#again if I said something inaccurate pls call me out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ahundredtimesover · 4 months

Text

I Want You to Stay (06) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, prior incidence of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts and business/property devt talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; eventual explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 14.6k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: We're slowly heading somewhere! Still slow but it's something hehe thank you again for appreciating this piece! 🥰 Also... JK in that Vogue outfit with a corsage. YEP.

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight 🥰

PS. If I can’t tag you, pls fix your settings!

The silence that engulfs Jungkook’s apartment once you enter the following Monday is quite unnerving, as it brings back memories of the last time this happened and a half-naked woman came out of the bedroom and questioned who you were. The gym is empty. There’s no other sound of someone typing away or talking on the phone like the few times that you found Jungkook working before you even arrived.

You take a deep breath and decide to just face whoever comes out of these doors until one of them opens and out comes the man himself - alone - dressed in an oversized jumper and sweatpants. He looks like he just got out of bed with his semi-mussed hair - with a little sprout bouncing along as he moves - and groggy eyes, which widen once it registers that you’re here.

“Mr. Jeon,” you bow in greeting. “Are you feeling better?”

“A little,” he replies, his deep and gruff voice startling you a little. “What do you have there?”

He gestures towards the paper bag you’re holding, and you remember what you decided to bring over.

“Uh, chicken noodle soup,” you mutter, somehow suddenly shy. “Just an option for this morning. I wasn’t sure if you were still feeling under the weather.”

“I think I’m just fatigued,” he says. “But uh, I can have that.”

“Yes, sir,” you nod, putting it in a pot to eventually heat.

You prepare his suits for the week then prepare his breakfast, pouring yourself a small serving as well. He takes his seat and starts eating, and you glance at him to see his reaction.

“Where did you get the one from last Saturday?” He asks, his face expressionless.

“From a store nearby,” you answer. “I was heading somewhere and your building was on the way.”

“This tastes better. Where did you get this from?”

“I, uh, I made it,” you say softly, feeling a bit of pride that it’s something he complimented.

There’s prolonged silence that you’re suddenly nervous about. His eyes remain focused straight ahead while yours constantly flit towards him, partly to gauge if he’ll start talking about last week’s meeting and partly to see his reaction about your dish.

“You don’t have to send or make me food, Ms. Cho,” he finally says, wishing he’d said it with a bit more warmth.

But he’s not used to speaking that way, so it comes off as displeasure, as if he doesn’t appreciate what you’d done even if that’s exactly how he feels. He’s grateful; he just doesn’t want another reason to think that you actually care about him.

“My health is my responsibility, not yours,” he adds.

“I, uh… I suppose that’s true,” you say even more softly. “I just thought it would be nice to be given something like this when you’re sick.”

And it’s the truth. During the times you were unwell, Hoseok would remind you to rest or take your medicines; he even bought you vitamins and it’s why taking them became a habit of yours. You barely had the energy to make soup. But after that one time when you braved through an event and Yoongi noticed you feeling under the weather, he took you to a noodle house and ordered extra chicken noodle soup for you to take home. You had it all through the weekend, and though it wasn’t like your mom’s, it was still something familiar, and it was comfort that you badly needed.

You thought it was something you could extend to Jungkook. You weren’t sure if he was spending the weekend at home by himself, but in case he was, you thought that something warm would help. You were on your way to watch a local film and happened to pass by his area, the image of him sick and probably alone prompting you to just buy that dish and leave it at the reception. You suddenly craved it and made one for yourself last night, thinking it wouldn’t hurt if you brought some over for him as well. Even if he thinks it isn’t your responsibility, you think it’s still within your role to make sure that your boss - the Vice President - conducts his functions properly, and he can only do so if he’s healthy.

As you finish the small portion that you prepared for yourself, Jungkook wonders who’d taken care of you during the times you were sick. With your friends and family miles away, perhaps there wasn’t anyone. Maybe it was a boyfriend. Or maybe like what he’s come to see, you did things on your own. Maybe you think there’s no one doing that for him, too.

And you wouldn’t be wrong. He was never good with company, after all, whether it was offering or keeping it. So when someone offers something as simple as a bowl of soup for when he’s feeling unwell, it cuts through the walls he’s built around himself because he’s become used to no one even knocking to check how he’s doing.

But in an effort to remain unmoved and insistent on keeping his distance, he sets boundaries once more.

“You don’t need to do this for me, Mr. Cho,” he states. “I appreciate it, but I’d prefer if you don’t do it again.”

He sees your face fall from his periphery, and much as he wants to take it back, he knows he has to hold back. It was hard enough to resist feeling cared for.

He’d really spent the weekend by himself, turning down his friends’ invitation to go to a resort and Hoseok’s offer of dinner at this newly opened steak house. Jungkook was buried under the covers when the phone rang informing him that you’d left something for him, unwilling to move and get off the bed because he was too tired but also too hungry, so when he opened the bag and it registered to him what you've given him, he felt less alone and less sad for himself. The image of your shy expression flashed through his mind and he couldn’t help the smile he let out, giving himself only a minute to bask in your kindness before reminding himself that it means nothing more than making sure he’s well. It’s harder for you if he’s sick, he convinced himself. Still, he’d rather not think about it; he’d rather not torture himself by his brain wanting you to mean one thing, but his heart hoping it was another.

“I understand, Mr. Jeon,” you say, your voice a little too firm for his liking. “I apologize if it made you uncomfortable.”

“It—” didn’t, he wants to say. It made him feel nice and comfortable and that’s what he can’t let himself feel around you.

“I treat this as part of my job,” you reason, a half lie because you really did want to extend some kindness even if he may not exactly be deserving of it. “But it may not be so for you. I’ll take note of this moving forward.”

Jungkook concedes. Any objection will counter what he’s been saying, even if he didn’t mean all of it. And like how you always do, you get over it quickly, flashing him a measured smile and taking out your iPad to go through this week’s schedule.

You both head to the car after and discuss his previous meetings. You’re detailed and engaged, taking down notes and asking him questions like the professional that you are. He tells you about his meeting with artist Lee Jaemin and that he agreed with 80% of the pieces that you and Yoongi chose. You talk about the Board members’ reactions during his presentation and he shares what they talked to him about during the dinner.

“Socializing with them was tiring,” he admits. “I couldn’t keep up with all the things that they wanted to talk about.”

You give him an assuring smile. “You looked like you did well,” you assure him. “They seemed engaged, although as Mr. Jung would say, part of that is for show, to get on your good side. It would be smarter to think that not all of it was genuine.”

“True. But I enjoyed speaking with Mr. Saito. He’s an architect, too, and we had a really good talk about incorporating traditional elements in a modern design.”

“Yes, he’s always been kind,” you say. “But it’s good that you’re able to forge these relationships. Perhaps it’s also new to them, seeing you in that light. I suppose they don’t know you all that much. It’s a nice change being able to engage with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ah, well, it’s just during the company events that you attended, it wasn’t exactly hard to spot you,” you chuckle, seemingly comfortable now.

“And why is that so?”

He turns to you, legitimately curious because he’d never really noticed you before, even if he knew you as Hoseok’s assistant. If he’s being honest, you didn’t even look familiar when you first met, and that just reinforces the fact that Jungkook didn’t really care for the other people around him, especially during those events he was required to fly to Seoul to attend. If he’d paid a bit more attention, maybe he wouldn’t have been caught off guard when he did finally meet you. Maybe he wouldn’t have been as rude, too.

“If I may, sir, it was quite easy to spot one of the Jeon sons always at the bar,” you chuckle. “Your father and cousin would often look for you and you were always in the same spot.”

You’d noticed him, Jungkook thinks to himself. He wonders what you’d thought about him then, but given how he hated those events, it probably wouldn’t be something good. He just always couldn’t wait to leave.

“Ah. As you can tell, I’m not one who likes to socialize,” he says. “I don’t really know what to talk to people about. And I’m not that good with names nor faces. It was easier to keep to myself.”

“That’s understandable. But you already know that’ll have to change,” you remind him. “Half of what Mr. Jung did was attend events.”

“I know. He’s been preparing me for that. I need your help in that aspect, too, from remembering names to getting my energy up. Those are oddly what I’m most nervous about, if I’m being honest.”

“I’ll do what I can, Mr. Jeon,” you assure him. “I hope I can make things easy for you.”

You’ll never know the irony of your words, and perhaps the push and pull it brings about - as you try to make things easy for him, the harder it actually becomes on his end.

You find yourself back at the tailor shop the next Thursday for Jungkook’s suit fitting, and if it wasn’t for Taehyung telling you that your gowns are ready, you would have totally forgotten that you had some dresses made as well.

While Jungkook tries on his outfits, you’re instructed to choose several dress shirts that he’d be adding to his wardrobe, given the various functions he’d be attending from now on. You didn’t anticipate for this to be part of your role, but you don’t mind, as it’s a welcome change to what you normally do, which is attend meetings, bury yourself in paperwork, and everything else in between. At least you’ll be visiting the venue for the Arts Center event tomorrow, but today, you focus on the task at hand, which turns out to be harder than expected.

The options are endless. It doesn’t help that you have to envision Jungkook in each piece of clothing and that he looks good in every one of them, and that you have to imagine him at all. You see him everyday - and have seen him in as little as in just his gym shorts - and you don’t really want to have him in your mind as well. But how he presents himself is a big part of his new role, as Hoseok had told you. As the Vice President, Jungkook needs to look sophisticated and respectable, someone worthy to represent the company and the Jeon family name.

You go for different hues of grays and blacks and other colors, too. There’s an olive green that looks really nice, and a few maroons and pinks that would add variety to his everyday look. You’re focused on making your choices, but your focus shifts to Jungkook when he comes out of the dressing room donned in a patterned black suit. The fit is perfect and even with the distance between you two, you could spot impeccable details that make the outfit look elegant yet fresh.

“This is for the gala,” Taehyung states. “What do you think, Ms. Cho?”

“It looks nice” is all you manage to say.

It’s the only word you feel is neutral enough to describe him. Even if you could accept that Jungkook is handsome, you don’t exactly want to say so in front of him.

“I was going for something better than nice, but that should be fine, I guess. What do you think, Kook?”

“I like it. But don’t you think the sleeves are a bit too fit on my arms?” Jungkook asks his friend.

“Well, it’s not like you were flexing them when I was measuring you,” Taehyung playfully rolls his eyes. “But I can adjust it, since I doubt you’d take a pause on lifting weights anyway. It’s probably the material though so don’t worry, I’ll fix this. Okay, on to the next one.”

You return to your task at hand, choosing some patterned tops that are appropriate for less formal events, and you inform Taehyung who then says that he’ll have those made in Jungkook’s measurements. With your task finished, Taehyung instructs you to head downstairs so you could fit your gowns as well, and you follow in anticipation because these might just be the first and only custom-made pieces of clothing you’ll ever have the luxury of wearing.

A female staff assists you, making sure that the length and neckline are to your liking. The first outfit, the one for the Arts Center event, is an old rose sleeveless lace midi dress that looks even more gorgeous when worn. The gown for the Appointment Dinner is a black short-sleeved pleated piece that is both functional and fashionable, but it’s the last one - the one for the gala - that has your jaw dropping to the ground.

“Ms. Cho,” you hear Taehyung call out from outside the fitting room. “Is everything okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, unable to stop looking at yourself in the mirror and turning around to try to see every angle of the stunning dress. “It’s just, uh…”

“It’s what?” He asks worriedly. “Can you come outside so I can see?”

You take a breath before pulling the heavy curtains open and find Taehyung and Jungkook standing not far away.

“It’s too pretty, Mr. Kim,” you say shyly. “I don’t think I can wear this.”

“Well, you will. Because it’s custom-made,” he points out. “And it looks gorgeous on you. It fits perfectly. I assume the others do as well?”

“Yes,” you smile, feeling like a fairytale princess who gets to wear a gown that her fairy godmother had made for her. “They’re just…”

“Exactly what you need as this guy’s right hand woman,” Taehyung finishes for you.

He gestures towards his best friend who seems expressionless and probably unimpressed by how you look. It’s not like you mind but it at least wouldn’t be humiliating if he just stood there looking uninterested.

“What do you think, Kook?”

“It looks nice,” Jungkook shrugs, repeating the words you’d used on him earlier. Shifting his gaze from you to Taehyung, he excuses himself. “I’ll head to the car, I have calls to make.”

“I’ll finish up here,” you say, turning around to go back to the fitting room.

Jungkook exits the shop and finally breathes, feeling like he’d suffocated inside because of how you looked. He’d wondered how the dresses turned out, curious about the designs because Taehyung didn’t want to show him; it’s a surprise, the man had said. And now Jungkook knows why.

Stunning would be an inadequate word to use. The burgundy color of the gown made it look sophisticated on you, even more with the off-shoulder that showed off some of your features that he’d rather not think about. The flow was elegant, and he half wishes that he hadn’t thought of having these made only so he could avoid the moment earlier when he felt his throat dry up because of how beautiful you looked.

He’s gonna have to get used to being rendered speechless every time, he thinks, but it’s not like it doesn’t happen everyday, anyway. Every morning that he finds you standing in his kitchen, donning the pencil skirt and blouse ensemble that assistants are recommended to wear, his mind short circuits. There’s something especially fresh and electrifying about you at the start of the day, and he always has to pull himself together and act normal around you without giving himself away.

He can’t nurture the attraction, after all, even if he’s reminded of it during times like earlier, even more so when he gazes at you and you hold it, letting the tension build unconsciously. Because that’s what happened, as you pulled open the curtains and looked up. He wishes you were too shy to notice how long he had his eyes on you. But it’s why he had to get away. You’re too much for him sometimes, and he doesn’t know if you have any idea of how you affect him.

Jungkook stares at his phone, half hoping that an actual call would come to distract him. But nothing does, and he leans his head back and groans in frustration. What is it about you that makes him absolutely weak in the knees and stupid in the head?

Back inside, you give Taehyung your address so he can have the gowns delivered to your apartment for your convenience.

“Thank you again, Mr. Kim,” you say. “I wish I could do your creations justice.”

“You will. It’s in the confidence, so exude it, okay?”

“I’ll try,” you giggle. “Especially since those pieces will pretty much blow the Office of the VP’s budget.”

“Is that what Kook said? That these are budgeted under him?” Taehyung arches an eyebrow.

“Uh, yes, sort of. I just assumed because he’d pointed out that they were being made as part of my functions,” you explain.

“Hmm. I know his office has a lot of money but these gowns would definitely blow up any contingency fund you have,” he chuckles. “So no, your assumption is wrong. Kook’s paying for all this.”

“What?” You exclaim. “But that’s— why?”

“Well, you do need these as part of your job, and he wanted to save you the inconvenience of spending for them. I mean, he did buy Lucas some suits, too. But between you and me, I think this is his way of apologizing to you, just in a very gallant way.”

“You mean unnecessary and undeserving,” you correct, still in shock that Jungkook is paying for all those, even if yes, he can easily afford them.

“Nope, not at all. I know he’s been difficult to deal with and I’d like to apologize on his behalf, seeing that he’s terrible at doing it. I know it doesn’t make things better but at least it’s something you don’t have to worry about anymore.”

“Well, that does help a bit,” you smile, following him as he heads out the door. “But thank you again, Mr. Kim.”

“Off with the formalities,” he laughs. “It’s Taehyung. And you’re welcome. It’s the least I could do to somehow make up for my ass of a best friend.”

“He’s not too bad. Not anymore, at least,” you counter. “I’ll go ahead. Have a good day, Taehyung!”

Jungkook manages to look down on his phone in time for you not to see him watch you talk freely and casually with his friend. That’s another person close to him who gets to experience how you’re like - joyful and warm, perhaps a little shy sometimes, but comfortable just the same. It’s something he’ll only see from afar; your positions necessitate some distance, but perhaps that’s better than not having you around at all.

You enter the car and you’re back to being quiet and reserved, your eyes focused on the road while Jungkook, in an effort not to keep glancing at you, turns to his leather notebook and doodles some designs that pop in his head. It’s his way of calming himself down most days, helping him focus given that his mind is often filled with too many thoughts that he can’t express. He hopes that in drawing them, he can somehow rid himself of the feelings he’s locked in and it helps, as he’s somehow able to get over the tension from earlier and the tiniest bit of jealousy over your casual engagement with Taehyung.

You both return to the office, with Jungkook proceeding to his room to prepare for a lunch meeting and you follow, taking some signed documents that he’d left earlier.

“Mr. Jeon,” you say as he settles in his seat. “Thank you for the dresses. I… I’ve never had anything as beautiful as those and undeserving as I may feel, I’m just really appreciative.”

Jungkook isn’t prepared for the softness in your voice as you say the words, and like the consistent jerk that he is, he brushes it off.

“Taehyung made them; you should thank him. I just paid for them,” he utters, his tone stern and uncaring.

His eyes flit to you when there’s silence on your end, and he wishes they hadn’t. There’s resignation in yours, as if he’s shattering another moment you’re creating where you’re just being sincere and he’s being dismissive. It’s his default, he reasons, not just towards you but towards everyone. Normally he wouldn’t mind how the other would take it, but with you right now, he wishes he was so much better than this.

You hold his gaze, as if trying to tell him things you don’t want to express. He’s not one to apologize, but he also won’t accept gratitude. You’re starting to think that what Jungkook can’t handle is any form of human connection. It’s something you struggle with at times, but you’re at least open to it, willing to accept kindness and appreciating people for what they have to offer. Jungkook deflects; he turns away. It seemed like it took so much for him to even verbalize needing your help and perhaps he was desperate; his reputation was on the line after all. But even then, he doesn’t give nor does he accept, and you wonder what made him that way.

“Is there anything else?” He finally asks after a long beat of silence.

“Nothing more,” you shake your head and excuse yourself.

Returning to your desk, you look at Jungkook from your seat. There’s a hint of emptiness in his eyes that you often mistake for apathy. Perhaps there’s more and perhaps the help he really needs isn’t just about dealing with his father or remembering names or navigating relationships required for his role. Maybe it’s about opening himself up a little, or smiling when the situation calls for it, or not questioning other people’s kindness towards him. Maybe it’s about realizing he’s more than just this heir to the company or the playboy he’s known as. Maybe it’s about seeing that he’s capable of sincerity and gentleness as well.

You sigh to yourself. It’s probably a long shot but you only feel strongly about it because you know what it’s like to turn people away. If it hadn’t been for your family and friends, you probably would’ve continued to do so. Jungkook may be your boss but he’s human, too, and he may just be waiting around to see who’d be patient enough to extend a hand and let him know that he’s not alone, that someone understands, and maybe that someone is you.

The days fly by too quickly for your liking and you haven't been able to take a breath. You had a meeting with the organizing committee of the Appointment Dinner most of last Friday and you spent your weekend coordinating with the designers for the Arts Center launch. It’s been last minute preparations these past two days and before you know it, Wednesday has come. You stayed late the night before and were gladly checked in at the hotel with the other assistants, so you at least got a bit of sleep even if your body felt like it continued to stay awake.

But tonight is important, as the newly appointed executives will be formally introduced to the corporation’s directors, shareholders, and subsidiary companies. You’ve been organizing this with the planning committee since the appointments were announced, and given that coordinating events like this is one of your primary tasks, you’re exhausted and excited and nervous all at once. But it’s the second time you’re doing this and you’ve learned so much since you did this for Hoseok. There’s more knowledge, sure, but there’s also more confidence. You also know enough to eat before the guests arrive and at 3PM, it’s exactly what you do, knowing you won’t have much else until the event ends.

The other employees compliment your dress, and you’re too shy to say who had designed it but you eventually do, knowing it’s good for Taehyung’s brand. But you don’t say much else, choosing instead to focus on the guest list as you’re tasked to do, and you go around the events hall to make sure that the VIP name cards are placed on their proper tables. You’re able to sneak bites of the canapes as you go, allowing yourself a flute of champagne for that kick you need to socialize with the guests tonight.

You engage with the early birds when they arrive, guiding them to their seats and putting on your most welcoming smile. You get Mr. Ri’s message that they’re nearby, so you head outside and stand by the entrance and wait for them, knowing Jungkook would want to know how things are going.

He exits the car in a black suit and white top, a statement brooch adorning his classic coat. The strands of his long hair are tucked behind his ears and he looks even more polished than usual, a look that catches attention; it definitely catches yours.

“Mr. Jeon,” you bow in greeting. “Some of your invited guests have arrived.”

“Have you spoken to them?” He asks, as you walk slightly behind him towards the venue.

“I have, and they’re looking forward to seeing you.”

He nods, and just as he’s about to enter the hall, he stops and turns towards you.

“You’re busy tonight, aren’t you?”

“Somewhat, sir,” you reply. “We all have our tasks but I’m free to move around. Do you need help with anything?”

“Just, uh, names.”

“I’ll always be nearby,” you assure him.

Your smile gives him the comfort he needs. He’s been without it since yesterday afternoon, given that you had to prepare as part of the organizing committee. And while the support team and Yoongi have been encouraging, only you really know why every event such as this is important for him.

Jungkook has already made gains with some of the Board members last week; this time, it’s about engaging everyone else - the staff, the partners, and key personalities in the industry. Hoseok and Ji-woo have done this before but it’s Jungkook’s first time. He’s no longer just an executive in the Southeast Asian office; he’s now the Vice President of the entire company. There’s a lot of pressure that comes from carrying the Jeon family name, and even more being the only one of the two sons who’s taking on such an important role.

The event hall is grand. It’s pretty special, too. It’s one of the projects he worked on as part of the design department years ago before he left for Singapore, and the thought makes him stop. Perhaps this is the reason why his father chose this venue for tonight; if anything, it’s a reminder of what Jungkook is capable of. He takes a breath and looks around to soak everything in before approaching his invited guests - partners and consultants he worked with in his previous role.

But that ends quickly, as many more people approach him for a greeting.

Jungkook is a bit overwhelmed. He tries to hold eye contact when he speaks to them but he can only do so for so long. Some faces are familiar but the names escape him, and he starts to regret all the times that he flew here for events like this and never engaged with the other guests. If he had, perhaps this wouldn’t be so hard.

There are those who introduce themselves, while there are those who don’t, perhaps assuming that he’d know who they are. Just like the couple who’s speaking to him excitedly, and he wants to return the energy by at least calling them by their names. His mind is blank, and just as he’s about to give up, he looks up and sees you, your eyes catching his as if you’re just waiting for his cry for help.

There’s pleading in his eyes and you get it immediately, as you walk towards his direction then greet the pair next to him.

“Mr. and Mrs. Yamada,” you say. “It’s lovely to see both of you again. I saw in the news that you’re launching a new project with our partners from Dubai. That’s quite exciting.”

“Ah, Ms. Cho,” they greet you back. “Yes, all thanks to Mr. Jung who helped us with that partnership. We’re excited for it as well.”

“Oh, I’m sure. We’re looking forward to it,” you smile.

“Thank you. I’m pleased to know that you remain as the Vice President’s assistant,” Mrs. Yamada says. “Perhaps we can invite Mr. Jeon to one of our hotels in Japan? Or even in London?”

You turn to Jungkook who looks less tense than he did a few minutes ago.

“Ah, yes, that would be great, Mr. and Mrs. Yamada,” he responds. “I’m sure I’ll find time during one of my trips and I’ll definitely give you a call. Perhaps we can talk about projects we can work on as well.”

The excitement in the couple’s faces is a joy to see and for their sake, you really do wish that Jungkook makes good on his promise. You ask him about it after they leave, and he says that the names were familiar. Ji-woo’s talked about working with them before and that they’re long-time friends of the family, so he should maintain that relationship.

A call of his name prompts both of you to look to the side, and he turns to you with a questioning face.

“Mr. Adam’s an investor. Behind him is Professor Zhang from SNU. They’re friends of your father,” you tell him. Seeing Bitna signal for you, you say, “I have to check on something, Mr. Jeon. I’ll be back.”

You turn around to head to one of the tables, but you look back to watch Jungkook greet those who approach him, his smile becoming more natural as the moments pass by. You briefly meet with some staff about the musical guest and some other last minute adjustments. You greet Taehyung and Seokjin who show up to support their best friend, with both men complimenting how you look.

Knowing that Jungkook will be needing you again after, you call over Do-hyun and Yohan and delegate some of your monitoring tasks to them, and then stand by one of the tables as you watch the socialization take place as more guests come in.

Your eyes find Jungkook again as he’s engaged in a conversation with some Board members and other partners, and you smile a little at how he’s able to maintain eye contact and look like he’s actually interested, especially after he looks up and gives you a look as if to say that he’s trying his best.

“Why are you watching him like some child who’s trying to make friends at the playground?” Chin-sun asks, the teasing tone of her voice making you chuckle. “He’s a grown man, you know? He can hold his own.”

“I know,” you reply, turning to her. “But it’s one of the many things that’s new about his role. And probably one of the more important ones. I just wanna let him know that he’s doing a good job.”

“Well, there’s no wife or girlfriend to do that. I guess that makes it your responsibility then.”

You disregard her comment’s implication and point out that Hoseok does that for Jungkook, too, but he’s just as busy and perhaps just as nervous as well.

“It matters a lot to hear it. Plus, social events can be overwhelming and isolating at the same time. He’s still getting used to it,” you add.

The prolonged silence prompts you to turn to her.

“You know, I admire you for a lot of things,” she says. “Your ability to remain kind after everything is one of them. I mean, after how he treated you those first few weeks? That was tough.”

Your resigned face pushes her to continue. “Do-hyun could’ve gone on without telling me about seeing you cry and I still would’ve known. You tried to hide it but your smile always fell too fast and your eyes were just always sad. Must’ve been hard, trying to get the team on his side when you couldn’t do that for yourself.”

“I honestly don’t know how I survived that first month,” you laugh to mask the sadness from that experience. “But that’s in the past. He still has his moments but at least there are good ones now. I’m here to do my job. Being kind after everything is part of it.”

“I wish you didn’t have to keep it to yourself though,” she laments. “If we couldn’t help, we could’ve at least cheered you up.”

“I didn’t want to bring you guys into it,” you say. “The team was incredibly busy with so many things and I managed. That’s what matters.”

“Oh, ___,” she sighs. “You put so much of yourself in your job. I think that’s why the bosses trust you. But that takes so much out of you, too. Do you have anything left for yourself?”

“What’s left is right here, Chin-sun. I don’t think I know what I am outside of all this.”

“Doesn’t that bother you? I mean, I’ve worked with you for three years and I can’t say I really know you outside of this, too. And if you can’t… well, that’s something to think about.”

“And I have. It’s something I’ve asked myself, but trying to find the answer isn’t as easy as asking the question. So I just put all my energy into my work because where else would I? It at least pays the bills and lets me enjoy little luxuries every once in a while,” you reason.

“Well, I know what learning who you are outside of this job would entail, and I’m a little selfish because I need you around,” she smiles. “No one does things the way you do, and that’s also why I figured that at some point, Mr. Jeon was gonna get himself together because he can’t afford to lose you. You’re so good at this, ___. He’s lucky you didn’t quit.”

“Apparently, it takes a lot to get me to quit,” you reply.

Or I was just never brave enough to do it, you want to say. Asking the question is indeed always easier than finding the answer.

“Let’s hope you find a way to find yourself without resigning. We can’t afford to lose you, too,” she winks.

“I appreciate that, Chin-sun. Thank you.”

“Well, I think it matters that you know that you’re doing amazing. I hope he treats you as you deserve.”

He tries, you think to yourself. At least that’s what you hope.

The call of your names from a familiar voice excites you, as A-yeong approaches you and Chin-sun. You engage in your usual hushed conversations until you see Jungkook in another sea of people and you decide to approach him, the relief on his face telling you that he’s indeed been needing you.

It’s not your preferred crowd. Something you’ve learned in your years of attending these events is that you would smile and entertain them and men would think it’s an invitation to invade your personal space. A lingering touch on the elbow, a hand on your waist, standing a millimeter too close… and they disregard your uncomfortable look or attempts at stepping away.

The man you’re introduced to is new but his ways aren’t, and you scan the hall to find Bitna who turns to you in time, the look you give her signaling another person to look out for. It’s a system they developed that they’ve filled you in on, and you immediately excuse yourself and check on the food served at the back even if you know they’re still well stocked. It at least allows you a breather. You’re not even a main actor but you’re tired as hell from socializing with people.

It’s not long after when the event starts. Speeches and a performance take place while dishes are being put out, and it’s after the main course is served when Jungkook steps away from his seat.

Choosing to stand towards the back before he’s called on stage to be introduced, he scans the hall and thinks about the work that the committee put in, including you, who had to deal with him while dealing with all this. He catches sight of you speaking with the other assistants, and he already knows there’s some planning going on. But like the last time, he felt you around even if you were busy; you held his gaze during the times he felt a little overwhelmed.

“You ready?”

Yoongi’s voice is deep but calming, and Jungkook takes it as his friend’s way of encouraging him.

“Not really, but I’ll manage.”

“Good. You’ve got people on your side,” Yoongi assures him. “Like me. And especially her.”

He gestures towards the left where Jungkook sees you approaching them. Since you started working for him, he didn’t expect how easily he could find comfort in your presence. He went from wishing you were someone else, to wanting to distance himself from you, to constantly hoping you were around. Those last two could actually coexist, and they do. There’s still detachment as his means to combat the attraction - he tries not to care about you, to not get to know you, to remind himself of who you are in his life, but he still depends on you for support, for comfort, for stability. You make his life easier; you also make it feel less lonely. And every time you’re there is a moment where he feels like he could breathe, like the noise in his mind stills because he’s forced to focus on you; somehow, you captivate him that way.

“Are you ready, Mr. Jeon?”

The contrasting tenderness of your voice gives him that boost and he nods despite the lingering nervousness.

“I guess so,” he huffs. “Let’s get this over with.”

He walks towards his seat up front while you stay behind with Yoongi who leads you to one of the free tables at the back. You both don’t say much to each other, focusing instead on the short speeches that Ji-woo and Hoseok give, both of them expressing their gratitude and giving previews of upcoming projects to look forward to. They’re masters at commanding a crowd, as evidenced by their engagement and loud applause at the end of it. You can already imagine Jungkook feeling even more nervous, knowing that’s not really his style, but you hope that your earlier encouragement lingers, as he walks towards the stage.

He delivers his speech flawlessly. Knowing him the way you do, you could tell he let his vulnerability shine through, even if it may not seem much to everyone else. The teaser about the Arts Center gets people excited, which he builds up on. He even slides in a few jokes that surprisingly get the audience entertained.

A small smile paints your face and from next to you, Yoongi chuckles in almost disbelief.

“Is it safe to say you’re proud of him?” He asks, as Jungkook walks down the stage and CEO Jeon takes the mic.

“You could say that,” you turn to him. “It’s silly, considering how things started. I… I didn’t think I’d be genuinely rooting for him, you know? But I am. I really want him to do well.”

“That’s good to hear, ___. I guess it means that things really are changing and he’s treating you better.”

“I think they are,” you hum. “I mean, not the best, but I also don’t know what that’s supposed to look like. I guess I’m just understanding who he is a little bit better now. And I think that makes the difference.”

“Like I said, he’s not a terrible person. He just needs… someone to be patient with him, someone to show him kindness,” Yoongi says. “I think that’s what he lost along the way. He stopped being that way to himself and so did people. They just didn’t want to upset him, but they also didn’t give or show anything more.”

“You think so?”

“Why do you think it’s so hard for him to forge even the simplest and most basic connections?” Yoongi questions. “They lack meaning for him. I think he’s forgotten what that’s like. Without sincerity or kindness, without intensity or honesty, there’s just… emptiness. Everything is fleeting for him.”

“And you’re telling me this, why?” You eye him curiously.

“Because I think your kindness did something to him.”

“And that is?”

“He’s showing a bit of that to himself, too. And I guess to others as well,” Yoongi explains.

“I’m a mere assistant doing her job, Yoongi,” you shake your head. “It’s a little selfish but I do what I can to appease him and to make our relationship good enough to make this job bearable for me. If it makes him a better person, good for him and better for me. I’ll just keep doing it then.”

Your friend’s silence prompts you to turn towards him. He seems to be in deep thought, perhaps analyzing what you’d just said, which he tends to do.

There’s no lie in your statement. You’d done your part of standing up to Jungkook at the start; you at least got to show you were capable of fighting for yourself in that sense. But after that, you learned that keeping things in and letting him see how his actions affect you works as well. You show kindness because it’s natural for you, but also because it keeps the peace, it keeps both of you stable.

But you can also admit that you do all that because wanting him to know that he’s got you on his side is a way to tell yourself that you’ve got people rooting for you, too, even if you’re not the best at keeping relationships nor keeping people close. You show Jungkook what you want to experience from people; you make him feel what you want to feel. Maybe that makes you selfish. You think it also makes you human.

It’s not something you tell Yoongi, though. But maybe with the way he looks at you assuringly, you suppose he knows it, too.

The event finally ends and the guests start exiting the venue. You bid them goodbye while instructing some in-house staff about cleaning up. Mr. and Mrs. Jeon greet you on their way out, commending you for your work along with the others, and it’s their encouraging smiles that remind you of one of the reasons why you stick to this job. They’re people you don’t want to disappoint as well, and seeing them satisfied is always a good thing.

“Hey, you’re officially off the clock,” Bitna reminds you. “A couple of us are staying for closing, remember?”

“Right,” you smile.

They have a day off tomorrow because of tonight but it’s not something you can afford, given that you’ve got the Arts Center event one a week from now. It’s almost midnight and you’d have to be up in 5 hours.

“I’ll get going then. I’ll just say goodbye to— oh, Mr. Jeon,” you say, finding him just as you were about to look for him. “Is there anything I can help you with before I leave?”

“Oh, there’s nothing. Just, uh, how are you getting home?”

“A cab,” you answer.

Yoongi nudges your arm from next to you with a pout on his face. “Yah! I’ll take you home. It’s not safe to take a cab this late.”

“Yes, that’s preferable, Ms. Cho,” Jungkook says. “It’s been a long night.”

“Okay, sir,” you nod. “And it has. You also did really well. I didn’t expect the jokes but they were obviously a hit. Yoongi laughed, that’s how I know.”

“You laughed, too,” Yoongi points out.

“I’m glad it worked, then,” Jungkook says. “You can get going. You can also report to my place at 8AM to give you more time to rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jungkook heads out and rushes to the car where Mr. Ri drives him home. His mind is still buzzing from what transpired but he’s glad he managed like he said he would, like you believed he would.

And amidst the relief that he did well and the nervousness from having to do something similar again next week, there’s you, a vision that he quickly shakes off and one he finds himself seeing after every big and small thing that he does.

Your warm shower and your bed have never felt this good, only because you’re as tired as you are and you want nothing more than the weekend to come. But you’ve got a few more stressful days ahead of you and you try to push through them one at a time.

You go to Jungkook later than usual that Thursday then spend much of the entire day meeting with him and the team about next week’s event. You conduct a visit to the venue the next day and then spend the weekend answering guests’ queries and helping Chin-sun coordinate with suppliers. Monday and Tuesday have you going from one place to another and hopping from one meeting to the next, all while balancing your executive assistant and events manager responsibilities.

It’s incredibly tiring, but you also won’t deny the exhilaration you feel. There’s something so satisfying about seeing everything come together, especially as you look around the venue - an industrial commercial space that Jungkook and Yoongi jointly designed specifically for tonight. The high ceilings allow for the large panels that project the Arts Center design, with bright lights Illuminating the curated sculptures and art pieces placed around. The space elicits a feeling of newness and familiarity, of hollowness and clarity. There’s integration of traditional and modern elements and essentially, of history and emergence.

It leaves you quite breathless as you look around. It’s not even the Arts Center itself but you know that this is the emotion that Jungkook wants the guests to feel. He wants them to be in awe, to look on in excitement.

“It’s pretty great, huh?” Yoongi asks next to you. “Worth all the hard work.”

“It is. Design and logistics did amazing in putting this together,” you say, given that you’ve spent the entire day working with both teams to set this up.

“Well, Jungkook’s vision is captivating to begin with. It really makes a difference when you’re led by a creative mind. Selling the idea won’t be so hard in a place like this.”

“I really hope so. We’re banking on the artists for exposure. There are gonna be articles about it, too. The whole process is being documented and that makes the final product much more exciting,” you explain. “I… I actually feel really good being a part of this. I’m glad I didn’t quit after that first week.”

Yoongi laughs along with you, knowing now that that experience no longer bothers you the way it used to. But he’s glad about it, too, not only because he selfishly wants you around but even more, he knew that you needed this, that you needed to feel redeemed in Jungkook’s eyes and in yours. Yoongi hopes that as the project goes on, you’ll learn more about yourself and what you want, what you’re good at, what you can give, and what makes you happy.

“That makes both of us. I’m sure Jungkook thinks so, too,” Yoongi replies.

“Well, we’ll never know because he’ll probably never admit it but it’s a good thought,” you smile. “As long as we maintain this unproblematic dynamic, I’m good.”

“Speaking of which, where is he?”

“On the way,” you say. “He had a meeting to attend and he said he’ll be fixing up here. He should be here in a few minutes.”

Do-hyun approaches you about the photographer and you excuse yourself, instructing Yohan next to her to lead Jungkook to the waiting room when he arrives.

Jungkook steps into the venue and like he’d hoped, he feels the energy as he takes it all in. There’s a lot of possibility as he looks around, and that’s what he wants the guests to see. He wants the artists to envision their own pieces displayed; he wants the creatives to imagine fashion shows and photo shoots and videos that come to life; he wants people to see the potential of an Arts Center beyond just looking at art pieces.

But underneath the pride is nervousness. There will be important personalities coming today and it’s his opportunity to engage with them, to make them want to be a part of this. Talking about the details of the project would be easy; it’s connecting with them that’s a challenge. He had last week’s Appointment Dinner as a trial and like you said, he did well. It’s tonight that matters so much more to him. He supposes that what happens will set the trajectory for how the promotion of the Center will go, so making a good first impression is crucial.

Yohan approaches him and leads him towards the waiting room where his outfit, which Taehyung had pressed and sent over here, hangs on a rack. There are two magazine publications that will feature this event and both include an interview with him and some photos.

Jungkook starts dressing up, knowing he’ll be called for those not long from now. He looks at himself in the mirror and the uncertainty fills him again. It’s not the look he would’ve gone for but his best friend was adamant that an event like this calls for something new. With his trousers and fitted shirt on, Jungkook breathes in and out, and it’s at the same time when there’s a knock on the door and your call of his name suddenly makes him nervous.

You enter, stopping as you shut the door, your eyes a little wide, and look at him. You’re a sight to behold in your floral-laced dress and if he was anxious seconds ago, he’s even more now.

“I knew I should’ve stuck to the classic,” Jungkook sighs at your unmoving form.

“What—what do you mean, Mr. Jeon?” You ask, finally finding your voice.

“You’re not saying anything,” he frowns. “Tonight probably wasn’t the best time to show up in an outfit like this.”

“And why is that?” You wonder, walking closer to him now. You try to calm your racing heart because Jungkook looking this good in a checkered flared trouser and white v-neck shirt was not something you expected. “You look…”

“Pretentious?” He chuckles, shaking his head and bending towards the mirror, his angled body making you feel even hotter.

You’ve long accepted that Jungkook is a very handsome man. It’s probably why it was more frustrating despising him and, like Soomin said, also satisfying. He’s got a perfect mix of boyish and manly features with his doe eyes and chiseled jaw; the aura of confidence and nonchalance perhaps add to that as well. It also doesn’t help that he has a really good physique, something you’d seen on his first day on the job and one you’d denied affected you. You’d gotten used to it somehow. Hard as it was to suppress those thoughts every time you fixed his tie or watched him walk about his penthouse in his gym clothes, you managed. You’ve always been professional, and you’ve always reminded yourself to not let it affect you.

But tonight, it’s just hard not to, especially with the way his biceps are popping out of those short sleeves; and if the shirt were an inch tighter, you’d probably be able to trace his toned chest and abs as well. He’s cut his hair, too, slick and pushed back as if he's starring in some western rockstar film.

“Good…” you manage to say after what seemed like minutes. “The outfit looks good on you, sir. It’s new and fresh, not like the usual formal attire that screams ‘businessman who only wants profits.’ This is posh and stylish. It makes you look more approachable.”

“This is what would make me look approachable?” He asks incredulously.

“Actually, a smile would,” you say too quickly, earning you a laugh. “But this works, too. It fits with the theme.”

“That’s what Tae said, too,” Jungkook sighs. “He insisted that at least for these Arts Center-related events, I should dress a little more boldly and more interesting, things I definitely am not but, well, I couldn’t counter him when he said that my usual prints and styles make me look like I’m just going to a meeting or some business conference.”

“And he’s not wrong,” you point out, walking closer to him. “You don’t need anything eccentric, just something exciting. This is simple yet sophisticated.”

“Have you seen the coat?” He asks, gesturing to the rack when you say no.

“Oh. There’s a corsage,” you say, admiring the matching brown checkered piece.

“An oversized one,” he rolls his eyes.

“It looks pretty.”

“That’s what he said, too.”

“If you don’t like it, why didn’t you tell him during the fitting?”

“I did like it but it’s Tae - he’s good at convincing people that they look good. And I probably thought that, too. But he’s not yet here and he’s gonna be late so right now, all I can think about is that I’ll look ridiculous.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” you say, surprising him. “If what I think matters, then you’d have to take my word for it. The outfit looks good. It captures people’s attention and that’s what you need. You’re just gonna have to follow this up with similar styles but that wouldn’t be a problem. Just carry yourself with confidence. It’s what Mr. Kim would say.”

“I know. He texted that same line to me five times today.”

“He’s your best friend, Mr. Jeon. I’m sure he’s looking out for your best interest.”

“True, but then again, we were forced to become friends when we were young so who knows?”

You laugh at his words. “Is that so?”

“Our fathers are best friends so we spent a lot of time together,” Jungkook shares. “We were all so different and we got on each other’s nerves but I guess that made us closer. I… I wasn’t close to my brother so I just stuck with those who stuck around. It’s a good thing they turned out to be decent people.”

“They’re very kind, I should say.”

“Yeah. It sucks that their kindness didn’t rub off on me,” he says as he holds your gaze.

The tension rises as you look back at him. It’s hard not to fall into his eyes, and you’re thankful for the knock on the door and Yohan’s voice on the other side saying that the interviewer is ready for Jungkook now.

“Five minutes,” you call out, breaking the moment and retrieving his last piece of clothing.

You assist him in wearing his coat and just like reflex, you immediately fix the sleeves and adjust the corsage that isn’t actually that big. You look at him from head to toe and see Taehyung’s vision. There’s something captivating about Jungkook in this fit; it makes him intriguing and someone to look out for. You suppose that was the intention.

“Respectable enough?” He asks worriedly once you meet his eyes.

“Respectable enough,” you affirm, hoping your smile can give him the encouragement he needs.

You open the door and let the first set of crew in. You watch on as they interview and take snapshots while your own team from the marketing department capture what’s happening as well.

Jungkook sits cross-legged on the sofa, his eyes looking out into the distance as he absorbs the questions and thinks of his answers. He gesticulates as he responds, something you noticed him only ever do about topics that seem very important to him. He’s done it during meetings with the team and with Yoongi, and you suppose there’s that level of honesty that he shows then. His responses are thoughtful and profound, as the questions revolve around the type of art pieces to be displayed, how culture can be celebrated and respected, and what the public can look forward to once the Center is open to everyone.

The next interviewer starts off with the practical questions before moving to the technicalities of the design and structure such as the materials used, the techniques utilized in renovating such a massive complex, and how the Center itself represents art and culture. This is when Jungkook fully relaxes. You see it in his body language, in the softness of his expressions, and in the mellow tone of his voice as he discusses in terms you don’t fully understand but somehow still make you feel like you know exactly what he’s talking about.

It’s different seeing him in this way. Your team vetted these interviewers and publications and they seem sincere about their articles and so you know they aren’t there to judge; Jungkook knows they aren’t there to scrutinize him. He’s not there to impress them or even to sell the idea; he just wants to share it, to make it known, to narrate the process of this project that may still be in its very early stages but which has lived in his mind for years.

He may not always be good with words but you can tell that he finds them when the ideas are clear to him. He’s able to articulate what he sees in his mind and there’s something captivating about that. There’s a lot you can learn from him, you think, and if what you develop after having stayed this long is even just a fraction of his creativity, then you’d feel accomplished.

You can tell even more now how important this is to him, especially when he emphasizes the individual’s need and desire for connection and how he wants the Center to be a hub for that, or perhaps its creator. You wonder if he knows so much about it, or if, like you, it’s something he also constantly seeks.

You’re so focused on taking him all in that you don’t notice that you’ve been staring. Your eyes fall on his fingers, waving about as he draws imaginary pictures; they land on his lips, pink and dry as they utter words that are perhaps the most he’s said, and suddenly, his voice is the most comforting it’s ever sounded to you. You look upwards and that’s when you notice it - his eyes are on you just as yours are on him yet he continues talking, and you hold onto it for a few seconds before you feel the heat reach your cheeks. It feels like a burn and you snap out of the spell-like feeling you were caught in as you turn away now and try to catch your breath.

You hadn’t meant to stare but you were drawn to him at that moment, and as he talked about how the designs reflect the tangibility yet elusiveness of human connection, you found yourself drowning in his words and in the way he said them. He’d caught you before you could look away, and you decide that the only way to go about it is to pretend it didn’t happen.

And that’s what you do, as you remain on your spot with your eyes scanning the room, no longer focused on him.

The interview ends right as Chin-sun enters to say that some guests have arrived. You instruct her to entertain them first with Manager Lee as you wrap up in here and it’s not long after when you’re left with Jungkook once again.

“Was that good?” He asks, his gaze on you as you look elsewhere.

“It was. You seemed more relaxed,” you state, unnecessarily fixing the couch to distract yourself. “That’s a good way to start the evening, Mr. Jeon. I’m sure the guests would enjoy speaking with you tonight.”

“That’s what I hope,” he replies. “I’ll need you close to me to keep track of scheduled meetings or any invitations. I’d also like them to be familiar with you as my assistant so they know who to reach out to in case I’m not available.”

“Of course, sir,” you say, turning around to face him again, suddenly feeling nervous about the intensity of his look. “I’ll take note of all those.”

He nods then exits the room and you follow. You trail him as he starts to greet the guests one by one.

There are heads of private foundations and curators. There are creative directors from entertainment agencies and some art enthusiasts. There are artists and authors and poets, all of whom are intrigued and seemingly excited about what’s in store.

Jungkook heads to the front after being introduced by Manager Lee and takes his time to introduce the project, utilizing the panels and all of the interiors’ walls to showcase the design virtually. He presents his plans and the role of artists, creatives, creators, and consumers. It’s a half hour speech that ends, followed by a light sit-down dinner that Jungkook takes advantage of to engage with the guests.

He first greets the deputy minister of the arts and culture ministry and then Mr. Saito, who’d likewise brought some of his artist friends from Japan.

You then follow Jungkook around as instructed, taking notes on your phone in between to list all the upcoming meetings and other activities scheduled on the spot. You’ve somehow developed this skill with Hoseok but it still doesn’t get any easier. The fact that so many of them want to touch base with Jungkook after his pitch says a lot about how well he did and how much it resonated with the people he wanted to connect with.

Based on your notes, you can already tell it’s gonna be incredibly busy moving forward, and the thought suddenly makes your head hurt. But you push through, knowing there are more people to meet with, even with Chin-sun and Manager Lee entertaining half of them.

Jungkook takes the stage again to introduce some of the artists whose works will be displayed in the Arts Center, and he gives them time to talk about their pieces and what drew them into the project. The company head who’s been contracted to create the products for the souvenir shop also speaks, and as they share, you feel the excitement heighten. The opening is still a long time from now but things seem so clear and so certain, and you know that was because of Jungkook - because he demands the same level of excellence he practices from others, because he’s committed to his vision and he makes sure to see it through.

More engagement takes place, and your only breather is when Jungkook decides to talk to his father and then Hoseok but after that, you’re back to following him around and running out of calling cards for people to keep and call you in the future.

The last of the remaining guests finally leave at 10PM. You look around and the art pieces are being carefully wrapped for transport. The panels remain but Do-hyun and Yohan will be returning in the morning to pack everything up. Slowly, you start to feel the soreness creep in and the headache intensify but you shake all the pain off. There are two more days left for the week and you just have to power through them to survive.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you home?” Chin-sun asks as she readies to leave.

“I live on the other side of the city from you. From all of you,” you remind them. It’s really the only reason why you don’t hitch a ride with them, especially considering that they have families and pets they go home to. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“What about Yoongi?” Jungkook asks, surprising you because you thought he’d been on the phone. “Can’t he drive you?”

“He left an hour ago, Mr. Jeon,” you reply. “He has that early morning flight to Jeju tomorrow.”

“Mr. Ri can drive you home after he drops me off,” Jungkook says. “It’s too late in the night and it might be hard for you to get a cab.”

“Okay, sir. Thank you,” you mumble, waving everybody goodbye as you follow him towards the car.

You get inside and find him sitting in the backseat, his coat removed and his head rolled back. You can tell all the socializing drained his energy again, and you’d hate to remind him that there’s a Property Expo next week that his father assigned him to attend, as well as a Partners’ Fellowship Dinner where he has to deliver another speech. You decide to do so in the morning instead and let the soft sounds of the radio soothe your mind.

“I think tonight was a success,” he mutters, prompting you to turn towards him. “Everyone I spoke to seemed excited.”

“They were,” you affirm. “They wouldn’t be scheduling meetings with you if they weren’t.”

“That’s true,” he hums. “That’s one major event down and several more to go.”

“I hope the team was able to show you how well we work together, Mr. Jeon. And that like me, they’re all on your side.”

Jungkook lets your words settle. He agrees. The team was like a well-oiled machine. Each member knew their roles and performed their tasks excellently. And there was you, of course, handling every one of his instructions and requests with grace. You looked really beautiful doing it, too, and he doesn’t know if he wants to thank or curse Taehyung for designing another dress that makes you stand out from the crowd because that’s what happened tonight - everywhere Jungkook looked, it seemed like all he could see was you.

He shakes away the thought, knowing that constantly acknowledging his attraction towards you would just make things harder for him the way that denying it would, and while he doesn’t have a solution for that either, he supposes that not acknowledging it at all would be the best option.

So he focuses on the team instead, and he feels comforted to know that they worked hard because they knew how much tonight mattered to him, as Do-hyun expressed earlier.

“I’m glad they are,” he finally replies. “I… I still don’t think I’m their favorite person but as long as they don’t despise me anymore, then I’m satisfied with that.”

“They don’t,” you counter, although even you’d know that’s a half-lie.

“They do. Or did, at least,” he laughs dryly. “It’s easy to stay unnoticed outside of the team’s office, you know?”

The tinge of sadness in his eyes confirms what you’re thinking - he’s heard some of the team conversations about him. And while you’d argue that they’re not vile or anything close to that, you also know that talking about him not smiling or not expressing his gratitude are things you shouldn’t be saying behind his back. Even if they’re true.

“I”m so, so sorry, Mr. Jeon. We–”

“It’s okay, it’s not a big deal,” he interjects. “I mean, it’s not like I haven’t given you reasons to feel that way. You all did go from Hoseok to me and that’s quite the downgrade in terms of camaraderie and stuff.”

“We still didn’t have the right to say those things. And no, I’m not agreeing that you’re a downgrade,” you clarify. “Like you said, you and your cousin are very different.”

“I did. And that’s why I’m not surprised, is all I’m saying. But despite all that, the team did amazing tonight. Not like I’d expect they wouldn’t because they prefer someone more joyful or expressive, but it… it was also nice to see them enjoying themselves. I hope you did, too.”

“It was a memorable experience, Mr. Jeon,” you say. “It’s something new. The previous projects and events we handled were either residential or commercial in nature and our creativity wasn’t pushed as far as the Arts Center is doing. And we all appreciate that, even if we may not show it.”

“That’s good. At least there’s still something that you’re all getting out of this.”

There’s a sadness in his voice that you’re hearing for the first time. You don’t know what about tonight that’s making him vulnerable and honest with you. Perhaps it’s all the talk about human connection that he seems to struggle with, and maybe he’s realizing now that even with the team performing as well as they are, there’s still something lacking in soul and emotion that he thinks is because of him.

Whatever it is, you hope that he doesn’t let it bring him down too much. Working closely with him, you’ve come to see more of him despite his efforts to keep those layers unpeeled and you’ve come to understand him a little more. You’ve forgiven him in the process, too. The team is still adjusting and you know it’s your job to bridge that gap. You’ll just have to figure out how.

You let the silence end the conversation, not knowing what else you can say to comfort him at this moment. But you try though, as the car stops in front of his building and you call his name right before he closes the door.

“Yeah?” He asks, looking curiously at you.

You almost forget what you’re about to say as he’s bent forward, his arm propped on the car roof, the surrounding lights highlighting the features of his face.

“You did great tonight, too. And I learned a lot from you. Thank you for guiding us, sir.”

He’s left speechless, as he holds your gaze for a moment before nodding and closing the door. Mr. Ri drives away and you look back to see Jungkook walk slowly towards the building entrance, briefly looking your way before disappearing inside.

You arrive at the office the next morning at 9AM with a splitting headache, your body dragging itself towards your chair as you try to maintain balance and get yourself together. Jungkook had messaged late last night that he was going to have a breakfast meeting with his father so you could go straight to work, and given last night’s late finish, you could come at a later time as well.

That gave you another two hours of sleep, which you were thankful for considering the terrible state you were in when you woke up. Your body felt sore and the dryness of your throat signaled that you’re about to get sick - it was just a matter of when it was going to fully kick in. It’s how your body reacts to stress, a pattern you noticed since you started working in the company. It’s usually after succeeding weeks of late nights and big events when you give in - the headaches start then the sore throat; not long after, the fever hits and you’d have to spend days just doing nothing until you’ve expelled the exhaustion away.

On rare occasions, your mother or friends come, knowing you’d be too sick to make yourself some food. But they don’t always have that luxury. They have their own lives, too, lives that they just happen to have far away from you. But it’s why it mattered that you gave Jungkook that noodle soup when he was unwell. You know what it’s like to be sick and hungry and completely helpless, and you had a feeling that just like yourself, he’d deal with it on his own. You’ll probably have to stock up on food tonight to get you through the next few days; you just hope you haven’t completely fallen apart by then.

You take your medicines and try to focus on your tasks for this morning, scheduling meetings and screening photos from last night to be used for marketing purposes. Needing some tea, you head to the pantry and briefly check in with the team before heading back. You see that Jungkook has just arrived, as he accompanied his father to one of their project sites after their meeting. He calls you over and asks if Do-hyun and Yohan have come back from fixing things at last night’s venue.

“Yes, sir, they just got here,” you reply. “Everything’s been stored properly and Chin-sun’s working on the payments already.”

“Good,” Jungkook responds. “It’s lunchtime though, so you should all grab a meal. There’s a French restaurant that just opened a block from here. I heard it’s got great reviews, so take the team there and have them order anything they want. You can just use your card to pay but it’s under the office’s budget.”

“Okay, sir. Uhm, that sounds great,” you manage to say, excitement filling you because you spent the other night watching review videos of that restaurant on YouTube and immediately told Jimin and Soomin that you’ll be eating there when they visit you the next time. “What about you though? Aren’t you joining us?”

“I… Well…”

“You don’t have any other scheduled meeting other than the one we’ll have as a team at 2:30.”

“I don’t have to go,” he answers. “You all worked hard and deserve to enjoy yourselves and I don’t think that’ll happen if I’m around. We can all debrief during the meeting but lunch is your time to get together and bond as a group.”

“You’re part of that group, too, Mr. Jeon. You are our boss,” you counter.

“Exactly.”

“But Mr. Ju–” you stop, not wanting to draw another comparison, which you said you’ll stop doing.

“I know. Hoseok would join you for lunch or dinner and the team enjoyed his presence,” Jungkook states. “I don’t think that’s the case with me. This isn’t me putting myself down but… you know that I don’t really… do things like that. I’m still learning that part of the role and I don’t want to spoil their fun.”

“You can’t really speak for the team though,” you point out.

“Well, you represent them to me. Am I wrong to assume all that?”

“No, but I think it would be a good opportunity to prove to them otherwise,” you advise.

Jungkook sighs, knowing you’ve got a point. But he insists, claiming that he’s still figuring out the team and how to relate with them.

“I understand, Mr. Jeon,” you concede. “How about your lunch?”

“I’ll manage. You can all go ahead so you can get back on time.”

“We will. Thank you. I already know they’re going to enjoy it.”

The team is ecstatic when you tell them about lunch plans. They also only wonder about Jungkook’s presence once they’ve ordered and perhaps they’re still figuring him out, too. Much of their engagement with Jungkook is through meetings, as none of them, save for Manager Lee, feel comfortable or even free enough to just approach him. They also don’t know much about his interests or his quirks, and that puts you in the same boat as them.

You said once that you’re not sure if you’ve gotten used to him already. Maybe slowly you are, as you look around and wish that he was here to experience this, too. Somehow you just think he’d love the duck confit dish that you eventually order for yourself. Maybe you can let him know, and he can order it on his own time.

Lunch ends with everyone on a high from the delicious meal. Even you forget how terrible you’re actually feeling and let the laughs and scrumptious food compensate for the fatigue.

You get back to the office and head to Jungkook as the rest of the team prepares the conference room for the meeting. You see a half-eaten sandwich on his desk and hate to think that it’s all he had while you enjoyed a fancy lunch that he ordered you all to have. He seems to pick up your thoughts as your eyes flit from him to his food and he affirms you that he’s not that hungry, given the heavy breakfast he had this morning.

“How was lunch?” He asks.

“It was great. The food was really good. I had the duck confit that I think you’ll like and… uh, they were asking where you were.”

“They were?”

“Yeah,” you respond. “They were wondering why you didn’t join us.”

“What did you say?”

“That you were on a conference call,” you say. You didn’t like that you had to lie to them about it, but you also didn’t want to use that time to talk about Jungkook behind his back again. “Yohan said that it’s understandable; you’re always busy and he doubts you get a break while you’re here.”

“Oh. Well, he’s not wrong.”

“We had a good time though, and I’m sure they’ll tell you later but thank you. It’s nice seeing the team enjoy themselves. I wish you could see it, too.”

“Maybe one day,” he says sullenly, standing up right after to head to the meeting with you.

The room quiets down when you both arrive and Jungkook feels once more the shift in their disposition once he joins them. He can’t fault them for it knowing that’s because of him, but as time passes and the more he talks about the value of human connections - which the Arts Center aims to foster - the more he starts to think of exactly what he’s missing by keeping himself too far a distance from everyone else around him.

His father tries, he can tell. Most of their breakfast or lunch or dinner meetings aren’t actually meetings, and he supposes it’s just his old man’s way of spending time with him by disguising it as something work-related, knowing that Jungkook wouldn’t be into it if it wasn’t. His mother asks him over to their house on some weekends for lunch, her own way of reconnecting with him after years of being apart, but even with that, Jungkook just gives the bare minimum.

He doesn’t not like them; he just stopped being close to them at some point and he didn’t really care to mend it as he grew older. The women he sleeps with don’t count since he doesn’t even really talk to them, and other than Taehyung and Seokjin, and occasionally Yoongi, who keep up with his attitude, there really isn’t anyone else whom he thinks enjoys his presence enough to want to have him around.

He doesn’t know about you though, but he makes an educated guess and thinks there’s not much of him you’d miss just like anyone, and while the thought stings a bit, it’s one he tries to live with.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeon,” Manager Lee greets and implores the others to do the same. “Thank you again for lunch. It was really delicious and pretty fancy. I wish I’d worn a prettier tie than the one I have right now.”

“Your tie looks fine, Manager Lee,” Jungkook replies.

“Ms. Cho said you were busy, that's why you weren’t there,” Do-hyun boldly says. “Hopefully next time you can join us. I mean, not to assume you’ll treat us again, although that would be nice, but–”

“Do-hyun just wanted to say thank you,” Chin-sun butts in. “And that we understand you have so many things going on, Mr. Jeon, so hopefully, when you have time in the future, you can join us for a meal, too.”

“That, uh, that would be fine, yes,” he mumbles, taking his seat and avoiding looking at everyone except you. “Let’s start the meeting.”

You’re there for over two hours, rehashing the entire process, given that it’s the first event out of many that the team organized. Jungkook is generous in complimenting everyone, including you, and he gives updates on the interest generated and all the artists he’ll be meeting in their respective studios as a result.

The Ministry of Culture minister likewise pledged support, promising a linkage with the international media festival organizers like Jungkook had hoped. You’ve all accomplished so much in so little time, but the rest of the timeline shows that there’s still so much ground to cover. You plan the next steps and then spend half an hour talking about the other small projects that the VP’s office is managing before Jungkook adjourns the meeting and orders you all to head home to get some rest while he stays behind to work some more.

You follow him this time, trying your best to be stable as you take the bus home. You manage to buy some beef bone soup on the way for dinner, and once that’s all finished and you take a long hot shower to hopefully get rid of the stress in your body, you plop down on your bed and fall asleep with no warning at all.

You wake up in the middle of the night, your clogged nose keeping you from breathing. With puffy eyes, you search for your eucalyptus inhaler and take your medicine before going back to bed and hoping that when you wake up, you’ll feel less terrible than you do right now.

But you don’t, as you wake up to your alarm not long after and feel even worse. Your body is sore, your head feels heavy, and it’s a struggle to even turn to your side to try to pull yourself off the bed. Knowing there’s no way you’ll manage today, you call Mr. Ri and inform him that you’re unwell and can’t make it to work.

“I can’t even type nor talk properly right now,” you tell him. “Can you–”

“I’ll tell Jungkook, don’t worry,” he assures you. “And just to remind you, you’re sick, okay? So stay in bed, don’t do chores or anything, and don’t think about work for even a second. You hear me? And update me on how you are.”

“Yes,” you cough out. “Thank you.”

You lie underneath the covers and hope to the heavens that more sleep would make you feel a bit of relief and it does, given that when your phone rings five hours later, you don’t feel like your head is splitting apart.

“Good, you’re awake,” Mr. Ri says on the other end after you greet him. “Can you open your door?”

“Okay, just give me a few minutes. I’m exceptionally slow this morning.”

Mr. Ri laughs but tells you to take your time. You put on a hoodie over your gray sweatpants and briefly wash your face before opening the door.

“Work’s got to you, huh?” He asks worriedly as he stands in front of you. “Is it bad enough to warrant a visit to the hospital? I can drive you there.”

“I’ll manage,” you mumble. “But what are you doing here, Mr. Ri? Mr. Jeon has a meeting in an hour.”

“I know. But he wanted me to give you this.”

The older man initially hands you a large paper bag but decides to just place it on your table given your weak state. He removes the containers of chicken noodle soup, rice porridge, and soybean sprout soup, boxes of soft bread, and a small jar of yuja marmalade for tea.

“What–”

“Your meals for the next few days so you don’t have to worry about preparing them,” Mr. Ri says. “Jungkook wants you to focus on resting. He wants you to take Monday off, too.”

You look at him and suddenly feel like crying. You knew that waking up, you’d be worrying about what to eat, given that you barely have ingredients to work with. You also don’t have the energy to make anything, especially something that’d help with your health. Jungkook just relieved you of that, and at a time like today, you feel what it’s like to be cared for. And though you can argue with him using his own words - your health isn’t his responsibility - you won’t pretend that it doesn’t give you comfort knowing that he’d made the effort to buy all this and have them brought to you.

You talk a little bit more before he heads out, and you lead him to the door where you look across the street where the car is parked. Your eyes may be puffy but you don’t miss the silhouette behind that backseat window.

“How is she?” Jungkook asks as Mr. Ri enters the car and slowly drives away.

“She looks like someone who’s been working hard these past months and in need of rest. She says it’s normal but this is probably the worst. These few days off will be good for her.”

“I hope so, too.”

“She’s thankful for the food, Jungkook,” the older man says. “I know she’d probably say you didn’t have to but I could tell it meant a lot to her. She doesn’t always ask for help, you know? It’s good you’re somehow letting her know that she can count on you when she needs you. If this is you making it up to her, you’re on the right path.”

Jungkook hums in acknowledgement, although unsure what it means for him. Is it to compensate? To apologize again? To return the favor because you’d done it first? Is it to let you know that he has your back, too, the way you’ve been showing him that you have his?

He’s alerted by a message, your name on his screen somehow making his heart jump. It’s a text message and not one from the usual messaging app you both use for work purposes because, well, that’s really the only thing you talk about.

[From: EA Cho] Thank you, Jungkook. I really appreciate it.

It’s the use of his name. It’s the sincerity in your simple words.

He smiles to himself.

Whatever it means to you, he knows it means another thing to him. He doesn’t want you to feel alone. And that in the coldest nooks of his uncaring heart, he actually does care for you. For this moment, he’ll acknowledge it. For this moment, he’ll let himself feel it. He can only hope you feel it, too.

Series Masterlist

Permanent Taglist: @sherlynxx @di0rgguk @thequeen-kat @fan-ati--c @cravingforhotchocolate @adoraminie @helenazbmrskai @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @gukssunshine @kookxin @petuliii @yoursthv @libra04 @fancycollectormoon @twixxxpie @ignoretheskies @ohmydarlin-g @bids97 @minyoongiboongi @main-bangtansmauyeondan @bora-bae7 @investedreader @petalsofink @jvngkooker @stopeatread @craftymoonchaos @alpacaparkaseok @coletaehyung

Series Taglist:

@xhazmania @ash07128 @rinkud @junniesoleilkth @junecat18 @peachytokki @jalexad @pamzn @hoseoksluv89 @familiarlikemymirror3 @kookies-n-spice @hyuneyeon @thisartemisnevermisses @jk97bam @nadzzzblog @xyarinx @megnugget98 @shameless-army @jkslvsnella @lvr2seok @nayashalouiseburrows @peterstarkchrishiddleston @kgneptun @pamzn @cynicalbitch666 @roxexexee @llallaaa @thvhoe

#jungkook fic #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook x oc #jungkook angst #jungkook series #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #boss jungkook

1K notes · View notes

sushiwriterhere · 1 year

Text

new rules

summary: "Don’t pick up the phone, he’s only calling because he’s drunk and alone. Don’t let him in, you’ll have to kick him out again. Don’t be his friend, you know he’s going to wake up in your bed in the morning. If you’re under him, you’re sure as hell not getting over him." rating: explicit (18+ mdni) pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x f!reader word count: 8.5k (this got away from me sorry y'all) warnings: angst (lack of communication!), idiots pining, PiV (unprotected), oral (f receiving), hangman x phoenix (blink and u will miss it), no use of y/n. notes: thank you to @waklman for letting me bounce ideas off you! im very nervous abt this one, i feel like its dif from my other stuff so pls pls let me know what u think! my other works are here

Friends with benefits is maybe an inaccurate way to describe what’s going on between you and Bradley. Friends? Sure, since he asked you if you were using that bench at the beach and then he’d introduced himself. With benefits? You’re not sure if they really could be classified that way.

Bradley’s almost always a perfect gentleman.

He doesn’t ignore you in the daylight, but the two of you never talk about the way he finds himself in your bed most nights rather than not, drunk or sober.

It had started one night when you’d turned down an invitation to go to the Hard Deck, instead choosing to do a night of self care. You’d spent too long doing your eyebrows and managed to get a sheet mask to fully cover your face for once. You lost count of how much time you spent in the shower as an indulgence, and threw on the comfiest clothing you owned. Then, you sat yourself down in front of your TV to numb your mind with some perfectly trashy reality television.

Around 11:30, your phone had rang. Picking it up and squinting at the brightness, you saw Bradley’s face grinning back at you, the picture from one of your many beach days since you’d met.

Despite your best instincts you’d picked up. What if he was stranded? What if something had happened? You’d steeled yourself for the worst.

Instead, Bradley had just opened with a simple, “Hey.”

“Bradley? Is everything okay?” You could hear the noise of the Hard Deck in the background, but it had been yelling and there weren’t any sirens.

“Yeah,” His sigh had come over extra loud through the speakers, “Just uh, was just thinking about you.”

“Okay,” What the hell? You remember mouthing the words to yourself as someone on screen had thrown a drink in someone else’s face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He hadn’t responded to your question, instead he’d just said, “Are you at your apartment?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Bradley is everything–”

“I’ll see you soon.” And with that, he’d hung up with a definitive click.

You’d stared at the dimming screen of your phone for probably almost five minutes. Surely he couldn’t have been that drunk–god, was he planning on driving? Calling him during that was probably a bad idea.

Great, leave it to Bradley to stress you the fuck out on a Friday evening when you’d been aiming for peace. You’d tried to refocus on your show, but you weren’t even paying attention to the words.

No more than five minutes later, there had been a knock at your door. You’d stood slowly, not sure that this was actually happening.

You’d opened the door to a Bradley with flushed cheeks and a glint in his eye, leaning against the railing outside your apartment. It was only after a moment of silence that you realized you were wearing an old Navy shirt of his, loaned to you at the beach a few weeks ago. You could feel the way his eyes started at your legs and dragged up your frame, taking everything in.

“Bradley?”

He’d pushed off the railing and backed you into your apartment, letting the door swing shut behind the two of you. You’d backed into the living room til your back hit a wall, your heart in your throat. You couldn’t look away from him, not with the way he’d been crowding into your space, leaning into you.

“Hi, sweetheart.” His voice was a tone he’d never used on you before, and you remember the way your heart had hammered in your chest.

He’d been so warm and so close, setting all of your nerve endings on fire. It wasn’t that you hadn’t realized that Bradley was attractive–the man’s whole job was to stay in shape and be clean cut. He was beautiful. But you’d kept that to yourself, afraid of crossing that line, afraid that you’d ruin something that was turning out to be one of the strongest friendships you’d had in years.

You still feel that fear, despite all the lines that have been crossed since that moment.

The way he’d kissed you had wiped every thought from your head. His hands had slid up your thighs to grip at your waist under his shirt hanging loosely on you. His mouth had moved smoothly against yours, making you sigh and wrap your arms around his shoulders.

By the time the two of you had made your way into your bedroom, he’d lost every piece of clothing but his briefs and his dog tags. They’d dug into your sternum as you’d pressed yourself against him, the cool metal warming quickly between the two of you.

The way your blood had been rushing in your ears from adrenaline had drowned out the way he’d murmured to himself as he’d kissed down your body. He never did pull his shirt off you. He’d simply maintained his grip on your hips, lifting your thighs over his shoulders as he’d pulled your panties down and licked desperately into you.

Your hands had gone to his hair out of reflex. He had been rocking you steadily and you think you’ll always remember how you felt when you’d realized it was because he was grinding his hips against the bedframe, so turned on from getting his mouth on you.

He’d eaten you out like a man starved, his nose bumping into your clit as his tongue fucked you. It had been messy and loud but you hadn’t cared about the neighbors or your dignity, not with the way his fingers had finally curled into you.

“Bradley,” You’d gasped when you finally came, back arching and fingers tightening in his hair to the point where your knuckles ached.

He’d held you through it, had let you rock your hips against his face and not complained at all. In fact, he’d seemed delighted by the way you’d let yourself just feel, pleasure wracking your body and consuming your mind in a haze.

Kissing his way up your body, he’d slid his hands under the shirt and groped you gently. You remember the way your mind had stayed cloudy and you’d floated, tethered only to the real world by the way his thumbs flicked gently at your nipples.

“I’m here, I’m here,” He’d panted into your mouth as you whined when he’d sat back slightly to kick off his briefs and hitch your thighs over his waist, “I’ve got you.”

The first time Bradley had ever slid his cock into you, you knew you’d never be the same, that you’d never be able to go back. Not when he’d kept himself hovering over you just barely, propped up on his elbow, with his lips still brushing yours and his dog tags catching in the sheen of sweat along your sternum. Not when he rocked into you inch by inch, making the world around you blur into nothingness.

You’d let yourself fall apart under him, let yourself sink into the mattress and just take whatever he was willing to give you. He’d fucked you deeper and more gently than anyone before–to this day, you’re not even sure you can classify it as ‘fucking’, that always felt too vulgar for the way he’d brushed his lips over your cheekbones and murmured sweet nothings.

But saying Bradley had, and still does, made love to you means trying to find something from nothing, means discerning some sort of level of connection he’s never made clear. You’re not trying to break your own heart more than you already are.

In spite of that, you can’t forget the way he’d held you like you were precious, like you were everything to him. He’d cum inside you with a guttural moan, a punched out gasp at the way you’d clenched around him. It had made you realize that was all you’d ever wanted, Bradley warm around you and inside you, him making you feel complete in a way you hadn’t known you weren’t whole before.

He’d been a perfect gentleman when you’d both come down, easing out of you so he could clean up. He’d massaged your thighs and hips where you were sure you would’ve been aching the next morning if he hadn’t, had apologized under his breath at the fingerprints now dotying your hips. He’d thumbed at the collar of the Navy shirt where it had stayed on your frame the entire time, looking pensive but never saying anything.

You’d woken up alone the next morning, a sticky note on the bedside table reading–Had to run for work. Thanks for having me over. A messy heart and a hastily scrawled Bradley closing off the message.

And so it went. So it goes.

During the day, you and Bradley are the paragon of good friendship–he’ll send you memes when he gets access to his phone in between flights and lessons, you’ll pick him up after work to go to the beach. The two of you don’t talk about it–because what is there to talk about?

No words are ever exchanged about the way that Bradley clears out a drawer for you at his place, you just find a few of the things you’d left at his place in there one day. You never give back his Navy shirt, not when you find yourself wearing it more often than not. Nothing is said about how you start picking up his favorite flavors of ice cream and his preferred brand of coffee creamer, you just make a habit of throwing them into your cart when you go to the store.

And everything is fine. It really is. You disregard the side glances from Phoenix and Bob as they see you leave with Bradley on Friday and Saturday nights, you ignore the way Hangman wiggles his eyebrows at you when Bradley insists on paying for your drinks. Just friends, is all. Just friends.

They can make their assumptions, whisper while you’re out of ear shot, but they don’t see the quiet, comfortable domesticity that you and Bradley engage in when the two of you are alone. You go back to his after beach afternoons since it’s closer to your favorite spot, and the two of you will shower (separately) and make dinner together. Sometimes you’ll sleep over if you’re working remote the next day, sometimes you’ll go home.

On weekends, Bradley picks you up in the morning, trunk holding a cooler full of drinks and snacks, and you two will go to the beach again or go on a hike. Sometimes Phoenix or Bob or the whole crew will come along, sometimes they won’t.

Just friends. And it’s fine.

Until everything isn’t fine.

Bradley and you have been at this for a few months now, and you can feel yourself cracking. You’re reaching out to kiss him when you do wake up together, before your brain is awake enough to stop you, reminding you that that’s not what you two do. On an outing to a boardwalk teeming with life and populated by those games you can win stuffed animals at, you resist the urge to press him against the railing of the pier and lick the taste of your shared gelato cone out of his mouth.

When the dam finally breaks, it begins like any other night. You have a margarita and a half in you, some concoction that Phoenix insisted you try that’s actually good. Bradley’s already done a rendition of My Way at Penny’s request, but for now the jukebox is blaring some 80s hit Hangman picked out.

You can feel yourself swaying to the beat, just letting the warmth of the moment sink in as you’re surrounded by your friends, the people you love.

“Hi,” Bradley breathes into your ear as he sidles up next to you, his arms coming to settle around your waist. You can feel his warmth through the flimsy fabric of the dress you’ve got on.

“Hi Brad,” He hates it when people call him that–lets you get away with it though. “What’cha doin’?”

“Waitin’ for you.” He leans his entire body weight against you, making you slump against the table you’re standing next to.

“Ah! Bradley, stop it.” You try to stand, but the way he’s laughing makes it hard to shake yourself from his grip, “What do you mean you’re waiting for me? I’m waiting for you.”

The grin he shoots you is electric, and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, right here in the middle of the Hard Deck, with all your friends around and in Penny and Mav’s line of sight. That thought makes your heart skip a beat.

“Come home with me?” He whispers, just barely letting his voice rise above the background noise, and when you don’t respond immediately, “Or let me take you home?”

That’s all it takes, really, for you to agree. The way he’s so willing, so malleable, for you. You’re leading him out by the hand without responding to his questions, making your way to the Bronco that’s parked in the back corner of the lot.

Bradley keeps the foolish grin on his face the entire time he drives back to your apartment. The warmth radiating from him doesn’t abate when he licks into your mouth once the two of you are inside. One of his palms rests against your heart, the other working its way up your thigh and inside your panties that are already damp.

“You’re so good to me,” He murmurs, dipping his fingers below your waistband and brushing through your curls, feeling just how slick you are.

All you can do is whine as he picks you up and makes his way to your bedroom. For once, he doesn’t trip or stub his toe on anything, and it somehow heightens the intensity. Normally, you and Bradley seek comedic relief of some sort, something to cut the tension and keep it from making your chest tighten in a way that feels like a warning. This time, you aren’t granted any such reprieve.

He undresses you slowly and deliberately, letting his fingertips drag lightly up your sides and over your shoulders. He shrugs his Hawaiian shirt off easily, and lets you yank his wife beater over his head without complaint.

Then, the two of you are just staring at each other, both panting lightly. You’re propped up on your elbows, staring up at him only in your panties. Bradley’s got one hand about to pop the button of his jeans, but he’s frozen. You feel like you can’t move but also like something might be changing.

You don’t want it to change, you don’t want to lose Bradley in more ways than one. If this is what he’s willing to give you, you don’t want this to change.

He nearly falls over when his foot gets stuck in his jeans, and even that doesn’t break the tension. Once he’s climbing over you, enveloping you, kissing up your stomach and neck, you forget all about decorum and keeping up appearances.

The whine that echoes around the room is pathetic and high pitched, but it’s the only way you think to communicate to Bradley how bad you need him in that moment. His hips are rocking gently against yours and you want the layers gone, you need to feel him.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” And his hands are around your hips, dragging your underwear off you unceremoniously.

Although he makes a good attempt at going down on you, you don’t let him. You dig your fingers into his shoulder and yank at his hair to keep his face level with yours and kiss him desperately.

“I want to eat you out, please?” The depth of his voice sends a shiver through you.

Normally he wouldn’t even have to ask, but you don’t want that right now. You just want to feel him inside you.

“Need you in me, please,” You take a heaving breath before the pleading spills out of you, “Pleasepleasepleaseplease–”

He shushes you as you scrunch your face up, not knowing how else to convey your desires in that moment, “Okay. I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

You almost wail in protest when his fingers slide into you. You can’t figure out why you feel like you’re burning up from the inside out, why you feel so fucking needy.

“Sweetheart you gotta let me prep you somehow, just–”

You feel like the embarrassment might kill you when you keen at the feeling of his fingers inside you. The way you’re trying to be good, you really are, because he does have a point. Plus, you have to be fair to Bradley, this isn’t just about you.

So you hold still, let him work his fingers in and out of you as you pant and clutch at his shoulders like a lifeline. His mouth presses against yours, works its way over your cheeks and down your throat. He sucks a mark gently into your collarbone, and you ignore the way your brain reminds you about having to cover that up for work.

He doesn’t shut up the entire time, just keeps telling you how good you’re doing for him, how good you feel, how he’s been thinking about this all night. The world seems to go right-side up again when he pushes into you.

You whimper at the way he rocks his hips ever so gently before pulling out. He kisses you again and again, only letting his lips leave yours so he can kiss your forehead or cheeks. The motion of his hips is a steady tempo, he keeps time with your breaths that turn into moans when you start feeling that telltale coil in your stomach.

He runs his tongue along your teeth and you’re done for. You clench down on him and dig your nails into his skin, bucking your hips up as your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave.

Bradley fucks you through it like every other time, yes, but this time there’s something about the way he stutters out a moan and his hips match the faltering rhythm as he finishes right after you. The shallow rocking of his hips continues and you try to ignore the prickling of tears at the corners of your eyes.

Something tells you that this time, you shouldn’t have let Bradley take you home. When he pulls his face back from yours and he rolls the two of you onto your sides without pulling out, he’s got this look on his face that screams unspoken words. He cups your face and strokes your cheekbone with his thumb without saying anything.

The two of you are quiet as he cleans you up, as you dress yourself in another one of his shirts.

When you wake up the next morning, Bradley isn’t there. It doesn’t shock you necessarily, sometimes he stays, sometimes he has to leave to be on time for work.

What does send a terrible feeling trickling down your throat and into your stomach is the post-it, all four square inches covered in sloppy hearts. Bradley had signed his name in the bottom left corner, characteristic chicken scratch labeling it as him even if the name wasn’t enough.

This has to end.

Don’t pick up the phone, he’s only calling because he’s drunk and alone.

You last about three rings before you cave in, waiting for the sound of his voice to echo around the apartment. You’re holding your breath.

“I knocked.” Is all he says before you’re on your feet, making your way to the door.

There he is, and although you know he isn’t really drunk, you know he’s got a beer or two in him from the way he doesn’t try to hide how he looks at you. You hate the way you’re weak for him.

You’ve been caving to him more than once a week since that first night, since Bradley had knocked your world off kilter. Though you’re in bed together almost every night, whether at his place or yours, you don’t have sex nearly every time. Part of you thinks that might make it worse. It really had been fine at first, but the first morning you’d cried at the sight of that sticky note covered in hearts, you’d known you had to try and put an end to this.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” He tries, a crooked grin splitting his face as he walks toward you, but you know he doesn’t mean his words at all.

“Bradshaw, have you been drinking?” You want to not want this, want to not want the way his gaze pins you down, the way the length of his body against yours just feel so right.

Let him being drunk and you being sober be the excuse, you beg silently. You can’t manage to force out that maybe he should go home, sleep this off in his own bed. You can’t find it in yourself to tell him to leave, to reject his advances. Watching as if outside your own body, he shuts the door behind him and walks up to you.

Your chest aches with unconfessed feelings when he takes your face in his hands and lets his forehead rest against yours. His lips are soft and warm against yours, his mustache tickling you lightly when it brushes against your face. The whine you let out matches his soft groan, and the two of you stand there making out for a few minutes, almost as if you’re both content to just drink each other in without further motives.

“I’ve got you sweetheart, I’ve got you,” And he’s picking you up.

You yelp at the way you’re suddenly lifted from the ground and you bury your face in his neck. You hate heights, your feet off the ground anything more than a few inches sends you spiraling in short order. But it’s Bradley who’s holding you, and some part of you knows he’d never let you fall, never let you crash into the ground.

The way you two fall into your bed is too natural, it makes your stomach churn. His fingers find their place on your hips, around your thighs. It’s all too easy. You wish it would be a bit more awkward, that the chemistry could be imagined or false–instead you’re confronted by the way your bodies flow with one another’s all too easily.

Again, somehow, you’re in nothing but his Navy shirt.

Maybe I should give it back, the thought flits through your mind and you feel guilty immediately. Bradley always seems to take a special sort of pleasure from fucking you in his shirt, and you selfishly want to keep that bargaining chip, to have something that tethers him to you. If he won’t come back to press you into your sheets, then maybe he’ll come back one last time to get his shirt when this inevitably unravels.

“Sweetheart,” He groans softly when his fingers reach the way you’re embarrassingly wet between your legs.

It takes everything in you not to jerk back from his touch–you still don’t know how to confront the way you’re so responsive to his touch. His mere presence.

“I missed you.”

It slips out before you can stop yourself, your lips part and you breathe the words before you can do anything about it. He chooses that exact moment to dip a fingertip into your fluttering, but empty, hole, and you arch your back and moan. Instead of responding, he kisses you hungrily, all pretense gone.

This isn’t something entirely tender, not anymore. He’s searching for something, a certain reaction, with the way he adds and then curls his fingers inside of you. He finds it when you jerk underneath him at the way he pets at that spot inside you you can never seem to reach on your own.

He mumbles against your lips, “There you go,” As you squirm under him, the press of his fingers inside you relentless.

He works his fingers in and out of you, not taking anything in return. It’s all you can do to hold on to him and whine pitifully. Every sensation feels amplified, feels electric because it’s him.

The two of you settle into a familiar rhythm for as long as it takes for Bradley to make you cum the first time. You’re rocking against him through the aftershocks and you can feel the way he’s hard against you through his clothes.

He’s still dressed. The realization sends a bolt of shame through you, but it doesn’t linger long.

He’s shoving his jeans down his legs, not bothering with wiping his hand clean and you shiver at the thought that he’ll have to put them on again, you streaked across them. He makes quick work of his boxers too, and it occurs to you that he must’ve lost his shirt somewhere along the way when he presses his bare chest against your still clothed one.

“Bradley, Bradley,” You chant, “Take off my shirt.”

It’s the most demanding you’ve probably ever been with him, but he laughs at you anyways. There’s a glint in his eye as he sits up, his hard cock bobbing between his thighs. The sight of his naked form between your spread legs makes you swallow hard and your mouth water.

“I like you in my shirt.” There’s something unsaid there, something about claims and ownership that isn’t truly possession, but a reminder of who belongs to whom regardless.

You pull it off your head in protest, and grab his wrist to drag him back down to you. You let yourself indulge in trailing a hand down the firm planes of his body down to where he’s smearing precum against your thigh. He’s heavy and pulsing in your hand and a light hiss rushes through his clenched teeth when you grip him tightly and twist with your wrist.

“Fuck, fuck, not gonna last if you–” Bradley cuts himself off with a groan as you swipe your thumb over his head.

It’s your turn to laugh, “You just got here.”

“Well, have you ever had sex with yourself? It’s tough out here–give a guy a break.”

The both of you dissolve into giggles at that, as you try to imagine how you would look sprawled under yourself. You can’t picture it, but the image of Bradley under or over you makes you think you might understand.

He lines his hips up with yours once you’re both done making fools of yourself at the thought of you having sex with yourself (it reminds you of a drunk hypothetical you’d spent thirty minutes on with Hangman once–would you have sex with a clone of yourself?).

The first push of him inside you cuts through the lighthearted mood immediately. It always shocks you how perfectly he fits inside you despite his size, how incredibly full you feel when his hips meet yours. The gentle friction of the neat curls at the base of his cock against your clit always provides a stimulation that makes your brain go fuzzy.

The snap of his hips against yours is more intense this time, a sort of rhythm that makes you briefly think about the way the headboard might start knocking against the wall. But all thoughts, really, fly out of your head when Bradley brings a hand up to your nipples, the steady stroke of his fingers over the swell of your breasts as practiced and knowing as everything else he’s doing to you.

All you can do is run your hands down his back, scratch your nails against his skin ever so often when he brushes against something so sweet and perfect inside you. You clench around him just to see the reaction it’ll get, and you’re rewarded with a broken groan.

“You’re not fighting fair,” He gasps, and he hitches one of your thighs up so he can press more insistently into you.

You have a clever comeback somewhere in you–something about how you weren’t aware that the two of you were fighting, but it’s swallowed as he presses his lips into yours again. He seems absolutely intent on showing you exactly how you make him feel because the sensations of pleasure become overwhelming.

“Fuck sweetheart, you feel perfect, god you’re so wet for me,” He’s rambling mindlessly, but you let it happen, clinging to any expression of emotion, any sliver of dedication in his tone that you can hold on to til the next time you find yourself in this position.

You know he’s close when his grip on your thigh tightens forcefully and the strokes go from long and deep to slightly shorter and stunted. He’s grunting and gasping, but it’s all the best thing you’ve ever heard.

“Come for me Bradley, I want to feel you,” And at that, he follows your orders, listens to you for once in his life.

Everything is hazy as he keeps himself hovering over you and continues to rock his hips. You start to try and tell him he can pull out before his fingers find your clit and he dives back in to kiss you passionately.

Bradley is a perfectionist at heart, an overachiever. You suppose it isn’t entirely ridiculous that that extends to his performance in the bedroom–he’s insistent you finish every time, and always more than him. Feeling the way he’s still warm and heavy inside you, his lips firm against yours, brings you over the edge more quickly than you’d like to admit.

Still, you heave a shuddering gasp and let the pleasure wash over you. It’s overwhelming and all consuming, but he’s there through all of it til you feel yourself come back into your own body.

You think he might be writing something on your skin, the way his finger loops and dips softly over your hip bone as he kisses you gently. He’s softening inside you and you can feel the mess the two of you made under your hips, except he isn’t moving, not yet at least, to rectify that situation.

For once, you don’t push him to go clean up or scold him for another set of ruined sheets, you just let yourself bask in the moment as you imagine a world where the two of you will talk about this in the morning. You think of a timeline where this is where you end up because it’s where you’re meant to be, not because it’s something you’re choosing despite how it hurts you every time. You think of a place where Bradley is yours and you are his, wholly and completely.

Don’t let him in, you’ll have to kick him out again.

“Didn’t you have a date tonight?” You breathe into his mouth.

Bradley just hums in response, brushing his lips over yours, down your jawline and your throat. His breath comes in warm puffs over your collarbones before he pulls back.

Hands pinned above your head, you squirm under his gaze. There’s something so intense about the way he’s looking at you, but you can’t bring yourself to squeeze your eyes shut to avoid it. Both of you lost your clothes somewhere on your way to the bedroom, and you’re thinking about how to persuade him to be the one to pick it all up when this is inevitably over.

He smells like expensive cologne, and he’s got some product in his hair that made it difficult for you to brush your hands through it earlier. Plus, Phoenix had been dropping unsubtle hints earlier in the week (Hangman had affectionately called her out, a little sigh following— “You’re being such a shit stirrer.”)

“Bradley,” You try again, this time with a slight whine.

Did he seriously ditch some girl that’s probably been waiting on their date all week for this?

He responds by whispering your name back to you, the same tone undercutting the way he says it, “That doesn’t matter, I’m here now.”

The urge to keep complaining rises in you but he preempts your worries by licking into your mouth when you open it.

He presses you into the mattress, weighing you down as he kisses you languidly, as if he’s trying to taste every part of you, as if he’s trying to memorize the sounds that escape you when he does. The warmth of his body makes your mind fog, and for the time being, everything else but this goes quiet.

Distantly, you know that in the morning, he’ll have to leave. At the very least, he’ll have to go back to his to grab his stuff for the beach, a change of clothes. It isn’t kicking him out, but watching him leave again and again has started to build this pit at the bottom of your stomach.

It would be different, you think, if the two of you were together. Because then, him leaving wouldn’t mean much where there would be an implicit promise and understanding that he was going to come back. Every time he closed the door behind him, you swallowed the fear that that would be your final memory of him.

You’re selfish though. And you want to focus on the feeling of his touch instead of thinking about how you may never get to have this again.

He makes it easy. Bradley pulls his shirt off and his dog tags make a gentle clinking sound as they hit each other and then finally come to rest on his chest. He looks like a god, backlit by the setting sun coming through your windows.

This is how you want to remember him. Smiling down at you as he dives back in to kiss you breathless, twitching when you skim your fingertips up his sides because he’s ticklish.

He makes short work of your shirt and sleep shorts, then his jeans are discarded. He stops briefly when his fingers reach the waistband of your underwear, a silent question that you answer by lifting your hips and letting him pull them off you.

Every time he’s between your legs, he has this reverent look on his face, and it makes your chest twist at the fact that this time is no different. He holds your thighs open gently but firmly, and he presses his face into your pussy. Then, his tongue is darting out and licking up your core, flat and wide.

You’d asked him once, if he likes going down on you. With a gleam in his eye, Bradley had said it was second only to being inside of you. You think of that as he eats you out enthusiastically, as you bury your hands in his hair and pull.

He slides his tongue in and out of you, curls it around your clit and sucks in a way that makes your back arch and your thighs clenched around his head. Then, he’s slipping a finger inside and fucking you slowly with it. It makes you shiver as you realize how close you are.

“Sweetheart, fuck, you taste incredible,” He murmurs, more to himself than anything else, pulling back briefly to make eye contact and you feel the way your breath quickens at the intensity of his gaze.

It only takes a few more minutes of him licking into you, tonguing at your clit, and adding another finger before you feel that familiar swooping in your stomach, before you’re choking out his name. Your back arches so much it aches, but it’s all you can do as the pleasure is all consuming. Bradley works you through it like every other time, holding you and letting you take what you need from him.

Then, he’s on you in an instant, kissing you furiously and sliding his hardness up and down you, covering himself in your slick. It’s filthy and sloppy but neither of you seem to mind. He lets himself rut against you til you’re hooking your legs around him and digging one of your heels into his back.

“Alright, alright,” He’s trying to sound nonchalant, but you know he’s more affected than his light tone lets on.

The first push into you is always the most intense, but you suck in a deep breath that you force out through your teeth.

“I know, I know,” He croons, pressing little kisses all over your face as you adjust to him.

Bradley inches into you slowly, inch by inch. The initial stretch subsides til it’s replaced by the sweetest feeling of fullness, the way you can feel all of him.

If there’s one thing the Navy’s good for, it’s the sheer strength Bradley possesses and has to maintain. You feel it in the way he fucks you, his back muscles rippling as you hold on for dear life. You feel it in the way his hips press into yours, shunting you slightly up the mattress.

For a while, the only sounds in the room are his hips meeting yours and the slick between the two of you. Momentarily, he pulls away from kissing you to look down to where he’s disappearing inside of you, that ring of you collecting at the base of his cock. His groan is guttural and broken.

“Fuck, Bradley, it feels so good.”

He leans down again to kiss you sloppily, and the simple action of him burying a hand in your hair and twisting his wrist makes your heart skip a beat. He always knows exactly what you need when you need it.

“C’mon, come for me, sweetheart, let me feel you.”

And because you’ve never been able to deny him anything, there you are, hurtling over the edge again. He’s everywhere around you, inside you, and his tongue in your mouth is the last thing you need to feel that wave crest inside of you. Bradley’s moan is deep as he feels you bare down on him and he follows you shortly after.

The moments after, when the glow is still settling and your mind is still hazy, are your favorite. Your mind is too foggy to focus on the fact that you know he’ll be leaving, but present enough to feel the way he doesn’t stop pressing kisses to your lips. You’re cognizant of how he cleans you up tenderly and presses his fingers into the skin of your thighs and hips just to watch it dimple.

In those precious few minutes, that’s all that exists to you.

Don’t be his friend, you know he’s going to wake up in your bed in the morning. If you’re under him, you’re sure as hell not getting over him.

You’re trying to ignore him, you really are. You start going to the beach an hour earlier than you usually do, hoping that he’s maintaining his schedule. Every tall brunette jogging across the sand sends your heart into overdrive.

You still see Bradley when you go to the Hard Deck for a drink, but you keep a respectable distance between the two of you. If Phoenix mentions a round of pool, you jump at the chance, while asking Bob and Payback if they’d like to be the opposing team. You ignore the way your heart jumps into your throat when you can feel his eyes on you.

Every note of Great Big Balls of Fire feels like a stab in the chest, and you hold back tears of frustration when you see some girl wrap her arms around his neck and rock along with him as he belts out the lyrics. You’re a fool.

You’ve been ignoring his calls about Saturday morning beach runs and the memes he sends during the day go unanswered except for the little reactions iPhones let you send. You suppose it’s only fair that he gets to ignore you a little bit too.

Your little charade doesn’t last long, not truly in the grand scheme of things. Bradley doesn’t put up with you skirting his advances for long–he knows what he wants and he’ll be relentless til he gets it. And right now, he’s trying to corner you.

And you’re weak for him. You should’ve known from the start that you wouldn’t be able to resist him. You can’t even now, even when you’re only getting him in pieces.

It’s not exactly your bravest moment to be hiding slightly behind Phoenix so he can’t see you (if you can’t see him, he can’t see you, right?) while she stares at you with an endlessly amused expression in her eyes. She doesn’t move to expose you, though.

“What’cha doin’?” Her tone is light, but you can tell she means business.

The two of you are friends yes, but she’s known Bradley for a million times longer. There’s some girl-girl solidarity, but if you were in her shoes, you might have a few bones to pick about potentially throwing Bradley to the wolves on this one. You wonder for a moment if he’s been talking to her about all this, but again, is there even anything to talk about?

“Just uh, trying to see where Hangman’s at?” You sound like you’re asking her a question, and she quirks an eyebrow.

She stretches the syllables of her next word out, letting it hang in the air, “Right. Even I don’t look at Hangman with that sort of intensity.”

That’s not entirely true, but you don’t really feel like getting into a competition with Phoenix of all people, over who’s looking at whom how.

“Sweetheart? Can we talk?”

You’d let Phoenix distract you for just a split second, and there he is, in all his glory. Bradley is beautiful, yes, but he looks tired. His sunny’s are hanging haphazardly from a floral button down that looks like it’s maybe seen better days, and he’s got dark circles marring the perfect tone of his tanned skin.

This time, Phoenix just side-steps you and lets Bradley into your space.

His presence is just as affecting there, in the middle of the Hard Deck, as it was the first time you saw him on the beach. Even with how tired he looks, he’s still glowing just slightly in the evening sun.

“Hi, Bradley,” You breathe, not daring to speak louder, as if that would make the moment real.

You can feel Phoenix’s eyes on you, the way that Bob and Payback are starting to let their attention drift to from the game of pool. This, you don’t want anyone else to be witness to. This is something between just the two of you. You don’t really need the whole world to witness your imminent heartbreak.

“I don’t want to do this here, is my place okay?” He looks so nervous, as if you’re going to push him away. It’s funny really, what you know is about to happen, and yet he still looks like this is about to break him entirely.

Nodding, you let him lead you out of the bar. It feels like deja vu, how however many weeks ago you were tracing these exact steps but making your way towards a very different fate.

The two of you are silent in the Bronco, and Bradley doesn’t bother turning the radio up to belt along to the 80s classic on the radio. Everything feels like you’re underwater, like the world is out of focus. You think you might start crying, but you try and swallow it down, be an adult.

Pulling into the driveway, it’s silent in the car when he turns the engine off. Neither of you go to get out, but you know you can’t sit here forever. This had to happen at some point, had to come to a close. That doesn’t make getting out of the car and waiting for Bradley to unlock the door any easier, though.

You toe off your shoes and let him get you a glass of water. Then, you’re standing on opposite sides of his kitchen, the pristine shine of the countertops and appliances making him feel a thousand miles away. You two are usually tumbling in, mouths locked together, or walking in with groceries, prepared to spend a comfortable evening cooking and watching a movie. This is everything coming apart at the seams.

“Bradley,” You start, not really knowing where you’re going, but just wanting to break the silence.

He looks distraught and your stomach drops with guilt.

This is your fault.

He says your name once as he settles back against a countertop, and it hangs in the air between the two of you, til he starts speaking again, “I’ve been trying to figure out where I went wrong, what lines I crossed, and I guess at some point I realized it was all of them. I shouldn't have pushed you, I shouldn’t have–”

“I thought that that was all I could have of you, so I was selfish and I took it.” You say, the words tumbling out of you before you can stop yourself from interrupting him, but still unable to tear your eyes away from him, “But I was hurting you. I still am, and god, Bradley, I’ll make it up to you somehow, I’m so sorry.”

It’s almost funny, really, the way you’ll look back on this moment a year from now and laugh at the way the two of you are talking past each other, unwilling to acknowledge that your deepest desires could be attainable. But for now, all you can feel is the guilt in your veins, your heartbeat pounding your chest.

“What?” He’d looked at the floor for a moment, but when you finish speaking he’s looking at you intently. “What did you say?”

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself and start from the beginning, “I thought that you coming to me, like that, was the only way I could have you. And, and maybe it was me taking advantage because you were sometimes not super sober, but I would never–”

“I was always sober. Every time. I would never do that to you. What do you mean that was the only way you thought you could have me?” Bradley’s standing fully now, not leaning.

“I thought you drank before, to, y’know, make it tolerable.” You regret the words as soon as you say them, “Sorry, that’s–you’re not that kind of person.”

He smiles ruefully, “I’m still focused on the part about that being the only way you could have me.”

Here it is.

“I love you, Bradley. And not just as a friend, but more. But I didn’t want to push that on you, and so I thought–”

“You love me?”

A beat.

“Yes.”

Then, he’s laughing in that hysterical way when people are so overcome, the only way it’ll escape them is if they double over in giggles. But he’s trying to compose himself as quickly as he started.

“I tried to tell you so many times how I felt, I left you all those post-it notes, god, I thought you were seeing them and just didn’t feel the same.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“The hearts. That’s how I,” He heaves a shuddering breath, his voice thick with unshed tears, “That’s how I told my parents I loved them before I could really write. I was saying it to you every time I left.”

“You love me?” You’re crying now, and he squeezes his eyes shut til tears run down his cheeks too.

His laugh is bitter but you know that’s not directed at you, “Was the sticky note covered in hearts not clear enough?”

You feel the way your cheeks warm and your stomach churns as you try and defend yourself, “You were thanking me for letting you sleep over?”

At that, he laughs, genuine this time, breaking the sadness that has been building in the air. Finally, he makes his way across the room to you and crowds into your space, wrapping you in his arms and pressing his forehead to yours. His eyes are closed.

“Sweetheart.” It’s a warning, a plea, and a prayer all in one. “I meant every heart, every I love you, from the very first one I left.”

“I kept them all. In my bedside table.”

Then his lips are on yours. The kiss is salty, reminding you of all the emotion that’s been building for the past few months, every moment you didn’t confess, every moment you assumed the worst, it’s all there. But you don’t want to dwell on that now, now that you’ve heard him say something plucked from your wildest dreams.

“Say it again,” You whisper when his lips leave yours ever so briefly as the two of you are stumbling to the bedroom.

And he does. As he’s undressing you, he says it. He mumbles it against your lips and into your mouth.

He says it against your bare skin as he presses you into his bed, the sheets smelling like him before he puts on cologne. It’s muffled momentarily by the way he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, but you feel the way his jaw works anyways as you cup his face. You let your legs fall open around him and feel the way he slides his fingers into you.

When he’s pressing into you, he’s saying it. I love you, I love you, I love you.

In those moments between start and finish, when the world falls away and all you know is the warmth of his body against yours, the slight slick of sweat on your skin, that’s when you think you realize that he means it. The motion of his hips is deep and insistent, as if to try and leave a permanent reminder that he was there.

You’re crying, you realize. And he’s kissing the tears away like it’s the most natural thing in the world, pressing his forehead to yours as his lips keep forming the words. At some point, you’ve started saying them back to him too, choking them out despite everything so that you know that he knows that you love him.

When you finish, it feels like a supernova exploding inside of you. It starts in the center of your body and pushes its way to your fingertips til you’re gasping for air and he fucks you through it. Bradley cums moments later, filling you with his warmth in a way that’s both familiar and still thrilling.

He rolls gently off you, and you hiss as he slips out. That’ll be a mess to clean up.

But he’s looking at you, brushing your sweaty hair from your face, and his eyes are shining so brightly that it feels like looking at the sun. You want to look away, but you think that losing your vision in return for staring at the way his eyes crinkle in genuine happiness is well worth the price.

I love you, he mouths. And you believe him.

You whisper it back.

tagging: @sebsxphia @roosterbruiser @bradshawburner @gretagerwigsmuse @sometimesanalice @joaquinwhorres @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @bradshawsbitch @seresinsweetie @notroosterbradshaw @genius2050 @peachystenbrough @rhettabbotts @theharddeck @wkndwlff - tagging ppl either by request or whom i feel like are horny for bradley soooo pls let me know if you'd like to be added/removed

#bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #top gun: maverick fanfic #top gun: maverick fanfiction #top gun: maverick #top gun: maverick fic #rooster fanfic #rooster x reader #no use of y/n

455 notes · View notes

underground-secret · 2 months

Text

The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: (Duo POV) After a hunt gone wrong Dean falls sick. Now on his death bed Sam and Y/N do whatever it takes to save him from the void that is death, even if that means running into trouble.

Warnings: Cannon violence, Ansgt, hospitals, talk about dying and death, illness, heart issues, talk of past deaths, grief, Dean may be OOC or at least his inner thoughts but let me know, Historical and religious talk of the Celts and Christianity if anything is incorrect/ inaccurate pls tell me so I may fix it, cursing

A/N: Thank you so much for 100 followers, never thought this series would get so much love!

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44 @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn , @crazyunsexycool

Word Count: 15,139

Faith

(Master list, Prev. Ch, Next Ch)

I hate hospitals.

I hate hospitals, especially when it is someone you care about on the medical bed.

I hate hospitals, especially when you can’t be in the room with the person; when you have to sit in the waiting room with nothing but pure anxiety coursing through your veins, and everyone around you is in the same position.

At least Sam is with him, that must make both of them feel better. But it doesn't make me feel as better as it should, my leg bounces rapidly no distraction working for me. I tried reading and listening to music on my stupid iPod, but neither worked- not when my mind was going a hundred miles a minute on all the worst possibilities.

It wasn't meant to be a difficult hunt, going after a rawhead. Yet it all went wrong far too quickly, Dean yelled for Sam and I to get the children out of the basement while he stayed behind fighting the thing. It would be a single shot with a taser, easy to mess up on, truthfully, which is why I had given mine up for him to have as an extra one before I carried a young boy out. It was all wrong. So so wrong. He shot the thing but they both happened to be standing in a small puddle of water, and water conducts stupid electricity and he got hurt too.

Sam had found him. We called for an ambulance and rushed him to the hospital, he was unconscious the whole time.

Sam had to talk to the receptionist for insurance and then the cops explaining what happened and then a doctor. But they wanted to talk privately and he wanted to see Dean alone first. Which only increased my anxiety, Sam wouldn’t have done that unless something was horribly wrong. Something was horribly wrong. I felt like I was going to vomit or shake myself out of existence, maybe the latter would be better. Everyone around me wasn't much better, looking the same shade of nervousness. Some were crying, pacing, or on the phone talking rapidly. Hospitals were a horribly depressing place.

I’m unsure how much time passes, minutes, hours, an eternity? Sam walks towards me, tears in his eyes some clearly having spilled over by the redness of his cheeks. No. No. No.

I stand up walking to him almost without noticing as if it was all just natural, tears fill my own eyes and I can feel my hands shaking. No. No. He wouldn't be crying if–

“Sam?” I said weakly, my voice wobbling horribly. I swallow down a knot in my throat, this couldn't be happening. No.

He drops his head down, his hair covering his face and likely more tears that spilled over. “Sam,” I say again my voice breaking. I couldn't lose someone else, couldn't lose anyone else. He finally lifts his head, barely being able to hold eye contact. He seems to wobble and all at once he falls into me, I hold him, his head dropping awkwardly into my neck, from the height difference, broken sobs leaving his mouth. He hugs me tightly, grasping desperately to the back of my shirt. Something is horribly wrong. I blink back my tears, I had to be strong for Sammy. This was his brother, I might have lost both my parents but I couldn't imagine how it would feel to lose my brother.

My neck grows damp but I ignore it. I hold the back of his head, holding him, no comforting words forming in my mind. “Sam” I breathe. I felt like I was going insane. He pulls himself away, keeping me in arm's distance. His face is red and blotchy from crying, and his hair is a mess. “Please” I begged one last time, my voice quivering.

He sniffles hard, but I do not expect him to be strong, “He has a month, at best” his voice is coarse and shaky but the words feel like they came out in slow motion. Everything freezes, turning into a buzz of white noise. I can feel tears spill down my cheeks but I can’t move. I can’t. No. He can’t be dying. No. No. He wasn’t allowed to. The world seemed to shatter, no, maybe that was my heart. I can feel it beating in my ears, everything else fading away. His mouth moves, he is saying something else but I cannot hear him over the sterile noise of the world crumbling. I don't understand. My throat is so tight I feel like I might just break right there. My knees feel weak and the floor seems closer than before.

Sam pulls me into him, holding me tightly once again, his hands cradling my head as a choked sob leaves my lips. Tears pour down my eyes, he promised. All those months ago he promised he wouldn’t leave me, it was a stupid and fruitless promise but I believed it.

He couldn’t die. He can’t, he can’t die. No one else. Not again.

All too soon Sam pulls back, his arms being the only thing that seems to be holding me up. I can barely make out his features behind my own teary eyes. “He wanted me to come get you, ‘wouldn’t talk without you there” he croaks. A whole new sob breaks through my lips, I wasn't strong enough for this. I went through this twice, I could not take another. Tear after tear passes down my face, my cheeks stiff with it. I shake my head, this can’t be happening again, but even so, I let him pull me down the halls to his room trying my best to blink away my never-ending tears. But it was useless, not when it felt like I was being torn in two.

I stopped at the threshold of the doorway, he looked so weak, he was so pale and he had dark circles under his eyes that were not there hours before. An IV sticks out of his arm along with various machines around him, including an EKG. New tears fall over the rim of my eyes and I have to force my hand to clasp my mouth to hide another sob. Sam enters the room, his face hard and rid of any of the emotions he showed just moments ago. How could he do that?

Dean’s eyes are focused on the TV, but even from where I was partially hiding I could see his green eyes had grown dull, “Have you ever actually watched daytime TV? It's terrible” he jokes but he sounded weak too, his voice rid of its usual playful tone and familiar gruffness. Sam shakes his head and sighs, his ability to not break down in front of his brother was impressive to the point of it being scary, “I talked to your doctor.” But Dean continues to ignore anything that wasn’t that stupid TV playing commercials, “That fabric softener teddy bear. Oh, I'm gonna hunt that little bitch down” he responds instead. I want to laugh and ask him what the cute laundry bear ever did to him but I could not find it within me to be humorous, “Dean” I plead weakly my voice betraying me with its cracking. That gets his attention.

His eyes snapped up to where I stood, leaning against the doorframe to prevent myself from crumbling to the floor. His face immediately fills with worry, his eyes softening which is ironic considering who’s in the hospital bed. Without looking away from me he turned off the TV, I could tell he was thinking and worrying over something as he stared at me but I could not look at him without new tears falling. “Yeah. All right, well, ‘looks like you're gonna leave town without me” he finally says, my eyes snap back to him but he has already turned his attention to his brother. “What the hell are you talking about?” I step into the room, my sadness mixing too closely with frustration over his stupid declaration. “We are not gonna leave you here” Sam adds in sternly. “Hey, you better take care of that car” he points at Sam, any hint of a joke void from his voice, “Or, I swear, I'll haunt your ass.”

My eyebrows scrunched together, “what's wrong with you?” I accuse, “How are you just accepting this? You are young and have so much life ahead of you” For each word that passed my lips tears followed, my resolve too thin to exist. “You’re meant to grow old, and…and yell at kids to get off your lawn as you work on Baby and maybe other cars with a pet at your side and a lovely home. You’re meant to annoy your brother and me with stupid calls and the same old rock music.” I swallow roughly, ignoring the subtle shock on his face, “It’ll be beautiful and wonderful and we will all be there to watch it happen because you have to live.” My chest heaves, and I’m surprised I have any more tears to give. Life was too cruel before to allow me the opportunity to beg someone to stay as if that feat alone was enough to keep someone alive.

Silence envelopes the room, his eyes are wide and his lips are slightly agape. I don’t believe in God, but I would get on my knees right now and beg and plead and do anything he ever wanted if it meant Dean living. He sighs after what feels like forever, “Look, what can I say, it's a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw. That's it, end of story.” I don’t understand how he could just dwindle his life down to bad luck and a wrong straw. Tears well in my eyes and I have the urge to smack some sense into him. “Don't talk like that, alright? We still have options” Sam insists, his voice breaking slightly. “What options?” Dean asks, “Yeah, burial or cremation?” he pauses for a moment his “joke” not landing, “And I know it's not easy. But I'm gonna die. And you can't stop it.”

It felt like a punch to the gut. How many people will I have to lose until it's enough to feed the glutenous wrath of death? First, it was my mother growing sick and dying, neither my brother nor I was allowed to see her in such a state not even to say goodbye. Then my Dad, who grew reckless in the wake of his only love's death, the coldness about him we had heard about only in stories returning to consume him completely until he drove himself into the ground. I always thought I was most like my mother, but now in the wake of this maybe I am my father's daughter.

I wipe away my tears roughly before clenching my hands, needing my nails to dig into my palms to ground me. “Let me try and heal you,” I say as firmly as my voice will allow. I've never done such a thing on a serious scale, it never got to the point where I felt desperate enough to toe the line of my own morals. But this, for him I would and I would not stay awake at night contemplating my selfishness.

Dean’s POV

Her face was red from crying, and her e/c eyes were filled with deep sadness. She looked shattered, and even so, she was beautiful.

I know I wasn’t being fair to her or Sam. But I always knew I’d die on a hunt, I long accepted it so her big glossy eyes would do nothing to change that fact. Even if it broke her, both of them, which I knew I was already doing. But I also know that sugar-coated truths would only hurt them more, I wasn’t going to allow them to get hopeful not when it would ruin them.

“Please?” she pleads quietly. My resolve breaks, my heart lurches as if it was trying to get closer to her and I didn’t think it had anything to do with the heart attack.

This was for the better, if they saw nothing would work early on they’d hopefully accept my death quicker. Plus I knew she’d stay up every night wondering what more she could have done for me, she’d obsess over it until it broke her all over again. I give her a sharp nod not trusting my voice, her eyes seem to light up a little, and that enough was all the excuse I needed.

She steps closer to my bed, careful not to trip over the wires connecting to me. She got close enough where I could smell her perfume, something sweet and flowery, and undeniably her, I felt warmer just from her closeness. She swallows roughly, “It works better if I can touch you…without the barrier of clothes.” Under any other circumstance I would most likely be flustered by her shy request, I mean this is what I’ve always wanted– to have her. But time was not on my side and I’d never get a chance to tell her, whenever it was I planned on doing so– to do so now with only a week to live would be too cruel. If she didn't like me back I’d die at least knowing and maybe I’d die with a broken heart or whatever crap people complain about. But if she did like me, which Sam insists she does, then a week wouldn't be long enough.

I lift the scratchy hospital shirt, hoping neither saw how much energy the simple action took. She looked nervous as she stared at my bare chest but I could see the hard look of determination in her eyes, she needed this. Carefully she places her hands on the center of my chest, her hands freezing as I suspected they would be but I don't cower from her gentle touch I lean into it further. I bask in it, small sparks igniting where she touched and it had nothing to do with her abilities. She looks up at me, watching my face for any warnings as her own e/c eyes turn to purple and pure warmth extends from her palm seeping into my skin. Maybe I should have been scared, but she was looking at me so gently and she's so beautiful that she must be an angel, and I'm only half the man she deserves.

I suck in a deep breath, clarity hitting me like an arrow, the grogginess and pain I felt melting into a puddle and being replaced with her. It felt like she was cradling my heart, caressing it gently like she would my face, her kindness and love seeping into the vessel, and truthfully I don't ever want it back. She could have my heart. She could have every part of me, and I'd never ask for it back. It's hers. I'm hers. My mouth fell agape, her hair fell onto her face, and I could feel it in my bones. I could feel the tension leave my shoulders and it was like everything I'd been carrying was lifted away. I don't care if she was healing me or not, I want her hands on me, I want to feel her. Just her. She was the sun and I was a fool begging to be closer, even if it burned, even if it was impossible.

Her hands begin to shake violently, but she pushes on, she holds on to me. Her fingers look like they want to curl and dig into my skin and it's clear she's fighting against the instinct, she doesn't want to hurt me not that I would mind any marks she printed into my skin. She lets her head hang, closing her eyes, “Oh fuck” she whines quietly and I have to desperately keep my mind clean. ‘Not the time to have those thoughts or acknowledge how hot that was. I lift a hand pushing her hair out of her face and behind her ear, keeping my hand there to hold her. Again I have to force away any ideas of what noises I could get her to make in a similar position. She looks up at me from her lashes as she bites down on her bottom lip hard, and I wonder how much longer I can keep my mind clean.

Suddenly deep crimson drips down her upper lip, and she begins to shake more. “Wait, wait Y/N” I breathe, looking from her over to Sam with concern. He pulls her off of me, she looks drained and paler than I know I am. She wipes at her nose, the blood has seemingly stopped, but she still shakes and wobbles. Sam pushes her down onto a nearby seat and I pull down my shirt, “How do you feel?” he asks me. “Peachy” I respond, smirking. He rolls his eyes, “I’m being serious. Did it work?”

“I feel better, not as weak” I answer truthfully. She nodded her head, her voice quieter than moments before, “Call for a nurse we should see if anything physically changed.”

“What about you? What was all that?” I ask. She shrugs, “‘Never really done it on a scale like this before, but it takes a lot out of you.”

Your POV

The doctor finally comes back, sifting through the papers on his clipboard, he looks shocked and confused which I hope is for the better because being lightheaded and on the verge of passing out would be worth it. “‘Looks like there has been some improvement, which would explain why you feel better,” he says, the room growing quiet with hope, “The difference is slight but well enough to know it wasn't a fluke” he looks up, “But I’d say it wasn't enough to change the outcome, I’m sorry.” Somehow the second time was worse. Hope was worse. “Thank you, Doctor” Sam replies sadly, and with a nod, the doctor leaves but does not take our sorrow with him.

“I can keep trying. Eventually, it will add up, and the more I do it the longer I’d be able to go” I offer, desperation clear on my tongue that it's almost embarrassing. “We can keep trying that but we should look at other options too” Sam adds. I nod my head vigorously in agreement. “You shouldn't get your hopes up, I’ve already accepted I’m gonna die you should too” Dean responds instead.

“Not happenin’” Sam retorts.

After we used up all our visiting hours we headed to the library, skipping out on eating to research for hours on both supernatural and not– just anything related to heart conditions and healing. I didn't ask why Sam didn't stay with his brother, he was family so he didn't have to follow visitation hours but I also figured he would rather spend his time trying to find a solution. Currently, Sam went the more “normal” route, pulling and printing articles on heart surgeries and other doctor stuff while calling several people. At the same time, I delved into the dark that is the unnatural.

Sam left a while ago, heading back to the motel with all his articles. I insisted on staying behind to “look for more,” in reality, I was going to make a call. The library closed in less than an hour and I already researched several Gods associated with healing, the side of my hand had turned dark with the ink stains. Though it was unsuccessful it was helpful for two reasons; one I at least looked, meaning it was one more thing I could check off, and two it pushed me to make a call I wasn't sure I was ready for.

What I needed was to be home, to look through many books on mythology and witchcraft, there I would find something but that was halfway across the country and each day that passed would be a day wasted. And teleporting books here wouldn't be helpful when there were so many of them and I wasn't sure where I would even begin.

I stare at my phone on the table, this shouldn't be a big deal. I call her all the time, well not as of late which I already got yelled at for. No, none of that mattered. She could lecture me a hundred times or resent me for months. I needed to help Dean. I swiftly pick up my phone, scrolling down to her contact, I don't hesitate to hit “call”, I’ve already hesitated too many times today.

The phone rings three times before she picks up, “Adeline” I start my voice already cracking with emotion. I can almost hear her jump to her feet, “Y/N?! What happened? Where are you? Are you safe? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I did not think I had any more tears left but was proven wrong when another tear slipped down my cheek, “Dean he’s…” I couldn’t say it, couldn't make it more real than it already was. I swallow roughly, trying to cram down my emotions for the time being, I’ve cried enough today, “Dean he’s dying, and I don't know–” a strangled sob leaves my lips and I have to force myself together resting my head on my hand for support, “I don't know what to do” I finished weakly. I hear her suck in a deep breath and it only makes me feel worse, “I-I want help…I need help,” I add, “I tried healing him, the doctor said the effect was minor but I’m gonna keep doing it, even if it takes a lot out of me.”

She exhales, “I’m really sorry Y/N”. I shake my head even though I know she can't see me. I ignored her comment, there was nothing to be sorry for because he was going to be alright, “Do you have any ideas? Maybe I’m doing something wrong or could be doing it better?”

She goes quiet again and it is hard to hold on to hope, “please,” I say quietly hoping she can hear me. She clears her throat, her voice cold and serious, “I’d try some herbal tea, one with healing properties any one of it will help or at least make him more comfortable.” I hum picking up my pen again, writing ‘herbal tea’ on my arm, I didn’t want to risk forgetting.

She sighs again, but it isn’t disappointed or even exhausted, “Don’t…don’t get your hopes up.” I shake my head vigorously again, “I’m not listening to this. I called for help cause you’re the only person I can think of who would know even a wisp of this. I’m desperate for help, not a lecture.” I know I was being cruel, ‘could hear it. She wasn’t trying to hurt me. “No, Y/N please listen. This isn’t an easy task, honestly, I’d like to say it’s impossible but I don’t want you to hang up on me. This doesn't come without great sacrifice.”

“And what if I’m okay with that?” I snap back, “I’m willing to sacrifice.”

“This is different,” she spits a hint of anger on her tongue, “I don’t mean just going against everything you believe in or against your mother's words. I mean making deals with demons, where you could lose your soul or your life or what makes you whole or maybe even worse.” I go quiet. I know she’s right, she always is. But I know my answer, I know what I’m willing to do, “I said I’m willing to make sacrifices.”

“Are you?” she counters. And without hesitation, I answer, “I love him.” I could tell she was getting frustrated with me, for not listening to her warning or taking her seriously even though I was. Of course, I know this is dark and messy territory, but that did not concern me. I can hear her swallow, her voice turning hard again, “What you would need to do would be more than love him.”

“Would it?” I counter.

“Yes,” she replies sternly, “And I won’t help you with that.” It was hard to be mad at her, she was just watching out for me trying to protect me. That was her job after all. But I wanted so desperately for him to be okay, he had to be. “Whether you help me or not, I will do everything in my power to fix this. He won't die.”

“I know you will. That’s what scares me.”

My eyebrows furrow, “I don’t understand.”

“I hope you never will,” she huffs out a breath, “I don’t want you to regret anything.” I couldn't vocalize it, did not even know how to make her understand what I felt–that even if I lost him now if I never saw him again. If I sat on his grave weeping for the man I loved with new flowers in my hand each day and each year. If I never got to hold his hand again. If I never got to see him smile again– that cocky smile. Even if I never got to tell him that I loved him…even then, I would never regret knowing him. Never regret the first time we met and never, never regret loving him. But I don’t say that, instead settling for, “I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

She turns serious once more, determined even, “You won’t. I’m on my way to your place now, I’ll go through your books, and I’ll call you back the second I find something.” She may not agree with my decisions all the time, and might even be upset that we don’t talk as much anymore but at the end of the day we’re best friends–more than that really, “Thank you, Adeline.”

“Of course, now don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” she laughs lightly, “I love you, talk to you later.” I smile for the first time in hours, “I love you too, be safe.”

I let myself into the motel room. Sam doesn’t look up from his place on the bed, papers surround him, some in the garbage which I assume were ones that won't work out. I make my way to the small table in the corner of the room, avoiding looking at where Dean slept the night before. I take out my spellbook, my small journal, and my laptop. My eyes were killing me, most likely from crying so much before.

The next few days would follow a similar pattern, Sam would fall asleep but never for very long before getting coffee and a quick bite to eat before continuing his search. And I spent the nights awake, sleep could not find me at the edge of the void. At some point crumbled pieces of paper surrounded me and I felt like a college student again, I didn't want to do anything but look for an answer. Adeline called once that first night, but it didn't wind up leading anywhere.

The second morning I prepared tea for Dean, arriving at the hospital with the steaming cup and food that wasn't from the hospital. He looked happy to see me and complained about how bored he was there. He looked horrible, and it hurt my chest to see him like that so I just nodded to what he said. He drank the tea with nearly no complaint but instead curiosity, I explained I had boiled Sun water, before making homemade ginger tea adding cinnamon sticks, chamomile, and honey for taste. He asked me to explain to him why I chose each one, though I wasn't sure he truly cared and just wanted to hear me speak since he was relentless with his questions. I healed him again and laid with him when he asked. Then the rest of the while we talked as I did research.

Somehow being there, and watching him worsen was worse than not being there at all. I think I understand now why we weren't allowed to be there when my mom died. I would have rathered someone just stabbed me in the heart over and over then see his eyes grow duller. I healed him again before I was kicked out.

I felt hopeless. I wasn't going to give up but I felt hopeless. It was like I wasn't myself but watching myself go through the motions.

The second night wasn't much better. I slept for a couple of hours only to wake up crying. I didn't try to sleep after that. I prayed to God that night. I hadn't done that in years. I hadn't begged him for mercy since my mother died. I think I was on my knees for hours, the harsh carpet digging into my skin, but that didn’t matter. I barely felt it after a while. I apologized for not praying in years, for only praying when it benefited me which I knew was selfish. I asked for help, and begged for it. I needed him to help Dean. I said I’d do anything he wanted if he did that, even if it meant becoming a nun. I felt incredibly embarrassed begging like that, I didn't even believe in God yet there I was my hands pressed together and the carpet beneath my knees. I cried again that night, for everyone I've lost and how far I would go to save another.

Adeline was wrong, I decided. Sacrifice didn't come with the solution, it came with the search for the answer. Like I said, I didn't feel like myself. I knew I was losing myself each hour that passed and I knew it would only get worse if he did die.

On the third morning, I did the same thing I did the morning before. But after healing him for the first time that morning, I broke in front of him. “I don't want you to go,” I told him, sobbing. He just held me against him even though I knew it hurt him, but he just stroked my head anyway mumbling “I know, I know” into my hair. I could hear his voice breaking with each letter; somehow, that was worse than seeing him act as if he didn't care. Then very quietly he whispered, “I don't know how to comfort someone when I know I’m the source of their pain.”

They did more tests on him. He wasn't getting better, at least not fast enough. It seemed my healing was just halting its progress momentarily, in a sense slowing it down before it continued. I needed to stay on him longer but I wasn’t sure how and ‘could barely make it past 20 minutes before I began to shake so badly and feel so faint like my chest was being pulled open with the sharp nails of cold hands.

I went back to the motel dragging my feet. It had been three days and we had nothing to show for it but failed attempts which I suppose is better than no attempts though it didn’t much feel that way. When I got there I returned to my corner at the table, moving away my mess of “work” with a swipe of my arm. I crumble into the wooden chair, laying my forehead on the edge of the table, I didn’t know what to do. I’d keep looking no matter what, that would not change. I would search through every book on every myth, god, folklore, anything. I’d do whatever it took, I just hoped time would not beat us to the finish line.

With a huff, I pulled my latest book from the library closer to me, a book on Greek Gods. I pick up where I left off in the thick book on the God of healing and medicine Asclepius. I read the passage about him, and it seemed promising, “He was considered a symbol of medical knowledge, skill, and wisdom. Known for his ability to heal the sick and revive the dead, Asclepius played an essential role in Greek religious and medical traditions…He was known for his exceptional skill in diagnosing diseases and treating wounds. His abilities were so profound that he could even bring the dead back to life, a talent that eventually led to his downfall…The Asclepieia, healing temples dedicated to the god, were spread throughout Greece and were renowned centers of medical practice. Pilgrims would travel great distances to seek healing, engaging in purification rituals, sacrifices, and dream incubation, where they would sleep in the temple and receive divine guidance through dreams.”

The rest of the chapter contains no more info on the healing aspect but just more of his legacy and whatnot. I close the book sharply, pulling open my laptop to do more research on him. Maybe a temple still existed, and considering Pilgrims there might even be one in America somewhere. Just as I type the temple name into Google a knock sounds from the door.

For a moment I think Sam forgot his keys, but when I turned to where he always was he was there. He looks at me confused and I shrug my shoulders, “Maybe it’s room service?” He answers by going to the door and opening it curiously. I watch from my seat, tilting my chair back to get a better look. But it is not room service, or someone knocking at the wrong door, it’s Dean. I almost fall backward, my chair slams forward back on all four legs I shoot up from my seat.

He leans on the doorframe, holding his side. He still has dark circles under his eyes and just looks sickly which is only accentuated by the black zip-up he wore, which was odd for him he never really wore sweaters. “What the hell are you doing here?” Sam exclaims his voice a mix of surprise and confusion. Dean limps his way just a little bit further into the room, leaning on a dresser next to the door, “I checked myself out,” he responds placing all his weight on the thing. I didn't even know a sick patient could check themselves out like that. “What, are you crazy?” Sam exclaims.

Dean shrugs, “Well, I’m not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren’t even hot.” He turns his head to wink at me and gives me that devilish smile. My jaw dropped, baffled wasn't even the word to explain it. This had to be the most Dean Winchester thing Dean could have ever done, I could not fathom it. I wanted to call him an idiot but I was too shocked to give any response. Sam huffs a laugh as he shuts the door, “You know, this whole I-laugh-in-the-face-of-danger-thing? It’s crap. I can see right through it, we both can.”

Dean moves himself further into the room leaning on anything he could, “Yeah, whatever, dude. Have either of you even slept? You look worse than me.” Sam helps him to the bed, sitting him down, “We’ve been scouring the Internet for the last three days.”

I sit back in my chair, scooting it so I can face them both, “I don't know how either of our laptops survived this. Late at night, I think I can hear it cry.”

Dean purses his lips, “Lack of sleep has made you crazy.” It was my turn to huff a laugh, and for that fraction of a second everything felt normal. But that moment of normalcy breaks as Sam adds, “I’ve also called every contact in Dad’s journal.” I was brought right back to the present, back to the reason we were doing all of this to begin with. “For what?” Dean asks.

“For a way to help you,” Sam explains, “One of Dad’s friends, Joshua, he called me back. Told me about a guy in Nebraska. A specialist.”

“Wait, why didn't you tell me sooner?” I ask.

“He called back when you were with Dean,” he answers, “I was going to tell you when you came back but didn't get the chance before he decided to break out.” I hum an ‘oh’ in response. “You’re not gonna let me die in peace, are you?” Dean chimes in, hunched over.

“I’m not gonna let you die, period. We’re going” Sam says, end of discussion.

The Impala bumps along the gravel road, I was beyond happy we finally arrived. The sky was cloudy and grey with a thin layer of mist clinging to everything, it reflected the past couple of days and the ride quite perfectly. Dean rested in the back seat the entire time, his face scrunched in discomfort, we stopped a couple of times so I could jump back there and heal him for a short while.

The car comes to a full stop among others in a large green field, a large white circus tent stealing the show. A sign nearby reads The Church of Roy LeGrange. Faith Healer. Witness The Miracle. I was skeptical, but like Sam said our options were low. I wasn’t religious and certainly hated when things like this existed, giving people false hope and feeding them lies, when they could be looking at real options and getting real help but I guess I was being a hypocrite considering how I spent my time kneeling to a God I didn't believe in. Many people walked towards it, all sick, some with canes, walkers, breathing devices, etc. I get out of the car slowly, eyeing the scene carefully. We’re all just desperate people, hoping a tent in the middle of nowhere will save our loved ones.

Sam gets out of the car, rounding the vehicle to help his brother get out of the car. Dean grimaces as he tries to lift himself, “I got ya” Sam tells him trying to grab him but Dean shoves him away, “I got it” he spits. He fixes himself, pissed off, but uses the car to hold himself up leaning on it, “Man, you are a lying bastard. ‘Thought you said we were going to see a doctor.”

“I believe I said a specialist” Sam corrects. I squint my eyes at him, “You’re not slick. But…” I say stretching out the word, “We should try, at the very least.”

“And this guy is supposed to be the real deal” Sam adds, nodding. Dean scuffs, rolling his eyes, “I can’t believe you brought me here to see some guy who heals people out of a tent.”

An old woman walks by holding a big black umbrella, “Reverend LeGrange is a great man” she declares. “Yeah, that’s nice” Dean sarcastically remarks. I hold back on batting his arm as I would normally, “Be nice” I mumble instead.

We walk away from the old lady and the car heading toward the tent, walking past an angry man who is struggling against an officers hold, “I have a right to protest. This man is a fraud. And he’s milking all these people of their hard-earned money.” I suck in a sharp breath, mumbling an “Amen, brother” underneath my breath. But the Sheriff seems to ignore the man's declaration, holding him back while trying to lead him away, “Sir, this is a place of worship. Let’s go. Move it.” The man huffs, walking away with the Sheriff. “I take it he’s not part of the flock” Dean remarks.

Sam purses his lips, half shrugging, “When people see something they can’t explain, there’s controversy.”

Dean stops short, getting our attention and making us stop too, “I mean, come on, Sam, a faith healer? And what about you Y/N you don’t believe in this crap.”

I hold up my hands in surrender, “You're right. I don’t. And I think making a whole religion out of it that smells more like a cult than anything, it’s ridiculous. But there’s a good chance this is legit,” I drop my hands back at my side, “He’s probably using magic like I was doing with you, it's just that he's, hopefully, more successful.” He pressed his lips together tightly, I got him there. “See, maybe it’s time to have a little faith, Dean,” Sam adds.

“You know what I’ve got faith in?” Dean exclaims, “Reality. And this won’t work. I mean do you really think this guy is a dude-witch.”

I purse my lips, “I’m pretty sure the term would be a wizard, but, uh, I don't know. I’d have to see it in action to know for certain along with anything around him while he works, rituals and stuff.” I pause for a moment, thinking it over, “I do hope he’s real and not an elaborate con artist, and I hope he’s better than me at the whole healing thing.” I was being blatantly honest. I hoped it would encourage Dean to not fight this version of help, and I truly did wish this guy could help. “And if you know evil’s out there, how can you not believe good’s out there, too?” Sam chimes in, a hint of annoyance on his tongue. A muscle in Dean’s jaw twitches, “Because I’ve seen what evil does to good people.”

Dean’s POV

I snapped in a moment of weakness and said too much. “Dean” she sighs, placing a gentle hand on my upper arm, stepping closer to me almost subconsciously. I didn’t want a lecture full of sappy nonsense and corny poetry. She must have known that because she smiled sadly, her lip curving up on one side, my eyes following the movement, “Good does exist, it has to,” she says simply ever the optimist. She tilts her head slightly, looking up at me through her curled eyelashes, her hand still on my arm, my knees feel weak. “I'm sure you can think of at least one good person. Of course, the terms good and evil are subjective…” she cuts her cute rambling off, “but you get what I mean.”

I guess she was right. Sammy’s a good person sometimes a total asshole but I guess that came with the territory of being brothers. And Y/N’s the definition of being a good person, she’s always been kind even to people who didn't deserve it, including me. I remember a couple of times I was cruel to her when we were kids, always about her being a witch, yet for some reason she accepted my apology and even wanted to keep being friends. For a long time, I didn’t understand her, ‘how she could be sweet and smile at a world filled with darkness. Sometimes I think I still don't get her. “Please just give it a try,” she pleads, “And if it doesn't work or turns out to be a con you can make fun of us the whole way back.”

I studied her again, she looked drained and I knew she hadn't been sleeping all because of me. “Fine” I huff. She bites back a smile and suddenly complying with this stupid faith healer was worth it.

“And who knows, maybe God works in mysterious ways” an unfamiliar voice butts in. I didn't care to look who it was, solely focused on the girl who still had her hand on me; a smile on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes, one I hadn't seen in three days. “Maybe he does” I respond, half heartily, I look up briefly catching the eyes of an attractive blonde holding a black umbrella. I averted my eyes back to my girl, but she was already looking away at the woman who interrupted us, her hand slipped down my arm.

“Uh, hi. I’m Y/N” she introduces herself, holding out the hand that was touching me only moments ago. She accepts her hand, “Layla. And these two?” Layla says looking past her. “Sam,” he introduces himself before motioning to me, “Dean.” I give her a tightlipped smile in response.

She smiles at me, “So, if you’re not a believer, then why are you here?” She was attractive, you’d have to be blind not to see it but my interest is elsewhere. I can't fool myself into thinking that'll work out. Hell, I'm probably gonna end up dead. And yeah, it's harsh, but I can't shake the feeling that I'd rather spend what time I've got with Y/N, not waste it chasing after other girls just to fill the gap she left without even knowing it. I’m self-aware enough to know that. “Well, apparently my brother here believes enough for the both of us” I muse. An older woman with blondish-gray hair walks over, putting an arm around the girl, “Come on, Layla. It’s about to start.” Both women smile at us before walking away.

“Well, you heard the woman,” Y/N starts, “We should get you inside.” Sam nods leading the way.

Your POV

The tent is packed, full of people trying to find seats, it smells of hope and despair if that’s possible. “Yeah, peace, love, and trust all over,” Dean remarks, nodding over to a camera in the corner. Did churches have cameras? “I guess it makes sense,” I try to reason, “‘probably get more people like that dude outside protesting, maybe even getting violent.”

Dean slips away sitting down on one of the foldable chairs. “Hey no,” I point at him, “You are not gonna be all brooding and hide in the back.” His shoulders slump, “Let’s sit here.”

“No” I answer simply, eyebrows scrunched. He opens his mouth in a retort but his brother steps in, putting an arm around him and practically dragging him from the seat and towards the front, “Oh, come, on, Sam” Dean growls. Mistaking his anger for pain Sam halts in his movements, “You alright?”

“This is ridiculous” Dean bites, slapping his brother’s hands away, “I’m good, dude, get off of me.” I roll my eyes at their behavior, even in public, and even with one of them being severely sick they could still act childish and make a scene. I look around the closer rows, looking for seats, “Look at that” I smile turning back to the boys, “seats” I point to three empty seats not only close to the front but right behind Layla, the girl from before. She seemed nice, maybe a little strange in randomly joining the conversation but it wasn’t a big deal. “Perfect” Sam agrees, lightly shoving his brother in that direction. “Yeah, perfect” Dean remarks, sarcasm clear in his voice.

“Take the aisle,” Sam tells his brother before moving into the row of seats, I move in after him taking the seat between them. Dean grumbles something, his face having ‘irritable’ all over it, but he sits quietly, arms crossed.

An old man with white hair and sunglasses steps onto the stage with the help of an older woman with brown hair tied back. He must be the famous Roy LeGrange, “Each morning, my wife, Sue Ann, reads me the news. Never seems good, does it?” he says with a classic southern accent, the crowd muttering agreements, “Seems like there's always someone committing some immoral, unspeakable act.”

“He could say that aga–'' I began to mumble. “Huh” I hum to myself, my eyes catching on a particular religious item, why would there be a Celtic cross? I mean the cross represented the blending of the Celts and Christians but there are many separations between the two from believing in multiple gods to human sacrifice–

“But, I say to you, God is watching,” he preaches, and if I wasn't so focused on that wooden cross I might have rolled my eyes forgetting my manners, especially when the crowd responded with “Yes he is.” It sounded very cultish, the hair on my arms standing up. Maybe it wasn’t that weird for there to be a Celtic cross, but I just couldn’t shake the feeling. I racked my brain for information on it, and I just couldn’t see it used in Christian churches anymore. Though of course, I could be wrong, it's not like I go to church every day or even once a week. But again it felt a little too weird to just brush off–

“God rewards the good, and He punishes the corrupt” Roy continued getting loud cheering and more murmuring. I look at the people around me strangely, I forget how powerful religion is…

Speaking of which, that damn Celtic cross again. Alright, think. The Celtic cross represents life and death, creating dynamic tension, the vertical arm represents the life aspect while the horizontal arm signifies death, the circle acting as a portal to transformation. In simpler terms, the cross and circle represent opposing forces; life and death, yet they harmonize with the Celtic cross, emphasizing unity and balance, they coexist. But what does that mean here? Okay, well he’s supposedly healing people which would be the life aspect and the death could represent the healing cheating death? No, that sounded like a stretch. Maybe this was all a stretch and the cross meant nothing. I’m just overreacting because I'm scared of what will become of this if this man was a con or whatever else. Yeah, that makes more sense—

“It is the Lord who does the healing here, friends. The Lord who guides me in choosing who to heal by helping me see into people's hearts,” Roy proclaimed.

“Yeah,” Dean whispers just loud enough for Sam and me to hear, “and into their wallets.” But it wasn’t quiet enough, “You think so, young man?” Oh, that was weird. The crowd falls dead silent, “Sorry” Dean apologizes. “No, no. Don’t be.” Roy shakes his head, “Just watch what you say around a blind man, we’ve got real sharp ears.” The crowd laughs but an unpleasant feeling worms itself into my stomach. It was innocent enough but something felt off and I don't think it has anything to do with Dean being scrutinized. “What’s your name, son?” Roy asks. He clears his throat, sitting straighter in his seat, “Dean.”

“Dean” Roy repeats nodding to himself, “I want…I want you to come up here with me.” My eyes widened, maybe God finally listened. “No, it’s okay” he shakes his head. “What are you doing?!” Sam whisper-yells, but his brother ignores him.

“You’ve come here to be healed, haven’t cha?” Roy inquires.

“Well, yeah, but, uh…maybe you should just pick someone else” Dean attempts to reason. And I hate the way he doesn't believe he is worthy of saving. The crowd claps loudly, “Oh, no. I didn’t pick you, Dean, the Lord did.” Had we been here for any other reason I might have been more disturbed by that proclamation, but this was a chance. The crowd roars in excitement, voices mixed in encouragement. Dean looks overwhelmed, I place a hand on his knee gaining his attention quickly, “Dean, this is good, go” I whisper to him even though I was unsure of this whole thing and that odd cross. He studies me for half a moment, something I couldn't recognize passing over his features before he reluctantly raises, my hand slipping from his leg.

The woman from before helps Dean to the stage, situating him next to the healer, “You ready?” he asks Dean. “Look, no disrespect, but, uh, I’m not exactly a believer,” Dean says, looking between the crowd and the old man. But Roy just smiles, “You will be, son. You will be,” he turns to the crowd arms raised, “Pray with me, friends.” Again, almost like a cult, the crowd joins hands as Roy moves his hands to place on Dean; one on his shoulder and the other to the side of his head. I hold my breath, I want this to work so badly, I hadn't even begun to think of a plan B if this didn't.

Suddenly Dean’s eyes glaze over, it was never like that when I healed him, and then he seems to wobble sinking to his knees. I gasped, I didn't think it would be so intense or that my heart would beat so fast. A deep chill runs up my spine seeping into my bones, my skin prickles with goosebumps, the Celtic cross comes into view again and I suddenly feel sick, a horrible feeling tangling itself in between my stomach. I don't know where to look the cross or Dean, my eyes flipping between the two rapidly all until Dean's eyes roll back and he crumbles down onto the stage floor. Sam manages to jump over me, using his long legs to his advantage he gets to the stage in seconds grabbing the front of Dean's hoodie. I catch up quickly, glad we were close to the stage, I kneel in front of Dean his head lulling back. The loud noise of the crowd cheering becomes nothing but background noise, as I check his pulse my fingers against the side of his neck the steady but fast beating of his heart thumping below my touch.

With a sudden gasp his eyes shoot open, eyes wide and mouth agape.

I tap my foot impatiently on the clean floors of the hospital, thankful that right after testing I was allowed to be in the room. Dean looked better, he moved normally and his color was back, but we all agreed we should check officially. Now we were waiting and although the room sparked with anxiety, the dark looming cloud had cleared up a lot, and once we knew for sure it would most likely be gone. I just wished the doctor would come quicker. “So, you really feel okay?” Sam asks for the hundredth time since Dean woke from being healed yesterday. Dean stares at him blankly, “I feel fine, Sam” he grumbles.

Finally, the Doctor walks in, reading from the charts on his clipboard, “Well, according to all your tests there's nothing wrong with your heart. No sign there ever was. Not that a man your age should be having heart trouble, but, still strange things happen.” The cloud fades away, and I don’t hold back my beaming smile. “What do you mean, strange?” Dean asks, his face serious rather than elated. “Well, just yesterday, a young guy like you, twenty-seven, athletic. Out of nowhere, heart attack,” the doctor shares. Dean nods, giving the man a handshake, “Thanks, Doc.” The man leaves, closing the door behind him. “That’s odd,” Dean points out, referring to what the doctor said.

“Maybe it's a coincidence,” Sam shrugs, “People's hearts give out all the time, man.” I looked at him taken aback, what was he talking about, “Dude, what world are you living in?” He gives me a pointed look, annoyed with not only my response but also my not agreeing with him, “Do we really have to look this one in the mouth? Why can't we just be thankful that the guy saved your life, Dean, and move on?”

“Because I can't shake this feeling, that's why” Dean bites back. I sigh, wishing we could just avoid this all, “Me neither.” Dean gives me a strange look, “You neither?”

“Yeah,” I nod, “I just, I don’t know, when we sat down I recognized something which automatically made me suspicious. Then you know the whole thing was happening and, well, maybe it was just nerves but it got really cold and I felt sort of sick. Which really doesn't make sense, but I just had this weird feeling, I don’t know.”

“I felt cold too,” Dean answers, face scrunched, “When I was healed, I just...I felt wrong, ‘cold. And for a second...I saw someone. This, uh, this old man. And I'm telling you, it was a spirit.” Maybe it wasn’t nerves and I wasn’t crazy. Sam huffs, clearly trying to ignore the red flags here, “But if there was something there, Dean, I think I would've seen it, too. I mean, I've been seeing an awful lot of things lately.”

“Alright, but he literally saw something and I felt something.” I reason, “You can’t deny two people saying something’s up, and whatever it was there’s probably a reason why you couldn’t see it.”

“You’re just gonna need a little faith on this one, Sam” Dean muses, using his own words against him. Sam sighs, finally giving in, “Yeah, alright. So, what do you wanna do?”

Dean steps into the leader role again, as if nothing had happened, “I want you to go check out the heart attack guy. Y/N, we’re gonna visit the reverend.”

I sit next to Dean on the nice leather couch, Roy sitting across from us. He and his wife had been very understanding and didn’t question our want to speak to him about yesterday, I figure he got this a lot. “I feel great,” Dean answers the reverend, “Just trying to, you know, make sense of what happened.”

“A miracle is what happened,” Sue Ann, Roy’s wife and the woman from before answered, “Well, miracles come so often around Roy.” I gave her a half-hearted smile and nod, maybe it was just me but that response came off a little weird. I was getting a bad vibe from her, “So, um, when did these miracles start?” I ask Roy. Any desire to possibly learn from him had been subdued, caution taking its place. “Woke up one morning, stone blind. Doctors figured out I had cancer. Told me I had maybe a month. So, uh, we prayed for a miracle. I was weak, but I told Sue Ann, 'You just keep right on praying.'” He smiled sweetly at his wife before continuing, “I went into a coma. Doctors said I wouldn't wake up, but I did. And the cancer was gone.” He takes off his black sunglasses, his eyes pure white, “If it wasn't for these eyes, no one would believe I'd ever had it.” He puts the glasses back on, it was a touching story and his eyes added a horrifying touch but it just left more questions.

He seemed genuine, and I don’t think he would lie about being in a coma. When you’re sick like that, and experience something like that, you don’t create lies about your experience, not when it was traumatic like that. And staying on that belief, there was no way he suddenly just stopped having cancer and was able to heal people. He couldn’t have been responsible for whatever caused his initial health change. Which would then mean someone else was involved. “So then, you could just…heal people?” I ask.

“I discovered it afterward, yes,” he nods, "God's blessed me in many ways.” It didn’t add up. I couldn’t get it to add up in my head. Besides the whole no more sickness ideal, how could he just suddenly heal someone? I mean, how do you even discover you can? Was it an accident? Did the hypothetical person who might have caused him to get better tell him too? Or, tell him to try? Whereas for me I knew it was something I was capable of in general as a witch, but I also had many spell books, history books, journals, and everything to learn from. And if my mother had lived longer she would have been able to teach me it too.

“And his flock just swelled overnight,” Sue Ann added, her eyes full of endearment, “And this is just the beginning.” I study her for a moment, balancing on the thin line of suspicion and paranoia. There was nothing inherently wrong about her or what she said, and maybe it was my mind making up the fact that her last words were just a little aggressive.

“Can I ask you one last question?” Dean asks, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts. “Of course you can,” Roy responded sincerely. He really does seem like a nice guy, genuine, and it could be my inherent lack of sleep that’s making me connect dots that might not even be there. “Why? Why me? Out of all the sick people, why save me?” My heart broke. Of course he didn’t feel adequate, especially when he tried convincing us for the last four days he wasn't worth saving, that we should give up and let him die. I place a careful hand on his knee, I don’t want to scare him away or clam up again, he never was very open. “Well, like I said before, the Lord guides me,” Roy answers, “I looked into your heart, and you just stood out from all the rest.”

Dean wets his lips, my eyes flickering up to the movement, he leans forward slightly, “What did you see in my heart?” I move my gaze away catching on Sue Ann’s innocent movement of picking up her glass of water, but as she leans over her necklace escapes from its place beneath her shirt. A small wooden Celtic Cross held by a thin silver chain, she catches my eyes, covering the cross with her hand and giving me an innocent smile. She assumes I would think it's just any ol’ cross, she does run religious ceremonies so such a simple totem shouldn’t mean anything else. Maybe there were dots to connect after all, and it was on full display ready to be fastened. I focused my attention back on the conversation, I left my bag in the car so I’d have to wait, and in the meanwhile, I did not wish for her to get suspicious of me either.

Roy smiles softly, “A young man with an important purpose. A job to do. And it isn't finished.” I feel Dean tense beneath my hand, his face full of shock. Whether Roy did see something or not, it might have been the thing Dean needed to hear regardless.

I wanted to run back to the car and look through my spell book and journal, but Sue Ann was seeing us out and if I had easily become suspicious of her then it was possible she would grow suspicious of what I knew too. I could almost feel her gaze burning into the back of my head, but I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on Dean's warm hand on the small of my back leading me down the short wooden stairs of their porch. But I had not expected to see Layla and the woman she was with before, I think her mother. “Dean, Y/N, hey,” she greets. “Hey,” Dean responds just as we reach ground level, his hand pressing further into my back before curling around my waist, his hand lying on my side before he pushes me closer against him. I don’t know why he was being so touchy, not that I was exactly complaining. I welcomed it and the warmth it brought.

“How ‘you feeling?” She asks him, tilting her head slightly, her face beaming in sincerity. “I feel good. Cured, I guess. What are you doing here?” he responds.

“You know, my mom, she wanted to talk to the reverend.” Layla nods toward the door prompting Sue Ann to step fully onto the porch rather than standing halfway between the screen door. “Layla?” she asks, probably not having seen her from where she stood. “Yes, I'm here again,” Layla answers softly.

“Well, I'm sorry, but Roy is resting. He won't be seeing anyone else right now.” Sue Ann informed, nodding sympathetically. Every word she said just made me want to turn around and head to the car, I was itching for it. I wondered if Dean could feel it from where he was touching me or just sensed it, giving me a questioning look with a raised eyebrow. But I couldn’t exactly say anything right now so I ignored his look.

“Sue Ann, please,” Layla’s mom pleads, “This is our sixth time, he's got to see us.”

“Roy is well aware of Layla's situation,” Sue Ann declares harshly, “And he very much wants to help just as soon as the Lord allows. Have faith, Mrs. Rourke.” And with that, she goes back inside. I might not know exactly what’s going on but her continuous frustrated comments regarding the healing and her perhaps overly religious nature were enough to make me antsy. We should really go to the car, call Sam to see what he found, or even just head to the hotel. Layla’s mom turns sharply to Dean, glaring at him she spits, “Why are you still even here? You got what you wanted.”

“Mom. Stop” Layla insists, looking at us nervously.

“No, Layla, this is too much” her mom fumed, “We've been to every single service. If Roy would stop choosing these strangers over you. Strangers who don't even believe. I just can't pray any harder.” I do feel bad for her, but it's not like we had control over any of this so she shouldn't be mad at us let alone Dean who was quite literally on his deathbed and might not have made it to the end of the week. I open my mouth to say exactly that, but Dean cuts me off before I get a chance, “Layla, what’s wrong?” he asks.

She looks everywhere but him, “I have this thing…”

“It's a brain tumor,” her mother cuts in bluntly, “It's inoperable. In six months, the doctors say…” Layla cuts her mom off putting a hand on her shoulder. Maybe it was good Dean didn’t let me say what I wanted to, it would’ve been too cruel to do that to someone who was going to lose her daughter. It seemed like we were surrounded by death, more now than ever and I hadn’t thought that could be possible. I didn’t like death, or sickness though I suppose who does. “I'm sorry” Dean says, and I just nod in agreement not trusting my own voice. “It's okay” Layla responds softly. Her mother shakes her head slowly, “No. It isn't,” her sharp gaze is back on Dean, “Why do you deserve to live more than my daughter?” Then she storms away, Layla hesitantly following. I know that woman was just upset and projecting her anger but it was not fair. Grief isn’t fair.

I look at Dean, his jaw clenched tightly, a slight furrow of his brow, his eyes a little far away in thought. I recognized that look. “Don’t listen to her” I declare, slipping from his hold to look at him straight on, “Death is not kind and it is not just, but you deserve to live. You deserve to live just as much as Layla or anyone else does. I know that look and I know you're thinking poorly of yourself, which I hate that you do so ‘cause you’re amazing and brave and kind and you care so much for others regardless of your gruff attitude.” His eyes are wide and written with shock but I continue, “So don’t think for one second that you don’t deserve to live.” I didn’t realize my chest was heaving, or that a lump had formed in my throat. I’ve watched too many people die, I’ve been down the rabbit hole of grief. I knew it well, it became a second skin. And I've watched someone run themselves into the ground because they didn’t feel like they deserved to live, or at least not when the love of their life was dead. I watched the evolution of that grief while dealing with my own and my brother’s. Death was not kind.

His jaw was slack with surprise and I know I said too much, I gave him a sharp awkward nod before turning around and heading for the car. I have something to look into.

Dean throws his keys on the bed the second we enter, the soft jingle of the metal ringing through the quiet room. I unzipped my sweatshirt, making my way towards Sam who sat at the small table to the side of the room. I take a seat next to him, putting my sweater behind me, “So what’d you find?” He seems hesitant to answer, his adam's apple bobbing, “Um, I’m sorry Dean” he says weakly looking up at his brother.

Dean takes his jacket off putting it on top of mine, his face written in confusion, “Sorry about what?” he asks, leaning on the back of my chair, his knuckles just barely brushing my back. Sam huffs out a breath, “Marshall Hall died at 4:17.” My eyes widened, I shouldn’t be surprised it was just another dot to be connected to whatever was going on with the damn cross. “The exact time I was healed” Dean adds solemnly, voicing what we were all thinking.

“Yeah. So, I put together a list of everyone Roy's healed, six people over the past year, and I cross-checked them with the local obits,” Sam explains, “Every time someone was healed, someone else died. And each time, the victim died of the same symptom LeGrange was healing at the time.”

“Oh frick” I mumble, apparently nothing is allowed to be easy for us. And I wasn’t exactly expecting that to be what we’re dealing with. “Someone's healed of cancer, someone else dies of cancer?” Dean asks for confirmation, even though it’s clear that’s what’s going on. “Somehow. LeGrange…” Sam sighs, “he's trading a life for another.”

Dean stands up straight backing away from the table, from Sam, “Wait, wait, wait. So, Marshall Hall died to save me?” Sam shakes his head, “Dean, the guy probably would've died anyway. And someone else would've been healed.”

“You never should've brought me here.” Dean declares, running a hand down his face.

“Dean, I was just trying to save your life.” Sam reasons.

“But, Sam, some guy is dead now because of me.”

“I didn't know,” Sam answers quietly.

I stand up abruptly, “Hey, there’s nothing we can do about that now. What’s done is done.” This all got very complicated very quickly, maybe Adeline was right you can’t save someone from death without making difficult decisions and sacrifices. “But what we can do is stop this from happening again, before it gets worse” I add and I know I don’t sound so convincing. You don’t get to choose who lives and who dies, and we had crossed that line whether intentionally or not, just wanting to save Dean from death was already putting a foot past that line. “That’s the thing I don't understand, how is Roy doing it? How's he trading a life for a life?” Sam questions. “Oh, he’s not doing it,” Dean answers, “Something else is doing it for him.”

“Do you mean the thing with Sue Ann?” I ask with a tilt of my head, maybe he had picked up on it too. “What?” his face contorts in confusion, “No? What are you talking about?”

“Oh” I say, now I'm confused, “Wait. What are you talking about?”

“What are both of you talking about?!” Sam exclaims looking between us. Dean sighs, pinching the space between his brows, “The old man I saw on stage” he explains, “I didn’t want to believe it, but deep down I knew.” He pauses and I begin to wonder if it’s for dramatic affect. I motion my hand for him to continue and he does, “There’s only one thing that can give and take life like that. We’re dealing with a Reaper.”

“Pardon?” I say, my mouth agape. “Yeah,” Sam agrees, face just as shocked as I am, “You really think it's THE Grim Reaper? Like, angel of death, collect your soul, the whole deal?”

“No no no, not THE reaper, A reaper.” Dean clarifies, taking the seat I once occupied, “There's reaper law in pretty much every culture on earth, it goes by 100 different names, it's possible that there's more than one of them.” My mouth still hangs open, it can never be something normal with us, ever. “But you said you saw a dude in a suit,” Sam voiced.

“What, you think he shoulda been working the whole black robe thing?” Dean countered, “You said it yourself that the clock stopped right? Reapers stop time. And you can only see 'em when they're coming at you which is why I could see it and you guys couldn't.”

“Oh my god,” I say, the realization finally hitting me, “That’s where it comes in!” Both boys stare at me confused, “Where what comes in?” Sam asks.

“Okay, remember I said I recognized something and thought it was a little strange,” I paused waiting for them to nod before continuing, “It was a Celtic Cross, which was all I could focus on the entire time ‘cause like what is it doing there. And then I started thinking of what it symbolizes, here’s the interesting part” I point out, “So basically, the Celtic cross represents life and death, creating dynamic tension. The cross and circle represent opposing forces; life and death, yet they harmonize with the cross, emphasizing unity and balance, they coexist. Which now makes total sense with the whole Reaper thing.”

“Sorry sweetheart, I’m not following here” Dean admits. I huff a laugh, “Right. Let me get to the point. So, as far as I know someone has to control the Reaper to, you know, dictate who lives and dies and to do that you need a spell. And I’ve seen it before…” I head over to my bag that I had just plopped down right next to the door when we walked in, I pull out my spell book holding it up, “This book has been in my family for generations. Now as you know my mother and her family didn’t see eye to eye, so when it eventually became my mothers and she ran away she changed a lot of stuff in here, crossing things out etc.” I open the book, flicking through the pages, “Basically there’s some pretty dark stuff in here, straight up black magic, some stuff even ancient,” finally I find the page, “Aha!” I turn the book around pointing at the page, “As you can see by the frowny face in the corner my mother did not appreciate this spell. Anyways, this is a binding spell for a Reaper where you create a black alter with bones and human blood etc, you get the point. You can then control it with a Celtic Cross, and before I saw Sue Ann with the necklace.”

“So you think Sue Ann is using dark magic to control a Reaper and kill people to save people because you saw a necklace?” Sam asks. I close the book, “Yeah, and it makes sense she was desperate when her husband was sick. I don’t know how I didn’t think of this sooner.” I knew this page existed, I've seen it in passing multiple times, especially some time since Dean was in the hospital. I guess I did listen to Adeline’s warning because even though I was ready to go far to save him I had kept away from pages like this. “Yeah but Roy's alive, so why is she still using the spell?” Dean points out. I shrug, “Money? She’s psycho? I don’t know, maybe there’s a connection with the victims.”

“How would we break it?” Sam voices.

“We gotta get that cross from her, the one around her neck” I answer, “And let me just add, that Reaper is gonna be pissed, I mean the second it gains back its control…” I don’t need to say it out loud for them to get what I mean.

The Impala bounces down the badly graveled and potholed road, passing a sign that says Service Today. Hopefully we will be just in time. Dean brings the car to a stop and wordlessly we exit, “How do we get Sue Ann alone?” Sam asks. I nervously tap the side of my legs as we approach the tent, some guy handing out leaflets stops us, “Roy LeGrange is a fraud. He's no healer.” Dean accepts the paper, “Amen brother” he nods. “You keep up the good work” Sam points at the man and he looks taken aback, he probably didn’t get many if any people that agreed. “Thank you,” he says, surprised.

Focusing back on the task at hand I open my mouth about to say something about not knowing where she goes when she does the spell when I spot her near the side of the tent, “I see her” I say already moving in that direction, “Find her spell book and keep Roy distracted too in case this does not work.” I don’t wait to hear a response before I’m running off to catch up with the woman playing God, “Sue Ann!” I call as I approach. She turns, her eyes wide, the necklace peeking out from her blouse, “Hi Y/N, what are you doing back here?” she asks sweetly.

“Oh well you guys are doing such amazing stuff here, wanted to say thank you one last time before we had to head off” I answered hoping my lie was believable. “Don’t thank us, you just thank the Lord” She says pointing to the night sky. I nod, I had to keep her talking long enough to figure out how to get the necklace off, “I have to admit I always had a hard time believing in the man upstairs, but you and Roy really turned me around.”

“Oh I’m glad, it’s never too late to welcome Him into your heart,” she smiles, “Now if you’ll excuse me I must get going, the sermon is starting.” Uh oh, do I just rip it off of her? No, she’s already turning around, “One last thing!” I call out getting her attention again. This time when she turns around she looks annoyed, “Uh, um…”come on Y/N come up with a lie or something, “I saw your necklace earlier today, I think you caught me staring,” I laugh, “I was just…I was wondering where you got it from I’ve never seen something like that before.” She clasps her necklace, “It’s just an old thing, I don’t remember where I got it from.”

“Could I maybe take a closer look at it? Maybe I can find a replica, you know, for my new found belief.” I was practically begging her to just let this be easy, maybe I should ask Dean to give me a lesson on finessing cause this is not working. She clasps it tighter, “I’m sorry, maybe later I really have to help with the sermon now.”

“Right, right sorry” she begins to turn around again but I call out again, “I know you said to thank the Lord and I have and will, it’s just” that gets her attention, “I feel like you and Roy are also responsible and like I said I came to thank you again…I know it’s maybe unprofessional or what not, but, could I just give you a hug? You’ve really done so much for us.” God I was bad at this. Her face softens a fraction, hey maybe I wasn’t bad at this, “Of course.” She holds out her arms and I move closer to allow myself to be embraced, I wrap my arms near her neck hoping she couldn’t feel the tension in my body. “Thank you” I say softly, all the while sneaking my hand to the clasp of her necklace.

She pulls away abruptly, once more grasping her necklace, “What is wrong with you!” she exclaims. I back up, hands up in defense, “After everything we’ve done to help you, healing your boy” she glares at me with wide eyes, “I never expected this from you Y/N.” I stare at her blankly, do I jump her? “You get out of here, before I call over those officers. Looks like your boy is already in trouble too. Disappointing, both of you.”

I look over my shoulder, Dean’s being pushed away by two cops and there’s a large crowd surrounding the tent including Roy. Maybe they evacuated. I turn back to Sue Ann but she’s already pushing past me, heading to the crowd. Oh no. Layla walks up to him next and she seems to be upset with him. How much did I miss? I rush towards Dean, Layla walking away, “What did you do?” I whisper yell. “You said to distract Roy!” he argues.

“I didn’t mean to get in trouble with the police!”

“‘Don’t matter, did you get it?” Dean asks with a quirked eyebrow. “No,” I grumble, “She caught me in my attempt and started lecturing me, I was thinking of just jumping her before she pointed out your run in with the police.”

“You were gonna jump the woman?!” He exclaims.

“I didn’t know what to do!!” I hissed, “And it’s not like I did it!” I let out a frustrated sigh, crossing my arms across my chest, “We need a new plan, where’s Sammy?”

“‘Think he’s waiting by the car, ‘hope he’s got somethin’ Roy’s gonna do a private healing session with Layla tonight.”

“Great,” I mumble, “I really should have jumped her.”

I sit criss cross applesauce on the hard motel bed. For a hunt that I knew so much about I had royally blown it. She was right there. The necklace right there. “Please tell me you found something helpful in their home” I pleaded.

“I found the spell book, written by a priest who went dark side,” Sam answers, holding up the small book, “And she isn’t just killing random people. She’s forcing the Reaper to kill people she finds immoral, from some teacher who was openly gay to a woman who advocated for abortion rights.” The room fell quiet for a moment, there were more layers to this than we thought. “May God save us from half the people who think they're doing God's work” Dean muses.

“No seriously that’s messed up,” I add, shaking my head. “Yeah,” Sam nods, “I think you should hold onto this book Y/N.” He hands it over and I hold it cautiously in my hand, “How nice.” I’ll probably spend the next couple of days reading it over before ultimately sending it home, I did not need a spell book on dark magic with me, didn't even need to own it but rather me than get in the wrong hands.

“We should head back soon” Dean says, “Layla could be there any minute”

The Impala rolls over the graveled road for the second and hopefully final time today, this time with total darkness cloaking us no lights on. We roll to a stop, “That's Layla's car. She's already here,” Sam points out.

Dean nods slowly, “Yeah.” He was upset, “Dean…” Sam began. But Dean ignores him, looking out the window instead, “You know if Roy woulda picked Layla instead of me she'd be here right now. And if she's not healed tonight she's gonna die in a coupla’ months.” I should’ve known my dramatic speech from before wouldn’t magically resolve him of his guilt, no one has that power. “What's happening to her is horrible,” Sam reasons, “But what are you gonna do? Let somebody else die to save her? You said it yourself Dean, you can't play God.”

Dean goes quiet for a beat before getting out of the car, Sam and I following. We approach the tent, peeking inside to see Roy speaking to a small group of people including Layla and her mom, “Gather round, please everyone, gather round. Come in closer, come on up.”

“Where's Sue Ann?” Dean whispers. I tried to crane my neck to look around the tent, maybe she was off to the side somewhere… “House,” Sam answers simply.

We creep up to the small house, weary of making too much noise we couldn’t afford to get caught, “You guys go find Sue Ann, I'll catch up,” Dean orders. I look at him confused, “Wait, what are you gonna—“ But Dean’s already backing away from us yelling, “Hey!” to two figures in the distance. “You gonna put that fear of God in me?” he yells out, of course he would be taunting the police. The officers drop what looks to be coffee cups before running after him, Dean taking off at full speed. Only he would do something so stupid. “Uh, anyways” I begin, “If she’s doing it at her house she’s probably by the altar, and considering the size and necessities of the thing and the fact her husband doesn't know it would have to be in an attic or basement.”

“I’ll offer you one better” Sam nods off to the side of the building, “a cellar.” He was right, that would be better. And on top of that definite light emerges from the metal doors. Sam leads the way opening up the heavy doors and propping it open as he makes his way down first. I follow suit immediately being hit with the sight that is the altar, a small table adorned with candle operas filled by tall burning candles, parts of dead animals, bones and blood sprawled out meticulously across the red table cloth. And right in the middle was a black and white surveillance photo of Dean before he was healed, the photo smeared in blood.

“I gave him life and I can take it back too” A familiar voice suddenly says. Sue Ann. I turn around hastily being met with cold eyes, behind me I hear a large crash and I don’t have to look to know Sam had flipped over the table. Her eyes flip to the scene and I use the initial shock to rush her, but she was already close to the stairs so it did not take her long to sweep up them slamming the cellar doors behind her. Something clicks and shifts, she must have locked us in here. Sam joins me at my side, pushing and fighting against the barred doors. “Can't you see? The Lord chose me to reward the just and punish the wicked,” she reasons, “And Dean is wicked and he deserves to die just as Layla deserves to live. It is God's will.”

Oh, so that twisted psycho thinks that’s how it is. Well she messed with the wrong witch. “You're gonna wanna back up” I tell Sam. I press my palms to the cold metal of the doors, I’m pissed now. No one gets to use magic, let alone dark magic, on either of my boys. The doors begin to rattle harshly, almost as if there’s an earthquake, “Goodbye Sam, Y/N” she says. I put more force on the door, my entire being focused on it until it burst open bits of chipped paint and screws flying away, a satisfying break of the wood she used to block us ringing in my ears as broken bits of the wood come crashing back down.

Sue Ann stands but a couple feet away, her eyes wide as she watches me exit the cellar with shock and fear. She backs up further and I follow after her like a predator trapping its prey. “I-I read about things like you” she says weakly, her voice shaking. She keeps backing up, “You’re a—You’re a—“ her back hits the wall of a nearby trailer house. “Witch” I finished for her, yanking off that necklace once and for all.

I throw it off to the side, far away, and back up from her. My job was done and the Reaper would come knocking for its own revenge. “My God, what have you done?,” she heaves, pressing a hand to where her necklace used to be. “He’s not your God” Sam says cooly. Her head snaps to something in the distance, her face falls growing pale she must be seeing the Reaper. Then all at once she takes off running, not making it very far before she falls to her knees, her body convulsing once, twice, before falling to the ground. “I think we have just aided in her murder” I muse.

“Yeah…” Sam nods, “We should probably…” This time I nod, not saying anything as we walk away from the crime heading back in the direction of the Impala. We intercept Dean on the way, meeting at the car. I give him a small thumbs up to say we did it this time and he nods solemnly. “You okay?” Sam asks him.

“Hell of a week” he answers.

I glanced up from my phone for the fifth time in the last minute. I was trying to text Adeline to update her on everything but kept getting distracted by Dean's blank face as he stared off at nothing while sitting in bed. I made eye contact with Sam, giving him a sad smile, we were thinking the same thing. He turns to his brother, watching him for a moment before speaking, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Dean replies gruffly. Sam looks back at me again and I give him an encouraging nod, “What is it?” he asks again this time more gently.

“We did the right thing here didn't we?” Dean asks, finally breaking. It was difficult to answer him, on one hand we stopped someone from playing God and killing people who they found immoral in which none of the victims were bad people, it wasn’t like they were criminals but to her they were still wicked (god forbid someone has a different opinion than you). But on the other hand it was saving people, except to pay one life for another wasn’t exactly gracious work. Yet, we were doing the same thing, trying to play God and cheat death. I had even admitted to being willing to make great scarface’s to do so, in that aspect I wasn’t so different from Sue Ann in the very beginning.

“Of course we did,” Sam answers, and he really does sound sure. Dean sighs, hanging his head, “It doesn't feel like it.” Suddenly there’s a knock at the door and the parallel from only earlier in the week is not lost on me, “I got it” Sam volunteers getting up from his seat to open the door, “Hey Layla. Come on in.”

Huh.

“Hey” she waves awkwardly. Dean quickly rises from his place on the bed, “How did you know we were here?”

“Sam...called. He said you...wanted to say goodbye?”

Dean glances at Sam and I join in on the glaring, he really needs to start telling me things sooner. But he just smiles sheepishly, “I'm gonna...grab a soda.”

I stand abruptly from my chair, Dean should have his time with Layla. Maybe he won’t feel as guilty, “I’m gonna join you” I declare, “A soda sounds great!” I follow Sam out the door, closing it behind me.

#supernatural #fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #john winchester #slow burn #dean winchester x witch reader #the hunter and the witch update #witch reader #the hunter and the witch #angst #light angst #celtic #supernaturalwiki #supernatural faith

60 notes · View notes

newwwwusername · 1 year

Text

Heartbreak High (Netflix Reboot) - Ant/Spider - Mental Health Awareness Month Prompt 8 : Antisocial Personality Disorder

Prompt : Write a fic in which a character has Antisocial Personality Disorder (canon or not canon). THE CHARACTER CANNOT BE A SERIAL KILLER OR OTHER TYPE OF CRIMINAL! This is a negative connection with the disorder which is not what we're trying to do here. Headcanon : Spider has ASPD Author's note : The author does not have ASPD. I have very low empathy Autism so I understand the lack of empathy to an extent, but I know that doesn't equate to actually having the disorder. I hope this does not come across as insensitive or inaccurate- Please let me know if there is something off here because I always strive to educate myself. With that said, I hope this is passable <3

Spencer had been avoiding Anthony, and Anthony didn't know why. They'd been as close as ever just the previous week. What had happened?

It wasn't out of the ordinary for Spencer to do stuff like this, to be clear. He did this often with new people when he was still getting a read on them, manipulating the situation, testing them before he got close enough for them to realize what was so different about his brain. But Anthony wasn't a new person. They'd known each other for years... Why was this happening?

thebigant : spider pls stop ignoring me bro

There were about a million texts like that. It was a wall of blue message bubbles on Anthony's end and white on Spencer's. He knew that Spencer was ignoring him too, because all of the messages were marked as read.

Spencer stood a few feet from his bed, just staring blankly at his phone, which was open on his bed. He saw the typing bubble show up again and groaned in annoyance because this whole thing was so frustrating.

Anthony was always such a weird case for him because he didn't view him with the same apathy that he viewed everyone and everything else in the world. He actually cared about Anthony, to an extent, and recently that care had traveled to something a bit more serious and he didn't know how to deal with it because he never thought he'd have to.

He'd accepted long ago that he wasn't a people person. Why did Anthony make him feel this way?

A full week passed without them speaking when, eventually, Spencer figured he should break the silence.

whitespider : hi

thebigant : dude wtf y were u ignorng me for like a week hello??

thebigant : *ignoring

whitespider : idk

thebigant : i call bullshit

thebigant : is this like an aspd thing?

thebigant : u know its ok but u gotta like communicate bro i cant just be confused and wonderng y ur ignoring me for days on end

whitespider : right sorry whatever

thebigant : so y'd u vanish?

whitespider : ...

thebigant : SPIDER

whitespider : i think i like you

whitespider : like genuinely

whitespider : and not just in the friend way

...

thebigant : shit

Do not repost on other sites! If you want to participate in this month's challenge, there are 15 mental illness prompts that you can find here

#mental health awareness month #antisocial personality disorder #aspd #please read the author's note #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic challenge #heartbreak high #spider has aspd #spider x ant #texting fic

18 notes · View notes

cloudy-minded-idiot · 3 years

Text

closing time

pairing: Natasha Romanoff x female reader (kinda?)

warning: mentions of blood, a probably very inaccurate description of a wound being treated (lemme know if I should add anything else)

word count: around 3,000

a/n: wrote this before bed last night and edited it this morning. feedback would be appreciated, just pls don’t be too hard on me, since it’s the first fic i’m posting on here. i have a vague idea for a second part if anyone’s interested.

summary: a wounded stranger stumbles into your life one night, and you find yourself helping her out despite your better instincts.

next part

It was a slow night for a change. The last customer had left half an hour ago. An elderly man who had only bought two packs of cigarettes and some strawberry mint gum to go along with it. He was a regular, came in at least once a week, always bought the same thing. The kind of customer you enjoyed after a long day: quiet and quick to leave.

You were all set to lock up for the day. All you could do now was wait for your shift to actually be over. A difficult thing for someone who was inherently impatient and had nothing to distract herself with. Your phone had died halfway through the day, and you had finished your book sometime around lunch. Any other night, you would at least have your co-worker or your boss to chat with, but Mr. Douglas had left early today. Something about his in-laws coming to visit. You hadn't question it.

A glance at the clock. Ten more minutes. With a sigh, you closed your eyes, just listening to the ticking sound. For a while, you counted along. It was calming. Almost enough to lull you to sleep. Not that that took a lot, you were pretty tired after all. You had long lost track of the seconds gone by when, in between the rhythmical tik-tok, a shrill bell chimed. The one above the entrance you knew all too well.

You had to suppress an annoyed sigh. Last-minute customers.

Whatever complaint you had on your mind was quickly replaced by utter shock when you opened your eyes. In, through the drugstore-door, staggered a woman with fiery red hair, covered head to toe in dirt. Bruises lined her face, and she kept one hand pressed to her abdomen in a futile attempt to stop blood from seeping out of a wound. Little droplets fell to the floor despite her efforts, marking her path to the counter.

"Holy shit!" you breathed out, eyes probably wide as saucers. You continued dumbly, "I think you need to see a doctor."

An understatement, to be sure. If her sickly pale complexion was anything to go by, she was sure to keel over sooner rather than later.

The redhead shook her head determinedly, a pain-stricken look on her face.

"No doctor. No hospital. Just need some medical supplies," her remark was accompanied by her slamming crumpled dollar bills on the counter.

"O-kay," you said slowly, leaving the counter and taking her by the elbow, "I'll get you your supplies, but you seriously need to sit down."

You opened the door to the break room, guiding her to a chair that she more or less collapsed onto. She winced in pain, and you stayed a moment to make sure she was all set before hurrying back out. In a frenzy, you jogged along the shelves, mentally trying to create a list of supplies she could need. Rubbing alcohol, a first aid kit, scissors, tweezers. You also grabbed some painkillers and a bottle of water on your way back.

Dumping all the supplies on the round wooden lunch table, you watched her nervously as she started to cut off parts of her shirt to get better access to the wound. Almost instinctively, you grabbed the trash can holding it out for her to dump the blood-soaked fabric into.

"Water," she croaked out in between painful gasps, "Need to…rinse the wound."

Mutely, you nodded. Rummaging through the cabinet of the small old-fashioned kitchen counter until you found a big bowl and filled it up. Dipping a towel into the lukewarm water, you knelt in front of the woman.

"Let me do it. You need to save your strength."

She looked like she wanted to object, but, in the end, she gave you a curt nod. There was a lot of blood. You did your best not to irritate the wound too much. By the time you were finished, the water itself was a deep crimson. She had closed her eyes, sweat covering her brow. She grabbed you by the sleeve of your shirt when you tried to stand up, holding you in place.

"Now with alcohol," she told you. Your eyes flickered to the bottle on the table.

You hesitate. Swallowing the lump in your throat.

"Are you sure?"

"Do it," the redhead commanded, eyes still closed. She let go of your arm then, returning hers to the armrest of the chair. Her fingers left behind bloody prints.

You obeyed her order, wincing along with her in sympathy as you pressed the alcohol-drenched cloth to her wound. You could only imagine how much it must sting. Her grip on the armrests tightened until her knuckles turned white. When you were done, she inspected the wound, eyes narrowed to see in the dim light of the fluorescent lamps. A long silence stretched between you two. She looked up, meeting your gaze for the first time. Her eyes were a mix of greens with little specks of grey thrown in. Under different circumstances, you might have admired them a little longer. They were quite beautiful.

"Can you sew?"

You nod slowly, sensing where she was going with this and not liking it one bit.

It took a while to find sewing supplies. Taking deep breaths, you willed your hands to stop shaking and followed her murmured instructions. Put on latex gloves, sterilize the needle and thread. She sounded very calm as she explained how to make the first stitch, didn't even flinch when the needle pricked her skin. It helped calm you down a little.

By the time you cut off the excess thread, you found yourself unable to recall doing any of the other stitches. The rush of the moment made the procedure seem to pass faster than it probably did in reality. She eyed your handiwork for a moment before giving a small nod of approval, a faint, exhausted smile tugging at her lips.

“Not bad for a rookie.”

“Thanks,” you breathed out, already preoccupied with sifting through the first aid kit.

Wrapping the wound was much more your forte. The redhead leaned back in the chair once you finished, washing some painkillers down with a big gulp from the water bottle. With the adrenaline wearing down, you felt as exhausted as she looked. Leaning back against the table leg, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your body relaxing as your apprehension lessened little by little.

You took a couple of moments to mentally catch up to what just happened, processing the sheer craziness of it all. Your brain was brimming with questions. Who was she? Who hurt her? Why didn’t she get professional help? They were on the tip of your tongue. But the woman passed out before you had the chance to ask her anything.

With tremulous hands, you cleaned the store for the second time that evening, wiping up blood from the floor, the chair, and the table. You discarded the rags with the rest of the used supplies. All the while, you checked on her multiple times, unable to shake the fear she might die right then and there. She looked unnaturally pale, but her pulse continued to drum rhythmically, her chest kept rising and falling with every breath she took.

What now? Should you call the cops? The hospital? She seemed pretty set on not getting any authorities involved. Perhaps with good reason?

You resolved to find out tomorrow, hoping you would not grow to regret it. Slinging one of her arms over your shoulder, you lifted her up and carried her bridal style, mindful of her injury. She wasn't too heavy, but you still were glad you had had the foresight to park your car nearby. After making sure she was safely strapped into the passenger seat, you went back and finally closed up the shop.

________________________________________________________________

The next morning, you were woken up by some clattering sounds coming from your living room. With a groan, you forced yourself out of your bed and stumbled through the door into the next room. The redhead was walking around in the dim light, rummaging through your drawers and dropping things left and right. You watched, for a moment, too perplexed to say anything as you rubbed your eyes tiredly.

“Shouldn’t you be resting or something?” you ask, voice rough from sleep. It was still way too early to be awake. You had thought the pain killers would help her sleep for a couple of hours more. Looks like you were wrong.

“Later,” she muttered just loud enough for you to hear. Crouching down, she opened the bottom drawer of the tv cabinet and pulled out some DVDs you had stored there, only pausing to look at the title of one of them with a smirk.

“Is this not a kids' movie?”

You had no idea what she was looking at, but you crossed your arms, feeling a bit offended anyway. Blame your lack of sleep for making you a little sensitive.

“Do you make it a habit to judge the movie taste of people who were gracious enough to let you stay in their home overnight?”

The woman didn’t answer verbally, just put the movie back and closed the drawer again. She turned to face you, her expression turning serious all of a sudden as if only now remembering where she was and how she got here in the first place. She looked apprehensive, taking a couple of steps in your direction.

“Does anyone else know I’m here?” her voice conveyed a sense of urgency, eyes staring into yours imploringly. Confused, you just shook your head.

Her shoulders relaxed a little.

“Good,” she nodded, her attention already returning to her little scavenger hunt.

The redhead walked across the room, sifting through your kitchen cabinet next.

You sighed, picking up a couple of things she had knocked over in the living room and putting them back in their proper place. Every few seconds, you would glance at her from afar. She was still wearing the outfit she had on when she came into the drugstore. With her unconscious, you hadn’t seen any way of getting her into some new clothes, at least not without possibly irritating her wound or waking her up. She could surely use something clean to wear. Her current attire was dirtied and bloody, not to mention that her shirt now looked like a makeshift crop top since she had cut off parts of it last night.

“You know, if you just told me what you’re looking for you wouldn’t have to make such a mess of my apartment,” you winced as one of your spice shakers fell out of the cupboard and landed on the stove just as you finished speaking. Luckily, nothing broke.

The woman paused mid-motion, still on her tiptoes, body halfway turned towards you.

“A radio. An old one preferably.”

Frowning, you picked up and folded the blanket she had discarded on the floor in front of your couch.

“What for?”

The redhead eyed you for a moment, hesitant and unsure whether you could be trusted. In the end, she kept quiet, ruling against explaining herself. You reluctantly accepted her decision, tossing the folded blanket back on the couch cushion in resignation.

“I should have an old radio alarm clock somewhere in my wardrobe. Will that do?”

It took you a couple of minutes to find the old thing, hidden away in the very back of your closet, underneath some clothes you hadn’t worn in forever. When you returned to the living room, your visitor was leaning against the kitchen isle, nibbling on one of your pop tarts which she abandoned as soon as she saw you. Eagerly she took the alarm clock off your hands, acknowledging you with a grateful nod. The redhead sat down on the couch, plugging the device into the closest outlet.

You more or less kept an eye on her while you made yourself some coffee, but you had no idea what she was doing. To you, it looked like she was just fiddling with the controls, only static and a couple of high-pitched sounds filling the living room. It was grating on your nerves, but you made no comment. By the time she finished and turned the radio off again, you were already on your second cup.

“Are you expecting any visitors in the next couple of days?” she asked casually, sidling up next to you in the kitchen.

You raised an eyebrow, placing your empty cup in the sink.

“No. Why?”

“I need a place to lay low until Tuesday.”

“Lay low?” you parroted, “What for? Who are you hiding from?”

Subconsciously, she glanced down at her bandaged wound, and you followed her gaze, slow realization coming over you.

“Did they do that to you? Did they hurt you?” you asked more softly. She only shook her head in confirmation, “Then why not just go to the police? I’m sure they can help you better than I c-"

“No,” she cut you off immediately, gripping your wrists tightly in both her hands as if to physically keep you from taking your phone and calling the cops. This only made you grow more concerned.

“No. We can’t go to the police. It’s not safe,” she loosened her grip on you a little.

Your eyebrows were drawn together as you thought about what she said.

“Why would it not be safe? Unless...,” you swallowed as a possibility crossed your mind, “Are you in trouble? Did you do something illegal?”

When she didn’t immediatley deny your statement, you started to jump to conclusions, your voice rising with panic.

“Oh, shit! You did. What was it? Were you in a fight? Did you kill someone? Holy shi- Does helping you make me an accomplice? Am I harboring a criminal in my ho-”

She cut off your rant by slapping a hand over your mouth, thus muffling your words.

“Be quiet, your neighbors might hear,” she hissed, gaze darting to the door, almost like she expected someone to burst through it.

Your eyes were wide in fear, but you listened to her, your heart racing. She slowly removed her hand, giving you a warning look as though she feared you would start talking again. You didn’t.

“I’m not a criminal,” she told you earnestly, “I am, however, on the run, so I would appreciate your discretion.”

“On the run from whom?”

The question was no more than a whisper, too scared to raise the volume of your voice. She held your gaze for a moment before shaking her head.

“I’m afraid that’s classified.”

“Classified,” you repeated, incredulous, “So let me get this straight. You show up at my job, bleeding all over the place and telling me not to call the authorities. I help you out, let you crash at my place and you, in return, wake me up at an ungodly hour, make a big mess of my living room, imply that you might have done something illegal, and expect me to let you stay here until Tuesday without getting any information whatsoever?”

“I know this isn’t fair...,” she admitted, and you laugh humorlessly.

“Not fair? I would be crazy to agree without at least having an idea what I’m getting myself into.”

The redhead nodded in agreement, looking away guiltily, teeth biting down on her lips. She seemed genuinely beat down, something even you, as a stranger, could tell was foreign to her. Oddly enough, you felt bad, although you knew, realistically, that you had done nothing wrong.

You let out a weary sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Curse your empathetic heart.

“Three conditions,” you conceded, making her look at you in surprise. Holding up a finger, you started your list.

“One. No more throwing my stuff around. If you need something, ask. I don’t want to have to clean up after you.”

She nods, having the decency to actually look sorry this time. You put up a second finger.

“Two. You tell me your name. Doesn’t have to be your full name or even your real name if that’s a secret or whatever," you added with an indifferent shrug, "I just want something other to call you than ‘hey you’.”

“What’s the third condition?” she prompted, not commenting on the second one.

“You promise me that you’re not the bad guy in this situation and that helping you won’t land me in trouble somehow.”

The redhead cocked her head to the side, an almost fascinated expression on her face.

“How would you know I’m telling the truth?”

“I don’t,” you countered without hesitation, “I’m just gonna have to trust your word here. Just as you will have to trust mine that I’ll keep your presence here a secret.”

For a moment, she regarded you with some indescribable emotion on her face before nodding in concession. Letting go of the one wrist she was still holding, she took a step back. Caught up in the moment, you hadn’t even realized how close you were standing. Thinking about it now made your face heat up for some reason. The redhead raised one hand as though she was about to take an official oath. She held your gaze unwaveringly as she spoke.

“I promise you, that I will not make a mess in your home anymore. And I solemnly swear that you won’t get in trouble for helping me in any way whatsoever.”

Something about her demeanor told you she wasn’t lying. You shake your head satisfied, a small but relieved smile taking over, some of the tension and apprehension leaving your body. She smiled tentatively in return, extending her hand to you in greeting.

“The name’s Natasha.”

Glancing at her proffered hand, you took it and gave it a small shake.

“Nice to officially meet you, Natasha.”

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #reader insert #marvel fanfiction #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader

456 notes · View notes

theowhy · 3 years

Text

pray for the wicked

1.2k, theo-centric, implied thiam, rated T

warnings: outsider POV, non-graphic violence, (probably inaccurate) religious references

last night, my gf inadvertently inspired an idea of theo in a confessional booth, and the concept of an outsider POV fic about that wouldn’t leave me alone until i banged this little thing out. i’m not very religious and am a terrible catholic, so pls bear with any (undoubtedly numerous) inaccuracies lmao.

Elias jolts in his seat at the sound of the confessor’s side door slamming shut.

There’s a clamor on the other side of the wall separating the two chambers of the confessional booth. He can’t see anything, of course, with the screen on the confessor's side covering the grated window, so he merely frowns and furrows his brow, sets down the book he was reading. These nights tend to be long, you see.

But Elias must be present and ready at all times, so despite the clamor and the banging and the disconcerting sound of panting on the other side, he says calmly, “Welcome.”

The panting continues on for a moment. Elias waits patiently.

Then, a boy’s voice, rough and low: “Shit, how does this go again?”

Elias raises his brows.

“Uh. Bless me Father, for I have sinned?” the boy tries again. “My last confession was… never? Nineteen years, if that’s how this works.”

Nineteen. It isn’t so long ago that Elias has forgotten what being nineteen was like, making his way through seminary school. Though he suspects his background may be different from whoever it is on the other side of the wall, who hisses and murmurs, “Never gonna get this bloodstain out. Great.”

Now that Elias thinks of it, he can smell the metallic tang of it, the scent quickly filling the booth.

Alarmed, he says, “Are you bleeding? Do you need an ambulance?”

“Nah.” A sigh, the sound of the cushioned chair on the other side creaking. “I’ll be good in a few minutes. Just need some time to hide—uh, I mean, confess.” A pained grunt. “This wolfsbane is doing nothing for me.”

The more words he speaks, the more confusion Elias feels. But… he is here to serve a purpose. And he will stick to it.

He says, “And what have you come to share tonight?”

Silence. Even his breathing is imperceptible. Elias begins to wonder if he managed to slip out of the booth entirely when, finally, the boy snorts. “Where do I start?”

“Well, what weighs on your heart the heaviest?” Elias asks.

That earns him a laugh. Elias doesn’t have the faintest idea why, but he’s beginning to realize he can’t expect anything to go the way he imagines.

The boy says, “Say, Father. What if this heart isn’t mine?”

Elias blinks. “Can I ask what it is you mean?”

The confessor’s chair creaks, and the boy’s voice is closer this time to the window between them.

“What if this heart doesn’t belong to me? What if I took it from someone else?”

Elias takes a moment to consider it. A metaphor, surely—one that he’s too frazzled and too confused to fully unravel at this time, but he ventures a guess, anyway. “Do you think the feelings you experience do not belong to you as well?”

“I’m not sure how much of myself does belong to me.”

The words are glib, lilting through the shallow space between them. Elias tilts his head, and while this boy has no reverence at all for the booth, he thinks he can understand what he’s getting at.

“Then you feel you have little control over yourself,” Elias says.

A hum. “Think you’re getting somewhere, Father,” the boy says.

“And that troubles you?”

There’s a clack, clack, clack against wood, fingernails tapping a rhythm. “Control isn’t the problem. I’m good at that.”

“Then… experiencing those impulses in the first place.”

The tapping stops for a beat, then continues. “Hey, you’re pretty good at this stuff.”

“What impulses are you experiencing?”

“Man, all business, huh?” The boy makes a pained hiss, followed by the sound of something metallic pattering to the ground. “Finally. Dumb bullet.”

“You’re certain you don’t need an ambulance?” Elias says again, allowing some desperation to come through.

“I said I’m fine. Anyway.” A breath blown, like being wounded is a minor inconvenience. “Impulses. Well, some of the worst ones don’t bother me anymore. I’ve apologized to Scott for that one time. Though, uh, it’s an ongoing apology. I’m working on it.”

Elias nods. “Penance is a crucial step in the path of forgiveness.”

“Right. Hence me coming to save their sorry asses all the time.” The words are a little more slurred. There’s a thump on the other side of the wall, a hand slamming against it. “Shit, this hurts. Sorry.”

Elias rises from his seat. “I really think you need medical attention.”

“No! Christ, you can’t make me go back to a hospital if you dragged me there blind and gagged.” Elias blanches. The boy continues, “Just—keep talking, okay? I’m almost done. I’ll be out of your hair soon, I promise.”

Not exactly convincing. But something compels Elias to sit down, anyway. Clearly this one is… troubled. If he can help somehow, then perhaps the medical attention can come after.

So Elias swallows and says, “You said you’re always saving someone. Who?”

Another sigh, the heaviest one so far. “That idiot. That ridiculous, headstrong, beautiful dumbass. His eyes are blue. Like, real blue. You know?”

Elias can’t say he does, but. “What makes you feel you need to save him?”

“Because—” A pause. Then a breath, shaky. “You were talking about impulses? His middle name is Impulse. He just rushes in without thinking about the danger, the numbers, a way out. Someone needs help so he goes. Period. I have my work cut out for me.”

“You want to protect him,” Elias says. He doesn’t need to phrase it as a question.

A laugh again, smaller, more fragile. “God knows why.”

“There is a path for us all; one that He knows. Being here now, confessing, is the first step. And it sounds to me like you’re already trying to do penance.”

“Good to know there’s a twelve step program to this whole thing.” He sounds distracted, and there’s that smell of blood again, making Elias feel sick. Another patter of metal. A sigh of relief. “Finally. Just the wolfsbane, now.”

“Wolfsbane is poisonous,” Elias says.

“You’re telling me.” A clicking sound, followed by the smell of gas. It can’t be—

“Bless me Father for one more thing,” the boy says. “Is this what they call a venial sin versus a mortal one?”

“Fire is strictly forbidden in the booth.” Elias shoots up from his seat. If he calls 911, he can get paramedics and the fire department both.

“It’ll just take a second.” The boy takes a few quick breaths, as if bracing himself. Then there’s the sound of something igniting, the smell of burning.

The boy chokes down a shout. Wood splinters on the other side.

Elias is bolting halfway out the door when the boy says, “Stop! No, no, I’m good.”

He sounds exhausted. Elias is feeling so, himself.

“What on Earth is happening?” he pleads, more to God than anyone else.

“Relax. It’s over now.” The boy still sounds pained, his breathing labored, but he isn’t slurring his words anymore. An acrid smell fills the booth now, something singed and herbal, on top of all the blood.

Elias squeezes his eyes shut.

“That’s better,” the boy says. “And by this time, hopefully the hunters have lost my trail.” The chair creaks again.

Elias jolts when the screen over the window rises.

Smoke trails through the grate. The boy’s face appears on the other side: dark hair falling over his forehead, framing his eyes that glow a bright, lurid yellow.

“Thanks,” he says, with a small grin. Elias swears his teeth are pointed. “And by the way, I’d be careful tonight, Father. Full moon’s out.”

He’s gone with one quick movement, the confessor’s side door slamming shut. The smoke and blood stay.

#theo #thiam #to you riding shotgun #caiwrites

51 notes · View notes

deberiaestarescribiendo · 3 years

Text

Honor him. Younger Mercenary Oberyn Martell x f!reader fanfic. #Writer Wednesday 05/26/2021

Summary: You receive the worst news, Oberyn Martell died, your first lover and the first adventure you lived.

Once when you were younger you ran away from your house escaping an unhappy engagement and the promise of a dull life. But your family hired an elite force of mercenaries to find you not knowing that their leader is a Prince of Dorne.

Word count: 6,5k (ups sorry)

Warning: Blood, violence, Oberyn’s death is mentioned as canon in the book and show, Ophidiophobia(fear of snakes), unhappy arranged marriage, alcohol. +18 SMUT (it means no minors, pls) virgen f!reader, oral sex (f¡ receiving descriptive, male receiving mentioned) p in v sex (unprotected cos there’s no durex in Essos BUT USE PROTECTION IN REAL LIFE PEOPLE) grieving.

A/N: I'M SORRY I'M LATE this is for #Writer Wednesday, the challenge created by @autumnleaves1991-blog

I read the books a long time ago, yep, I’m one of those people that said “I’ll finish them when George publish them all” so I got ASOIAF wiki and run with it, so buckle up for some bad geography from Essos and inaccurate cultural stuff. I think this is the longest thing I’ve written and the smuttiest, so sorry if it’s cringy.

Honor him

“Apparently he won the combat but the wounds were too severe and he died”

You raise your eyes from the book. One of the young servants whispers to another collecting the dead leaves on the ground.

“What is it?”

They rise from the ground nervously expecting that you will scold them for gossiping

“We heard the news from the world. A bard was chanting them on the market, my lady” she approaches the fountain; you’re seated on the ceramic tile, feet inside the water, refreshing from the blazing sun in this part of Essos.

“And what did he say?”

“He said there was a trial in Kingslanding. For the death of king Joffrey, and it was his cousin...”

“His uncle, the imp” clarifies the other and the other girl rolls her eyes

“Yes, his uncle was on trial for his murder. And Prince Oberyn from Dorne was his champion”

“The imp asked for a trial by combat, you see, my lady” adds the other

“He battled the Mountain; he crushed the prince’s skull apparently”

“But! but! His blade had poison on it so the Mountain died too” says the other girl excitedly

“Oberyn died?” you mutter, your hands are limp and you don’t realize that you have drop your book until you hear the “blop” sound in the water and it splashed your tunic

Your mind travels to years past in an instant: A journey through the vast empty lands of this continent and how you loved for the first time.

The pages of your book are getting more and more transparent while the black trickles of ink disappear in the water. You wish to scream, to rip your clothes and your hair out of your scalp but you do nothing.

“Are you alright, my lady?” the girls look at each other when you don’t move or try to retrieve your book from the water.

You always thought the greatest pain he gave you was leaving you at your father’s door many years ago, but now he’s gone forever. You always thought, while looking from your window at night, that you will see him one day, coming back on his dark horse ready to steal you away again, but now that he’s dead that small hope, that tiny flame that you kept in your heart is gone.

Your childish hopes and dreams of reviving your first love are shattered. It’s true that your life has changed, you’re a grown woman now, wiser and experience but you still fantasize over him, seeing his face and his hands on your lovers.

“We should call physician” you heard them whisper, but so far away

“Where is he anyway?”

“At his clinic, you silly girl, run”

“You do not need to call him” you mutter “I’m fine. Excuse me”

Not caring for splashing water all over the house, you run to your chambers and collapse into your bed. Buried in the soft pillows, you cried, muffling your howls with them so nobody could hear. Late in the night the moon and stars shine bright casting bluish shadows in your room.

Your body is tired but restless and in the night shade a timid ray of white light illuminates that small scar in your forearm in the shape of a half-moon. And you kiss it, at least you will always have something of his carved in your skin.

Many years ago. Essos.

“You’re cheating, boy” the big man slams the table, the wooden pieces and the coins that all the players have laid at the center fall down. He points at you spitting from a mouth full of crooked black teeth “Show me your arms, boy, I know you’re lying”

“I’m just lucky, sir” you raise your blouse’s sleeves and your arms up innocently and somehow it makes him angrier

He insults you in whatever language he speaks and slams the table up, the players run and the loud tavern suddenly gets quite, waiting for the next movement. You’re an ant in front of that enormous giant, when he stands tall and walks menacingly towards you, you freeze, he doesn’t listen to you when you apologize, it doesn’t matter anyway, you just did to gain time and look for an exit but the room is too crowded.

“Here, boy, I’ve also many tricks under my sleeve” he has a dirty bag hanging from his belt and takes it and throws it at you. It lands at your feet and for a second you smirk not knowing what a bag could do to you, but then it moves and in a blur you see a green and yellow thing twisting until you feel it pressing and slithering over your body. The snake, a beautiful, shiny creature with vibrant colors faces you hissing and shows its fangs. Everything happens to fast. Out of instinct you protect your face with your arms and the animal understands this as a threat and it bites. The pain rings like a bell all over your body every nerve in your body aflame.

In a second, cold blood wets your face and you gasp when you see the snake’s head slide to the side separated from its body with a clean cut.

“I’m sorry for the demise of your little friend” A tall lean man stands beside the giant. You can’t see his face, since he’s covered with black turban and his body is in full armor. One of his arms still holds a curved sword that has snake blood on it; the other has a dagger pointed to your enemy’s neck.

“That viper was worth more than you or your little friend and you will pay for it”

“I doubt it. You know my little friend here” and he points his sword to you “it’s worth a lot and if I don’t tend to her wound rapidly she will die and that’s a shame. So, decide now, do you want to be a setback or do you want to keep living your stinky life longer?”

By brute force, the giant decides his fate and tries to disarm the man who in a swift movement cuts his throat and his blood and destiny joints that of his pet.

“You’ve been quite difficult to find, child” he opens the fabric covering his face. His eyes are dark, dark beard covers his defined jaw line and an amused smirk graces his handsome face. “Let me see that arm” he lowers his weapons, shamelessly cleaning his dagger on the back of the dead tall man and walks to you until your back is pressed against one of the tavern columns. Sheathing his sword, his hand takes yours and raises your arm, evaluating the wound and he hums deeply “Oh, sweet child”

“Am I going to die?” you cry

“Probably”

“If it’s my father who commands you to find me, I beg you to let me die; I do not wish to go back. Death is better than that dreadful place” you shake your head determined but terrified at the same time. He looks at you with his brow troubled

“Death is never better than anything” and he drags your arm to his face. His dark gaze fix on you while he sucks on the wound so hard that for a moment you think he’s drinking your life away. But then he lets you go and spits to the ground “Let’s hope that’s enough. You will come with me so I can give you the antidote”

“I told you, I have no desire to return to my home”

“It’s a pity, then, that I don’t care about that” he grins.

He gave you so many small jars to drink. Some tasted sweet some bitter and some other made you want to vomit and not drink or eat ever again. But you’re alive. A few hours passed, and then a day, then two, and you’re irrevocably getting back home.

You’ve learnt that your father, in an attempt to find you, has commissioned this elite group of mercenaries to retrieve you; and he’s the leader. It’s a small company but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous. All of them seemed to have many different skills, weapons hidden at every corner of their body, they speak languages you don’t know and you ride your horse tied to it watching each one of them with a suspicious look. After two days riding with them you have decided that there’s no way you could escape now. There’s always one of them standing guard and just a small glare your way gets every thought of escaping out of your head. So, even if it’s dramatic, you decided that your best option is to die. A few days in the desert without water and food and your father will receive a corpse.

“Drink, little girl, you’re withering like a flower” the leader, the man that saved you, says handing you the waterskin

“No, thank you” you turn your head, seated under the shadow of a very thin and dry bush. The orange and violet light announces the immanent sunset where you have stopped for the day.

“You’ve been refusing water all day. You have to drink” he says and pushes the waterskin to your face once more.

“No, thank you” you repeat and he sighs. Thinking you’ve won as he throws the waterskin by his side, you smile subtly until he’s close, crouched down, knees over the sand, looking at you.

“Maybe being a spoiled little flower works for your father, but not to me. Drink or I will make you” He takes your chin and raises it to meet his eyes

“I’m not thirsty” you say, your lips are already dry and they hurt, your tongue is thick inside your mouth and your body screams for just one drop.

“Don’t challenge me, child” he lowers his voice and you gulp

“I’m not a child” you protest, he keeps calling you that and honestly you don’t think he’s much older that you

“Then why do you behave like one? Drink, for the last time” His mouth is a fine line now and his grip on your chin is a little bit firmer

When you don’t answer he opens the waterskin and tucking on your lower lip he pours a small trickle of water in your mouth. The liquid taste sweet, your body works on it own and you open your mouth to drink more with desperation.

“So you weren’t thirsty...stubborn girl” he smirks and you want to slap his smug and beautiful face

He stops pouring water and laughs when you rise up drinking the last drops before he puts the cap on it.

“Look at you, not a withering flower anymore” the mercenary brushes his knuckles over you cheek and you feel them burn “What else do you want?” his thumb caress your chin gathering the small drops of water on your skin and spreads it over your lower lip.

You feel your bones burning, a tension in your lower belly that you haven’t feel many times and that makes you ask for something you don’t even know, so you just answer a timid yes and let him guide you to the fire and the rest of the company.

One of the mercenary is skinning some rabbits, methodically pulling the skin off with blood hands and a deathly gaze fix on you “So she decided to join us” she says

“Oberyn can be really persuasive” another, a big bald man with a beard tinted in blue, adds

So his name is Oberyn, where have you heard that name before?

“Remember that her father is paying for the whole of her, untouched he said” a lean blonde woman, with her face full of black and blue tattoos, is lounged over the bags sharpening her knives

“Well, I hope he doesn’t see her arm, that viper left her with a beautiful scar” Oberyn sits down and helps the mercenary skinning the animals and impales them and puts them to roast on the fire

“I’m not talking about that kind of viper...” she says and the company laughs

“I’m right here” they stop laughing looking at you as if you have done something they deem impossible

“So she speaks” the bearded man says

“She does but it may take some convincing” Oberyn smiles at you over the flames that illuminate his striking and sharp features “If you wish to eat, sweet flower, why don’t tell us how did you escape? We love a good story while we camp”

“Your father was convinced some ragged boy had stole you from your palace” adds the blonde woman

You smile, feeling some kind of pride for your plan, that, looking at it from perspective, did not grant you what you wanted but at least you had a good run. You tell them about how you disguised as a ragged boy lurking a few nights prior your escape so that the servants suspected about somebody being guilty of your disappearing. And how you ran away the night of your betrothal and made it look as if somebody had kidnapped you.

“I ran out of money in Lys so I had to beg, or steal, or gamble for a few coins. And then you found me” you finish your tale, sucking on your fingers, the meat is the best you ever tasted but yet again it must be the hunger from this days refusing to eat or drink.

“I’m almost tempted to let you go, young one, you seem a very resourceful girl” the beard man that you now know as Uhlan smiles at you proudly

“Think about the money” the blonde woman, Rikan, chew on a bone and toss it to the fire

“I’m always thinking about it, why do you think I’m a sellsword?” he jests

“Because you were a street rat with a broad back as broad as your stupidity and it’s the only thing you can do” Rikan spits and Uhlan laughs, a deep and low chuckle that resonates as a thunder.

“She’s a little princess, she couldn’t have survived much longer” the other woman, Shifa adds, the rest of the company has changed the way they look at you, but her. She still squints at you

“There’re princes that have survived worse” Uhlan counters and suddenly there’s a heavy and uncomfortable silence over them. You look at all of them trying to understand and you see Oberyn looking at his feet until he claps his hands together “Let’s get some sleep, we have a long way ahead”

It’s surprising what food, water and company can achieve. You’re smiling more, you almost forget that you will be delivered to your father and future husband within days, Uhlan tells you about his many adventures, how he almost die in Yiti, how he rode once with a Khalassar and that he had seen the great shadow in the East. Rikan has gifted you a knife “a girl needs to defend herself” she said and proceed to show you how to kill a man in many different ways “If you want to kill your husband though, you must ask Oberyn, he’s the one that knows about poisons and how to kill somebody without raising suspicions”

“How does he know that?” you ask, leaning to the right so you get close to her horse, Oberyn rides beside Shifa before you; both of them speaking in a language you don’t understand

“He has studied many things; he’s been all over the world. He was almost a Maester once, but preferred to travel, fight and fuck the world before he gets back to his duties”

“Duties?”

“He’s a prince” she whispers a mischievous smile on her lips “he doesn’t want to talk about it, because it makes people treat him differently or underestimate him. So don’t tell him it was me, blame the big rat”

“Did somebody call me?” Uhlan screams at the back

“You do have a sharp ear when you want, my friend”

You arrive to Myr at dusk. The city is still vibrating, the merchants offering everything you could imagine and the streets smell like thousands spices. And you absorb it all with wide eyes and open mouth.

“It’s a beautiful world, my sweet flower, and you wanted to end your life” Oberyn raises his voice over the people chatting and selling stuff

“If only it could always be like this” you answer, your smile dies in your mouth remembering this is a passing thing. The adventure will be over soon.

“Life gives us many opportunities to dwell in its pleasures; you have only to acquire a keen eye to recognize the perfect moment to seize it”

“Are you implying that I will have another chance to escape?” you scoff

“Maybe...if that is what you want or maybe to enjoy your life as a married woman, who knows”

You sigh deeply trying to ignore the thoughts about your future husband, that drunken bastard, boring and dull that your father chose.

“Or you could run away and avoid your responsibilities; you can create your own destiny, my sweet flower”

“And that’s what you are doing? Avoiding your duties?” you stop in your tracks and he watches you for a moment, chewing on his lower lip

“Maybe” he answers finally

“I’m tired of being treated as if I was overreacting being a spoiled child while you are here doing exactly what I did, ran away, from the duties of a noble life. I’m not overreacting; all I want is to decide if I want to live my life bearing children for my fool husband and maybe die giving birth or out of boredom and disappointment or try my luck in the wild world. Isn’t that what you are doing? Travel, fight and fuck the world? What’s the difference between me and you?” The people surround you, the company has already enter the tavern in front of you knowing they shouldn’t meddle

“Travel, fight and fuck the world seem a pretty good title for a book. Maybe when I’m old I will write my adventures under that title” he laughs

“I’m glad I amuse you” you spat with your arms crossed

“I apologize if I made you feel that I was underestimating you. Do not confuse my laughter with mockery, I know how you feel and I understand.” He comes close to you, each hand on your arms, pressing them lightly “Believe me, I wouldn’t have accepted this job if your father didn’t pay so well. I have to get back home and I want to leave my company with enough resources so they can continue on their own” he explains, he bends his neck so you are so close you can smell his scent, leather, horse and the dessert. “But that doesn’t mean we cannot enjoy ourselves while it lasts” Oberyn smiles and passes his arm over your shoulders “Have you tasted the wine from Myr?” you shake your head “It’s the sweetest”

The wine is starting to play with your mind, your smile falls languidly over the corner of your lips and you don’t know why you’re laughing but whatever song Uhlan is singing is the funniest thing you’ve heard. Rikan laughs by your side, her laugh is actually sweet and high making her look less menacing. Shifa is the only one that doesn’t look amused at all and he drinks from her goblet eyeing the tavern, especially you, with hatred.

“C’mon, Shifa, we know you can smile” Uhlan grabs her in a bear hug but she squeezes herself out of it

“Let me alone, you brute”

“You haven’t talked much since we retrieve the little girl over here, tell us what’s going on in that little twisted mind of yours?” the man jokes and the other mercenary glares at him

“I’m going to my chamber” She drinks the rest of her drink and strides to the rooms, pushing the drunken people in her way

“Leave her, Uhlan! She’s just jealous that her prince is not directing his attentions only to her lately” Rikan says winking at you

Oberyn has been absent having a conversation in another table until he comes back with a serious expression

“I’m partially offended that you think our company it’s not worth your time” Uhlan says sliding to give him enough space to seat by his side

“Huh, so I guess Shifa is not the only one jealous” Rikan drinks looking at him over her goblet

“Shut up!”

“Where is she?” Oberyn asks

“She went to her chamber” Uhlan serves him wine “So what was about those ugly bastards that got your attention; I thought you had a very refined taste”

“Those are Westerosi men; I wanted to get news of the world. Some of us still appreciate the pursuit of knowledge, my friend” Oberyn taps on his big shoulder

“I appreciate the pursuit of a good fuck better, my friend. Let’s see if those Westerosi want to share some news with me, Rikan are you coming? I’m always lucky with you around”

“I don’t like Westerosi” she snarls

“I don’t care, I just need you to be there so they take a good look at your ugly face and they get convinced that fucking with me is the good option of the two of us” he jokes with one of those thunder like chuckles

Rikan laughs and she follows him, waddling towards the men’s table.

“I should go to my room” you say, rising too fast and the whole room twists and turns

“You liked the wine, I see” he observes you grab the wooden table for your dear life until you find your balance

“Too sweet, I haven’t noticed it until it was too late”

“Let me guide you then”

Oberyn grabs you by your waist and helps you climb the stairs to the second floor. People gather around the aisle, laughter and moans fill the air and the heat of Oberyn skin over yours and the boldness giving by the alcohol make you pressed your body against his a little tighter than its necessary.

“This is you” he says opening the door for you

“Is it true what you said about creating our own destiny?” you collapse on his firm chest, your hands brushing over his neck

“Yes, sweet flower”

“Sweet flower” you mimic his accent “Say it one more time” your glossy lips, sticky with wine, leave a kiss on the tan uncover skin of his chest. His laugh makes you raise your head

“You need to sleep, child”

“No, no!” you slap his hand away when he tries to push you inside the room “Don’t call me that, I’m not a child. I’m a woman” you try to fix your posture to seem taller but you body stumbles to one side almost falling down

“What you are is a very inebriated girl. Good night, my sweet flower” he says closing the door

“Are you going to Shifa’s room?” the words escape your lips before you can think and he lingers on the door with an eyebrow raised

“Why do you ask that?”

“I don’t want you to go to her” again the words are out before you process them

“And what do you want me to do?” Oberyn closes the door behind him. And you breathe deeply a mixture of excitement and fear.

“Stay with me” you mutter

“Believe me I would, but you don’t know what you are asking. It is the wine speaking”

“No it’s not” you pout again falling into his arms, hearing how you sound like a spoiled little girl, you cough “It’s not” you repeat

“Right, let me take you to bed then”

You gasp looking at him with wide eyes. Oberyn hugs your body and walks towards the simple bed at the corner until you both fall down on the soft mattress

“Oberyn” you whisper “I have to tell you something before we...”

“Tell me, sweet flower” He lays beside you, posing his head over his fist

“I’m...I’ve never...” you stutter

“No need to worry” with his free hand he starts to brush his index finger from your brow to the tip of your nose so slowly and softly that you feel your eyes closing down

“Are you trying to make me sleep as if I was a puppy?” you slur

“Shh” he continues until the room goes dark and you cannot open your eyes for much that you try

“Sweet dreams, sweet flower” you hear before you blank out.

The sun pierces your eyes as if its rays were daggers. The company laughs at your expense, but yet again, Shifa hisses and insults you in some language but it’s evident that she said something nasty because Oberyn glares at her.

“No more Myr wine for you, little girl” Uhlan laughs helping you get on your horse

“Never” you murmur

The pain in the back of your head and the unstoppable thirst you have makes you moody, and it doesn’t help that you know you’re one day away from your home. But everything is worse with the hard sting of jealousy. It’s not that Oberyn does much, but he rides along side her, speaking in that stupid language you don’t understand, and she makes him laugh, he watches with attention whatever she points at during the way. He looks at her, talks to her. All you want is to rush your stupid horse and take her place.

It gets worse when Shifa sees you observing them; knowing damn well what you feel, she becomes softer, leaving touches on his skin, whispers things on his ear. And you can see the intimacy, the camaraderie that they share and that you will never have. And she’s a woman not a little girl, fierce, independent, and strong; and you cannot stop comparing yourself to her.

You arrive to a small town in between the domains of the two free cities, just hours away from the gates of Pentos.

“We will spent the night here, we need to be presentable for tomorrow”

The town has a small and humble bath house. The simple exterior made of red brick doesn’t show the beauty it has in its interior. The garden inside is made of brick and ceramic creating beautiful arches that frame the pool in the middle; green vines crept over the walls and the tender murmur of water is the only sound you can hear.

“We have rooms to accommodate you for the night once you’re done with your baths” the lady, owner of the house, announces and snaps her fingers towards the servants so they get everything ready.

“Thank you” Oberyn says bowing his head “Wash away the dust of our journey, my friends. Specially you, Uhlan” he jokes, slapping the big man’s belly

“You’re as stinky as me, my prince, but the Gods didn’t give me a beautiful face”

The company strips shamelessly, you think that they’re so comfortable around each other that they don’t think twice before submerge their naked bodies in the fresh water.

You stay by the side, taking off your shoes and rolling your sleeves so you can wash your feet and face. You avert your eyes when you see that Oberyn’s armor is on the floor. Your eyes fixed on the water and the blue tiles at the bottom, but you cannot stop from raising your eyes just a little.

His magnificent, strong, and tight body, his beautiful golden skin is marked in scars in some parts, you see the muscles on his legs tensing and relaxing as he gets in the pool. Your eyes travel through the room to avoid seeing him in his full grace.

“C’mon child, you don’t want to be stinky when you meet your father” Rikan splash water at you

“I-I”

“Let her be, she’s scare of my big cock” Uhlan laughs

“That thing that you can barely get up? C’mon, child, it is harmless” The blonde mercenary swims towards you and grabs your hand to pull you in

“Rikan, leave her, let’s finish and we will leave her some privacy” Oberyn says under the small waterfall brushing his skin with a small piece of soap

“Your husband’s eyes will be the only ones that will see you naked” Shifa says and she swims towards Oberyn. Her body is toned and muscular. She joints him under the water stream and when she tries to touch him, he moves away.

You don’t want to smile, but you do, until you remember that he refused you the other night and tonight is the last night you’ll spend with them. Shifa will have him for whatever time she wants.

Eventually they leave the pool, putting on some fresh clothes and rubbing some scent oils on their skins and they look different, less mercenary and more like elite warriors with a thousand adventures to tell. You will miss them; they are the only friends you have ever had.

“Thank you” you say stopping their banter over who’s going to take which room, they look at you confused “Thank you for rescuing me” you say with a trembling voice

“It’s nothing, child” Uhlan says and you see his big eyes shine

“We will give you some privacy” Rikan nods

When they are away you take off those stinky clothes you’ve been wearing since you escape. You moan feeling the water soften your muscle and you enjoy the strong cascade of water hitting your back until your bones feel like liquid inside your skin.

“I never expected you to thank us for getting you to your father” his voice gets you out of the trance, and you don’t open your eyes when you hear the soft sound of clothes hitting the ground and the splash of water when he gets inside the pool again.

“I didn’t thank you for that, but for rescuing me” you answer still your eyes closed under the waterfall “And saving my life” you pass your hand over the now healed wound, a moon shape scar where he suck the venom out of you.

Oberyn fingers grab your wrist, raising your arm towards his lips and planting kisses alongside your veins until he arrives to the thicker skin of the scar, sucking again on it.

“Do you still believe that it was better to let you die from the snake’s bite than to be back home?” he whispers against your skin, his beard tickling you over your pulse

“I still can run away” you open one eye. Oberyn looks amused at you

“Will you?” he asks saving the distance between you

“I don’t know. Will you come get me if I do?” You approach him, intertwining your hands on his neck

“The world is big and beautiful; it will be a shame that a sweet flower like you rots in a place like this all her life” he turns his head and leaves a kiss on each of your arms

“So that’s a no” you laugh but the pain in your heart is real

“I have to leave Essos soon, I guess the time for adventures is up” he exhales deeply

“Just the last one then” you’re surprised of your boldness when you rise on your tiptoes to kiss his lips

It is soft at first. Just tasting him, tempting him to show you more, and he does. Oberyn opens his mouth and sucks on your lower lip and when your mouth is open he savors you with his tongue. He holds your face on his large palms guiding you softly until the kiss deepens and your hands leave his neck roaming through his back and he reciprocates. His hand caresses every inch from your neck to your arms. You moan in protest when he breaks the kiss but then his kisses move to your neck nibbling your skin. He pampers every part of you with his attention, soft kisses and bites over the top of you breast.You cry out laughing when he grabs you and rise by the waist so he can access your tits. You circle his waist with your legs and you hold yourself on his shoulders.

Any good sense in you, any coherent thought gets lost one his mouth sucks on your nipples and you kiss his head trying to control your panting. The sounds that come out of you seem so far away, his low grunts and moans over your breast melt you and you feel the heat gathering between your legs.

“My sweet flower, you have the sweetest tits” he moans and he lowers you so he can kiss you one more time. You run your fingers over his dark hair, his impossibly close to you but you need more. You need him like those drops of water he poured in you the first time. The hunger, the jealousy and desire you felt these past days have reached its peak and you think your heart will collapse. You repeat his name on his lips like a plea.

Oberyn carries you to the side of the pool, and you feel your cheeks burning, your body in goose flesh feeling exposed and at his mercy now that the water is not covering you. He takes his time admiring you, his brow eyes eating every pore of your skin. Kissing your legs he parts them grabbing you by the hips he positions you just at the edge of the pool. He palms your breasts one more time, gracing each nipple with a small pinch that makes you moan loudly. You get flustered, gaining a bit of your conscience back

“No need to be shy, my love, let go. I wish to hear every sweet moan, drink every drop of this sweet cunt” he plants a kiss on your navel, before lowering his face. His first lick between your lips makes you marvel of the unknown sensation. His eyes are fixed on you while he licks faster and sucks between your small lips, when you tense, every single fiber of your body burning, he changes his rhythm, lapping languidly all your sex and back again, fast and slow, and never too much. Until you’re gasping for air and pushing him away

“Please, it’s too much”

“Let me show you, trust me” his wet mouth bites you inner thigh before he starts again. This time you reach the point of no return faster. A wide abyss before you where you skin burns and you heart beat faster until you fall, crying his name. And he holds you, planting kisses all over you body, every part he can reach. The gasps lead to laughter

“What happe...how?” you ask

“I have many things to show you my sweet flower” he smiles

Oberyn lets you in his room. The warm night breeze moves the white curtains and the moonshine casts its rays so you can see him get on top of you with the warmest of smiles.

“Do you still want this, my flower?” he asks

You grab him by the neck and let your lips answer for you. Lowering your touch you push his back so he presses his body against you even tighter.

“Please, please” you beg on his ear

He reaches between your bodies and brushes the tip of his cock on your lips coating it in your arousal, before pushing gently. You gasp at the intrusion; it’s not pain what you feel but definitively a bit uncomfortable at first

“Let me in, my sweet, relax for me” Oberyn bends his neck to kiss and bite your tits. The pleasure turns your body into a withering mess until you’re full of him.

He moves lazily at first letting you grow used to his length and width while he observes your face

“Is it alright my love?”

“I need more” you murmur

“More?” He rises, pressing the weight of his body on his knees and opens you wider grabbing the soft skin on your hips “Like this?” he thrusts deep and fast with each word and you nod biting your lip. His pace is unforgiving, and you cannot think, all you can feel is him, and his sweet words and praises combined with the slaps of wet skin and the creaks of this old bed. Your fingers scratch softly on his chest trying to hold into something when you feel that abyss again, but this time you let it go and it hits you harder. Oberyn collapses over you letting your cunt squeeze him even tighter, slowly dragging himself in and out until he sense his release coming and he pushes harder once, twice until he spills his warm seed.

You kiss his brow, wet from exhaustion and the pool, in a way the cage he’s forming with his body pressed against the mattress is the freest you have ever felt.

The dawn wakes you up, many years later, a harrowing pain in your chest remembering how he kissed you a thousand times, how you slept caged in his arms for a few hours and then woke up with his face between your thighs

“Does it hurt?” he asked and you flinched, feeling the swollen and sensitive skin “I will kiss it better” he said. And you made love again, he moved you in the bed showing how to touch your body and how to touch him, how to pleasure him with your mouth as he did to you. Until the sun invaded the room and crashed your safe space between the shadows. You could no longer hide from your destiny, it was time to go.

He left you, a small and decent kiss on your hand and bid you farewell wishing you a happy life.

You remember running, not paying attention to your father’s complaints and your mother’s cries while you soon-to-be husband drank wine unbothered by the whole thing. You ran to the balcony watching his dark horse taking him out of the city.

He never looked back, and with his parting figure you promised you will live your life happy even if you have to run for it. That you will live adventures on your own until life gives you the last drop of its joy and pleasure. In a way you promised to honor him without knowing one day it will come true.

So you woke up, older, wiser, in your own house, after many adventures lived, and after a sleepless night mourning him, you grab paper and ink and write:

“Travel, fight and fuck the world: the Adventures of an Unusual Lady”

#writer wednesday #oberyn martell #oberyn martell x you #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x reader #prince oberyn #oberyn martell fic #oberyn martell fanfiction #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal fic #Pedro Pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #Pedro Pascal characters fanfiction #ASOIAF Fanfic

46 notes · View notes

mtherhino · 3 years

Text

One side, Two lives

Chapter ten

Is he ok?

First Previous Next

Warnings: slight gore, panicked attack, and mention of eating disorder

Where the heck am I? Virgil thought as he took in his surroundings. He couldn’t see anything except himself, as I he was standing in a pit of nothingness. He tried to to walk around but the blackness seemed to go on forever so he started to panic. Where a I? How do I get out of here? Where are the others?! Are they here two? I have to find them!

Suddenly the anxious side heard a scream from behind him in the darkness. That sounds like Roman! He thought. He turned around and there stood Roman, on his knees and grasping at his stomach which confused the other side. Why is he grabbing at his stomach? Never mind I need to get his attention.

“Roman!” Virgil shouted to the other, but the prince didn’t acknowledge him, he didn’t even seem to hear him. This in no way helped Virgils anxiety.

“Roman! Princy can you hear me!” He shouted again, but just like before the creative side didn’t seem to even know he was there. Out of no where Virgil heard a dark chuckle.

He turned his gaze away from the prince and towards the noise. The shape of a person had materialized from the darkness, glimmering in a golden light and having what seemed to be a cape dragging behind him. The whatever it was approached Roman’s fallen from, laughing the whole time.

“You see? Your nothing but a weakling, and theres no place for anything like that here.” Virgil watched in terror as the person drew a sword and used it to tilt Roman’s head up to look at him. The side had tears running down his face and blood leaking from his mouth. Why is he crying? Why is he bleeding!? Virgil thought.

He looked back down to the prince’s hand and saw that the normally pure white outfit was now stained in blood, the red liquid was still spreading rapidly. Virgils eyes grew wide with horror. The golden being ‘tsk’ at the downed side and kicked him in the stomach making him cough up blood. No! Stop! You’re going to kill him! That’s what Virgil wanted to say, but as soon as he tried to scream black tendrils wrapped around his mouth and kept him quite.

Never the less the anxious side tried to run forward to stop everything but he couldn’t. He looked down and his feet where somehow stuck to the ground. He tried to pull himself free but it became clear that it was no use. He looked back at the scene in front of him and saw the figure start to raise his sword.

“You really are worthless. You’re just a pathetic excuse for a side, a useless nothing, and you’re especially no hero.” As the thing said that, it swung it sword down.

“ROMAN!”

Virgil jolted up from his bed, his hand outstretched like he was trying to reach for something. His forehead was covered in sweat and he was sure that if he looked in a mirror his face would be whiter than a ghost’s. He brought his hand to his chest and he found his heart was beating faster than he thought it ever had. Virgil took a deep sigh and tried to calm down, it didn’t work very well. He looked over at his clock and saw that it was around 3 in the morning.

What the heck was that? Virgil wondered to himself. He couldn’t remember much of his nightmare but he remembered that he was more scared than he had ever been in his life. Just trying to remember what happened made the side start hyperventilating. Ok. I need to calm down or else I might give Thomas a panic attack. Virgil started taking deep breaths and began to calm down as he repeated his 4 ,7, 8 breathing exercise.

Once he was calmed downed he realized that he probably wasn’t going to be able to go to sleep for a while and flopped back onto his bed in frustration. The one night I actually tried to get more sleep. Just great. The side pulled out his phone from under his pillow and grabbed his headphones from his bed side table. This wasn’t the first time he was woken up by nightmares, but this time had definitely been the worst.

He put on his headphones and picked up his phone. He went though a few different playlist before he finally settle on just clicking shuffle on My Chemical Romance. He ended up on Mama and smiled. This song was slightly calmer than most of the groups songs. He went to tumbler and started scrolling though it, humming the lyrics as he looked at post. After about an hour of looking at memes and funny videos Virgil found himself starting to dose off, the residents of the nightmare going to the back of his mind.

When Virgil woke up it was too Patton calling him down for breakfast. He groaned as he got out of bed and change into his usual style. He pulled on his signature jacket as he went out the door even though he knew that it was crazy to wear a jacket on almost any day in Florida. Virgil walked down the long hallway eyeing every corner suspiciously in case Remus decided to just pop up or something. Because of this he wasn’t looking where he was going and ran straight into someone’s back and fell down.

“Virgil? Are you ok” a familiar voice said. The anxious side looked up and saw that it was non other than Roman who he just happened to run into. The memories of his dream flashed in his mind and he looked at Romans stomach glad to see that there was no kind off blood staining on the t-shirt he was wearing. He shook his head a bit to clear the image of the fallen prince in his mind.

“Yah, I’m fine Princy.” Virgil said. Roman extended his hand to Virgil and pulled him up.

“You need to watch where your going, wouldn’t want you falling down the stairs or something.” Roman said with a chuckle. The smaller side smiled softly at the sound but pretended to cough into his sleeve when Roman looked back at him.

“Kiddos! Come get your breakfast before it gets old!” That had snapped Virgil out of his embarrassed fake coughing fit and the two started heading towards the kitchen. When they entered they found Logan at the table reading a comic book? Roman turned to Virgil and raised an eyebrow in question. The anxious side shrugged and went to go sit down at the table. He took a closer look at the cover and saw that it was a horror comic and that only confused him more.

“What are you reading Lo? I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you pick up a comic book before” Virgil asked. Logan finally looked up from his book and he seemed kinda embarrassed.

“Well um, technically it’s a graphic novel and uh Remus asked me to read it over for him.” Logan said while he adjusted his glasses, and if Virgil wasn’t mistaken, he was ever so slightly blushing. As the gears in his head spun the smaller side started to smirk. It definitely seems like this guy has a crush Remus. Although it may not look it, Virgil didn’t actually hate the duke. They in no way got along, and Virgil didn’t trust the creative side as far as he could though him, but he didn’t necessarily hate the gremlin of a man.

So, with this in mind, the mischievous raccoon in a jacket decided that as long as he was here, he might as well mess with people.

“I didn’t know you and Remus where such good friends.” Roman, who had sat down after getting a plate of food for himself from the kitchen, tried his absolute hardest not to burst out laughing as Logan stuttered and rambled to try and explain himself.

“He simply assisted me in conducting some research the other day and I wanted to return the kind favor.” Once more the prince and emo character shared a look. Virgil decided that was enough teasing for now. You have to spread out the torture to make it effective after all. So instead of continuing to make fun of his friend he decided he should finally grab some breakfast.

“Whatever you say Lo.” The former dark side walked into the kitchen to see Patton serving up a plate that he assumed was for Logan.

Today Patton had made some scrambled eggs, a few links of sausages, and some toast he was currently adding crafters jam to. Patton turned around to face his dark strange son and smiled widely.

“Hey kiddo! I made a plate for you if that’s alright. If theres anything you want to change about it go right ahead!” The fatherly side said in his usual cheerful tone. Unfortunate this kinda made the smaller of the two freak out a bit.

What if I don’t like whats on the plate? I can’t just mess with it Patton already put in the work to make the food and if I put any of it back it will look like I don’t like his cooking which of course into true but what if he thinks that? Luckily his worries were put to rest when he saw his plate had equal proportions of everything just how he liked it. He breathed a sigh of relief and went to go sit back down with the others.

When he got back to table Roman and Logan were arguing about some sort of play but the conversation was now going too fast for Virgil to actually pay attention to it.

“Don’t you dare say Hamilton wasn’t a good musical in my presence!”

“I’m just saying its historically inaccurate! For one thing the Skylar sisters did have an older brother so the part in the musical where Angelica sings about having to bring the family glory is false. Also she was already wed to a man before she met Alexander so she couldn’t marry him if even if she wanted to.” Logan reasoned in his calm yet frustrated ‘everyone-is-being-an-idiot-except-for-me’ tone of voice.

“Of course it isn’t entirely accurate to the real character. In theater you have to add a bit of drama to express the characters feeling in the scene better!” The royal side tried to explain while he waved his arm around in the air, surprisingly not hitting anything or anyone. Luckily before the two could continue Patton walked into the room carrying both his and Logan’s plate.

“Ok kiddos I think thats enough arguing for now, go ahead and eat instead of bickering please.” Patton said in a hopeful voice. The two sides grumbled a bit to themselves but did start eating . Virgil looked over at Romans plate and saw that he once again had a lot less food on his plate than the rest of them. He had about two mouthfuls of eggs on his plate, one small sausage and half of a jam covered toast.

Doesn’t he need to eat more than the rest off us? I mean he goes adventuring all the time so he probably burns all the calories he gets from the meals Patton makes. Virgil pondered all this while he ate. If he was being honest he didn’t think he had ever seen Roman get seconds unless people insisted on it. Thats kinda concerning, what if he isn’t eating right because off stress? But why would Princy be stressed he’s the living personification of having a dreamy good life. Could something be wrong and we just haven’t noticed it yet?is he ok? Luckily he was broken from his thoughts as someone called his name.

“Virgil? Are you ok? You’ve been so pacing out for a while now, everything alright?” Roman said as he put a comforting hand on the anxious sides shoulder. Virgil gave the royal a small smile and took a deep breath. I’m just overthinking things. Roman’s fine, he would have come to us if he had a problem.

“Yah I’m fine Princy, just got lost in thought that’s all.” The creative side smiled at that and went back to eating his small plate of food.

After everyone was done with breakfast they all went back to their own rooms, Logan still reading the graphic novel as he walked. Once Virgil got to his room he threw himself onto his extremely messy bed and was about to pull up something to watch on YouTube when he heard a knock on his door.

What the, I was just with everyone, if they needed to ask me something wouldn’t they have asked me then? The purple side sighed and got up to open the door, only to find the hallway completely empty?

“Um, ok, anyone there?” Virgil said while he stuck his head out the doorway.

“Yup! I’m right here!” A choice shouted from behind him.

“Ahhh!” The smaller side screeched and accidentally slammed the door shut. There now sitting on his bed kicking his feet, was Remus. He wasn’t wearing his usual outfit for videos but instead a ripped up tank to and some black sweatpants.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” The anxious side said in an accusing tone.

“I was bored and decided that I might as well annoy you for a while.” The taller of the two said with a shrug.

Virgil groaned and destroyed any hope of having a peaceful day from his mind.

“Why in the world did you knock? You haven’t had any real manners since we were kids.” The purple clad side said as he sat down on a beanbag that he had in the corner. The duke shrugged.

“It was part of my grand plan to distract you so that I could scare you even better.” The insane side said with a sharp tooth smile. Before Virgil could make a retort the door burst opened. There stood Princy in a t-shirt and shorts, his hair looking slightly disheveled and with a sword in hand. He for some reason also looked a bit bigger than normal but Virgil discarded the thought as the lighting being weird.

“Virgil! What’s wrong! What do I need to fight!” The red side exclaimed.

“Hey Ro! I just scared emo over here and he screamed like I had ripped out his guts or something.” The duke said as he threw his arm around his brother. Virgil was kinda surprised. Last time he had seen the twins interact Roman was out cold in seconds but now they were talking like they were best friends. Well I guess they are siblings after all. The smallest in the room said.

“Oh, ok then. Virgil do you need any assistance?” Roman asked. The former dark side thought for a minute and figured that he could handle Remus by himself, he had enough experience dealing with his craziness growing up.

“Yah Romano I’ll be fine.” Virgil said with a wave. Roman nodded but not without a sigh at the nick name and walked out.

“Oh but before I go,” the prince turned around and glared and the both of them, “if you two kill each other I will find a way to somehow resurrect you and get you both scolded by Patton.” And with that Roman left with a royal wave. The two remaining sides gave each other a look, Virgil’s one of distrust and Remus’s one of mischief.

“Sooooo,” Remus said as he jumped back onto the bed, “you like my brother huh?” Virgil’s face turned bright red.

“I-I don’t know what your talking about!” The now highly nervous side shouted. This only made the duke chortle.

“Chill out, I’m not gonna tell him, it will be a lot more fun that way.” Remus said with a grin. The hoodie wearing side breathed a sigh of relief.

“However you now owe me a favor.” The dark side said. Virgil grumbled to himself but agreed and asked what the favor was. The royal smiled widely.

“You have to help me beat Deceit’s high score in Mario cart.” The anxious side was surprised at first but then smirked.

“Sure, I’m not going to pass up the chance to piss off the snake.” The smaller jumped onto the bed as Remus summoned his switch that was nearly covered in stickers except for the screen.

After a few rounds of Mario cart Virgil still hadn’t won once and he was getting annoyed, especially since Remus wouldn’t stop saying how he was the ultimate champion of this game. In this round they where nearing the finish line and Virgil was in second place while Remus was in first. He had dodged all of the shells Virgil had thrown at him but he still had one more.

There’s no way I’m letting this rat man beat me again. Suddenly Virgil had an idea and a dark smile formed on his face.

“So Remus,” the purple side said as he lined up the shot, “how did your date with Logan go?”

“What?!” Remus was so surprised that Virgil somehow knew about his sorta kinda date with Logan that he fell off the bed. Meanwhile Virgil threw a green shell at him and finished in first.

“Yes!” The smaller side exclaimed.

“How in this wide terribly gruesome world did you find out about that?” Remus said from the floor. Virgil shrugged.

“Logan said that you helped him with some research or something while blushing so I figured you actually took him on a date.” The emo said while he leaned back on his pillow. He looked over at Remus who was now sitting on the bean bag looking slightly startled.

“Well I didn’t technically ask him on a date, I just offered to take him and give him a tour of the imagination.” The duke said while he messed with his white streak of hair. “I haven’t actually told him that I like him.” Virgil was surprised that Remus looked actually embarrassed saying this.

“I never thought I would see the day that you were nervous.” Virgil said honestly. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Logan if you aren’t ready to tell him.” Remus gave him an incredulous look and started laughing like a mad man which slightly scared the smaller side. He suddenly stoped and got up.

“Thanks emo, I got to go or else De is going to get mad at me.” While the dark side walked to the door he messed up the purple wearing side’s hair until it defied gravity. “Wanna help me beat the record tomorrow since that slippery snake has such a freaking high score that we couldn’t beat it today?” The crazy side asked.

“Sure.” Virgil said, surprising even himself.

“Cool! Se yah tomorrow emo.” Remus said as he slammed the door loudly. The anxious side relaxed on his bed with a sigh. Even when just hanging out with the others being social was exhausting for him. He remembered that Thomas had some sort of event for tomorrow but Virgil doubted that he would need him for anything. As he was starting to drift off to sleep for a nap he had one last thought. Isn’t the wedding tomorrow?

Well I hope everyone if ready for some angst to come. Hope you guys have a good next 24 hours, bye!

Tag list:

@lovelivingmydreams

#sander sides #roman sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #prinxiety #pride!roman #logan sanders #intrological #patton sanders #slight mention of eating disorder #mention of gore #mention of panic attack #my writting #one side two lives

20 notes · View notes

snowflake-of-destruction · 4 years

Note

125 pls💜

Cleaning out old asks afternoon? Cleaning out old asks afternoon.

125. You’re the one who left it laying around. Grass is Greener. Sora and Riku.

"You're looking through my phone?" Sora was framed in the doorway, striking even in sweatpants with bunched legs that said they were too long, though they tightened over his hips and a faded shirt with a cartoon dragon on it, hair held back by a blue headband that Riku was fairly, though not entirely, certain had been left at the house by a guest a few weeks ago, large green bowl cradled in his arms. Sora had frozen mid-stir, forgetting what he'd been coming in from the kitchen to ask Riku when he'd caught his husband intently scrolling through something on his phone, Riku's own Otter encased cell lying forgotten on the coffee table.

Riku didn't look guilty in the slightest when he glanced up and made no move to set the item in question down or offer it to its owner. "You’re the one who left it laying around. It kept buzzing, so I got curious. Your passcode is the same as your pin. Every pin you've ever set." Riku left it unvoiced that Sora should never again tease him for the time he'd made his email password "E-mailpassword!" when he was almost as bad. "I was going to make sure it wasn't an emergency, and maybe answer whoever it was that you were cooking and would call or text them back later. "

"I guess that makes sense," Sora hemmed, dismayed suspicion that had scrunched his face slowly smoothing out. He had nothing to hide, and few thoughts or conversations that he didn't relate to Riku, period. If anything, Riku sometimes had to cut his sharing off, and remind him that, while he loved to hear about Sora's day, he wasn't required to recount every second they were apart. He didn't even care about privacy. The only reason to be uncomfortable about Riku looking at his phone was the implication that Riku didn't trust him. If Riku was just concerned that he was missing an important phone call, and then maybe got distracted, then that seemed alright. "Who was it?"

"Kairi." Riku frowned over the name and Sora felt a prickle of concern again. "She hung up when she heard my voice. I wonder if she recognized it," he mumbled the last half to himself.

"You know Kairi?" Surprise and curiosity mixed. "You didn't tell me before that you know Kairi!" Sora could only see the fun of the coincidence. It was a shame he hadn't known before though; he'd have used the leverage of Riku and Kairi being friendly to help convince her to consider staying with them during her separation from her husband instead of with her brother.

"I wasn't sure myself until now," Riku set the phone down and rubbed his forehead. Reasonably, he should have known. Sora had mentioned the name of the student in his yoga class he was seeing more than once, mentioned her crumbling marriage too, and Kairi wasn’t the most common name. He’d just been in denial until he saw it laid out. He let out a puff of breath much like a sigh and raked the same hand through his hair. "She's a patient of mine. She and her husband. I recognized her in her contact picture.

"Oh! Awesome! I should have thought to ask who they were seeing when she told me Vanitas convinced her to give counseling a shot--though I also think I had something to do with that. She was ready to serve him divorce papers before I talked her out of it," Sora babbled happily. He seemed to remember suddenly that he was holding a bowl and held the spoon out to Riku. "Taste the marinade before I put the fish in it? It's honey orange garlic ginger."

Riku shook his head, and not just because the sauce sounded like at least one flavor too many, especially concentrated and raw. "You can't date my patients."

"No, you can't date your patients," Sora stressed, mildly put out about Riku's refusal to play taste tester. "It's not an ethics violation for me, or even a moral one. We were pretty upfront with each other, and I really want Kairi to work through things with Vanitas, no matter what it might mean for me and her."

"My patients are married, sweetheart," Riku pointed out like he wasn't even listening , fond but exasperated to the point of exhaustion.

"So are you and I. Don't you think I take our marriage vows seriously?"

Riku patted the couch cushion next to him. "I know you do. I hope you know I do too. I wasn't finished. The great majority don't have marriages like ours."

Sora glanced into his bowl, mourning his sauce for a moment, before setting it on the coffee table and sitting beside his husband. "They're not happy, and they're not communicating. That's why they come to you."

"They're not any degree of open..."

"...Or honest."

"You know what type of open I'm talking about. Generally, I deal with couples whose marriages are very different from ours...with people in them who are very different from us too. And even those that aren't, need to be concentrating on the relationship between spouses."

"I know that, but Kairi..." Sora started.

Riku held up a hand to halt him. "I'd prefer to assess Kairi for myself in sessions." He preferred to leave it in session too, though he couldn’t help mentally updating the file in his head. There was no way he’d hurt Sora by mentioning it, but he was pretty sure he knew exactly why Kairi had latched onto him if Vanitas wasn’t showing her the attention and affection she needed. They looked strikingly similar. And, oh God, he was just remembering Sora told him his new girlfriend also had a girlfriend of her own. That was more knowledge he didn’t want to have when it only complicated issues if he couldn’t bring it up in session, considering the source of the knowledge and how he should recuse himself, even when it very much needed to be a topic of discussion.

Sora made a disgruntled noise in his throat, but only fumed for a second before shifting to a more thoughtful pout. "Have I come up at all? Not by name, I know, or you wouldn't have been surprised I knew her, but, in general?"

"An affair?" Riku tilted his head so his glasses slid a fraction down his nose and looked at his husband over the frames. It was a low trick. He knew what effect that gesture had on Sora.

"Don't make it sound tawdry."

"It is for her," Riku pressed gently.

"I know her better," Sora still felt inclined to argue.

"You're right," Riku backed off suspiciously easily. "You absolutely do. But I know you best of all, and I know you wouldn't want to be involved with someone who was being dishonest...which I can tell you she is...with her husband and with you."

Riku was right. He was always right. Sora had given Kairi an ultimatum, but he never reached the stage where he followed through with his vow that he wouldn't keep seeing her if she did not tell her husband about him. Kairi and Vanitas had separated and Sora had fooled himself into thinking it wasn't as important then. He'd renewed his insistence when reconciliation had been put on the table, but then he'd agreed it might not be the first thing to bring up when she saw Vanitas.

"I'll talk to her," Sora offered.

"I'm going to ask you to break it off."

Riku seemed to be holding his breath, and noticing it knocked the breath out of Sora's chest too. Was he not sure if Sora would agree? How could he ever doubt?

"Absolutely!" If Riku was no longer comfortable there was no question. "Do you want me to do it now?"

Riku exhaled a long, slow stream and the relief in his face as he combed a hand through his hair again almost broke Sora's heart all over. "No, no need. You want help with dinner?"

"Nah, I got it." Sora started to stand and reach for his bowl. "Do you want to invite Namine over? It's been a long week. I don't mind calling in the backup to help you relax. We can double-team it."

Riku shook his head. "You're all I need."

"That's very sweet, but, oh love of my life, that's inaccurate. No person can be all things to another, and trying to force one person to be all things at all times for you is a surefire way to sow strife and dissatisfaction."

"Now, you sound like the therapist."

"Would you like me to be? Your glasses, a tie, a notepad and nothing else while I make you lie down on the couch and tell me all your fantasies?"

"Fish first."

#grass is greener verse #soriku #snippets #fanfiction #mentions of vanikai and sokai but i don't want to clog their tags #Anonymous

50 notes · View notes

painted-crow · 3 years

Text

Submission Time #14

Submission about secondary

Hi, Paint! I was wondering if you ever had time, could you please help and give your thoughts on my secondary?

I guess my quiz results really depend on my mood, on a bad mood I can get a bird or snake, on good mood – a badger secondary. I rarely get a lion secondary, and I’m strangely calm about it, it would really be funny if I’d be a double burned lion but evidence shows that’s probably not the case. Also, I’m sorry for all the mistakes I will be making and the ones I didn’t notice, and this is so long, I’m sorry. I will shamefully copy the other submission style, so if it’s wrong pls just ignore me.

Not a problem! I'm the one who suggested that people use it :)

When you succeed, how influential in that success were the people around you? – I don’t know for sure, and I might be ungrateful here, but I think I’m still the one making the calls and thinking about stuff. Sure, I ask for help and opinion, support, but I’m still the one who has to do the thing. But it’s true I should probably pay more respect and gratitude to the ones who are there for me.

This suggests you aren't a Courtier Badger by nature. Doesn't yet rule out Bookkeeper style Badger, though.

Do people consider you charismatic? / Do people consider you trustworthy? – Eh, maybe. I love that there is a possibility to choose such an answer. Charisma for me is a tool, a mask, while for being trustworthy, some people do, some would like that I’d be more of it, I think people’s opinions on what that is can really differ. I’ve always read that people can’t trust a Gemini, that they have long and loose tongues, one day I decided that will never be me, no matter what others say.

Basically everything I know about astrology is either Homestuck or LavenderTowne's "drawing the signs as cute characters" videos on YouTube 😆 but as a Cancer who does not fit most of the Cancer description, rest assured I will not judge you for this :p

Describing charisma as a "tool" suggests it might be part of a Snake model or a skill you've picked up through Bird.

Do people consider you flexible? – No. Things have to be the way I want them to be. Stupid, problematic, not realistic, I know.

Haha, maybe Bird xD or maybe Bookkeeper Badger. This is a Built secondary answer.

Do you like going into situations with a plan? – Here‘s the thing about my plans – they are small, not really fleshed out. I do like to be prepared, but I do not seek out to be, because usually no matter how much I prepare I feel that it still is heavily not enough so it’s almost the same as just diving in and doing whatever.

Rapid fire Bird with Snake model? Or perhaps the other way around. It sounds from your last answer like this isn't the kind of situation you feel most comfortable in.

Not all Birds like to plan. I for one am a "hoard all the skills and resources" style Bird, and don't tend to plan very much for individual situations, especially ones that change quickly. If I were to prepare for something like that, it would be gathering knowledge about the situation in advance, rather than deciding how to respond based on probably-inaccurate expectations.

Still, this makes it sound a bit like you don't trust Bird, or at least not the planning form of Bird.

When you spot a metaphorical obstacle in your path, what do you do? – This one is the one that always makes me think Am I a snake secondary? If there’s a problem that maybe could arise, why would you not find another way around? Face it? Understand it? Pfffff…. It’s so much stress and trouble, just go around it if you can. If not, well, yeah, I’d just face it head on I guess.

How do you feel about shortcuts? – Well, if it means landscapes shortcuts – love them. In life and situations – no. It feels unstable, unsafe. If there is a way you need to do things, I will do it the right way. I might cut ways in small and not that important ways, but no more.

See, these two questions have me really considering Bookkeeper Badger for you, and I'm starting to understand why you're confusing the quiz so much.

I think the quiz considers these to be kind of opposite answers--just getting around a problem rather than solving it might be considered a shortcut. This is the kind of issue you get with abstract questions, but the problem is that concrete questions are rarely ambiguous enough to serve the right purpose. This is also why I suggest sending me quiz questions--because you're allowed to elaborate, and I interpret your answers differently from the computer. :)

Do you like to gather all possible information before making a decision? – Yeah, I do gather information, research, but at a certain point you just have to dive in, as another person said.

You might have a Bird model? Or you might even be burned Bird, because you don't not use Bird but you don't seem to trust it much or see it as worth relying on.

Is knowing things or knowing people more useful when solving problems? – I really don’t know how to answer this one. Intuitively, without thinking, I’d say things, but there are so much BUTs. Maybe it’s because I always had problems in social situations, that I’m very reserved, cold and shy so I don’t build relationships that could be called like that? Obviously it’s more useful to have someone help you and teach you how to do stuff, like legal documents, mechanics, computer engineering or other stuff that is hard to understand and boring to me or things that I don’t have resources to do. When I go to people asking for help, I ask because I know they can help, I don’t just go to my community, to my people asking IF anyone could help. I don’t know, this question for me is really painful. A simple answer would be people. Like if I’d think about building a house or a van to live in, it would be more useful to know someone who knows how to do these things then knowing how to do it myself. I’d miss so much details by myself. But then why I still want to press Things?

Huh, that's interesting. Especially interesting that you describe this as painful--like, it really matters to you.

You might be a burned Bird with a Badger model that's almost totally Bookkeeper style--which, if that Badger is a model, it would make perfect sense why it relies so heavily on one aspect of that secondary.

You don't seem very Snakey to me so far. The "get around the obstacle" thing is the quiz's Snake answer, and charisma (even as a tool) isn't Snake exclusive either.

When your plan fails, what do you do? – This question always makes me smile, because my answer is 1. I don’t plan, BUT if I did have a plan that failed, if it was that important; 2. I panic; 3. Then, I calm down and improvise like my life depends on it.

Huh. I don't know if this points to anything in particular...

Do you collect things? – No? I collect books that I actually liked, even if I will never read them again, I want to have them around. I have a couple of diplomas, but it’s just because I couldn’t decide or couldn’t see myself in that career. I maybe collect plants. Other than maybe these things, I don’t really feel like I collect anything.

And here again the bird secondary shows up. I really don’t see it with my inability to plan and prepare for things. I feel unprepared for everything and too bored and not intrigued enough to prepare.

Oddly enough, this really makes me wonder if you're a Bird, specifically burned. This isn't just a neutral "yeah I don't really use it," it sounds actually sad and negative: you don't feel able to use it, you feel bored and unprepared. It sounds like you've tried, like you wish you could use it... but it's just not there for you.

Do you study or plan excessively for things that aren’t useful?... – Plan – no. Study – yes. I’m one of those people who has started a new hobby in the pandemic, which involves studying I guess. And it absolutely has nothing to do with being useful, I just love it, so I guess yes. To me it has a purpose, I guess.

You do seem to study a lot. You read books, which not everyone does. You have multiple diplomas. But they're a background element in your life, you were saying.

Do you think of relationships as something you invest in?... – Yes. I think we all invest in relationships, and in the smallest we at least expect that person to be with us, to support us if we had a hard day or a hard time. I do not invest in relationships with people because they can do stuff for me, do that or let me in there or here, or level me up in my career. That would be wrong, it’s not how you supposed to do it. But I’d still say that I think about this, about investing time and effort.

Badgers don't seem to like the idea of networking as a means of getting stuff, on the whole, even though that's how they get described because that's what people might see from the outside. (It's more like a Snake or sometimes a Bird to be okay with that description of their methods.)

I still think you have a lot of Bookkeeper to your secondary. I'm not sure if it's a strong model, or if your Bird is the model and it's just really burned anyway.

Do you act different in different groups? Does it bother you, if you do? – Yes, I think I probably do. It bothers me that I am thrown into a situation like that with people like that more than the fact that I act different. So it does bother me, but not in the way that the quiz authors intended that it should mean.

So, you only do this with certain groups where you don't feel safe. Again, I'm not getting a whole lot of Snake here?

So long as you know who you are, do you care what other people think? – Yes, absolutely. First, I don’t know who I am, sometimes, in certain situations, I can look inside myself and feel empty. It means I’m more ready to react to a situation than to show who I am, I guess. Secondly, what other people think about you can affect you, emotionally, or worst, actually in your physical life.

Okay. I think I might be getting this, finally.

Your secondary seems to be burned. It may be one of those cases where it's just burned, and you haven't recovered it or started up a strong model--this is part of the official SHC descriptions, that you can just burn your secondary and not have strong inclinations about it any more, you just do whatever works but none of it is very satisfying.

You get examples of this with characters pretty frequently, but with people it seems less common--you see a lot of models instead. I actually forgot that this was part of the SHC system until just now, but you can find a kind of not-super-comfortable stability in just... not having a secondary. This might be why you're getting hints of other secondaries, but it's hard to pin down anything strong enough for you to feel like you can claim it as yours.

I'd hazard that your secondary might have been Bird or Bookkeeper Badger before, and you have hints of both of those now. I lean towards Bird being your actual secondary and just extremely burned, and Bookkeeper being a bit of a model or performance you're kind of using but feel conflicted about.

In a pinch, you'll improvise or whatever, just anything that works, but it's not something you're very comfortable with. That's not the same thing as Snake, but I think it's why you're getting Snake results from the quiz.

Perhaps the reason you can't figure out your secondary, in short, is that it isn't there.

Thank you, and yes, please ignore me if it's annoying. Have a good time and be safe!

Oof, I'm sorry that this isn't a cheerier result to hand you ^^; hugs! Hope you can find something that works for you soon.

#sortinghatchats #burned secondary #burned ravenclaw secondary #submission #paint speaks #q

15 notes · View notes

marveloussupernerd · 4 years

Note

Could I pretty please request Zen and MC ~platonically~ getting hammered together and just getting into shenanigans? I’m a ✨lesbian✨ and still reslly would love to have these characters as best friends, especially zen because he seems like such a ride or die. If I could have one wish it would be getting plastered with Zen and him making sure I don’t die. Thank you in advance and feel free to reject this one lol

Yes !!! Ofc I can do that :) also I have literally never rejected a request LMAO I’m here for your enjoyment. I’m rlly excited to write this bc everyone is SLEEPING on zen and also ?? The Zen friendship content in Jumin’s route? I’ll never shut up about how much I love it. Also I threw Yoosung in here too pls don’t hate me

Clubbing - Platonic! Zen

Warnings: alcohol (duh lmao)

Summary: you’ve had a rough day at work. Zen’s been meaning to show you around to some of his favorite bars. Zen’s responsible but also wouldn’t hesitate to punch a bitch if need be. Yoosung has to clean up after your messes

Oh! Also. PSA, I’m 19. So have I ever gone out and gotten drunk... no LMAO. I do drink (it’s legal where I’m at as long as you’re with your parents, still wouldn’t be able to drink in a bar though) but only enough to get buzzed usually. Anyway if this is inaccurate that’s why I am so sorry LMAO

You honestly had had the worst day today. It was a pretty bad week, truth be told, and you were so grateful it was the weekend. You texted Zen a lot throughout this week; the two of you had become close friends since the RFA party and hung out almost every weekend. Hearing all about your bad days, he suggested taking you to a bar to let off some steam and give you something to look forward to. You’d never turn down a drink.

You took an Uber to the bar, as did Zen. You expressed your desire to get plastered and Zen agreed wholeheartedly. You had never been to this bar before, but Zen swore by it, so you trusted him.

“Hey!” Zen exclaimed as he saw you get out of the car. He was leaning against the wall of the bar coolly, dressed in the leather jacket he must have pulled out of his closet from the time he was in a motorcycle gang.

“This better be worth the commute,” you teased, not letting him live down the fact that it took almost an hour to get here (primarily due to traffic honestly).

“Oh it will,” he had a giant grin on his face. “I’ve been so busy I haven’t been here in a while, but i doubt it’s changed.” He pushed himself off the wall and made his way inside alongside you. “It’s right outside of a college so you get all the fun college students here.”

“Sounds messy,” you commented, glancing at some girls in skimpy crop tops and high-waisted shorts getting drunk already.

“Much better than bars for real adults. You’ve always got some guy moping over a glass of whiskey in those. Here, it’s all singing and dancing and getting drunk. Of course, I only come when I want to get completely hammered, but it’s always fun. The kids are nice too.”

It was at this point that you reminded yourself that Zen was only 23. He seemed so much older because he’s been on his own for so long, but nope, he was 23. The same age as a lot of the grad students here. So partying with them was not weird or creepy in any sort of way. In fact, the students probably were over the moon to party with someone so famous and, if they weren’t aware of who he was, handsome.

“So what do you typically start with here?” You asked, wanting to get the full experience.

“Shots. Classic move, especially for the med school students. You’ll see them soon enough. They start off with fireball but then make their way down to the cheapest vodka they have as they get more drunk and can’t actually taste it.”

“Let’s follow their influence,” you suggested. Zen went up to the bar and ordered some shots, bringing four glasses back with him. “Do they normally do two at once?” You asked.

“Nah, they’re way too broke for that. But I thought it’d be fun.” He handed you your shot glass and clinked his against it. You gulped down the shot, feeling the familiar fire burn in your throat. (I love fireball LMAO) You shook your head vigorously to counteract the burn, as though that would help, then looked back at Zen. “Good?” He asked.

“Perfect. Round 2?”

“Already?”

You laughed. “Well, it’s here isn’t it? The faster we can get drunk the better.”

You got drunk pretty fast. Zen was constantly handing you drinks, which of course you didn’t turn down. Maybe it was because the two of you hadn’t gotten drunk in a while, but this one hit you hard.

“Will you sing karaoke with me?” Zen chuckled, his cheeks flushed from all the alcohol in his system.

You laughed out loud. “Sure. I’ll even let you pick the song.”

You did not expect him to pick “Before He Cheats” but honestly? A banger of a song. Who doesn’t know all the words to this song?? “Hey, I’m Zen, and this is my best friend,” he slurred out, introducing you before the song started.

You sang in unison, the first instrumental break coming out. “This is for my asshole ex!” You cheered. The college students cheered with you.

“And all my old managers who told me I’d never make it!” Zen added. Everyone cheered again. You walked over to him, tripping on the microphone cord. He caught you a few inches off the ground.

“That would’ve hurt like a bitch,” you commented, bursting into laughter again. He helped you up and held your hand as you crossed over the wires this time, ensuring you wouldn’t get caught again.

Was your performance good? Probably not. Even Zen, who usually sang pretty well, was some sort of hot mess since he was so drunk. But the drunk students seemed to enjoy it, so you padded off the ‘stage’, proud of yourself.

Some dude called your name. Ew. Maybe Zen shouldn’t have introduced you.

Zen whipped around to face him. “If you so much as look at her right now I swear to God I’ll knock you into- Yoosung?”

“Hi!” You turned around to see the origin of the voice; it was indeed Yoosung. “You guys are kinda drunk.”

The two of you simply laughed, brushing him off. “What are you doing here?” Zen asked.

“Oh, well I live right down the street.”

“Oh my goodness you are a college student!” You observed keenly. You were connecting so many dots.

“Yup. Uh, I had an LOLOL event tonight but was super tired, so I thought I’d come and take a shot and it’d help wake me up. Never expected to see you two belting out Carrie Underwood.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Oh! I have a great idea,” Zen exclaimed, focusing his attention on you.

“I’d love to hear it.”

“Why don’t we just crash at Yoosung’s place tonight? We won’t have to pay for an Uber at high time and get stuck in traffic!”

Yoosung’s eyes widened. “But-“

“That’s pretty smart,” you agreed, nodding. “What do you think Yoosung?”

“I-“ he sighed. “I guess it’s okay. As long as I can play LOLOL.”

“Yay!” You cheered. “We can go now. Lead the way.”

Yoosung hesitantly led you out to the street, walking ahead of the two of you, glancing back every few seconds to ensure you hadn’t died. Zen wrapped an arm around you and you one around him, and you stumbled down the street together, only slightly more stable than you would have been if it were just you on your own.

Luckily Yoosung lived on the first floor. You weren’t sure you’d be able to do steps right now. He unlocked the door to his apartment. “I only have like... a bed and a couch,” he muttered awkwardly. “But we can figure something out.”

You stepped into his apartment, looking around. “Wow Yoosung! This is cute as hell.”

“Uh, thanks, I think.”

You made your way to his couch and collapsed down on it. Zen did so on the other end of the couch at the same time, your legs bumping into each other. You both shifted so that your legs were on top of his so that it was more comfortable.

“Is that really comfortable? You can take my bed,” Yoosung offered.

“Nah, this is great. Will you get us a blankie though?” You asked. Yoosung left to go find something. Zen shrugged off his leather jacket. You were very happy you wore something comfy enough to crash in.

Yoosung draped a blanket over the two of you, his face bright red. “Is this okay?”

“Perfect! Thanks Dad,” Zen joked. Yoosung’s face got even more red, his ears heating up now too.

“Night Yoosungie. Don’t stay up all night,” you commented, shutting your eyes.

You heard something set down on the coffee table. Cups of water and Advil. He was too sweet. “I have class in the morning, so feel free to see yourself out whenever you’re up and ready tomorrow,” Yoosung said. “Goodnight you two.” He chuckled to himself. You and Zen probably looked like absolute idiots, but not that you cared. You had a great night out. Good thing Dad Yoosung was there too.

#mystic messenger #mysme #zen

23 notes · View notes

zekejeagrs · 3 years

Note

Hi friend! This is mha-adore; I'm on my main blog because my mha blog is a side blog and I can't send a question from that blog. Just to prove it's me - you came to me asking about a matchup exchange and I asked you to explain what it is and I agreed, and the day after I wrote my side matching you with Shoto, and in our personal messages your recent message is, "I'm so excited to do your matchup!" something to that idea. I hope that's enough to prove it's me.

I'm asking for a matchup with mha please.

I'm a quiet and well mannered person who strives to appeal to everyone I meet. I happen to have a personality disorder and as such, some people get a different idea of who I am. I consider myself friendly but emotionally distant, a friend of mine has accused me of not caring at all because I'm naturally a distant person. I'm mostly very respectful and try to avoid any conflict or fights, but the moment someone insults or fights a friend of mine or my partner I drop my friendly exterior and hone in on the person, insulting them, spilling any tea I know about them, I say whatever comes to mind that I know will make them feel terrible, and I end it by stomping on their foot. With close friends or my partner I'm more talkative - not loud or boisterous, just more talkative. I insert my opinions more, I hold a conversation and I openly give my thoughts about different topics without worrying that I'll upset them.

I'm a trans male who uses he/him and they/them pronouns; I'm pansexual. I'm 19 and a Leo sun, Aquarius moon, Virgo rising. The only characters I don't feel comfortable being matched with are Endeavor, Dabi and All Might.

My hobbies involve drawing (I'm working on a comic), I love to play both Pokemon and Animal Crossing, I enjoy writing fan fiction, studying and playing card games. (Like Old Maid, Go Fish, Crazy 8s, Blackjack, Solitaire, you get the idea.)

My love language is to show my love in subtle ways. Cooking someone a meal they love without being asked to, spending time with them doing whatever they want, giving them hand made gifts and giving them cute pet names like love bug, sweetheart, sweet tea (a different way of saying sweetie). I offer genuine advice to them, even if I know it'll hurt or upset them. I want the best for my partner, even if it means taking the path of most resistance. I want someone who can aim an arrow into my heart. I look for someone who shares my taste in music and who will listen to music we both enjoy together. I like the area of Melanie Martinez, Billie Eilish, Ricky Montgomery, lofi beats and some of the older country music, like from the 80s and 90s. Generic, I know.

As for anything specific, perhaps my matchup's opinion on having children? I'd really like to have a child someday.

Thank you again so much for the matchup exchange offer, it's very kind of you 💗

— matchup exchange

ty sm again for doing this exchange with me! you seem so nice i’m v down to be mutuals/friends with you (only if you want ofc)! also, what would your quirk be? i’m v interested in what it would be since i mentioned what mine would be on my submission to you. i hope you enjoy your match!

i match you with...

fatgum

| hi yes i matched you with a human marshmallow. one of the reasons why i matched you with taishiro is because of the difference in your personalities and the way he would work well with your personality because of how much he cares. the way you’d meet him would probably be by working at his office. he’d find you to be so sweet that he wants to get to know you better. he actually doesn’t mind how proper and emotionally distant you are because he understands that everyone is different and present themselves differently.

| you’d take some time to open up to him and become friends but he’s completely fine with that! he understands reserved people because of tamaki & only wants you to feel comfortable around him. because of that,,, taishiro definitely always starts the conversations. “how’s your day?” “what did you do over the weekend?” “what did you think of that movie?” once you become more talkative with him and have your conversations, he’d be so happy because he sees it as a new level of friendship.

| that’s when he starts realizing he actually has a crush on you. he’d confess at the end of a long work day and explain that he’d like to be your partner,, “i really enjoy your company and i want to be your partner for a long time- oh i just realized what i said, only if you also want to be my partner- or i mean would like to give me a chance to prove myself-“ idk how he managed to get himself out of that one but it would end with you accepting to have dinner at his house.

| like i’ve said before, taishiro doesn’t mind that you’re emotionally distant. he knows you care and just show it differently than others. the first time he saw you angry at someone he was very scared & shocked because he’s never seen you that way before. he just stood behind you as you absolutely slaughtered the person you were angry at and watched with wide eyes before trying to diffuse the situation. he asked if you were okay and that it wasn’t a big deal that that person was insulting him but he expressed how grateful he was for you standing up for him. he never wants to see you like that again but he’s glad he got to see every part you.

| HE IS VERY RESPECTFUL ABOUT PRONOUNS!! that was probably the first thing he asked you! “oh! he/him and they/them? i go by he/him too!” he’d even write it down to remember because he doesn’t want to make any mistakes or offend anyone.

| taishiro would be so supportive of your comic! he’d check up on you when you’re working on it and bring you cut fruit and water. he’d genuinely be so interested in your drawings and writings— he’s not artistic so seeing it come so easily to someone would be so cool to him. he’d only read and look at what you’re comfortable with sharing though! if you ever ask for any creative help, he’d be 100% down to help you. he comes up with the coolest ideas too and you wonder why he says he’s not artistic.

| on his days off you guys either stay indoors and play animal crossing or walk around and collect pokémon. his island would be so messy so he’d always try to copy your island. island visits & he always leave you gifts. he’d have so many pokémon because he plays when he’s on parole (oops!). he’d jokingly brag about it to you and would offer to take you with him next time but he doesn’t want you to get hurt. he seems like the type to be secretly very good at card games?? he’d just surprise you with how good and competitive he is when you play together and with other people.

| taishiro listens to old country music. he knows every lyric to every dolly parton song and sings when he thinks he’s alone. you’d have to introduce him to your other favorite artists & he’d absolutely love their songs! ricky montgomery makes him cry a little but he’s fine! he swears! even though there’s tears rolling down face!

| PLEASE COOK HIM FOOD! the first time you cook him food to show your love he just blushes and smiles the whole time. he can’t. HE CAN’T! HE JUST LOVES YOU SO MUCH ALREADY HOW IS IT POSSIBLE FOR HIM TO LOVE YOU EVEN MORE??? every other food is ruined for him after you cook for him because your cooking is the absolute best to him.

| he’d love the small gifts you give him, he’d treasure every single one of them and display them around the house. sweet tea would be a perfect pet name for him- he loves it so much. he’d call you love bug in return and cook you dinner and give you small gifts. he’s definitely an acts of service and quality time guy. just being in the same room as you doing separate work is good enough for him. your presence just soothes him and he has a blast!

| taishiro values your opinions very much. he always tries to be the best partner for you and listen to you because you have so much insight. he also trusts you so much and knows you mean well when giving him advice. he just loves you so much, he doesn’t want to disappoint!

his opinion on having children

| he basically already adopted tamaki & kirishima, of course he wants kids!

| you’d have to be the one to bring it up because he doesn’t want to seem like he’s forcing you into anything.

| he’s so relieved once you do bring it up though! “yes! i want to have a family with you!”

| it doesn’t matter if you have them biologically, adopt, or have a surrogate— he loves his child so much and cried because he was so overwhelmed with love and finally being a dad.

| he’d be the best dad! (although a bit clueless) he wouldn’t imagine having a family with anyone other than you. you’re just perfect for him.

| he’d also ask if you could adopt a dog

| he is so protective over his family too. if anything were to happen to either of you, he would be so upset because you’re his life.

| overall, taishiro would try to give you and the child the best life!

i hope you enjoyed! pls lmk if anything is inaccurate or if you want me to make it longer.

@mha-adore @space-cowbop

#iidastiddiesmatchups #iidastiddieshcs #mha matchup #bnha matchup #mha #bnha #fatgum #taishiro toyomitsu #fatgum headcanons #bnha taishiro

4 notes · View notes

keepyourpantsongohan · 4 years

Text

Ayesha Liveblogs Cardcaptor Sakura: Clear Card S1

Not to be someone born in the 90s but wow this is a change from the more simple animation style new anime truly likes things shiny, intensely bright and round lmao

Ah I guess the prologue is just a reanimation of the original anime finale? That’s fair it helps you reintegrate if it had been nineteen years for you

“That way, you’ll realize who you consider to be your Number One” Eriol’s advice has gotten less cryptic since he stopped lying

“The person I love the most... is you” Lmao didn’t Syaoran ALREADY do this confession in the final battle this is like in Naruto the Last where Naruto just forgot that Hinata had already said she loved him

Fdshkfjhkjdfhksjhfkjh wow Yukito appearing with a flower background and shine effect and softened face is this a style choice or is this just Toya Vision™

I think Toya’s voice IS different rest in pieces I still respect u bro

“How do I feel about Syaoran” [Pan across Syaoran in floral background] It is a style choice how very shojo manga of you

I’m really very confused by the references to Tokyo Tower bc I’m pretty sure they were battling at Tsukimine Shrine did I miss something??

No I just checked it was definitely at the shrine in the anime did THEY not check or were they like ‘hmmm not enough drama only Tokyo Tower for our battle backdrops pls’

This is the third or fourth flower backdrop in the first ten minutes jkhkdjhg the floral effect artists said ‘I WILL BE SILENT NO LONGER’:

I DO NOT understand the chronology of this the bear exchange was the last scene in the anime is this before or after the finale???? If it’s after then why is Syaoran still in town

Rjhkjhgkj is the entire point of redoing this episode so Sakura could also give Syaoran a bear

“Toya was too embarrassed, so he had me bring it over and went back to his room” Lmao @ Toya sending his boyfriend to be nice to his sister in his place

If this show does not stop the floral cutaways I will not be able to take it seriously it is Ouran High School Host Club levels of intensity jdshfkjshdfkjhsdk

“Will you wait for me?” “Yes! I’ll wait! I’ll be waiting!” I think they threw out all continuity just so they could establish that these feelings were for sure mutual for the setup of the sequel series

That, or the original series so heavily discarded manga continuity that they are trying to walk it back to something more accurate without any real explanation

Rffkghkfghkdfhgkj if they’re referencing the original anime bear scene what was the point of that stupid prologue SO WHAT IS THE TRUTH

“My name is Mike. I’m from Portland” LOL references to Americans in anime are always so funny

“Now I can stay in Tomoeda forever” did u bring ur mom and sisters orrr

Gosh I’m actually quite thrown by how quickly this romance escalated it took them 57 episodes to just use each other’s first names and now it’s taken them one (1) episode to Commit 4Ever At Age 13

HAHAHA do they have smart phones now? Always on the cutting edge

“I Am a Stuffed Animal” some of the quirky captions ARE worth it

“Make sure you tell him... even the smallest things” Yue has become more of a romantic since he got closure and a part-time boyfriend

“I never knew! Thanks for telling me!” “Never change, Li-kun” kjhgkjhdkj STILL MY GULLIBLE BOY some things don’t ever change

Is that a dragon?? They are really expanding this magical universe

It bears repeating the polar opposite levels of pacing from the two shows it’s only episode one and they’ve already established so many new rules and powers

I don’t blame them for it though bc they have to put forward some kind of plot progression

There were so many visual effects in that scene I couldn’t even tell what was happening lmao it’s like reading manga battles

“But why are these things happening in Tomoeda again?” I mean not to point fingers but Syaoran’s arrival is fairly recent

“Did Wei-san come back with you” “No, just me. But he said he’d come to check on me in a while” HE’S 13?? CHILD. WELFARE. LAWS!!!!

“I wish that I could’ve used it as a reference” “For what?” “To make something that would look wonderful on you” LMAO now that Syaoran and Sakura are a thing He is Included in the outfits

“’Great to have you’ so you can do what?” don’t bully ur sister Toya, u r both happy with your respective relationships now

WHAT ARE THE STAKES OF KERO PRETENDING TO BE A PLUSHIE TOYA IS LITERALLY DATING THE MOON

I understood “Gale” but what exactly is a “Siege” card this feels a little abstract

“We managed to keep him in the dark” did u tho? Again. Moon boyfriend

“So it happened in her room” Did u put a protection spell on that bear or something Syaoran

I genuinely do not tire of Syaoran and Sakura’s shared gullibility this couple is morosexual solidarity

How convenient that Sakura’s new key just announces whenever there’s a new clear card to collect lmao

I meant what I said about Toya’s love language being touching Yukito somewhere above the shoulders

“You’ll find out when the time comes” Dfddjhfjkdhf Toya what are you going to DO

Two cards in one episode is quite a bit for ep 3 I guess they’re trying to give her some more fighting options lol

Is the implication of the way Sakura just happens to be coming across magical phenomenon that Clow Reed didn’t make his cards but just harnessed magic that existed in nature

For no reason other than my own suspicion I think that something funky is going on with Syaoran’s powers

“That person was almost the same height as me” I mean so was Eriol

“Sakura and the Lovely Transfer Student” we know by now transfer students mean that shit’s about to get real

“And then you slept with your belly uncovered” “I did not!” Toya’s gentle bullying to distract Sakura is always weirdly sweet

“Your brother is so funny Sakura” CHIHARU’S RIGHT STAN TOYA

SHINOMOTO ARE YOU SHITTING ME JHDFGHDGDFDD WHY DOES IT RHYME

“I hope we can be friends” if I know anything about this show this means she’s going to do something very shady immediately

I wonder if this will be the season that Tomoyo’s filming of everything Sakura does finally becomes plot relevant

I do think it’s weird that Sakura trusted a new key without questioning it

“I’m changing back” LOL @ YUE TRANSFORMING INTO YUKITO JUST TO AVOID PEOPLE I’M STARTING TO REALLY LIKE HIM

DGSJGSJDGDJGSFFSJDHJS YUKITO APOLOGIZING FOR YUE LEAVING RUDELY THAT’S MY POLITE AND HANDSOME MAN WHO HAS NEVER DONE ANYTHING WRONG IN HIS LIFE

I KNEW Syaoran was being suspicious!!! Talking about Sakura with Eriol in secret phone calls

“I came here to be ready for that time, when it comes” current theory is that Syaoran has NO powers and that’s why he is not running out of his classroom for teenage battles with the Forces of Nature

“How much has Yukito-san been eating?” “Not as much as he did when you were in elementary school, but he still eats a lot for his size” This must be a strange conversation for their dad to listen to but I like how this is code for Does Yukito Have Magical Chakra Exhaustion

“Um, I just... Phone call” said Sakura, as she was forcibly moonwalked away right in front of her friends’ eyes

LOL is Tomoyo being unable to film Sakura going to be a recurring joke

“Don’t worry about it” “I have to, when it’s about you” Syaoran really going Full Boyfriend Mode huh

I’ve never questioned it in until precisely this moment but who pays Kero’s phone bill?? Is it Tomoyo? Who is the account holder for this stuffed animal did she establish Kero as a legal person

“Momo-chan, let’s be friends okay?” I feel like this has to be immediate foreshadowing for Momo being alive

[Cucumber cut incorrectly] “Gotta show Yuki” hjkfhksjdhfkjhd rude of Toya but the caption kills me

Ddjkhfkjdhfjkdhfkjh the pure juxtaposition of this energy:

Tomoyo: They have other things to do

Chiharu, thinking that it’s a romance thing: [Winks]

Syaoran and Sakura: [In the shadows while threatening music plays]

“I didn’t feel... anything” oh NO why r their magic senses NOT tingling

I feel like I have been had, they had an episode called the “Song of the Moon” and Yukito didn’t even show up?? Rude

SCREAM this magical FaceTime call is much funnier than I could’ve imagined

“Yukito is in a recitation club, which he takes very seriously” GDGJFGJGJHGDG Yue very respectful of not occupying Yukito’s time with magical shenanigans LMAO

“And we’ll make them the cutest oxygen masks you’ve ever seen” Tomoyo, like the background effects artists in this anime, will not be stopped

Well colour me inaccurate I guess Syaoran can use his powers and he can do a fancy new sword thing

I like this flying scarf it’s the first of the new cards with a personality

Poor Syaoran always so serious to being a Teenage Wizard is hard

Wow I bet there’s NOTHING weird about the fact Akiho lives in Eriol’s house it’s just pure happenstance (said no one)

“Could we um, go out together?” I think this is the first time someone has explicitly scheduled a date in all 80+ episodes

I really do enjoy Toya’s never-ending list of temp jobs lmao

“Still going on, huh?” Toya’s older brother senses are unparalleled

LMAO IS THIS A 15 YEAR OLD BUTLER

Ghgjhfjfjhfjh what is the scale for these heights why is Kaito twice the height of these 13-year-olds

Unsubtle shot of this man’s pocket watch echoing Sakura’s dream

I’ve never seen a more Rich Person Reaction than Akiho getting upset that Katio, a service worker, stated that taking care of her was his job hfkjdhfkjh

“I came to Japan because there was a book I wanted”

1. VERY Rich Person thing to say

2. Wow I wonder which of you has a MAGICAL BOOK that’s been doing weird things lately

“What language is it” “I don’t know, but I’ve learned to read it” me when I hear people speak South Asian languages LMAO

Why does everyone keep referencing the Time That’s Coming? Toya, Syaoran, Eriol... they’ve all caught Mizuki’s affliction of vague and unhelpful prophecies

*One more go to jail Mizuki for the road

I hope that these stupid FaceTime calls with Yue are in EVERY episode from now on

Does the fact that he’s listed as Yue-san in Sakura’s phone mean that there’s a phone for each personality omg

OMG I just realized the ep title (Sakura’s Thrilling Aquarium Visit) must be a throwback to “Sakura’s Heart-Racing First Date” which was not a date but took place at an aquarium. Cute!!

GJHGSHJGFSGH Yue is me whenever people talk about video games:

Kero: Hey, Yue, play an online game with me

Yue: [Hangs up immediately]

“I made you wait” “Nah, I got here too early. It’s still twelve minutes before our meeting time.” I think she and Yukito had this exact exchange in that early ep

“She doesn’t have magical powers, but she’s oddly perceptive” I hope that Meilin’s one and only magical power is precognition lmao

Omg every time someone in this show speaks English I am so thrown

“I wasn’t sure how I should look at him” awww Syaoran trying to re-establish himself in the family

I guess this aquarium HAS changed in that it developed a security system for when the tank breaks [youknowwhathatisgrowth.gif]

LOL I guess it’s convenient to have an invisibility cloak when ur breaking and entering I was wondering how they were going to deal with their criminal behaviour in the age of cameras

Ep 10. Sakura’s Unbelievable Juvenile Detention Centre

Weel weel weel looks like Sakura isn’t the only one with new powers nice ice Syaoran!! I missed their tag team fights

OH MY GOD IF THIS PHOTO ALBUM ACCEPTS THE CONTINUITY OF THE SECOND MOVIE THEN SAKURA AND SYAORAN HAVE ALREADY! DONE! THEIR! CONFESSIONS! WOULD YOU PICK A LANE

“You want the person you like to eat good food” Besides the fact Kaito is twice your height and therefore probably an adult... u should not make advances on people u employ - this is all very bad-vibes-no-jutsu

I am shocked that it took this long for Sakura to notice that her new cards paralleled the old cards

Syaoran is staring at Kaito like he murdered his spouse in a previous life

“So he has Moon magic too?” UHHHH WAS SYAORAN’S MAGIC ALWAYS MOON-BASED I FEEL LIKE THAT’S NOT CLEAR

Also very unclear why Eriol keeps leaving her on read if he’s talking to Syaoran what

I love how Kero has independent friendships and communications with both Yukito and Tomoyo lmao

How many times has Penguin Park been destroyed by now

“Perhaps your dream is gradually progressing” Progressing into what exactly the Battle of the Nice Thirteen-Year-Olds

Why is it that magic in this universe comes with above-average athletic ability LOL

Once again, without a body/personification, these cards seem harsh

Kaito seems like too much of a red herring a la Mizuki so I’m going to assume the other presence we see is someone we either haven’t met yet or smth really fucked up with the rest of the main cast

I’d lose my mind if it was Toya but I genuinely hope not he’s too nice

I honestly missed Meilin ever since she chilled out a bit she’s very fun

“The emoji in her message definitely looked thrilled” [Bob Dylan voice] For the times they are a-changin’.....

“I don’t know when it’ll happen, but when it does you’ll know” Toya.......

Toya’s absolutely nonplussed reaction to his Moon Boyfriend never ceases to amaze

Yukito: [Sighs and floats into the air to wrap in a wing cocoon]

Toya: [Sitting and staring unfazed]

Also am I crazy or was that transformation on purpose bc it really had the energy of ‘Fine if you won’t talk to me maybe you’ll talk to Rude Magical Me!!’

“Did I change again?” GUESS NOT LMAO

Also it’s fun how as different as Yukito and Yue are, their shared brain cell says ‘TOYA COMMUNICATE WITH MEE’

“But ever since Syaoran came back, he’s had something important on his mind” People don’t give Sakura enough credit for her emotional intelligence

Can we take a minute to appreciate Sakura’s outfit fashion ICON

What is this Furry card that makes u dress up in ears and a tail lmao

“I’ll treasure [these cookies]” “I’d rather you ate them” LOL

My Furry card prediction gets more and more accurate with each passing second (even a broken clock’s right twice a day)

Uhhhhh Syaoran what did u sell to the moon devil to be able to cut through the space-time continuum

Sakura: NO THAT’S MY EMOTIONAL SUPPORT SYAORAN

SCREAM this family and their circle of hair cutting (also if Yukito cuts Toya’s hair, does Toya cut Yukito’s? Or does it not grow bc magic jfhkfh)

“I’m pretty sure that was middle school English” Sakura hearing English is me hearing French LMAO

“Sucks, doesn’t he?” MEILIN PLS

Djhfjkdhkjfhjk Tomoyo’s immediate rage at being the centre of attention

SAKURA DOING MAGIC RIGHT IN FRONT OF OTHER PEOPLE OMG

“Surround the entire mansion” Very subtle Sakura I’m sure no one in your whole town will notice

“I hear her father specializes in archaeology, so he might have some interesting books” “Have I mentioned Sakura-san’s father to you before?” [Dramatic cut in music] WELL

Oh my GOD did Kaito just turn back time bc he regretted what he said immediately? Honestly a mood

Also: BITCH

“You’re so alike, and not just because of your names” I have to say I’ve been thinking since her first appearance that Akiho looks like Nadeshiko so if they’re not related I will be surprised

“Sometimes watching good people makes me feel sad” well damn Meilin

I’m going to guess this Teenage Robot is the equivalent of the fight card that Meilin fought upon her introduction

Aw HELL YEAH SAKURA AND MEILIN TAG TEAM FIGHT WOOOO

“Aren’t you and Syaoran doing too much for those you care about, and forgetting to care about yourselves?” WELL DAMN MEILIN U R THE NEW TEENAGE SUPERHERO THERAPIST

“Can I call you ‘Sakura’ from now on, too?” AHHH THESE KIDS

LMAO AMAZING IT TOOK 13 STRAIGHT EPISODES FOR MOMO TO EVEN TWITCH

“We are indeed progressing... toward that time” I feel THREATENED

Once again I cannot stress strongly enough how much I love physical comedy

Sakura: They don’t seem to be causing any harm

The dessert rolls:

GOD the roll cakes eating each other to form one giant monster Babushka doll roll cake jhfjkdhgkdjhgkj incredible

EXCUSE ME MA’AM WHY WAS THERE A DEMON GIRL IN THE REFLECTION OF THIS SHATTERED CARD

“Please laugh again” Akiho is v nice I really hope Kaito isn’t mean

“Once a magical contract is formed, it can’t be broken, unless something really serious happens” [Quirrel voice] Can anyone tell me what foreshadowing is?

“What do you feel” “I think it’s a card” Very observant Sakura I think they gathered that

When Sakura gets all four of the base elements is Momo going to turn into a 200 pound giant rabbit

I like that every time Toya is concerned about Sakura, Yue appears suddenly to discuss the matter seriously with him [Gay and Wondorous Life of Caleb Gallo voice] He’s in this relationship!!

“When you’re angry or upset, it shows on your face, even if you don’t say it” Yue IS in this relationship woooow

“When humans realize they’re talking to a fox, they won’t sell you mittens. In fact, they’ll catch you and put you in a cage.” UH who is the fox in this metaphor not Sakura I hope???

Years later Syaoran is still winded if Sakura makes too much eye contact khgkghkjg

The fact that Yukito reads at a children’s hospital... truly one of The Nicest Not-Humans On Earth

Well with each passing episode we have less and less reasons to trust these cards and Kaito the Young Magical Butler

Ever since Kaito reversed time, I cannot shake the persistent thought that Akiho IS Nadeshiko. That’d be weird but u know... I’ve seen this show do weirder

“Your sweets look better” “No, yours!” Grandpa witnessing this date

“Also if Sakura-chan goes to college or wants to do something else, he wants to help” TOYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

“Any further, and you won’t be able to return” NADESHIKO BE MORE SPECIFIC

“It was my robe” Wait what ur family is a magical society or smth and somehow u don’t know Akiho??? How in the whomst

Everyone in this anime is like, ‘Haha Yue looks mad’ as if Yue does not look mad every second that he’s alive

KHKJHKFJHKJFHJ GRANDPA MASAKI REALLY GONNA GIVE SAKURA A HOUSE AND TOYA NOTHING LMAO WHAT’S IT LIKE TO BE THE LEAST FAVOURITE GREAT-GRANDCHILD LOL

“Nadeshiko would talk to things that weren’t there, and try to reach an understanding with things that couldn’t talk” 91 EPISODES LATER AND MR. KINOMOTO FINALLY ACKNOWLEDGES MAGIC?? OKAY

AND HE KNEW BOTH SAKURA AND TOYA HAVE HAD MAGICAL PROBLEMS FOR 3 YEARS!!! MR. KINOMOTO WHAT KIND OF HANDS-OFF PARENTING

“I want me to tell me [about your pain] too” wow this is the CALL-OUT EPISODE

“The house they live in was once torn down and replaced with an amusement park” were the continuity errors of accepting the second movie... A PLOT POINT?!?!?!

DAMN U KAITO I REALLY WANTED THINGS TO BE OKAY FOR AKIHO

“But I’ve got a great poker face” “Yes you do. But Yue does not” JKHDKJGHKJSHGKJHDKJGHSDJGHKJH BY DIALOGUE ALONE IT’S LIKE WHENEVER ANYONE SEES YUE’S FACE TWITCH IT MEANS HE’S HAVING AN EMOTIONAL BREAKDOWN

Yue: Evil magic looming overhead is bad for your wifi signal actually

“I will obtain these new cards. So I can use the relic I took from the association to activate that magic spell” Kaito really laying out his motivations out loud in a library. Insensible. Vague and probably misleading. 1/10 villainous monologue

Sakura’s powers are WILD she can duplicate the strength of her magic

“Power that’s too strong will bring unhappiness to its owner” SYAORAN :((

I feel like the only way this can end is Toya giving Sakura magical noogie so she doesn’t have to carry all of her powers like the reverse of what he did for Yue-kito

THERE IS TOO LITTLE TIME LEFT IN THIS SHOW FOR ALL THE ANSWERS I NEED THERE’S ONLY 20 MINUTES AHHHH

THERE ARE 12 MINUTES LEFT AND STILL NO ANSWERS!!! WHAT HAPPENSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

I GOT ABSOLUTELY NO ANSWERS OH MY GOD?!?!?!?!

#ayesha talks anime #ayesha liveblog ccs #liveblogging #long post

11 notes · View notes

greennct · 5 years

Text

a cut above the rest | lee taeyong

for chlo~

hair-stylist!au honestly taeyong was the only member i could write this au for, because he’s so overworked & dyes his hair so damn much lol 🥴🥴🥴 if any rich nctzens are reading this pls bring him some conditioner and a kingsize bed at the next fansign

omg also I have no idea how a hair salon works so i’m so sorry for my inaccurate descriptions of how to dye hair sksksks

fluffy, two idiots in love my favourite kind tee hee, 4.5k words

song rec: lucky strike by trove sivan

Today was going to be a long day.

Usually, when you dyed hair, you were allowed the luxury of dealing with only one client over a series of hours, or days if necessary. However, your salon was well-known, and highly respected, meaning that you received frequent visits from kpop groups. Each and every time the idols came in, your usually tranquil hair salon was thrown into chaos.

The colouring needed to be done as quickly and discreetly as possible, to avoid the public catching wind of any spoilers for their potential comeback. Unfortunately, this meant shutting the salon down for at least 24 hours, and running all over the place attempting to complete about thirty odd jobs at once. As one of the senior members of staff there, you usually had the luxury of picking and choosing your clients, however whenever idol groups came in, you were expected to oversee each and every member, in order to ensure that they all received the exact treatment that their company entrusted you to give them.

To be honest, you didn’t mind tending to idols if their group was small. They were usually starved for conversation outside of their tight inner circle of mangers and staff members, so always provided you with fun stories and easy chatter. However, this relaxed and friendly attitudes only applied for groups with at most, six members. Since not every member would have a full-on bleach and colour, you had time to stop for a cup of coffee now and then, and still get the job done on time.

Today, however, you were not going to be granted that luxury.

Today, NCT 127 had been booked.

Nine members, though notably much more polite and charming than your average kpop idols, were still nine members, and that meant your day would be spent without hope of even sitting down. What’s more, SM had informed you that morning that every member would at least need a toner to alter their shade a slight amount. Essentially, your workload had just been doubled. Great.

You had barely polished off the breakfast your colleague had grabbed from the café next door, when the boys, accompanied by two managers, tumbled through the door. One of your interns then immediately pulled curtains over the shop front window, turning the sign in the door to read CLOSED. The boys immediately displayed signs of relief, cracking smiles as they pulled off the caps, glasses and masks that prevented them from being recognised, and loped over to their respective chairs.

You caught eyes with Lee Taeyong right away, and looked away to hide the faint blush that dusted your cheeks.

Unfortunately for you, hopeless infatuation with a more or less stranger was a much more common occurence than the average person. You had the tendency to fall in love, or at least into some type of temporary, superficial lust with the idol customers who visited the salon. Chan from Seventeen, Wonpil from Day6, and most recently, Taeyong from NCT. However, this crush on him was bothering you a lot more than your previous ones had.

Usually, your passing fancy was exactly that; passing. Usually intense, but still extremely fleeting. You could hold a coherent conversation with them within months, sometimes even weeks. However, with Lee Taeyong, you had found yourself stuttering for almost half a year now. It certainly didn’t help that he was definitely the most frequent client at your salon, changing his hair colour practically every month.

Though you two knew each other by name now, you were honestly too scared to actually spend a significant amount of time with him, since you knew how quickly your social skills fell apart around someone you liked. So, today you were determined to avoid spending time with him at all costs.

Of course, fate had other ideas. You quickly spotted two employees who were attempting to bleach Taeyong’s hair. No matter how awkward you felt around him, you were not about to let your incompetence get in the way of your profession, and so practically sprinted over to the chair he was sitting in.

“Guys, guys!” You tried not to whine. “If you start the bleaching process at the bottom of the head, you’re going to have to go over your original strips when you put the colour in.” Grabbing a brush from one of their hands, you ignored their bewildered expressions, to collect the strands falling over his forehead, just brushing his eyelids. He looked up from his phone when you did so, and gave a lopsided grin of recognition when he saw your face. He graciously ignored the blush blooming on your cheeks from stroking his face so boldly.

“Hey! It’s been a while, huh?”

“Uh... Yeah, I guess.” You attempted to play off your nervousness at replying to him as being entirely focused on his hair.

“How are you?” He continued, switching off his phone, and looking at your reflection in the mirror opposite you.

“Can’t complain.” You tried to smile back at him, but it came out as what looked like a pained grimace. “Er, you?”

“Tired. Always tired.” He chuckled, but you frowned slightly.

“You should get some rest. Sleep in the chair if you want, no one will mind.” Your parental instincts allowed you to forget how to be awkward for a while. concern taking over from the butterflies in your stomach.

“Maybe.” Taeyong didn’t sound convinced. “I’ve got to monitor our dance practice, but I’m, like, genuinely fine, otherwise. Like you said, I can’t complain.” He smiled again, but it didn’t meet his eyes.

It was obvious your worry made him uncomfortable, so you tried to scale it back, smoothing the frown lines off your forehead. “Whatever you say,” your tone was much more lighthearted. “All I’m saying is, I’m sure your fans would prefer it if you were conscious for your next comeback, not falling asleep on stage.”

“I won’t be falling asleep anytime soon.” He assured you, letting out a wry laugh while looking away from you.

“All I’m saying is, no one’s going to judge you if you take a ten, twenty minute power-nap.” You chided gently.

“You’re so sweet.” He turned around to look up at you, eyes soft, slight smile tugging at his lips.

You let out something that resembled a squeak, and thrust the bleach-covered brush at the coworker standing next to you.

“NicespeakingtoyouTaeyongbye!” You managed, before rushing off to the sinks to calm yourself down. It was almost embarrassing how affected you had been by one single look.

You did not manage to talk to Taeyong again that day. You were surprised how disappointed you were by the fact, however all your resentment washed away, when you caught him snoring softly in his chair, dance practice still playing in the phone in his hands.

You didn’t end up seeing Taeyong for a few months after that. Unsurprisingly, that made you even more curious as to his whereabouts. You found yourself refreshing your social media much more frequently, constantly checking NCT update accounts for any kind of news. You told yourself that it was all due to concern for his health, and it was true that you did fret over the eyebags that were prevalent even through his thickly made-up face. However, you also caught yourself smiling at candid photos of him taken by fansites, and giggling at his group’s appearances on variety shows.

You were worried about your crush. It had never gone further than harmless attempts at flirting with any other customers you had before, and something told you that the intensity was not going to fade any time soon. And that sacred you. You tried to occupy yourself as much as you could with things to keep your mind off Taeyong. Extra clients at work, reconnecting with old friends, clubbing every weekend. However, each time you thought that you were finally getting over your feelings for him, you would be reminded of his presence.

Sometimes it would be a huge billboard on the subway, however it was mostly something small and stupid that reminded you of him. A stuffed bear with huge eyes just like his, laughter heard from across a crowded restaurant that sounded like his, even the red of a balloon tugged along by a little boy that was the exact shade that you had just dyed Taeyong’s. In other words; you were screwed.

However, that morning, you barely had enough time to think of anything, let alone your illicit crush as you shoved a banana in your mouth, scrabbling to lock your front door. You had slept in, and woken up to around fifteen missed calls from your boss. You ran to your car, putting your phone on speaker, and then reversing out of your parking space as you called her back.

“I’m so sorry, I completely overslep-”

“Finally!” Came the shriek on the other end. “Listen, we’ve got NCT coming in today.”

“Oh.” You blinked, immediately regretting not taking a few extra minutes to pick a cuter outfit. “W-which unit?” You tried not to make your nerves noticeable.

“All of them.”

“What?!” You squawked. “All units?!”

“Did I mention the three new members they’ve added? With no notice to us at all? And that they’re expected in fifteen minutes!”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

You didn’t even bother to hang up before you let out your groan

Just under twenty minutes later, you almost knocked down the doors to the salon. Immediately eighteen boys, five staff members, and twelve of your colleagues stopped what they were doing to look at you. And of course, you could only see Taeyong. Staring at you with a good-natured twinkle in his eye, perfect as always. Great.

You waved to your boss apologetically, as you ducked into the backroom to put your coat away. And then, you got to work.

The day was one of the hardest that you had ever spent at your job. Not only did you have to organise everyone’s hair colouring, which meant attempting to have a eighteen individual fifteen minute consultations within five minutes, you also had to coordinate who would be doing what when, ensuring that there wasn’t a seven-person queue at the sinks, and that no one’s hair fell out from bleach being left in it for too long.

It was actually coming towards the end of the day when you finally got a chance to even be near Taeyong. You saw him sitting in one of the sink chairs alone, and decided to rinse out his final round of toner, since you figured even the interns needed a break. You admired the dusty pink hue that he had chosen silently, as you made your way over. Though it was true that the two of you usually engaged in conversation, no matter how awkward while you did his hair, by the time you managed to get to the salon chair, his softly rising and falling chest showed you that he had already fallen asleep, head lolling in the sink attached to the head of the chair. You smiled, in spite of yourself, and turned the hose on softly, testing the temperature with your hand before starting to wet his scalp.

You made sure to do your job gently, but meticulously, massaging his scalp slightly to ensure that all of the excess product was washed out his hair. You hummed under your breath, simply out of habit, enjoying the welcome break from the madness your day had been so far.

However, you were barely two minutes into the job when Taeyong let out a soft moan. It was so quiet that only the two of you could have heard it, yet the noise startled you so much that you dropped the hose with a loud clang, spraying water all over both Taeyong and yourself. The salon was immediately thrown into pandemonium, as stylists abandoned their posts to mop the two of you up. You apologised over and over to Taeyong, unable to even look him in the eye.

Later, when your boss asked you what had happened, confused since you had, up until then, been such a reliable and talented employee, you were unable to vocalise what had happened. You had barely had time to even breathe since the incident, but had accidentally caught Taeyong’s eye as he swept a cursory glance around the salon to check that all the members had left before walking out himself. As soon as you locked eyes, he blushed an even deeper shade of crimson than you did.

As if your life could get any worse.

Over the next few months, you came to the harsh realisation that Taeyong was avoiding you. Whenever NCT came in to your salon, he mysteriously always had a schedule, or some kind of last minute commitment that the staff members assured you he absolutely could not back out of. Even though it had technically been him who had let out that sound, it seemed that you were the one being punished for it.

However, you knew that you did not have ownership over Taeyong, after a while, begins to come to terms with not ever seeing him again, as it seemed he was extremely determined to make that happen. He stopped popping into your thoughts as much - some days he didn’t cross your mind at all, and you breathed a silent sigh of relief to yourself that your crush was finally coming to an end, convincing yourself that his hiatus was in no way because your feelings were mutual.

That was, until a fateful stormy Wednesday evening, when you were left to close up the shop by yourself. Until, sopping from the torrential rain outside, an all-too-familiar figure burst through the door, breathing heavily, as if he had ran all the way from his dorm to your doorstep. Until all of your buried feelings resurfaced in full force, with one look at his face.

“Taeyong?” You almost whispered, incredulous. “What are you doing here?”

He stood, motionless, dripping water onto the floor. “I have to dye my hair.” He grunted.

“W-well, um, I’m closing, so if you could come back in the morni-”

“No.” He shook his head fervently. “I have to do it now.”

Something about the way his voice broke slightly on the last word in the sentence, shook something within you, and so, instead of refusing, or even asking him why, you simply sighed and pulled out the nearest salon chair.

He seemed slightly taken aback at how quickly you had complied, his demeanour immediately changing from intimidating, to the much more neurotically polite Taeyong that you knew. “Are you sure? I mean-”

“What colour do you want, Lee?” You called from the other side of the salon, already mixing bleach in a bowl.

“Green, please.”

“Green?” You raised your eyebrows. “How green?”

“Have you ever seen our lightstick?”

Three and a half hours later, you were exhausted. It was God-knows-what-time at night, and you had been on your feet for the entire duration of you bleaching Taeyong’s hair about three times, colouring it twice, and adding in enough toner to last a lifetime. What’s more, you had completed your tasks in complete silence. Not even on his phone, Taeyong instead opted to stare determinedly at his own reflection, avoiding your curious gaze, and remaining stoically voiceless. Instead of your usual friendly conversation, all you could hear was the howling of the wind against the windows of the salon, and the rumbles oft under that seemed to be coming even nearer to you.

Though you weren’t particularly afraid of storms, you had to admit that being in such an uncomfortable situation so late at night made you much more wary than you were usually. However, you were much too nervous around Taeyong to even giggle at the awkwardness that hung thick in the air, let alone confide in him your nervousness about the weather. You were beginning to realise that he had an effect on you that no one else ever had before. You were tongue-tied.

However, your ordeal was now finally over. You rolled your head around, stretching out your neck as you walked Taeyong to the door after he had paid, still with neither of you saying anything. You fumbled with your keycard in order to open it, incredibly conscious of his close proximity in his eagerness to leave, breath fanning the back of your neck. You slotted your electronic card into the door’s lock, and watched the light by the handle turn green with a small beep. You then attempted to push the door open, but were prevented by the definitive sound of the lock rattling.

“What?” You muttered under your breath.

Swiping the keycard once more, you tried to open the door again, but were met with the exact same stubborn lock, and a distinctive sinking feeling in your stomach.

“What’s wrong with the door?” Taeyong asked.

You could tell he was impatient, shifting his weight from side to side, and attempting to surreptitiously check his phone for the time.

“I don’t know, it’s... it’s not opening. The lock is jammed or something, I think it might be because of-”

“The storm.” Taeyong finished your sentence. “But that doesn’t make sense. All the other electricity in the building would be fucked up as well. If it’s only the door then-”

Just as he uttered those words, as if by some sick twist of fate, the lights in the salon flickered a few times, before suddenly shutting off.

“Shit.” You said, more to yourself than anyone else.

“Shit is right.” Taeyong huffed. He was already pulling his phone out, dialling a number. You toggled the light switches by the door, but were met with no response.

You both waited with baited breath for the familiar sound of the regular beeps of Taeyong’s, signalling that it was calling someone, that you had a chance at escaping. However, the phone was silent, refusing to follow it’s owner’s instructions. Taeyong tried another number. Then another, then another, and soon he was going through what looked like his entire contact list whilst pacing up and down in the dark.

“I don’t think we have service, Taeyong, there’s no point-”

“I’m trying to get out of here!” He whipped around, snapping at where he had last seen you standing. “Some of us have places to be, you know!”

You couldn’t help but let out a tiny gasp. This was a new, short-tempered and just plain rude side of Taeyong that you had never encountered before.

He didn’t respond in any way to your small reaction, instead finally stopping his pacing. Your eyes still weren't used to the dark, and so you squinted in an attempt to work out where he was, having realised the sounds of him moving had stopped, until you heard his voice right by your ear.

“Sorry.”

You jumped about five feet in the air. “Jesus!” You exclaimed. “You scared me!”

Even then, with both of you still so awkward with each other, and in such a terrifying situation, Taeyong managed to laugh.

“What?” You huffed. “That was terrifying! I can’t see anythi-”

Taeyong switched on the torch on his phone. You resisted the urge to shove your face into your hands. By this time, you had slid down the wall into a little ball, wrapping your arms around your legs. You could now clearly see Taeyong sitting a short distance away from you.

“Oh.” You almost whispered, unsure of whether or not you should attempted to initiate conversation.

After a short pause, in which you could physically feel the uncomfortableness of the situation seeping through the room, Taeyong continued speaking.

“I am sorry though, seriously. I’ve just been stressed recently, ‘cause it’s awards season. I haven’t changed my hair in so long, because I’ve been so mortified about what I did, but the managers told me I needed to change my look, so I came as late as I could to avoid you, but you ended up being the only one here, which is why I’ve been so disgustingly awkward, and now we’re locked in, but I only have a few hours to practice my solo choreography until sound check, but now I don’t have anywhere to practice, not to mention how I definitely won’t get to sleep now, and the members are gonna kill me, since I’m now basically M.I.A., and I don’t-”

Taeyong cut himself off, when you reached over and grabbed his hand. It was an impulsive decision, that shocked you as much as him, however as soon as you did it, you somehow knew that you had made the right choice.

“Taeyong, I can’t imagine how you must be feeling right now.” You weren't exactly sure where you were going with this, but looking at how desperately his brown eyes bored into your own, you understood that you had to at least try to comfort him. "Everything must be incredibly stressful, so firstly, you do not have to apologise to me at all.”

“But-”

You silenced him with a look. “I think it’s amazing, and incredibly admirable that you have so many concerns for the others around you, and so much dedication towards your career. But, Taeyong, maybe this is a good thing. No one is going to be angry at you for getting trapped somewhere out of your control, especially when you were trying to follow orders. Maybe this is a sign that you need to take a minute to think about yourself.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Taeyong protested stubbornly, now staring down at your intertwined fingers.

“When’s the last time you slept for more than an hour or two, huh?” You reasoned.

“I...”

“Exactly.” You said. “You know what, you’re sleeping now.”

“What?!”

“You heard me. I’ll watch our phones, and keep checking the door, but as long as we’re trapped here, I’m going to force you to finally get some rest, Tae!” The nickname slipped out, but he didn’t comment on it. It had felt so natural slipping off your tongue, and you felt a warmth bloom in your chest in spite of yourself.

“What about my dance practice? I only learnt it yesterday!” He protested.

“Then it’s their fault for not teaching it to you sooner.” You replied.

“I’m serious. I have to make sure it’s okay.”

You knew Taeyong would not let it go, let alone relax until he had the stupid thing nailed.

“Fine. Ten minutes.”

“Twenty.”

“Fifteen, and no more.” You bargained.

“What’s the song? I’ll play it for you.” You offered, searching it up via his instructions, whilst he stretched. Since the room was so quiet, your phone was a sufficient speaker, with the tinny sound of the beat just loud enough to enable Taeyong to hit each move perfectly.

You watched him, enthralled by the way he made his body twist and turn, contorting himself in order to pull off the most seamless performance you had seen from him. Again, you found yourself in awe of the boy’s talent.

“Are you sure you learnt this yesterday?” You tease. “You’re amazing.”

You didn’t miss the way Taeyong’s face heated up at your compliment.

“I, um... Well, it’s only cause, you see, the thing is-”

You interrupted his stammering with a chuckle. “Admit that you’re talented and drop it, Tae. Now come to bed.”

Taeyong almost choked at your provocative statement, and you realised that you enjoyed making him flustered.

“S-sure.”

You laughed again when you watched him lie down on the floor. “I’m not letting you sleep like a homeless person!” You teased. “Put your head on my lap, it’s much softer than wood, I promise.”

You had no idea where all of your newfound confidence was coming from, however you had an inkling that it might have had something to do with the way that Taeyong looked at you. Like you had galaxies collected in your eyes.

Barely able to look at you, he shuffled over, to rest his head on your jeans. Unable to resist, you started to run your fingers through his hair, blowing lightly on his neck, until he groaned.

“Please don’t. You’re too good at this.”

You blushed. “What?”

“This is what got me in trouble last time.” Taeyong was slurring his words slightly, and you realised with surprise, that he was already half asleep. “As if your smile, your smell, your personality wasn't enough, you’re so damn good as playing with my hair. It’s incredibly-” he paused to yawn, “-distracting.”

You smiled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I have a big, fat crush on you!” He mumbled.

There was a few seconds of silence where you simply blinked, attempting to process what you had just heard, before Taeyong shot up.

“Oh my god, I didn’t just say that out loud did I-”

The rest of his sentence was muffled by your lips on his. It barely took a few seconds for Taeyong to melt into the kiss with a smile, cupping his hands around your face, and pulling you closer to him.

You broke apart when the fireworks in your stomach became so agitated you could barely breathe.

“In case you haven’t realised,” you said, panting slightly. “I have a big, fat crush on you, too.”

“Well, then,” Taeyong grinned, already leaning in again, “There’s only one thing to do.”

“Nuh, uh.” You shook your head. “You are going to sleep, Mister.” You pushed his head onto your lap again. “What kind of person would I be if I deprived you of an opportunity to actually sleep?”

“Are you serious?” He asked, gazing up at you with nothing short at adoration in his expression.

“Afraid so.” You replied, smirking down at him.

“Well, this is very upsetting.” He pouted playfully, and you couldn't help but to pinch one of his cheeks gently.

“There’s really only one thing that’s going to make me feel better.” He continued.

“Oh yeah?”

“Goodnight kisses. Lots and lots of goodnight kisses.”

The next morning, you were woken by a very flustered intern who had been sent to prepare the shop for it’s opening. The electricity had come back on at around five in the morning, but neither of you had been awake to notice. You sent the girl off on a mundane task in the back, whilst you typed your number into Taeyong’s phone.

He apologised for having to leave, and then you apologised for having kept him so long. He thanked you for letting him sleep on your lap, and then you thanked him for being “Such a ray of sunshine.”

The intern gasped loudly when she saw Taeyong kiss you goodbye, however you were so infatuated that you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. He was all yours now, and you couldn’t be more grateful that your crush hadn’t worn off in the slightest.

400 notes · View notes

heathsbitch · 5 years

Text

365 DAYS - b.b*

A/N: This is from my Marvel Imagines book on Wattpad. (My Wattpad @ is in my bio. Pls check it out, I need friends.) This is one of my oldest imagines and I’ll be honest, it’s a bit shit and some things are inaccurate because I wrote this before Infinity War. It was also originally in two parts but I thought it’d be better if I combined them for Tumblr. But, nevertheless, enjoy...

Requested: No

Scenario: You were kidnapped by some supposed HYDRA agents a year ago. You were just starting to lose hope in escaping when a certain team of heroes come to your rescue.

Warnings: Smut, strong language, unprotected sex

365. I dropped the knife and took a step back from the wall. 365 marks were etched into it's surface. Every mark represented one day. It was 365 days ago that HYDRA had pried me from the precious confines of my home.

They claimed that I knew information of the whereabouts of the infamous 'Winter Soldier'. They told me that they wanted to use him, that he was one small piece in a huge puzzle. One part of a plan that would take man's one weakness away, freedom.

Of course I knew nothing about him, and nobody had even realized that I was gone. I didn't know how they found out who I was and why they thought I knew 'The Winter Soldier'. The only encounter I had ever had with him was 3 years ago. And even then, I had only saw him from a distance.

I saw him being chased by a person in a black suit that had silver etchings on it. But here I still was, in a dark and damp cell. The only light emanated from the minuscule window in the door. I sat down and lent against the boring grey wall and started to think that nobody was coming for me.

Scorching hot tears slipped out of my eyes and began to drip down my face; all of my hope went with it. I had finally lost my battle with myself. The fact sunk into my head and the pace of my tears started to quicken. I realized I was going to be stuck in here for the rest of my days. My head dropped and it fell into my hands.

Bang! Bang! Two thuds thundered through the room causing shock to course through me. My legs stiffened as I stood up. Bang! Bang! Two more thuds bounced through the room. I began to walk backwards until my back hit the far wall.

The door burst open and two tall men walked through into my cell. One was clad in a black suit that looked like a cat, similar to the one I saw chasing The Winter Soldier, and the other in a blue costume. The one in the blue suit walked over to me "Y/N Y/L/N? Is that your name?" I nodded my head and tried to speak.

"How do you know my name? Who are you?" My voice came out a more of a croak after not drinking for at least 24 hours. The man in the black costume stepped forward "We'll explain once we get you back to Wakanda."

His accent sounded a little strange. Maybe he was African? My head spun, who were these people? What did they want with me? What was this Wakanda that they spoke of? Was I finally getting rescued? My body went limp and dropped to the floor, strong arms cradled me and caught me before I could hit it. My vision darkened and I fell into a black abyss.

BACK IN WAKANDA

I opened my eyes and light flooded my senses. I shifted in my bed. Wait, bed? How and why was in a bed? My gaze drifted around the room, taking in it's decor. There was a small bed, a wooden desk and chair, a couple of shelves and a dresser with a mirror hung above it.

I sat up and the door to the simplistic room quietly opened. A man with dark skin waltzed in and took a seat at the desk. "Wow, we thought you were dead. No offence. You were asleep for four or five days." The news hit me like a truck but it wasn't too surprising, I hadn't been in a bed for a long time.

"I am sure you have a lot of questions but, I'm going to ask you to keep them to yourself. Only for a little bit longer. Somebody will come in here soon with some food and then they will take you to my throne room. Then, and only then, you can ask me and my friends as many questions as you want." The words sunk into my brain.

"Is that okay with you?" I nodded. I figured it would be better to comply than fight back. After all, they gave me a bed and they're giving me food soon. The woman with the food came in roughly ten minutes after the other man left. She brought me a bowl, of what I assumed was rice, and a glass of water.

"You have thirty minutes to eat and regain your strength before I take you to the throne room. My name is Shuri. What's yours?" I smiled and replied "Y/N." Shuri and I talked and laughed for the next thirty minutes. I felt like we were slowly becoming friends. She led me out of my room when it was time to meet the man from before.

I was guided into a room with a glass floor and a throne in the center. Eight chairs were aligned in a circle around the throne. In the throne sat the dark skinned man. The other person who helped rescue me sat to his left in one of the eight chairs.

The girl who took me here, Shuri, took the empty seat to the right of the throne. Six out of the eight chairs were occupied. In the seat next to one of my rescuers was another dark skinned man with a little bit of facial hair, to his right, a girl with bright eyes and brown hair.

On the other side of the throne, next to Shuri, was a muscular man with long hair and what looked like the start of a beard. He was quite handsome actually. His face provoked a sense of familiarity in me, but I shook it off. To his left, another white man. His hair was turning grey and his body was rather small. I approached the throne.

"My name is T'Challa Udaku. I am the king of Wakanda, the country you find yourself in. We rescued you from the so called HYDRA agents because we believe that you could be a valuable asset to us. If you have any questions, ask them. We will do our best to answer." I thought over my questions in my head before speaking up "How am I valuable to you?"

The King looked at the floor before looking over to the man who was previously wearing the blue costume "We believe you to be one of the enhanced." Confusion rippled through me "Enhanced? What's that?" I asked "They are people who have have parts of their body's amplified. For example Wanda,"

He pointed to the woman with brown hair "She is an enhanced person. She has telekinesis and can control people's minds," He hesitated before continuing "Her brother, he um... he was one too. He had a higher metabolism which made him run really fast. Faster than any human being alive." I nodded, processing their words. "Do you know what my power is?"

"We believe it to be similar to Wanda's but only the telekinesis part. We also think that you can shape shift." Again, confusion coursed through me and my heart-rate quickened "How do you know this? When did this happen to me?"

The man with long hair stood up and walked over to me "When you were with HYDRA, in that room, what happened?"

"Not much, people would slide food through the small hatch at the bottom of the door one or two times a day. Sometimes people would come in and beat me up and ask questions, but that's it." The men all looked at each other before the one in front of me continued.

"When we came to rescue you, we looked at the security camera footage to find where you were. We saw you using your powers in your room. We also saw you getting experimented on. Do you not remember any of this?"

I shook my head "No. I had dreams that I would get experimented on but I thought that was just me being paranoid. I swear I don't remember anything else. Anyway, why did you guys come looking for me?" The other dark skinned man answered my question this time, "Over the past few weeks we've been trying to track down the remaining workers for HYDRA, I assume you know who they are?"

"Roughly, yeah." I replied. He continued "Well, we found out that three old HYDRA scientists were looking for a girl, around 25 years old, to test some things on. That's you. We immediately tried to save you from being captured. Obviously we couldn't get there in time and we didn't get close enough to start tracking them. After almost a year, we heard about HYDRA gaining a new 'secret weapon'. Something they could use to get revenge on us and fulfill HYDRA's main goal. We tracked them back to the place that Bucky was held in when he was The Winter Soldier,"

He pointed at the tall man to my right "Wait! You're the Winter Soldier?" I interrupted "Yeah. Well, at least I was when I was with HYDRA." My eyes widened in shock, I knew he looked familiar, "The people told me they were looking for you. They thought I knew where you were."

"That would've just been a cover-up for what they were actually doing to you." Bucky reassured. "Can I continue now?" The man who was speaking before said "Sure, Sam." Bucky told him "Anyway, they took you to where they used to hold Bucky. They took you to Siberia. The place was still battered from a certain fight between two superheroes."

He looked at the man with the blue suit, "But they made it work. We broke in and rescued you, because that's our job. And Bucky didn't want another person going through what he went through when he was there." I smiled at Bucky to show him that I was thankful for what he helped do. "Is that all of your questions answered now?" T'Challa asked.

"Yes, for now I think." Everybody went back to their seats and the King began to speak again "Something is going to happen, something big. Something that none of us can prevent. It is going to affect the entire world if we do not stop it. We are going to need as much help as we can get. We would like you to join us in this fight, if that's okay with you."

Once again, shock ran through me "I'll help you. It's the only way I can repay you guys for what you've done to help me. After all, that's what you helped me for. But, I'll only help you if you tell me who I'm fighting and what's going to happen."

Everybody in the room looked towards me and Bucky took a step forward. "His name is Thanos. And he's looking for six gems called Infinity Stones."

A COUPLE OF WEEKS LATER

It's been around three weeks since I've been saved. In that time, I've grown quite close to all of my rescuers, especially Bucky. Steve has told me more information on Thanos and what he wants. He thinks that Thanos is going to spring an attack on Wakanda in the next couple of days.

Along with the information, Steve and his friends have also been teaching me how to fight. Natasha, an ex-assassin I had found out, had taught me a few tricks that she had learnt in a place called 'The Red Room'.

I didn't want to ask anymore questions about that because it looked like it hurt her whenever she mentioned it. Yesterday was a particularly interesting training session, however. I was told that Bucky would be teaching me a few things. My feet tapped the floor as I walked into the gym. Steve, Nat, Sam, T'Challa, Bucky and Wanda were all training in their respective areas.

"Hey guys!" My voice echoed around the room. "Heyy," Nat sauntered over to me. We had become fairly good friends in the past weeks. I told her everything. She told me as much as she was comfortable with, which was quite a lot actually.

But, I had also told her something about Bucky. I didn't know I felt that way about him and i'm still not sure if what I said was actually the truth. I had told Nat that I liked him. Not just liked him but like liked him. Not gonna lie though, he was amazingly handsome and looked like he had been sculpted by the gods.

Whenever I was around Bucky with Nat she would always slyly tease me about it. And she knew that we were sparring together today. I walked over to the small-ish fighting ring in the center of the room. Bucky joined me shortly.

"You ready?" He asked and I responded with a small nod "I'll go easy on you at first." My heart rate started to quicken as nerves shot through me. He raised his fists into a fighting stance and got ready to fight. I reflected his stance and let out a steady breath. His metal arm shined in the light of the room. 'Could that be a kink?' I thought to myself.

Everybody crowded round the ring and began cheering us on. Words of encouragement rang through my ears and a smirk slid onto my face. Confidence dripped into my veins as I took my first swing. My right fist swung towards Bucky's face.

He ducked just in time to miss it. His right arm connected with my stomach and a grunt fell out of my lips. He pushed me backwards and I regained my stance. I lifted my leg up to his waist just as he was about to take another hit on me. It hit him and he stumbled back. Another smirk made it's way onto my face.

An idea popped into my head.

As Bucky prepared his next attack, I ran up to him. I lifted my leg up to his knee, stood on it, wrapped my legs around his head and swung my body around him. He hit the floor, his head still in between my legs. "Yeah Y/N!" I heard Natasha shout "That's my girl!" Sam yelled. I giggled and Bucky growled. I unraveled my legs from around Bucky's neck and sat up. He chuckled to himself.

"I see Nat's been teaching you a few things. Good job." A blush crept onto my face as he complimented me. He smirked, "Ready for round two?" Bucky's gruff voice rang through my ears. I nodded, smirking with confidence. We swung a of couple punches and kicks at each other but this time he beat me. I lunged for him, my right fist aiming for his jaw, 'Oh my goodness that jaw could cut me and I'd thank him', but he caught it.

The super soldier twisted my arm around and pulled me back into his chest. My back was pressed hard against his front, my arms restrained behind me. Bucky leaned down so his lips were next to my ear.

"Better luck next time, princess." He whispered. I felt my neck go limp and my head fell back against his chest. A sigh escaped my parched lips. His arms released me from their clutch and I ran straight over to Natasha "We need to go now, I have a lot to tell you."

She gave me a slightly perplexed look and we dashed out of the training room and into my bedroom. Within the first week of me staying here, T'Challa had set me up with my own room complete with an en-suite and a stunning view over Wakanda.

NOBODY's P.O.V

Everybody left in the training room was slightly confused at the enhanced girl's behaviour. Everybody apart from Bucky. He just stood and smirked to himself. 'I'll go check on her later.' He thought to himself.

"Dude, what did you say to her?" Sam asked. "Nothing much." Bucky replied with his gaze trained on the floor with a smile upon his lips. He knew the how Y/N felt about him and, honestly, he felt the same way.

He lusted after her but at the same time just wanted to cuddle up next to her. Steve just looked at his friend of 70 years and chuckled to himself. He knew what was going through Bucky's mind. Steve and Bucky left the gym before Sam, Wanda and T'Challa.

'Man Talk' was their excuse which left Sam slightly agitated at the fact that he wasn't invited. T'Challa told him not to worry about it. When Steve and Bucky got into the corridor, Steve laughed and looked at his friend. "What?" Bucky asked "Still got that 40s charm, hey Buck?"

"I guess I just have that effect on women."

Y/N's P.O.V

Nat and I sat on my plush bed as I told her about what Bucky had said and what was currently racing through my mind. "I just," I signed "I don't know how he does this to me." Nat smiled at her friend.

"I guess it's just that 40s charm." Her and Steve had had quite a few conversations about Bucky and me, unbeknownst to both of us at the time. They had even betted on when we would sleep together.

"Maybe." I laughed and fell back onto my bed. "I feel like a fucking teenager, what the hell is wrong with me?" A knock vibrated through the room. An annoyed sigh left Nat's mouth as she got up to answer the door.

Behind the wooden slab stood the infamous solider with a look of desire in his eyes that could murder any woman. "I'll just leave you two alone." The former Russain spy stated and left the room.

That meant just me and Bucky. In a room. On our own. Great.

The Jesus look-a-like walked into the room but not before closing the door behind him. I sat up on my bed and looked up at him through my lashes. "I just wanted to check how you were. You left in quite a hurry back there." Bucky knew exactly what he was doing. "Yeah, I just-I wasn't feeling well."

"And how can Natasha help with an upset stomach?" His silver tongue asked. By now he was sat next to me, looking down at my frame, unholy thoughts racing through his head. "Well-"

"It's okay, Doll," He cut me off "I think I know a way to make you feel better." Bucky's metal arm reached up to my face and brought it closer to his. Without warning, he smashed our lips together. I moaned at the sudden impact and lent into the kiss.

Both of his large hands now held my face against his, his tongue slipped into my mouth. He ran it across my upper lip and then my bottom lip. "Is this helping, princess?" I was breathless so I responded with a whine.

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then." He chuckled. His vibranium arm pushed me down onto the bed so Bucky could climb onto me. Sweat dripped down both of our body's, giving us a godly glow. Bucky sat up and removed his top.

His abs shone with sweat and tensed as he breathed in and out. "Like what you see?"

'I am not going to last much longer if he continues like this.' I thought to myself. His fingers played with the hem of my top and then proceeded to take it off my shaking body. He added it to the pile of clothes that had begun to build next to my bed.

His hands then moved down to my shorts. As he pulled my shorts off, he made sure to drag his fingers down my thighs, taking every last opportunity to tease the fuck out of me. "You're so fucking gorgeous, Doll." Bucky practically moaned in my ear.

His lips moved to my jaw, leaving little purple marks across my neck and collarbone. He made his way to my bra and slid his hands round to my back to take it off me. Snap. As quick as lightning it was on the floor with the rest of the clothes and his mouth was leeched onto my right nipple.

"Oh my goodness, Bucky." I moaned. He moved over to my other nipple and I snaked my hands through his soft hair. A small grunt came out of his lips when I tugged on it. He released my nipple and moved down towards my panties.

Bucky brought his hands up to my knees and pushed them up so my legs were spread wide for him. He trailed his fingers up my bare legs, his metal arm creating a trail of goosebumps behind it. His long finger hooked into my panties and dragged them down my legs.

He grunted at the sight of my dripping pussy. "God, I haven't seen anything this good in years." I blushed at his words but he surprised me when he dived head first in between my legs. My back arched up in pleasure, his tongue circled my clit while his fingers traced up and down my wet slit.

Another moan erupted from my throat, this one longer than the others though. Because Bucky had now slipped two of his incredible vibranium fingers into me. "Bucky."

"Yeah, Doll?" Another moan "I don't think I'm gonna last long." He laughed and said "That's the point." He got rougher and faster. His fingers plunging into me and pulling out at a rapid pace. More moans kept falling out of my mouth, like prayers.

They were a mixture of Bucky's name and various curse words. "I'm close, Buck." I said and he just grunted, the vibrations going straight to my core. My hands trailed around his head but eventually settled in his hair.

'I wanna make him grunt again.'

So I pulled and my prayers were answered, he grunted. Again and Again, every time I pulled he would grunt. My climax edged closer and closer until finally, the cord snapped. A wave of euphoria crashed over my quivering body.

Bucky kept his fingers going, making sure that I road out my high. "You're doing so well, princess." He praised. He stood up and I got to see the tent that had formed in his pants. A large bulge rested at the apex of his thighs. "All for you."

'Shit, he caught me staring.' He removed his pants and boxers and crawled back up to me. His lips captured mine in a hungry kiss, he devoured my lips. "Fuck, Bucky. Please."

"Please, what?" He teased "Please just fuck me." And so my prayers were answered for a second time that night. He pushed his large length into me and my hands grabbed and clawed at his back.

"Oh my-" My words were cut of by a strangled moan and yet another grunt by Bucky. He pushed in and out of me, feeding me more and more pleasure. Moans and grunts came flying out of both of our mouths.

We didn't care about anybody else in that moment. We only cared about each other, our tangled limbs and loud noises. A few 'fuck's' came out of Bucky's mouth along with "Shit, you're so tight." and "You're the best I've had in forever."

Our climaxes edged closer, the knots in our stomachs becoming more taut by the moment. He filled me up perfectly and I knew that I never wanted to move from this position. "I'm close." I warned Bucky "I know, me too Doll, just hold on a little longer."

His thrusts got faster and rougher. His tip began to hit the most magical spot in me. Stars began to form in my vision and I was high. "Bucky, shit. I'm gon-ugh-I'm gonna-" but I didn't get to finish my sentence because my orgasm pressed into me.

It coursed through every inch of me and took over my body. Parts of me started twitching and the stars crowded even more of my vision. Bucky came shortly after me, grunts and moans came out of his mouth as well. After our highs had calmed down, Bucky lay on top of me.

Still deep in me. We were both panting and trying to get over what just happened. Bucky eventually stood up and walked into my bathroom. He came out with a couple of small, wet towels. "Let's get you cleaned up, Doll." And so he did. He then tucked me under the covers and kissed my forehead before climbing in behind me. Everything went dark.

I was woken up the next morning by Bucky. He shook my shoulder gently, however the words that came out of his mouth held urgency. "Y/N, get up. We need to go, Doll."

"What's happening?" I croaked out. "Thanos is coming."

"Shit." I murmured. "Come on, follow me." I followed Bucky down to the armory where we got suited up. Bucky's suit was a deep blue and clung to his muscles perfectly. His left arm was sleeveless to display his iconic, shining arm.

My suit was similar to Wanda's as we had similar powers. Instead of red, my suit was a cerulean blue. It kind of matched Bucky's and I think T'Challa did that on purpose just to mess with me. We made our way through the streets of Wakanda and down to the soon-to-be-Battlefield. There we met up with Steve and the rest of the guys, and girls.

Everybody was there apart from Wanda. I was told she was protecting Shuri up in her lab, along with some man called Vision. Apparantly he had an infinity stone in his forehead and Shuri was trying to remove it. I was also introduced to M'Baku aka the seven foot wall of fresh Wakandan meat. They called him 'The Man Ape' and it was clear to see why.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." He said. T'Challa also introduced me to Okoye, a beautiful woman who was the head of the Dora Milaje. The stage was set. Everybody was in place. In the distance we saw a flying ring of some sorts.

Out of it came these creatures. They began to surround Wakanda's boarders, looking for weak spots. "They're surrounding us," T'Challa told Shuri through his suit. "Open it. Please, it's the only way." Shuri complied and opened up the gates to Wakanda.

We fought for what felt like forever. Wanda taught me how to use my powers over the past few weeks so I was flinging the outriders out of my way, killing them in the process. But more piled through the entrance.

All of my friends began to get taken down. That's when it happened. A giant pillar of light burst through the clouds, knocking a couple of the creatures out of it's way. When the light cleared, I could see three figures. One that looked like some sort of tree, a handsome man with a huge axe and a raccoon? Confusion racked my brain.

"Bring me Thanos!" The man shouted. He charged and leaped into the air. Lighting surrounded him and then struck the floor where he landed. We continued to fight. The battle went on and on. I ended up with Nat, Okoye and Wanda.

We had just killed something called Proxima Midnight. I think that was her name. We all sat on the floor, breathless when a booming sound thundered through the trees at the border. "Thanos." Nat said.

We all stood up and began to sprint to the forest. When we got there, we saw a giant purple man. He stood with dominance and radiated power. On his left hand there was a gauntlet. In it, five stones. There was only one left. Steve charged at Thanos, grabbing his hand.

Wanda was using her powers to destroy the last stone. That must be Vision. I thought looking at the man on his knees in front of her. "I just feel you." I heard him whimper. I ran over to Steve just as Bucky sprinted out of the bushes.

We both lunged at Thanos. Bucky with his gun in his hand and me, in the form of a white tiger. I slashed at Thanos's legs but I didn't do much damage. He pushed me back and I went flying into a tree. I changed back to my human form and groaned; the wind had been knocked out of me and my back exploded in pain.

Thanos defeated everyone one by one. Then he got to Wanda who had just destroyed the last stone. Unfortunately, Thanos had the time stone. He reversed time and ripped the stone straight out of Vision's head. Wanda screamed in despair.

The axe from earlier came flying through the air, straight towards Thanos. He shot at it with his gauntlet but the axe continued to fly. It landed with a sickening thud in his chest. The tall man with the lighting now stood in front of a kneeling Thanos.

"I told you you'd pay for that." The man stated. "You should've gone for the head." Thanos raised his hand and snapped his fingers. A wave of energy burst from around him. The gauntlet was fried and everybody was exhausted.

"What did you do?" The lighting man asked, worry lace his deep voice. "Bucky." I whined. My hand had started to turn to dust. Bucky ran over to me and lifted me into his arms. He cradled me and stroked my hair.

"Please don't go." He whimpered. "Bucky,"

"Yeah, Doll." He replied with tears brimming his crystal eyes. "I-I lov-" My entire body had turned to dust. Ashes covered Bucky's thighs and hands. "No!" He screamed "Please," He begged "Please come back." His hand then began to decompose. He fell to the ground, only to see Steve's feet come into his eye line. "My doll." Bucky cried just as his body disintegrated too.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #imagines #marvel smut #thisisshitsorry #fic

140 notes · View notes