the apartment a handful of times when Chanyeol threw parties, but this was the first time you had been there on your own, literally.

From the neatly organized coffee table to the dust-less surfaces as far as the eye can see, the state of the apartment very much reflected that of the other owner - there was no way anyone would believe the human tornado that was Kim Jongin lived here otherwise.

Speaking of the other owner -

“Kyungsoo?”

Thank goodness for small mercies.

Do Kyungsoo, best friend of Jongin and probably the biggest enigma you've ever met. Not only was he more reserved and mild tempered in comparison to his flatmate, but he was the only one in your mutual friend group that you couldn’t bring yourself to get close to.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying, mind you. And to Kyungsoo’s credit he has never been rude to you, though you wouldn’t necessarily call it friendly either. Cordial at best...maybe. His deposition towards you, and apparently anyone who didn’t know him before the year 2015 was polite but distant. He was so different from the rest of his friends that one day Jennie had asked Jongin how he and Kyungsoo even lived together.

“We met freshman year-”  Jongin said while spooning a mountain of orange chicken onto his plate.

“We were paired up as roommates and we just clicked - Kyungsoo is a great guy, he’s actually pretty hilarious”

“Really?” Jennie leaned in, abandoning her lo mein to gape at the man next to her.

“Its true!” Jongin said defensively at her expression, “how do I explain it-"

"You kind of have to approach him first, and then see how he responds. He just needs time to warm up to you, you'll see."

Now, you weren’t sure if Kyungsoo had ‘warmed up to you’ yet, but you definitely saw the man’s look of disgust as he caught you making kraft dinner in the microwave that one time during finals last semester.

Hot tip - never make microwave kraft dinner in front of a Culinary Arts major.

Checking your watch and noting it was half past ten, you settled down cross-legged at the coffee table in the living room. Pulling out your laptop and notes, you organized it all in front of you before rolling your neck and flexing your fingers.

“Now, where was I-”

After what seems like the hundredth time going over the same words over and over again, desperately making sure you didn’t have any spelling mistakes and that your citations were all correct, you finally hit save for the last time. Tapping the screen of your phone you brought it up to your face as you leant back against the couch, squinting as the time appeared.

2:35 AM

Stretching, you lifted yourself from your sitting position and began packing your laptop and papers away.

Exhausted, you crawled your way up onto the couch, pulled the Captain America themed throw blanket over your tired body, and closed your eyes, waiting for sleep to take you.

Which should have been an easy task.

Except Jongin apparently decided to buy the cheapest couch in Ikea.

No wonder the man lived on your sofa, he has never known true comfort.

Huffing, you sat up begrudgingly, groaning as your body objected to the movement. You glanced down the darkened hallway and pursed your lips.

Taking your bags you began shuffling down the hallway and stopped in front of one of the doors that was ajar. Slowly pushing it open you hesitantly stuck your head in. The sight of the various Mangas scattered on the floor confirmed that you had found the right bedroom.

I mean, there are worse places to sleep.

Making your way further into the room, you kicked the door closed as you made quick work of stripping out of your clothes and changing into your pajamas. You all but dove into the bed, not caring that it was unmade or that you probably should have changed the sheets. A content sigh escaped you as you sank into the mattress, sleep taking over.

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

Waking with a start, you were momentarily disoriented as you took in your surroundings. Blinking blearily around, it took a few seconds to remember where you were and why your bed smelled like Old Spice.

Ah, right.

Groaning, you glanced at the window and took in the darkness still.

You tried to close your eyes in hopes that you would be able to catch a few more minutes of sleep. However, instead of slipping into blissful sleep you found yourself tossing and turning, body restless in any position you put it in.

Pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes you lay there for a few moments. Blindly reaching towards the side table you fumbled with your phone, squinting as the screen illuminated your vision.

5:50 am

There is no God.

Finally accepting that you were not going to get any more sleep, you begrudgingly slid out of bed. Stretching, you began to make your way to the door, stifling a yawn as you opened it.

And immediately screamed.

“WHAT THE F- Kyungsoo?”

Standing in front of you was a hooded figure, looking just as startled as you were. Hand grasping the handle leading to the room directly across the hall, Kyungsoo had turned at the sound of Jongin’s door opening and his eyes widened almost comically at your presence.

As the fuzziness of sleep was lifted you realized that it must have been the sound Kyungsoo entering the apartment that woke you up. And judging from the incredulous look he was giving you, Jongin must not have told him you were there. Taking in his baseball cap and casual attire, you felt your eyebrows furrow.

Did he just get back?

You watched as his eyes slid down and you were suddenly very much aware of the lopsided bun that had come half undone in your sleep and the thin material of your pajamas. His eyes then darted from your own to the bedroom and back, eyebrows furrowing.

Your eyes widened at the silent question glinting in those dark eyes. Your hands immediately flew up as you began sputtering.

“It's not what it looks like!“ you began frantically and he only lifted a dark brow higher in a silent bid for you to continue. “Jongin was staying over at our place last night and I came here to give them privacy, you know how they are, it’s like National Geographic except nobody asked for it”

He shot you a bemused look.

You felt yourself flush and looked at the space of the wall next to his head “And well, I didn't get kicked out of my own bed to sleep on a couch… So I slept... in here" gesturing to the bedroom behind you awkwardly.

There was another beat of silence.

Great. Fantastic. Realll smooth. It seemed that without fail, every time you are in the immediate presence of the man across from you, you feel yourself suddenly tense up. Which is stupid, considering the fact that you are friends (distant acquaintances), and have been around each other for months now and got along great (cordial at best), surely by now you can have a normal conversation at the very least.

Speaking of conversation, you also become hyperaware of the fact that the other person in the hallway has yet to say a single word to you. Palms beginning to sweat, you began to scramble to think of something - anything - to cut the silence. As if your insane ramblings weren’t bad enough. He probably thinks you’re even more of a raging lunatic, compounded with what happened last semester. Why, why, of all things why did you have to crave Kraft Dinner for fucks sake-

“I see.”

Your inner monologue was cut short by a low reply. it seemed Kyungsoo deemed your answer acceptable, nodding slowly to himself.

You almost felt your body sag in relief, shifting your weight on the balls of your feet.

As another beat of silence passed, you fidgeted again as you were regarded by the dark haired man. Kyungsoo had yet to make any move towards his own room and you suddenly didn’t know what to do with your hands.

Someone kill me.

You cleared your throat, “Umm...so now that that's cleared up… I’m just going to... go over...there” gesturing to the bathroom. You didn’t even wait for him to answer you as you powered your way past him and slipped into the bathroom, pressing your back against the door as it closed behind you.

You waited with baited breath as you heard silence from the hallway. Eventually after what felt like an eternity, there was a shuffling of feet, and the clicking of a door closing from down the hall.

Silently making the motion of bashing your head against the door, you let out a deep breath. Shaking your head you flicked on the light and picked up Jongin’s papaya face wash.

I mean, that could have been worse.

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

Making your way across campus, you faltered slightly as a yawn made its way through you. After submitting your paper to your professor's dropbox you had spent the day catching up on the never ending tasks you had on your to-do list. You had holed yourself up at the campus library and it wasn’t until your stomach decided to do its best impression of a Harley Davidson that you decided it was probably best to call it a day.

Pulling out your phone you pulled out a delivery app and started browsing the menu for the greek place a block down from your apartment. Flicking through the menu, you contemplated between the Pork Souvlaki or the Chicken gyro...maybe Jennie would be willing to go half and ha-.

You halted on the sidewalk.

Right.

Jennie.

Jennie who is currently still at your apartment.

With Jongin.

Well, shit.

Switching to your messages you sent a text to Jennie.

You: All clear?

You watched with bated breath as the three dots appeared at the bottom.

A sock emoji.

Lovely.

Sitting down at a nearby bench, you began sending out a barrage of texts.

After about 20 minutes of asking around you found out that Jisoo was out of town seeing her parents, Rose’s apartment building was apparently being fumigated for the second time this month and Seulgi was having Irene and Wendy over and you didn’t think you wanted to be part of whatever freaky party those three were going to have.

With every text that came in you felt yourself slowly deflate more and more. Placing your hand in your jacket, you grasped the keys that were in your pocket. They felt heavier than they should be.

There was one other option.

Grimacing, you flushed as you remembered the painfully awkward conversation you exchanged with a particular dark haired man this morning. There was no doubt in your mind that he would be home if you went over now, and you didn’t even want to begin imagining how this interaction will go.

You bit down on your bottom lip in worry as you brain tried playing out the various scenarios in your head. All in all, Kyungsoo didn’t seem to care all that much this morning, but then again when have you ever seen Kyungsoo care about anything.

Come on, think. Well, what do we know...

He is a mutual friend (questionable), for starters. If you both are able to get along with the dumperfire that is your friend group you have to have something in common.. Right?

You stopped fiddling with the keys in your pocket as the realization hit you.

Pulling up your contacts you scanned down the list before pressing ‘call’.

“Oi, Jongin. Does Kyungsoo like Greek?”

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

Turns out no, Kyungsoo does not, in fact, like Greek.

According to Jongin, Kyungsoo is obsessed with this weird hole-in-the-wall Italian place that had handmade pasta. What was supposed to be a 10 minute walk ended up taking 45 minutes as you got lost 3 times, and once you finally found the store the doors were locked. What restaurant shuts down from 3 to 5 on a Friday?

Hipster pasta makers, apparently.

It was lost to you what the appeal was, but if there was anything that you learned in the years as a young adult living on their own, it was that there were two sure-fire ways to bond with someone:

Get drunk

Eat good food while drunk

The latter was not necessarily limited to ‘good’ food - after a few shots to you a McNugget is like a Michelen meal. However you had a gut feeling that Kyungsoo wouldn’t be too welcoming if you showed up with tacos and tequila.

So did you wait around for an hour and a half just to order something you could have bought as Lean Cuisine?

You bet your ass you did.

Because nothing says I’m sorry I know we barely know each other but our friends are banging so were kind of stuck together quite like overpriced spaghetti and meatballs.

Adjusting the paper bag in your arms you walked up to the familiar door. Fumbling with the key you finally managed to wedge it open and stepped through the threshold.

Unlike the last time you entered the apartment, this time you weren’t met with silence. The lights were already on and the sound of the TV filtered throughout the apartment. Toeing off your shoes and arranging them neatly next to the pair by the door.

Arms full of take out you were all of a sudden nervous to turn the corner.

You are once again reminded of the fact that you are very much not close with this man and this will probably be the first time you ever said more than 4 sentences to him in one sitting. And now you are about to have dinner together, alone.

"You kind of have to approach him first, and then see how he responds. He just needs time to warm up to you, you'll see"

Kim Jongin don’t you fail me now.  

Kyungsoo was sitting on the couch looking at his phone when you entered the living room. He immediately looked up and you watched his eyes widen marginally at your presence, clearly not expecting you back.

“I…” The mini speech you had been preparing during the 12 minute walk to the apartment died in your throat as you made eye contact with the dark haired man in front of you. The look he gave you left you momentarily thrown, it was a look that instantly made you think that he was annoyed with you with the way his eyebrows were drawn and the slight frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It wasn’t until you saw Kyungsoo’s eyes slide to the bag in your arms briefly, and the slightest flicker of curiosity gave you the courage to push on.

“Jongin is still my place,” you offered, and watched as his eyes flit back to meet your own.

“So,” you continued, shifting the bag in your arms, “I brought some dinner, as a peace offering of sorts, I guess. I hope you’re hungry, because they gave us enough garlic bread to feed a small Italian village.” you let out an awkward laugh.

Kyungsoo looked at you as if you had grown a second head. You didn’t blame him, but you were too far gone to back down now, even if the man was giving you a shoulder so cold it could freeze Sahara.

Making your way into the kitchen you placed the bag on the counter and began taking plates out of the cabinets, trying to keep your trembling hands busy.

Stupid, stupid, this whole idea was stupid.

As you were transferring the food from the containers you heard a slight rustling behind you.

You almost turned around when you didn’t hear anything else, but then a deep voice spoke up, albeit hesitantly.

“Is that from Giulietta’s?”

Stiffening a smile you did not respond to the man immediately when he materialized at your side.

Humming in affirmation you handed him his plate, which he took slowly, eyeing the food suspiciously.

I swear, this guy.

It wasn’t until you had dished out your own plate that you turned to him finally and gave him what you hoped was a friendly smile.

“So, have you watched the new season of Great British Bakeoff?”

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

“Have a nice weekend? Actually don’t answer that, I really don’t want to know.” You didn’t even look up from your laptop as Jennie slid into the seat next to you at your morning lecture.

“Jongin has been doing ballet for years, I swear I never knew a body could bend like-”

“Ew. Gross Jennie, it’s 9AM”

“I have no concept of time anymore, the man wouldn’t let me sleep-”

“Jennifer, please, this is a sacred place.”

“This is Introduction to Environmental Science, most of the people here are too worried about cleaning baby ducks with Dawn soap than to eavesdrop”

Groaning you buried your head in your hands and took a deep breath. You really should have stopped by the Cafe next door and got some coffee, you aren’t nearly coherent enough to deal with this.

“Hey,” Jennie started, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Thanks again for stepping out and giving us the apartment for the weekend, I really appreciate it”

“You’re lucky I like you.

“Oh please-”

“-I barely got out of there alive.”

“Come on, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

It wasn’t, actually.

Last night you and Kyungoo had sat in their living room and watched the Great British Bakeoff while you ate your dinner. You thanked whatever higher power there was that Kyungsoo was not a stickler for eating at the dinner table. Or maybe he was, but also thought this situation was incredibly awkward and also wanted some sort of distraction to avoid having to make small talk.

It wasn’t wholly unpleasant, you actually found yourself mildly enjoying yourself. He was a man of a few words but every now and again he would sprinkle in some choice commentary here and there, making noncommittal noises when a contestant added a new ingredient.

Odd fellow, this one.

He was polite enough to stick around for a couple of episodes before standing and offering to take your plate.

“Would you like something else? Jongin keeps ice cream sandwiches in the fridge”

“Oh...no, I’m ok thanks”

You were absolutely going to have one later.

Giving a curt nod, he walked back to the kitchen to wash the dishes. After a few minutes he returned to the living room, shifting uneasily on his feet. He had this thoughtful, intense expression, almost searching. For what, you had no idea but it made you fidget nonetheless, breaking eye contact and pick at imaginary lint on your sweater.

You were about to make some excuse about needing to go back to the library - because you sure as hell weren’t going to stick around here -  when he mumbled something about having papers to grade before disappearing down the hall to his room without another word.

A few more moments passed before you let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Well, that’s that I guess.

“It went fine. He was...nice”

“Nice.”

“As nice as you can be with a stranger invading your space unnanounced.”

“So dramatic, it’s not like you two are strangers.”

“I don’t even think he knows my name.”  

“We have all hung out loads of times before-”

“I have spoken to him more in the last 12 hours than I have in the last 12 months”

“And who’s fault is that? If anything, that's progress, you should be thanking me. Kyungsoo’s a hoot”

You leveled her with a look.

“...have I told you how much I love you today?”

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

A/N: Had this in my drafts for over 2 years. Hoping by posting I’ll be motivated to actually finish it~

[angeli-marco-writes]

∘◦❅◦∘ Elizabeth Debicki - Christmas Morning ∘◦❅◦∘

A/N - Elizabeth is a superior human being and I shan’t hear a word against it. She’s so bloody stunning and pure and everything good. I got this idea a while ago, but it’s taken me a while to write it. What better time to upload a Christmas Morning imagine than on Christmas Eve (in my time zone at least). This is not intended to offend anyone, or to intrude on Elizabeth in any way. I do not know her, nor do I claim to. This is a work of fiction. And I’m sorry if you don’t celebrate Christmas, I’m not trying to force it upon anyone. I also used google translate for most of the Polish.

Warnings - Explicit s*x and lots of it. Cursing, Polish cursing. Just 3.4k words of adult content, really. 18+.

Summary - Christmas morning in a hidden wintry lodge is everything you could’ve dreamed of. Then again, it’d be perfect even without the setting and the heating, because all you want for Christmas is Elizabeth, and that she gives you. Wholly.

DAPPLED SUNLIGHT FILTERS through the gap in the curtains, icy and sharp, defining the angles of her face with acute shadows. God she looks so perfect this way, you never want to wake her. 

Usually Liz is the first one to wake up, so this is a rarity, one you’ll never take for granted. She looks so ethereal, so angelic, so incredibly perfect, it makes you wonder what you’ve ever done to deserve this half covered celestial woman in your bed next to you this morning. Perhaps the retreat is doing its work, and she’s finally starting to sleep well. Life away from all the pressures of Hollywood seems to be suiting her, and you, hence the lodge you booked into at the start of the week and don’t plan on leaving until it’s absolutely pertinent. How she’s managed to sleep half naked, though, with only a sheet slung around her hips is beyond you, and you find yourself smiling at the thought. 

With your eyes, you trace the curves of her bare body from the silhouette of the longest and shapeliest legs you’ve ever seen (that look particularly good wrapped around your waist… or neck) to the dips of her hips where the sheet rests tucked a little beneath her, to the gorgeous valley of her perfect breasts and her nipples, already pebbled from the cold air. You can appreciate her face like this as well, more than you usually could; so still and relaxed like no harm could ever come, like she’s your guardian angel, a facts he’s proven again and again, only for you to snatch her breath away by capturing her slightly plump lips in yours, nudging her button nose with yours, gazing into those stunning baby blue eyes. And her hair, God, the choppy blonde locks that only serve to make her more angelic even when she’s acting like a devil, just like on Halloween. The thought alone gives you chills, riding goosebumps on top of your goosebumps, and sending blood rushing simultaneously to your cheeks and your core.  

She lets out the breathiest little moan, and you can’t help but wonder whether she’s dreaming of you, and if she’s just as wet as you are beneath the covers, creating a damp spot where she’s lying on the crisp white sheet, as crisp as the winter snow outside. Her cheeks begin to colour, and now you just have to avert your eyes or you’ll simply pounce her when she needs her sleep. Presents can wait. 

The view outside the window, though, is simply magnificent. Hundreds of tiny snowflakes fall all around, dancing and twirling until they settle into beds of soft snow or fall onto the broad branches of the fir trees lining the property. The perfect white Christmas, and your first together, even if, with your destination, it was expected. 

Eventually, you pluck up the strength to extricate yourself from the warmth of the bed, only to grasp for the nearest jumper, tugging it on to shield yourself from the worst of the cold. Ice bites at your toes this early on in the day, though it’s swiftly dissipated when your feet hit the soft, cream rug next to the carpet on the log-appearance floor, already warmed through enough to make your toes toasty via underfloor heating.

You ensure to keep your footsteps soft, padding along the floor and treading over any obstacles until you reach the door, and even then only opening it a sliver more than you need to slip through the gap. Yawning, you trek down to the kitchen, pulling the sweater tighter around you. It smells of Liz, of her perfume, and that indescribable smell of roses that is so distinctly her. 

Popping the kettle on, your mind drifts from the sound and last night's activities hail you, willing you to forget that you’re in the kitchen and to just think of the way she kissed you, touched you, fucked you-  The bubbling stops, and you’re grounded once more, but even so you can still feel her touch scorching your skin, burning you with every graze of her fingers over your legs, your stomach, your-

And that's when you nearly drop the mug of boiling tea onto your bare feet. You have to physically shake the sensation from you if you want anything done before heading back up to bed. You make Elizabeth’s tea the way she likes it: white, one sugar, just like her, and wrap the mug cosies around each cup to keep them toasty, even while she’s still asleep. You tiptoe back upstairs, the ghost of her touch sending shivers down your spine, and as you softly kick the door open, cautious to keep your balance so as to not spill tea all over your sprawled self on the floor, you’re surprised to find Liz sitting up n bed, laying on her elbows, her hair slightly more coiffed, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. Your eyes dart to the safe, a bubbling of excitement fizzing in your stomach just to make this morning better.

“Merry Christmas baby,” She coos in that delectable accent of hers. 

“Happy Christmas darling, did I wake you?”

She shakes her head reassuringly, and opens her arms for you. “Though I’d have been much happier if you’d woken me up in a better way than with tea, though I’m ever so grateful.”

You put the mugs down and bend to kiss her lips, tasting only desire in the tender brush. She brings her hand up to wrap around your back, drawing you impossibly closer to her until your whole body is covering hers. She’s wearing that stupid Christmas cardigan you told her not to buy, the terrible clash of red and green and gold being a lot for your eyes to take so early in the morning, but the soft material tickles your back so delightfully, warming you up, so you can’t complain.

“Were you dreaming of me?” You husk in her ear.

“Mmhm, only of you.”

You bring your lips down to her neck, kissing her pressure point ever so gently, only to suck on her skin feverishly enough to leave a hickey and have her moaning already.

“Don’t stop- fuck.”

Your hips begin involuntarily bucking into hers, creating a delicious friction while your mouth works on her weakest spots. For once, neither of you has to worry about leaving marks on the other: free rein to mark each other up in whichever way you choose. In truth, this is your favourite time to just be with Elizabeth, nothing and no one to worry about, especially no paparazzi and no one trying to catch her out. 

Without wasting another second, you bring your lips back to hers, your mouths colliding deliciously. She weaves her hand into your hair, tugging you closer, drawing you closer into her warmth and the taste of her wholly. She’s yours, and this morning you certainly plan on proving that, starting with shucking off her cardigan, followed by your jumper, flinging them both across the room. 

“Someone’s eager.” She giggles, her accent sounding above lush to your ears, especially with that gorgeous morning husky quality. 

“Always.”

You begin to nip at her jaw, she claws at your back, her nails leaving crescent moons in their wake already. Grasping at your hair, she forces you to go lower. Grazing your teeth over her neck, her shoulders, her collarbones, she’s already getting desperate. You can always tell the signs: Her back slightly arching, her hips rolling from side to side and up and around in circles to grasp onto any thread of friction she can, and then there’s those pretty little whimpers she thinks are too quiet for you to hear. You listen closely every time for them, the most darling sounds she makes, they drive you crazy. They also waive your will to tease her, leading to you always giving in. Today is no exception, other than the fact you begin to tease her pebbled nipples with your tongue much faster than you usually would. 

“Laska,” She moans, pushing her breasts further into your mouth, her hand moving up to clasp around the back of your head, beginning to control your movements.

You’d be lying if you didn’t say Liz’s boobs were the sexiest you’ve ever seen in my life, but when she speaks Polish, it really gets you going. In fact, tweaking her other bud between your forefinger and thumb, pulling gently while you leave hickeys all across her one breast. She’s really getting what she asked for, using that breathy, ungodly voice to call you the sweetest names. 

If you had it your way, you’d be making her come using her breasts alone, but Liz has other ideas, pulling you up by your heir until she’s pinning you to the bed, her long, slender arms on either side of your head, trapping you in. She looks so… elegant. 

“Moja cudowna dziewczyna.”

Jesus Christ she’s gonna be the death of you. You look up at her with wide, starry eyes, completely enthralled with every movement she makes, even the slight quirk of her lips, every blink, every breath. She’s trailing her hand down your body, her fingers between your breasts, her palm over your stomach, two lean digits swiping through your slick, having you a mewling quim under her control as soon as the soft pads of her fingers make contact with your core. She teases your entrance a little before gliding in in one swift movement. Your whole body seems to vault up from the bed, wrapping yourself around Elizabeth as an instinct, bringing her lips crashing onto yours while she continues her ministrations. The kiss is sloppy yet oh so sexy, a clash of teeth and tongues with a flame of pure passion. She’s pumping in and out of you, faster, faster, and you can feel your climax approaching. She can tell as well, because she begins to speed up, pressing her thumb down on your clit.

“Say it.” You whine, “Say it, baby.”

She moves her hand faster, her wrist flicking with every movement as she fucks you, deep and hard on her fingers. God the things they can do…

“Wesołych świąt, seksowna.” She purrs, right in your ear.

The most delectable shiver of arousal runs down your spine, electrocuting every nerve ending in your entire body. You’re on fire, and within a second of her strokes continuing, her fingertips curling to get that exact spot she always knows how to reach, you come with a scream of her name, your hands yanking at her hair as she grunts. She flops down onto your body, every inch of your skin touching, and yet she doesn’t stop her movements, every single jolt of her elbow elongating your high beyond what you thought it could. An almost out of body experience, and all you can see is her, all you can feel is her. Everything is just Liz as she kisses you. Hard. Finger-fucking you through to your second orgasm where all you can hear are her coaxing words. You can feel her, too, desperately grinding against your leg. If you had any control over your brain or mouth whatsoever, you’d be teasing her for being so desperate, your eager baby, yearning so much to come that all she can do is ride your thigh; but apparently your mouth can’t do anything but whimper. 

“Pierdolić, królowo.” followed by a faint cry are the clearest thing before you're taken away into your memories. 

The first time you heard that word was the most heavenly moment of your existence. You and Elizabeth had been dating for a small while, keeping it on the down low, never sharing more than a kiss for weeks and weeks. Until one fateful night, after a nice dinner, she finally invited you in and it was not a night to forget. 

Round two, this time you made it to the bed, and seeing her beneath you was a sight and a half. Her pale skin against her dark sheets, a stark and striking contrast, only complimented further by her halo of long curly blonde locks surrounding her head. Her soft pink lips parted, her eyes squeezed shut, one hand clamping onto her pillow to anchor her, the other in your hair. Her back keeps arching off the bed as she approaches her high, crashing back down as soon as you ease off the intensity of your mouth on her core. You’ve edged her again and again even though she’s overstimulated already, sensitive all over. You know that with just one tweak to her nipples or one kiss to her clit, she’ll be coming all over your tongue. Not that you’re complaining. So after laying off for a moment, you get back to work, delving your tongue into her core, savouring every last drop of arousal that drops into your awaiting mouth, your lips pulling at her clit, your hands holding her legs apart to stop them from closing around your head, becoming your necklace. Not that you’d complain about that either…

“Pierdolić!” She screams, her body practically convulsing, crying out that very same word and her name until her throat grows hoarse. 

Only when she’s almost finished do you feel your own high coming on with absolutely no contact at all, merely the friction of the bed sheets against your sensitive breasts and the lasting taste of her juices on your tongue. The vision of her topples you over as well, your orgasm silent, muffled by her pussy, your quiet moans sending vibrations throughout her whole being until she falls lax onto the bed, spent, smiling dizzily. 

Making your way back up her body, peppering kisses everywhere you can reach, you feel yourself leaving a trail of wetness over her legs and pelvis until you come up to straddle her hips, your chest pressing against hers, your lips meeting in a series of lazy kisses. 

“That was pretty sexy,” She murmurs, her voice weak and oh so sensual, “You like it when I speak Polish?”

You just moan softly, unwittingly in response. She chuckles, her fingers running up and down your spine. Ever since, you’ve seen stars with every orgasm when she speaks Polish to you. 

This morning follows a similar pattern. With you both exhausted from your first round, you curl under the duvet, wrapped in one another’s embrace. She’s so gentle this way, nothing like the intimidating 6ft+ woman that's shown in the press, the one who could kill anyone with so much as a glance. Not that she isn't drop dead gorgeous, but she’s… vulnerable. And with you, here, she can finally be free and be herself with no external challenges or judgement. That’s what makes this so special. 

Skin to skin, heart to heart, lips to lips. You’d take this over anything any day. 

“I love you.” You whisper, kissing her shoulder, darting your eyes up to see her beautiful face. The apples of her cheeks are so pronounced when she smiles that signature way, so quintessentially Elizabeth. God she’s so beautiful, and brave, you’re so glad you get to touch her all the time. 

Trailing your fingers over her chest, your hand comes up to rest on her bare breast, uncovered by the duvet. She hums absently, her everlasting touch console for you. 

“This reminds me of The Night Manager,” She says, turning her head on the pillow to face you. 

Your ears prick up; “How come?”

“The cardigan, the snow from when we were in the alps, your hand on my boob like Toms was.” 

She’s wearing that smirk, the one that tells you exactly what she wants. 

“So now I’m just on par with Tom?”

“Mhm, yeah you are, baby.”

Her smirk widens, mischief glittering in her gorgeous eyes. You chuckle to yourself; this is often her way of instigating another round. 

“So I’m just a mediocre white man on a film set with you?” I draw her one nipple between my teeth, my hand massaging the breast it’s already settled on, eliciting a little moan and a vehement nod. God, she’s such a switch. “So you’re telling me that I don’t fuck you better than he can? The fact I have your whole body quaking beneath me in seconds flat when all he got after God knows how many takes was a little twitch?” Again, the same response. “Are you telling me that I’m not the best shag you’ve ever had, darling?”

Silence. You’ve caught her in her own trap, and now, like earlier, she’s just dying to be overpowered. Her torso relaxes a little, her arms falling away, her eyes opening wide, expectant. 

“I’ll fucking prove to you that I’m the best you’ve had and ever will have.” you guarantee pridefully.

Pressing a soft and gentle kiss to her lips, your grip on her body is anything but, lifting her limber body off the bed and on top of you. She’s rendered surprised, unable to fight you, just a lopsided smile proving her consciousness while her hands on your cheeks prove her willingness. That twinkle in her eyes that never goes away is good enough to soften your demeanour for a second while you adjust yourself with the headboard, only to take Liz by surprise again, licking a bold stripe from her opening to her clit, her jaw dropping in a silent ‘O’. Kitten licks to her dripping hole are your next move, the bare minimum of contact, reading her a little, but the look of sheer beauty on her face, completely fucked out while she sits on your face is indescribable. You’re not going to drag this out, you’re gonna go fast and rough and truly make it worth her while. 

“I love the way you taste, baby.” you tell her as sweetly as you can, pressing your tongue into her leaking hole, clenching around nothing. 

She makes a mad grasp for the headboard, wrapping her hands around it, bowing down a little, her breasts in your direct eye line, her nipples hovering just where you want them, pebbled pink peaks perfectly placed on delectably rounded breasts, her soft skin covering every inch, the blemishes just a part of her. 

One hand squeezing her ass, kneading her cheeks between your fingers, the other grazing over her gorgeous breasts, your gazes connect. Her eyes focus on yours, your gaze authoritative, demanding for her to keep looking at you, even when it becomes what seems, in the moment, to be the hardest task of her life, just to keep her mouth open as your tongue delves deep into her, reaching as deep as you can go. Your hand on her bum brings her pussy down even closer to your face. You have full access to roam her core as you please, even more when she begins grinding on your face. 

“Keep going, fuck, baby I need you!”

And if that isn’t the hottest thing you’ve ever heard, you’ll be damned. Her one hand leaves the headboard and comes up to her other breast, pulling and twisting her nipple as she grinds faster, gyrating her hips against your mouth. She’s getting close, so close. 

“I’m gonna-”

She doesn’t get chance to finish her sentence before she’s crying out, pleasure washing over her and breaking out a sweat on her skin, small beads dripping down her forehead and cleavage, all thanks to you bringing her bundle of nerves between your lips and suckling while you played with her ass. No matter how hard she tries, her gaze falters, her eyes squeezing shut as her second climax renders her speechless, breathless, boneless, collapsing onto you. Two hundred times at least you must’ve seen her climax, but this? This morning takes the cake. What a fucking brilliant start to Christmas day. 

You both pop to the loo to clean up before wrapping up in your cosy Christmas jumpers and slipping back into bed with your mugs of tea. The smile still hasn’t left her face, and you hope to God it never will. Legs entangled, arms wrapped around one another. She feels so petite and delicate in your grasp even though she towers over you normally. She’s precious, the most precious thing you’ll ever have, the only Christmas present you need. You just hope she knows this. 

“All I want for Christmas is you, Elizabeth. Now and always.” You say to your girlfriend, your partner. Your fiancé if today goes to plan. 

“I love you so much.” She whispers, her lips on your temple.

“I love you.”

With a surreptitious glance to the safe in the corner of the room, you train your gaze back at Liz, only focussed on you as you cuddle up with her, burrowed under the warmth of the duvet. Yeah, this is a pretty perfect Christmas morning.

[cutieodonoghue]

dark gray (1/?)

summary: Killian Jones operates a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, preferring a life of isolation, until one day a woman and a baby wash up on his little island and change his life forever.

read it on: ao3, ff.net

a/n: Hi! I know what you’re thinking… I’ve seen this story before, haven’t I? Yes. Yes you have. (Though, if you’re new to this story, hello and welcome, please enjoy!)

I deleted it a while ago thinking it wasn’t fair to leave it up unfinished if I had no plans to continue writing. But, literally out of the blue the other day, inspiration hit me and I was able to actually finish it! Can you believe it? I can’t.

So, rather than keeping it for myself and my own enjoyment, I thought I’d share with anyone who still wanted to see how this tale ends. I know it had a bit of a following and I still get questions about it to this day.

As an added benefit of this reposting, I’ve made some grammatical changes (because sometimes you re-read and you go, wow yikes I messed that up lol) and added some extra bits here and there to add some color and zing. May as well, right?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! And I swear it’s going to be finished this time. I have an actual ending written and ready to publish!

If you just want to read the new parts, tune back in for chapters 14 and onward :)

Love you friends! <3

///

One

He slams the front door closed and it squeaks on its hinges, swinging and clattering against its cracked and broken frame.

He shoves his fist into his jacket pocket, straightening his gaze ahead of him with a white huff of his breath in the frigid air to mingle with the fog that has descended onto the island.

His boots crunch on the rocks as he carries himself onward and he takes note of all the things he has in store for his day. It isn't much, never is, and he curses his sailor's blood for the ungodly hours.

The ground is still damp from last night's storm and the air still smells of it. It had been an unruly thing, the storm, and he'd woken several times at the sound of lightning spiking nearby.

As he walks toward the lighthouse, he shifts his gaze to the ocean that's lapping up against the shore nearby. The water sprays at him and he grits his teeth, breathing in salty gusts of air through his nose.

He narrows his eyes, stopping dead in his tracks the instant he notices a lump lying at the shore, the foaming water washing over every few moments.

The blood drains from his face and his heart begins to pound just a little bit faster, a throbbing beginning to sound in his ears.

He stares for a moment longer, then shifts his gaze a little further up the shore to a brown basket nestled in seaweed and wet sand.

Curiouser and curiouser.

His brow furrows slightly and he pulls his hand free from his jacket so he can comb through his hair nervously.

He starts for the two washed up mysteries quickly, breaths coming out in nervous, shaking huffs, and when he reaches the blue lump, he kneels down beside it.

It's a woman.

She appears to be a few years his junior with sopping wet blonde hair and fair skin. When he examines her, she's breathing, but she's passed out cold. There’s blood oozing from a wound in her forehead and he's sure something's wrong with her leg, because it's twisted obscurely.

He winces a little, unsure of what to do. He's about to stand and lift her over his shoulder to help her when a high-pitched squeaking and crying emanates from a little further down the beach in the brown basket.

He can hardly hear the ocean now with how loudly his heart races in his ears.

He rises slowly, cursing under his breath as he makes his way toward it.

"Bloody hell," he mutters, looking down at the basket.

There is a baby, not a small baby, but a baby nonetheless, lying inside, wrapped tight in a blanket, squirming and crying. It's cheeks are red and it looks absolutely miserable.

He can't blame him. A day like today leaves much to be desired.

Killian Jones crouches down beside the child and holds out his arms, glaring briefly at his hook for a left hand, then, with a shake of his head, he reaches in and carefully lifts the child into the crook of his arm.

Having never held a screaming baby before in his entire life, he hasn't a clue of what to do. He bites down on his tongue and grimaces.

"Quiet down," he tries, "You'll get nowhere crying like that."

The child, miraculously, stops.

Killian sighs. "Let's get you inside then. Can't have you out to freeze, hm?"

He stands again, reaching down for the basket with his hand before turning to trudge back to his residence. Worry fills him from head to toe as he looks at the woman again.

Since she's out of it, she can wait until he's settled the child down. He thinks he knows better than to leave such a small human being out in the cold of the morning with no nourishment or comfort.

The baby squirms in his hold and he winces again in fear, because it isn't as if he has a firm hold on the fragile being. He finds his pace quickening almost instinctively.

Killian pulls the door open with his index finger and it slams behind him loud enough that it makes the child cry again. He starts hushing it as he sets the basket on the table in his kitchen, knocking over a bottle of beer from last night in the process.

He doesn't bother to clean up his mess, deciding to take the child into the small living room off of the kitchen where he builds a cradle of sorts out of blankets and pillows he can find.

He settles the fussing child down into the center of the mess and goes to stoke at the fire that's dying out in the fireplace. While it's warming up, he goes into the kitchen for milk.

He thinks that's what babies eat, right?

He isn't sure if it should be cold or warm and hesitates with the milk glass for a few moments, struggling to even find something to use that will fit in the child’s mouth. He decides on using a cleaned beer bottle for the time being and warms up the milk in the microwave before pouring it into the bottle and carrying it into the living room.

"Here we are," he says gruffly, setting himself down next to the lump in his couch. He awkwardly shifts the baby and uses his thumb to cut off the flow as he settles the lip against the child's mouth. "In we go. You're hungry, aye?"

It takes a few moments and some of the milk dribbles out on the baby's chin, but eventually, all of the milk goes straight into the hungry child's stomach, the baby's eyes falling closed as it continues to suckle.

Killian figures he'll have to find something to use as diaper cloths. He'll do that after bringing the woman inside.

It's a mystery to him how two people could wash up on his island.

It isn’t as if he’s in a highly trafficked area. It's not even in a shipping lane. In fact, ships rarely come along- only for his monthly supplies.

After the boy finishes the milk, Killian puts the beer bottle on the floor and looks down at the child with a furrowed brow.

He hasn't spent nearly enough time around children to know what to do with him now that he's eaten, and Killian sighs as he decides to strip him of the damp blanket and outfit he's sporting.

Killian tucks the boy into the pillows and blankets again, covering him up so he thinks he's warm, and then carries the wet and cold items over to the fire, hanging them to dry.

With one final check on the sleepy child, he nods to himself and zips up his coat to go grab the mystery woman.

He isn't a horrible man. He likes to think himself rather good on his better days. But he isn't a man who enjoys the company of others. In fact, one of the reasons he's still on this island is because he can't stand himself around others.

He can't trust himself around others.

Killian takes a sharp breath of the cold air and lets it back out of his nose, eyes set determinedly on the blue and yellow lump on the shore.

When he reaches her, he sighs, balling up his hand tightly into a fist before leaning down to scoop her up and onto his shoulder. He's careful with his hook and he grunts a bit when her weight is added to him. She's not very heavy, but he's not used to carrying much weight, so he is quick when he makes his way back to his home.

He moves with expertise through the small residence to his bedroom, the only bedroom, and settles her down on his bed.

She's absolutely soaked to the bone and incredibly cold to the touch. Her blonde hair fans around her head, some of the strands sticking to her peaceful cheeks and forehead.

She's still blissfully unaware of anything that's happened, so Killian hesitates for a moment longer before deciding to start the fire in his room.

As soon as the flames breathe warmth into the small room, he goes to the trunk at the foot of the bed and pulls out blankets to cover her with.

He decides that he should take her dress off to try to avoid hypothermia, so he takes a deep breath, leaves the blankets at her feet, and sets to peeling the wet article from her flesh.

Luckily for him, she's out enough that she doesn't wake as he's taking her britches off, and he purposefully covers her with blankets before he goes to find her something of his to wear in place of her dress while it dries.

Carefully, Killian puts a long sleeved shirt over her top and a pair of loose-fitting pants over her bottom, then slides a pair of socks over her feet and covers her with three blankets, ensuring her entire body is tucked safely and securely beneath them.

Her teeth have begun chattering, a new development that’s somewhat assuring.

In the process of slipping the pants on, he'd noticed bruising around her right knee and his thoughts easily drift to wondering what could've happened to her, but he can't know until she wakes, so he stores his curiosity and continues to ensure she's sufficiently warmed.

He figures he'll have to tend to her wounds later when she's awake and can tell him more and decides to go check on the child instead while she sleeps.

Killian leaves his bedroom after draping the woman's clothes over the fire to dry. His boots clump along the hardwood floor noisily and he sighs as he settles onto the couch beside the sleeping babe.

If there was anything he'd imagined his day as being like, it wasn't this.

He was supposed to check on the lightbulbs and make note of what needed fixing after the storm, get started on the list, and then drink himself to sleep after a supper of whatever he might scrounge up.

He isn't sure he can just leave the child and the woman here, not when they might wake up at any moment, so he watches the tiny being as he breathes before nodding in affirmation and carrying the tentative baby bottle into the kitchen.

Killian goes about fixing a stew from what he's got in the pantry and figures a way to feed the child with things in his cabinets.

He's sure the woman will be quick to mother him. Perhaps the child belongs to her- he isn't sure.

And anyway, he won't be stuck with them for very long. Just four weeks before the supply ship comes and he'll send them out and away from him again. He'll just have to deal with them in the meanwhile.

He settles back against the cabinets as the stew cooks on the stove, thinking about what he'll do about sleeping arrangements for the coming few weeks, when he hears the child erupt into a screaming cry.

He springs to work, grabbing the already heated milk from the stovetop and bringing the new bottle with him so he can comfort the infant if it's what it needs.

Killian sits beside the lump of blankets and pillows and lifts the child, whose fussing comes to hiccups as he settles him into his arms.

He frowns at the baby. "'s that all?"

He doesn't enjoy holding the child. It's awkward and uncomfortable and it reminds him all too much of a past he'd very much like to forget, so he sets the boy down again and is greeted by his wails once more.

He growls a little, shaking his head.

"You don't understand," Killian says sternly. "I can't hold you."

For a moment, they're sitting there in a stare-off of sorts, and Killian locks his jaw, shaking his head again before opening his mouth to reprimand the shrieking child when his bedroom door opens.

His gaze shifts immediately to the woman, who looks pale and sickly, leaning against the door jamb with all of her weight.

He stands, holding his arms out as she staggers a little.

She swallows and opens her mouth, looking down at the screaming bundle of flailing limbs on the couch.

Killian hastily lifts the boy into his hold to quiet him again and it works. It's overwhelming to hear his cries, to say the least, and when he moves to go to her, she follows him with her emerald eyes.

"Where am I?" she asks, voice wavering.

He shakes his head. "Don't worry yourself with that. You need to get back into bed."

Killian sets the child down with a wince of anticipation, receiving what he prepared for when the child bursts out in upset. He herds the woman back into the room and watches her cautiously as she limps back to the bed.

She groans and pain creases her forehead when she lies back down. "I heard... crying."

He nods and somehow tucks her back in under the blankets.

"Aye. Apologies. The child appears to have quite the set of lungs." She blinks a few times and he finds himself without words. "Is he… um, yours?"

The woman shakes her head, wincing a little. "No."

Killian runs his eyes down to the base of the bed and shakes his head again, a sigh slipping from his lips at the development. He looks back to her face.

"I'm Emma."

Killian hesitates, shifting a bit on his feet while he examines her sick face. He doesn't know what to do about her. She's clearly running a fever and it's not like he can force her to rest if she doesn't want to.

"Emma, why don't you get some sleep? You don't look well."

She scoffs, closing her eyes. "There was a storm and I fell from the top deck of the ship. I think I broke my leg."

She winces, then reaches down to pull the blankets away.

Bloody maddening woman.

She examines the leg with pain written in her features and he mentally groans, because he certainly is no doctor and she's stranded here with him for another few weeks.

"I could... try and set it," he tells her quietly. Her gaze flits over to him and he sees apprehension in those solid green eyes. "I set many bones in my time in the navy."

She studies him for a second before falling back with a loud sigh.

"Fine."

He eyes her warily, unmoving.

From the other room, the child is still screeching and sobbing and it's making his blood boil angrily, because he is no longer on his own. He no longer has the stability and security of being by himself. He has two people, two needy people, that he's responsible for.

In all of his time as caretaker of the lighthouse, it's been task after task and menial chores, followed by drinking and television- if the damn satellite worked.

It gets lonely, but he's better that way. He can't hurt anyone if he's by himself.

As his hand settles against her bare leg, he searches for the break. He gives her no warning, which in hindsight was a bloody awful idea, and she screams when he sets the bone with a loud crack.

Two screaming strangers in his tiny home on an island in the middle of nowhere. Bloody perfect.

[honey-dewey]

True Trans Soul Rebel

Pairing: Din Djarin/Trans Reader (Not specified whether reader is FTM or MTF)

Word Count: 2,220

Warnings: Mentions of needles and injections, transphobia against the reader. 

Traveling with Mando was an experience, especially after being beat up all your life for being transgender. It’s taken a lot for you to love yourself, but the mandalorian who definitely supports and probably loves you absolutely helps. 

Traveling the known galaxy was a very unique thrill. Seeing new planets every week and sleeping every night on a ship suspended in hyperspace, it was an experience like no other. You highly doubted much could top it. 

Well. Maybe one thing. 

Traveling the known galaxy with a Mandalorian might be able to beat just traveling. 

He was kind to you, which was odd because all your life you’d heard nothing but hushed whispers about mandalorians as takers and hunters. Despite your home planet being in the mandalore sector, mandalorians themselves didn’t have a high reputation there. The only bright spot was the story of Mandalore the Binder, who had been born on your planet. 

But that was in the past. Now, years after you’d left that planet, you were traveling with a mandalorian, which was a huge rush in and of itself. You’d seen so many new planets, and Mando, as he insisted you call him, never questioned the abnormality that had gotten you thrown out of your old family. He saw past the physical and into the skills you had as a mechanic, plus you’d been basically at death’s door when he’d met you. And if there was one thing this mandalorian had, it was a soft heart. 

“Where to now?” You asked, slumped loosely in the copilot’s chair, Grogu asleep in your lap. 

Mando turned, as if he’d forgotten you were there. “Shikaakwa.” 

You paused, trying to remember where that was. “The Tython system? Why are you headed out there?” 

“The quarry I’m hunting is out there.” 

“Oh.” Sometimes you forgot you were traveling with a bounty hunter and not just a weird single father. “Is that the system with Kalimahr?” 

Mando nodded. 

“Sweet,” you said, flicking one of Grogu’s ears simply to watch it move. “I need more Imitoin.” 

You could’ve sworn you heard Mando sigh, but he didn’t move or say anything, so you assumed he’d taken what you said into consideration. 

Shikaakwa was a weird planet. The atmosphere was breathable, so Mando let you take Grogu out to play for a bit. But he was extremely uptight about it, and for good reason. Best you remembered, the planet was still under horrible gangster rule, meaning it was likely unsafe for you outside of the Crest. 

That didn’t stop you from playing outside. 

Mando kept a stern eye on you and Grogu, fiddling with his pulse rifle and tracking fob before finally standing. “I’m going,” he said, catching your attention. “Get back on the Crest and do not leave until I get back.” 

You nodded, scooping Grogu up and waving goodbye. 

“C’mon kiddo,” you said happily, stroking down Grogu’s ears as you walked back to the Crest. “Let’s go screw with daddy’s shit.” 

Four days later, you’d organized everything on board twice and actually got around to fixing the mildly faulty left engine that you’d been putting off for months. Mando hadn’t returned, but you’d gotten a message from him on the third day that he shouldn’t be too much longer. 

On day five, he returned in the middle of the night, the quarry immediately being frozen and locked up before he even thought about finding you. 

You, of course, had been woken by the sounds of Mando returning. It was horribly late and you fell back asleep almost immediately, knowing that Mando would wake you if he needed help. 

When you actually woke the next morning, Mando was landing the ship, which was odd because you hadn’t felt him take off. However, you just yawned and sat up, adjusting your oversized shirt that had once had a logo on it. You slipped out of your bed, patting around for Grogu until you heard him cooing in the cockpit. 

Continuing to adjust your sleep shirt and horribly stained shorts, you wandered around, entirely barefoot, until you reached the cockpit. 

“Good morning,” Mando said, looking over his shoulder as you entered. “We’re on Kalimahr. My docking pass lasts twelve hours, so make them count.” 

You nodded, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “When’d you get back?” You asked, yawning halfway through your sentence. 

Mando’s modulator made an odd noise before he answered. “Late. You fell asleep in my bed, by the way.” 

Immediately, you squeaked out an apology, but Mando waved it off. 

“I wasn’t going to sleep anyway,” he reassured. “Couldn’t stay there any longer.” 

You nodded, still embarrassed. “I’m gonna go get dressed,” you said. “Can you find the closest pharmacy?” 

Mando gave you a gesture of affirmation while you slid out of the cockpit and down into the fresher. 

Dressing was always interesting. Mando thought it was impressive that you’d learned how to care for yourself in the dark, and you hated how sad you’d sounded as you explained why. Every time you saw your body it made you want to scream and cry. 

“One day,” you mumbled to yourself, blindly locating your favorite tank top. “One day I’ll get that damn surgery.” 

When you finally got dressed, you were able to flick the lights on, admiring yourself in the grimy mirror. This outfit was a favorite of yours, with the olive green tank top and overalls you hadn’t stained too badly yet. You preemptively wrapped a grey fabric baby carrier around your chest, knowing you’d probably be taking Grogu today. Overtop that, you had a loose brown jacket that came down past your knees, the patches and overly large hood giving it character and telling your story. 

Lacing up your black work boots, you grabbed the tiny trash can that was stowed away in the fresher corner, intent on getting rid of whatever trash had been accumulated. 

“Let’s go!” You shouted up to the cockpit, using your foot to open the portable incinerator you kept on board for the trash. 

As you emptied the trash can, you absently watched the contents burn. Your syringes took a minute, along with the few empty glass medicine bottles. The bandages burned quickly, but what made you recoil was the very strong smell of burning hair. 

“Mando!” You yelled, looking behind you as his boots firmly stepped off the ladder. 

“What?” 

You closed the incinerator, wrinkling your nose and walking past him to put the trash can back. “Next time you cut your hair,” you said, walking back to him and taking Grogu from his arms. “You’re emptying the trash into the incinerator. It smells like shit.” 

Mando chuckled, watching you adjust Grogu into your baby carrier. “Deal.” 

Your trip into the city was relaxing. At least, much more relaxing than waiting for Mando on board the Crest while he probably got himself shot at multiple times. When you stepped into line at the pharmacy, a few people gave Mando a look, one mother tugging her child closer to her side. You rolled your eyes. Mando wasn’t a completely uncivilized killer. At least not all the time. 

He turned a blind eye to the hesitation as the line moved forward. When it was finally your turn, you put on your kindest smile and spoke sweetly to the four armed woman manning the window. “Hi! I need a six month supply of Imitoin-126, with the syringes.” 

The woman eyed Mando and Grogu before addressing you. “Can I see your card?” 

You dug your prescription card out of your pocket, sliding it across the counter. The woman took it and examined it before giving it back. “I’ll go grab you a box of that. Is there anything else I can get you?” 

You thought about the supplies on the Crest. “Mando?” You asked. “Do we need anything?” 

“Bacta patches,” Mando said after mulling it over. “And probably some more painkillers.” 

“Cool.” You turned back to the woman. “Two boxes of bacta patches, one medium and one small, and one bottle of Omnipril please.” 

The woman nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

While you waited, you stroked Grogu’s ears, making him giggle whenever you gave them a light tug. Mando watched, occasionally reaching out to tug on Grogu’s ears himself. 

The woman came back after a few minutes, your various purchases in her arms. “That’ll be three twenty five.” 

You gave her the credits, accepting the bag of stuff she handed you. “Have a nice day.” 

“You too!” You said cheerily, putting the bag in your leather satchel for safekeeping.

The rest of your day was mundane. You picked up a few more purchases, namely food and parts for the Crest. Eventually, Mando split off to find something specific for his pulse rifle, leaving you to absently browse in the city’s center. 

While you looked over a new pair of welding goggles, you heard a commotion behind you. Turning, you noticed a group of protesters standing outside an unassuming white building, harassing someone who was just trying to get in. 

“Excuse me?” You stepped up, despite knowing you’d probably be giving Mando grey hair if he could see you right now. “What’s going on?” 

One of the protesters pointed at the person, who you assumed from the white coat was a doctor. “This doctor is a disgrace!”

“Why?” You were genuinely curious now, putting a protective hand over Grogu’s chest just in case this got ugly. 

“They are willingly defiling the natural form!” The protester said firmly. “They would actually perform a procedure to change the body and make it something else! To turn people into ungodly abominations!” 

You stepped back, not wanting to get involved now. “Oh. Well.” 

The protester glared at you. “You do not find this disgusting?” 

“I-“ You took another step back, flinching away from another protester who grabbed your bag, the abrupt action spilling its contents on the cobblestone. 

“They are a disgrace!” The protester shouted, seeing your Imitoin hit the ground. “A disgrace!” 

Immediately, the protesters ganged up on you, forcing you to your knees, curled around Grogu in a desperate attempt to protect him. 

“Hey!” A loud and familiar modulated voice broke the vicious cycle of abuse, causing you to look up. 

Mando stood in the center of the cobblestone circle, his shoulders squared. 

“Leave,” he growled, taking a step forward. 

The protesters scattered, running off, leaving you and the doctor. The doctor reached your crouched form first, slowly helping you to your feet and gathering your purchases to place back in your bag. “Are you okay?” 

You nodded, wiping tears from your eyes. “Yeah.” 

The doctor smiled, looking up at Mando. “If you ever need anything,” she said softly to you, handing you a small card. “Come back here, okay?” 

Mando put an arm around you, carefully tugging you to his side. “We’re going home,” he said tightly. 

The walk back to the Crest was silent. Mando kept his arm around you the entire time, and your head remained bowed as the Crest got closer and closer. 

When you were finally curled up in the cockpit of your home, you broke. 

Mando, thankfully, wasn’t as much of an emotionally stunted brick as people assumed. He wrapped you in a beskar hug, slowly putting his forehead on top of your head as you sobbed. “It’s okay,” he reassured softly, smoothing a hand up and down your back. “It’s okay.” 

You continued to cry until your body had nothing left, leaving you exhausted and horribly dehydrated. Mando let you sit in the pilot’s chair, grabbing a water bottle and watching closely as you drank half of it in one go. 

“Let’s do your medicine and then you can take a nap,” he said finally, once you’d put the water bottle down. “While you sleep, we can head back to Nevarro.” 

You nodded, silently taking your coat off and unwrapping the grey baby carrier from your body. Grogu was in his pram, half asleep already. 

Mando carefully helped you to his bunk, turning away so you could take your overalls off and slip into your sleep shorts. Once you’d done that, he handed you the empty syringe and the new bottle of Imitoin. You expertly filled the syringe and stuck yourself in the thigh. It didn’t make you nervous anymore, as it did in the beginning. Mando watched, sticking a bandage to the small puncture hole while you disposed of the syringe. 

“Are you okay?” He asked finally. 

“Yeah,” you whispered, settling down on the mattress. 

Mando sighed, beginning to take his armor off and pile it on the floor. Once he was left in just his tank top, pants, and helmet, he laid down beside you, shutting the door and plunging the small sleeping area into darkness. 

“C’mere,” Mando murmured, tugging you closer. You tangled your legs with his, losing yourself in the broadness of his chest. 

You drifted off, waking up a bit when a small hiss filled the space. 

“Whassat?” You mumbled, looking up at where you thought Mando’s head was. 

A dull clunk and a soft sigh woke you a bit more as you realized what was probably happening. 

“Go to sleep,” Mando murmured, his voice richer now that it was unmodulated. “I’ll stay until you do.”

You fell asleep slowly, cuddled up to Mando. He did his best to relax you as you drifted, scratching slightly at your scalp and hardly moving as you finally let the world melt away, held safe in the arms of the mandalorian who loved you.

[filippoinzaghi]

So this was supposed to be finished weeks ago. I originally wrote this because @blindbatalex felt sick and I wanted to make him feel better. All in due time ! A sequel to laughter on flour-full battlefield. It’s late, there are probably mistakes in it but I just wanted to finally share it.

_______________________________________________________________

Gary N.eville did not spy on people, least of all one Jamie C.arragher, thank you very much. If he decided to follow him in the middle of the night, it was simply because it so happened their rooms were adjacent and the Scouse nuisance could not keep quiet, even if his life depended on it. It was way past midnight after all, what was he even doing? 

Gary would have loved to say C.arragher had woken him up but it seemed he could not sustain his old sleeping schedule as well as in his youth (who was in bed by 9 these days, anyway?). The fact remained, however, that for whatever reason, their rooms were next to one another and N.eville could usually hear what happened on the other side of the wall and vice versa. 

Not that he tried to listen. Sometimes. Well- someone had to make sure he was not up to trouble.

So of course, when he heard Jamie’s door open and close, he pushed his glasses back on his nose and followed him suit, trailing behind as if he came straight out of a detective movie. Gary smirked as his- what, colleague? that did not exactly cut it. Friend? Since when was he consorting with the enemy? He was not entirely sure these days. They did seem to have reached a common agreement to team up - as subtly as they could - whenever needed: it took two to bake off, they couldn’t afford risking one of them leaving the show. 

For the sake of competition, obviously.

Gary realised Jamie had long gone from the corridor when he stopped his train of thought. He cursed and went on, taking a hazardous guess as to where he could have gone. 

He finds him some twenty minutes later - and a very murderous look at the plant that almost made him trip on his way out - under the long white marquee. It looks grey now, with the silver rays the moon casts over it. If he didn’t know any better, Gary could almost believe that the pole tent had appeared magically and he would enter an otherworldly realm. 

Ha takes in a breath, his stomach suddenly clenching at the outdoor scene. He never really pays attention when they film the show, too busy that he is trying to prove he is the superior baker of the Sky Sport duo. But now he does and he’s not really sure why he is feeling unsettled. You worry too much, old muppet, he admonishes himself. 

Gary crosses the threshold, the park overtly silent. 

Jamie is at his station, apron on. His back is turned towards Gary and his right arm goes in rapid circles, in what Gary can only guess is a pot or a bowl. He stands there, immobile, for a moment, just looking at the motion of Jamie’s muscles, at the sight of him baking - of all things! - at an ungodly hour. As strange as it sounds, he finds the sight comforting. Almost… Endearing, for a Scouser. 

“You’re here.” Jamie says eventually, barely surprised at Gary’s presence.

The older man smirks. “Were you waiting for me, James?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he goes back to his preparation in the pot. Gary can already smell what is softly brewing and he can’t hide the satisfied hum that comes out of his mouth. 

“Chocolate…” He whispers.

He expects C.arragher to get back at him with a witty retort: something about his sweet tooth, his soft and round edges or something along those lines. But he doesn’t. 

“It’s your favourite brand.” Jamie merely states, stirring the melted cacao, still not looking at Gary. 

The man stops, three feet away from the wannabe-baker. Bewildered is an understatement of how his face looks. Why would Jamie, of all people, use his favourite chocolate brand, specifically, for a late night pastry? Why would he even say it? He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost missed the apron Jamie threw his way.

“C’me on, help me a little since you’re here.” Gary remained in his spot. “Go on, you know I don’t bite.” 

Gary eyes the apron warily, but instead of the liverbirds and the offensive red he had almost expected, it was simply cream-coloured; rough on the surface, yet soft the longer he passed his hand on it. Kind of like- What was it with him tonight? Thinking about-

“Separate the eggs from the yolks and whisk the egg whites.” Jamie instructs him, his voice soft, almost live velvet. It’s devoid of the poison he knew he would have gotten years ago. It’s devoid of the mocking tone that is never far between them. It’s devoid of all the things he knows of Jamie. It simply is… Soft. 

Gary doesn’t say anything and gets to work. It wouldn’t do well to dwell too much on it, anyway. He doesn’t do dwelling, he just… Represses whatever occupies his mind for too long, lest he’d become unfocused, sloppy. 

Distracted. 

He knew what it felt like. Experienced first hand the pains of heartbreaks, unrequited loves and the constant mask he needed to put on with most people around him. It had been a matter of survival first, a way to keep his dream afloat and for a time it mattered very little if he was alone in his big mansion. But then the silence was too deafening, his mind too chatty for his own good. So he pushed everything back, like you would hastily hide a badly-folded sweater in a fashion store. Urgent. Quick. Fleeing. He went on, never to look back (mostly). His strategy has worked for the past thirty years or so, so why change it.

“You’re not as discreet as you think, you know?” 

Again, Jamie’s voice brings him back to the present task at hand, grounds him. 

“What?”

“How I knew you’d come. I heard you come out of your room.” Jamie does not look at him, concentrated on whipping what Gary guesses is a cake preparation. 

They continue to work in silence, the night only disturbed by the grazing of the leaves against the cool breeze, a forlorn owl crying out in the dark, simply wanting to be heard. 

“What are we doing?” Gary asks as he’s almost done whisking the egg whites. 

“You’ll see.” 

He has this smirk on his face, the teasing one. But different. It’s rounder around the edges, his eyes a little bigger, earnest. Gary doesn’t push it, lets his colleague keep his mysterious air and words hang between them. He readjusts his glasses.

“Why baking?” It seems he can’t stop himself from asking the questions. Maybe it’s his curiosity or maybe it’s the night or maybe it’s Jamie being there, softness and calmness fleshed out under the moonlight. 

It’s dark outside, maybe tomorrow he’ll pretend it never happened. 

“S’relaxin’. Helps me clear me head.” The Scouser murmurs, putting the bowl down and grabbing the egg whites to incorporate them to the mix. 

Gary does not dare ask what he needs his head cleared for. 

They remain under the marquee, slouched over Jamie’s station while the cake bakes, gently rising in the oven. The smell escapes its small prison of heat and tickles their nose. Gary’s stomach growls a little. Jamie smiles, he can see it from the corner of his eyes but he says nothing. The silence is fine, however. Quiet, peaceful, not at all awkward like he could have imagined. 

“Are we breaking any rules?” Gary asks, his voice muffled by his arms.

Jamie turns slightly, amused. “What, feeling a thrill if we do, Gary?

He doesn’t back down, mirrors the smirk he is given. He doesn’t flee. He’s not sure what it is - the marquee, the night or something else - but he doesn’t want to. 

“And what if I say yes?”

Jamie’s face is awfully close suddenly. The moonlight highlights the grey of his temples, the trace of time on the Scouser’s face. Grey suits him, Gary thinks. Grey hair, grey suits, grey beard. 

Maybe he could move a little to have a closer look.

Maybe he could close his eyes and-

The oven suddenly rings and makes them both jump. The moment is gone.

“Don’t look!” Jamie instructs, taking the cake out.

Gary doesn’t find it in himself to fight him on this, simply does as he is told. 

“What’s the big surprise, anyway?” He asks, turning his head slightly only to be met by a tea towel.

“I said don’t look.” Jamie repeats.

Gary isn’t sure if he hears a chuckle or if it wavers. Maybe both. Scousers and their - not so - horrible accents, hard to tell. The smell of warm chocolate and spices tickles Gary’s nose and despite Jamie’s off-putting secrecy, he can’t help the smile spreading on his face. The smell is rich, warm and cozy. It reminds him of quiet rainy afternoons when he was a kid and his mom would bake. It reminds him of the wet grass stucking in his hair, of the dirt painting his face in small irregular dots. His mom would always scoff and gently scold him and his siblings, wiping the dirt off their face, the promise of a sweet surprise for tea.

Jamie clears his throat. “Could you uh… close your eyes?”

“Now, what’s the fuss all a-” He said as he was turning and was abruptly stopped by a hand resting right onto his nose to hide his eyes.

“Sorry I-” Jamie began but let the words hang. 

They don’t move for several, long, seconds. Outside the marquee, the night is eerily silent, not an owl, not a branch, nothing. Only their breathing, loud, incredibly loud so suddenly. Jamie’s palm is warm, Gary thinks; warm like a soothing sun when the good days are coming; like the gentle sun of a peaceful vacation day sent walking along the seaside, the spray tickling your nose. 

It’s nice. Almost feels like h-... Suddenly - far too soon for Gary’s taste - Jamie removes his hand. His face is incredibly close, he can see the rough patches of a growing beard on his jaw. The light colours of his eyes. 

The Scouser clears his throat and steps aside, breaking their silent contemplation. 

“So uh… I couldn’t sleep, as you may know. And since I heard you following me I figured… The others will do something grand later today, I guess, but erm… I also wanted to do something for ya. On me own.”

Jamie finally reveals the cake he had hidden. It is covered by a thin chocolate icing and given the tasks he helped with, he supposes the inside consists of your typical sponge cake. 

“Happy Birthday, Gary N.eville.” Jamie says softly, almost shy. 

Gary looks up to him and he… sucks in a breath. He takes his glasses off and puts them back on, just to make sure he is not dreaming. He never expected- not in a million years; he doesn’t…

“Here, have a taste.” 

Jamie has grabbed a small fork and cut a piece of the cake, holding the fork in front of Gary’s mouth, his other hand under in case any crumbs fall off. He whispers as if he’s afraid of his own voice, Gary notes. It’s almost as if he is… stressed? That can’t be it, surely. Jamie C.arragher is not stressed, the fool has been tackling Roy K.eane literally and metaphorically for years now, it simply can’t be. 

Jamie pushes the fork further front to Gary and he is too stunned to have any other reaction than opening his mouth and being fed. 

The chocolate is nice, dark and rich just like-

Oh…

He grabs the fork from Jamie’s hand and takes another bite. 

Yes, no mistake about it.

“How do you know this is my favourite?”

“Well… I guess yer mum was happy someone wanted to surprise you for your birthday.”

Gary falls silent. Words fail him when he thinks of what has just happened. They are dancing on his tongue, waiting to be delivered to the outside world but he doesn’t know how, is not sure he can trust himself to say the right things. So he goes for the next best thing- he always was a man of action after all.

Gary grabs the lapels of Jamie’s apron and kisses him. It’s soft and tentative, almost chaste. When his eyes flutter open, he sees Jamie’s big green eyes, shining with warmth and fondness- a look he has seen already but now he understands. He knows what it meant. 

They go for another kiss.

Longer, hungrier. Hands travelling between hips and backs, caressing a spine here, clasp a waist there. A truly happy birthday.

Outside the marquee, the moon shines brightly above, the grand park and the nearby forest silent. Silent to admire new flowers blooming. 

[kookieskiwi]

Hi! Can I request ot7 mafia au! x reader with the situasion of panic attack "we're here baby take a breath for us". Kookieskiwi I hope you're doing well btw I like your new drabble and I'm in love with it and its make me want more Im sorry 😭. I love you 😘💜

(Akbdiandhe I screamed when I got this notification ❤️ I’m doing really good, thank you for your concern 🥺💕 i try really hard to write things my readers want to read so I’m extremely happy that you liked my recent Drabble 🥺✨ don’t apologize for wanting more! You have no idea how happy it makes me to write for you guys ❤️ and even more so when it’s because you liked one of my previous works so much! I love you so much more and remember ‘you nice keep going’ my lovely 💜😘🤩)

This is the last Drabble they are referring to btw

WARNING: MENTIONS OF A PANIC ATTACK AND MURDER, if these topics are triggering for you I suggest you don’t read this!

-

Today wasn’t a good day for you at all. The boys left before you had even woken up for a deal they had been planning for months now leaving you to spend the entire day alone. You understood they were business men of sorts and with that occupation came ungodly hours of work which often left you alone. But being alone wasn’t that much of a problem because you always had contact with the boys somehow wether it be a simple text message or a quick phone call.

But now, in the early hours of the next morning when you hadn’t heard from them all day; you weren’t okay at all. You kept your phone near you at all times; when you showered, went to the bathroom, cooked dinner for all of you only to put the rest in the fridge, but ultimately you did nothing but lay around the house hoping to hear a ‘ding’ from your phone which never came.

They had been gone for 24 hours without a single word. From midnight to three am you had been calling guards and those who worked under them in case they had any knowledge of their whereabouts but all came back negative. They had been gone for days before but never without checking in every few hours or so to let you know they were okay. Sometimes it was simply a heart emoji or a ‘love you’ which was enough to let you know they were okay.

“Are you sure you haven’t heard anything from them?” You asked one of their subordinates from the agency. “No ma’am, the last we heard from them was right before they left. We’ve been searching everywhere and hacking into security footage around town but they’re good at what they do, they won’t be found easily.” He responded telling you everything you already knew. They were the best of the best when it came to everything including secrecy. Which was great, until now.

“Thank you Soobin, please keep an ear and eye out in case you see or hear anything from them.” You told him sighing, “will do Noona, until then please don’t make any rash decisions. Stay home and if they don’t check in within the next few hours I’ll send someone to get you and bring you to the HQ.” He informed you of his plan which you agreed to easily, it’d be much better being alone with people around as odd as that may seem. You were alone without the loves of your life and without knowing if they were okay or not.

It was now 5 am and they hadn’t checked in with anyone and no one knew of their whereabouts. You tried holding in your tears as the gut wrenching feeling that something had gone wrong hit it was hard not to let a tear fall. Trekking up the stairs to your shared bedroom you didn’t want to see the empty bed so you walked slowly hoping that before you got to the top of the stairs they would come rushing through the door and they’d be safe in your arms once again.

You were tired and worried which was never a good mix for you. The fear of losing the ones you loved the most got to you on the last step of the staircase before you came tumbling down both emotionally and physically. You tried clutching onto the railing to keep you stabilized but it failed as your body crumpled onto the stairs curling yourself into a ball and you resting your head in your hands.

Your stomach felt as if it you were one a roller coaster at the tip top before it fell. The anxiety you had build up during the day was the roller coaster and the falling was you right now. All the way to rock bottom. Your sobs filled the room while you tried to comfort yourself by curling even further into your own body. “Please let them be okay, god please.” You prayed knowing it was the only thing you could do now besides wait. The simple thought of them not making it back home was enough to throw you into a downward spiral.

Ringing in your ears began to drown out the sound of your own cries and please that you were no longer controlling. Your head began to ache with a fuzz which clouded your thoughts and filled your head. Your throat was on fire from crying, you were shaking like a leaf in the wind, you couldn’t hear anything but the blood thrumming through your veins but none of that mattered. No, all that mattered to you was your boys who weren’t here and that was the worst part.

Clutching your pounding head you tried breathing but you couldn’t, you couldn’t do anything but lie there letting yourself fade into your own emotions. Your chest ached as if your heart had physically shattered from the agony of not knowing and knowing you were helpless in this situation.

“Please be okay, please come home to me. I promise to love you for the rest of our lives, I love you all so much God please let them come back home.” You pleaded with your eyes screwed shut. You felt like you were drowning in your own tears, the inability to catch your breath being the main factor in this feeling but your whole body felt under some sort of pressure.

That was until you felt a much heavier pressure on top of that, the numbness you had felt overcome your body slowly went away with the ringing in your ears which allowed you to come to an understanding of what exactly that pressure was.

A person.

Opening your eyes you tried to see but everything was blurry, your tears kept falling no matter how hard you tried to stop. “We’re here baby. Take a breath for us please.” It was Yoongi. Your Yoongi. And he said ‘We’re’ meaning they are all home. Choking on your sobs once again you reach out to him and anyone near you to hold them as close as possible.

“You’re- home.” You sobbed into his chest as him arms reached around you to pull you further into his embrace. You let everything else out in tears of relief. They were home. Alive. Safe. The more you cried the less intense your sobs got and the more you could breath even though it was still hard to regulate your body. “Please never do that again.” Your voice cracked as you squeezed Jimin’s hand in yours sighing but still hiccuped as you tried to calm down.

“We won’t baby. I promise because we are retiring from that job.” Namjoon told you coming close to your face to wipe the tears away, he held your face between his calloused hands which you leaned into, craving to feel him; all of them. “W-what?” You asked confused, you thought you heard correctly but you weren’t sure. After coming down from such an intense panic attack you didn’t know what was real and what was part of your imagination. “We are here, for there rest of out lives. Just you and us. No more late night jobs, no more trades that make us leave for days, none of it anymore. Just us, settling down and staring the family we’ve always wanted.” He explained further making you want to sob even more knowing all your nights of worrying were coming to an end.

You couldn’t help but let a few more tears slip as you smile at them, crying now from the sheer thought of having all of them home safe and sound. “I love you all so much, I was so scared.” You told them shutting your eyes closed once again to cry a little more. “I’m so sorry baby, we were ambushed and we lost all connection with you and the agency. We couldn’t risk them finding our home, finding you, so we hide and we couldn’t contact anyone in fear they had the entire city’s phone system tapped to listen in.” Hoseok told you helping you stand up on your shaky legs only for him to pick you up like a koala and to have you cling to him for dear life.

“Did you kill them? Because if you didn’t I will.” You mumbled looking at the six others who followed behind Hoseok as he walked with you in his arms to the bedroom. They all let out a simultaneous chuckle and you could feel the warmth re-enter your body at the sound. These were the men you loved and lived for. “We did baby, don’t worry.” Taehyung told you with his signature boxy smile as if you weren’t just talking about murder making you giggle.

Hoseok laid you on the bed softly and kept you in his embrace as the others changed and showered before handing you to Jin who kissed all over your face as he helped you shower and relax by massaging you with the bath oils and soap.

After everyone was cleaned and dressed you were tucked into bed between all of your lovers but sandwiched between Jungkook and Jimin. You were in the bed that would no longer be empty when you woke up for went to sleep because you’d have your lovers right beside you for the rest of your life. And you couldn’t be happier at the thought of that.

“What do you say about getting married?”

-

...I’m smelling an epilogue or part two if requested 😏 maybe some brief baby making on their honeymoon?

[magicianapprenticelyra]

Burying the Hatchet

Timeline: Red Plague; a week and a half before the official lockdown.

Their fights have been getting to a fever pitch lately. James and Lyra didn’t always get along, but this was the first time that the two of them ever really got into shouting matches.

Today, the pair had argued in the alley behind Bảo’s shop for the better part of an hour. Despite being masked, their voices could carry quite a distance. After that spat, Lyra decided to stay in The Shop with Asra as James retired to bed early.

This leaves Bảo, Walt, and Neha at the dinner table, awkwardly shuffling around to get dinner ready.

Walt and Neha putter back and forth between the stove. Bảo, dreadfully ill, sits still at the dinner table.

“Baba, do you need more tea?” Neha asks softly.

The man can barely manage a nod, coughing. His lungs wheeze in protest with every other breath he takes.

Neha quickly pours him a cup, helping him get it to his lips. The heat and moisture help to soothe some of his agony, but it is a very, very brief respite.

Dinner for them is a chicken-based broth in some rice. Walt has added some ingredients that she hopes can soothe Bảo’s wrecked body. While Bảo assures her that it helps a bit, Walt can see right through him.

The medicines she’s making do jack shit.

Before long, dinner is done. Neha dutifully does the dishes as Walterine helps Bảo hobble to their shared bedroom.

There are two beds in there: one smaller, to accommodate just one person—because sleeping with two other people every night was not feasible—and a much larger one able to accommodate two to all three of them at once.

James is currently on the smaller one, fast asleep.

At this point, Walt is carrying Bảo, in her arms, to bed. The man’s lost a lot weight, and Walt has an easier time with moving him from place to place like this. As she sets him down, sitting on the edge of the bed, Bảo yawns. He barely takes in a proper breath before painfully wheezing.

Walt swears under her breath.

“Hold still, babe, hold still . . .” Walt’s magenta eyes brightly glow as she presses her fingers to his chest. Positioning them just below the sternum, she uses quite a bit of healing magic.

As she’s been doing for the past week, Walt’s hope is to soothe his lungs long enough for him to sleep soundly. After a minute or so, Walt’s hand drop. With her head pounding from the exertion, she can’t keep back the groan.

“You need to stop,” Bảo pleads. “You’re getting exhausted!”

Walt blinks, carefully removing her glasses to rub at her eyes.

“It lasts only five hours a night, hon,” she murmurs, putting her glasses back on. “This is the least I can do—”

“Before what!?” Bảo hisses, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Until you drop too!?”

“Bảo—”

“No! Stop it!” He takes her wrists into his, begging in a hissed whisper, “You need to take care of yourself . . . the girls are already without one parent—”

“Quit talkin’ like you’re dead already!” Walt frowns, moving her hands to squeeze his into her own. “Won’t do you, me, James or the girls any good, y’hear?”

Bảo inhales deeply, slumping forward to hide his face into her shoulder. Walt sighs, gently holding him in her arms.

“ . . . please get them to stop fighting,” Bảo rasps, shivering. As Walt pulls a blanket up and over the both of them, he pleads, “I don’t want to go before they make up . . .”

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

“I oughta knock both your heads together to get some sense out from the two of you,” Walterine exhales morosely.

She was woken up by the sounds of James stress baking at an ungodly hour of the night. While he waited for his pastries to bake properly, the pair sit across each other at the dinner table.

“. . .”

“Nothin’? Really?” Walt snaps, lips curling in anger. “You know how it’s been affecting all of us? We know you two don’t have the greatest relationship but this is goddamn childish! Childish!”

“Walt—“

“Don’t ‘Walt’ me!” she exclaims. “I want the two of you to make up! What you two even arguing about, now? Neha doesn’t hang out with any of them hooligans anymore!”

James grimaces, averting his gaze from his wife.

That was how this all started: Neha had been spending time with some kids from South End that were up to no good. Lyra was on the side of waiting and seeing Neha come to her senses about them, while James wanted to intervene immediately.

This caused quite the schism between the two of them, and it caught everyone off guard.

Ultimately, Neha broke away from that group when they attempted to rob an old lady at knifepoint. It was around this time that her Baba had started to stay exclusively at home, hacking and wheezing from the smoke of the Lazaret.

“Between the two of you, Ly isn’t grown. You are,” Walterine murmurs, exhausted. “One of you needs to get their head out of their ass and talk. Please, for the love of the gods . . . just, talk to each other.”

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

The next afternoon . . .

“James?” Lyra looks up in surprise as the man enters the shop’s front door. He’s masked, holding a box in his hands.

“. . . may we speak?” he softly asks. James’s green eyes are pleading, and . . . apologetic?

Lyra sighs. “No one’s come into the shop all day . . . I guess I can close it early.”

She ducks outside, blowing the light out of the lamp before returning inside. Lyra sits across the way from him, settling behind the glass display case.

“Everything okay with . . .?” she’s anxious even asking, and James feels worse for her.

“He’s hanging on,” James nods, moving to open up the box. As he pops off the lid, the smell of baked apple pastries permeate into the room.

This piques Lyra’s interest, though she is wary.

“. . . I’m goin’ to begin by saying we’re both stubborn shites, but . . .” James clears his throat.

“. . . I want to say ‘m sorry.”

Lyra stares at James in turn. Her eyes do not leave the man as he sets the box in front of her; it was a peace offering.

“I was so stressed ‘bout Bảo bein’ sick and Neha off going gods-knew-what tat . . . tat I missed the fact you were terribly stressed as well.

“Yer uncle is yer uncle, an’ Neha is a sister to ya . . . I got too much in me head to see you worryin’ too . . .

“So, yeah . . . ‘m really sorry, lass,” James finishes, looking on at her. “You don’ ‘av to forgive me—”

James is startled as Lyra rushes him with a hug. Her hugs weren’t typically as hard as she was squeezing at the moment, but he wouldn’t complain. He hugs her back in return, gently patting her shoulder.

Once the pair part, James asks, “We’ll see you tonight? At dinner?”

Lyra nods, and that was that. Come nightfall, both Asra and Lyra showed up at Bảo’s for dinner.

The smile on her uncle’s face could’ve lit up the entire ashen horizon.

[starryknight09]

Unforeseen dangers ch. 6

Summary:  As Peter recovers from his capture by Ross, a photo of him with Tony and the Avengers leaks and is splashed all across the media. Luckily, no one can figure out who he is and everyone thinks the buzz will die down. However, the public’s interest has been ignited. While Tony worries it’s only a matter of time before Peter’s identity is exposed, Peter isn’t as concerned. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen anyway?

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

“Merry Christmas!” Tony said the second Peter walked into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.  The delicious smell emanating from the kitchen had woken him up and eventually enticed him to leave the sleepy comfort of his warm bed.

“Merry Christmas.” He said back with a smile.  His dad’s joy was infectious.  He plopped down on one of the kitchen stools and watched as Tony finished making pancakes.

“How’d you sleep?” Tony glanced over at him and smirked at his impressive bed head.

“Good.” He shrugged.  He’d had another nightmare about Ross, but it hadn’t been terrible, and he’d been able to fall asleep right afterward, so he didn’t think Tony needed to know about it.  He didn’t want to risk upsetting him on Christmas.

Tony flipped the pancake off the pan and piled it on top of five others already stacked on a plate.  Before pouring the batter for the next pancake, he placed the plate in front of Peter, along with the maple syrup.  “Here.  Breakfast is served.”

“Festive.” Peter commented with a smile.  The pancakes had green and red sprinkles intermixed in the batter.

“Tis the season.” Tony said and turned back to the stove.

Peter shook his head in amusement and couldn’t help but ask through a mouthful of pancake, “So once Christmas is over are you going to stop wearing that god awful hat or are you planning on dressing as Santa full time?”

The corner of Tony’s mouth turned up as he patted the Santa hat perched on top of his head as if he’d forgotten it was there.  “What?  This thing?  I suppose it’ll have to go back into retirement until next Christmas.  I don’t think I have the gut or the facial hair to pull off the Saint Nick thing.”

“Hmm.” Peter cocked his head to the side and eyed his dad up and down as if considering it.

“Not funny.” Tony waved the batter covered spatula at him and went back to his pancakes.  “Keep it up and just see if you get any presents from Santa.”

Peter twisted in his stool to glance into the living room.  “Huh.  Looks like he already came and left all the presents.”

Bright, holiday themed packages overflowed under the tree.  Peter really hoped they weren’t all for him.  If they were, it was way too much.

“Yeah well Santa giveth so Santa can taketh away.” Tony joked and flipped the pancake in front of him.

Peter had purchased only a couple of presents that were under the tree.  The big one he’d gotten for his dad wasn’t there yet.  The papers declaring his new name, that Pepper had handed to him a few days ago, still sat wrapped in shiny red paper tied in gold ribbon underneath his bed.

“Those aren’t all for me, are they?” He asked after he swallowed his next bite, the plate of pancakes in front of him almost half gone already.

“You’ll have to see.” Tony answered cryptically with a smug smile.

He shook his head.  “That’s too much.”

“Hey if I want to spoil my kid that’s my prerogative.  And since this is our first Christmas together, I had a lot of Christmases I missed that I had to make up for.”

“So you went overboard.” Peter sighed in resignation.

“Maybe just a little.” Tony turned the stove off and took his plate with a measly two pancakes over to the stool next to Peter, ruffling his hair as he walked by.  “But don’t worry.  They’re not all for you.  Some of them are for the team.”

“Good.”

“But most of them are for you.”

Peter groaned.

Tony went back to eating his pancakes with a self satisfied smirk.

Peter knew arguing about the presents would be pointless, so he didn’t even try.  “So, what’s the plan for today?” He asked instead.

Tony finished the bite of pancake in his mouth and answered, “Well first, I thought we’d have this amazing breakfast I slaved over.”

Peter snorted.

“And then we can open some presents.” Tony grinned.  “Everyone wants to do a big Christmas dinner thing tonight, but until then, we have the day to ourselves to do whatever you want.  I probably should’ve asked you this earlier, but did you and May have any traditions you want to celebrate?”

“Like what?” He asked, curious instead of hurt by the mention of his aunt.

“Like, do I need to change into a suit and have FRIDAY find a church nearby for us to go to?” His dad asked jokingly but Peter could tell he meant it.

“Oh.” He shook his head.  “No.  We didn’t do anything like that.”

“Ok.” Tony gave him a nod but seemed to be waiting for him to say more.

“Um, usually we’d open most of our presents on Christmas Eve, but there were a few we’d open on Christmas morning.  From Santa.” He clarified.  Even after he’d gotten old enough to know Santa wasn’t real, May and Ben had refused to give up the tradition so Peter had started giving them small presents ‘from Santa’ as well, no matter how much they complained that he shouldn’t.

Tony’s face twisted.  “Sorry kid.  I should’ve asked about all this stuff earlier.  We could’ve opened presents last night.”

“No, it’s fine.” Peter reassured him.  He didn’t mind.  He actually kind of liked that they were doing things a little differently.  It made it easier.  “Last night was fun.  I’ve never made Christmas cookies before.”

Tony still had a look on his face like he’d just eaten something sour, but he nodded.  “Ok.  What else do you usually do?”

“Oh.  Well, after presents, we’d eat breakfast, and then we’d just sit around the apartment and watch Christmas movies all day.” He shrugged.  “And we’d eat cookies, store bought ones, and hot chocolate and stuff.  Sometimes we’d play board games.” His brow furrowed slightly as he just remembered that.  “But we kind of did that more when Ben was around.”

“Eating junk food and watching movies sounds like exactly the kind of thing I can do.” Tony nodded and went back to eating his pancakes.

“I mean we don’t have to do that.” Peter said, pushing the last pieces of syrup doused pancake around on his plate.

“Ok.  Do you want to do something else?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” Tony gave him a one shoulder shrug and kept eating.  “Whatever you want kiddo.”

Peter pushed the pancake mush around some more and thought about it.  There wasn’t anything he could think of that he wanted to do.

“What did you use to do for Christmas?” He asked.

“Me?” Tony let out a dark chuckle.  “Back before I had myself more together, you don’t want to know.  It wasn’t exactly PG-13 friendly and it wasn’t happy.”

Peter’s felt his cheeks heat.  That wasn’t what he’d meant.  He was very aware of the escapades his dad used to get up to before he became Ironman and turned his life around.

“No that’s not…  I meant when you were a kid.  Did your family have any traditions?” He tried not to shrink back from asking the question.  Tony never talked about his parents, and Rhodey and a few of the others had made enough vague comments here and there for Peter to catch on to the fact that Tony hadn’t had the most idyllic childhood.

“When I was a kid…” Tony mumbled to himself as he considered it.  Peter thought he looked thoughtful instead of irritated, so the question didn’t seem to have been a mistake.  “When I was really young sometimes my mom’s parents would visit since my dad didn’t have any family left.  But by the time I was ten or so they were both gone, so it’d either be just the three of us at home, or we’d jet off somewhere for a vacation.  Mom liked to do that.  If we were at home, though, we’d have breakfast and then my mom would drag us to the morning church service.  She was Italian, and very Catholic.” Tony paused to give him a smile.

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah.  Dad and I hated going ,but we did it for her.  She used to tell us we were lucky she wasn’t making us go to midnight mass.” Tony let out a short laugh.  “I remember I hated having to dress up on a day that was supposed to be a holiday.  And I was always starving because we didn’t eat breakfast until we got back home.  And then we’d open presents.” Tony paused to take another bite of pancakes and he shook his head.  “That’s one thing I can say.  There was never any shortage of presents.”

Peter nodded.  He could imagine.

“And then we’d usually go to the sitting room and Dad would read, and I’d mess with some new toy or gadget, and my mom would play the piano.  Christmas music usually.  And sometimes she’d make me play.”

“You play the piano?” Peter asked, surprised.  

“Yeah.” Tony smiled, and it looked like he was trying not to laugh at him.  “You didn’t know that?”

“No.” He frowned.  “You don’t even own a piano.  Do you?”  He glanced around the room as if it were possible his dad actually had a piano and he’d just never noticed it before.

Tony chuckled.  “No, I don’t anymore, but I used to.  At the house in Malibu.  It was a nice one.”

Peter figured it was probably more than nice.  Everything Tony owned was ungodly expensive, and Peter had heard of pianos that cost upwards of $50,000.  Flash’s dad had gotten one for his mom for some anniversary and Flash hadn’t stopped bragging about it for a week.

Tony quirked his head to the side as if just remembering something.  “But then I threw it at a helicopter.”

“What?” He asked in surprise.

“And then the house got destroyed.” Tony continued, patting syrup from his mouth with a napkin.  “And I never replaced it.”  He finished with a shrug.  

Peter blinked, trying to take all that in.  He had to be talking about the attack the Mandarin had made on his house.  Well, not actually the Mandarin, but the tech guy pretending to be the Mandarin.  But that’d been a long time ago.

“Why not?” He asked.  If he could play the piano, he couldn’t imagine not having one around, especially if he were someone like Tony who had the space for it and could definitely afford it.

“I just never got around to it.”

Peter’s eyebrows pinched together.  He sensed there might be something more to it than that but he didn’t want to push.

“Ok…  So, can we get a piano now?”

Tony blinked.  “Do you play?”

“No.  I always wanted to learn but it was too expensive.  It’d be cool to listen to you, though.”

His dad’s expression softened and he gave his shoulder a squeeze.  “I’ll teach you.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“Ok.” He agreed quietly with a small smile.

“Then how about this?  Next year you can play me some Christmas songs.”

His smile widened.  “I don’t know if I’ll be good enough by then.”

“Sure you will.”

“Ok but only if you play too.”

A slight shadow seemed to cross his dad’s face even as he smiled.  “Deal.”

“It can be our new tradition.” Peter added, remembering how they got on the topic of the piano in the first place.  “Along with Christmas sprinkle pancakes.”  He shoved the last soggy piece into his mouth.  “Mmm.”

“Good, huh?” Tony finished the remaining couple bites of his own stack.

“Delicious.”

“So, presents and then movies on the couch?” Tony suggested as he took their plates to the dishwasher.  “You sure there’s nothing else you want to do?”

He thought about it again.  He just wanted to spend time with his dad.  His family.  It was what Christmas was all about. May and Ben had drilled that into him when he’d been younger and as he’d gotten older he’d realized the truth of it on his own.  Even though he’d lost so many people in his family, he still had a family.  A group of people that might not be related to him, but genuinely cared about him just the same.  And he had a dad that loved him.  Not everyone had that at Christmas.  He considered himself lucky.

“Wait.  I know what I want to do.” He said as the idea struck him.

“What?”

“Do you think we could go to some group homes and do a meet and greet with the kids?  Maybe hand out some presents?”

“You and me?”

“Ironman and Spiderman.” He clarified.  He knew going out as Tony and Peter right now wouldn’t work since they were supposed to be keeping their father son relationship secret.  

Tony’s brow furrowed as he considered it.

“I know it’s really last minute, and I guess I don’t even know where we’d get the presents…”

“That’s not the problem.”

“Ok.  Um, what is?”

“If it’s just you and me and somehow in the future the press finds out about us, it wouldn’t take much for them to connect you to Spiderman, especially if they catch us out together on Christmas day.”

“Oh.  I didn’t think of that.” It kind of bothered him that he hadn’t.  Honestly, he hadn’t been as worried about the whole press thing lately.  It’d died down and he figured if they just keep being careful then no one would ever find out Tony had adopted him.

“Let me see if anyone else on the team wants to tag along.” Tony suggested, pulling out his phone to shoot off some texts.  “We can even pair off and go to different group homes, so it’ll still be me and you, but this way it won’t be as suspicious if anything ever comes up.”

“That sounds good.” Peter nodded.

Once Tony finished texting, he stared at him with a warm twinkle in his eyes.

“What?  Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re a good kid.”

Peter shrugged and looked over his shoulder at the tree to cover his blush.  He still wasn’t good at taking compliments.  “So…presents?” He asked with an eager smile.

“Presents.” Tony agreed with a nod.

“This is too much.” Peter said for what felt like the millionth time as he finished opening his last present.  “You got me way too much stuff.”

“I’ve never heard a kid complain so much about getting presents.  Is this normal?  I don’t think it’s normal.  Do I need to have you checked out?”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Do you like it?” Tony asked with a grin that’d been plastered to his face ever since Peter had started opening presents.

“I love it.” Peter turned over the Star Wars Super Star Destroyer Lego box in his hands, examining the picture on the front.  “But it’s still too much.”

Peter put it down and glanced over at the rest of his present haul, trying to keep his head from spinning.  Sometimes he forgot his dad was a literal billionaire but this had reminded him.  Tony had gotten him not one, but three, really expensive Lego sets along with the newest Playstation video game console that hadn’t even been released on the market yet, some video games to go with it, more nice clothes than he knew what to do with, a pair of sunglasses that looked like they cost more than his entire wardrobe, and a brand new laptop.

“Just let me spoil you this time.  I’ll do better next year.”

Peter snorted.  “Yeah right.”

He set the Lego box down by the others and stood from his spot on the floor to walk over to the couch to give his dad a hug.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome kid.”

“Sorry I didn’t really get you much.  You’re really hard to buy for.”

“I love everything you got me.  Don’t worry.” Tony gave him a squeeze and patted his back.

“Um, actually I have one more present for you.” Peter said, pulling away from the hug.

“Oh did I miss one?” Tony glanced back over at the tree.

“No.  It’s not under the tree.  It’s in my room.  Let me go get it.” He bounded off the couch to his room, excitement warring with nerves.

“A secret present you had to hide from me?  Now I’m definitely intrigued.” Tony called out after him.

Peter laughed even as his heart started to race, nerves winning out.  It took no time at all to grab the gift adorned in red and gold from under his bed and bring it back out to the living room.  He deposited it onto Tony’s lap with little fanfare, just an insecure smile, before sitting down on the couch next to his dad.

“First of all, I love the wrap job.  Why didn’t you do all my presents in my color scheme?” Tony joked, clearly trying to lessen Peter’s anxiety.

“Because they’re not Christmas colors, and this one’s not just a Christmas present.  I mean it is…but it isn’t.” Peter tried not to trip over his words as he explained.

“Now I’m even more curious.” Tony eyed the present in his lap.

“Open it.”

Tony pulled the ribbon off, flipped the present over and slid a finger through the crease of wrapping paper taped together at the back.  Peter swallowed hard as his dad removed the paper from the simple thin white box.  Tony glanced up at him briefly before he lifted the lid off.  He quirked his head in confusion at the sight of the stack of papers.

“This looks like something Pepper would give me for Christmas.” He joked and then started pulling the papers out of the box.  “What do we have here?”

“Um it’s…” Peter trailed off as he took the papers and flipped them to the end part where it would be clearer to his dad, skipping over all the other wordy legalese.  He handed the papers back and pointed.  “Read this part.”

Tony frowned but studied the papers in his hand as Peter studied him.  He could tell the exact moment his dad realized what the papers meant.  His eyebrows flew up and his mouth opened in shock as his head whipped over to look at him.

“Peter.” Tony said and Peter didn’t know if it was a good or a bad thing that he sounded gutted.  Hopefully good.

“Do you like it?  I um—”

Before he could say anything else, Tony wrapped an arm around him and pulled him into his chest, kissing the top of his head roughly.  “I love it.  I can’t even tell you how much I love it.  But kid, you didn’t have to do this.”

Peter pulled back a little so he could look up at him, and he could see his dad was tearing up.  “I know.  I wanted to.”

“It’s…  I…” Tony shook his head when he couldn’t figure out what to say.

“Wow.  I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you speechless before.” Peter teased, nerves receding because he’d obviously done a good job with the present.  He hadn’t overstepped.

Tony looked back down at the papers in his hands and read the name printed there.  “Peter Parker Stark.  It has a nice ring to it.”

“That’s what Pepper said.”

“Pepper helped you?”

“Yeah she was great.  She actually had to sneak some of the pages in for you to sign when she gave you some other SI paperwork.  Good thing you never read anything, right?  Um, I hope that was ok…”

“It’s more than ok.” Tony smiled at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, still shining with unshed tears.

“Good because you are seriously hard to buy for.”

Tony laughed.

“Now I really am your son.” He teased.

Tony wrapped him back up in a hug.  “You were already my son, with or without my name.”

“Yeah I know.” And he did.  “But it’s still kind of nice, isn’t it?”

“Very.” Tony kissed his hair again.  “I love you kid.”

“I love you too.”

“Best Christmas present ever.”

“Good.” Peter smiled and closed his eyes as he relaxed into Tony’s side.  

Tony gave him another loving squeeze with the arm he had draped across his shoulders.  “Merry Christmas kid.”

“Merry Christmas Dad.”

[neocityfics]

2096: Zodiac

Chapter: Prologue < ❝  Chapter 1 ❞  > Chapter 2

➥ Chapter List

Genre: Cyberpunk inspired, mafia-esque, not-so dystopian, angst, slow-burn

Pairing: Doctor! Taeyong x Reader

Warnings: Moderate cursing, mention of death, vague description of surgical practice, being held at gunpoint

▶ Ambience

Pearl Park is packed with patients. Rarely do I take weekend shifts or visit on Saturdays, but a certain someone left early for additional hours at the clinic. I couldn’t help but follow him especially after yesterday’s events. The thoughts would not let go, an unpleasant growth at the back of my mind. It’s hard to know if I can trust him right now. I need more answers. Last night, he barely gave details, only rambling about how he had to wake up at ungodly hours for today. As difficult as it was, I urged him to go to bed to leave him alone. My own state of being was, and still is, disturbed by what I saw. The intricate design of circuit lines running down in strategic pathways down his arm, the broken-up metallic plates that replaced muscle, the seamless transition from a human shoulder to a mechanical limb, fingers cold to the touch. Something out of The Terminator movies.

There’s something odd about making myself wake early to get ready and coming after Lucas. Saturdays are for sleeping in, I always say to myself, a day to rest. Nevertheless, here I am slowly trailing behind him as he steers through the countless turns on the way to work. His thin light blue scrub stood out against the brown puffy jacket, making it easy to keep my distance without losing track of him. The pit began to form in stomach again. Please, let the destination be Pearl Park, nowhere bizarre. Whoever did whatever to his arm must have a reason to pick on Lucas. Granted he’s very strong and healthy, he’s the perfect candidate... for what? To become a government experiment? No, hopefully not. The top couldn’t give a damn about us, but when it comes to picking on the less fortunate to go farther with their lives in luxuries and power, they do so in under a heartbeat. If they have hearts, that is. It doesn’t make sense though, why would they want to make cyborgs? Or what if some random person just wanted to try their hand in robotics. Some grand experiment in trying to take over the world? Maybe I’ve watched too many sci-fi movies. The endless possibilities thoroughly occupied my head-- but that train of thought comes to a halt when I bump into the clinic’s entrance. Pressing a hand to my forehead and the other hand on the door handle, I steady myself. I’m already here?

Spotting the familiar scrub rounding the corner, I come close behind only to see Dr. Lee shoot a glare at Lucas. “You’re late,” the doctor’s voice raises sternly, “I expect better next time. We have important things to do later.” Later? My shoulders tense. It must mean he won’t join me for dinner with Sicheng. I wonder what kind of work Dr. Lee means. The doctor in question beckoned Lucas, in the middle of removing his coat, towards a darkened room meant for surgery. I sometimes clean equipment in that room, so it doesn’t make sense to meet in there when the clinic has designated meeting rooms. The two men walk inside and the door closes shut, and I stand there baffled. Hoping I could get by without looking suspicious, my feet slowly move closer to the room. All staff members seem busy with other things, some not sparing a glance as they rush stretchers to rooms. Thanks to that, no one questioned my actions, but it still feels risky. My body sticks tightly to the wall as I lend an ear towards the room. Taking a peek would be risky since my head would be visible and blocking light from outside, so I keep quiet and attempt to eavesdrop on their conversation, but to no avail. The bustling clinic muffles the dialogue between Lucas and Dr. Lee. Giving up, I relocate myself to the reception desk where I know they leave out a bowl of candies and chocolate for visitors. A little burst of serotonin never hurt anyone. Right?

▶ Ambience

As I work on a candy of choice in my mouth at a bench near the entrance, Lucas walks close to the reception desk and stops when he notices my presence. For a split second, his expression was shrunken in discomfort. Yet, in a flash, he paints that goofy smile to replace the former visage. “When did you get here? Did you even have breakfast? It’s not even 7:00am,” he shouts despite him standing a couple of meters away. Though embarrassing as it is to see annoyed nurses and doctors look our way, it’s nice to see his fun side come out despite the tension between us remaining thick.

“I’m just here to chat, you know, talk with some of my coworkers. See if anyone wants to hang out after their hours are done. I don’t really have anything else to do,” I lie through my teeth. I could be sleeping, but there’s too much I want to ask about your fucking cyborg arm, is the reality of my purpose here. But obviously, this is a public space, he’s working a job, and this is slowly becoming to feel like an obsession. The last thing I want is to worry about nothing, but I couldn’t help myself. Lucas is starting become more suspicious, I can’t lose him to something dangerous. Without thinking, I stare at his left arm. He’s wearing another long-sleeved shirt under his scrub to hide his arm. Realizing my intense gaze on him, Lucas takes long steps to the bench and sits down next to me, ensuring that his human arm nudged my left arm. It’s definite that he’s uncomfortable. “Sorry.” He shakes his head and lets out a hearty laugh.

A couple of pats on the top of my head remind me of my stiff posture to which I reply by relaxing. Lucas knows how to comfort others. He would’ve been a great doctor. Succeeding him clearing his throat, he softens his tone, “I’ll be at Sicheng’s tonight after my shift. I’ll only have half an hour to eat until I have to go somewhere. Tomorrow, I promise, I’ll tell you everything, but today isn’t a good time.”  A pause ensues, the both of us holding our gaze at each other until Lucas breaks out in a grin again. “I’ll pay for dessert, too. My treat!” Nothing like paying for my snacks. There’s no way to win against this man and his kind heart. A short moment passes by after I scan his face. I scoff at his comment, mumbling a ‘fine’ while a laugh escapes and my smile matches his. Just as he opens his mouth as if to say more, a nurse hurries to Lucas asking him to help with getting clean water and towels for a pregnancy in one of the rooms. He leaves immediately after shooting me a gentler smile, my own quickly reciprocating it. There goes Lucas again, I think to myself. But as swiftly as Lucas left, another figure of interest comes into sight at the front desk. And here comes Dr. Lee.

On the inside, I want to trust him. From what all the nurses and staff tell me, he’s a top notch doctor from the best medical university in Seoul who decided to leave South Korea for Japan to join one of the Tokyo hospital teams. Things obviously didn’t turn out so well after 2094, and he’s stuck here in Pearl Park. He seems to be well-off, too, showing up in designer brands you’d see before the disaster. Makes you wonder how such talent ended up in the ruins. Though I feel bad for him as I do with Lucas and his crushed dream, the inexplicable hatred in me keeps expanding and it has everything to do with that damn robot arm. Since last night, it’s been taking up all the space for thought, eating away at me. I wouldn’t have woken up before 7:00am and walked all the way to the clinic if this never happened. Nevertheless, the surreal circumstances in front of me are reality. I suppose now’s my chance to wring out any more information of Dr. Lee since my Saturday schedule is free of activity. It might be best to avoid Lucas for answers given how he dodges my questions regardless of the well-known fact that my curiosity is ultra strong. The first thing to pop up in my brainstorm is the document storage room on the second floor. As an employee of a not so high-end clinic, it’ll be easy to get in. Staff won’t question me going through the second floor and security’s a joke. Of course, there are possibilities of getting caught especially trying to read classified or private information, but it’s worth the risk if I can start to understand Lucas’s situation.

I take to the staircase leading up to the second level, a quick minute up to another floor busy with patients. Today, it seems a lot of them have either a cold or a broken bone, judging by swarm of people by the x-ray room accompanied by the continuous symphony of sneezing and sniffling. Eyeing the room at the end of the hall and taking in a long breath in, I casually make way to the door, weaving through nurses pushing wheeled beds. This hallway is long, I tell myself as clinic members make beelines toward their next destinations and form a difficult sea. Before reaching the door, I peak over my shoulder at the other employees. No one seems to be suspicious, and no Dr. Lee anywhere. Perfect, too perfect. A sign next to the door reads “Staff Only,” making me feel better about what I’m doing. Assistants are considered staff, right? The musty smell of old papers and cigarettes of the room cause me to cough a little. I wonder where to even start when there’s hundreds of files stored in here. It could take all day to thumb through all of these files. Luckily for me, the file cabinets are labeled with categories, albeit some oddly named like pets. I don’t think we have a veterinarian sector or have partnership with one. After a few minutes scanning all the potential cabinets, one catches my eye. Medical staff, the label reads. Dr. Lee’s file must be in there, and to my delight, he was indeed part of the records.

▶ Ambience

With a small gulp, I pull out the bulky, tattered folder as the other files begin to expand and fill the now empty space in the cabinet. Curiosity leads my widened eyes to glide across this important folder containing a book of history and records for each staff member. Confidential. Maybe I’m in here, and Lucas, too, except this seems to be an older record. We probably didn’t make the cut because it only contains Pearl Park medical staff that have been serving for a long time, from before the disaster, in this folder.  Flipping to a table of contents on the inside of the cover, I search for Dr. Lee’s name under Orthopaedic Surgeons towards the back of the pages. That’s definitely him from 2093, a year before the disaster. Handsome, frankly, but ugly for what I assume he’s doing to Lucas. With all fibers of my being, I swear this man is my enemy. Realizing I’ve been holding in my breath for a while, I let out some air and try to release the tightness in my muscles. I continue reading.

Lee Taeyong. Born July 1st, 2071-- he’s the around the same age as me at 25 years old. Graduated from an international high school in 2087. Graduated from a top Seoul university with a PhD in Biomedical Sciences in 2092. So he was done with high school at 16 and university at 21. Started Pearl Park 2093 as a starting job, and of course he still works here due to the disaster. Quite a remarkable career especially having an average of 426 surgeries a year since he started at this clinic. Absolutely phenomenal... that’s at least a thousand surgeries so far, depending on how 2094 impacted his work. Though so young, he certainly has the experience and professionalism to perform surgeries that could’ve been life or death. So perhaps he really is a force to be reckoned with, not some random scientist who just wants to fool around with an experiment. Especially with human life. With this information at hand, there must be a reason behind turning Lucas into some type of mechanical entity. Scrunching my face as my thoughts go into overdrive, I try to come up with a conjecture on this man’s motives. Do I go the route of the worst or the best case scenario? My session of attempted reasoning suddenly ceases as a booming voice hits against the door of the room. I’m not sure what he’s saying, but I burst into action as I rip out Dr. Lee’s page, shove the folder back into the cabinet sloppily, and hide myself behind a tall cabinet away from the door. At the sound of a loud click, I still my whole body, frozen as I listen for any more noise. The door seems to close behind the person with a loud thud. Instant recognition. The person’s voice is, with no doubt, Dr. Lee.

“Why don’t they clean this piece of shit room up, it’s a fucking dump in here... Let’s see.” The opening and closing file cabinets, shuffling papers, and soft, incoherent mumbling permeates the room. No more than a few minutes and he leaves. Before I move from my position, I puff my cheeks and push out the air from holding my breath again for what felt like eternity. Making sure for another thirty seconds that absolutely no one is there, I come away from my hiding spot and examine the medical staff’s cabinet. There’s one more thing that should be checked-- if my file and Lucas’s are in there. If we do have a record and his is missing, this could be an issue and a surefire sign I can’t trust Dr. Lee. Leafing through the files again, to my surprise, there is an updated 2095 folder towards the back of the cabinet for newer medical staff. Pearl Park isn’t considered a big professional clinic to come to. It’s dingy at best, so this comes a bit of a shock. I’d been expecting no records after the disaster as the clinic is critically understaffed. Teeth grasp at my bottom lip, my hands hovering over the binder cover. Here we go. After turning many, many pages, I find the Assistants page and see our names. My file doesn’t look like much as it contains basic information, when my shifts are, and the duties I originally had appointed to me when I started working. According to the list of all employee names, Lucas should be in here, supposedly a few pages after mine. Wong Yukhei. However, there is only remnants of paper stuck to the binder’s rings

Dr. Lee ripped his page out.

▶ Ambience

It feels strange to act like everything’s normal. Here I am, sitting next to Sicheng and Lucas as we make fun of pissy customers at Electric Egg and laughing ourselves silly. While our outside conversation makes me feel a little more at ease, the fact that Lucas’s information could be used for no good is begging to be released from my thoughts. I want to spill so much at this very moment with Lucas right here, but dragging Sicheng into this mess isn’t necessary. I’ll have to wait until dinner is done. Lucas distributes his tea eggs between the three of us, and we devour them before he has to leave for, well, whatever he needs to go to. Now’s my chance. As Lucas stands, I raise my voice, “I’ll stay behind with Sicheng for a bit. Come back home safely.” He beams at my comment, patting me on the back to comfort me. Without another word, he heads out of the street, turning the corner as Sicheng and I watch his shape slowly disappear. Sicheng taps me on the hand to get me to stop spacing out.

Sicheng takes on a soothing tone as he expresses his concern, “You sure you’re okay? You’ve been spacing out randomly...” Through the slightly sweaty bangs from cooking all day, I take in his worried face. Tilting his head after a moment of no response, he sighs. “I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but you’re not this quiet with us. You can tell me what’s wrong.” I nod, my eyes holding their focus on the table where the last tea egg lies.

“I can’t tell you anything more than except...” I delay the rest of what I want to say, I wasn’t without doubt if I should even bring up the conundrum. But alas, the bottled up information in me needed some form of freedom from my system. I decide it may be alright to let him know what’s happening at the surface of it all. “There’s something odd going on between Lucas and one of the doctors at the clinic. I can’t shake off the bad feeling I’m having, and I don’t mean to be nosy. But Lucas is important and I want to make sure he’s okay. You know he’s typically an open book, but I can’t read him anymore.” That was a lot to knock out of me, but to have someone else see why I’m so worried creates some kind of validation for the emotions rushing through my head. I realize how selfish I sound. I shrink into myself, waiting for Sicheng to say something. Anything.

Instead of silence, he scoots his chair closer to mine and I force myself to hold in a laugh because of the embarrassment from the loud noise. “I’m sure he has his reasons. You, him, and I. We’ve been friends for a couple of years now, Lucas isn’t the type to just leave anyone hanging without reason. Whatever it is, we need to be patient with him. As for you, you need to let things be from time to time.” He sits up straighter, leans forward, and continues, “You work hard with two jobs. Take care of yourself first and foremost. He’s his own person, you are your own. Don’t add to your mountain of stress.” Those are words I needed to hear, though they hurt. This whole idea that my best friend is turning into a cyborg seems to be a big deal, but for the sake of Sicheng’s safety, I can’t disclose that. Nonetheless, it does feel a bit... obsessive in retrospect. It’s a complicated state of affairs, and I don’t think Sicheng would be able to follow. It’s a see-for-yourself kind of deal. Not at all blaming him, his heart is in the right place. I give a simple head-shake, turning my attention to the last tea egg again. Gingerly, I pick it up and hand it to him.

His eyes open up in confusion. I let out the repressed laugh from earlier, a little heartier than I expected. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to dump this all on you. And I’ll work on focusing on myself more, you’re right. Lucas is a grown person, he can act on his own and tell me when he’s ready.” Sicheng loosens up, his hand extending to take the tea egg cupped in my hand. After taking a small bite, he gleams a big and toothy smile. As thanks, he lets me have the rest of the treat as one of the other employees at Electric Egg call for him to come back and work the stall.

▶ Ambience

Removing himself from his seat to stand up, he delicately flicks my forehead. He bids me a good night and says, “Take it easy, okay? It’s still Saturday, go get some sleep or go dance in your room, whatever it is you do these days.” We both send each other a tender laugh before parting ways. With a goodbye, I get up from my seat and head towards the direction of the apartment. It’s all smiles walking for a few minutes, reflecting on Sicheng’s words. My body felt a little lighter from releasing at least a small portion of my feelings. It starts to drizzle, a feeling I’ve always liked in Neostone but never when it pours too hard-- especially without an umbrella. I reach the last corner leading to my place when a downpour manifests. At the ping of my pocket, I quickly reach for my phone and take cover under a nearby entryway into a convenience store. Shit. Acid rain right now? My thumb gravitates to my messages. I should text Lucas and Sicheng to make sure they’re okay. I call Sicheng first to see if he’ll pick up. He does, sending a wave of relief through me as he says he’s safe in the closest store. On the other hand, Lucas did not pick up. I’m starting to wonder if this will be the new normal from now on. Panicking a bit, I text him and hope for the best, that he’s somewhere safe from the rain. The rain today is sort of acidic, I got an alert on my phone. Make sure you’re in a building. Send. We both keep the read receipts on, so if he doesn’t respond but sees my text, I might have to scold him the next time I see that annoying guy. I shove my phone back into my pocket and promptly took out the piece of paper that holds Dr. Lee’s information. I gawk at it, contemplating why I ever took it, and look back up. Fuck.

Staring in disbelief, the world around me slows. Cars pass by in slow motion and the neon signs twinkle in harmony by blending together. It’s the very same apartment establishment listed in the file. It’s a bit fancier than ours, which makes sense. Dr. Lee makes a bit more money than the rest of us. Fuck what Sicheng said, I need to see what’s happening with that suspicious doctor. Without further ado, I trudge through the acid rain, though I know it stings a little on my skin. It’s not too bad. Taxi cabs flip their middle fingers up at me, passersby calling out to warn or scold me, all while I snake through the lines of vehicles and cuss words thrown all around. The crackle of bright neon flicker crescendos as I come closer. Finally, I step foot onto the other side of the street, finding a heightening urge to find out the truth. Inside the lobby, the interior also seems to hold more life and care in it. This is definitely a more well-off micro-apartment complex than the one Lucas and I live in. The receptionist greets me warmly, a stark contrast from the subtle waves from the one we have. She doesn’t seem to question where I’m going or if I needed help, however, so I come to the staircase and take myself up to the tenth floor-- a very long way up.

▶ Ambience

Good grief, that was worse than the staircase at ours, I complain in my head, heaving heavy breaths as my feet begin to feel sore. I’ve reached the top. The address claims that Dr. Lee lives in room 1027. The gold colored plates on doors boast numbers in a sophisticated font, ascending as I progress the halls. Here it is. I approach the door, careful not to be any louder than I am right now, and I press an ear on the door. Muffled voices, one of them has to be Lucas. I can recognize his deep voice from a mile away. He has a tendency to mumble if he talks for too long, words becoming muddled. It’s like when he’s tired from work and almost crashes in my room, talking nonsense until I finally kick him out. From my pocket, I pull out a couple of paperclips and begin to bend them. Sicheng taught me this trick when we stole a bottle of painkillers from one of the pharmacies in Neostone’s uptown. One of my friends got injured during a fight between food stalls, and we were desperate to help him out. These kinds of skills really help out in this kind of life though I never imagined it was going to be this way. Click, click, click. The soft pop of the lock makes my heart race, and not in a pleasant way. Carefully, I turn the knob and push, using all the strength in my body not to cause a ruckus with my entrance. The sound of an electric drill becomes more apparent as the door swivels to give way to the apartment. It’s a lie when I said it’s a bit fancier. It’s way more lavish with a retro-futuristic style with warm colored furniture and decorations. There has to be some reason Dr. Lee can afford to continue living here since Pearl Park isn’t the biggest clinic and is located in quite a rough area. They don’t pay employees much, only an ample amount to get by with food and shelter. Maybe he was able to get a lot of money before the disaster happened. Enough with the admiration, I thought we’re past the need for capitalism, I reprimand myself. 

There’s no Dr. Lee or Lucas in the parlor, but the whine of the drill grows as I explore further into the apartment, noticing the several doors. One clearly has lights on as the door is open, bingo. It must be them. Inching closer as quietly as I can, I hear Lucas lightly groan. Heart beating faster, I reach the room and squeeze through in case the door would make noise. Half of the room is blocked by a bulky bookcase which I hide behind, peeking through one of the cracks to look at the other side. What I see is horrendous-- Lucas sits on a reclined chair, thankfully unrestrained. Profusely sweating and wincing from pain, his jaw tightens as he clenches his teeth while Dr. Lee works another screw into his shoulder. In the most monotonous voice, he says to Lucas, “That should be enough for the shoulder. Think I’ll add more joints in your fingers so they have more flexibility. I was able to design more realistic-looking phalanges the other day, want to try?” Lucas simply nods at the notion, much to my disgust. Should I make my next move? Should I leave? I stand a bit higher on the tips of my toes to see more clearly.

Suddenly, the arm attached to Lucas begins to beep alarmingly. “The heat sensor... who’s there?” Lucas queries. Dr. Lee looks around the room, spinning in his chair while Lucas stands and starts to wander around the space. The staccato tones rapidly sound as Lucas takes long strides towards the bookcase, pulling out a few books to expose half of my face. His face crumples into anger at my presence. “Why are you here... Did you follow me?” I gulped. This is not good. Behind Lucas comes the other man, swiping books off the shelves to get a better sense of who’s behind the bookcase. His eyes open up more in surprise.

“You’re from the clinic.” he says firmly and quickly balls up the shirt on my shoulder into his fist, pulling me from my spot. The other hand reaches at his back behind a tattered lab coat to reveal a revolver, the one often seen in old classic films. Our eyes lock on each other, his fired up with murderous intent and wrath. The cold metal presses onto my forehead, but I keep my focus on his face. Lucas yelps on the side, but doesn’t come closer as to not escalate this whole situation. “An assistant. Why are you here? How did you get in?” My hands drift in the direction of the ceiling, a signal of surrender. Visibly shaken, Lucas taps the doctor on the shoulder and interrupts.

“[Pronoun] is a good friend of mine. Please don’t do anything rash, [pronoun] can be put to good use.” Lucas claims. I examine him with confusion written all over my expression, though he holds his guarded stare at Dr. Lee. I’m beyond dismayed that Lucas would try propose that I can be made into a pawn in whatever the motherfucker is planning. That might mean taking Lucas’s place with substitution of my flesh with peculiar machinery, or being the one to help out with Lucas’s... transformation. In any case, there’s no way I’d accept those fates. Dr. Lee maintains eye contact with me, but moves the gun from my face to his side. On cue, a sigh exiting my mouth.

He laughs rather nonchalantly, the clutch on his gun tighter despite being on the side. He’s ready to kill someone. “It’s tough doing things on my own, I do need another hand. Human hands, I must add.” Another chuckle echoes through the room, the unbearable discomfort consuming my emotions. Continuing on, the man adds, “I’m appointing you as my messenger. Send information to my other colleagues, then you may stay alive and see Lucas everyday. However.” Always a catch. The fist that kept me in my place releases the fabric that was bundled in it. It travels to the gun, the cock of the weapon raising my alertness. Though physically there’s no restraint on me, one wrong move and I’m dead. “If you can’t follow through with my instructions, expect a bullet wound or worse.” Absolutely out of his mind. But he leaves me having to accept this offer. Briefly, I steal a glance at Lucas whose angrily knit brows now angle upwards in a worried manner. I can’t die here, and the need for strength increases knowing Lucas might not be able to handle the pain of seeing me shot. He needs me.

Dr. Lee tilts his head, waiting for a response. The loaded gun taunts me, his impatience showing when he starts tapping it against his waist. Pursing my lips, I come to the only choice I could make. Shakily, my voice raises to both Lucas and the doctor’s surprise, “I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do.” Speaking it into existence is the last thing I want, but I’m already neck deep into shit that doesn’t directly involve me. Might as well drown in what I’ve started. He snickers in delight, earning puzzled looks from Lucas and me. Leaving us near the bookcase, he saunters to his chair, taking a seat. His grip on the gun subsides, putting the small killing machine on his desk littered with papers with the big red classified stamped all over them. The silence weighs down on us before it’s broken by the doctor, his hands folded together with the most poisonous smirk playing across his lips.

“Just call me Taeyong.” He fiddles with a pen from his desk and continues,

”Question-- have you ever gone clubbing?”

[hopefuljoon]

BST: Chapter 1

A/N: Hi! Welcome! This is my first long fickie for BTS. I hope you enjoy. Here’s a little something of MC’s room that I had taken inspiration from. Sorry about the weird image spacing  + credits to the owner of the image I couldn’t find, contact me if its your image, thank you!

It was 3:27 AM in the morning when you suddenly woke up, screaming, the sweats beading against your forehead still prominent. You sat upright and fisted the sheets as you gasp for air, feeling more breathless than ever. By then, your eyes had readjusted to accommodate the darkness that surrounds your room. It wasn't unusual for nightmares to occur after the event from two years ago. The looks on your mother and father's faces as they gave up their lives for you still linger as you close your eyes, willing for it to disappear. Not a second later, Yoongi and his consigliere pushed the door aside and barged into your room, white faces laced with worry.

"The same one?" Yoongi asks softly, careful to not startle you. Upon hearing his voice, you slowly turned to him, eyes brimming with unshed tears. Had his attention not have been entirely focused on you, he'd have missed your head nodding ever so gently.

He cautiously and quietly approached you then sat down on your bed with his consigliere trailing close behind. He inches his way up to your bed until he was close enough to affectionately caress your head. His smile begins to manifest as soon as he took notice of the way your eyes widen slightly before you closed your eyes and nuzzled into the safe reality that was his hand.

You retracted back and glanced up at your brother before managing a hoarse "thank you" as you noticed the 6 different pairs of eyes trained on the both of you. Yoongi must have known what you were thinking from the looks of your eyes as he said, "They care about you just as much as I do". When he finished, he turned back and nodded once to his consigliere in gratitude.

Your eyes flicker from the back of your brother's head to the 6 pairs of eyes staring worriedly into yours. Your gaze infinitely softens as you lower your eyes down from the attention they were giving you. The sound of waves crashing against the shore created a comforting blanket of silence as you looked out the window before turning back to them with a soft smile and a light dust of pink that coated your cheeks before saying, "I'm sorry for waking you all at such 'ungodly' hour of the night". Half of the members snickers while the other half returned soft smiles of their own. Time slowly passed before one of the member disrupted the comforting silence.

"Princess, you know we don't mind", Seokjin says kindly as your eyes returned to his. He was wearing a light pink Gucci pajama set that you had gifted him last Christmas when he told you that pink was his favorite color. To you, he wasn't part of your brother's consigliere who killed thousands, if not millions, but a family member who you have come to love besides the other members. His personality and love for cooking painted him far off from the idealistic mafia image of the top gang in Seoul. You returned his kind gaze before Yoongi was ushering his men single-file out of your room to return to their respective home that was connected to the main house where you and Yoongi resided. Some members, specifically Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook, yawned and rubbed their eyes sleepily. So much for your mafia profile, you thought and laughed quietly to yourself.

When Yoongi was nearly out the door, he heard a quiet plead from you that he made out to be, "Can you...stay with me until I fall asleep?". He was grateful that the members had listened and returned to their home due to fatigue from the work they had done earlier otherwise he could foresee that they would all want to come sleep in your room to comfort you. He scoffed before rolling his eyes as he reentered the room, closed the door behind him before approaching you again.

"Y/n, there is nothing to be afraid of. I am here", he said as he took on the sofa near your bed that allowed him to glance out the window at the ocean. Your eyes trailed along with your brother until he sat down comfortably then you slowly eased yourself back under the warm and inviting cover.

Before long, he heard your breathing evening out and light snores can be heard throughout the room with the tides crashing against the sand in the background. He smiled to himself while looking down at the book held open in his hand but frown when he realized that he and his men had work to do tomorrow: clean up and get rid of the tracks from the useless and clumsy lower raking members whose lives were cut short earlier today as a result.

Little did you know that he had comfortably fell asleep in the upright position holding a book in his hand, smile content on his face as he was sure you were in safe proximity for as long as he's around.

When you woke up again, the time had only passed for an hour and a half. You were tired of attempting to go back to sleep. It had been the 3rd time tonight so you decided to sneak out of your own room to not awaken your brother who was softly snoozing away as to not give a single care in the world. Carefully getting out of bed, you put on your grey bunny indoor slipper that you had left there earlier. Your gaze filters back to the soft-looking-while-resting Yoongi and lingers there for awhile until you decided to exit your room, gently closing your door on your way out.

You slowly descended the cold marble stairs of your grand mansion before turning left to enter the open kitchen. Everything looked clean as usual because there was never enough time for you to spend with your brother and his consigliere who you have come to regard as your own family. They were often away on dangerous jobs, running errands, or doing dirty work that Yoongi had assigned. None were forced work, of course. Everyone had their respective jobs and roles in order for the gang to run smoothly and rose to the top to where they are today.

You began tiptoeing around your kitchen as you nervously grab around for pans and flowers, hoping to not make a sound to disturb your sleeping family. You figured they didn't get as much sleep prior to waking up and coming in to check on you because they came home terribly late. Doing what, you had no idea but you figured it had involved blood and murder this time because the smell of metal was so potent when you woken up, startled, the first roll of the never-ending nightmare beginning to play in your mind that night. You had been sick with worried if it was any of your family's blood but had not seen any cuts or bruises when they barged into your room in the early hours. By now, the smell and tracks of blood was gone because the private cleaning company Yoongi has bought up, had been here just minutes after Yoongi and his consigliere arrived home. Your mind returned to the task at hand which you were set on making simple but loving breakfast of pancakes to show your love and appreciation for your family. After all, each and every one of the member had, without fail, woken up to check on you whenever you had nightmares that shook you to your core. They had never once complained, only replying that no harm can come near you for as long as they are around.

You opened up the iPad that was charging on the kitchen counters and searched for fluffy pancake recipes. When you had finally found one you think was going to be delicious, you began to work on: putting the flower in the mixing bowl, cracking eggs, spooning out a small amount of baking powder and sugar. You set to work on mixing the ingredients in the bowl and placed down to rest while you went to the electronics stove. Turning it on the low setting while placing a pan on top with butter for it to melt, you grabbed the mixing bowl before stirring it around again softly this time. Suddenly, you felt hands creeping around your waist before it rested there. Soon, you felt someone's chin rested on your right shoulder before they nuzzles into you, kissing your neck softly.

"You do realize...you don't have to do this, right babe?" Hoseok whispered out against your ear. You shivered and turned slowly around in his arms as he adjusted his hold on you again. The sight from afar made it looked so awfully domestic, it'd melt even the coldest heart. "I know but it's the least I could do" you rasped out against his chest before turning around, getting back to work on putting the mixture onto the warming pan.

Next

[cryoculus]

Taste Test

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou/Reader Setting: Tokyo, aged up characters, Soulmate AU Possible Triggers: Mentions of Death Word Count: 4,100 Cross-posted from AO3

In your years of pursuing a degree in Biology, you eventually learned along the way that the human being's most crucial sense is their sense of smell. It's heavily linked with a single human's memories since the olfactory bulb and the limbic system are heavily correlated. That alone might make a regular joe assume that smell really is the most powerful sense that a human being can obtain. You believed in that notion for as long as you could remember, too, but that was until last night.

Having slept considerably earlier than you normally would, being woken up at one in the morning didn't aid to your precarious temper at the time. More often than not, the reason for you being so rudely roused at this ungodly hour would be the Golden Ret you kept around your cramped apartment. He's always had a tendency to bark when he hears a car passing by outside, regardless of what time of day it is. However, in this case, your dog was sleeping soundly on the rug you kept at the foot of your bed and the only nuisance to your slumber being that terrible flavor that exploded in your mouth, seemingly out of nowhere.

In hindsight, it wasn't atrocious to the point where you doubled over. You tried flushing out the taste by swallowing your own saliva, but when you've swallowed faster than the time it took for your mouth to produce the sticky liquid, the taste still lingered. With a groan, you padded blindly through the darkness of your room, trying to reach the en-suite.

When you flipped the switch on, the fluorescent light made you flinch for a sliver of a moment. You blinked away the spots in your eyes and stuck your tongue out to check if you happened to forget to swallow the spaghetti you had for dinner. The idea sounded more ridiculous when you realize that there is absolutely nothing in your mouth. When you tried evaluating that twinge of flavor once more, it seemed to have petered out at the slightest -the strong astringent zest being diffused into a weaker taste.

Still, you didn't appreciate that vexing relish, no matter how minimal, so you grabbed a bottle of mouthwash from your display of imported toiletries and poured a hefty amount into your mouth without a spare thought.

You gurgled for the next five minutes, eradicating anything that might've caused this inconvenience, and it seemed to work better than you initially expected. Baring your teeth in front of the mirror, you inspected every crevice for any residue, but your teeth remained the sparkling white they have been before you went to bed. A frown settled on your face, still aghast with that strange endeavor.

However, just before you decided to catch some more Z's, the disgusting taste tormented you once more and you were about to reach out to your good ole' friend, Listerine, out of reflex, but the zing of bitterness was gradually replaced by a familiar taste... Was this apple juice? No, it had a little more spice, but you could definitely taste apples.

"What in the nine hells is going on," you whispered pathetically as you slid your body down to the bathroom floor.

You waited -waited for the flavors to come toppling all over you once more. But seconds, then minutes, then hours passed before slumber came back to claim you in its waiting arms.

"Your soulmate's pret-ty considerate," your co-worker, Oikawa comments dreamily as he opens up the breastplate of the most recent victim of yet another Tokyo car crash. "The first time I tasted something, it was probably just as terrible as yours, but Iwa-chan didn't even bother to rinse it off. I've forgiven him, though~"

You roll your eyes. "I can't believe we're talking about this while we're doing an autopsy."

He shrugs without letting his eyes wander from the body in front of him. "You brought it up. Can you hand me that rib cutter? Thanks."

Your gaze shifts to the girl Oikawa is currently cutting up. You've long gotten over the bothersome sensation that comes along with being around a dead human body (you've been doing post-mortem for years). But this doesn't stop your mind from drifting into the could-have-beens for this poor soul. According to the report passed down to you, her brother was the one driving the vehicle. The brother survived, but this one didn't, unfortunately. What a shame. This kid could have made it as a celebrity with her looks.

You try to recall her name -because you're not very good with names, even if it was written in the report- but it's as if your brain halts all activity for a split second. In the next proceeding moment, you swear that a familiar, steak-flavored snake slithers around your tongue, causing your salivary glands to produce even more. A groan makes its way past your lips and Oikawa's eyes dart to you for a second before continuing to saw away at the withering bones of a dead girl. You force yourself to stay put. Of all the times that your soulmate could have chosen to have that Salisbury steak from that fancy restaurant at Ikebukuro, why did they have to do it now?

"You alright there?" You can hear the budding concern in Oikawa's voice. The ghost of savory gravy haunts your tastebuds, which causes you to squirm even further in your seat. Oikawa is about to put the saw down, but that's until his phone vibrates in the pocket of his trousers. Arching his brow, he removes one of his gloves to check it out. "Huh. Bokuto posted something."

You try your best to pull yourself together to be able to form coherent sentences. "B-Bokuto, as in that comedian-Bokuto?"

"Yeah. Look." He proceeds to show you what's displayed on the screen of his phone. You squint a little to read the caption for his Instagram post.

bokutoe Out for lunch with the boys!

♡ bokutoe, kei_tsukishima, hinatatas, and 67 others like this.

In the picture is the aforementioned Bokuto Koutarou, looking like an owl on steroids as usual, the actor Akaashi Keiji, Bokuto's best friend, with the ever placid look on his face, and lastly is that breakout artist, Kuroo Tetsurou, who isn't even looking at the camera and is just poking at the steak on his plate...

Wait, what?

Before you give another thought to it, Oikawa speaks up. "Weird how Akaashi and Bokuto are in Ikebukuro, don't you think?" he asks as he spares yet another wistful stare at the girl on the autopsy bench. "They must be there to cheer Kuroo up."

"Huh? Why would they have to do that?"

He casts you a look that suggests that he just labeled you as a really dumb person. "Did you seriously forget? This girl-" He gestures vaguely to the body. "-is Kuroo Teruha, Kuroo Tetsurou's little sister."

You try not to let the fact that your soulmate is a hot singer get to your head. The man isn't even aware of your existence. Okay, maybe he somehow is, because when you had oatmeal for breakfast this morning, the faint bitterness of medicine teases your tongue. Out of sheer curiosity, you looked up one of those autobiography blogs about Kuroo (made by his thirteen year-old fangirls, you presume) and that's when you find out that he's allergic to oatmeal. God damn oatmeal.

When you think about it, isn't it a little too much of a stretch for him to take anti-allergy meds because he tasted something he's allergic to? The actual food itself isn't even inside his mouth in the first place, so why the hell...?

But still. If you were going to have a soulmate, you'd never expect it to be someone famous in a million years. Just your luck, your soulmate is a grieving musician, and you only found out that he was your soulmate the night his sister died. The universe really does have interesting ways of bringing people together. However, you're pretty sure you won't be dropping by his house anytime soon, telling him, "Hey, whaddup! It's ya soulmate!" while giving him the jazz hands. You'll try to give him some space and avoid eating oatmeal for the time being.

Work today progresses rather quickly, since you and Oikawa are simply finalizing some details with Teruha's autopsy report. But since it was his turn to be the lead pathologist, he does most of the work and you're only there to offer up better wording for his sentences.

"There," he declares as he places his pen on the table. "Finished."

A small smile plays at your lips. "Well, you wanna get some lunch?"

He shakes his head. "Iwa-chan's the lawyer for their case, remember? He's invited to the funeral today, so we're heading out...right now, actually. Wanna come with?"

You consider it for a moment, but then you remember that Kuroo might be there. Your breath hitches in your throat at the realization. Nope. You're not quite ready for the confrontation stage just yet.

"Ah, I forgot I had plans this afternoon," you reason out rather pathetically and you can see that Oikawa isn't buying your shit at all. But, being the good friend that he is, he only shrugs before placing the reports back in the manila folder. He hands them to you.

"Could you drop this off by Chief Azumane's office? I still have to get ready."

You scowl. "Why are you trying to be fashionable at the funeral of the girl you cut up yesterday?"

He winks. "Why not?"

Chief Azumane's office isn't too far from the forensics department -thank God- so when you swing by to hand him the files, you take your time to engage him in small talk.

Though he has the stature of a bear, the Chief is easily one of the most peaceful people you've met. In critical scenarios, he prefers not to exert violence of any sort as long as criminals in the picture can still be reasoned out with. In TV shows, the policeman who refused to get his hands dirtied would've been a failure but that definitely isn't the case with Chief Azumane.

"So just pop the lasagna in the oven for thirty or-so minutes -depending on how much you're going to cook- then you're good to go," he instructs with a cheery grin.  

"All noted, Chief." You tap at the temple of your head.

He laughs the most lighthearted laugh you've heard all day and proceeds to tell you about that one time Sawamura fell asleep while baking lasagna and almost burned their house down. You're all about hearing Superintendent Sawamura, one of the most uptight officers in the station, almost burn his own house down because he was cooking up some pasta. But then another spectre hauls your attention away from the man in front of you. You feel as if there's some powder on your lips, so you try to lick it away but the sensation wouldn't disappear. A lemony zest balanced with just the right amount of sugar teases your mouth, and wait... You can't put your finger on what this is, but you know you've tasted it before...

"Whoops," the sound of the Chief bumping into his desk as he abruptly stands from his seat breaks you out of your reverie. "I just got a call. There's some thief that needs disciplining in Akiba. As much as I want to continue this conversation, we'll have to save it for later." You don't miss the slightly disappointed ring to his words, as he strides out of his office. But you're so busy trying to recall what food has the taste in your mouth, you don't even notice Chief Azumane leave the room.

Oikawa calls you as you commute back to your apartment.

"You should have come along with uuuus," your friend drawls. "It was a funeral, but their lemon squares are to die for!"

You snap your fingers in conclusion, waking up the elderly man sleeping beside you on the bus. He gives you the stink eye before settling back into his comfortable position. Lemon squares; that's what they're called!

Without thinking, you agree, "I know right?"

"Huh? How do you know?"

You bite your lip. Shit. "U-Um, I heard that they got those lemon squares from the bakery near the park, hahaha. They taste really good!"

Silence. "They were made by Kuroo's mother."

Forgoing all reason, you hang up on him.

It's been a month since you've known about the bond you shared with Kuroo, and since there hasn't been a rockstar knocking at your door for the past month, you draw a conclusion that he's yet to know who keeps on eating ice cream for breakfast. When Oikawa found out, he went into a fit, stating all the health hazards that came along with ingesting that much of a sweet so early in the morning. You really wish to tell him your reasons for your strange breakfast choice, but reluctance overshadows your honesty. Besides, it's not like you're jeopardizing your health on purpose, right? You only do it to excite a reaction from Kuroo because every time you have that delectable treat for breakfast, he counters it with bacon and eggs.

Furthermore, you've pretty much painted a clear picture of his eating habits over the past month. Kuroo likes eating mints. He likes it far too much for your own comfort. Well, it kind of saves you from the burden of buying your own, but you really want to drink a glass of orange juice without feeling like you just brushed your teeth, every now and then. You know that he wakes up far earlier than you do because more often than not, you don't taste your morning breath. Instead, he's already eating his goddamn mints.

As mentioned before, he probably eats breakfast around the time you do. (You like to think that he's waiting to taste the ice cream on his lips before he eats his bacon and eggs, but that seems to much of a pipe dream at the moment.) He drinks a lot of energy drinks, too. From the build of his body, you wouldn't be surprised if he was actually a part-time bodybuilder or even an athlete. Other than that, he's really fond of meat, exotic burgers especially. At least once a day, you can taste a savory beef patty on your tongue, accompanied by some vegetables that you'd normally take out in your burgers, and condiments that you would rather not taste again. You let him know that you don't like it when he eats burgers by rinsing the taste off with some mouthwash, but he doesn't seem to be as lenient as he was during the first night.

Speaking of which, you're now sure that he was drinking that night. Alcohol wasn't something you enjoyed, so you steered clear of it as much as possible. So you were immensely delighted when Kuroo decided not to drink any more intoxicating substances now that he's aware that his soulmate wouldn't appreciate it.

However, you get another bitter round of intoxication that doesn't belong to you the following night.

You've only ever been drunk once, and it was because of a beer that had the lowest alcohol content you've heard of. But you do remember the haze of intoxication bringing about both the happiest moments of your life and the most miserable of your memories. Assuming that Kuroo is experiencing the same thing, he can't really be brimming with glee, since his sister just died a month ago (and you're more than sure that he still blames himself for it). So, when he tries to drink away the sorrow and guilt that still plague his chest, you don't interrupt him via using the mouthwash solution. You let him drink all the alcohol his heart can take, until your own throat burns and your vision starts to swim. You're left wondering how this bond goes way deeper than the phantom flavors that haunt the two of you.  

"You're hiding something from me," Oikawa accuses you.

Not really capable of casting him a sideways glance, since you're focused on trying to cut a Y-shaped incision onto the torso of your newest post-mortem guest, you tell him, "If I was hiding something, what would you think it'll be?"

Silence encompasses the autopsy room, and you shudder for some reason.

"You found out who your soulmate is, didn't you?" he guesses, and surprisingly there's no hint of hostility to his tone. He kind of sounds like a mother that figured out an innocent secret her child has been hiding.

With a bated breath, you finally spare him a look. "It's complicated."

"You met him yet?"

"No...But I know who he is."

Oikawa nods in understanding. "Does he know who you are?"

You place your instruments on the tray beside you and contemplate about your reply for a moment. If Superintendent Sawamura is here, witnessing you purposely delaying an autopsy, he would have whopped your ass. You whisper a silent apology to the dead man on the table before training your eyes on Oikawa's. "I don't think he's ready yet."

His brow arches questioningly. "How ready can one ever be when it comes to their soulmate, honestly?"

You sigh. "You've got a point, but... I don't want to rush him."

Your friend processes your words for a moment, and when the flash of realization sparks in his brown eyes, you immediately pull your focus back to sawing off this man's ribs and getting his internal organs out. Oikawa surprises you once more when he doesn't flail about like a fish out of water, demanding you for answers. He waits patiently, very patiently. Not another word is uttered within the four corners of the room until you've analyzed what you can about the body -he died of head trauma- and stitched it back up.

As you are washing your hands in a nearby sink, you feel a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"Iwa-chan told me he also likes lasagna," Oikawa offers you a sly smile. "Why don't you try...eating some?"

You heave a deep breath before turning off the faucet and drying your hands on your stained lab gown. You turn to him and return his grin. "That just might be a good idea."

Despite Chief Azumane sharing a rushed How-To-Make-Lasagna tutorial a few months ago, you couldn't find it in yourself to cook your own and eat it, knowing that another person at the end of the bond could very well taste your potentially horrible cooking. So, instead of splurging money to gather ingredients for the dish, you utilize the services of an Italian restaurant nearby, instead. You initially intended to drag Oikawa with you, but he apparently had movie night with Iwaizumi. You were very cool with that, but having to eat all this lasagna all by yourself seems like a heavy task, even for a bulk eater, such as yourself.

After saying your thanks for the food, you're about to stick your fork in the dish but that's until you taste the pasta before you can even start eating it. It's the perfect blend of cheese, beef, and tomato sauce and your mouth starts to water even if the food is right in front of you. What the hell? Is Kuroo here?

Your eyes dart around to the rest of the restaurant, whose current occupants considered mostly of families and teenagers on dates. You nearly miss the rockstar if it weren't for his unruly hair and very noticeable outfit. He's wearing a red flannel over a white shirt, paired with loose jeans. He looks like a ranch owner, yet he still manages to look just as dashing as you already know he is.

The two of you are locking eyes from the opposite ends of the room, and your heart is beating off the charts. To make matters worse (or better?), he begins to stand up, carrying an entire platter of lasagna in his arms, and proceeds to walk towards you.

Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT.

You try to act natural. Well, as natural as one can be while their hot soulmate is walking towards them. When Kuroo finally gets to your table, he showcases a lopsided smile.

"Is this seat taken?" he asks you in a voice that sounds like velvet in your ears.

In the midst of your mild shock, you remember to speak. "Uh, no. D-Do you wanna eat with me?"

His lips stretch into a grin before he slides himself into the seat next to yours. Your face feels warm all of a sudden, and you suddenly remember the high school crush you used to have on Matsukawa. It kind of felt like this, but your heart didn't beat as wildly back then than it is now. Kuroo doesn't chow down, contrary to your expectations of him. Instead, he pulls out a container from his pocket and offers you a mint.

"My name's Tetsurou," he introduces sheepishly. "Thanks for tolerating me."

You stare at the mint in your hand. He always chooses the brand that you're not very fond of but, nonetheless you consume it with a smile, a wave of warmth suddenly pulsing right through you. The spearmint spices up your mouth, and you only discern how much of a terrible idea that was when your eyes drift back to your lasagna.

"You, dolt!" A groan escapes your lips, and the flustered feelings from earlier disappear in a blink of an eye. "How am I supposed to eat now that you made me taste those goddamn mints again?"

He gives you an incredulous look. "You don't like it when I eat mints? Oh, shit. Sorry. Why didn't you let me know?"

For the time that's passed, it's been a mutual agreement for the both of you to resort to mouthwash when one person at the end of the bond consumes something that the other is not very fond of. But with the case of his stupid mints, there's quite a problem to that feat.

"How was I supposed to wash out the taste of mints with menthol mouthwash, genius?" you rebutt with a snarky tone.

"Couldn't you have eaten spoiled food to give me the hint?"

"You're not serious, right?"

He shrugs. "Beggars can't be choosers."

"Oh, so I'm a beggar now?"

"What? No! I'm -ah fuck. Lemme start over," he raises his hands in defense before taking a deep breath. "First off, I wanted to apologize for not looking for you right away. That night -w-when Teruha was hospitalized- I went out drinking and at my first glass, I could already feel something scraping at my tastebuds. That's when I realized. But since I was so...devastated, I couldn't spare the time to find out who you were... If you don't mind me asking, how long have you known?"

You remain silent for a good while, and you can almost see the raw discomfort on his face. With a sigh, you tell him about everything.

He's the one who keeps his silence this time, carefully assessing every word you just told him. He didn't strike you as someone calm and calculating but your assumptions prove otherwise. You expect him to get up and bail out on you. You've known for this long, but didn't even have the guts to face him even if he was just within your reach. If you hadn't come here today, maybe you would have chosen not to meet Kuroo at all.

To your surprise (cough, relief, cough), his mouth curls into a small smile. "Man, I owe you a lot, don't I?"

You shake your head insistingly. "You don't owe me anything, Kuroo. I've been in forensics for as long as I can remember. I've dealt with lots of grieving family members. From all the years that passed, I learned that the best thing one can give them is space."

He freezes. "You're a forensic scientist?"

"Pathologist, actually." You cock your head. "You didn't know?"

He lowers his head and chuckles. "Iwaizumi only told me that I'd meet my soulmate here..."

"Iwaizumi?" you echo with incredulity. If Iwaizumi told him to go here, and Oikawa planted the idea in your head...

Your fist collides with the table and the silverware clinks at the force. A budding flame of childlike rage courses through your veins. Kuroo looks at you with sheer concern and amusement at the same time.

"We were set up!"

[sage-nebula]

YGO - Between Dreams and Reality

Notes: This fic was commissioned by the lovely @chiazu with the prompt, “Wishshipping, hurt/comfort, Yuugi has nightmares about Jounouchi dying during the duel with Malik after Battle City.” Thank you so much for the commission; I hope you enjoy the fic!

Something was wrong.

Yuugi didn’t so much know this as he felt it, deep in his chest and shivering under his skin. He wrapped his arms around himself and took a gulp of hot, stifling air as his eyes strained to see through the darkness around him.

Something was missing.

His head pounded as he tried to force himself to see even two feet ahead. Nothing. There was nothing but pitch black above, around, or below. He scuffed his shoe and found that it slid with minimal resistance. The ground was smooth, at least. Metal, maybe, but with no light aside from a few dancing embers here or there he had no way to see---

Hacking coughs burned his throat and forced him to double over, first standing, then kneeling. He couldn’t see the smoke, really, but he could smell it, could feel it as it seared his throat with every necessary, aching breath. Yuugi braced himself on hands and knees, his fingernails scraping against what felt like metal grating, scraping for something, anything---

(---a hand to hold, a sleeve to grasp--)

---to help him get his bearings.

But there was nothing, nothing---though there was, there was something . . . it was because there was nothing that he knew there was something missing. He wiped his mouth with a shaking arm as his coughing subsided, and once more lifted his head to see through the---

A rush of furious heat slammed into him, forcing his stinging eyes shut as he doubled over again. In contrast to the gloom around him, everything behind his closed eyes was gold---burning, blinding gold that scrunched his face in pain. It hurt to see, hurt to breathe, hurt to think the heat was so oppressive, but that---that wasn’t---

An inhuman cry rent the air, and in that moment Yuugi knew he wouldn’t have been able to breathe even if he wasn’t trapped in a burning nothingness.

He wrenched his eyes open and looked around frantically, blinking past the tears that streamed down his cheeks. Nothing, nothing, nothing; the air was orange-gold now, the embers sparking like specks in the smoke, but he couldn’t see---couldn’t see anything---

A whimper, a dying croon in contrast to the agonized keening from before. The last breath of a slain dragon to tell Yuugi that it was no longer that something was missing, but that someone was lost. A choked gasp from his raw throat came out like a sob, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he put his forehead to his knees---

“. . . ake up! Yuugi!”

Yuugi woke with a sense of disorientation so strong and sudden that for a second he wasn’t sure where he was.

But that was silly. He was in his room---he was always in his room, or at least he usually was when he first woke up. He wasn’t on his knees, bent over in an endless expanse, struggling to breathe through ungodly heat. He was lying on his back in his bed, sweat sticking his pajamas to his chest and his bangs to his face, the room dark but still lit by the gleam of moonlight through his window blinds. And there was nothing wrong, nothing missing, no one lost, or dead, or dying. Everyone was home where they should be, perfectly fine.

Everyone . . . Yuugi swallowed hard, and grasped his bed covers in a tight fist.

But he wasn’t alone. In the endless expanse of his dreamscape he might have been, but here he always had another with him. The Spirit of the Puzzle, Yuugi’s “Other Self”, took spirit form beside his bed, and leaned over in concern.

“Is everything all right, partner?” he asked.

Yuugi smiled weakly. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

His other self’s frown didn’t waver. “You seemed disturbed. Was it a bad dream?”

“It . . . yeah. Something like that.”

Yuugi was never sure how to describe his dreams. “Nightmare” was the technical term, he guessed, but he never dreamed of things like serial killers chasing him, or showing up to class stark naked. Instead, his dreams took the form of shapes and colors, sensations and sounds rather than anything concrete. He could remember the feeling of the heat scorching his every breath, could feel the weight of despair and panic in his bones, could still hear the agonized keening of the dying Red-Eyes Black Dragon ringing in his---

Yuugi reflexively scrunched his shoulders up to block his ears, even though there was no sound in his room. He didn’t want to hear that sound ever again. Not even in his own memory.

“You don’t look well,” his Other Self said, and Yuugi forced his shoulders to relax as he sighed through his teeth. The concern was nice, but as much as he didn’t ever want to hear a Red-Eyes Black Dragon die again, he also didn’t want to--- “If you tell me what’s wrong, I could help.” ---talk about it.

“That’s okay,” Yuugi said, and he forced another smile as his Other Self’s frown grew. “It was just a bad dream. I’ll be fine by morning.”

“Mmm. If you say so. But if you have another, we’ll need to talk about it.”

Yuugi rolled his eyes. “Okay. If you say so.”

“I do,” his Other Self said. “And if you say no that time, we’ll play a game for it.”

For a second, Yuugi thought he heard wrong. But when his Other Self continued to stare at him as seriously as ever, Yuugi shoved himself up into a half-seated position and demanded, “Are you serious?”

Finally, his Other Self’s frown gave way to a little smirk. “If that’s what it takes. Is it?”

Yuugi huffed, and flopped back down on his bed, turning his back to his Other Self. “I can’t believe you. Me? Of all people?”

“What’s wrong with it? It wouldn’t be a Shadow Game,” his Other Self said, and Yuugi was glad his back was turned so that nothing of how his stomach turned at the phrase would show on his face. “And the Penalty would only be that you would have to tell me what was bothering you.”

“Just a Penalty for me, huh? Because you know I’d lose?” Yuugi muttered.

His Other Self hummed a moment before he said quietly, “No . . . I don’t think I do.”

Yuugi furrowed his brow. He’d meant what he’d said as something of a joke. His Other Self was ridiculously skilled at gaming, but it wasn’t as if Yuugi himself was a slouch, and enough loud pep talks from Jounouchi had encouraged him to be less self-deprecating. But the seriousness with which his Other Self had responded was . . .

It was strange, but not as much as the way his heart dropped when he thought of Jounouchi and his aggressively uplifting encouragement, the faint echo of the Red-Eyes’ death cry resounding again in his memory. He clutched his blanket tighter for support before he asked, “Hey . . . Jounouchi-kun’s okay, isn’t he?”

“He seemed fine when we saw him today,” Yuugi’s Other Self said, and Yuugi released a sigh of relief. “Why? Did something happen?”

“N . . . not recently,” Yuugi said, but even after he said it it felt like just as much of a lie as his initial denial was. It had been only a week since Battle City had ended and they had all returned home---only a week since Malik had tried (both directly and indirectly) to kill Jounouchi three times, and succeeded on the last, if only temporarily. But Yuugi felt as if Battle City had aged him by years, no matter how ridiculous that sounded. Maybe he was experiencing the inverse of what his Other Self felt.

“All right,” his Other Self said dubiously. “But if you have any concerns, you should ask him at school tomorrow.”

“I will,” Yuugi said, even though he knew he wouldn’t.

As he always did when he was anxious about something, Yuugi got to school early the next day. He sat in his desk, his shoulders feeling like they were holding a coiled spring between them, tapping his foot against the floor. His Other Self didn’t say anything about it, but Yuugi could feel him watching with rapt attention. It was simultaneously the best and worst; he appreciated the concern, he really did, but being watched so closely did nothing to ease his anxiety.

“Mornin’, Yuugi!”

But that did.

The instant Yuugi looked up and saw Jounouchi’s sun-bright smile, the spring that had been lodged between his shoulders broke and fell away. For the first time since he had woken from that awful dream the previous night, Yuugi felt himself able to smile genuinely, every muscle in his body relaxing.

He might have heard a Red-Eyes Black Dragon die, but that didn’t mean it actually happened.

“What’s up?” As he always did, Jounouchi tossed his own bag onto his desk before making his way to Yuugi’s, not missing a beat. He leaned back against the desk, half-sitting on it, his arms loosely crossed as he leaned over to look down at Yuugi. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Yuugi said, and his answer was automatic, but it was also true. Now he knew for sure: Everything was okay.

Jounouchi watched him for a second, lips pressed tightly together, before he leaned down closer, eyes narrowed in a shrewd look. On instinct Yuugi pulled back, but that only caused Jounouchi to lean even closer, so close their foreheads were nearly touching.

Up close like this, Jounouchi’s eyes looked like they had flecks of gold in them.

“Hmm . . . okay,” Jounouchi said finally, apparently having discerned something from staring at Yuugi up close. “But if anything comes up, you tell me, all ri---aagh, what the hell---?!”

Jounouchi leaped back, swinging behind him, frantically trying to brush something off his neck. The something became clear a moment later as Bakura skipped out of the way of Jounouchi’s flailing hands, and stepped in front of Yuugi’s desk, smiling brightly.

“Good morning,” he said, holding up the shoelace he’d used to tickle the back of Jounouchi’s neck.

“Morning, Bakura-kun,” Yuugi said, returning his smile.

Jounouchi, on the other hand, was not so amused. He yanked his jacket down to fix where it had been rumpled, and then demanded flatly, “Bakura, what the hell?”

“Sorry. You were so distracted I couldn’t resist,” Bakura said, his smile never wavering as he slipped the shoelace into his pocket. “I had to take the opportunity where I saw it.”

“Oh yeah?” Jounouchi said, and there was a light in his eyes now, a challenging arch in his eyebrows, that gave Yuugi enough warning to scoot his chair back. “Then maybe I can’t resist doing this!”

On the last word he launched himself forward, and threw his arm around Bakura’s neck. Holding him in a headlock, he began furiously mussing Bakura’s hair with his fist.

“Jounouchi-kun!” Bakura gasped, half-laughing as Jounouchi smooshed his hair down into his eyes. “Stop, I give up, I’m sorry!”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Jounouchi said, and he released Bakura from what Yuugi could tell had been a painless noogie with one final muss of his hair. By now, Bakura looked as though he’d walked to school through a tornado, and no amount of attempting to flatten his hair back into shape would help him. Yuugi bit down on another smile.

Everything was fine. There was nothing he could do to stop his dreams; he’d learned a long time ago that they would repeat as many times as his subconscious felt it necessary, and that the most he could do was try to decipher what they meant, and then live with that meaning. But as exhausting as it was to be woken by nightmares, even the same one, night after night, all that mattered was that everything in the waking world was as it should be.

Honda and Anzu crossed the room to join them, Anzu handing Bakura a comb so he could try to fix his hair, Honda throwing a playful punch Jounouchi’s way that Jounouchi batted to the side. As he fended off Honda’s roughhousing, Jounouchi glanced Yuugi’s way and tossed him another grin.

Yuugi smiled back.

Yes, everything was exactly as it should be.