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look-at-the-soul · 6 months ago

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Every little thing you do- Part 7

Tommy Shelby x reader

Series master list

A/N:Sorry for not posting this part earlier! I’ve been sick all week but I’m finally functioning like a human again 🤭 you’ll see some references to what really happened in season 3, I just adapted it to this story. Anyways hope you enjoy it! 🥰 let me know in the comments xx

Word count: 3,964

Tommy felt his anger raising, but he needed to calm down and think.

Think straight, have a clear mind.

Father Hughes was the most irritating person on earth. He didn’t want him to be involved in his charity project, that man was far from being someone respectable and he only make him waste his time. Deep down, Tommy knew he must have a dark past, something that he did wrong… he just needed to find what was his weakness.

It was still early, but still he needed a drink. Taking a glass and a decanter, he poured himself some.

“Thomas.” Polly called from the door.

“I need you to take care of everything today, gotta go.”

“Where?”

“I’ve a meeting, will probably be back later tonight.” He took a long swing of his drink. “Arranged a meeting with Vicente Changretta, Arthur and John will be there.”

They needed to fix the relationship with the Italians, after burning down the restaurant. He already had enough trouble in his hands.

“Fine.” She looked at him intensely. “You know… I was talking to Lizzie yesterday.”

Tommy hummed unbothered.

“Has Y/N told you if Lizzie keeps pissing her off?”

“No. Why?” He moved to his desk to take a few things.

Polly shuddered, perhaps she understood Lizzie wrong, she seemed to feel embarrassed and refused to say anything else to her.

“She’s jealous.” Polly ran her fingers through her hair. “She thought Y/N’s baby was yours.”

Tommy’s head snapped towards his aunt. His eyes had closed in disbelief. “What the fuck?”

“Look, I’m not judging her, and you shouldn’t either.” Polly gave him a knowing glance, se had talked to the secretary and she seemed to be having a change of heart.

“She told me she’s willing to do anything to get you to trust her once more.”

Pondering on Polly’s words, Tommy thought for a couple of seconds. “Anything eh? Alright… she’s going to help us clean the mess she made.”

He’d try to push Lizzie’s buttons just to make sure how far she could go. The sudden change could’ve a reason behind.

Now it was Polly’s turn to squint her eyes. “What are you thinking of?”

“She’s going to break up this absurd romance with Angel Changretta. Very peacefully.”

“Isn’t that too much to ask?” She asked cautiously.

“Explain to Lizzie how life works, no matter what Angel says, he’ll always remind her of her past. If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll always have her desk available here as a secretary, but if she keeps this going, I’m going to be her worst nightmare.” He warned right before storming out his office.

First he’d stop by to pay Ada a visit, then off to the meeting with the Russian royalty.

***

Y/N thanked the two men carrying the last piece of furniture into the office, they previously brought in the small desk and chairs, the bookshelf and a file cabinet.

In the corner of the room, she kept a box full of folders, sheets and other office supplies she would distribute among the classrooms. Most of her days have been busy organizing the storage and after a while it seemed to be presentable.

“Miss Y/N Y/LN?” The gardener called, getting her attention. “Your presence is required outside.”

“Oh! Sure.”

The Shelby Institute might open its doors any moment now, she thought as she strolled through the long hall, her shoes clacked against the floor, the daily walks around the institute made her keep in a good shape, because her belly was becoming more prominent day by day, of course she got out of breath anyways.

“We just need you to check if it’s the right color.” Paul asked pointing at the wall.

Tommy made sure to hire Small Heath people, purchasing all the material from local and small businesses, he felt this urge to help as much as possible because he couldn’t stop thinking given different circumstances, it would be him instead of them struggling with money, not having enough in their pockets to feed their family.

“This looks amazing, thank you for all the hard work you’re doing.” Y/N praised.

It wasn’t her place to supervise, but Tommy officially let her decide everything that was needed; from the color, decoration, even the personnel. He just kept signing cheques.

“Am I still on time to enroll my children? Could you ask Mr. Shelby, Miss Y/LN?”

“Yes of course you can! Bring me the papers tomorrow morning and the authorization.”

It was Tommy’s wish, to help as much people as possible.

The man gave her an embarrassed glance. “I don’t want them to be like me, I want them to have an education.” He added with melancholy.

“There’s nothing wrong to work in construction Billy,” Y/N encouraged. “But it’s admirable that you want them to be better.”

“That wouldn’t be possible without Mr. Shelby’s generosity.”

Y/N smiled at him but before she could step inside the building again, she noticed a car parking behind. Squinting her eyes because of the sun, she could barely tell who was that.

“Is this the Institution that runs that gang leader?” The man asked, judging by his attire he was a priest, but there was some off about him that said otherwise.

An uneasy feeling made Y/N take a step back, she covered her bump with the folders in her hands in a protective motion.

“Who’s asking?”

Tommy would be the last person on earth to have something to do with a priest.

The man looked her up and down, giving her a nasty and dirty stare.

“Tell him I’ll supervise this place, once it’s open.”

When he left, his vehicle made a cloud of dust. He didn’t ask politely, no, he pretended to be in charge of the charity.

Y/N walked inside the Institute again, making a mental note to add a room for the children to read, and they might need a fountain in the patio. She chuckled to herself, realizing she started to sound like Tommy.

No long after honking loudly, Tommy announced his presence, Y/N saw him behind the window as he was strolling towards her.

“Pick up your stuff, we’re going.” He announced.

“Where?”

“Somewhere, don’t ask.”

Y/N frowned. “I’ve to ask, it’s going to be midday, there’s things that need to be done.”

Tommy stepped into her office, looking for her coat and handbag.

“Yeah I pay you a ridiculous amount of money it’s about time you hire an assistant.” He said with a wink.

“An assistant of an assistant. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard.” She added, Tommy noticed she crossed her arms, not pleased by his interruption, she was always doing what she had to do and don’t you dare to move something from her things-to-do-list.

“It’s something good, trust me.”

“Can I ask where are we going?” Y/N asked enjoying the wind in her face.

“No.”

“What’s with all this secrecy?”

“If I tell you, you’re going to tell me no.”

“Well, you better include food because the baby is getting hungry.” Y/N smiled at her bump, while her hands caressed in a circle motion. Day by day she was getting fond of her baby.

“Oh I was counting you’d say that, lately you’re demanding more and more food.” He added in a light mood.

“Polly says I need to eat for two.” Y/N defended.

Tommy chuckled and in a blink, he was gone. He literally stormed into the library.

The little information she managed to get was that now she was reading out loud for Tommy a book about Russians that ran away from the revolution and opted to live exiled and from the Crown’s charity. Tommy assured her that way was practical.

Parking later after in front of a couple of shops, but she still knew so little about what was behind Tommy’s requests.

“I’ve a meeting around, it should be quick,” he explained helping Y/N out of the car, “but I thought it might be good if you start searching for some baby furniture, eh?”

“Tommy…” She covered her mouth with her hand.

“And don’t even start saying you don’t have money, I promised your grandma to look after the two of you, and that includes the things the baby will need.” Tommy used her shocked state to practically drag her inside the store, wining the argument way before it could start. “Hello, we would like to check out a moses, a rocking chair, a drawer…”

Y/N stared at him silently, Tommy thought of everything and even though his generosity wasn’t a surprise, it still came out of the blue, catching her off guard.

“Would you like us to open an account?” Asked the perplexed sales woman.

“Yes,” Tommy answered eyeing a catalog. “Everything she wants, a lamp, the carpet, the sheets… just put it into my account.” He handled a card with his company name and address. “Pick you up in about an hour?”

Y/N nodded, still trying to process everything.

“Leave something for the rest of the costumers ey!” Tommy shouted from the door before disappearing.

The woman started swooning immediately. “I hope the baby will get his eyes.” The woman admitted with a blush.

Y/N opened her mouth to correct her and tell her that Tommy wasn’t the father, but she closed it instead, remembering the advise her grandmother shared with her; don’t explain your situation to people you don’t know, let them believe their assumptions even if it’s incorrect. It will save you of uncomfortable explanations.

So Y/N gave the sales woman an awkward smile and followed her to the back of the store, this moment would arrive sooner or later and she was already here.

“We can make any piece you want in a variety of colors, there’s a trunk in the corner that goes well with this dresser…”

“Let me bring the fabric catalog for the carpets.” Added another woman, they obviously wanted to make a juicy sale.

Y/N felt like she was walking on a cloud, the smile on her face couldn’t get bigger. And now, she was the one swooning over the furniture, her imagination taking her to unknown places with images of her rocking her baby to sleep, or taking a look through the canopy at a small bundle of joy.

An excited gasp escaped her lips when she landed her eyes on a crib mobile. Her heart did this flip inside her chest and she could hardly hide her emotions.

“Should we add it?” The expert eye of the sales woman noticed her excitement. “Your baby will be fascinated and spend hours staring at it.”

The mobile had a handmade star and a sheep, a fluffy cloud and a small sun. It was adorable, she couldn’t wait for her baby to be born to use everything.

Y/N was allowed to sit on the rocking chairs to see which one felt more comfortable and the women showed her a few combinations to create a whole set of dresser, a small wardrobe, a bedside table and also the different colors they had to offer. The more she looked, the more confused she felt because everything was beautiful! She had never had the chance to purchase furniture, since her house was filled with her grandma’s possessions.

A fond memory of her grandmother knitting a blanket for one of her sisters filled her mind, her parents didn’t have enough money to buy fancy furniture, so they used a basket as a crib, she was just a girl but she remembered it clearly.

Both women shared endless recommendations for her baby arrival, and Y/N felt extremely grateful and was willing to take every little thing that could be helpful.

As she flicked another page of the catalog, she wondered how long would it take Tommy to pick her up, then her thoughts wandered towards her sister Lee-Anne, the last time she saw her, it was the day her father hit her. They couldn’t meet because their parents where so strict now, after what happened, they were trying to move under the radar according to her grandmother. There were so many things she wanted to tell Lee-Anne, firstly assure her that she was alright, she didn’t need to worry, then when the time is right, she would explain everything to her, so the younger girl wouldn’t make the same mistake as her.

Not that she thought her baby was a mistake, no. Those are two separate things. But the circumstances it’s what was wrong, she was aware that not all women had a Tommy Shelby around the corner to selflessly take care of everything.

If only she knew then, she’d do it differently.

“Y/N?” A gentle voice called for her, something squeezed her arm slightly.

Her eyes fluttered open and Y/N looked around confused.

“You fell asleep.” Tommy pointed out.

“It happens all the time.” The sales woman gave her a small glance. “We didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Goodness.” Y/N felt embarrassed and mortified, she felt tired.

“So, I think you found the perfect rocking chair then.” Tommy raised his eyebrows in amusement.

“We’ll have everything delivered in a couple of weeks.” Her smile couldn’t get bigger.

Thanking them, Tommy and Y/N stepped outside the boutique, she wanted to stretch her legs so bad.

“How did your meeting go?”

“Boring.”

He always had just a few words to say. But his eyes, said everything that was crossing his mind.

“Did you get to drink vodka and do the Russian dance?” Y/N teased.

Tommy scoffed at her sense of humor.

“He’s a liar, a buffer. He’s just a filthy lucky bastard with the right connections.”

He sighed loudly, but at least Tommy was sharing something with her. In that case it would be so easy for him to make that man show his true colors.

As he started the engine, Y/N started telling him of all the adorable things they showed her at the store, noticing the way her eyes were glowing. And he obviously preferred that kind of news instead of the one Polly was about to share.

“I’ll wait here by the fireplace.” Y/N announced, not wanting to get in the middle of the argument.

Sitting in one of the couches, she leaned her head back, rolling her feet meanwhile a few steps away, the Shelby family were discussing over whatever John had made.

“If you apologize once, you do it again and again…” Y/N heard Tommy say as she was drifting away to sleep. But she was far too gone and tired.

Feeling drained after all the things he got busy with, Tommy couldn’t wait to be home.

“You can stay over so you don’t have to drive back.” He proposed to his brother Finn, who would be driving.

But as Tommy stepped into the entry, he stopped abruptly when his eyes landed on Y/N. She was peacefully sleeping on the couch, the flames of the fireplace casting shadows over her features while one of her hands rested under her belly.

He didn’t have the heart to wake her up.

“Bring the car around.” He whispered Finn, trying to concede Y/N a few more minutes before starting the road back home.

Taking off his coat, he slid it over her frame to cover her from the cold. Tommy tried to call her in a low voice, but she only adjusted her shoulder as answer. Y/N should probably take things easier, but she was adamant to finish the charity project, she was pouring every fiber of her soul into it and wanted to make sure every single detail was perfect.

“Y/N… let’s go.” Tommy tried again softly.

Fluttering her eyes, she slowly opened them squinting in confusion by feeling Tommy touching her shoulder.

“C’mon let me help you.”

“Hmm.” She hummed barely cooperating.

She was beyond sleepy by the time they reached the car, settled taking the back seat by herself, she heard the Shelby brothers talking something about an Italian pub and a fight that would eventually happen. Tommy mentioned something about their fragile ego and sending flowers to a hospital, but Y/N couldn’t be sure because maybe it was part of her dream.

She moved across the room, smashing the fresh berries for the pie she was baking, the lovely smell feeling the small kitchen, it was a sunny day and she could hear the birds chirping, when suddenly a baby cry came to her attention. Y/N rushed then to get pick up her baby who was demanding her presence.

“It’s just fine, are you hungry?” She cooed to settle the lovely bundle wrapped in a blanket.

“How’s my ray of sunshine?” Asked her grandmother from behind, reaching over to caress the baby’s face.

“Woke up hungry.”

“You feed the baby while I finish the pie.”

When the car took a turn Y/N’s bumped something, she woke up disoriented.

“Finally I was tired of you snoring.” Tommy teased taking at look over his shoulder.

“Oh my God I don’t snore!”

“Loud and clear.” Tommy assured her. “Like a truck driver.”

Y/N gave Tommy a surprised and embarrassed look, awkwardly she tried to fix her hair since it was out of place.

Finn rushed upstairs while Mary greeted them by the door.

“Something important came up?” Tommy asked the maid.

“Just a few letters.” She gave him a nod.

“Oh, and maybe a couple of responses to the charity invitation.” Y/N wondered out loud.

“All correspondence arrived under Mr. Shelby’s name.” The maid explained, making a bit obvious that she wasn’t very fond of Y/N.

Y/N looked between Tommy and Mary, waiting.

“Go on, go check the mail.” He told her softly.

“Mr. Shelby.” Mary tried to get his attention. “The mailman thinks Miss Y/LN is Mrs. Shelby, he asked me if Mrs. Shelby had anymore invites to send off.” The maid voiced with concern.

Tommy noticed the offended tone in her voice.

“Let him think whatever he wants, Mary.” Tommy shuddered, not thinking it was important. “As long as he takes the mail.”

“But…” she tried again, then closed her mouth when Tommy gave her the look.

“That’s all, thank you Mary.” Tommy dismissed her just as Y/N entered the reading room skipping happily.

“Guess!”

Sitting, Tommy groaned. “Guess what?”

“He said yes!” Y/N explained excitedly.

“Who?” He chuckled at her happiness.

“He leader of the Birmingham City Council is going to attend the dinner.” Y/N showed him the letter back. “Everyone has said yes.”

Tommy dragged his eyes from the piece of paper, towards Y/N.

“Ah.” Suddenly she got the energy of a kid, it was the nap during the car ride did wonders to her.

“I keep changing the menu, do you think we should offer something else?” Y/N kept explaining how she needed to send a Thank you note back to the people who had confirmed their attendance.

The charity was clearly an excellent job for her. Keeping her busy with something good whilst helping people in need and he was glad to have someone he could trust to take care of that.

“You need to remember to take this slowly, write off those notes tomorrow or the day after tomorrow.” He suggested.

“But Tommy, these things can’t wait, it takes days for the letters to be delivered and-”

“Very well then, why don’t you use the typewriter I gave you.” He cleared his throat and took a sip of his drink.

“Tom!” She chuckled. “You don’t write letters of a social occasion on a typewriter.” Y/N explained him with a smile.

“Oh, forgive me.” He raised his eyebrows.

She then went on to show him another paper. “I’ve the drawings of what they plan to do with the grounds of the institute. There’ll be an area for the children to play. Look.” He hummed in response. “And the Birmingham Charity Commission have agreed to set aside their three rotten floorboards upstairs and grant us the license within a month.”

She finally took a deep breath after managing to explain him all in record time. There was a soft smile playing on his lips and she found tenderness in his eyes.

“You’re not listening to me.” Y/N sentenced.

Tommy leaned forwards. “Yes I am. I am.”

“You think I’m becoming obsessed?” Y/N stopped abruptly.

A chuckle escaped Tommy’s lips. “No, as a matter of fact, I love the passion you’ve put into this project.”

“This wouldn’t be possible without you.” Y/N expressed honestly.

Tommy gave Y/N a long look, studying her features, until he finally spoke.

“I’ve something for you.” Y/N frowned confused. “I know you’ll say it’s a bit too much, but still.”

“What did you get?” She eyed him suspiciously.

“Close your eyes.” Tommy encouraged.

“Tom.”

He fixed his eyes on her, not taking a no for as answer. So she gave in, turned around and closed her eyes.

Leaning back, Tommy got something out of his pocket, holding the chain between both hands, he presented Y/N the present.

Y/N felt lost for words when she saw the necklace. “What’s this?”

“A sapphire.” He explained calmly.

The cold stone sent a shiver down her spine when it made contact with her skin. It felt heavy and strange to have a stone that bug hanging from her neck.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“A simple thank you could work.” He winked. “And before you even start, you can either wear it or keep it in the box it’s your choice.”

Y/N was still trying to process the overpriced present, never in a million years she imagined to own something like that piece of expensive jewelry.

“This is insane, but thank you.” She chuckled nervously. “Where am I even supposed to wear something like this? The charity event?”

“You can wear it to church if you want, it’s yours Y/N.”

“Goodness.” She looked down at her chest and touched the cold gemstone. “You really look for any excuse to show off your wealth, damned bastard.”

Tommy laughed loudly. “You got me.”

“I wanted to ask you to be my baby’s godfather… but you’re going to spoil the poor child.”

“Oh I think I earned that right, so you better keep considering me.”

She slapped his arm playfully, earning another laugh from him. Tommy pulled her by the arm but the sharp move caught her off guard and made her loose her balance, landing on his chest. His arms came around her waist instantly in a protective motion, and their laughs subsided as soon as they realized how close they were to each other’s faces.

Something they both didn’t know how to name ignited in that moment, suddenly her warm hands felt like burning through the layers of his clothes, his deep blue sparkled in a way she had never seen before.

Struggling to form a coherent thought, Y/N used his chest to support her arms and move back. Tommy cleared his throat just as he was trying to clear his mind.

“Sorry… I stumbled.” She tried to smooth her clothes.

“Yeah.” He noticed the blush on her cheeks.

“Better go to get s-some rest.” The words rushed out of her lips. “Have a good night.”

“Good night, Y/N.” He replied more to himself, watching her leave the room.

Taking the remains of his drink in a swing, Tommy thought how close they were of crossing a line that would change everything.

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alphajocklover · 2 months ago

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So I just finished my 3rd year exams at university (hopefully I did well enough to make it into a 4th year and go for an Master's of science) and as soon as I get out near the crowd to celebrate a guy bumps into me and I broke my phone. I was ready to give him a piece of my mind until I saw he was pretty built, he must be on some university team for something. He felt awful apparently and he gave me his old phone as an apology. It came with this InstaJock app thing on it. I dunno what it is but I kinda wanna load it up...

Another instance of a jock giving someone a phone with InstaJock already downloaded on it. Another instance of someone doing something with InstaJock that doesn’t make any sense. I know it’s unprofessional to say something like this, but this is driving me crazy. Why would a jock give away their phone? If they wanted to turn you into a jock like them, they’d just send you the app! If they wanted to give you a new phone for real, they’d have wiped it before giving it to you. I guess it's possible they forgot, but InstaJock is super important to the users that get transformed into jocks. Even with how stupid jocks can be, I doubt they’d forget about the app that literally changed their life. So… why?

I’ve mentioned in some of my earlier Instajock posts that someone has been messing with people using this app. Using it in unconventional ways to mess with people, spreading false information about the app, and even making knock offs of the transformative app. My first thought was that it had to be The Master. Not the Doctor Who villain, to those who get that reference, but someone I introduced to you all in a recent post. He’s the creator of Instajock and the mastermind behind my Uncle’s transformation and kidnapping. He’s an incredibly powerful figure in the Transformation Community, even more than I’ve told you. Most people who know about transformations are scared to mention him, even other TF Reporters are, and most powerful people or groups who work with transformation either do business with him or stay out of his way. But… I don’t think he’s the one behind this. He likes to mess with people, play with his victims like whoever is behind this, but if he wanted to do that he could just add features to the actual InstaJock app. He had no reason to do things in such a roundabout way. Which makes me think… it’s someone else.

Whoever is doing this has an intimate knowledge of the app, so It has to be someone involved with InstaJock, someone besides The Master. Maybe someone who works for him? Even he couldn’t have programmed the entire app on his own and added in the magical elements without help. Plus he isn’t one for upkeep, so he’s probably having someone else run the site for him. They also have to be someone with a lot of nerve to mess with The Master, maybe someone who they’ve hurt personally. On top of all of that it’d also have to be someone the jocks would listen to. Maybe someone who worked on InstaJock that The Master fired, a former employee?

I can’t be sure of who's behind this yet, but I do know that whatever they’re trying to do with you isn’t good. When you press that app, you won’t just be turned into a jock like a regular InstaJock user. It has to be something… special. Something that would benefit, or would at least interest the person behind this. Maybe you’ll turn into a copy of the jock who gave you the phone, become their perfect twin? Maybe something else will happen entirely. I can’t be sure.

If it’s not too late, send me the phone immediately. I can put it somewhere safe, and I might be able to protect you from whoever's doing this. If it is too late… Well I hope you enjoy whatever happened. Being transformed against your will sucks, but being a jock can be fun, even if it isn’t your choice.

**3 stories in one day, all InstaJock? I must be on a roll! I hope you guys liked this one! There are still more mysteries and more transformations to discover! Stay tuned!**

#muscle growth tf #muscle tf #jock tf #jock transformation #jockification #nerd to jock #instajock tf

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kayentokk · 7 months ago

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Easy Peasy Sukuna Squeezey(Part 3);What Could Go Wrong

Pairing;Sukuna x Fem! Reader

Summary;What could go wrong during your weekend with Sukuna? Not much except one thing, or one person.

Contains;fluff, lots of fun, ex, sukuna gushing, childhood memories, some cussing

Wc;2,010

A/N;I am literally so sorry, tbh I forgot I made this a series 😅 and then I checked my comments and I was like oh. So my bad guys I will try to update this regularly and get my schedule back together. Also just comment on any of the posts for this series that you want to be tagged to get on the tag list.

Tag list 🏷️; @charlie-xo

Prev. Series M.list Next

The week felt like it took forever to be over, exams, loads of homework, part-time job, all that hectic stuff. But this weekend you get to-well you’re not really sure exactly what Sukuna has in store for you but whatever it is you’re excited for it.

You had texted your roommate the day you were over Sukunas apartment that you’d be staying there at least until the weekend was over. You often stayed at Sukunas for long periods of time when you needed a break or just wanted to hang with your best friend. He never really minded you were pretty good company, in your own words, and he was used to spending long periods of time with you. During school, after school, in the summer, whenever your moms wanted to have a girls night, just whenever.

Anyways your roommate was obviously cool with it, she had mentioned she wanted to have “company” over anyways so it all worked out. You took Sukuna’s advice and blocked your ex, you were probably going to do that anyways since the relationship was definitely over, so you have no idea if he’s texted or called. Not that you care though, he’s an ass and he should have enough shame, decency, and brains not to call and understand it’s over.

To be honest you’re at the acceptance stage of grief, it is what it is he wasn’t the one for you, but it still sucks. Sukuna has actually been really helpful, he’s been, for lack of a better word, a great distraction. He won’t tell you what he has planned for tonight though, all he said was to be ready in pajamas. Maybe a movie night?

You guys used to do those every Friday, but then college got too hectic with it being senior year and all. Sukuna said his classes are pretty easy, although you aren’t too surprised on that one he’s always been exceptionally intelligent, he claims it’s because he just decided to major in business since he’s not exactly sure what he wants to do.

He didn’t want to be a chef, even though he’s exceptionally talented in cooking too, but he’s a waiter at a restaurant for his part time job. When he first got that job you visited to see the restaurant, and him, it was a nice little quiet diner. He was annoyed and disgusted about it on the outside but you could tell he was embarrassed about you visiting, mostly because one time there was a couple that sat in the booth behind you and made comments about, “young love.” And every time you would sit in that same booth just to annoy him because you knew he thought about it each time, it was honestly hilarious. You and him? Being a couple? What a joke.

Sukuna texted he was on his way back, he had a lecture that was in the evening that day and he left a little early to start you guys’ weekend plans. Apparently you hadn’t been paying much attention to any calls or messages because you had about 10 missed calls from your friend and a dozen text messages. You immediately called back.

“Hello? Girl! Why have you not picked up, I’ve been calling you for forever.”

“I’m sorry! I was just laying here, and I had on dnd from when I was in classes earlier. I guess I never turned it off,” you replied in an anxious tone.

Mai just sighed before continuing, “anyways your boyfriend-“

“Ex,” you cut her off before she could even begin.

“Your ex-boyfriend,” she corrected herself with irritation, “has been showing up like every other hour asking about you, and I wasn’t paying much attention before but I’m pretty sure his car was outside yesterday for a while. He’s probably waiting on you, has he texted?”

“I don’t know if he’s texted I blocked him. That’s probably why he’s showing up, he thinks I’m home. Just ignore him, and if he continues to knock call the police or something.”

“Why can’t he just leave you alone? It’s clearly over, there’s nothing there anymore.”

“I know, I’m so sorry by the way.”

“You’re fine, enjoy your weekend babes! I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“Thank you so much.”

“Mhm my company should be over soon, talk to you later, be safe.”

“Kk you too, bye Mai,” and with a small beep, the call ended.

He was coming by every hour? How insane. You hoped he wouldn’t give Mai much trouble, but then again she could handle herself. What if he knew you were at Sukuna’s? Well he didn’t know the address….he’s dropped you off before though. Maybe he doesn’t remember it? Oh no what if he shows up?! And then your whole weekend of distraction will be ruined, and all of Sukuna’s hard work will be-

“-n? Y/n! Hey, Earth to y/n again. Seems like I’m having to do that a lot this week huh?” Sukuna jokes.

“Hm, oh yeah sorry-“ you say lost in your thoughts.

“Uhh you sure? Why’re you all spaced out?”

“It’s nothing-“

“We both know it’s not nothing you might as well tell me, you’re not very good at your poker face I’ll have to teach you sometime,” he says playfully.

“It’s just- he showed up at my apartment. He was looking for me-“

“But you’re not there so what’s the problem?”

“Mai is there, which I’m sure she’s fine he’s not crazy he’s just a whore, but what if he shows up here?”

“Wow never thought I’d hear you slut shame someone, that’s a new low y/n,” he smiles and then continues, “but you don’t have to worry about him showing up here. That is if he knows what’s good for him.”

Oh yeah one small thing, the time your ex dropped you off him and Sukuna did not get along. It was the briefest moment, it felt like when your dad dropped you back off at your moms’ after spending a weekend with him, but it was tense. You could tell, Sukuna’s sharp maroon gaze stayed on him even after you had stepped inside. So, safe to say he’d have to be pretty ballsy to show up here.

“Put on some boots or something we’re going out,” Sukuna says gruffly.

“Going out where? I’m in pajamas-“

“I know, good. I told you to be, glad to know you listen.”

You scoffed, “no way I’m going in public like this-,” you gestured with your hands waving in an up and down movement to your unprofessional getup.

“Relax. You won’t be the only one, I’m about to change too.”

“Oh because two of us looking like we just rolled out of bed is better than one,” you said sarcastically.

“Exactly, I knew you’d get it I had to admit I was getting a little worried there,” he teased.

“Oh shut up dimwit,” you said smiling.

There it was again, stunning.

Sukuna went to quickly throw on some sweats and an old faded t-shirt, probably sporting some random band. He grabbed his keys, and you were out the door.

You loved night time drives, everything just hit different. The music vibed better, especially when Sukuna let you have the aux, the car ride is just more fun at night. When you arrived at the destination Sukuna parked the car and reached to turn the knob on the volume down.

“Look where we are,” he said turning to stare at you.

You immediately turned to look out the window, and even though it took you a second you realized-

With a big shriek and gasp you turned back to Sukuna, “this is-!”

“The ‘best convenience store ever in our hometown’ I know you said it to me so much it’s engraved in my brain.”

Sparkles were in your eyes, along with some unshed tears. So many great memories were here. Every time you passed a test with an A your mom would bring you here to get your favorite snack, and since Sukuna always did well on tests you’d take him about once a month to continue the tradition. But then you guys’ campus was at least a 35 minute commute from here, and when it was busy during the day maybe 45, so you stopped coming. There just wasn’t enough time and you guys got really busy. But not many people were on the road at night, and with Sukuna’s driving you guys probably made it there in 20-25 minutes tops.

You were so happy you could scream. It was apparent in your face, the brightest smile. You jumped out of the car and immediately ran into the store, Sukuna not far too behind you.

You had already grabbed one of the small dark green dingy looking baskets, ah the same as always, from the entrance and were halfway down your favorite aisle by the time he got inside.

He greeted the kind old lady at the register who had witnessed your excitement just moments ago, screeching with joy, which scared her when you rushed in.

He quickly found the aisle you were in and watched you decide which snacks you wanted, carefully picking the items and placing them in the basket.

You rushed from one place to another, grabbing drinks, chips, snacks, anything you wanted because who knows when you’ll visit here again. Then you just stopped, and Sukuna watching your madness didn’t think you were ever going to. Then your eyes started to well up with worry.

“What’s wrong?”

“I- I left my wallet back at your apartment, I can’t buy any of this-“

“What? I’m obviously buying, dimwit,” he scoffed repeating your words from earlier.

“Really?” You asked, the excitement immediately perking back up inside you.

He didn’t even get to answer before you continued happily on your shopping spree, how could he say no anyways? By the time you were done you couldn’t even pick up your basket. You quickly looked to Sukuna for help, and he rolled his eyes taking the basket with his left arm. You began to giggle watching him walk to the register. You couldn’t help it, the sight of him carrying a basket like a soccer mom was just too funny.

A stuffed full basket being carried by his well built arm, the vein bulging from the somewhat strenuous task being carried out. His hand flexing and unflexing to stretch after putting the basket down, making the veins even more visible as they pop out due to his contractions-

“Y/n? You coming? Don’t you wanna get home to eat all this stuff?”

You quickly snapped out of your haze, and ran up to the register where Sukuna had already taken his wallet out to pay, making a comment about how you were most definitely going to eat it in his car. You left a happy customer that day.

Before you left you made Sukuna stop in front of the shop so that you could snap a quick photo of the two of you together, you wanted to send it to your moms.

You smiled the whole car ride home, and when you got in the house.

“Thank you,” you said sincerely with a huge grin on your face.

“Yeah, yeah I know I’m the best,” he replied with a smirk.

“Can you cook the ramen please?”

“Who else was gonna-“

And then the shrill ring of the doorbell rang.

“Are you expecting someone?”

“No, no one comes over here. Maybe it’s just a package.”

“At 10pm?”

“I don’t know, maybe some drunk has the wrong door.”

Then it rang again.

“Okay maybe not…”

“Sukuna just go get the door I’ll start prepping-“

Before you could finish your sentence though, he already opened the door ready to tell off the drunk.

“Oh. It’s you.”

You didn’t like Sukuna’s tone, and being the nosey person you are sometimes, you rushed to the door. You immediately understood his tone.

“Oh, of course it’s you.”

@/cafekitsune for the divider

159 notes · View notes

oddinary4bts · 1 year ago

Text

Love is a Laserquest | choi san

☆summary: years after your break-up, Choi San comes to you for help. In an attempt to save his life, you escape to your uncle's cabin in the woods far from civilization. Will nostalgia and longing make you fall again, or is Choi San just spinning more lies to you?

☆pairing: gangster!Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: gangster au, exes au, angst, smut, a smidge of the one bed trope

☆warnings: guns/gun violence (mentioned), knifes/stabbing (mentioned), a bounty over San's head, death of a minor character (named Jungkook my bad), blood, injuries, stitches, probably some wrong medical terminology bc optometrists don't stitch up people lmao, a panic attack, cursing, pet names, explicit content: oral sex (female receiving) -> face riding, let me know if I forgot any!

☆word count: 16.5k

☆a/n: Here's my submission for Outlaw: The Project hosted by @ssaboala. It is coincidentally my first time posting about another group than bts, so I hope this won't disappoint! I really enjoyed writing it (even though it's really sad oop). Also my first time making a moodboard so hopefully it works haha

☆a/n pt2: thank you to @moonleeai for being my ever-so faithful beta reader, love you lots <3

☆☆☆☆☆

And do you still think love is a Laserquest? Or do you take it all more seriously? I’ve tried to ask you this in some daydreams that I’ve had But you’re always busy being make-believe

Love is a Laserquest – Arctic Monkeys

☆☆☆☆☆

The diner is silent, unoccupied. It always is on late weekday evenings, when most patrons have gone to bed, the city falling under a carpet of hushed silence only night can bring forth. It makes the diner feel like it’s straight out of a 70s movie, and it makes for the perfect study sessions too.

Night isn’t always soundless in your part of town. Hence why you’ve been trying to escape, pursuing an education that has been leaving you penniless, but with a bright future ahead. If you make it out of med school at a certain point, that is.

Tonight, you fear the peace that night usually entails has been ruined for you – there were gunshots earlier, close enough for you to see the police cars racing past as the law officers made it to probably yet another gang fight.

There’s been a gang war on your side of town. The diner has always been safe, a refuge for both sides of the war, where they aren’t allowed to fight. To carry in weapons and hatred. No, the moment they cross the threshold of the diner, the gangsters become one family, sharing struggles that only poverty can cause.

You wipe a table clean before walking back towards the counter. Your open laptop waits for you, and you quickly read the study guide you’ve made for yourself, the cardiovascular system and its pathologies forming a maze in your mind that you’ve yet to decode. Luckily enough, you still have a week before the bloc ends and you have to take the exam.

Plenty of time to cram everything about the heart in your thick little skull, you’d say.

Your lips move in time with what you’re reading, attention solely focused on the bright screen when a thump is heard right outside the door. It startles you, and you turn around to see the empty street out of the glass door.

It takes you about ten seconds to notice the dark form sitting on the ground. They’re leaning against the door, head lolling to the side. You assume it must be someone that’s ended unhoused, something that happens far too often where you live.

You’ve always been kind. When you were younger, you were told your kindness would be your demise. Yet you’ve never been able to be anything but kind, even though sometimes it might put you at risk. So you can’t resist but walk to the front door, trying to push it open.

It’s useless – the weight of the person is keeping it tightly shut, though they do straighten a little, as if coming to their senses. They turn, and the moment their profile comes into view you’re brought back eight years in the past. To a time when the world was still a beautiful place, void of violence and cruelty. To a smile so sweet it made flowers blossom on your heart, and to eyes so sharp you knew they had read your soul.

Choi San is sitting outside the door, and the caked blood on his cheek tells you enough – he’s injured. He pushes away from the door before slowly getting up. He clutches his side as he does it, yet when he turns back towards you and faces your horrified eyes, he still offers you a smirk.

You push the door open, thinking about the years between then and now. You had dated him for a few months that had felt like forever, until you had realized in what kind of business he was getting involved with. You had tried to convince him to flee before it was too late, and he kept promising that he would.

Only he never did, hiding lies with beautiful words that made your teenage self swoon, until your parents had realized and forced you to break up. It had been a nasty break-up, filled with hatred and words you didn’t mean yet had needed to say for him to leave.

You remember breaking his heart like it was yesterday.

“Choi San,” you greet him, and when he lets go of his side, you notice blood on his hand.

Something runs cold inside of you, even though he still sports a smirk on his lips.

He says your name, bowing his head. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Months, in fact. Because he does come to the diner sometimes. He usually ignores you, and so do you, so it feels strange to have him speak to you. To hear his voice as his words are addressed to you.

“What…” you trail off, glancing down at the ripped fabric of his black tank top.

He’s got a mean cut on his ribs, and it’s only then that you truly realize that he’s badly injured. Because there’s more – one of his biceps has been sliced open too, though blood is barely oozing out of it in small rivulets. The blood on his cheek is from where you assume he’s been punched with rings, and there’s already an underlying bruise under his eye.

“Got beaten up,” he states the obvious, and you immediately open the door wider to let him in.

He limps in, heading towards the nearest booth, where he plops down and lets out a pained grunt. You make sure no one is outside before shutting the door and locking it, flipping the hanging sign on it so it says closed in case a patron decides to show up.

You take a few steps towards San, hands shaking slightly at your side. Because that’s a grown man, bleeding out on the leather seat of the booth, and his eyes are shut though he looks in pain. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. You haven’t yet started your residency, haven’t really gone from theory to practice… Yet you’re studying to be a doctor, are you not?

“Why are you here?” you ask, though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.

“Didn’t know where else to go,” he says, wincing as one of his eyes opens. He tilts his head to look towards you. “Word around the block says…” he pauses, takes a deep breath before continuing, “that you’re studying to be a doctor”.

So you are right. He’s here because he needs your help, and you’re not quite sure how you feel about it.

“Why…” You look for words, and it takes you a moment to realize that it doesn’t matter.

For all the history between you and him, Choi San doesn’t deserve to bleed out to death on a cheap leather seat in a forgotten diner on the dangerous side of town.

He has the decency to chuckle at the start of your question, which only makes him wince in pain once again.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and it’s a little stupid because clearly, he’s in no state to move.

He doesn’t question it, and you run to the kitchen to thoroughly wash your hands and grab the first aid kit. At night, no cooks stay around, and you usually only reheat food if needed, which doesn’t really happen. You haven’t had any client coming in at night in weeks… until San, that is. So no one is there to see what is going on, which you reckon is a relief. Because you have no idea what’s going on.

You return to the booth where San is waiting, patiently. He’s clearly wiped his hand on his face because there’s fresh blood on his forehead, and you almost balk at the sight of it.

“What have you done?” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

It seems he’s still in sync with you because he still hears. “Got involved with the wrong crowd.”

You put the first aid kit down on the table, ignoring his eyes when they flutter open, and he rests his gaze on you.

“I don’t know if I can help you,” you say as you unzip the kit and throw it open. You spare his side a quick glance. “This looks like you’re going to need stitches.”

He makes an effort of looking down at himself, though it mostly fails as he doesn’t raise his head from the seat. “Right.”

You grab everything you think you might need – alcohol swabs to clean his skin, fresh linen to bandage his side and arm, and stuff for his cheek too. He carefully observes you, with that piercing gaze of his that used to make you go crazy inside when you were young and impressionable.

You vaguely motion at him, and he cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Are you able to sit up?” you ask. “I can’t reach you if you’re lying back like this.”

His pink tongue darts to wet his lips, and he nods curtly. “Let me…” he trails off, resting a bloody hand on the table while he grabs at the back of the booth to push himself up. It has new blood appearing on his side, and you quickly move towards him, putting some linen against it.

As if it’s going to do anything. He clearly needs stitches, and you’ve got nothing with you to stitch him up.

“Fuck,” he curses lowly as he’s finally sitting. You just keep the linen on his side, eyes a little wide.

Your gazes connect inevitably, and time slows. You think about how he used to smile, how his eyes used to hold a softness you haven’t had the chance to see again since he’s walked out of your life.

Or rather, since you kicked him out of your life.

“I don’t think I can help,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker to your lips.

“I can’t go to the hospital,” he admits, shame turning his features into a mask of regret. “They… If they find me, I’m dead.”

Dread fills every ounce of your being. “San, what have you been doing?”

He looks away from your insistent gaze, scoffing slightly. “You don’t want to know.”

He isn’t wrong; you genuinely don’t want to know. Because he means nothing good, even with all the memories you share with him.

“Is it going to put me in danger?” you ask, as he still obstinately avoids your gaze.

He seems to freeze in front of you, as if you’ve pressed pause to your favourite show. To avoid the awkwardness, you busy yourself with grabbing one of his hands so he can hold the linen in place before you start washing the cut on his arm. It’s not deep, but you’re pretty sure it’ll still leave a mean scar, especially considering he can’t go to the hospital.

The thought has a drop of cold sweat roll along your spine. People want him dead. People want Choi San, the man you know as a young, scared teenager just trying to find a way to make his life better, dead. You remember the innocence in his smile – has he smiled at all in the years apart?

“I should go,” he says flatly. He moves to stand, but you hold him down, two hands firmly placed on his shoulders. It makes him wince, and you quickly release your grip.

“Don’t,” you tell him. “Let me at least patch you up.”

His eyes shut again as his head hangs low. “I am so sorry.”

You don’t even know who he is apologizing to, or why he is. All you know is that it causes your heart to clench in your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When you were younger, you believed San was your star-crossed lover. You believed your high school sweethearts romance would grow until you’d be old and grey and at the end of a very long road. You had dreamed of a future with him, the way only teenagers can dream – with no sense of reality. Because your reality had never been to end up by his side.

His choices had been proof enough of it.

You still remember the day you first kissed. Under an August meteor shower, with just the night sky as your witness. It had been hesitant, slow and soft, just like everything with San. And you had believed the lie, trusted it with every beat of your little heart, until your parents had found out the truth about him.

Until they had broken your heart, even before you had broken his.

If the stars had known then, what was going to happen to you and Choi San, would they still have shone through the night?

He lets out a pained sound as you gently dab at the cut on his bicep. You clean the skin around the wound in and of itself, and he watches you carefully, piercing gaze not missing how your face clouds with memories.

“How have you been doing?” he asks so softly you think his words are a gentle summer breeze on your features.

You can almost still smell the summer night air of that field where you had stargazed, where you’d always meet so long ago.

“I’ve been okay,” you answer, truthfully. Because even though you haven’t seen him, you have lived your life apart from him. Have evolved without him by your side. “Better than you, visibly.”

He didn’t expect the joke. It makes him snort, and then a soft smile grows on his lips, softening the edges of his hard features. “You haven’t changed.”

You have, and yet you haven’t. Like him, you think there’s a part of you that is still sixteen, and will forever be. A part of you that remained stuck in the moment when you watched him walk away in the rain, as if even the sky had to cry for his broken heart.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” you murmur, nostalgia a melancholic song in your words.

He chooses to remain silent, because the proof of how much he’s changed is sitting right in front of you, wounded and bleeding and hurt. The hurt is behind his eyes, in the shadows of the past that have also been obscuring your vision.

“Yeah,” he lets out, barely audible.

And then silence reigns between you, because as much as you once loved him, eight years have made you strangers. You don’t know anything about his life except the dirty, obvious darkness that surrounds him, and he doesn’t know anything except that you are studying to be a doctor…

Which leads you to wonder how does he know in the first place?

You ask him, as you’re wrapping the linen around his bicep to make a makeshift bandage. You’re proud of the result, though your fingers can’t resist but linger on the taut skin over his muscle, surprised at how soft it still is.

“I’ve heard you mention it,” he admits, as you take a step away to look at the material on the table, as if it’ll suddenly make stitches appear for you to put them in his skin. “One of the times I was here.”

“You never said hi,” you reproach him, unable to hide the ghost of a bite in your tone.

“Neither did you,” he points out, and he isn’t wrong.

All you can do is purse your lips as you finally decide to clean his skin. But for that, you have to rid him of his tank top, to make sure there’s no fabric in the wound. You look at him, cheeks somehow burning even though all you’re doing is taking care of a patient.

Though he’s not a patient, and you’re not in a hospital. You’re just a server at a dusty, old diner and he’s just your teenage lover, wounded by his dangerous actions.

“Should I grab scissors to remove your shirt?” you ask, though you’re speaking to yourself more than to him.

He still finds it in him to tease. “You want me out of my shirt?” he enquires, smirk gracing his lips again. “Say no more.”

He tries moving, but you hold up a hand to stop him. “Don’t,” you warn. “You’ll make it bleed more.”

He purses his lips, because nodding. “Right.” He glances at the first aid kit, before his eyes trail to your face again. “You got scissors in that?”

There are. You grab them, before turning towards him. It feels strange: you’ve never undressed him before. You had always wanted to wait, back then, before you slept together. You believed you were too young, and San had always respected it.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” you tell him as you take a step closer to him.

He slightly leans back, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do you plan to do with those that might hurt?”

You roll your eyes, playfully, before taking the two other steps leading to right in front of his legs. You notice that they are slightly parted, allowing you to come closer, and you take a steadying breath before reaching between you, pulling at the fabric of his tank top.

“Stay still and you shouldn’t get hurt,” you whisper, ignoring the heaviness of his piercing gaze on you.

It burns right through you, and you have to tame the beats of your heart at the feeling of the warm skin of his shoulder against the back of your fingers as you bring your other hand forward, until you’ve started cutting his shirt.

It’s stuck to his side where blood has dried, and he winces but remains still and silent as you keep going, pulling on it a little harder to be able to cut. The moment stretches into infinity, because you can’t help but take your time. It reminds you of how you’d used to run your fingers on his back, under his shirt, when you napped in the field in the summertime. In an idyllic world where gangs and violence and war were mere inventions of the media, and not a reality that surrounded you.

You’d loved the field. The wildflowers, the open air, the way it was just you and him and a few lazy bumblebees as clouds lazily crossed the sky above. You were so young then, so innocent. Hands unstained from blood, from his blood.

Because as you cut, the hand touching his shirt stains with blood. You pale at the sight of it, but you keep going, pushing through until you’re done, gently pulling the fabric from his body until he’s sitting there, shirtless, with a long wound on his ribs.

You can’t help but notice his toned chest and the defined abs on his stomach. Though blood mars his skin, turning it into a piece of violence, Choi San is still beautiful. Beautiful in a dark, dangerous way that has you glance outside, making sure no one is looking.

But the streets are empty, void of life at this time of the night. At least, they mostly always are.

“You will need stitches,” you state again as if you both don’t know already.

“I can’t…”

An idea forms in your brain. It’s a stupid idea, and you don’t even know why it crosses your mind.

Your uncle has a hunting cabin far in the woods. He’s a nurse himself, and he’s always kept everything over there in case someone got injured and he had to stitch them up. You haven’t gone in forever, but you still remember the tall trees, the deep forest scent that reminds you of autumn and leaves and grey days spent reading by the fireplace.

You never went hunting, but you did accompany your father when he went, needing an escape from the city once in a while. An escape from a life that was slowly becoming too real.

Your uncle is currently halfway across the country, so you know you’d be alone at the cabin. You glance at your laptop over your shoulder – you have three days off in front of you before your next class on Monday. Indeed, the Friday class is pre-recorded and to watch online in your free time, and you figure you can always watch it some other time.

So you turn towards Choi San, almost surprised that he’s real and he’s still sitting in front of you, honey skin cut open on his ribs.

“I might know a place where you can go,” you admit, with a small voice, surprising both you and him. Because you doubt he expects you to want to help, after tonight.

“What?” he asks.

“My uncle’s cabin,” you remind him, because you’ve told him about it all those years ago. “He should have all that I need to stitch you up.”

San looks down at himself. “You’ve just cut my shirt open.”

It sounds a little dumbfounded, and you can’t help the nervous laugh that falls from your mouth. Because even though it doesn’t look too deep, the wound still is terrifying in and of itself.

“I’ll bandage it,” you whisper. “Before we go.”

He seems like he ponders for a time. You watch the debate across his features, his eyes falling to a spot on your chin. He looks sad, troubled and defeated. “I can’t… I can’t do this to you.”

You ignore his words, carefully washing his side. You avoid the cut and try to be as gentle as you can, but his muscles still flex as he clenches his fists from the pain.

He’s strong. That much hasn’t changed. Because he doesn’t make any sound as you finish washing him and then patch him up with those same careful hands. And when you move to his face, cleaning the blood, his eyes flutter shut, and he sighs softly.

He looks so much like he looked then that your heart aches, and you find yourself blinking away tears for this man who’s had it so rough he believed joining a gang would save him.

“I should have come to you before,” he murmurs. “You’re much gentler than Hongjoong.”

You don’t know the guy he mentioned, and you don’t feel like asking. Don’t feel like acknowledging his words, so you just finish with his cheek before stepping away from the peaceful aura that was treacherously pulling you in.

Like all those years ago, you reckon.

“Let me make a call,” you say, turning away from him as you move to the counter. You feel the weight of his eyes between your shoulder blades as you get your phone from next to your laptop. You call your boss, and as someone that’s never called in sick before, you feel anxiety flush through you.

Because you’re not sick. And how could you tell him that you need to take care of your ex-boyfriend of eight years ago?

Seokhyun picks up on the first ring, voice groggy with sleep when he mutters, “Hello?”

“Boss,” you greet him. You scrape your throat and spare a look towards San who’s watching you curiously. “An emergency came up, and I have to leave the diner.” You swallow the lump in your throat that’s formed from lying, and then you add, “There haven’t been any customers all night, so I was wondering… would you be comfortable with me closing for the rest of the night?”

Your boss says your name, a little reproachfully. But then he sighs, because he knows just as well as you what a good employee you’ve always been. “Are you going to be able to come in tomorrow night?” he asks.

You pull at dry skin on your bottom lip, assessing San’s state. You could always come back to the city for work…

“You know what, I know you’ve got that big exam coming up,” your boss says, sighing into the phone. “Why don’t you take the next week off so you can take care of your emergency and focus on your studies?”

If Seokhyun wasn’t a fifty-three year old married and father of three children man, you think you’d ask him to marry you right now.

“That would be really helpful,” you tell him, gratitude dripping from your voice. “Are you sure that won’t be a problem for the diner?”

“The diner won’t lose profit if it closes for three nights in the week,” he points out. “I’ll see if I can get you replaced for the evening shift on Sunday.”

You thank him again as he grumbles that it’s nothing. He wishes you good luck, and when the line goes silent, you finally meet San’s gaze again.

“All sorted out,” you tell him, offering him a nod. “Let me just close the diner, and then we can go.”

He nods, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He observes you as you do so, quickly closing the diner like you’ve done about a hundred times before, though this time you’re far more excited to go. You grab a plastic bag to put away the bloody swabs, and though he groans in pain, San gets up to help you clean the blood that stained the cheap leather of the booth.

Soon enough, you’re ready to go, and you walk outside with the plastic bag in one hand and your backpack on your shoulders as San chuckles, looking down at himself.

“Do you have a shirt for me?” he asks as he follows you out.

You lock the door behind you before glancing at him. He’s quite the sight, naked from the waist up and bandaged like he is, and you can’t help the small chuckle you let out as you glance towards your car, that’s luckily parked right in front.

Though it’s a deadbeat car, you trust it enough to know it’ll make the trip to your uncle’s cabin, even in the middle of the night.

“My ex left some sweaters on the back seat,” you admit as you unlock your car doors and open the trunk to put your backpack and the plastic bag in there. There’s no chance in hell you’ll leave a plastic bag full of bloody swabs near your work.

You see San nod from the periphery of your vision, and then he’s opening the door to the backseat. “Your ex, huh?” he mutters as he grabs a sweater you used to love wearing and that you haven’t convinced yourself to give back to Hyunmin.

He carefully puts it on, and you’re pretty sure just the motion is going to make blood seep through the bandage. Somehow, you don’t care that it might stain Hyunmin’s sweater.

Hyunmin was a cheater, and even though you never really loved him, it took you months before you found the strength to break up with him. Needless to say, he doesn’t deserve his clothes back.

“Yeah,” you flatly say as you move towards the driver’s seat. You sit, and San follows you, naturally, as if you’ve done it a thousand times before.

As you turn the keys in the engine, San asks, “Have you dated a lot?”

You bristle at the question, shooting him an embarrassed look. “Have you?”

“No,” he replies, features fully serious.

You purse your lips, focusing on the road as you start driving. You need to put gas in the car if you want to get to your uncle’s cabin, so you make your way towards the closest one. It takes you a moment before you register how San has stiffened next to you.

“Can we…” he trails off, and he sinks in the seat, trying to hide. “I can’t be seen here.”

You immediately press on the accelerator, and your car speeds down the street as you pass in front of the gas station. You glance at San only when you’re stopped at a red light. He’s pulled the hood of the sweater over his features, and he’s doing his best to hide.

“Where can we stop?” you ask.

“Next town over,” he answers. “I just can’t be seen in Bangtan territory.”

Right. You have no knowledge of how the gangs have divided your city, but you’re not surprised Bangtan has this part of town. It’s the industrial area, and you assume there’s a lot of money to be made around here.

“Sounds good,” you gently say, and then you’re driving again, the light turning green, allowing you to speed away into the night.

You drive silently all the way to the next town, watching your city disappear to be replaced by trees until buildings reappear. San is looking outside the window, and you can’t help but wonder how he’s been doing, truly. How he managed to get injured like he is right now, and mostly, if his dreams of running away still occupy his thoughts.

He had begged you, the evening you had broken up with him. Told you he’d make enough money to be able to move with you across the country and build yourself a nice little life over there. You had wanted to believe him for so long, until your parents had opened your eyes on just how he was trying to make money.

“Do you need anything?” you ask as you finally reach the gas station, pulling into the driveway. You park next to a pump, turning to face him only to find him already watching you.

“I don’t have money to pay for food,” he admits. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I lost my wallet in the… altercation.”

You gently put a hand on his forearm. “Hey, my treat. We have to eat.”

He inhales deeply, letting out the breath slowly, before he nods. “Alright. I owe you.”

You reckon he’ll owe you for a lot more than just food at a gas station, but you choose not to say it. Not when you feel like someone’s watching over your shoulder, watching you drive away in the night with the person they are looking for.

You know it’s paranoia. No one followed you out of the city and into this town. It just feels too strange to have him here, with you. In your car, on the way to your uncle’s cabin, as if eight years have gone out the window. As if you can still be young and innocent.

It’s stupid, because you can’t. Time has changed him; time has changed you. And in just a few years you’ll be a doctor, and you’ll finally get out of this hellhole of a city, of its dangerous streets.

Of its equally dangerous man, that you know could probably pull you back in with one of his many well-crafted lies, one of the dreams he weaved expertly, whispering it into your ear.

You take a deep breath before getting out of the car. You go into the station, grab snacks for the next few days and then head to the counter. The guy behind nods as you approach, and you pay for the food and for gas before wishing him a good night and returning outside. San is still squatting in the car, clearly trying to hide, and you put the food on the backseat before putting gas in.

You watch his profile as you put gas in the car. Back when you were dating, his features weren’t as sharp, as glass-cutting as they now are. He used to sport a rounder face, but today you wonder if you’d get a papercut on his jaw. You wouldn’t even be surprised.

When you’re done with gas, you sit back next to him, and you quickly bring the engine back to life before pulling out in the street. As soon as you exit the city, darkness falls on the two of you, tall trees standing on the two sides of the road again. San doesn’t speak much, and it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s dozing off next to you.

“Hey, everything okay?” you ask, suddenly worried that he might have lost too much blood. Which, you reckon, you should have thought about earlier.

He sighs, glancing towards you. “Just tired.”

“Don’t…” you trail off. “Don’t fall asleep.”

He chuckles. “You’re afraid I’m going to die on you?”

“Choi San,” you warn. “Don’t you dare say stuff like that.”

He smiles, but you reckon he’s a little pale. Or at least you think he is, in the silver light of the moon up above. “I think I’m fine. Just…” He offers you a weak smile, though you’ve returned your attention on the winding road. “Just exhausted. I haven’t slept in three days.”

Worry clutches your heart, and you nibble at some dry skin on your bottom lip. “What’s been going on?”

He slightly shrugs. “I can’t tell you. I don’t want to put you in danger…”

“Am I not already in danger by just helping you?”

The silence is telling enough. And it remains for a while until San finally speaks.

“I was in a gunfight a week ago. Accidentally shot the youngest member of the other gang. He didn’t make it, and the gang has put a bounty on my head. Ateez took my gun and told me to run; I laughed in their face and said I wasn’t a coward. Then I got attacked by two guys with knives earlier, and I made it to the diner because I had nowhere else to go.”

Now the silence is deafening, heavy, and you think you’ve altogether stopped breathing. You’re struck with an image of San in the summer sun, smiling wide as he put a flower behind your ear, claiming you were the most beautiful girl he had ever met. The contrast with who he is now – a product of night, shrouded in darkness with no hint of that smile on his lips – is stark. And you wonder when’s the last time he has seen the sun, when’s the last time his life wasn’t violence like this.

When you say nothing, he scoffs, resting his head against the window as if it’d allow him to escape. Because clearly he wants to escape – he’s just told you that he’s killed someone after all.

And you don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to react to someone confessing murder. All you can do is stare at the street ahead, hoping you won’t end up in a gunfight with San. Because where would that lead you, other than in the dramatics of death?

You don’t speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t think he sleeps either, and dawn is clinging to the far horizon when you get to your uncle’s cabin, in a secluded forest that seems straight out of a fairytale. Instead of bringing you awe like it usually does, the sight of it makes you think of all the murder mysteries you had been obsessed with when you were younger, before you realized how horrible the real world truly is.

Neither of you move, as you turn off the engine of the car, and you fall into even more of a tensed silence, though this time you can hear the chirping of the early birds. It’s peaceful, so peaceful you can barely even grasp how tangible the presence of San is next to you. The presence of his actions too, looming between the two of you like a sword of Damocles.

You move first. Putting a hand on the knob, hoping to escape the heaviness into the dawn. San speaks before you can though, and your heart stops in your chest.

“I never meant for him to get hurt,” he murmurs, and you think he’s speaking to himself more than to you. “Everything went too fast, my gun was in my hand and I just… in situations like these, you don’t have time to think.” He leans his head against the headrest, eyes closing. “All I can picture since it’s happened is him falling and blood. Like a fucking blossoming rose, all around him.” He rests his closed fist on his forehead, rubbing it hard. “I haven’t been able to sleep; I’ve been sick every time I’ve tried to eat…”

“San,” you interrupt as you break and break for him. Because this is the San you know. This is the young boy that just wanted to escape and live in a better world. You can almost taste his remorse, taste his regret and shame. It’s poisonous, treacherous, a slippery slope that can’t lead anywhere good. “Let’s get you in. I want to get that cut on your ribs checked.”

He falls silent, and for a moment you feel guilty. Because what if he had more to say? You don’t even think you would have been able to listen. You need the escape, and you know he’ll permit it. Because the man next to you is a broken man, a fracture of what he could have been.

You step out of the car, blinking away tears – from the anxiety, from the exhaustion, and perhaps even from the pain you feel for him. He follows you, wincing as he swings his legs out of the car. He stumbles a little as he stands, but soon enough, he grows steady on his feet, and his attention moves to you. You climb the stairs of the cabin, lifting the rug to find the small trap that leads to the spare key. The padlock is rusted, but it stands strong as you put in the code, and a click is heard when you pull on it.

A few seconds later, you’ve unlocked the front door, pushing it open to reveal the cabin as you remember it. Not a single item is out of place, though dust covers everything, a clear indication that no one has been here in years. You let San in, before going back to the car to get the food you bought, bringing it in and putting it in the fridge. Three full gas canisters hide under the counter, and you sigh in relief – you’ll be able to get the generator on for some electricity.

You motion to the kitchen table. “Have a seat,” you tell San, who somehow looks like a lost puppy. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He nods, remaining silent, eyes downcast. You only move when he’s seated, heading to the bathroom area of the cabin, where you startle a spider that almost makes you scream out loud. You keep it in, heart beating out of your chest as you get the kit before moving back into the main area.

San is leaning against the chair, eyes closed. He senses you approaching, and one of his eyes cracks open to watch you carefully, a little like he did earlier, at the diner. It looks so similar to how he used to look at you, when you joined him at the field, that you stop in your tracks, heart squeezing once again.

You don’t like the way Choi San is making you feel, that’s for sure.

“Take off the sweater,” you tell him, putting the kit down on the table. You put some clean linen next to it, to put what you need over it, before washing your hands with the disinfectant you find in the kit. You put latex gloves on after, and then you fish wire and a surgical needle from the first aid kit that you carefully put down on the linen once you’ve torn the packages open.

As you were doing all of that, San took off the shirt, struggling a little as it meant he had to lift his right arm, which pulled at the skin of his ribs, where the cut clearly has started bleeding again. Though, if you’re honest to yourself, you’re pretty sure he’s been bleeding this whole time, even though it probably was just some fine rivulets.

Indeed, the cut isn’t all that deep, you remind yourself. Mostly because you don’t want to even think about the consequences of the blood loss. As long as he stays awake, you figure he’s fine – he would have lost consciousness a while ago if he was losing a lot of blood.

You remove the bandage you had carefully put in place earlier, wincing at the sight of the blood that’s seeped through it. San keeps his eyes close, lets you clean his skin again in peace, and you feel sick to your stomach as you realize you don’t have any anesthetics for the pain that stitching him up will cause. Indeed, the pocket in which your uncle usually leaves the lidocaine is empty, and you remember that he’s had to use it for your dad when he accidentally cut himself with a machete last summer.

“Huh,” you let out. You chuckle nervously. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

His eyes narrow, and he clenches his jaw. “Don’t worry about it.”

You worry at your bottom lip, holding his gaze as you gauge if he’s serious. When his gaze doesn’t falter, you offer him a curt nod, before getting the wire and needle ready under his watchful eyes.

You hand him some linen. “To bite on,” you explain as he just cocks an eyebrow quizzically. That makes his gaze widen a little as if he’s just now realizing how serious you were about it hurting, but he takes it nonetheless.

You think about the theory of how to stitch someone up. It was in your previous block – you watched hours of videos of it in an attempt to desensitize yourself to it. You don’t think it compares to the real thing, but at least you’re somehow confident of what you’re doing when you start.

San startles, groaning in pain, and you offer him a glare. “Don’t move, or it’ll be worse.”

A drop of sweat rolls down his temple, but he still nods. Even as you keep on stitching him, he remains as still as he physically can, though you don’t think he even notices how he’s trembling. Or maybe that’s you – you don’t even know.

Somehow, you make it through the whole thing. You think San might have passed out at some point, but he’s wide awake when you finish the knot to keep the stitches in place, looking up to meet his face.

He’s panting and tears of pain wet his waterline. He blinks them away as he takes the linen out of his mouth, dropping it on the table.

“Fuck,” he curses.

“Let me…” you trail off, mind set on getting something to at least help him cool off, because he’s clearly been heating up.

You grab a washcloth and a small bucket, and head outside to walk down to the lake. You fill the bucket halfway, and take a few seconds to observe the calm surrounding you, hoping that it can ease the nerves rolling inside your heart like dark clouds do on the horizon whenever a storm is coming. You feel it in your bones – you have a murderer in your uncle’s cabin.

You have to keep that in mind. To not let Choi San in like you did when you were a young impressionable teenager.

You sigh, closing your eyes to breathe in the fresh morning air. The sun is peaking over the horizon now, and you bask in its hesitant rays for all of twenty seconds before you convince yourself to go back in. You’ve got a patient to take care of, after all.

San hasn’t moved an inch while you were outside. The only indication that he hasn’t died on you is the groan he lets out as you put the wet washcloth on his forehead. You tap his cheek gently, as if to say, ‘suck it up, I’m just trying to take care of you’.

Which is exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?

You watch him carefully for a few seconds before tapping his shoulder this time around.

“There’s a bed,” you remind him. “You’d be better passing out in a bed.”

He groans again, cracking an eye open. “I’ve just been repeatedly poked with a needle,” he drawls. “Give me a second.”

It makes you laugh. Because of the nerves, maybe. You’re not quite sure. All you know is that you’re laughing, and San opens his second eye to look at you as if you’re crazy. And you laugh for longer than you should – you’re exhausted after all, especially considering you haven’t slept since yesterday morning. So far, adrenaline has been keeping you going, but you can tell you’re about to crash.

“Sorry,” you apologize once you calm down. “This has just been…”

“A lot,” San finishes for you. “I know.”

You nod once before glancing at the doorway to the bedroom. It has no door, as your uncle and your dad usually come here alone and they don’t mind sharing a bed. It makes you realize that you’ll have to share it with San, which you reckon you should have thought about before. Because there’s no way in hell you’ll share a bed with him, especially after he’s told you why he’s being hunted.

There’s always the option of going into town later today so you can get a sleeping bag and floor mat to sleep on. But you’re far too tired right now to even consider driving, so you motion to the bed once again.

“Stick to your side; I’ll stick to mine.”

He smirks though he’s extremely pale. A lot paler than he was before, and you swallow a sudden lump in your throat. Because what if he dies? What are you supposed to do with him if he dies?

“You’ll have to help me to get to the bed ‘cause I don’t think I can move,” he says once his smirk dies. He curses under his breath. “I’m so pathetic.”

You put your hand on his shoulder again, reassuringly, eyes holding his. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re hurt. Everyone is pathetic when they’re hurt.”

He gulps before nodding once. It takes everything in you not to offer him more comfort because you feel like the slope would tilt forwards far too much if you did. Instead, you help him to get up, wincing as he puts most of his weight on you, clutching his side with one hand. You’re infinitely aware of how his skin is sticky with sweat, but you ignore it as you slowly walk to the bedroom.

You can only hope the stitches will hold because you don’t think he’d be able to withstand another round of them.

You finally reach the bedroom and help San sit on the side of the bed. He sighs, eyes shut tightly, and he doesn’t move for a time. When he does, it’s to stiffly lie down on his side.

“You might want to sleep on your back,” you inform him. “I don’t want you rolling around and messing up the stitches.”

He glares at you, though he looks like he’s already half out of it. You hold his gaze until he gives in, turning on his back with a deep sigh. You arrange pillows around him to make sure he’s not moving, and by the time you’re done, his breathing has already evened out.

For a moment, you just watch him sleep. You see him in the field where young love blossomed like a trillion wildflowers. You can almost breathe his pollen again, can almost feel the softness of his skin under your fingertips.

But he’s not what he used to be. Back then, you felt like you had discovered something new. Love, infatuation, affection, and desire, all in the form of the man sleeping next to you. You’d used to kiss, dance and sing to a song only your souls knew, and now you don’t think you recognize him anymore.

As much as he is him, he’s also but just the ghost of what he was. He’s trouble, danger in the shape of innocence, and you recall his words from earlier. You recall the despair, the regret and sorrow that haunted him after he told you. You can’t let him get to your head.

You reckon sleep might help. Though you’re afraid he’s going to waste away in his sleep, so you set up an alarm every hour, before climbing on the other side of the bed. You don’t pull on the covers, mostly because the cabin is warm, and you can imagine it’s just going to get hotter as the sun goes up and the summer heat slowly sizzles into the countryside.

It’s a good thing you put an alarm on. Because when it rings an hour later, you don’t even remember falling asleep. You’re pretty sure the second your head touched the mattress, you were out to the land of dreams. You groan, mostly because you’ve got a slight headache, but you power through it to make sure San is still breathing.

When you see his chest moving up and down steadily, you let yourself fall back asleep.

This goes on for the whole morning, and you only force yourself to stay up when your phone shows that it’s passed noon. As you had suspected earlier, the cabin has gotten extremely warm, so you force yourself out of bed to open all the windows, and then you use the washcloth from earlier to gently wash San’s face of the sweat.

He doesn’t even flinch in his sleep, but he’s still breathing and for now, that’s all that matters.

You head back to the main room, grabbing a pack of chips from where you had left the food earlier, and then you move outside to sit by the lake. Mostly because you need to put distance between you and San, but also just because the childhood memories of this place have you in their hold, and they’ve decided to make you miss the times when you’d swim around with your cousins before both of them had moved out of town.

One day, it’s going to be you too. You already know where you’d go – on the other side of the country, as far away from here as possible. You just want to forget all about the place you grew up in, and you know that, in a few years, you will have forgotten.

Though you’re pretty sure a certain piercing gaze will haunt you forever, especially after the events of today.

When another hour passes, you head back inside, putting the empty bag of chips in the trash before you check up on San. He’s still asleep, but this time he doesn’t look as pale as he did earlier. You assume it’s going to take him a while before he wakes, so you head to the nearest town to grab more food. Mostly to busy yourself, but also just because you know San will need a place to hide for a lot longer than just the weekend. Might as well make sure you have enough for him to survive a couple of days. In town, you also stop to eat at a small café on a small terrasse in the shade of a few trees, and then you grab the food you think you might need at the grocery store.

It’s the middle of the afternoon when you get back, realizing that you forgot to buy a floor mat. As you spy San, who hasn’t moved an inch since he’s fallen asleep, you figure that sleeping next to him tonight should be fine.

As long as his presence in your vicinity doesn’t drag you down memory lane again.

You bought some meat in town, so you head to the little shack outside where the generator is hiding. There’s a gas canister right next to it – also full – and you busy yourself for the next twenty minutes trying to figure out how to get it started. When it finally rumbles to life, you head back inside to put the meat in the fridge, which has finally come to life.

When you hear a groan, you quickly jog to San’s side, fully expecting to find him awake. Surprisingly, he’s still asleep, and you stay next to him for a full minute, thinking he might groan again, though he remains entirely silent.

If it wasn’t for his chest moving up and down steadily, you’d believe him to be dead. But now that a few hours have passed, you’re pretty positive he’ll make it, though he’s probably going to sleep through the day and possibly through the next one too.

Which leaves you in the most peaceful atmosphere you’ve been in for a while, with the opportunity to study as you listen to the rush of wind in the leaves of the tall trees surrounding the cabin. You sit outside, this time near the fireplace, and you study until your stomach grumbles, indicating that it is time for you to cook.

You cook the meat you’ve bought on the grill outside, feeling thankful that your dad once showed you how to use it. You go back in to grab a bottle of water before you eat, and you’re bent in the fridge when you hear San moan again, and this time it sounds like he’s saying something.

You gently close the fridge, making your way to the bedroom. San hasn’t moved, but his features are creased in a frown, and sweat is rolling down his temples. You wet the washcloth, gently wipe his face, and you’re about to leave when he moans again.

It takes you far too long to realize he’s apologizing. What for, you can’t really tell. Though you remember his troubled eyes this morning, you remember his story, and your heart breaks in your chest.

He’s haunted. You think the ghost of the dead guy will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. And suddenly you’re struck thinking maybe, maybe if you hadn’t broken his heart all those years ago, you could have saved him from the gang.

Maybe you could have opened his eyes.

You still remember the break-up like it was yesterday. You remember the rain, him leaving without once looking back, but mostly you remember the words you had uttered. Ghosts of their own, that feel more real now that he’s come back into your life.

*****

“You’re going to get hurt!” you yelled. “You’ll get hurt, San. What are you thinking?”

He scoffed, shaking his head, and little droplets of water shot all around him. “I’ll be careful. We need the money if we ever want to make it out of this shit town.”

You blinked away tears, folding your arms on your chest as you tried to keep your heart from breaking. Though you reckoned it had broken when your parents had told you what they knew about San. When your father had mentioned Ateez, and you’d truly realized what it meant that he was part of a gang. San, your sweet, soft, and bubbly San, in a gang that had murdered someone just a few weeks ago.

“But that’s not a way to make money!” you screamed, hoping he’d understand. Hoping he’d hear the truth in your words, hoping he’d change his mind before it was too late. “Why don’t you get a part-time job, like me? Then we can go to college and get jobs in a nice city on the other side of the country!”

“It won’t work,” he drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I want to be out soon, not in a few years. I barely even have a roof over my head, Y/n…”

“Come live with me,” you choked out around the lump in your throat.

You both knew fully well that your parents would never let him come near you again.

“I can’t.”

You cried, hiding your face in your hands. You cried thinking of the field where you usually met, thinking about its beauty now fading into ugliness. You thought about the wildflowers, withered and dead as autumn had come. You thought about how you were convinced you knew what love was.

“What’s the point?” you asked then. “What’s the point of putting your life in danger? Life isn’t some sort of a game, Choi San. Worse, what if you have to hurt someone? Do you think you’ll be able to pull the trigger?”

He clenched his jaw, hard. “Do me a favour and stop asking questions.”

You closed your eyes, feeling sick to your stomach. Because it couldn’t be. Not San. Not your smiley San, who’d always weave dandelions crowns with you, as you’d pretend you were a queen and a king of that field you had found. An empty field, an abandoned farmland that was just yours and his to explore. That had been home to your first kiss, and all of those that had followed.

Now you wondered why he had always wanted to meet there in the first place. Was he trying to hide?

"If you love me, you’ll get out while you still can,” you said as your tears suddenly ended.

There was a weird sense of clarity in you, suddenly. You remembered the day you had fallen in love, the moment you had first kissed. You remembered the stars in the sky above, the meteors falling for the two of you. You remembered the music on the radio you had brought. Some Arctic Monkeys song about heartbreak, about moving on and failing to do so. As a joke, when it had ended, you had asked San, “Do you think love is a laserquest?”

His answer had been cryptic, mysterious, things that had made you believe he was the one. “Maybe. Maybe it is, and I’ve shot you in the back while you weren’t looking. Maybe I’m that annoying player that won’t leave you alone.”

“I’ll never find you annoying,” you had replied.

But today, watching the rain rolling down his face like tears, you realized that maybe, maybe you should have seen the warning behind his words. Because this betrayal, it came like he had shot you in the back – you didn’t think you’d be able to recover from it.

The past dwindled away as San spoke again, reminding you of the question you had just asked him. “It’s not a question of love, Y/n. I do love you. But it’s a question of survival.”

You laughed, coldly, and then you said, “You know what? You’re full of shit.”

“Alright then. Do me a favour and tell me to go away.”

“Go away.”

A long silence had lingered between you, voided of that summer warmth that had you falling in love. Like a piece was missing from the contract of you loving him, and him loving you. And you realized, maybe you had never really loved each other anyway.

He nodded once when you didn’t say anything else, before turning away. And you watched him walk away. You watched him thinking he was going to turn around and tell you this was just some twisted joke, the prank of the century. Only, he never turned around, and he disappeared behind the bend in the road, never to be seen again, cracking your heart open and splitting it in half.

*****

The sun sets, like an ending to a dream. You’ve always liked the end – you think if you could choose, you’d want to witness the end of the world. The nostalgia, the beauty of endings… it’s something you understand now that you didn’t understand when you were younger. Because you and San ending, it had led to you focusing on high school. It had allowed you to get in the good college in town, with a scholarship that covered most of your expenses before you made it to med school.

There’s beauty in knowing losing San has allowed you to live out your dreams.

There’s less beauty in knowing that San has been sleeping for almost thirty-four hours now. Last time you checked, he was still breathing, but you’re starting to be afraid that he just won’t wake up. It’s irrational, you know – after the blood loss it makes sense that he’d sleep for a long time.

But it leaves you with far too much time on your hands to think and revisit the past. You’ve been doing it all day – thinking about the fight with your parents that had led to your break-up with San, thinking about that damn rainy evening he had walked away without once looking back. Thinking of the field, of sunshine and star falls and the sweetness of a first kiss. Thinking that, then, you thought you knew what it was like to be in love.

You haven’t dated anyone serious since San. Hyunmin was a distraction for a while, but you never were into it. Not like you were into San. There’s a guy in your class though, that you’ve been chatting with for a couple of weeks. He’s sweet, innocent, and the perspective of a future seems less scary with him around. He’s mentioned he wants to move across the country once too, and since then you’ve started talking more, the similarity of your wishes drawing you closer.

All day today you’ve been feeling like you’re slowly drifting away though. Slowly getting entrapped in a web you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk away from.

You decide to swim, seeking the fresh clarity only cold water can bring to you. You don’t have a swimsuit with you, but since San is half-dead in bed you figure it doesn’t matter. So you strip naked, feet making squelching sounds in the mud by the lake side as you step in the water.

The sharp cold has you holding your breath, but you don’t slow down. You’ve never slowed down in life – when you make a decision, you bring it to completion. And you’ve decided to swim, so swim you will.

The warm summer evening breeze catches in your hair as you take another step forward, the water now lapping at your thighs. You dread the moment it’ll hit your core, knowing that that’s the worst part, but you breathe in deeply, moving forward. Because there’s no moving backwards now.

When the water hits, your eyes flutter shut, and you hold in the wince that threatens to escape the mask of calm your features hold. Soon enough, you get deep enough to swim, and the movements bring welcomed warmth to your limbs as you flop on your back, tits out of the water.

Your uncle’s cabin is the only cabin in a fifteen miles radius. You know you won’t be interrupted, and so you let the water cool you down. Calm you down, hold you in its fresh embrace. It undoes knots in your back that have formed from worrying about San, but also from worrying about college.

From worrying that you will never be enough. You think it’s a normal anxiety to have, something most people must feel as they go through the trials of college, not knowing what to expect on the other side. A nice career, perhaps, though the perspective of failure is there too, looming over the horizon.

You sigh, and your eyes flutter open as your legs move mindlessly under you, making sure to keep you afloat. You look up at the azury ceiling over your head, so far away as it slowly turns gold. Out of touch, out of grasp. You watch the fluffy white clouds that are lazily crossing the sky, turning fiery in the sunset, as if they have all the time in the universe. And you wish you were them, up above. With nothing to worry about.

Without a Choi San on the brink of death lying about twenty meters away from you. You sigh, and you turn in the water, with the purpose of swimming again. Though your gaze catches movement by the cabin, and your head snaps towards it to see none other than the supposedly Choi San, standing on the deck with a hand clutching his side.

You shriek, looking down at yourself. Most of you is hidden, but you don’t know how long he’s been there. Don’t know if he’s seen you naked as you looked up at the sky.

He doesn’t move, only watches you where you’re swimming.

“Can you please look away?” you say from the water, and he has the nerves to lean against the railing, eyes still boring into where you’re swimming. You think his gaze might be so hot the water will boil, and it startles you into action.

You start walking out of the water, pointing towards the door. “You shouldn’t be up, Choi San.”

“I feel fine,” he says as you take another step forward, and the water barely hides your tits anymore.

That makes him turn around, as he offers you a little bit of privacy. You’re quick to get out of the water and wrap yourself in the towel you brought outside, and then you collect your clothes to head back to the cabin. San dutifully keeps his gaze away until you’re climbing the three steps leading to the deck, and it’s then that his eyes trail to you again.

“Thank you for the water,” he says, offering you a tentative smile.

You left water by his bedside earlier today hoping it will coax him to wake up. You’re strangely surprised that it worked.

“You should go sit inside,” you scold him, only half-heartedly. Because seeing him up and about reassures you, somehow.

He cocks an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The weather is beautiful, I’d rather sit outside.”

You roll your eyes, but you do let him walk down the stairs to sit by the fireplace while you go inside to take a quick shower and get dressed. You decide to make some food for him, though you know he shouldn’t eat too much right now, after not having eaten for a while. He has to start slowly, and you don’t even know if he’s hungry anyway.

You settle for preparing a cup of chicken noodle soup for him, so at least it isn’t too heavy on his stomach. You bring it to him outside, as he’s just calmly observing the lake.

“Thank you,” he says, voice small as he grabs the cup and the spoon.

You sit next to him, trying not to watch him eat too much. His hair is sticking to his forehead in some places, and you have the distinct thought that he’ll probably need to shower. At least there’s plenty of rain water in the bucket for the water pump.

“What have you been doing while I was out?” he asks.

You spare him a quick glance before losing your gaze in the rocks of the fireplace. “I’ve studied. Checked up on you. Not much honestly.”

He chuckles. “I’d argue that caring for someone is a lot.”

You glance at him, cheeks burning at the sight of his teasing smile. “Not really.”

He chuckles again, but doesn’t say anything more before eating another spoonful of soup. He’s almost done with the cup when he actually does speak, asking, “How long was I out?”

“A day and a half,” you answer. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t slept longer.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “I’m made of tough stuff.”

You snicker, but you don’t say anything, just focusing on where you’re kicking at the dirt. When he’s done with the cup, he puts it down on the ground next to him, before sitting back in the chair. He stretches out his legs in front of him, sighing deeply.

“I still feel out of it,” he admits, and you meet his gaze.

“You can sleep more,” you tell him. “I’d just like to check on the…”

You don’t even have to finish your sentence. He immediately turns so his side is to you, and you have to admit you’ve done a perfectly good job with the stitches.

“So?” he asks.

“All good.” You pat his shoulder. “You can sit comfortably again.”

He’s smiling when he does so, and his gaze wanders to the lake once again. “I’m sorry I…” he trails off, and he chuckles softly. “I’m sorry I interrupted your little swim earlier.”

You have the decency to flush furiously red, and you shrug your shoulders. “No worries, I wasn’t expecting you to be up so soon.”

You fall in a comfortable silence, surprisingly so. Rare stars dot the darkening sky up above, and all that can be heard for a moment is the flap of a bird’s wing as it moves from branches to branches in the trees by the water. The breeze picks up as you watch the little bird, and the leaves dance, loudly so. You’d think it’d be deafening in the silence between you and him, but it’s strangely reassuring.

As if, after all, you found your way back to the field. Only this time it’s completely different, as if decades have passed between you. At least, that’s how it feels like.

You notice San has dozed off in the chair next to you when you were about to speak to him again. To ask him how he’s truly been, in the years between then and now. Hoping to avoid mentioning what led to him coming to you, yesterday, a whole eternity ago.

You watch him, heart aching in your chest. Aching to reach out and brush his hair away from his forehead, aching to heal the cut on his cheek with a gentle swipe of your fingers. If only medicine was so simple…

It seems the peace of the early evening wasn’t going to stay around, because you notice dark clouds rolling in the distance, streaks of lightning cutting through them. Slowly inching closer, menacingly so, and you gently wake San up with your hand on his wrist.

He startles awake, hand shooting to his waist, finding nothing there. It startles you, and you both stare at each other for a moment until you realize what he was looking for.

His gun.

“San…” you let out and he runs his hand through his hair, eyes falling shut as he breathes in and out raggedly.

“Sorry.”

“San, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, refuses to let you see the vulnerability you glimpsed behind his piercing gaze. Refuses to acknowledge that he’s terrified, deadly so.

“Let’s go in,” you tell him, softly. Because you’re afraid you’ll spook him, when he’s clearly been living in fear long enough. “There’s a storm coming.”

He nods, carefully getting up without sparing you a glance. He heads inside, hand clutching his side again, while you pick up the chicken noodle soup cup before following him.

You’ve refilled the generator before swimming, so you know it’s been charging the batteries for a while now. You don’t fear ending up in the dark with San, and there’s also always the option of using the lamps and candles your uncle always leave here in case of an emergency.

The storm doesn’t roll in until a little later. You’ve forced San to put a shirt on – mostly so your eyes would stop betraying you, dropping to his toned body whenever he talked to you. You’re currently sitting on the couch, and as the rain starts, hammering against the window behind you, you pull your legs to your chest, wrapping your arms comfortably around them.

“How hard do the storms hit here?” he asks, eyes trailed to the world outside.

You follow his gaze, right as wind picks up to make the water hit the window even harder, creating a cacophony that forces you to speak louder for him to hear. “Pretty hard.”

He nods, and he glances once at you. “Fun.”

You smile, because you’ve always liked storms. Have always found them electrifying, energizing.

“Do you remember when we used to go to the field when it rained?” San asks, taking you by surprise.

Making your heart clench so hard in your chest you have to take a wobbly breath in. If he notices he doesn’t say.

“We were always in that field,” you remind him. “No matter the weather.”

It’s his turn to smile fondly. “It got so pretty with all the wildflowers. But you were afraid of the bees.”

“Bees are scary!” You laugh, and he echoes it with a soft chuckle. “You’re the one that almost pissed yourself when we saw the rat.”

That makes him laugh, and he winces in pain clutching his side. “Gosh, is it supposed to keep on hurting like this?”

It douses your enthusiasm and your smile falls. “Well, it was a solid cut.”

His eyes get lost in the void as he takes on a wistful expression. “I’m surprised I didn’t die.”

You gulp, watching his profile carefully. “It wasn’t deep enough for that…” you trail off, even though you spent most of yesterday and today being convinced he’d die. “At least they didn’t… stab you.”

“They would have if… Wooyoung didn’t shoot.”

You remain silent, not knowing what to reply to that. San interprets that as discomfort, and he quickly adds, “He didn’t shoot them. Just… in the air. It attracted the police.”

You remember the cars zooming past the diner a lifetime ago, and you nod your head. “I heard.”

He seems surprised, and his gaze finally finds yours again. “You did?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, a little awkwardly. “I hear a lot of shootings, in the diner.”

His eyes widen, mouth falling open cutely. “You do?”

You don’t know what he expected. The diner is right between Ateez and Bangtan territory, and as much as it is a safe space, it is also near enough to dangerous grounds, and you’ve heard plenty of shooting in your time working there.

“Always,” you admit. “It can get scary sometimes… but you also get used to it.”

He looks sad. Infinitely so, like a lost puppy. That’s when the first thunder hits, so sharp and sudden you startle. Not quite as much as San, who ducks, wincing in pain as he clutches his side.

“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, in time with another thunderclap, though this time it’s more of a rumble.

You watch his chest as he breathes in and out quickly. “Just… fuck.”

Now, concern grows in you, and you gently put a hand on his shoulder. “San…”

He meets your gaze, and there’s so much white in his it makes you think of a terrified prey. And then it clicks: he thought it was a gunshot.

“Hey,” you quickly say, moving closer to him. You’re on the side of the stitches, so you still keep a safe distance between the two of you, but you grab his hand nonetheless. “You’re okay.”

“Fuck,” is all he’s able to say.

“I promise, no one’s going to find you here.”

He remains silent this time around, eyes still boring into yours. You take that as a cue to continue, because you don’t want him to panic. You want his thoughts here, with you, and not miles away in a city he should have escaped from years ago. You wish he had, knowing the atrocities that he would have avoided.

Would he have escaped with you, had you stayed just a little longer?

“I killed someone,” he says, and you balk at the silver lining his gaze. “I fucking killed him.”

You don’t know how to help. All you can think to do is cup his cheek, right as he starts breathing even faster. “Breathe with me, San.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes fall to your mouth. You make a good show of inhaling slowly, before exhaling even slower. It takes him a moment but he eventually follows your lead.

It breaks when there’s another sharp thunderclap, and he flinches, eyes shutting instinctively.

“Hey hey hey,” you say again, even more gentle, softer than before. You move even closer, and when a tear slips out of his closed eyes, you pull him into a hug, careful not to brush his side.

His head falls on your shoulder, and one of his arms wrap around your waist. A thunderclap later, he starts sobbing, fist balling the fabric of your shirt in his tight hold, and you let him do it. You let him hold onto you, hoping it’ll keep him here with you. Hoping it’ll keep him afloat during the storm that’s raging both outside and in his mind.

“It’s going to be okay,” you breathe, and you feel like you’re lying to him.

Because how can he ever be safe from the ghosts inside of his skull? The ghosts wandering the halls of him, tainting his soul with their presence?

“He’s never going to smile again,” San chokes out. “Everyone loved him. Even in Ateez… Jungkook was the best of us. The only one who had a shot at getting out of it.”

You don’t know how good he could have been, if he was a member of Bangtan. In your mind, you’d always seen Bangtan as the bad guys, mostly because they weren’t with San. Even when you had been struggling to evade that life, you’d still rooted for him.

It’s strange how you just realize that now, as you’re holding him while he breaks.

“You didn’t mean to kill him,” you remind San, still speaking with the calmest voice you can muster up. “You didn’t want to, San. You’re not a murderer.”

“I’m still a killer,” he says. He sounds angry, and you reckon he might be angry at himself. Might be consumed with his actions, dragged to hell before his time as his mind gets stuck replaying the events.

“Maybe,” you answer. “But,” you quickly add when he stiffens in your arms. “But you can spend the rest of your life making up for it. Repenting.”

He doesn’t respond right away, as he breaks some more, sobs rocking through him. You’ve never seen him like this, not even when you were younger and in love. It makes your gaze wet, yet you hold on strong for him. You keep your head held high, and you allow him to break in the safe haven that your arms represent.

Because to him, you’ve never been tainted. You’ve always been the ideal he was trying to pursue, albeit the wrong way.

“I don’t know how to repent,” he admits when he calms down. He turns his head, and his nose brushes along the skin of your neck, slightly tickling you. You ignore the feeling, especially as he adds, “Ateez… it’s all I’ve ever known.”

You run a hand on his back, soothingly. “It isn’t.”

Because there was you, too. There was the summer field and the twinkling stars and Artic Monkeys on the radio. There was the two of you, petal-soft kisses exchanged in the dead of night and in the brightness of day. There were rainy days, and then there was rain. There was him walking away, and you hate yourself then.

You wish you had stopped him that day, had kept him from going on to become what he’s become now. A person he clearly hates, someone that has a bounty on his head. Someone that doesn’t even believe they’re allowed redemption and you reckon you don’t even know if he is.

You only know that seeing him break is bending your will, the way the wind outside is bending the trees. All you can hope is that, like the tall trees, you won’t break.

*****

The storm calmed down sometime around midnight. San ended up falling asleep on the couch, as you’d reassuringly ran your hand through his hair, trying to keep him with you. Though you think he’s been slipping through your fingers, into his demons.

You’ll find a way to bring him back. You have to. Turns out it comes faster than you think, as the electricity runs out and you busy yourself with lighting some candles throughout the main room. When you’re done, you put a blanket over him, and you almost let out a startled scream as his eyes shot open.

“Hello,” you say, resting a hand on your heart to tame the wild beats.

You’re about to move away, but he grabs your hand, forcing you to sit next to him. You don’t really resist, though you think you probably should. You’re weak – weaker still when he murmurs your name.

“San,” you whisper in return, and you’re aware your voice carries too much longing. Longing for a past when life’s atrocities hadn’t changed either of you yet.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and a tear rolls on his cheek.

You dry it, fingers lingering there. “It’s okay.”

“Angel…”

The nickname brings you back to laser quests and favours and warmth creeping up your stomach for the first time in your life.

“I’m no angel,” you breathe.

“You saved me.”

You hold his gaze. There’s something hiding behind his pupils. The need, to forget. You don’t think you have the ability to run his mind through amnesia, but still you brush his cheek again.

“You deserved saving.”

His eyes glaze once more, though this time no tears fall. “It’s hard to believe it.”

“Do you still believe love is a laser quest?” you ask him, out of the blue.

As if you’re a line straight of that Arctic Monkeys song you listened to the first time you kissed.

“Maybe,” he says, a parallel to that first time you had asked the question. “Maybe it is.”

You can’t resist. You lean down, and you press the gentlest kiss on his lips. His are dry, but the way he sighs with you against him is soft, for your heart and for your mind, and you kiss him again. He lets you lead, follows the dance of your lips, lets you run your hand through his sweaty hair.

Even if you shouldn’t. Even if you know everything you’re doing right now is a mistake, you still find yourself deepening the kiss, opening your lips to slip your tongue out, teasing his mouth. One of his hands finds your thigh, and he squeezes ever so slightly as his tongue finds yours, and you let out a breathy sound.

When you pull away, eyes fluttering open, you find San’s gaze. You think about the boy he was then, the girl you were then. You think about who you were, together. And when he says, “Please make me forget”, you lean again, capturing his mouth in a languid kiss.

For a reason unknown, the summer sky and falling stars pale in comparison to this kiss. Maybe because it holds longing, nostalgia. Hope that life would have turned out differently. For a moment, you picture what it would have been like, without Ateez. With you and him in the field, in your family house, in a car driving by the beach, windows down as the sun sets and you sing along to the radio, wind blowing in your hair.

You see a whole life there, with you and him marrying in the field, under the sun that had been the host of your first love. You imagine growing up by his side, attending college with him in the big city. You imagine how he would have become the owner of his own construction company, like his dad before him. You picture kids laughing, running around the house he would have built for you. You see Christmas light, late nights antics by the firelight.

You see it all, and you know you’ll never have any of it. But if you can have tonight, then you’ll grab it before it slips through your fingers. Before he walks away in the rain again, only to be a memory you cherish in the deepest corners of your heart.

“How?” you ask him when you pull away.

Mostly, you’re asking how to make him forget. But you’re also asking how it is that the feelings are still there, even stronger now, as if they’ve grown up with you, yet haven’t changed like you have. Like they are a constant of an ever-changing universe.

“Kiss me again,” he asks, begs, and you give in. You kiss him wildly, always making sure not to touch his side and the stitches.

You know sex would be a stupid idea, especially with the fresh stitches. But also because he’s barely had time to recover. But he doesn’t really give you a choice, pulling you on top of him until you’re straddling him.

You sit back on him for a second, eyes trailing to the spot where you know the stitches are. “This isn’t a good idea,” you whisper through the ragged breaths caused by the ministrations of his mouth on yours and of yours on his.

“I’m fine,” he says, and you know you shouldn’t believe him. But when he pulls you down again, large hand holding the nape of your neck firmly so you don’t escape, you want to believe him.

Want to believe the beauty of his lies, like you had when you were younger.

From where you’re perched, you can feel the start of his erection pressing against you, and you moan softly in the kiss, rolling your hips. His mouth falls open, and you capture his tongue, sucking on it once before you pull away, leaving hot kisses on his jaw.

“Sit on my face,” he says, and he sounds out of his mind. Crazed, a little like you too feel at the moment.

“What?”

“Can’t get hurt if you sit on my face, angel,” he explains, and then hisses when you suck a hickey on his neck.

You let him pull your shirt off, unclasping your bra yourself as you sit back on his lap. He cups your breasts, rolling your erect nipples between his thumbs and indexes. You moan again, grinding your hips into his, and he hisses once more.

“You want to taste me?” you ask, head throwing back as he pinches your nipples hard.

“I’d fuck you, but you’re the doctor. Can’t risk fucking up my stitches, huh?” he replies, voice low and husky.

Your core heats up, pussy clenching around nothing. This is a side of him you’ve never seen, though you spy desperation beneath it. Like he thinks he doesn’t have forever, when it comes to you.

He’s right. Because tomorrow, you’ll have to go back into town, into the hellscape you call home. What will be left of the two of you then?

So when he tugs at your pants, you give in and get up, taking off your pants and panties in one swift motion. You step out of them, blood heating up by the way he’s looking at you through half-lidded eyes, gaze burning on you.

You have half a thought that you could probably ride him instead of his face, but when you see his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, making them glisten in the candlelight, you need to know what it’ll feel like against you.

So you straddle his face as he guides you down, large hands pushing on your thighs until your pussy is a hairsbreadth away from his lips. He blows on it, and your eyes shut with sensitivity. You clutch the cushion of the couch, hoping it’ll help steady you, but the moment his tongue flicks at your clit, you realize nothing will be able to steady you. Yet you still hold onto it, especially as he dives his tongue between your folds, lapping up your juice. He moans in contentment, before moving to your clit again. And his tongue is wicked down there, like it knows exactly what you like.

You grab a handful of his hair, grinding into his face. You’re pretty sure he’s chuckling down there, and then he unleashes himself. Sucking hard, alternating circling motions to teasing you with his teeth. You’d expect the latter to hurt, but the way he does it just makes you see stars, and your pussy clenches around nothing again.

San is deadly good with his mouth. Both with crafting lies and pulling moans out of you, and your thighs tighten against his face as he sucks particularly hard, before dipping his tongue inside of you. His nose brushes your clit, and then he forces you to properly sit on him.

The way his tongue moves inside of you, lapping up your juices while opening you up, has you on the brink of an orgasm in no time. Especially as he makes you grind again, holding you tight into place. When one of his hands moves from around your thigh to reach your clit, you cry out, head throwing back.

He’s quick to rub at your sensitive clit, and you grab one of your breasts, massaging it mindlessly before you pinch your nipple, hard, right in time with a skilled swipe of his tongue. Your orgasm meets you there, shaking through you as it explodes in a blinding flash of light. You moan, loudly, something that resembles his name, and he keeps you going, guides you through your high until you cringe with oversensitivity.

Only then does he let you climb off from his face. You stand on wobbly legs, before deciding to sit next to him, and you catch sight of the smirk on his lips. It makes you blush, right as you realize what you’ve just done.

When you realize what kind of sinful activity he’s dragged you in, this time around.

“Gosh,” is all you manage to say.

He chuckles, clearly proud with himself. “That felt good?”

You worry at your bottom lip, eyes going down to the tent in his pants. You want to pleasure him too, to take him in your mouth and make him feel good, but he stops you with a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Don’t.”

You still and you meet his gaze with slightly-widened eyes. “Why not?”

His features turn somber, haunted, and the heat of the moment passes so quickly you think it might have been a figment of your imagination.

Were you really riding his face just a moment ago?

“Please just lay next to me,” he says, barely even a whisper.

You don’t know a lot of men that would choose cuddling over getting a blowjob, but if that is what he wants, then you’ll give it to him. You lay next to him, glad that the injured side is closer to the couch. That way, you can cuddle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder while he wraps an arm around you.

“Angel,” he murmurs after a time. “You’re a fucking angel. I think you’re my salvation.”

You highly doubt you hold this kind of power, but you don’t want to tell him. Have never been good at weaving beautiful lies for him to believe.

“We should stay here,” he continues. “Forever.”

And you wish you could. Wish reality didn’t exist, didn’t call for you to go back to your regular life like you’ve never been here with him. But you know tomorrow exists, and you’ll have to leave.

“We should have stayed in the field,” you choose to answer. “Under the shooting stars.”

“I wished for a lifetime with you, then,” he admits. “I wished I’d never have to let you go.”

You’d wished for a similar thing, but life is far too cruel to allow a world of first loves.

“Why did you…” you trail off. The question has haunted your sleepless nights for a long time after the break-up. Even years later, you’d still think about it sometimes, wondering if nostalgia would choke you up. “Why did you decide to join the gang?”

He tenses next to you. But you start tracing a mindless circle on his chest, through the shirt, and it distracts him enough for him to reply. “I thought I didn’t have a choice.”

“Did you?”

His voice holds the weight of the world when he says, “I did. And I made the wrong one.”

You want to cry, but you’re older now. You’re not the teenager who thought she was going to die from losing him anymore. You know what living without Choi San is like, and as much as it hurts, you know that it’s doable.

“You made the one you believed was right,” you say carefully. “But I do wish you had made a different one.”

He holds you a little tighter, as if that will make it so tomorrow never comes. “Me too.”

There’s an eternity of flickering candlelight on the ceiling, of the circles you trace on his chest and of your breathings forming a melody. Outside, the wind has died down, and the world is silent except from an occasional cricket braving the world after the storm.

“Where will you go, once you graduate?” he asks, taking you by surprise.

Because he knows. It’s one of the few things that hasn’t changed.

“As far away from here as I can.”

“I hope you find peace, wherever you go,” he whispers. “I hope you forget all about how we grew up in a hellhole.”

Do you feel bad for saying it? Maybe. But you can’t help saying it anyway. “I will, San.”

And like that rainy day years ago, you think you can see him walk away.

*****

Seven years later

The winter sun is strangely bright, up above. You’d think it will warm you up, but the cold is relentless, violent, and it sneaks into your coat as you walk out of the hospital. You’ve just finished a thirty-hour shift, and you can’t wait to be home.

To take a shower and forget that you’ve lost a patient today.

But you’ve saved another. A young man, with a stab wound in his ribs that should have killed him. But you saved him, stabilized his condition to the point you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Which is the only reason why you’re allowing yourself to leave now.

You’re never able to leave until you know your patients are okay. It’s been that way since your first patient, in a cabin in the woods you’ve done your best to forget.

You’d let San stay, after that weekend. He had given you the number of one of his friends, so you could get some clothes for him, and you’d gone back the next weekend. Bringing him the clothes, making love to him under the moonlight as if that would change the ending.

The following week, you had gone back to find the cabin empty. He’d left a note behind.

I hope I can find you again, wherever you go.

You kept the note. It’s in your bedside table, back at home, in the nice apartment you’ve been able to rent for yourself with all the money you’ve been making now. Enough to pay back student loans from med school, enough to reassure you that never again will you struggle.

You’ve never seen San again after. He hasn’t found you, and you haven’t searched for him. Have only looked up his name a couple of times, in the months following his disappearing, scared you’d find out that he was found dead in a ditch. But his name never came up, and you wondered if he had managed to escape, if he had managed to find a place where Bangtan couldn’t reach him.

You found peace, on your side of the country. Life is kinder here, though it still holds the same atrocities. You wonder if it’s the novelty of the city, or maybe if you’ve just grown old enough to be able to withstand the bad that the world throws your way. It’s hard to tell – you haven’t kept contact with anyone from back home, except Jae-on.

Jae-on, who’s moved with you when you’ve decided to come here, like he said he would. Jae-on, who asked you to marry him in late October, and you said yes. The ring sits heavy on your finger, and you mindlessly play with it.

In another world, you would already be married to Choi San. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of that world – a piercing gaze in the morning, a smile and a kiss to your temple. Talks about angels, children screaming in happiness. In another world, you’d be pregnant again, waiting patiently to add another piece of you and him to this world.

It’s fun to think about, sometimes, but you’ve been good at forgetting. Like you told him you would – most times, you’ve forgotten all about Choi San.

But today, you had a patient that reminded you of him. So you allow yourself to feel, you allow yourself to think about that note tucked in the bottom drawer of your bedside table, hidden under the thick socks you never use.

You allow yourself to think about the cabin in the woods, about the field where you would have gotten married had you been in that picturesque world you like to imagine. You think about laser quests and first kiss and rainy days and meteors. You think about summer, about wildflowers and him.

You’re so lost in thought you miss your stop home, and you begrudgingly get out at the next one. You’re tired, and your hands are shaking as you pull your phone out of your tote bag, wanting to text Jae-on that you’re going to be home late because you missed your stop. You walk to the other side of the tracks, sighing when you see a five-minutes wait for the next subway.

At least the sun is high in the sky, even though it is dreadfully cold. You shiver, putting your phone back in your tote bag so you can hide your hands in your sleeves again, hoping it’ll preserve them from the cold.

In your exhaustion, you forgot your gloves back at the hospital, you realize. It’s strange that you only realize now, and you reckon you really need to sleep, because your brain isn’t even working right anymore.

You sigh, glancing at the display showing the time. Still four minutes to wait. You think at this rhythm you might freeze in your spot before the next subway comes. You try to hide your face in the lapel of your coat, but a movement on the other platform attracts your gaze.

A man is helping an older woman climb down the stairs. She’s speaking loudly, which might be what attracted your gaze in the first place. You follow them as they walk down the stairs, and then when the man turns towards you, you meet his piercing gaze.

He smiles, and you realize that maybe, all those years ago, he was not spinning lies to you after all.

☆☆☆☆☆

Gosh yeahhh rereading it had me ralize that it is a lot sadder than I remembered it to be. At least we got an open ending ... :') What did we think? Should I write about other groups more often? Let me know what you think! All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate

Taglist:

@btsborahaee

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ellecdc · 6 months ago

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Elle, lovely dovey, life is a wreck as usual. So I’ve come to one of my safe places 💗

Now, if you will indulge me (don’t have to, completely up to you), what do you think the marauders jobs after Hogwarts and ect?

awe omg okay I know this wasn't the point of your ask but to be described as one of someone's 'safe places' literally made my heart swell like I can feel it in my throat.

I'm sorry life is a wreck - I've been struggling a bit too lately and am trying to stay positive but we're in this together and that makes me feel a little bit better knowing we'll all get through it <3

Everybody lives AU post-Hogwarts jobs

James: I could totally see him being a Quidditch coach (maybe even a professional Quidditch player?), I saw a fic of him once as the flying instructor at Hogwarts and fucking loved that idea - he'd be so good with kids cuz he's just a giant kid!! Or anything with kids tbh - I don't see him managing well with a Ministry job (ADHD), perhaps a mediwix? like a nursing style job?

Sirius: he is a tough one for me because I do not think a person like Sirius would ever work for the Auror department/Ministry [as he did in canon] - Sirius Black as a person would have huuuuugggggeeee issues with positions of authority. but I also don't know what else he would do. I love the idea of him doing something creative/owning his own business - tattoo artist, chef, painter/potter/artist, barber/hair stylist etc!

Remus: understanding that even in this no Voldemort/everybody lives AU there is still a huge prejudice against werewolves etc. So I think the boys might help him open a business (I always see him doing something calm; florist/plants, books/stationary, the likes), perhaps writing for a publisher/an author, but I also think he would have been offered a position at Hogwarts way earlier as well.

Regulus: I always see him working for the Ministry in some capacity; some cushy political job lol

Barty: I've never imagined him working................huh

Lily: I see her being a healer/working in the medical field.

#ask elle #marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #regulus black #barty crouch jr #lily evans #elle's headcanons #marauders headcanon

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flamingo-writes · 1 year ago

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What would you think if Hobie asks reader to cut the ends of his hair that bother him because of the mask and while she was doing it, she sang a nice song to him, meanwhile some little flowers began to bloom around them.

Really like the last post and this came to my mind immediately.

Listen, I’ve been daydreaming of this the entire day. I think this idea was very cute!

Also, little disclaimer: I was born and raised in Mexico, so, I’m very unfamiliar with how black people’s hair works. I know culturally it has a lot of importance, but other than that I knew very little of the different types of hair and ofc the insane variety of treatments and proper care as well as the different ways to give maintenance to different kinds of dreads. Also, as someone who has had very short hair for 2/3 of my life, as well as shaving my own head for the better part of the last 4 (5?) years, in general hair care and routines are something I’m wildly unfamiliar with, the longest I had my hair in the latest years was a 6 inch or so Mohawk I grew two years ago. Hobie has been a very good opportunity for me to educate myself a lot in hair (especially black people’s hair) and I spent a good portion of my evening watching videos/TikTok’s and reading on dreadlocks and their maintenance. If I wrote something inaccurate or wrong, please let me know, help me see my mistake, and I will fix it as soon as I can.

This came from this other request, I’m thinking of turning into a series.

Flower Bed — Hobie x Reader

Also, you said little flowers, but my brain decided to go for a full flower bed 😭 I hope you like this!

Warnings: none.

“Oí, luv…” Hobie said walking out of the bedroom, looking around you.

“Bathroom!” You shouted as he followed your voice, noticing the bathroom door opened and you kneeling by the shower.

Plants cramped in the shower as you watered them.

“Oh, never mind, you’re busy” He said.

“I’m almost done. I just need to water the ones in the kitchen sink and the monsteras…” You said as you’d todo up and stretched your back. “I’ll be done in ten minutes, what’s up?”

“I wanted to ask you if you could help me trim my hair, it’s starting to get long and gets stuck in the mask and, you know…” He asked softly. “But I can’t see the back of my head,”

“Sure, I’ll help you,” You said giving Hobie a kind smile.

He smiled back, walking up to you and kissing your forehead.

“Need help with the plants?”

“As you wish,” You replied happily. “You were asleep earlier and didn’t want to wake you, so I started watering them on my own…”

“I’m awake now,” He said. “I’ll water the monsteras,”

“Thank you, babe,” You purred.

By the time you were done with the plants, you went ahead and started helping Hobie out. You sat on the edge of your bed, as he sat on the floor. Since Hobie was tall, this was the most comfortable arrangement. It wasn’t also the first time you trimmed his wicks. He asked you to help him every few months.

As you put some soft music in the background, you got started, trimming dread by dread. Taking care to cut the hair while keeping the end of the dread rounded. Cutting just across each wick was already hard as they were thick, but you also wanted to keep them looking nice and rounded. Which was also a reason why Hobie asked you for help. You did a much better job at it than him.

Even when he didn’t admit it, or didn’t look like it, every single detail in his appearance was planned. Especially his hair. He liked taking care of it, and over all treated his hair like this very intimate thing, he hated having other people touching his hair. Except you. He actually loved it when you touched his hair, ran your hands through it, your fingers disappearing between the dreads. And the particular care and dedication which which you seemed to tend to every wick.

Deep in your concentration, watching over the little details, you were unconsciously singing. Something you also did quite a lot. When you were deeply focused on something, you’d start humming and eventually singing. Which only added to the relaxing time Hobie was having.

Between your gentle hands running through his hair, and now the soft sound of your voice singing in a low voice, going along with the music. Hobie lived for these little peaceful moments, making him feel absolutely contempt with his life. These little moments were everything to him.

As he had his eyes closed, focusing on every brought of your touch against him, he didn’t notice at first the plants growing around you.

It wasn’t plain on obvious. In fact, Hobie didn’t notice until he felt something tickling his elbows. He opened his eyes and saw flowers growing out of the floor, tiny plants growing buds and flowering. All in a matter of several seconds. And you continue to sing, concentrated. He blinked several times, wondering if you were aware of what you were doing, as he kept staring at the flowers growing and multiplying, coming out of the wooden floor tiles.

“Uh, luv?” Hobie asked in a low deep voice.

“Hm?” You hummed, answering Hobie’s question, sounding way too focused in your job as you were rounding one of the last wicks.

“Are you aware of the fact that you pretty much brought spring into our bedroom?”

“Huh?” You asked confused, breaking your hyper focus and looked around, noticing the flowers covering almost the entirety of your floor. White, red, lilac, and pink flowers, extending across your small bedroom. “Fuck,”

Hobie laughed softly.

“You didn’t notice?”

“N-no…” You whispered softly.

“That’s amazing…” Hobie sighed. “It’s beautiful, by the way…”

“The thing is I don’t know how to…un-grow them…And they’re a lot…” You said softly, the concern building in your voice, making Hobie chuckle. “What are we going to do with all of them?”

“We can always collect them and sell them or whatever, you know?” Hobie chuckled.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right…”

“In the meantime, we can always enjoy this beautiful scene, what do you say?”

“You’re way too calm for someone who has his bedroom full of flowers…”

“You made them. They’re beautiful. I don’t see the issue, basically a work of art,” He said looking at you over his shoulder, as you rolled your eyes playfully at him.

“Hobie, pollen give you allergies,”

“Sleeping on a flower bed one night isn’t going to kill me,” He pointed out. “Besides, ever since the spider thing, I get less allergies from flowers,” He said lifting a finger up, making you chuckle.

“Fine! You win this argument!” You chuckled.

“You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah, I love you too”

“That’s why I don’t mind the flowers. Because you made them,”

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss on Hobie’s cheek before you continued tending to the last two wicks.

“Thank you,” You said.

“For what?”

“Being you,” You sighed. “I’m not precisely fascinated with all the flowers in the bedroom, but the fact that you are, makes me feel better”

“Why, you’re welcome, sweet’eart. Thank you for helping me with my hair,” He said looking at you and giving you a cheeky smirk.

“Anytime,”

#hobie x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie fanfic #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown headcanons #hobie x you #hobie x y/n

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toppersjeep · 1 year ago

Text

I’ll Take Him - Carlos Sainz X Charles Leclerc X Reader ( a mini series)

Masterlist ||Chapter 2 || Chapter 3

Summary: You are a race engineer for Ferrari and sister of George Russell . For years you’ve worked side by side with Charles and now Carlos. You’ve been in love with Charles for years. But he’s never noticed that. He’s always been with someone else besides you despite the flirting between you two. But someone else wants your attention and that someone is Carlos. I guess if you can’t have Charles you’ll take his teammate then.

_____

y/nrussell✔️

I don’t know caption it something silly - Carlos

- tagged carlossainz55

Liked by 1.4 million

carlossainz55✔️: 🙄 listen I didn’t mean that

y/nrussell✔️: carlossainz55 to be fair you didn’t help much otherwise

carmenmmundt✔️: hard launch ?? 😍😍 finally

y/nrussell✔️: carmenmmundt for the people ofc carm

carlossainz55✔️: got a boyfriend?? asking for a friend

y/nrussell✔️: carlossainz55 yes hes pretty handsome 🌶️

y/nfan: oh my god my parents!! so cute

charlesfan16: was anyone else expecting the boyfriend to be Charles or no ??

f1fan: charlesfan16 I was sure they were dating with all the flirting but Carlos and Y/N are so cute

charlesleclerc✔️: well to be fair he did say “something silly” so

y/nrussell✔️: charlesleclerc Exactly Charlie 🙏🏻

georgerussell63✔️: don’t let her annoy you too much Carlos cause she’s very annoying

carlossainz55✔️: georgerussell63 she doesn’t annoy me that much and she’s cute so it makes up for it.

charlesxsainz: your telling me that she’s dating Carlos ???

landonorris✔️: finally I’ve been waiting patiently for this post

ferrari✔️: our spicy pepper and talented engineer a beautiful love story 🌶️❤️

_____

Your POV

“You busy” Carlos said placing a hand on my shoulder. “Yes I have to go over the stats from the last race” I said looking at my computer. “That’s so boring amour” Carlos said. “I know it’s not as exciting as driving the car” I said jokingly.

“So do you want me to bring you anything food or coffee” he said kissing my cheek. “You’re distracting me” I said. “But I thought I was your favorite distraction” Carlos said.

“Sometimes yes” I said. “Hey guys” Charles said. “Hey” I said. “You uh busy Y/N” Charles said. “She’s very busy apparently” Carlos said I rolled my eyes. “Yeah a little” I said. “I’ll come back later then it’s fine” Charles said leaving.

“Okay then” I said. “What was that about” Carlos asked. “No idea” I said. “So when you’re done do you wanna grab food” Carlos said. “Absolutely” I said kissing him. “Good just text me I’ll let you be” Carlos said leaving the room.

As soon as I finished my work. I went to go find Carlos. But ran into Charles. Making me drop my folders.

“I’m sorry I was running” Charles said picking them up. “Got a hot date or something” I said he laughed. “Ah no not tonight but” he began to say. “But what” I said he handed me my folders. “I think tomorrow I do” Charles said. “That’s nice” I said. “Yeah so you and Carlos” Charles said.

“Yeah he kinda asked me out months ago” I said smiling. “I knew he had a thing for you” Charles said I smiled. “It feels nice to be public finally” I said. “I bet I just hope he treats you well you deserve that” Charles said.

“He does” I said. “Well he’s lucky to have you any guy would be” Charles said. “I uh better go find Carlos” I said. “Yeah I got a meeting anyway see you later” Charles said walking away.

Later…

Carlos and I spent the evening at his apartment. But I couldn’t stop thinking about what Charles said earlier. That I deserve to be treated well. Even with Carlos I can’t keep my mind off charles.

“What are you thinking about” Carlos said. “Umm..just work” I said. “You need to just relax for a night” Carlos said hugging me from behind. “Oh do I” I said. “Yes enough work talk” Carlos said.

“You are very right” I said he kissed me. “Have I ever told you that..” he began to say. I looked into his brown eyes. “What Carlos” I said cupping his cheek. “I’m falling in love with you” Carlos said.

And there it was the L word. Love. But did he really mean those words. It felt right in the moment. But why couldn’t I say it back to him. I just froze looking at him. I felt like I didn’t deserve those words. Especially when I was thinking about someone else.

“I .. just wanted you to know that I love you” Carlos said. I smiled. “I don’t know what to say” I said. “You don’t have to say anything back” Carlos said softly. “You just surprised me” I said. He walked away.

“I mean I know that I’m in love with you so I needed to say it” Carlos said. “I’m gonna grab some wine do you want some” I said. “I.. think I’ll just head to bed we have a long day tomorrow” Carlos said going into his room.

I couldn’t help but feel like I upset him. Did he want me to say it back?? I mean I do love him. But not in the way that he wants.

“Okay I’ll just head home” I said. “You don’t have to” Carlos said from his room. “No no I should” I said leaving. I went back to my place. I felt like I made a mistake by leaving him there.

I then heard a knock on my door. I got up from my couch to answer it.

“Hey.. I feel like I scared you so” Carlos said holding roses. “Carlos no you didn’t” I said. “I didn’t like you leaving all upset so I …

I then kissed him. Just tell him what he wants to hear.

“I love you too” I said he smiled and kissed me. “Yeah” he said. “Yes” I said. “Can I come in” Carlos said I smiled. “Of course” I said. “So movie night” Carlos said . “Yes but none of your boring movies please” I said. “My love they aren’t boring but alright” Carlos said.

“And thank you I’ll put these in a vase” I said taking the roses. “I hope you like them” Carlos said. I put them in a vase. “I always love them especially from you” I said. “Alright I’ll grab the snacks” Carlos said. “And I’ll get the movie going” I said.

#fanfic #love #f1 imagine #x reader #mercedes amg f1 #red bull f1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #charles lecrelc #charles lechair #charles leclerc x reader #love triangle #daniel ricciardo #f1blr #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #george russell #f1 fic #f1 2023

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mandobatemans · 1 year ago

Text

intrigue (Tom Wambsgans x f!reader)

warnings: infidelity, fingering, unprotected piv sex, soft!dom tom, size kink kinda, biting, greg, do NOT have sex with the head of conservative news organizations irl!!!, i am a shivcel fr anything negative abt shiv in here i didn't mean it ily siobhan 🫶, NSFW UNDER THE CUT

word count: 4,740 (i got carried away)

A/N: this is loosely based on s4 e7 but there's no real timeline so it probably takes place like somewhere around season 3 or 4? this is my first succ fic so...enjoy 🤗 & also this took me SO long to write i'm so deeply sorry to anyone who was waiting

also posted to ao3

Tom had never been a fan of the whole “open marriage” arrangement. When he thought back to that fateful night (fateful night…who else would say that about their wedding night?) what he remembered most was the look on Shiv’s face when she told him that she wanted an open marriage. On their wedding night.

It was more for Shiv anyway. Tom rarely thought about actually acting on the arrangement, whether it be out of love for Shiv or loyalty to her father, he wasn’t sure. Sure, he had kissed someone here or done oral there when high on coke, but he had never actually fucked anyone else.

Something was different, though, tonight. Firstly, they were hosting a Waystar/ATN event at their apartment, and despite being chairman of ATN, he wasn't even sure what the evening was for. Shiv had told him about it last minute, casually mentioning it as they were being driven to work, like it was dinner at Logan’s rather than hundreds of media moguls and politicians to host. Actually, dinner at Logan’s felt equally, if not more, important than tonight. A better equivalent for how nonchalantly Shiv had mentioned it would be Connor inviting them somewhere.

Secondly, Shiv had suggested, outright, that they both find someone to hook up with at the party tonight. Earlier in their bedroom, after getting dressed in silence, Shiv had turned to Tom while putting her earrings in to share the idea. He knew she would be acting on it whether or not he did, and why shouldn’t he? It had been a while since he had gotten laid and was verbally (and physically) assaulting Greg a lot more as a result.

Did he just pick someone? How did you approach someone and say, “Hey, I’m in an open marriage but I’ve never actually done anything more than get my dick sucked with anyone else…anyway, let’s fuck!”

Tom fidgeted with his glass as he surveyed the room.

Despite your personal beliefs and the endless human rights violations that Waystar was affiliated with, their (and by extension ATN) events were some of the most lavish you'd ever attended. As a political journalist, it was standard for your company to send a journalist or two to whatever soirée the Roys were throwing. Everyone took turns, and this time you had drawn the short straw. It hadn’t been too bad so far, you thought, although perhaps you were jinxing yourself. You had kept to yourself mostly, chatting with other journalists you frequently saw around the city on assignments, snacking on the hors d'oeuvres, and listening to the ridiculous conversations political and media bigwigs were having.

You had been to an event hosted by the Roys before, but they were usually at ATN, Waystar, or some expensive venue. Being invited as a member of the press to Shiv Roy’s apartment felt strangely intimate. You were certain this was some calculated business move on the part of one Roy or the other, but you honestly didn’t really care. Whatever drama was happening within Waystar Royco was contained within the Roy family. You were simply here to supplement a piece your coworker was writing on the atmosphere of this political season.

It was only an hour into the party when you had collected all the quotes and interviews you needed, and sampled almost all of the hors d'oeuvres. Your boss expected journalists to stay for most, if not all, of the night for these things, in case some political bombshell were to happen. You were pretty sure nothing too monumental was going to happen in this room full of suits, especially with all of the Roys notably absent from the festivities. Even Shiv, whose house it was, looked like she wasn't paying any attention to what was going on in her home. In fact, she had been in the corner all night, talking to some prominent New York and D.C. women, important enough that you knew their faces but not important enough for you to attach any names to them.

You checked your phone for the time. You could probably get away with leaving in another hour if you made up some family emergency as an excuse for your editor. Even another hour seemed like ages. Maybe you could re-interview some people? Speak to some guests whose quotes would never make it in the article just to kill time? Sighing, you opened your messages, thumbs hovering over the chat with your editor, putting your journalism degree to use by brainstorming an excuse to get you back home in your bed before ten o’clock. When you turned around to pace while you typed (a nervous habit), you found yourself face-to-face with one of your hosts.

It felt like a fucking cliché. Literally bumping into someone at a party? If one of your writer friends wrote something like this, you'd tell them it was bullshit and things like that didn't happen in real life. Yet here you were, inches away from–

“Tom Wambsgans, Chairman of Global Broadcast News at ATN.” He introduced himself, reaching out a hand for you to shake.

You returned the handshake, grateful that he wasn’t offended by you bumping into him. “I know who you are.”

“And I know who you are.” He paused. “That sounded stalkerish, didn’t it? I meant, I know who you are because I’ve read your articles.”

“You have?” You were surprised. Your company and your articles in particular were considered left-leaning, the very opposite of the stories ATN ran.

He nodded. “Gotta keep up with the competition. I’ve seen some of your features on the network, as well.”

“Really? I would have thought you would just watch ATN all day,” you teased.

Tom made a face and then shook his head. “No, no, no. Plus, I wouldn’t really call any of our journalists ‘journalists’ so much as pretty faces. You do your own research and look good on the camera. That’s impressive.”

You raised an eyebrow and Tom’s eyes widened, processing what he had just said.

“God, I do sound like a fucking stalker.”

You laughed, “Just a little bit.” You let him cringe for a second, then smiled to reassure him. “No, but I’ve seen some of your interviews since you took over ATN. You look good on the camera, too.” You paused, before adding, “Maybe that makes us both a little stalkerish.”

His eyes lit up at your response, earning a genuine laugh (the first one that night not faked for some suit, he noted).

“Uh, sorry for bumping into you. I wasn't looking where I was going,” you explained, waving your phone in your hand for context.

“Ah, cell phone. The curse of the twenty-first century.”

You furrowed your brow involuntarily for a moment. He wasn't how you expected the spouse of a Roy to be like. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, you weren't yet sure.

“I’m making a huge ass of myself, aren't I?” He sighed. “I’ll leave you to the party–”

“No! It’s okay. Stay,” you heard yourself say. It was Tom’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Okay. You found him attractive. And even despite his eccentric comments, you also found yourself wanting to talk to him more. You were, however, purposely avoiding looking at the wedding ring on his finger.

To Tom, it all seemed too perfect. You, for example. He was being honest when he said he had seen and read some of your work and that he enjoyed it, and he did sometimes watch other networks to get an idea of the competition, but he had left out the fact that there was something about you in particular that made him watch the entire segment when you happened to be on air. And the fact that sometimes he'd scroll through your articles online and imagine you reading them aloud to him. But he wasn’t a stalker. And now you were here, in his house, on the night that his wife had all but shoved him into the bed of anyone that he wanted.

But still; one pleasant, slightly flirtatious conversation didn't mean you wanted to ride off into the sunset with him. Or, more accurately, go upstairs with him.

He scanned the room for Siobhan. Although it had been her suggestion, and he knew she had acted on the arrangement before, he still felt like it was somehow a trap. Like she’d hire someone to hide behind the bedroom door that night and catch him with his pants down (literally) to use as blackmail.

But sure enough, she was across the room, laughing at something some lobbyist had said, and resting her hand on the other woman’s arm slightly longer than a casual touch would last.

The longer he thought about it, the more confident he felt. If you were interested, he wanted to spend the night with you. And maybe more. But he was getting ahead of himself.

“It's kind of loud over here. Come on,” he gestured with his head toward the opposite corner of the apartment, one not occupied by any guests save for an elderly politician snoring on the couch.

You followed him, nodding when he asked if you wanted another drink before picking a champagne flute off of a passing server’s tray. He handed it to you once you reached the corner, your hands touching during the exchange. It seemed like even more of a cliché to feel sparks fly at this tiny touch, so you ignored that, as well.

“You host these kinds of things often?” You asked, leaning against the wall and taking a sip of your champagne. The room was full of very important people, though none of them seemed to be talking about very important things. You couldn't quite wrap your head around why a high-level executive who had married into one of the largest media conglomerates was wasting his time talking to you (flirting with you?), but you had seen stranger things in this city.

He grimaced and shook his head. “No, no. I’m usually just a guest.” Tom laughed and took a sip of his drink. “And not a very important one, at that.”

“I’m sure that's not true. I mean, how many people watch ATN? And you’re in charge of what airs or doesn't air.”

“1.89 million,” he replied, taking a sip of his drink, “Outside of the office, nobody’s really worried about what I think.”

“Not even your wife?” You stopped after you said the words, giving your brain a second to catch up with your mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean any disrespect, I–”

“No, no, no, no, it’s okay,” he assured you, reaching out to rest a hand on yours consolingly. Tom leaned in closer so only you would hear him, unnecessary considering the secluded corner you two were in.

“But no, not even my wife.”

Your eyes darted to his hand atop yours, suddenly aware of how large his hands were. They almost completely covered yours, and they felt so comfortable and right there, like–

“We have an open marriage,” he suddenly said.

“Oh.”

Tom seemed disappointed with this reaction, quickly removing his hand from yours and adding, “That’s just to say that, our marriage is, uh, unconventional, so her not caring what I have to say isn’t that unusual.”

You were still processing the feel of his hand on yours, much less the revelation that he actually might be flirting with you and that it actually might go somewhere. By the time your thoughts caught up with you, it seemed like he was about ready to excuse himself and go scream at his reflection in the bathroom.

“Well, I’m sorry about that,” you responded, mirroring his gesture from before and resting your hand on top of his to comfort him. “You don’t deserve that, really.”

He scoffed. “You don't know what I deserve.”

You looked up at him, taking the time to absorb the look in his eyes that revealed just how much he was going through.

“Uh, Tom?”

Tom rolled his eyes and turned away from you to snap at the source of the interruption. “What, Greg? Can’t you see I’m having a conversation?”

“It’s just–well, Shiv is leaving with someone.” The taller man gestured at the door, where sure enough, Shiv was weaving her way through the crowd toward the elevators with the lobbyist from earlier, her hand guiding her by the small of her back.

Tom bit the inside of his cheek. “Well, Greg, we do have an open marriage. So, everything’s fine. Now, scram.”

Greg looked between the two of you and hesitated for a second before nodding and disappearing back into the bustle of the party.

Tom turned back to you. “That’s Shiv’s cousin, Greg. I’ve sort of taken him under my corporate wing, so to speak. Showing him the ropes and all that.”

You nodded, finishing your champagne.

“Well,” he said.

“Well,” you echoed.

He paused for a minute, though it seemed to last much longer than that. “You’re writing an article about this party, right?”

“Yeah,” you responded, unsure of where he was going with this.

Tom leaned in, lowering his voice. “What would your editor say if you got a behind-the-scenes look at the party?”

You raised your eyebrow.

“Of course, you'd have to come upstairs…” Something shifted in his tone. You were well aware of what the change implied, and you’d be lying if you said you didn't want to jump at the offer. This wasn’t you, though. Sleeping with a married man? On top of that, not just any married man, but the host of the party that you were covering for work. It sounded like a problem you’d encounter on an Intro to Ethics exam. But any moral qualms you had about the issue were pushed out of your head when you registered the way Tom was looking at you.

“Of course,” you repeated, nonchalantly, setting your empty champagne glass on a nearby table.

Something flickered in Tom’s eyes. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way, Wambsgans,” you replied, gesturing dramatically.

Neither of you spoke for the entire walk away from the excitement of the party to the quiet of Tom’s bedroom. It looked much like you had expected it to look: modern, chic, and impersonal. You were sure Tom (or Shiv) had some personal items somewhere in the house, but the bedroom was so clean and styled that the only indication anyone slept or dressed in there was some of Shiv’s makeup and jewelry strewn haphazardly on the vanity.

When he had closed the door behind you, Tom stepped closer to you experimentally, as if he was afraid you'd flee like a wild deer if he moved too fast. You stepped closer as well, which seemed to give Tom the permission he was looking for. Within seconds, his mouth was on yours, his hands cupping your face, all tongue and teeth. There was hunger and desperation in the kiss, but it was hypnotizing, beckoning you deeper and deeper. He was almost doubled over to reach you (god, he was tall), so you shifted your weight to stand on your tiptoes.

Tom broke the kiss, leaving you with a confused look on your face.

He shed his suit jacket, throwing it carelessly on the floor. Next, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. Tugging on the length of his tie, he loosened it enough to undo a few buttons at his collar, revealing an inviting expanse of chest hair.

“Turn around,” he told you, snapping you out of your male-stripper-fantasy gaze.

You did as he said, something in his tone going straight to your core. You felt him run his hands from your shoulders down your arms, then down your hips and up to your waist, the action bunching up the fabric of your dress. He moved your hair to the side, pressing hot kisses to your neck that made your eyes roll back.

“Can I take this off?” He whispered, his lips trailing up to your ear.

You nodded in response, trembling momentarily under his touch. Tom unzipped your dress, helping you push it down your body and step out of it. He unhooked the back of your bra without moving further. It occurred to you then how wrong this was, to be sleeping with someone else’s husband in their own bedroom, but to your surprise, you didn’t care. The only thing you cared about was the heat of Tom’s gaze on your bare back. You took your bra off the rest of the way and discarded it on the ground next to your dress. Once in only your underwear, you turned back around to face him, watching his eyes follow every curve of your body to drink in the newly exposed skin.

“Wow,” he said, simply, reaching out to grab you by the hips and pull you closer to him. “You’re gorgeous.”

Grinning, you stood on your tiptoes to kiss him again, cradling his face in your hands. You felt him smile back into your kiss. Before you knew it, he had you pressed against the wall, totally enclosed by his larger form. He went from kissing you on your lips to your neck to behind your ear to your chest, as if he couldn't decide which spot deserved the most attention or for how long.

One of his hands slid down to the waistband of your underwear, the cold metal of his wedding ring a shock against your hot skin. You made eye contact with him as his hand slipped between the fabric and your skin cup your cunt, whining when you felt his touch. He seemed to get off on that, capturing you in a kiss again at the same time he slipped a digit into your wet heat. You were too hot; you pressed your hand to his chest to stabilize yourself and pushed your underwear down your legs and kicked them off. Tom smiled at this, getting right back to pumping his finger in and out at a pace that almost made you melt down the wall.

It was probably a power trip thing, you thought, you totally naked and him almost fully clothed. You didn't mind because it was kinda hot, but it wasn't what you had expected from Tom based on the unassuming, Midwestern image of him that was circulated in columns and by the Roys themselves. But, then again, you hadn't expected to find yourself in this position at all when you left your apartment earlier that night.

The pace of his fingers felt so good, so intoxicating, that now that you had him, you needed more of him.

“A-another one,” you whined between kisses.

When you opened your eyes to look at him, Tom had a smug look on his face. Sure, it was arrogant, but it turned you on, so who really cared? “Yeah?” he asked, “You want another one?”

“Tom,” you hissed, gripping onto his shoulder as his finger curled in just the right way that it made your legs go numb.

The look remained on his face, but he added another finger nonetheless. Tom appeared to inhabit both extremes when it came to sex: he really wanted to pleasure you but he also really wanted to do what he wanted. Luckily, those two wants aligned.

He was making you feel so good that you needed to have more of him. Your kisses got sloppier, each so desperate to be further molded with one another that your tongues tried to push impossibly further into the other’s. Tom shifted his hand so he could angle his thumb to rub slow, tantalizing circles on your clit as he continued to pump his fingers. Your grip on his shoulder tightened–you feared your fingernails would leave dents in his skin–but like so many other things tonight, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You could feel the pressure rising in your middle, your cunt clenching around his fingers in anticipation of your impending orgasm, but then it stopped.

You opened your eyes that you hadn't realized were squeezed shut to look at Tom, who had his hand in front of your face, fingers glistening with your slick. “Open,” he encouraged. You obeyed, accepting his fingers into your mouth and licking them clean with a ‘pop.’ He stared at you like you had hung the stars in the sky. He jerked his head toward the bed. “Sit.”

There was authority in his commands, but you didn’t fear him; from the short amount of time you had spent with him, you knew he was at his core a sweet man. You would admit to yourself that you had been curious how his awkward, nervous energy would translate into the bedroom, but once alone, he seemed to be a different man.

You watched him strip off the rest of his clothes eagerly, smiling up at him once he rejoined you on the bed totally naked. He must’ve noticed you staring, because he asked: “Do you want me to put on a condom?”

You shrugged, shifting your eyes back up to his own. “No, it’s okay. I'm on birth control.”

He sighed in relief. “Good. I don't even know if I have one in here.”

“Then why’d you ask?” You laughed, encouraged by the smile that crossed his face when you did so.

“Seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do. If you said yes, I would’ve sent someone to go get one or borrowed one from–”

“Tom?”

“Yeah?”

“Just fuck me already.”

“Alright. If you say so,” he teased, leaning down over you to kiss you. Both your lips were red and puffy from all the kissing and some biting, but it didn’t matter. You could feel his cock pushing against your stomach from the angle, so you reached down to take him in your hand and pump his length.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your skin, face buried in your neck as he pressed kisses to the every inch of available flesh, “Fuck…Can I?”

“Please,” you responded, noticing a little desperate hitch in your voice that you ignored. Tom licked his hand and cupped your sex with it, running the pads of his middle fingers through your folds a few times to collect the wetness between your legs. Gently, he guided his length into your opening

inch by inch, watching your face for any sign of discomfort before bottoming out.

You should’ve expected his dick to be big from his height, the size of his hands, his nose, whatever, but you hadn’t considered just how big. It was quite a stretch to take him fully, but he gave you all the time you needed to adjust and get comfortable. When you were ready, you bucked your hips up into his to give him the okay.

Tom took your permission to move and ran with it, grabbing your left leg and placing it over his shoulder before pressing you down further into the mattress with his body weight so he could thrust into you at a deeper angle.

You lifted your head to meet him to return to making out, the sensation of his tongue down your throat even more erotic now that he was inside of you, as well.

His thrusts were deep but not as aggressive as he had been with his fingers. He wouldn’t vocalize this, or even admit to himself that he was thinking this, but he wanted this to last. As much as it was supposed to be a hookup–emotionless sex–he found himself wanting it to happen again, despite his attempts to push those thoughts deep into the recesses of his mind.

One arm was thrown around Tom’s neck, hand gripping a fistful of his hair. Your other hand went down to your clit, beginning to rub circles to match the pace of his thrusts.

“You wanna cum again?” He teased, “Again, when I haven't cum once?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, playfully, slipping your finger down from your clit to lightly stroke the length of his cock that wasn't fully inside of you.

He let out a moan, eyes twinkling as he snapped his hips a little harder, snickering when you gasped in response.

Tom caught you in another kiss, resting his weight on his forearm that was positioned next to your head. You arched your back up into him, urging him deeper, which he obliged. “Touch yourself,” he said, disconnecting his mouth from yours just long enough to give the command.

You smiled into his lips, rubbing your clit again as his thrusts became sloppier and jerkier. He was holding on until you came again, despite his earlier cockiness. The moment he felt your walls tighten around him, he let go, spilling inside of you with a grunt.

He pulled out, rolling off of you to lay beside you.

Tom was still catching his breath, and you watched his chest heave for a few moments. “Hey, you okay?” He asked. “Everything alright?”

You smiled, nodding and reaching over to kiss him again. “I'm good, yeah. You?”

“Perfect, actually.” Tom smiled back at you. He found himself lost in the moment, lost in your eyes, lost in the connection you two had just had, and it was too much for him. Quickly, he sat up, ready to change the subject. “You need to clean up?”

You furrowed your brow at the sudden shift in his demeanor, but going along with it nonetheless. Despite him just having been inside you, you didn't feel like it was your place to mention the change. “Yeah. Can I?” You asked, gesturing vaguely toward the bathroom.

“Yeah. Oh, yeah. Go ahead. Towels are above the sink.”

You flung your legs over the side of the bed and stood, heading toward the bathroom. “I’ll just clean off real quick, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“No, no, no. I mean, you can stay the night. If you’d like, that is. I could call you a car, though, if I’ve made some awful faux pas and you don’t want to look at me for another–”

“Tom.” He focused on you again after his brief spiral. “I would like to stay.”

He grinned. “Great, that's great.”

“Just let me–” You waved your hands around your lower body, “–clean all this up.”

“Yeah, of course, sure. I’ll be here.” He added the last part in a quasi-sing-song voice.

At the sound of the shower turning on, Tom rose to locate his clothes and try to clean up. He pulled his boxers back on, taking his dress shirt, pants, & jacket to be thrown into the hamper. They really should be dry-cleaned, he considered, but found that he couldn’t be bothered. As for your clothes, he wasn’t sure what exactly to do with them, so he laid your dress across a chair in the bedroom and left your bra and underwear on the floor. He was still considering whether he should pick them up or not when you came out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around your torso.

Once you had dressed in your undergarments again and Tom had given you an undershirt to sleep in, you started to wonder what all this meant. If it had just been a hookup, why were you staying the night? You had thought you’d feel dirty and disgusted with yourself, spending the night in someone else’s bed with someone else’s husband, but you didn’t. You didn’t know what that said about you, what it meant that you were perfectly comfortable talking into the night with Tom, both laughing and sharing stories long after you had agreed to turn the lights off and get some sleep. That almost made it worse, you thought, that it wasn’t just sex. That made it dangerous.

After you had drifted off, Tom spent a few minutes watching you sleep. He tucked a stray hair behind your ear, watching the worries of the day wash off your face while you slept. He knew it was wrong to be more comfortable in this bed with you than he was with his own wife. But that was something to deal with (or repress) in the morning. Here, now, with you wrapped in his and Shiv’s bedsheets, your form against his chest rising and falling with his breaths, he could pretend it was meant to be like this.

@swiftcession @greenwrldsz @zirrocom @lukas-matsson @ledtassoo @bluecruz97 @rita-lean @grainyimag3

#my fic #tom wambsgans #tom wambsgans x reader #succession

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the-river-runs · 1 year ago

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My best friend Fandom has once again returned and asked me to post to Tumblr for her! Once again, I have permission to post this video and all edits were done by Fandom (http.redshoes on Instagram)

These memes are all based on Cryptid Sightings by @naffeclipse

She has a lot to say this time around!

A message from Fandom:

"Hello Naff!! And hello everyone :D

It’s me, your girl, your local meme and edit maker, Fandom (aka http.redshoes on Insta 😎)

I’ve come back to make another meme comp for you guys! I wanted to make this earlier, but:

1. I was busy saving/collecting ATSV content on Instagram like Pokémon to getting noticed twice by Jack in the Box ☺️

2. I had to create an Ao3 account (understandably ofc AI theft sucks) and was um. You know… being silly in the comment section 👀 (please don’t mind me if you ever stumble upon them - I react and appreciate the stuff I enjoy in weird ways 💔)

3. Was waiting for my friend here to finish reading so I didn’t spoil anything in the memes! We both loved the series so much and man. The Naff do be eclipsing fr in releasing chapters left and right biggest round of applause for one of my favorite authors here 👏👏👏

Naff, you did such a great job writing this fanfic. I’m going to repeat myself from the comment section BUT you need to give yourself a pat on the back, relax, take a break - just reward yourself. You deserve it all and I hope that you take care of yourself for all the hard work you’ve done 💞💞💞

I’ve also included the lovely artist themselves, @themeeplord , again in one of my meme comps.

It’s only one meme but dang they always draw Eclipse to be getting that gain 💪💪💪 (bc of how muscular he is haha.) Mad respect to all of the drawings they create - they’re always a banger to see.

(Most of the memes surround the last episode + epilogue so if you haven’t read those chapters LOOK ‼️ AWAY ‼️ Don’t get spoiled 🤯)

(P.S. for the imagine scenario that’s not a meme, this is what they’re saying in the audio:

“[Amused] You can hear their heartbeats? Come on, that’s a little far fetched.”

“[Soft chuckling] I can hear yours too… Your heart’s beating pretty fast.”

I’d like to think this would take place around the beginning of “The Episode Bedeviling Bodies,” where the Hunter is still trying to understand their dear friend and what they’re capable of. I thought it was fitting ngl and included it in the comp.

There were uh, more memes I wanted to include, but I’m running low on storage space atm. I’ll get back to making more after I’m done clearing that out ^^’)

(P.P.S. Okay I don’t have Tumblr obviously but 🕴️ apparently you guys really liked the SJ memes I made??? Because my friend’s been receiving notifs of it still??? Thank you so much you guys!! I didn’t really expect people to enjoy them that much 😭💘💘💘)

Now without further ado, enjoy the meme comp! >:D " -Fandom

#river says...#bestie posting #cryptid sighting #crytid sightings spoilers #many more memes for everyone to enjoy :)#now that I've caught up to CS i can actually look at these memes hdjssjn #real talk though #crytid sightings is genuinely such a beautiful fic and one of my favorite stories of all time #naff has such an incredible writing style and is such a good storyteller #i really recommend reading CS even if you're not into fnaf #it's such a rollercoaster #the fluff is so sweet and the angst is so heartbreaking #but everything just works #I'm so grateful to have found Naff and her work #she's such a lovely person and an extremely talented author #I am so excited to see what she writes next #especially since the end of CS had me so emotional #i will never get over this fic #sorry for the long rambling tags but i had to gush a little bdjdjsj #hope you guys enjoy the memes <3

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queenthiax · 1 month ago

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Gilly's Letters

Just a tidbit I wanted to get out of my brain, Gilly Cinderheart you have all of my heart <3 Even though I like to break it doing things like this.

- Dear Mama,

I made it to the adventurer’s guild! I would have written earlier, but getting all of the paperwork done and settled into my quarters ended up taking longer than I expected and the next thing I knew we were getting schedules and orders.

Everything around here happens so quickly it makes my head spin. I think Papa would like the hustle and bustle of the routine though. He always complains about how bored he is at home.

They’re telling me that training starts tomorrow though. I thought getting accepted into the Guild meant that they had already assigned me to a seasoned adventurer, but it seems that there is some basic training they like everyone to go through before that. And something about the choices being made ‘after the heroes get to see our grit’ with their own eyes.

I’m taking everything in stride though! I’ll make sure to show everyone here what I’ve got and make sure the support everyone at home has given me will be worth it!

All of my love,

Gilly-pad

–

Dearest Mama,

Thank you for the care package, knowing that a taste of home will be waiting for me after each day of training is the best motivation to get through the day.

Training is… hard. I knew it would be, but it's so eye opening the difference in expectations here for monster hunting and adventuring is to the little threats that I handled for everyone at home. Really gives a lot of scale to how important the work is!

We haven’t had any adventurer’s looking for apprentices coming in yet, but my teachers all say they’re really impressed with my skills! Especially my ‘special skill’. It’s been really amusing to spar with others who take my size for granted and get to show them how sturdy us halflings can be!

Doing everything to keep you proud, give Papa my love.

Your Gilly-pad

–

MAMA!!!!

I GOT CHOSEN!! I’M OFFICIALLY AN APPRENTICE TO A GREAT ADVENTURER!!

MAMA YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHO IT IS!!

THE GREAT SIR HORACE TREATY!!!

HE CAME AND WATCHED US AND PICKED ME OUT OF EVERYONE!!!

I’M SO HAPPY I COULD MELT!!

YOUR OFFICIAL ADVENTURER APPRENTICE DAUGHTER!!

LOVE LOVE LOVE FROM YOUR GILLY-PAD

–

My lovely Mama,

Life on the road has been so hectic, I apologize for the sporadic letters. I didn’t realize how unreliable sending through different post offices could be. Don’t worry too much about trying to keep track of me, sending them to the Adventurer’s Guild will make sure I get them eventually!

But it’s officially been a month! I’ve already been on so many adventures and helped slay so many monsters. It’s been a wonder to watch Sir Horace and his frequent companions work.

Sir Horace treats me well! We’re still getting to know each other so I do fear sometimes he keeps up his ‘hero’ act up with me, but I know I’m wearing him down!

Can’t write long since I have so many tasks to keep up with! But do know I’m having the time of my life! Tell Papa to not get jealous of my adventures!

Your monster slaying girl,

Gilly-pad

–

Mama,

I know the letters don’t come often enough, I’m so sorry about that. Sir Horace is taking my training seriously though and keeping me plenty busy!

Not only am I learning about actual adventuring and monster slaying, but he is doing the work to make sure I stay… humble. It’s important to not look down on all of the small tasks that keep you moving every day!

And I am never bored! Even when we’re not working Sir Horace keeps my mind sharp with his tales of his years of experience!

One day I want to show you all the places I’ve seen… I think you’d like some of them. But not as much as I love home, I hope to visit you soon.

All my love,

Gilly-pad

–

Mamsies,

I was just speaking with Sir Horace and he has given me leave once we get back to the city to come back home and visit for a while! He won’t have need of my services for a bit and I do crave your cooking.

We have an engagement - the fabled feast of glory - on the 25th of this month, but afterwards I’ll make my way back to you all! And I’ll be able to tell you of all the heroes I meet at the party!

Missing you and Papa always,

Gilly-pad

–

As darkness starts to take her - her body worn and bruised - the bravado of her last ‘fuck you’ leaves Gilly’s heart… one final thought… “I wish I could have read your letters Mama… I hope you’ve gotten mine… I’m sorry I couldn’t make good on my promise to visit one last time….”

#yuurivoice #Gilly Cinderheart

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fluffyllamas-23 · 1 year ago

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Omg omg omg hi I’ve read your fics omg I can’t believe you’re writing again!!!

If it’s not too much, could I request a sick and sneezy Bucky and any Steve of your choosing??

Thank you so much for the prompt!! It's definitely not too much to ask (and if you ever have any more ideas for Bucky I am happy to take them! I don't give Bucky nearly enough love, which is honestly a travesty) <3 <3 <3

Bookshop/Cafe AU where Bucky works in the bookshop part of the store and (post-serum) Steve works in the cafe part, and they’re cute boyfriends.

Steve was supposed to be off today, but he had all but jumped at the opportunity to cover for a coworker for no reason other than wanting to keep an eye on Bucky. They don’t work immediately together, but Steve works at the coffee shop within the bookstore that Bucky works at, which was how they met in the first place.

Anyways, he knows how it sounds, picking up a shift solely so he can make sure Bucky is okay, but hear him out. He promises it’s not for anything nefarious.

Bucky has been coming down with what’s shaping up to be an awful cold for the last day and a half or so. He’s still in that annoying phase of illness, where his body can’t quite figure out what it wants to do and is freaking out. He’s feeling way more rough than he usually does at this point of a cold, but he doesn’t really have many specific symptoms.

His head is throbbing, and his throat feels really scratchy and raw (and it sounds like it, too), but other than that he’s just dragging. He wants nothing more than to crawl back into bed and sleep for a year.

Steve had tried talking him into calling out since he’s not feeling well, but Bucky is nothing if not stubborn. He doesn’t want to take time off for this. It would feel ridiculous calling out for feeling vaguely unwell and not actively sick.

So, Steve feels like it’s his duty to keep an eye on things. And honestly, picking up a shift to make sure everything is okay is far less weird than browsing the aisles of the bookstore for hours until his shift finishes.

Bucky can feel Steve’s eyes on him. He does his best to ignore it, but can’t stop himself from glancing over in his direction. They make eye contact and Steve’s eyes widen slightly, and then his head immediately drops down. He goes back to wiping down the counter by the register.

Bucky rolls his eyes and shakes his head, laughing lightly. What a ridiculous man.

He turns his attention back to stocking the shelves. His boss had taken pity on him and wasn’t making him work in any customer-facing role (unless absolutely necessary) when she heard how gravelly and rough Bucky’s voice was when he got to work that morning. If they were less busy, his boss probably would have sent him home. She’s not in the business of torturing her employees. However, she’d already had three callouts, and she really does need Bucky there.

She promises that Bucky can have all the time off he needs soon, though.

Bucky clears his throat with a grimace. He really does need to track his boss down and see if he can go grab some tea at some point. That might help.

As if she can sense his question, he spots her walking over to him from across the room.

“How’re you holding up?” She asks with a frown. “I’m sorry you have to be here.”

He waves her off, “it’s fine, promise.” He winces when he hears his own voice. It’s shot to hell, and he knows he’s close to losing it.

“Do you need anything?”

He nods his head towards the coffee shop, “would you mind if I go grab some tea? I’ll be quick.”

“Not at all. Why don’t you go ahead and take your fifteen now.”

He furrows his brows, “but I already took that earlier.”

“Oh, did you? I don’t remember,” she says, shooting him a look. “It’s fine, James. Go take another.”

He looks around the store, there are people everywhere. A line is forming at the front of the store, and he can’t help the pang of guilt in his chest. “Peggy, we’re so busy.”

“I know,” she says, “but I just feel bad I’m keeping you here when you’re not feeling well and you being here at all is helpful. Go get some tea, sit down, come back in fifteen.”

“Okay, okay, fine,” he relents, but it’s more so he doesn’t have to keep talking.

He puts the last book back on the shelf and heads over to the coffee shop.

“Steve,” he croaks when he reaches the register.

Steve winces, “God, you sound bad, honey.”

“I sound worse than I feel. Peggy told me to take another fifteen.”

“I would have sent you home,” Steve grumbles, casting an annoyed glance in the bookstore’s general direction.

Bucky rolls his eyes, “stop. You know she can’t, and you know you’d still be here if it were you.”

“Fair enough,” he sighs, shifting his focus back to fussing over his boyfriend. “How do you feel other than your throat?”

He scratches at his nose, making a face at the prickle in his sinuses. “Eh…not great. Not awful. Hih…hih’tschiew! Snff! Snff! Sorry. Somewhere in the middle. I’m just so fucking tired. Could I get some tea? I don’t care what kind, surprise me.”

“Language,” Steve teases. He hands Bucky a napkin and then grabs a hot cup from the stack next to him. “Bless you. Want something with caffeine, then?”

Bucky turns away to blow his nose, and then he rubs at his chest with a sigh, “dunno…heart’s kind of racing. I’m not sure caffeine would be the best idea.”

Steve frowns. Bucky’s heart always races when he’s not feeling well, and even though he knows this is normal for him, he can’t help but worry.

“Go sit down, I’ll bring you something.”

Bucky makes it exactly two and a half more days before he has to admit defeat and whatever plague he’s caught decides it’s time to kick his ass.

Peggy sends him home after his lunch break. She tells him not to worry and to take as much time off as he needs.

He’s currently curled up in the blanket den on the couch that Steve insisted on building him, sniffling miserably into a tissue. This cold from hell has decided to take up residence in his head, and he’s less than thrilled.

His head is throbbing with an intensity he hasn’t felt in a while. It’s in his skull, and sinuses, and his head feels like it’s packed with cement. He’s been sneezing pretty much nonstop since he woke up, which is definitely not helping with how hazy he’s feeling. The only bonus of feeling this bad is that he doesn’t feel as disgusting as he probably should. His throat is killing him too, it feels like someone’s shoved a white-hot branding iron down it, and his voice is nearly gone at this point.

“hhh…hihh’isschh! isshh! Isschhh! Snff! Guh…this is so anndoyi’gg,” he sniffles, scrubbing at his nose with the tissue before blowing his nose into it. He balls it up and adds it to the growing pile next to him. He plucks another from the box, sniffling into it as his sinuses itched and burned again. “How is ihhh….it t-twendty twendty th-three a-and-heh…hhih’schhieww! Snff! Snff! And we h-havend’t combe up wihh…with a cure for the c-commbond cold yet-ihtschiew! Snff! Snff!”

“Bless you, sweetheart,” Steve frowns, rubbing his back. “Man, this cold is really kicking your ass, huh?”

Bucky groans, sniffling again. His breath catches, and then he’s coughing miserably into the blankets. A shiver runs down his spine, and he’s hit with a really woozy, disorienting feeling. He looks up at Steve with the biggest, most tragic eyes possible.

“Do I feel warmb? I thi’ggk I have a fever. Hih…hih’ihtschiew! Eh’tschuh! Snff! Snff! Hih-hih…Hih! Hih’ITSHHOO! Snff!” He blows his nose again, giving a couple more stuffy coughs before slumping back into the couch.

“Bless you. That last one sounded like it hurt,” Steve murmurs, pressing his fingers against Bucky’s cheek and stroking it. He grimaces, “ah...yeah, I think you’re right. You’re hot.”

Bucky blinks heavily, and then gives him a strange look, “Stevend, this is a weird timbe for a combplimbendt…you’re…hot…too?”

Steve smothers a laugh, “fever, honey. You have a fever.”

Bucky is quiet for a few moments while he processes what Steve just said. Then, he groans and buries his face in the blankets. “Oh mby god I’mb and idiot.”

“You aren’t an idiot…but…that does make me want to get a reading on your temp.”

“Hih’ihtschiew!”

“Bless-”

“Nng’xxcht!”

“-You. Don’t stifle, you’ll give yourself a headache.”

“I already have a headache,” Bucky grumbles, breath hitching again. “Ih’tschieww! Tsch! Iht’schieww!”

Steve kisses his cheek, leaving Bucky to go find him something for the congestion, as well as the thermometer.

“I’m going to make you more tea while I’m up,” Steve calls over his shoulder.

“Okay,” Bucky sniffles, groaning in annoyance when the sneezing just doesn’t let up. “hihh’itsschh! itsshh! Itsschhh! hhih’tschhieww! Ihtschiew! Snff! Snff!” He’s lightheaded at the end of it, head swimming as he tries to re-orient himself.

“How do you feel about taking NyQuill now?” Steve asks when he returns with everything. “I know it’s a bit early, but you’re miserable.”

“How about you just kill mbe indstead?”

“Mmm,” Steve says, handing him the tea and crouching down in front of him so he can stick the thermometer in his ear. “I think that sounds like a permanent solution to a very temporary problem.”

“Mbaybe this cold will kill mbe.”

“I don’t think it’s going to kill you…but I’m not entirely sure it’s a cold,” Steve frowns, looking down at the thermometer once it beeps. 101.9. He sticks it in Bucky’s other ear, hoping maybe the reading is off. 102. “You don’t usually get fevers…or feel this awful with colds.”

Bucky shrugs. Whatever this is definitely doesn’t feel like your normal, run-of-the-mill cold, but he doesn’t have the energy to do anything about it. He lifts the tea to his lips, but practically shoves it back into Steve’s hands as the steam makes the congestion shift, and then he can’t stop sneezing. After what feels like a dozen or so, the itch finally dissipates, and he’s left sniffling and coughing and so exhausted. All he wants to do is curl up and sleep for the rest of the day while Steve rubs his back and plays with his hair.

“Bless you. God, that sounded miserable, poor thing.” Steve fusses.

“Yeah,” Bucky croaks, eyes closing.

Steve hands him the meds, and then stands up and flops next to him on the couch, “take the NyQuil. Can’t sneeze if you’re unconscious.”

Bucky chuckles, which just launches him into another coughing fit. Steve grimaces and rubs his back. “Bei’gg undcondscious sou’dds ambazi’gg.”

“Wanna pick a show to watch while you’re waiting for them to kick in?”

Bucky sniffles, nodding as he slumps against Steve.

“Sorry for probably sndeezi’gg ond you a mbilliond timbes,” Bucky mumbles, voice muffled by the blankets.

“Hazards of being in a relationship,” Steve smiles, wrapping his arm around Bucky and adjusting so that he’s laying with his head on Steve’s chest. “If I get it, I get it. It’s fine.”

“Sorry.”

“James, look at me,” Steve says gently. Bucky looks up at him, and Steve cups his cheek. “It’s fine. You’re sick, and I care way more about you than I do about avoiding this. Stop worrying.”

“Okay. I love you.” Bucky sniffles, sounding very tired and far away. He can feel himself drifting off to sleep.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” Steve says softly, kissing the top of his head.

And then, Bucky sleeps.

#stucky #fever #congestion #coughing #sneezing #steve rogers #bucky barnes #now I wanna write a part two where Steve catches it and Bucky is the sweetest ever but also that's always what I want in my fics lmao

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woso-fan13 · 2 years ago

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28. Chronic Illness

“.. I’m a cancer, so obviously it didn’t work,” Alex finishes her sentence as you walk into the room.

“Really?” You ask, perking up, “me too. We’re twins, even if it’s not the best thing to twin with.”

Alex startles slightly when your voice is first heard behind her. Turning around, she smiles and motions you into the conversation. There were no seats open so you walk over and plunk into her lap, making yourself comfortable.

“Wait, Y/N, isn’t your birthday in February?” Rose asks.

“Yeah?” You respond, somewhat confused.

“How can you be a cancer then?” she questions.

“Is that what you said?” you ask, looking up to Alex, “I thought you said that you had cancer. I need to start paying better attention when other people talk.”

The conversation continues for another moment until the room suddenly goes quiet. It seems like everyone processed what you said at the same time.

“Kid, why did you say we were twins earlier?” Alex asks hesitantly, unsure if she wants to know the answer.

“Hmm? Oh, that! I misheard you, I thought that you said that you had cancer.”

“I know that, but I am a cancer. You’re not,” she tries to rationalize.

“I’m not, I’m an aquarius,” you affirm.

“So you’re not a cancer?”

“I’m not a cancer,” you pause, “but I do have cancer, so I can see the confusion.”

Everyone had been trying to piece the conversation together, so they had an idea of what you were going to say. Still, hearing you say those simple words caused some players to let out exaggerated gasps. You turn your head to the sound, furrowing your brow.

“Is this news?”

Frantic heads nodding confirms that this is, in fact, news to them. Everyone looked like they wanted to talk, but nobody could find the words. Thankfully, you had become a master of handling awkward conversations, so you could handle this.

“I’ve had it for a while now, I just always assumed that you guys knew. I had leukemia when I was a toddler, but I don’t remember that. But it put me at higher risk of developing cancer again, and I relapsed about 3 years ago. After about 2 years, so last year, I went into remission. I was only in remission for a few months when tests confirmed that I had relapsed again. So I’ve been doing my treatment and everything, I’ve just been timing it so that the worst of the symptoms are over when I get to camp.”

“And I know, health always comes first. And I promise, I’m taking it really seriously. I have a great oncologist and a stable treatment plan, and I’m doing everything I’m supposed to be doing. I haven’t been playing as much, Vlatko always pulls me out of practice early. And he never lets me play a full 90 anymore, but at least I'm playing. I'm doing what I love.”

—-

Everything was going according to schedule until it wasn’t. One of the games got moved up, so camp was a week earlier than it should have been. Which left you scrambling from chemo directly to the airport and still arriving late to camp.

You had gotten a pass from Vlatko to sit out on team dinner and game analysis that night, instead finding your room and falling asleep as soon as you could. The day had been long and hard, and you knew the upcoming days would likely be rough. But you were determined not to get sick, to prove that you were strong. You really thought that you could ‘mind over matter’ your post-chemo symptoms away.

Matter won out around 7am, when your eyes suddenly opened. The all too familiar feeling was back and left you racing for the bathroom. You barely make it in time, the bathroom door is still open and the lights off, but you made it to the toilet, so that was a win.

You proceed to begin to lose any stomach contents that you may have. It’s not much, breakfast and a snack from the flight, but your body is insistent that it needs to get rid of it.

You’re so busy that you don’t hear the light footsteps behind you. You’re making enough noise and so stuck in your own head that you don’t hear the faucet turn on, the tap running cool water onto some wash clothes. You don’t even notice anyone approaching you until they are squatting directly behind you.

Your body is exhausted, ready for unconsciousness any way it can get it. An arm wraps around you from behind, across your chest, effectively preventing you from falling forward. The arm pulls you back into a warm body, Alex’s, her vanilla perfume giving her away.

You tip your head back, half-lidded eyes looking up to her. She smiles sadly down at you, using one of the damp wash clothes to wipe your face. She wipes around your mouth, folding the fabric over before wiping the rest of your face.

When she finishes, she throws the dirty cloth into the bathtub behind her. She takes the other clean washcloth, draping across the back of your neck. The cool water feels nice, somehow helping the nausea.

This is not a position that you ever wanted your teammates to see you in. But, here you were, cradled in Alex’s arms, one of her arms supporting your body and her free hand holding the cloth onto you. She was cooing and shushing you gently, trying to stop the involuntary whimpers that kept leaving your mouth. She wasn’t running away disgusted or ignoring you as you worried she might. She was just there

And you knew that her solid presence would be there whenever you needed.

#uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #uswnt players #uswnt woso #uswnt x reader #woso imagines #reader insert #woso imagine #woso soccer #woso #womens soccer #uswnt reader #woso x reader

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stormblessed95 · 1 year ago

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Hey Storm, i am some what a baby army and i just very recently found your blog because i picked an interest in Jikook and wanted to know more about them. Going through your blog has been like a breath of fresh air. I love how you present the information you know about Jikook and i love how you ALWAYS back up your claim with facts. When i need credible information about Jikook your blog is the first place i run to and i am grateful we have someone like you here.

So as i said, I developed an interest in jikook and i am trying to gather my facts about them so i am not deceived by edits and wrong information. I do believe Jikook are a thing but sometimes i get a lil confused by some of the things i see about taekook. I don’t think Taekook are a couple ofcourse but i would like to have more information on somethings that happened when i wasn’t in the fandom yet.

So one of the biggest moments for taekooker is the Atomix date. I don’t have alot of details of the whole thing but i know Jk posted a selfie with Tae which was taken at the restaurant and according to some taekookers, the restaurant made a post and tagged taekook and thanked them for coming. But i am a little confused cuz i’ve seen so many shippers and non shippers claim that all of BTS were at the restaurant, not only taekook. They mentioned someone emailed the restaurant and they confirmed that BTS were all there. But tkkrs insist it was just Tae and Jk and that Jk made a reservation 6 weeks earlier and they even got to go on a day, the restaurant wasn’t normally open. Do you have more details about this?

Me, forgetting that baby armys weren't here during the whole atomix thing because it feels like that all happened yesterday.... but I guess in reality that was 2 years ago. So it tracks 😭😂

September 2021, after the MET, BTS went out to eat at Atomix and JK posted a 3 photo series on his Instagram (he has since deleted his insta and everything on it 😭) of him and him and Tae in the Atomix bathroom mirror. They looked GORGEOUS.

And tkkrs took it and ran with the idea that it was then a taekook date. Would've been a nice dinner out together if it was, but it was confirmed by a staff members friend who was an ARMY and a Tae bias (not a shipper) that all of BTS and their management and staff were there. Taekook just took photos together. Messages from the staff here:

Original tweet thread:

And I believe this was the Atomix restaurant owner who reposted JKs photo and said "BTS in house" which is great rep for their business honestly lol

As for tagging taekook and thanking them for coming, I assume you mean this.... i belive Atomix is a client of them, and they designed the mirror they are in posing in. Lol they tagged taekook as it's taekook in the photo. Which generally is how that works when people tag stuff, especially with BTS duos, its their unit name. They also tagged "bts" and "army" in there too 😂

Them at the MET Rooftop Garden where Namjoon gave a speech right before

Idk where the 6 weeks early reservation idea came from, but whatever. Lol Hope that helps!

#content finds #correcting misinformation #tkkrs are liars #atomix ot7 date night

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crystallizedday · 9 months ago

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EDIT FROM THE FUTURE: THIS POST IS OUTDATED!! AN UPDATED RENDITION OF THE AU WILL BE HOPEFULLY POSTED SOON!!

Well

This idea has been in the works for long enough, so I think it’s about time I finally present it.

Fellas

The hyperfixation was too strong for me, and I decided to make something wonderful with it.

I present to all of you nutcases

SAMURAI JACK: DUO OF DOOM

An AU concept I’ve been refining for the past month or so that follows Demongo and Scaramouche as the main characters.

It takes place roughly a few decades after “Jack and the Baby,” but instead of following the timeline set up by season 5, I wanted to take the universe in a bit of a different direction

The AU is organized into 2 seasons, each having 13 episodes, JUST like the original show.

While not all 26 episodes have been fully fleshed out just yet, most of the crucial ones HAVE been, so I wish to share with you all what I have so far…

Season 1:

This season puts us in the shoes of Scaramouche, a full-time assassin looking to make it big.

While the job isn’t EXACTLY something he was passionate about, it pays the bills, so he decided not to be too choosy. He at least enjoys the fame that comes with it, even if his mechanical heart is still rooted in music.

However, he isn’t the only one looking to make it big in the assassination business.

There seems to be an entire group of assassins, a syndicate, who aren’t too happy about an “outsider” trudging through their terf, and they aim to put a stop to it.

While Scaramouche feels he is more than capable of handling these wannabes, one of his squabbles with them led to him stumbling upon a creature that proved to be quite a nuisance, a soul-eater who keeps swooping in and stealing his kills.

Even after the initial battle, this entity, Demongo, chooses to follow Scaramouche in his endeavors, certain that such a clumsy fool would lead the demon to more powerful warriors for him to imprison.

Episode 1 — After being cornered and losing the upper hand, Scaramouche is “saved” from being turned into scrap by Demongo, who steals the soul of the worn-out assassin to add to his ever-growing army.

Episode 2 — I don’t have anything specific planned for this episode outside of the two bickering for the majority of it and only coming to an agreement at the end of it: Demongo can take the souls of their bounties, and Scara will take the credit so he can get the money from it. Demmy doesn’t care about money anyway, so he’s fine with this outcome.

Episode 3 — While I don’t have the details down just yet, I have a few loose ideas for it. By now, Scara only has a boring-ass flute, a boring-ass scimitar, and a boring-ass knife, so Demmy decides to lead Scara to a place where he could get that pathetic little knife of his upgraded. I can see Demmy picking a fight when he shouldn’t have, almost getting his ass beat when Scara saves him (the guy helps rank in the money, so why let him get squashed?).

By the end of the episode, Scara is worn the fuck out, and immediately assumes his soul was gonna get snatched by Demmy cause of it… but it doesn’t happen. Instead, Demmy just tells him to suck it up so they could get a move on. They eventually get the knife upgraded, Demmy marveling on how delightfully destructive it is while Scara is still processing what happened earlier.

Demongo probably knew he could’ve easily taken Scara’s soul back there, but chose not to. Interesting…

Episode 4 — I don’t have anything for this episode yet.

Episode 5 — Ezekiel and Josephine Clench are the main antagonists of this episode, wanting to snatch a bounty from Scara and Demmy (the bounty probably being some poor passenger on a train, just so the setting can match the one the divorced couple originally appeared in). The only issue is Ezekiel and Josephine keep trying to betray the other to claim the bounty, which lead to both of their inevitable defeat. Even if they also have their disagreements, Scara and Demmy can at least recognize that working together certainly gave the two the upper hand, and squabbling like the Clenches was PROBABLY gonna get them killed as well. This is the point where the two start becoming decent friends.

Episode 6 — We get to see where exactly Scara has been crashing this whole time at the start of the episode, which is… a weirdly isolated lil home, something that certainly surprised Demongo, who assumed the big guy would be living a more social, lavish personal life. Regardless, since Demongo was entrusted to stay here to begin with, he decides to return the favor and try enchanting Scara’s scimitar to be a little more useful in battle, fucking up the entire thing thanks to Scaramouche running his mouth and scatting in the middle of all of it. The scimitar now only responds to his scatting SPECIFICALLY, which Scara doesn’t seem to mind, even if Demmy certainly does.

Ah, and this is also the episode featuring two of my ocs, Spunk and Clunk, twin robotic jesters working for the syndicate. They are mainly there to encourage the two knuckleheads to try combining their fighting styles to get the upper hand and catch their opponents off guard.

The two bots probably followed Demmy and Scara, but instead of reporting back to the syndicate on their whereabouts, they decide to confront the two bozos, confident they could take the demon and the inferior model down. The two jesters work in perfect harmony, mirroring each other’s moves. Acrobatics is the name of the game for them, making them extremely hard to hit. Demmy and Scara decide to combine their fighting styles to take these two clowns down. Fittingly enough, the scimitar deals the final blow to the last jester standing, making Demongo glad he at least got the enchantment to work at all.

Episode 7 — This is a “filler” episode where Scara decides to take Demongo with him to a shopping district to spend some extra cash they snagged. This is where Demongo has his first outfit change (since Scaramouche was not letting this fucker walk another step wearing nothing but a vampire cape). This is also where Demongo gets properly acquainted with modern society for the first time, since bro knows jack-shit about it thanks to “growing up” in the Pit of Hate. Needless to say, bro quickly finds out he has a really intense sweet tooth. KWMSOSMDOXKDOCK

The plot kicks in when Demmy spots something that catches his eye, a cute lil amulet with a gorgeous labradorite gemstone encased within it (both cause it’s my favorite gemstone of all time and cause of the common meanings behind the gemstone itself… cause I’m a fucking nerd KAKAOSMOSMD).

Scara takes notice and decides to purchase the lil thing for Demmy, just cause. Plus, with the amulet itself being advertised as a sort of “good luck” charm that’s supposed to provide clarity and “good vibes”, I’m sure Scara would jokingly justify the purchase by saying it sounds like the perfect gift for the lil fiery fella KWWKOSMSODMDODM

Considering Demmy is not exaclty familiar with the concept of doing nice things just because, he is absolutely baffled by this, which is VERY clear in his unusually timid voice when he tries to speak in this instance. He asks what Scara wants in return, thinking there’s strings attached, but Scara’s like “Oh, you don’t need to get lil ol me anything for this. Consider it as a thank you gift for being an excellent work partner!”

Needless to say, Demmy is absolutely puzzled by this, not understanding why Scara would waste money on him for something this minute.

Throughout the rest of the episode, Demmy holds on to the lil thing like it’s his god damn lifeline, finding it too important to not keep close, even if he doesn’t exactly know why.

Eventually, Scara needs to go take care of something (probably talk to an old friend perhaps) and lets Demmy wander the district on his own while he’s gone, trusting he’d stay out of trouble…

Demmy soon ends up in a squabble, most likely a casual passerby at the shopping district who can fairly hold their own in a tussle. Perhaps Demmy bumped into him without looking and Demmy, not being too great with people, said the wrong shit and escalated the situation.

This squabble gradually escalates until the amulet is knocked out of Demmy’s grasp, causing the gem to fall out of its casing.

While no real damage is visible, Demmy believes this meant the poor thing was broken.

And while even he can’t understand why

This causes Demongo to snap

Tearing the poor guy a new one.

And I’m not talking about bro summoning warriors to do his dirty work, no.

Demmy TEARS through this guy, going full-on cat mode on this guy KQNWKSMSODMDODM

This absolutely gets the attention of others around him, which probably gets Scara’s attention as bro has to race back and pull Demmy out of there to calm him down.

After the guy Demmy attacked runs off (probably scared shitless at this point), Scara advices that the two bounce before they get in even more trouble. Demmy scoops back up the labradorite and the amulet casing and follows Scara out of there.

On their way back to Scara’s place, they talk about what happened on the way back, the big guy surprisingly being pretty interested in how impressive Demmy’s own strength and drive back there was, noting how he’s never seen the lil guy fight that passionately before.

Demmy is even unsure of what got into him, feeling embarrassed when admitting he only snapped after that lil amulet broke, feeling ridiculous for being so attached to something so trivial.

Scara felt a lil touched Demmy liked the gift that much, and reassured Demmy that the amulet wasn’t broken, taking the casing and gem from Demmy so he could manually place the gemstone back in, noting how it might need some further reinforcement to keep the lil gem in there this time around.

This definitely made Demmy feel a lil stupid, absolutely exploding over something that wasn’t even broken, but Scara shrugs the ordeal off, saying it was at least nice to see Demmy had a lot of fight in him that he could potentially refine for future confrontations.

Scara also notes how it was a miracle the gem itself didn’t even scratch after falling out of its casing, calling it a “tough lil guy” for making it out unscathed, which gets a laugh out of Demmy for sure.

I like to think that like

To close off the episode, after realizing Demmy most likely isn’t used to receiving shit out of pure kindness, Scara jokingly says something like “Guess I’ll have to get you more stuff in the future so it’s not as foreign of a concept. Spoil you a bit, maybe,” and the two have a good laugh at it.

Just some cute shit that hints at their growing relationship.

Episode 8 — The two are looking to find a way to enchant Scara’s prized flute as well so it can be used in battle. In trying to find the right place to get it enchanted (since Demmy doesn’t trust himself to not fuck shit up again after last time), they find themselves being stalked by someone hired by the syndicate to get rid of them. I like to think this mysterious person is Mira, the Princess looking to free her people. Perhaps she was promised a way to help her people by the head-honcho of the syndicate. Really, I just wanna use as many og characters as I can and make sure they’re used in meaningful ways... oh and the flute does get enchanted at the end. Forgot to mention that.

Episode 9 — This is another filler episode, cause I like the idea of Scara teaching Demmy how to properly dance and I wanna see that shit happen. I’m sure Demmy will find a way to make use of that talent in battle. At this point, the two have become VERY close, and Demmy has let himself loosen up quite a bit. I have nothing else figured out about this episode.

Perhaps this episode can introduce another member of the syndicate, but I don’t have a design or even concept for em in mind, so uh… :p

Episode 10 — This is a funny fuckin idea. Thanks to alcohol being flammable, I can absolutely see Demongo being a lightweight, so I’m thinking Scara makes the terrible mistake of taking Demmy to a tavern (probably the same tavern Da Samurai was seen in all those years ago). Thanks to his intoxication, Demmy gets the two of them in a shit-ton of trouble... There’s definitely a bar fight scene here, cause I think they’re funny.

I AM considering throwing a lil curveball in here at some point. Y’all familiar with the idea of being intoxicated makes ya more susceptible to talking about things and thoughts that you’d normally keep under wraps? I’m thinking about applying that here, where at the end of the episode, Demmy (still very much intoxicated) out of nowhere asks Scara why the big guy is being so damn nice to him. He asks this not just because the two were not on the best of terms just a few months ago, but also because he is under the mindset that he needs to repay that kindness, a mindset that came about due to working under Aku (even if Aku’s “kindness” more so comes in the form of being allowed to live or be apart of his higher ranks and shit). He starts rambling about how he feels he can never fully repay that kindness and is stressed the fuck out about it. Of course, Scara reassures him that he doesn’t need to repay shit, and he chooses to be nice to him cause he likes hanging out with the lil guy. Saying this confuses Demmy is an understatement, but Scara tells em that they’ll properly talk about it once bro is actually sober. The episode ends with Scara taking him back home (probably carrying him cause I like being self indulgent like that IWNWKWMWOSKSOS).

Episode 11 — The episode starts out with Demongo attempting to play Scaramouche’s flute, and failing miserably. Since Demmy does not have ANY experience with modern media, Scara decided it would be a funny idea to take the lil shit to go see a movie. Unfortunately, Demmy doesn’t understand when to keep his mouth shut and ends up getting the both of them kicked out afterwards. This doesn’t bother the lil shit though as he starts laying out how he would’ve written such a thing, seeing the original piece of work as a “flawed, uninspired mess” and such. However, he accidentally lets a few things slip, such as his questionable stance on authority and his fear of failure. Before Scara can ask about any of this, the two of them realize that Demmy no longer had Scara’s flute, losing it at some point. Demmy, in an extremely vulnerable state, zips off in a panic, but is quickly found again by Scara, who talks with him about what’s going on.

This is where the real meat of Demmy’s character gets revealed (even if hints of it have certainly popped up here and there in the past). He reveals how he was sent back to the Pit of Hate to be punished after failing to kill Samurai Jack. He was only able to leave once he regained the strength to bust out of there himself, and fears what his ex-master would think if he ever found out about this… which is something that Scara isn’t sure how to feel about, especially since he’s been wanting to climb the ranks to get Aku’s attention ever since he became an assassin.

Demmy feared being punished for slipping up yet again, letting down another individual he admittedly looked up to. TLDR, bro is NOT doing okay, and Scara decides to comfort the lil guy. Once Demmy is able to pick himself back up, the two try to head back to the theater when another character stops them. This fella (definitely an oc I need to design) appears to be a fellow music-lover, and (not recognizing who these two were) decided to return the flute to its rightful owner. The fella decides to let the two know about this one village where hundreds of people gather to party and dance and shit, thinking the two would be interested, which leads us to…

Episode 12 — The rave episode. This is where shit gets FUNKY… and extremely self-indulgent.

Donning some flashier outfits, Scara and Demmy decide to head to this “rave” to see what it’s all about, just cause. However, throughout most of the episode, Demmy struggles to tell Scara something and does not know how to approach him about it.

The details here get a lil fuzzy since I haven’t really mapped out how the middle section of the episode goes, but eventually, a few assassins from the syndicate track the two down and attempt to be rid of them once and for all, but with all the bright lights and dancers about, it makes things more difficult than they wanted it to be.

Eventually, the assassins get their chance to attack, but the duo handle the situation with ✨style✨, and it’s only NOW when Demongo finally musters up the courage to confess to Scara (via gestures, since Demmy couldn’t find the words for it and ultimately just said “fuck it”). Scara reciprocates the gesture, but advised that the two of them take care of the dudes trying to kill them first before talking about the subject any further, which Demmy agreed on.

Once that’s all said and done, the episode ends with the two heading home, taking a moment to talk about what they are now and where do they go from here.

I don’t care how self-indulgent this is, but RIGHT as the episode’s about to conclude, I can see the two sharing their first kiss!

Look

I’m shipping trash.

This was inevitable WJJWJWSNWIKSOSMS

Ah, and one more thing.

When Demmy tries to confess to Scara, HE doesn’t know what he’s confessing to.

All HE knows is that Scara makes him the happiest he’s ever been in his lifetime, and he wanted to find the right opportunity to open up about it.

It isn’t until Scara straight up tells Demmy what those feelings mean when Demmy finally understands he’s been crushing on the big guy this entire time…

And how Scara could tell for a while since Demongo is NOT good at outwardly hiding those feelings KANWKSMOSNDKXNCON

I like to think even though Scara felt the same, he wanted to wait for Demmy to come out and say it first… which technically did happen, just not the way Scara expected OWMWOSMWODMSOKDON

It sounds cheesy, but I like the idea of Demmy at first not knowing what these emotions were all about and what they meant cause well

I’ve experienced that shit before

And I thought such a thing was too cute NOT to find an excuse to use it in my writing at some point OWMWKWMWOMCODCODNVOFM

Anyway uh

Small tangent over.

Episode 13 — I WISH I had a fully fleshed out version of this episode prepared, but at the moment, all I know for certain is that this is where the two finally decide to face off against the heart of the syndicate and get these guys off their back once and for all, thus allowing them to take the title of the world’s greatest assassins… by technicality.

Perhaps the two go after a fake bounty and walk right into a trap, being taken to the whereabouts of the big boss himself (who I see as this round alien slug lookin guy with robotic crab legs, probably with the overall build of the spider boss guy from Monsters Inc.).

Maybe the big guy offers Scara to betray Demmy and join the syndicate, promising the tin can a financially stable life where he will never be looked down by others again. Not only does Scara refuse for Demmy’s sake, but calls out how the big guy could’ve given Demmy a similar offer, either because he fears what the soul collector is capable of…

Or because he wants to turn Demmy in to Aku.

And Scara was NOT having that,

The two fight side by side, taking down hordes of fighters until one of ‘em can get a good hit on the big boss and leave him defenseless, Demmy being given the honor to do the final blow with the scimitar… with Scara’s help since that shit is heavy as fuck.

The two definitely celebrate like a bunch of dorks at the end of it, acting like they just didn’t murder dozens and dozens of people LWMWKSMEODKODFKOFMFKML

At the very least, this victory meant these guys wouldn’t be bothering the two of em anymore…

Season 2:

A few months have passed since the last episode as the two start to adjust to their new life as a couple.

The start of this season focuses on the two retrieving the old souls Demongo had lost during his first battle with Samurai Jack, the two eventually deciding to seek out the samurai so they can defeat him once and for all.

But things do not go as planned, especially since Demongo is still hesitant about immediately going back to serving his old master.

Episode 14 — The season starts out in the perspective of two demons working under Aku as his form of law enforcement. These two had just gotten word of Demongo’s recent activity, desperate to capture him and return him to the Pit of Hate. After all, these two demons were THE guards originally assigned to keep an eye on Demongo when facing his eternal punishment, but had been too negligent and let him slip away. They never informed Aku of this fact, fearing what the big guy would do to the two of them if he knew that one of his most dangerous minions was on the loose.

The two demons frantically ask around to see if anyone has seen that deity trouble-maker, but no one can give them any leads.

This leads to a cute lil scene transition where one of the demons goes “Where could that forsaken traitor be??” only for the episode to immediately cut to Demmy and Scara waking up together with the most wholesome domestic vibes you can think of OWMWKWMKWSMOSMSOSMDODMD

After a cute lil morning routine segment, the two knuckleheads head off to find themselves another bounty, only to stumble across quite the scenario. The Titan Demongo once controlled has been running amok in a populated area, and while Scara and Demmy initially did not care to take care of it (assuming Jack would come in to save the day), when the beast kept raging on with no one else stepping up to the challenge, the two decide to take care of this beast before it causes any more problems. Plus, Demmy could really use the extra strength provided by such a beast. After all, in this universe, Demmy can harness the strength and abilities of the souls he collects, a power that will come in handy down the road…

Curious as to why Jack did not arrive to the scene, the two decide to make it their mission to find Samurai Jack for themselves, actively seeking out people who might know a thing or two and interrogating them on the subject.

Episode 15 — The duo seek out the four distinct souls that Demongo used to fight Samurai Jack all those years ago: the knight, the white tiger, the four-armed warrior, and the black samurai. None of them no longer being in their prime certainly made defeating them rather easy, even if each of them had their own special… quirks that delayed the inevitable…

Like the knight guy. I wanna give him Don Quixote vibes.

Episode 16 — I have nothing planned for this episode at the moment.

Episode 17 — I only have the main idea for this episode thought out, which is how the two come across the three singing sirens that once hypnotized Jack long ago. However, their singing does not work.

Why?

Because this version of Demongo is absolutely gay, and Scaramouche (despite being pan) is far too prideful in his own singing to fall for somebody else’s.

And this pisses the sirens OFF.

Episode 18 — I’m not sure EXACTLY how I want this episode to go, but all I know is that THIS is where the two find the Scotsman along with his… INCREDIBLY large family, and decide to fight him to interrogate him on the whereabouts of Jack.

I want the Scotsman to survive this fight, so I’m thinking what happens is his daughters (who are like… still VERY young at this point) enter the fight as well to protect their father against his own wishes (and perhaps the others in his clan also chime in), forcing Scara and Demongo to retreat… but not without at least a LITTLE bit of vital info as to where Jack could be (even if I’m unsure what it would be just yet).

Episode 19 — This episode is a bit of a parody of the “Jack and the Baby” episode. The duo stumble across a random-ass baby and, despite Demongo being so incredibly disgusted by it, Scara does not have the heart to abandon the poor thing, so they keep the lil thing until they can find someone else who will take care of it for them.

Needless to say, neither of these nutcases should be fathers.

… also, the father of the baby is DEFINITELY the grown up baby from the ORIGINAL “Jack and the Baby” episode.

Cause that shit’s funny.

Episode 20 — This is where shit hits the fan.

The two find Samurai Jack, but he’s barely recognizable. Age has certainly taken a toll on his physical appearance, and he has dressed himself in armor that made it almost impossible to tell it was him.

Before the three fight, Demongo notices how “the fire in his soul had dwindled” since the last time the demon has faced off against him. This made Scaramouche realize that Jack’s sword was nowhere to be seen, and while he and Demongo at first suspected he was simply hiding the sword, they eventually put two and two together to figure out Jack no longer had the sword. However, even though Scara wanted the details on what exactly happened (so he can make fun of Jack for it), Jack attacks, starting the fight.

At some point during the battle, Scara gets badly wounded, and Demongo stops fighting to try and patch him up the best he can. This surprises Jack, not knowing a demon like Demongo could express such concern for another living being like this. Of course, Demmy is incredibly offended by this assumption.

However, Jack then proposes something. He tells the two how they may put themselves in danger by taking him out and submitting to Aku. Scara brushes it off at first, but Demongo…

Knowing what would happen if either of them ever failed Aku again…

Demongo hears Jack out, fearing what Aku would do to Scaramouche in a worse case scenario.

Jack offers the two the chance to take his side, to stop Aku once and for all.

While Jack does not have his sword (as it got destroyed at some point, much like in the comic), he has been searching for decades for a way to get it back, and is confident Demongo could help in some way.

Scara refuses at first, finding disgust in the idea of working with a guy that wants to erase centuries-worth of history and everyone in it just to save whatever the past was like for him.

But Demmy quietly proposes to Scara that they simply get rid of Aku first, then Jack. Scara is still confused as to why he of all people would want to side with Jack, and while Demongo despises the idea as well… he simply cannot trust his old master to not harm Scaramouche in the future.

The two decide to take Jack’s deal, even if they’re not entirely happy about it.

Episode 21 — The daughters of Aku make an appearance in this episode, but instead of being nine twins, almost all of them are from different mothers, all training under the head cultist to become stronger. Only two of them are twins that came from the head cultist: Ashi and Aki. They are the youngest of the nine, and by that I mean they are actually just children that are being indoctrinated to be merciless warriors. The other sisters are much older and have heavily-varying body types to make them a little more distinct from one another, and in accordance to their signature weapons. The weapons themselves are actually why Ashi and Aki are twins, since they wield the same weapon in canon. None of them have the essence of Aku in them because that whole plot point is just plain silly to me and causes WAY too many plot holes for my liking.

Meanwhile, Jack has recruited the Scotsman to help the gang out, and the big guy is NOT happy to be working with the two assassins that tried to kill him… ESPECIALLY Demongo.

I’ve been looking into the topic of the fae recently, and I thought it would be a funny nod to its lore for the Scotsman to genuinely think Demongo was part of the fae and insult him as such, which Demmy take GREAT offense to.

What none of them realize is that there was someone else following the group in secret, which turns out to be one of Scotsman’s daughters, Flora. Despite not even being a teenager yet, she still had the fiery fighting spirit of her father, and wished to be sure her father would be safe from the goons that attacked him before. Of course, she tries to ensure her father doesn’t suspect her presence, knowing he’d disapprove of her risking her own life for his sake.

However, the main gang’s squabbling is interrupted when the daughters and the head cultist arrive, the latter being there to personally ensure the death of the samurai.

While Jack handled the head cultist and the duo handled most of the daughters, the Scotsman found himself up against the two youngest twins, who he just did not have the heart to fight, even if the two were more than willing to tear him apart.

This is when Flora makes her presence known, defending her father from the twins, much to Scotsman’s disapproval. However, seeing someone their age fight for someone she deeply cares about, the twins start to reconsider their alliance. Scotsman actively telling his daughter how he refuses to let her fight and get herself hurt is the final nail in the coffin for the twins, since their own mother was not nearly as considerate. This is where they start asking questions, such as why would the Scotsman refuse to let his child fight in battle and such, all culminating to the big guy letting the fatherly instincts kick in and deciding he was going to be a MUCH better parent to these two than the head cultist ever was… much to Flora’s displeasure.

By the time this is said and done, the other three have taken care of the of the daughters and the head cultist, Jack wishing they could’ve found a way to get through to the other daughters as well… but Demongo immediately dismisses that thought.

The demon at LEAST tries to butter up the Scotsman and try to make a proper alliance, but the big guy still hates his guts, deciding to take Flora and his new daughters home… especially since the former was MOST DEFINITELY grounded for that little stunt she pulled.

I can see Demongo just shrugging it off, telling Jack “Well, you can’t say I didn’t TRY” cause I feel like he’d rub it in Jack’s face how him trying to be nice for once absolutely failed KWMWKWMWOSMWOD

Episode 22 — Scara, Demmy, and Jack come across an old house seemingly in the middle of nowhere, most of which being covered in a botanical mess of plants and vines and shit. They were going to ignore it when Scaramouche felt interested in investigating the residence, and so the three proceeded inside the home.

While they dig deeper and deeper into the home, Scara keeps getting brief and vague flashbacks to something, but he can’t quite remember the details too well. It’s only when he alone eventually discovers the miniature lab underneath the home when his memories become active again (ya know… like a computer booting up old videos and shit).

He starts remembering the first few moments of becoming active, with his creator welcoming him into a world. As present Scara starts going back to all the weird shit the three of them found, he starts to recover more and more memories, up until he recalls his creator’s last words to him. Present Scara stops to stare at a broken window, a piece of cloth still being stuck in one of the many shards. Judging from the barely visible insignia featured on it, it appeared to have once belonged to one of the members of the syndicate from season one.

His creator had a bounty on his head.

Demongo has been asking if Scara was alright throughout the entire ordeal, but ultimately, Scara simply tells him that this place just reminded him of some simple, distant memories. Demmy, while still suspecting something major was up and thus trying to be as supportive as he can, accepts the explanation for now.

Before they depart, Jack eventually chimes in to ask if Scara knew what this place was and who used to live here, the big guy eventually replying with “No.”

Episode 23 — The episode starts with Jack briefly parting ways with the duo so he can get some answers as to how he can either return or replace his sword. Since Demmy and Scara weren’t too fond of going on such a boring journey, they’re happy to stay behind. After Jack wanders about, coming across all sorts of oddities (like maybe stumbling across the Grim Reaper, the one from Billy and Mandy making a brief cameo thanks to how THAT universe is seemingly connected to all other CN properties). Eventually, he stumbles across the portal guardian, who has grown old and frail, but NOT from proper aging. He tells Jack about how “the timeline has shifted”, and how he can no longer see into the future like he used to. He is uncertain of what will happen next, and tells Jack to be careful, for nothing is certain anymore. Jack returns to Demmy and Scara, who SEEMINGLY have just been goofing off for the entire episode. Jack is absolutely traumatized by what he just witnessed… but decides it’s not worth talking to these two about it. Plus, the two don’t seem to care anyway.

Episode 24 — This episode starts with the EXACT same setup as episode 23, but instead of focusing on Jack’s perspective, it focuses on Scara and Demmy’s perspective. After the two have some silly banter, Demmy decides to talk about his “upbringing” and how he is quite literally the only one of his “species” due to how his creation required not only PLENTY of resources, but also VERY precise conditions. He throws some little nuggets of information in there, like how he is basically made entirely of carbon, more so than any human or similar organic creature. Scara is fascinated by this, but gets a curveball thrown at him when Demmy asks about HIS creation.

At first, Scara is VERY but hesitant, but eventually gives in and tells Demmy about his background, his creator, and even the last conversation the two of them had. Demmy is quite fascinated by the idea of Scara seeing the old man as “his dad”, especially since Demmy himself doesn’t have any equivalent to that. Can’t have a parental figure if you’re just a weird creature that just POPPED out of the ground one day. However, Scara reassured him that it probably was for the best the small demon never had a parental figure.

He tells the lil guy about how his old man wanted the big fella to live a good life, and he good to others in turn… and feels a bit gross knowing that he eventually turned to the same kind of job that got the poor old man killed, and he doesn’t know what to do about it. Even if Demmy is not the best with comforting (in fact, I’d wager he’s typically kind of shit at it), he tries reassuring the big guy that the two of them are at LEAST doing some good NOW. Even so, Scara knows all this was just temporary, and admits he is a little afraid of trying to start a clean life if they were to ever take down Aku.

Demmy, who had once thrived off of the idea of being a menace to others, decided he was willing to at least attempt to be better if it meant helping his big tin can partner out, which is something even Scara is surprised to see, but he doesn’t reject the idea. Ultimately, the two decide to try and “wing it”, see where this plan to take down Aku goes. The two start gushing about one another when Jack finally returns, which mirrors how the previous episode ended. Neither party knows what just happened, nor do they care to tell each other.

Episode 25 — I’m not entirely sure what this episode will entail either, but I’m at least certain it will involve Jack gaining “his sword” back, or at least a spiritual rendition of it, much like what happened in the comics. However, this alone would not defeat Aku once and for all, and Jack knew that well, so he still trusted Demmy and Scara to help him take down the big guy for good.

Episode 26 — This is the episode where the big fight with Aku happens.

I dunno how it starts, but I sure as hell know how it ends.

While the three are able to decently weaken Aku, they are unable to do the finishing blow. The battle keeps going, wearing out the three while Aku keeps on fighting.

However, due to Aku’s weakened state, Demongo gets an idea, a DANGEROUS idea.

He decides to try and take the essence of Aku himself, which

To everyone’s surprise

Actually works!

An Aku-shaped skull forms on Demongo’s chest, solidifying his control over his former master.

While Jack is hesitant as to what Demongo would do next, one of the first things Demmy does is harness Aku’s powers to provide a portal into the past, offering Jack a chance to go back into the past and right Aku’s wrongs. Despite it being the main theme of the original show, Jack refuses, choosing to stay in the present and help the people that still needed his aid here.

Demongo was extremely relieved to hear that, not only cause he didn’t want to risk himself and Scara being erased from existence, but also because Demmy KNEW someone was going to have to take Aku’s place as ruler, and he… weirdly didn’t want that.

The old Demongo would have dreamed of this day to come, but not THIS Demongo. He just wanted to live a simple-ish life with Scara, finally feeling content with himself.

Eventually, the two make a deal.

Due to Demongo having Aku’s essence, he would become the new public figure, donning a new emperor outfit & everything. However, he alone would not be the one to make the big decisions and shit.

He of course had Scara, who he’d ensure would live a more comfortable life by his side, but he didn’t wanna put any kind of pressure on the big guy to help him out.

No.

That kinda power would be put in Jack’s hands.

After all, he IS the son of the original emperor.

Despite this, Jack spends most of his time traveling the land and helping those in need, ensuring peace throughout the world…

…

Also, if there would be any kind of epilogue of sorts, it would DEFINITELY involve the two dorks getting married, because I’m based like that. :))) KWMWKWMWOSM

Alrighty!!

Now that the entire AU’s basic outline is out of the way, I wanna share some art I made exclusively for this AU so far!

First off, since I plan for Demongo to have alternative outfits as the story progresses, I made 3 additional default outfits for him to don.

All three of these outfits were initially designed by @tigerarainbowra-blog while I only tweaked them a bit, so you can thank her for these AWESOME outfits!

This one with the BEEG shoulder pad jackets is a favorite of mine (making its initial appearance in the rave episode), and is definitely the one bro is seen the MOST in throughout the entire AU.

Meanwhile, this last one is only seen halfway into season 2 once he gets used to being around Jack.

Scaramouche also had alternative outfits as well, but I haven’t gotten around to designing them just yet, so :p

Aside from additional outfits, I also have whipped up some designs for some original characters that’ll appear in this AU!

These two, Spunk and Clunk (named by the lovely @aceofcards0715 ), were heavily inspired by the two jester robots seen in the GBA game “Samurai Jack: Amulet of Time”.

The diamonds on their arms are supposed to be in relation to the syndicate, even if I haven’t quite figured out the details or it yet.

I was fascinated by just how similar these two looked compared to Scaramouche, so I doubled down on that idea.

You can see these guys as like

Newer models that were created using the same schematics for Scaramouche himself.

Cause I’m sure those schematics are out there SOMEWHERE…

Speaking of Scaramouche, I felt like giving the fella a BIT of a backstory, so I decided that instead of, say, being created by a bunch of evil scientists…

He was instead built by a retired one, who left once he had enough of the twisted work Aku put him through.

He is where Scaramouche gets a lot of his more humane quirks, even if the big guy doesn’t really remember his creator all too well.

The details are fuzzy…

Tigera also was the one to originally make Fern’s design.

Honestly, she’s been a BIG help with this AU, both with the designs and the episodes themselves, I couldn’t thank her enough for it!

Go check her out if you haven’t already! She’s SUPER talented!

Anyway

I have plenty of more original characters I want to properly flesh out, and a lot of new designs for some familiar faces (since this AU DOES take place a few decades after season 4 of the original series), so this will NOT be the last time you hear about this AU.

Oh no…

THIS is just the BEGINNING…

Although, please do keep in mind that this is just a concept I made for funsies, so I don’t plan on actually doing anything BIG with it.

Additionally, some details are subject to change…

HOWEVER, despite all of that, I hope what I CAN provide is still overall engaging!

I MIGHT just write out some of these episodes in the future, if I can garner the motivation for it…

For now though, I hope you all enjoyed this brief lil glimpse into the funni shit that occupies my brain on a daily basis! KWNWKWMWOSMOSDM

#samurai Jack #SJ #samurai Jack au #SJ au #samurai Jack duo of doom #sj DoD #DoD #Duo of Doom #Demongo #Scaramouche #samurai jack scaramouche #sj scaramouche #scaramongo #fandango #cd au #cdverse #cd art

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