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hollyhomburg · 2 months

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Before I Leave You (pt.68)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Your time is running out. minute by minute, breath by breath, kiss by kiss.

Tags: Angst, Hurt (no comfort yet), illusions to past mental health issues and past domestic abuse, mentions of low-self-esteem, internalized shame and self-shaming behaviors, themes of abandonment, speeding, guns, violence,

W/c: 13.4k

A/N: ahhhhh so here we are! i've been dreaming of this chapter since the very beginning of the series! this is like...the ultimate chapter...thank you for giving me a little bit of extra time to sit with it! we've still got a bit to go! there is a little section near the end where the chapter will prompt you to click on a link to play kate bush 😂 if you feel like you'll be distracted by music in the background you don't need to push it- thats just the song that i always heard playing in my head whenever i heard that part playing.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Hobi is sitting on the edge of the nest sipping at his ice water when you come back into the nest room. Someone has drawn all of the heavy curtains over the windows and they pool on the floor at the rim of the room. The plastic pulled up too. The evidence folded and put away for later burning. Like a bad memory or a piece of clothing that doesn't fit right. Shoved in the back of the closet.

The rage and fear and panic are harder to put away. The conviction is not so easy to hide. You can’t put it down the same way that people file their taxes or their children's old scribbles.

You- like a child, have not been able to color between the lines. You- like a child, are messy.

You can’t stop yourself from walking over to him. Drawn to him where he sits nursing his injuries like a moth to a flame. You feel every heartbeat spent in his presence; every breath shared sticky like smoke in your lungs. Every second is savored and every second burns.

You want to ask him if he’s alright, but questions like that seem very pointless now.

Hobi’s not alright- but he will be. He will be okay forever if you do what you have to do. Now that you’ve decided it’s all you can think about. You rarely ever get to know that your last day with someone will be your last day, and now because you know- you look at him a little harder. A little longer.

You wonder what he’ll look like in 10 years and in 20. If he’ll get crow’s feet from smiling so much. If the salt water he loves so much will eventually grow into his features and make him look like something ancient.

You wonder if one day he'll get so many freckles that the tops of his shoulders will be permanently a shade deeper than the rest of his skin- Or if Seokjin’s sunscreen will spare him from the simple pleasure of looking like your favorite thing. Hoseok has always been one part sunshine one part everything else.

He looks pale right now. It hasn't been summer in months and you won't get to see him get all freckly and sun-kissed again.

Growing old is a privilege (you don’t want to grow old) and you’re reminded of that every time you look at his throat and see the bruises there (you wish you and Hobi could stay as you are- like this, in this house- both alive and healing- forever) but you can’t.

You can’t.

You touch his shoulder softly and his head jerks up, body going tense and then slack when he sees it's just you.

It’s quiet up here. The others are just downstairs and they’re making a lot of noise. Hoseok turns, setting his glass of water down on the floor, leaning into your hand in the same movement. It would be cute if he didn’t have black bruises crisscrossing his throat and blood in the whites of his eyes. In truth, every blink only convinces you that this is what you have to do. This is what you need to do.

You know that at any moment the pack is going to come looking for you. That they’ll all come and fill the room with their soothing noises and sweet concern. You're not too worried about finding the right time to slip away. Moonbyul’s given you 24 hours after all.

We didn’t get enough time, did we? I’d have liked more.

Hobi tries to speak and you shush him, he makes a frustrated hum of a noise. You sit down next to him when he tugs you, hand vicelike on your wrist. Your heart is beating really fast. You wonder if he can hear it or at least smell your distress. The whole house is a tangle of distressed scents; your rain, Yoongi’s ocean, Hoseok’s burnt caramel. burning burning burning. It disguises your scent. Hoseok can’t smell how you’re panicking.

You smile at him, and Hobi tries to speak again. unsuccessfully.

“Here your phone-” but Hoseok doesn’t reach for it, he doesn’t reach for anything but you. Pulling you closer to him. His thumb pressed to the pulse point of your wrist, where your skin becomes thin and sensitive. Pulling you until your thigh lines up against his.

The nest up here is the only place in the house that smells somewhat normal, still soaked with your sleepy muted scents from a few days ago (How long will it be until your scent fades from the house?) You take a deep shaky breath, trying to savor it. Hoseok bites his lower lip.

Hoseok starts on your thigh. His hand squeezes it once and then he starts to write. It’s slow going. He can only write one letter at a time but-

“D-O-N-T”

His eyes are positively boring into yours as your breath hitches and you start. “Hobi I-” he repeats it again, writing it out faster. You grab his hand squeezing it. But he pulls it out of your grasp.

“N-O”

You huff, frustrated and close to tears but stealing yourself not to show him your true feelings. How hard this is. You duck in low, kissing over one of the bruises on his neck. He jerks back, furrowing his eyebrows at you. And part of you is just begging him to let it go. You’re half sitting in his lap now all so that he can write out his distress on both your thighs.

“Alright- just stop.” You can hear the rest of the pack on the stairs. It’s getting late, they’ve done all of the cleaning they can manage for today. You can hear Yoongi on the stairway talking to Jin:

“Maybe we should just burn the railing, there’s definitely a bullet or two in it still.”

Jin’s reply is near hissed, utterly scandalized in the way that only Jin can sound. “It is mahogany Yoongi.”

Hobi writes on your thigh, a single tear trailing down his nose. He’s usually a little bit better at keeping himself together but the stress of the day wore him through. Polished all of his usually stubborn edges like the ocean polishes sea glass. He’s too tired to properly argue. Letter by letter as he goes.

“P-R-O-M-I-S-E M-E,” he writes across your thigh.

You have maybe a second before they’re upon you. You have to be convincing. Have to, or else Hobi might tell. You don’t think he’ll get in your way. You don’t want to think about what you’ll have to do if he does.

You dart forward, pressing your lips to his in a way that you don’t really feel, in a way that has him pushing you a little off of him. Trying to reassure him in the only way you know how.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying and he tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear. His fingertips skimming soft across your jaw and your lips. Pressing at the corner of your sad smile like he can peel the fake expression away from your face and have you tell the truth for once.

“I promise, okay? I promise.”

Hoseok is not convinced. He doesn’t believe you all the way. But the pack is up here before he has a chance to write out anything more. Yoongi appears in the doorway, smelling of soap and bleach, a bit of it turning the corner of his shirt yellow where it should be black. His eyes cautious but so loving it takes your breath away a little. He treads softly over to the two of you; like he's worried about spooking you.

The moment between you and Hobi passes when Yoongi's hand curls over the back of your neck and you tilt your face up at him. And he interprets the glassiness there as something else. something more sensitive and more like omegaspace than what it is. you falling through space and time, you dying and drowning infront of him.

He probably thinks Hoseok was just comforting you.

Yoongi’s hand settles softly on the ball of Hoseok’s shoulder too. an equally as tender touch. Long fingers splaying against his collar bones, cradling a bruise there forming. Asking softly, eyes all dark with the anguish and apology of it-

“Do you think either of you can stomach dinner?”

As always, you say you can hot because you want to, but because you know it will make him happy to see you eat. You might not get many more opportunities to make Yoongi happy- you should take this one and savor it.

Yoongi loses that vaguely wounded look in his eyes with every bite you lift to your mouth. His scent sublimating into something sweeter as the night darkens and quiets.

You can tell Hoseok is not convinced of your promises when he stays glued to your side through the whole of dinner. Almost stubborn with how he resists Yoongi’s prodding and Namjoon's. Changing out the cool dressings on his throat and shaking his head at Namjoon’s suggestion that he sleep propped up against the back wall of the nest, where it’s safest. Eyes tracking your movements as you get up and brush your teeth.

His focus remains solely on you, even when Jungkook carries Tae out of the bathroom and places her among the softest things in the nest. When Noodle squirms his way out from under the bed and tries to worm himself in between his legs. Nudging under his elbow with his pink nose.

He wraps himself around you as you get ready for bed. An arm slung protectively around your waist to pull you flush against his front where you couldn’t squirm away without him feeling it and waking up.

It feels like buying time even though you're too distracted to properly enjoy it- the way they try to cheer you up. Everything that they do to try and make things better feels far away like a photograph- a memory just out of reach- the colors a little off.

Jungkook needily wraps himself around Tae and croons soft reassurance into her ear about how pretty her hair looks, how soft her pajamas make her. And would she like some of her skincare routine? Jungkook will do it for her, will pat it across her cheeks, and won't drag it under her eyes to preserve the state of her wrinkles.

Tae answers all his requests with a simple shake of her head. Eyes still frighteningly blank, that 1000-yard stare that you've all seen on your faces at one point or another, that you see in the reflective surface of Namjoon's phone in the nest, discarded and not charged.

Tae's scent is something awful- none of her usual roses and all cinnamon. Does Tae smell more like her old self because that version of her was always afraid? Or was being a boy the first thing she hated and that's why she smells like boy tae now?

You hate it. You can tell the others hate it too. Yoongi drags her close to scent her silly. cheek and neck going all pink from how hard he scents her, and then scents you, and then goes back again.

Jungkook can do little more than cuddle Tae with Jimin, his big hands smooth down her thighs, while Jimin brushes her hair gently- careful not to let the bristles brush her scalp. He's learned how to take care of her over the last few months and he's the gentlest when it comes to detangling. Not like you- who's so used to ripping through your hair without thought.

Up and down their hands go as Jin fluffs the nest around you all. Making the edges of it higher, and more protective of the fragile pups at the center (like fluffy duvets could ever block bullets. In his dreams- Jin’s love is enough to keep you all safe).

Yoongi and Namjoon are only too happy to oblige him with the nest-making and the general fussing. But in between Jin’s request for a hairdryer and another cold cloth for your hands. You catch them watching the door like they half expect some new threat to appear.

Certain things are harder to ignore; like Yoongi sitting on the edge of the nest with a gun balanced across his thigh. Or the heavy thud of a fresh box of bullets, rattling in their acrylic case when Jimin sets them down on the floor. The red shotgun casings lined up in pretty lines- just like Tae’s lipsticks downstairs.

You ask for one of Hobi's sweatshirts and Yoongi puts the gun away to go and give it to you. Hoseok fingers the edge of your shirt stroking over the meat of your hip idly. But every inch of him is taught like he’s going to have to grab you and hold you down. You lace your hand with his and turn to give him a look.

Yoongi’s back with a sweatshirt but it’s Jin who demands to dress you- to guide your fragile and freshly wrapped hands through the holes. Jin pulls it down around your hips with a soft huff before he gets distracted looking at the bruises on your back and side. From getting thrown back into the wall and from an errant elbow. Every time you twist even a little bit- they ache.

A tub of soothing cream that the pack usually uses for the more wanted kind of bruises sits open on the edge of the nest.

The pack moves about in pairs, here and there. Going down to the ground floor in sets of two. Unwilling to let anyone out of sight. There are guns everywhere, Jimin must have let loose his hidden stash of them. A shotgun leans up against the bathroom door. A handgun with an extended stock is always close at hand. There's a larger plan lingering here. You hear it in Jin's soft reassurances. Said hushed over your heads.

"Witness protection isn't as bad as you think it is Yoongi-"

"It won't work- don't you think we know how it works? That won't be safe enough."

"We have at least a few hours, we don't need to make any decisions now."

Jungkook’s scared voice, “Are we really going to have the leave? The house and everything?” A pause. A look is shared between Jin, Namjoon, and Yoongi. Jimin's eyes remain focused on Tae.

“Maybe bunny, we have to wait and see.”

“Do we have a carrying case for Noodle?”

“I think it’s in…” Yoongi trails off, but Namjoon answers for him.

“Yeah, it’s in the basement.”

They set about keeping watch for the night. those of you that aren't nursing wounds that is- mainly Jimin, Yoongi, and Namjoon- Guns remain at the ready and loaded. Jimin will go first, Yoongi second, and Namjoon last.

Jin tries but Namjoon nudges at his chest and growls in a way that has all of your ears perking up. The pack alpha’s commands can’t easily be ignored. Jungkook tries too to convince them too but even Hoseok shakes his head at him. No one is under any illusions of how fragile this peace is.

No one asks Namjoon to leave the Christmas lights on- but he doesn’t shut them off all the way- leaving just one string lit as a bit of a nightlight. None of you are quite brave enough to risk the darkness.

Hoseok stays close by, his hand clutching your wrist more often than not. Even when the pack settles in for sleep. He wraps his arm around your waist and settles in behind you, caging you in.

(Hoseok’s arms are not the prettiest cage you’ve ever been in but they are the cage you’ve liked the most. You think you’ll miss his arms and his hands. They’re so pretty and long, you lean down and kiss one where it’s gripping the nest and he makes a small noise in surprise that quickly gets swallowed by the hungry quiet.)

The quiet is very hungry, every brush of fabric against skin, every slight movement of the pack sets you a bit on edge. You think it will be hard to sleep- wound up as you are.

You don’t think you're even tired until your head hits the pillow and you have to struggle to stay awake. You want to stay up and listen to the sound of your pack, their soft and measured breathing, the sound of kisses shared above your head, the feel and safety of being in the nest. You want to commit the rhythm of them to memory.

Hoseok’s soft rasping breath on the nape of your neck evens out the more that his swelling goes down. It goes from hissing to more of a squeak as the night settles. Tae shakes through her aforementioned panic attack with all of you piled around her. You get your hand on her ankle at least.

Yoongi and Jimin’s shushing is the only punctuating sound in the half-light. Because what can you say besides sweet nothings when you know she has a perfectly valid reason to fear falling asleep?

You savor every little twitch of their trauma-worn bodies as you flit in and out of an uneasy sleep. Every slight sigh and hand on you rousing you. Jungkook, brushing his fingers through your hair. Hobi, pressed along your back like a second skin shifting and trying to tilt his neck to a more comfortable angle.

You get too hot with Hobi wrapped around you like that, eventually tugging at his sweatshirt that you wear and almost purring when kind gentle hands help detangle you from it with a soothing little shush sound so that you hardly have to wake. Yoongi, around midnight.

Yoongi’s thin but strong fingers rub a soothing touch along your jaw. Soothing away a small sad noise you make that has him curling around your front. The sound of Namjoon's low voice as he says something to your mate and then takes his place at the helm of the nest to stand guard.

“It’s okay pup, I’m here- I’m not going to let anything happen to you- not now- not ever.”

It’s unfortunate, but Namjoon can’t let Tae sleep for more than half an hour before checking her pupillary responses, making sure that her brain isn’t swelling. Concussions are no joke and Namjoon does not take chances with his prettiest alpha. He sends her back off to dreamland with a comforting scent mark and a soothing grumble. After the 5th hour when the risks turn nominal, he decides to just let her sleep.

But Hoseok doesn’t sleep, he can’t really. The pain keeps him awake and what with the way that his neck is injured he can’t find a comfortable position. He shifts and settles the whole night. Keeping you close with that arm around your waist every time you squirm so much as an inch away.

He’s restless until Namjoon gets up to get one of Jimin’s painkillers.

He’s resistant even then, half asleep still fighting. Trying to move away and shaking his head at Namjoon. Namjoon mistakes his unwillingness for simple fussiness and not for fear. If Hobi falls asleep it will be substantially easier to slip away- you watch from below as Namjoon props hobi up and pinches his jaw to make him open his mouth, encouraging the alpha to show his tongue with a prod of those gentle hands. His eyes are barely open, exhausted as he is.

“I know it hurts to swallow Hobi but you’ve got too.” Regardless of his shaken head, Namjoon insistently nudges his mouth with it. Soothing his gag with a stroke of his thumb down Hoseok’s Addams apple. A kiss to his lips for being good.

“This will help the swelling go down, you’ll be okay by morning.”

It’s minutes before they take effect. Slowly- Hoseok’s arm melts away from your stomach. His grip on you slackens from the drugs and his breath evens out. You say a quiet goodbye to him in your head and turn around to face him and kiss his forehead.

At least the last time you touch, it’s soft like that. At least the last time you touch him- it’s gentle.

Yoongi, Jimin, and Namjoon trade-off. A gun shared between the two of them. Perched on the edge of the nest. Eyes on the vacant stairway Infront of them. Listening for every creek and whisper met with a held breath and hand tightening around the gun. Waiting for the violence that you can all feel coming.

You won’t let it hit them; you won’t let it into this house again. Not while you’re still breathing.

When you're sure that Hobi is asleep you roll onto your back and stare up at the Christmas lights twinkling in the dark. You remember watching Jungkook hang them for you. You remember. You'll always try to remember; you promise yourself right then and there that you'll never let the memory slip away. No matter what happens.

You look over at Kookie, face so peaceful in sleep, a pillow hugged to his chest belly down in the nest, cheek squished close to the top of Yoongi's head on your other side. His back rising and falling.

Jungkook has always been a pretty omega. You reach over to him to stroke down the stiff bridge of his nose, to commit his face to memory. When you turn back to Hobi, you do the same, touching across the heart shape of his mouth, the subtle roundness in his cheeks everything. You look around at all of them- your pack, sleeping softly- sleeping safely. Namjoon's wide back, his shoulders that could hold the world up. Unaware that you're watching him.

You’ll remember all of it, every car ride, every trip to the beach. Every joke and jab. You’ll store each of the memories like a found thing in your pocket. A piece of seashell or sea glass.

You’ll take Jungkook’s laughter and store it- a memory to use when you need to remember that it’s okay to be young for a minute more. When you need to look after yourself you’ll remember how Jin did it and follow his example. And when you need to rest and be soft you'll remember yoongi. You’ll remember Tae like a tube of lipstick and see her every day in the color pink. And Jimin-

Jimin has a hard time sleeping. Even when Namjoon takes the last shift. He sleeps with one hand on a gun, spaced protectively in front of Tae. His bad arm unfolded from his sling. Putting his body between her and the staircase. Namjoon’s heart pulses dully with the knowledge of that when he glances back, just to check and make sure that Tae and Hobi are still breathing. You hide your open eyes from him when he turns, going extra still and feigning sleep.

Namjoon tamps down on his instincts; the last thing he wants is for his scent to go sour and possibly rouse them. But in the quiet, Namjoon's mind has too much room to fan out and overanalyze. Panic is a particularly alluring drug, his mind festers in it. Rolling around in bad ideas the way that Noodle would roll around in a puddle of catnip.

If he got the pack together, put you all in cars, and drove you far far away from here would that be enough to keep you all safe from harm? Or would that only be temporary? Is temporary safety worse when you know what you have to come back to? Or should he just try to talk to these people, barter with them something. Would money be enough? How much wouldn't Namjoon give?

You are dreadfully similar to him. Only his planning stays in its infancy stage.

It isn’t all silent. Noises punctuate the night here and there. Namjoon is so on edge that he all but snaps his teeth at the shadows. An alpha on alert.

Namjoon’s ears perk up at every car that dares to drive by your narrow street, the neighbor two houses to the left who leaves for work in the city at 4:05 every morning, right on time. Noodle and the sound of his scrabbly little paws on the stairs, zooming up and down them until Namjoon gets up to scruff him too.

Your freaking cat does not like Namjoon on a normal day, he's only ever loved you and Hobi and tolerated Tae and Jungkook- condemning all the rest to hisses and claws, but Noodle settles with Namjoon's hand on the back of his neck. "See, that wasn't too hard was it?"

Noodle gives one last half-hearted hiss as Namjoon places him gently in the nest where he stays put after curled up around Tae’s head like a fluffy little hat. Purring and licking at her forehead. All but taunting Namjoon with his yellow eyes. Flinty and knowing in the darkness. Bushy tail flailing every time the alpha glances back.

You think you’re being quiet when you push yourself up onto your hands and knees. Untangling Hobi’s arm from around your waist and pulling yourself to the edge of the bed. He's out cold from the painkillers. Barely even stirring.

Noodle stirs however, darting from the nest with a small murr sound as if to say, "see- she's awake so why can't I be?" Tail raised high as he prances to the doorway.

You look striking in the half darkness, a pair of Yoongi’s green flannel pajama pants rolled up several times to fit properly around your hips. A thin white tank top that's almost falling down one shoulder. Namjoon’s heart pulses dully with the need to hold, the need to protect. He makes a soft noise in his throat and your head jerks in his direction.

You swallow, and your lips look dry, eyes glassy and innocent in their tilt when your mussed hair fluffs over your shoulder. Messy from where Hobi was nuzzling it in his sleep.

“I was just getting a glass of water.”

Namjoon wordlessly holds his hand out to help you get out of the nest without teetering or disturbing the others. Noodle dashes back down the stairs with a soft meow. Tae sighs and re-settles, smacking her lips and Jimin’s arm tightens. Your mate turns face up in the nest, chest rising and falling, mouth opening like he can taste your scent on the air.

Namjoon doesn't doubt he can, honed in on you and focused as he always is.

Namjoon doesn’t let go of your hand when your feet find the smooth floor. Instead, he checks the wounds on your hands and verifies that they’re clotting. The margins slotted together properly for minimal scarring (he'd redone the glue-suture after your shower with only gentle scolding). He presses a kiss to the bandages after they're re-fastened. Letting his lips linger there for a second.

Namjoon has always had big hands, warm and steadying as they cradle yours. Small and chapped and scarred.

Instead of continuing on downstairs, you linger for a second by Namjoon’s side. Eating up every breath he breathes, his scent, and the comfort of having him nearby. Something you know you won’t have forever. (Somehow- you know that this will be the last time that Namjoon holds you. You can wait one minute more. You can give him one more minute). He sets the gun to the side and pulls you between his legs.

“Joonie?” You ask.

Your pack alpha wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles forward, rubbing his spiky head across your midriff. Nose nudging the dimple of your belly button and the slight pudge there with a quiet happy growl.

Namjoon will never not be happy that he can see the evidence of the pack’s love on you. Will never not feel proud of you and how far you've come. He nuzzles, resisting the temptation to bite and nip with a breath let out through clenched teeth.

Namjoon feels your quiet laugh against his cheek. Your warm soft skin swelling with laughter. Namjoon’s face is blushing red when he pulls back to look at you in the darkness. Corralled in the safe circle of his arms, fingers digging into your hips and squeezing.

“What are you doing alpha?”

“Just thinking- just-” Namjoon’s voice gets so much lower in the nighttime, it's a gravely growl. A sound that paints pictures of lightning and clouds hovering low like a blanket.

“When all of this is over, I want to go somewhere new.” Namjoon's hands tighten on your waist. fingers pressing to either side of your spine, thumbs sitting on the soft bones of your hips. “-With you. Just you. Just the two of us. Maybe.” Namjoon fights back a fresh blush at the confused cock of your head. “Maybe- like- a fancy Airbnb? Or something? Would that be fun? Would you like that?”

You pause, humming. Indulging Namjoon in this as he holds you, fingers rubbing endlessly up and down the sensitive small of your back. Eyes wide and imploring like a child.

You're only too happy to forget for a second and imagine. What would happen if you didn’t leave tonight? What would happen if you found some way out of this?

It’s easy to go further than just thinking about a simple weekend getaway. You Imagine far into the future; a day that you'll never see. A future with Namjoon and the pack. It hits you with such a profound heartache when you think it that you half expect to look down and see your white tank top speckled with blood. The ache so keen and visceral but-

Namjoon would be a good father.

He’d be kind and patient. He’d never snap. He’d never yell. For a moment that’s all you want to think about- not a stupid weekend but a lifetime. A family. A world where you’re never yelled at, where you don't have to be afraid, where nothing is hard, and even if it’s hard you do it together.

If you had pups, you know Namjoon would treat every skinned knee like it was surgery. Would never tell them to walk it off or say it wasn’t that bad. You know that he’d go through every tea party with gusto and stay up late to help them with their homework. That he’d struggle to say no but that you might never need to. It would be lovely- getting to give something small and innocent so much safety. It would be nice to have pups with Namjoon.

You can’t say you don’t want it, but you know in that moment that you won't get it. You'll never get to see Namjoon be a father- even if the pups aren't yours or are just his and Jin's. You’d love them all the same. What use is it to Imagine things that you’ll never get? What good are dreams like this but to tease you, just out of reach.

Namjoon nuzzles into your stomach again. His nose drawing soft circles just under your belly button.

You’d be a shit mother anyway. Too fragile. Too nervous. Too hurt. Too much of everything. You'd fuck them up just by being you. You'd fuck them up the same way you've fucked up this perfectly good pack. You've brought nothing but destruction upon them. The evidence of your wreckage is everywhere. The bullets in the ceiling, the blown apart door. Your hands and Hobi's throat. All of this is because of you.

You snap back to the present, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You’re gnawing at your own leg to survive. All things that bite cannot resist it. What good does hope do at the end other than to hurt?

You can't resist asking Namjoon for more, curled around you like a protective barrier to keep out all the world's hurts (or to keep you in).

“If we went? Where would we go? If we made it- What would it be like Joonie?”

Namjoon rests his chin on your belly button and looks up at you. Completely unaware of the longing tearing its way through you, of what you’re thinking about. Not just one trip or one year, but ten or twenty or thirty.

“Maybe south, to see the cherry blossoms?”

“We couldn’t go, not without Tae- cuz of the pink, and Hobi- cuz of the flowers”

Namjoon nods, agreeing. “Yeah- she does really like anything that’s pink.” There is a Tae-shaped smile on his face, you can feel it stretching your lips too. But he shakes it off, head bowed before you. Eyes closed against the image.

“Still, somewhere safe and quiet just for us, just for you and I to take a deep breath and-” Namjoon trails off, looking up at you. His eyes sparkle with the idea of it, all the little moments he’s picturing.

A private morning where he wakes up to just you. Where you hog his warm spot and his pillow in the chilly spring air. Your cold toes pressed to his shins with nothing to do but appreciate each other and take your loving slow and intentional. Your body and his body and all the space and laughter that you want in between. An idyllic picture of two young people quietly in love. Gently in it.

After almost losing all of it, he wants the chance to properly appreciate you one-on-one. The others too- but they’re asleep, and sleeping vessels cannot reply to Namjoon’s daydreams. You are the only one awake.

(In Namjoon's fantasy, he'll give each of his packmates a different trip. every one of them even if it's just the ones he's recently almost lost that have him thinking of these particular plans.

Hobi would want just a day trip. Namjoon knows the alpha doesn’t really like to be separated from the pack for all that long, a few hours sure. Maybe to some vintage stores that he’s been eyeing to the city or the botanical garden.

Seokjin he’d take somewhere grand and big and full of adventure, maybe to 6 Flags or something. Jin likes to be reminded that he’s allowed to be a kid again, that he doesn’t always have to look after everyone all the time. That he has Namjoon to lean on.

Tae, he’d take somewhere gilded just as she is, like teatime at the Ritz- or maybe abroad to the castle of Versailles. The hall of mirrors and a million pictures of Tae in pretty dresses, twirling. In Namjoon’s head- he watches her turn and flutter slowly like a top. Spinning and spinning).

But none of that is quite your style. You don't really crave outings or adrenaline or gilded things. Your wants are much more simple maybe- because you've always known how priceless quiet and peace is. Gentleness is all you've ever really wanted- not excitement or acclaim or ego.

“A little cabin somewhere in the mountains, a spot for just us. We wouldn’t even have to do anything, A staycation. A night or two.” As the world spins on, you are who Namjoon craves to be still with.

You swallow hard, lingering, still half leaning over him still. Letting him nose at your jaw and purr.

“That would be so nice Joonie."

You swallow, throat thick with something. You lean forward pressing a kiss- too brief, to his lips, Namjoon’s lips part and he breathes gently. You blink back the glassiness in your eye and hope that Namjoon dismisses it as the light from the moon streaming through one of the skylights. All white and black. Wrenching you through something that feels like film. You commit the feel of him and the sound of his voice to memory and then pull back.

“I really need to get a glass of water.”

Namjoon shifts to get up, to come with you, but you just laugh at him and push at his shoulder, he flops back onto the bed.

“I can go on my own Joonie.” He grumbles but stays put. Nosing at the goosebumps on your arms and leaning to retrieve Hobi’s sweatshirt from where you left it in the nest. It smells like sleeping pups and Jin. Milky and soft and safe. Namjoon’s body shivers happily when he sees you put it on.

You squirm out from between his legs. His palm stays wrapped around the tips of your fingers. They slide out of his a little, and then all the way.

“It’s not safe.” You heave a tired sigh, what he thinks is a tired sigh but is actually you trying your hardest not to cry. You lean over him to grab the gun from where it’s rested against the nesting barrier. Getting your phone while you’re at it and sliding it into the pocket of your sweatshirt.

“Is that better?” Namjoon grumbles but still lets you go. Sitting there on the edge of your nest and guarding the others. You look back at him from the top of the stairs and smile.

The house is quiet, with no creeks on the stairs and no winds blowing across the roof. No sound at all in the house beyond your quiet footsteps that Namjoon listens to as you go down the stairs.

Feeling every second of your distance like the sluggish beat of his heart, thump thump thump. Namjoon looks back to look at his pack. Their bodies curled and resting, so gentle in sleep. After a few minutes, there are footsteps on the stairs, small soft ones.

Thump.

“They’re so beautiful” Namjoon comments to you. Waiting for reply.

The silence gnashes its teeth, still hungry.

When Namjoon turns back, it’s not you standing at the top of the stairs- just Noodle with his tail raised high. His yellow eyes glow almost florescent in the darkness, meowing and hissing so loud it might wake the others.

“Noodle, quiet.” The cat just doesn’t quit, batting at Namjoon’s ankles, claws and all. “Noodle- hush.” He scoops up the fussy cat, but Namjoon’s only reward is some claws to his forearms and some more squirming.

Downstairs, he hears a sound that makes him pause. Instincts going from at peace to on edge.

Thump

The front door opens and closes softly with a soft click of the metal doorknob.

Thump

Namjoon goes to the top of the stairs, holding Noodle in his arms before the cat squirms and falls to the floor with a thud. “Pup?” he calls, hushed. You don’t respond. Only silence greets him, sated at last.

Thump, breath, thud.

Namjoon waits a moment, listening for a response that doesn't come before he goes down the stairs, Noodle nearly trips him on the way down, hissing and pacing back and forth in front of the door. The ground floor of the house is completely absent of you- absent of anyone friend or foe. The room is soaked in the blue darkness of morning that is not quite dawn. The white countertops are unassuming and the plates stay in their places.

Thud.

The couch still has its dark spot from where Jin cleaned it. The tangerines are safely in the bowl back on the counter shining like several small suns or planets. Everything is empty empty empty.

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

Namjoon checks the shoe rack. Your sneakers are missing, the same ones that match Hobi's and usually sit side by side with his. The spot where they should be empty.

Thud

Your wallet is missing from the bowl just inside the door.

Thud

Namjoon looks out onto the street and finds it empty.

Thud thud thud

Namjoon does not panic, Namjoon does not head out onto the street and chase you down- maybe he should have. He should have done any number of things. The sun is just barely rising turning the sky into that honey blue-green color and Namjoon just stands there and stares.

Namjoon is frozen. What kind of alpha is he- why kind of alpha freezes instead of fights or flights?

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

A few minutes pass and something must tip off the packmates upstairs- either the empty nest or the sound of Noodle yowling and quite literally trying to bite Yoongi's ear off.

The next thing Namjoon is aware of is Yoongi is on the stairs, looking pissed off, looking terrified. almost falling down them with the speed at which he descends.

He takes the stairs down two at a time, colliding with Namjoon at the bottom of them. He looks like a puffed-up cat, hair wild and eyes equally as glaring as Noodles when he shakes Namjoon, just a little. “Where is she? Namjoon? Where did she go? Where is my mate!?"

Is it Yoongi's scent- acrid and angry- that knocks him out of his stupor? Or is it the top of his ruffled head almost colliding with the bottom of Namjoon’s jaw when the beta shakes him again.

Namjoon stutters, panic making him inarticulate. So scared he repeats it twice. "I don't know- I don't know, I- she said she was just getting a glass of water. I swear-"

Yoongi's fists tangle in the front of Namjoon's shirt. He sounds sick with it. Voice twisting in pitch.

"You were supposed to keep an eye on her- you weren't supposed to let her out of your fucking sight.”

There are other people on the stairs, roused by the sound of raised voices. A lone light flicked on sends everyone into yellow chiaroscuro. Namjoon is still staring at the street, heart thundering quicker than your footsteps as you run. The streetlights wink out behind you as you go. Fleeing with the night and bowing under the weight of oncoming daylight. Running as fast as your body can carry you.

Could he catch up if he started running now?

It's Jungkook, his dark hair pushed up at the side where it rested against the nest, who asks, “What happened?What’s going on?”

Tae’s eyes dart between Yoongi and Namjoon, her pink silk dressing gown wrapped tight around her shoulders. “Where’s the pup?”

"Yeah Namjoon, where the fuck is my mate??" Yoongi grits his teeth, shaking Namjoon so hard it almost knocks him off his feet and sends him careening a little into the narrow dresser table that the pack keeps by the door for gloves and mittens and keys and wallets.

“I don’t know, I don’t-"

Jungkook and Tae have just spilled out from the stairs into the entryway when Yoongi’s hands hit his shoulders, pushing and then digging into Namjoon’s skin. He’s shaking so hard he can hardly speak.

“You were supposed to be watching her. You were supposed to make sure she was safe-”

“Yoongi- hey- Stop” Tae’s not shaking anymore when gets her hands on his shoulders pulling him away from namjoon where he simmers. Jin is still asleep upstairs. Hasn’t been roused by all the tense voices. Too tired from yesterday- from staying up to scrub blood with Yoongi.

Jungkook skitters to the door as Jimin and hobi descend the steps. nearly bouncing on his heels as he opens the front door letting in a gush of cold air. “What are we waiting for? lets go."

Yoongi's face crumples. “I don’t get it, where did she go- why would she have-”

Hoseok swallows but talks softly, the swelling’s gone down enough even though the bruises look a million times worst in the sunlight streaming through the window. It’s not even 6am yet. His soft hiss is gentle, but the pack pauses to hear it.

“A deal- I think she made a deal.”

It's the first words he’s been able to speak since the attack. Vocal cords straining with every word. Everyone quiets to listen to Hobi. Jimin’s got the shotgun in his hands. He leans it up against the doorway. The heavy thunk punctuates the shocked quiet- but hobi continues.

“When the man was here- she tried to barter our lives with hers." Everyone looks to Tae. And her eyes lower to the floor.

“She did say that but I didn’t think she was serious, I just thought-”

The conversation is a flurry, everyone talking over each other as conversation explodes. Yoongi's face twists from devastated to enraged. “Jesus fucking Christ- that stupid stupid-”

Jungkook clings to Jimin's t-shirt, “What are we going to do? Hyung- what should we-”

Jimin hasn't spoken a word yet, and softly draws Jungkook's hands away from his shirt. “Where would she even have even gone?"

“Did someone pick her up?” Hobi’s words seem to ring out, even though his voice is so fragile.

Namjoon shakes his head. “No- I was listening, I didn’t hear any car in the road- not for like the whole hour.”

“So, you were listening enough to hear the street but not to stop her from literally walking away from us, great. Good to know Namjoon.”

“Yoongi that is like- the opposite of helpful.”

“There's still the matter of where would she have gone. She didn't take a car-” Hoseok looks up in Tae’s direction. She sees the realization light across his face.

“Hobi?”

But Hoseok ignores her, lurching to the small cabinet by the front door; the pack’s drop-off points for their keys, their wallets and your fuzzy little purse from your first ever date with jimin and tae as well as a good slice of Tae’s collection of little red pocketbooks. They keep their things this way because Namjoon loses his keys at least once a month a nd having a communal spot always helps the general disorder of having 8 people live in one house.

Hoseok scrambles not for your wallet but for his.

He reaches for his wallet. Opening it and searching but-

The train ticket is gone.

Your train ticket- the one that you gave Hobi for safekeeping so many months ago is missing from where he usually keeps it in the last slot. Right next to that folded poem of Tae's and an old gift card. In its place is just a simple folded note, a new piece of paper that hasn’t been worn soft at the edges yet. Torn from the same pad of paper that Jin writes the grocery list on. Hoseok’s hands shake as they fish it out. 5 words that aren’t nearly enough.

I’m sorry, I love you.

You’d never told him that- that you loved him. Not after you’d had sex and he’d confessed. Not in the tangle of moments that followed with Jimin bloody and the pack breaking. You’d never spilled your heart to him that way. In the back of his head, he realizes that there just hadn’t been time.

This is the first time you’ve told Hoseok you love him and maybe the last. Hoseok’s heart beats quick. She loves me. Thump. She loves me. Thump. She loves-

Hoseok shoots off like a bullet out the open door, thundering across the porch slats. Too fast for the rest of the sleepy pack to properly anticipate and follow. Peering out after him, a little sluggish and a lot shocked. His socks skid and slip as he tries to arrest his momentum and almost falls as He doubles back for his shoes.

The rest of the pack stares down at him blankly as he tugs them on, sprawled there on the floor just outside the door. Hands shaking too much for bunny-eared loops. He doesn’t even bother to lace them before he’s lunging for his car keys in the bowl too. Nearly knocking over the table in his haste.

“The train station- she’s going to the train station.” He gasps.

The words you shared that night ring in his head, playing on repeat. Like a record that’s been scratched too many times. He’s replayed those moments too many times. He’s not sure if he remembers it correctly.

“Give me one chance, let me try to convince you to stay and if I can’t- then I’ll let you go, and I won’t tell Yoongi what train you took.”

The countless times you’d joked with him after that, the moment so light that Hoseok didn’t notice the weight behind them.

“You still got that train ticket?”

“Of course I do.”

Hoseok never thought that you’d use it. He thought that the ticket would have stayed frayed and pretty in his wallet until you framed it or something. Until you could look back on it and laugh and say things like “remember that night? Remember how it used to be before we loved each other?”

“No, I don’t, can you remind me?”

This is not that, this is not the future that Hoseok had imagined for the two of you. This abject terror. Suddenly Hoseok is unmoored, suddenly he is falling. Usually, you can see the end from a mile away. Is it worse if you lose the person you love because of circumstance or because they decide to leave on their own? Hoseok never thought you'd actually do it.

Hoseok thought your promise last night meant something. Later when he’s not so scared he’ll remember that he’s angry about that.

The rest of the pack explodes too. Jungkook doesn’t bother to put on his shoes- just heaves Hobi up by his shoulders and pushes him towards his car. Yoongi snatches both of their pairs from the floor and joins them. Cold feet on the small pea-gravel driveway. Jimin darts forward wrenching off his arm sling regardless of Namjoon’s protests.

“I’ll drive” Jimin doesn’t have to wrestle with Hoseok’s keys for long. Even with his hands numb Jimin is still the best driver. He won’t pull corners or care about hitting curbs. He reeves it with a roaring purr while the rest get in and looks at Tae in the rearview mirror. Standing on the porch looking breakable and not all there still. Her eyes on his have that same peculiar weight, the same weight that makes Jimin’s blood sing with purpose.

If there was ever someone that Tae needed, it was you. Not Jimin. He will haul you back from the edge of hell if he needs to, for her. because this is not the ending that you and tae deserve. Jimin will tear you from hell. Teeth and sin and all.

Jungkook has barely shut the door before Jimin peals out, reversing until the tires screech against the asphalt and leave dark lines in their wake. Tire tracks, strings of fate, shoelaces. He shoots off down the street and out of sight, knocking over a trash bin with a clang and leaving Tae and Namjoon back on the porch.

Hoseok knows the name of the station you were most likely to go to but not how to get to it. It's an 15 minute walk, maybe a 10 minute run and it's already been 8 since you left. Jimin points his car in the direction of the main road while he pulls it up on his cell phone.

With every sharp turn Yoongi and Jungkook slosh in the back seat and hit into each other. Some early morning commuter honks his horn at Jimin but he doesn’t even see them. The scenery flickering by and the asphalt melting away underneath the wheels of Hoseok’s red car. The small grey towns melt away, Break lights bleeding less than they should. The engine stutters and engages but no one cares about the uneven acceleration. Hoseok would total this car in a heartbeat if it meant getting you in time.

At the straightaway Jungkook stoops to slip his feet into his shoes, Yoongi holding his shoulder. The phone in between them slides on the leather seat, spitting out its electronic voice, overly cheerful.

"Re-routing!"

“Wait Minnie- go left.”

“Fuck!” Jimin makes the turn just barely, sparks skittering and burning out as he goes over one of those tiny reflective dividers. Hoseok curses every pothole for damaging their momentum and slowing them down.

“Are you sure? Are you sure that it’s this station that she'd go to?” Hoseok’s heart is thundering in his ears, beating furious and fast.

“Almost positive.” Yoongi holds onto the back of Hoseok’s chair to keep himself in place.

“We have to get to her before she gets to the city. Can’t you go any faster?” Jimin jerks the wheel around a flashy BMW. Almost hitting them with how close he gets. Jimin lets the speedometer answer Yoongi's question. Pushing 60 in a 35 and then 70.

Your note is crumpled tight in Hoseok's fist, a tiny bit of yellow paper that he unfolds and looks at before shoving deep within the confines of his jacket.

Yoongi is not looking at hoseok when he says his next sentence. Hoseok's not even thinking about his old pack, he's just thinking about the fact that you love him and he never got to hear you say it. Not when Yoongi pulls himself almost between his and Jimin’s seat and repeats the same to Jimin again, the same only different.

Thud.

“We have to get to her before Moonbyul does, if she gets to her- I don't know what I'll be able to do Minnie- even with the power that I have Moonbyul still has more-”

Hobi’s flinch is visceral, jerking like he's shocked.

He turns around to look at Yoongi as Jimin blows through a stop sign and then a red light. Jungkook winces and doesn’t say anything. Pushing Yoongi’s shoes across the seat. “Hyung- you should get ready to run.”

Hoseok and Yoongi look at each other. Hoseok's turned almost all the way around in his seat to stare at Yoongi- more specifically Yoongi’s mouth. He’s not sure if Jimin’s painkillers would make him hallucinate but that’s the only logical reason his brain can come up with after hearing that name- her name- come out of Yoongi’s mouth.

“What?"

Jimin's voice is deathly quiet. "Hoseok- turn the fuck around. If I get into an accident at this speed you will die if you're not facing forward to the airbag."

Hoseok turns back to face the road. Jimin grips the wheel so hard his knuckles are white. “Thank you.”

The sunlight is just cresting the tops of the trees. Dotting the scenery blue and yellow. Hoseok’s ears are ringing with her name.

Yoongi pulls himself closer to Hoseok, hands still gripping the headrest, the only thing that keeps him from bobbing and moving with the movement of the car. Eyes locked on Hoseok's face in the rearview mirror.

"I said something- I said something and you're having a thought."

"I fucking hope so-" Jungkook's quip goes unnoticed. Unnoticed through the volley of honking horns as the red car tares through the street. By some miracle, they haven’t passed a cop car yet.

Hoseok looks in the rearview mirror, at Yoongi’s face. Biting his lower lip. “It’s nothing just that name.”

Hoseok looks at Yoongi and all he can think about is how he'd never said- he'd never told Yoongi their names. Saying them or even thinking them reminds Hoseok too much of his own begging. What kind of alpha begs for an omega to hurt them- to stay?

Yoongi just about puts himself in the front seat of the car as Jimin breaks hard to navigate around a tractor-trailer. Riding on the shoulder, the rumble strips vibrating all of them hard and roaring just like Hoseok’s blood thundering through his ears.

“Moonbyul? Moon Byul-yi? You know it?”

Hoseok shivers, the reaction of his body route, unavoidable. Jarring. Trauma builds itself into your bones whether you like it or not. Triggers are not so much a part of you as they are a light switch that makes the worst parts of you turn on.

"Yeah- I do. It’s the name of my ex-pack omega.” Now it’s Jimin’s turn to be distracted, and he almost gets into an accident for his troubles. They’re silent for a second, Yoongi and Jimin look at each other.

“It could be the same name.”

Yoongi scrambles for his phone on the seat right as Jimin makes a turn and it goes flying. He finds it underneath Hoseok’s seat, hands slippery with sweat on it.

“Hang on, I think I have a picture of her somewhere.”

Yoongi scrolls all the way to the back in his phone. Switches to Instagram, going back and back and back through time, and then he's sticking it in Hoseok's face.

Seeing her face feels like Yoongi’s slapped him. Her face is on Yoongi's phone. Why is her face on Yoongi’s phone? Her hair is longer than it was when they dated, she must not have cut it since. But it's definitely her.

Hoseok feels like he's spinning, it's been so long since he's seen her face but it's definitely the one from his nightmares, the one he sees grinning and crooning false praises that have stuck to Hoseok's soul like glue. The face that he sees behind his eyes and sees in every criticizing comment only on his bad days. She's standing shoulder to shoulder with Yoongi, both of them in black suits along with a man that looks enough like Yoongi for him to guess that that's his brother, your ex-husband.

Your abuser and his and Yoongi in between them. Hoseok can only hear ringing in his ears, he knows he sounds accusatory when he snaps. "How the fuck do you know my ex-pack omega?"

“She’s my cousin. Are you sure that's her?”

Hoseok feels like he’s spinning. “Yeah, I'm sure.”

“I thought you said your old pack was all omega’s?” Yoongi knows Hoseok’s lore, knows it like he knows the back of his hand. He looks up, hair falling across his face. Hoseok frowns jabbing his finger at the phone.

“I did. She’s an omega.”

The dissonance hits him and Yoongi almost wants to disagree but then-

Hoseok watches the lightbulb go off, Yoongi’s eyes widening imperceptibly as he paws at the phone and Hoseok’s hand. The car sickness lurches in his stomach as he turns to look back at Yoongi, and the g force hits him as Jimin takes another turn Impossibly fast. The seatbelt across Hobi’s chest engages with a click, digging into his skin and the bruises on his neck with a painful jerk.

“Are you sure? Hoseok- you have to be sure.”

“I’m sure.”

This is all a game of leverage. A game of who knows what secret and what gets exchanged for whom. Yoongi spent most of last night wondering about Moonbyul's motivation, and now he knows why.

Hoseok is holding onto Yoongi’s phone, they’re hands gripping it together. “Is this who she’s going too? The one who tried to kill us? Is-” Hoseok has to swallow to get the words out right. “Is Moonbyul the one trying to take her?”

“Yes.”

Hoseok shivers, eyes darkening, scent spiraling wildly. His muscles trembling as he thinks about it. You and Moonbyul.

Yoongi pulls himself around Jimin’s headrest. Hand on his throat, digging into his scent gland. He doesn't have time to explain to them.

Only alphas can lead the family, only alphas can rule. If Moonbyul isn't one- that calls into question the legitimacy of her rule. The families would never stand to see an omega on the throne, she'd be ousted, probably killed for daring to lie. The families would tear her apart piece by piece and Yoongi would let them.

If Moonbyul is the person who hurt Hobi- and now she's going after you- that's two people that Yoongi loves that she's directly hurt. Yoongi is thinking all sorts of dangerous things. But they have to get to you first.

If Moonbyul isn't an alpha then Yoongi's just found his leverage and maybe the whole reason why the pack was targeted in the first place.

A packmate for a secret. Yoongi imagines the worst-case scenario; Don't tell and I won't hurt her. Don’t tell anyone and she lives.

How long had she stewed and festered- knowing that Hoseok was out there- knowing that he knew the secret that could lead to her undoing. Maybe she thought his knowing would never come back to bite her, and had intended on tying up the loose end later. Maybe she didn't know Hoseok had found his way into Yoongi's arms until after the old Don and Beta had died. She probably thought that they’d never put it together- at least not until it was too late.

Whatever her reasons, this has gone on long enough.

Yoongi opens his mouth, but Hoseok’s body is taught like a spring-loaded and ready to burst. His voice a near growl.

“Jimin, I need you to drive.”

~-~

Tae and Namjoon are left standing there on the porch. Namjoon left staring after them as they hurl away from the house. Running his hands through his hair hard. Thinking of what to do until-

Tae tugs on his sleeve, “Your phone- Joonie- you should call her.”

“Right- fuck-” Namjoon goes and gets it, and comes back to stand with Tae on the porch. “Come on- come on pick up.” Namjoon paces back and forth on the front porch, the snowmelt from the roof drips out an uneven rhythm onto the railing. the cold spray hitting his stress-warm skin.

Tae stands by the door. Frozen, a statue of Namjoon’s distress. Inside, Namjoon hears a voice. Jin coming down the stairs, probably roused by the sound of the car screeching out of the driveway and down the road.

“Tae? Where is everybody?”

“Pup’s being stupid. The others left to go get her before she’s like- really really stupid.”

Jin freezes in the doorway, fist rubbing his eye. He sounds smaller and younger than Namjoon’s ever heard him. “Am I having a bad dream?” namjoon's pacing stutters and then starts up again. Jin doesn't need him right now, Jin he can help later.

Tae takes Jin's hand and leads him to the outdoor furniture. The cushions have to be damp but they sit anyway. Tae pulls her knees under her and rests her cheek on Jin's shoulder. “That’s what I thought too at first.”

Namjoon almost sobs when he hears it- the click of the dial tone and a single breath. He can hear the thud of the train in the background, the hiss of pressure against the scratchy speaker.

“Pup? oh thank god, stay where you are- the others are-”

“Namjoon? Joonie stop- I didn’t pick up so that you could convince me to come back. I only picked up because I never said goodbye.”

Namjoon freezes, and he feels like the snowmelt from the roof has just dripped down his back. Growing frigid more with each word. If there was ever a question on if you’d gone willingly or been taken- it was answered with that.

“Pup, come home right now or I swear to god-”

“No! For once you’re going to listen!” You’ve only shouted at him a handful of times and he’s hardly ever heard you sound so serious.

"No- you can't-"

“Namjoon, The second you say anything to try and convince me to stay is the moment I hang up, so what is it gonna be?”

Namjoon goes silent and stops his pacing. Holding the phone so hard it feels like the plastic and metal might break.

Namjoon’s very being hinges on every syllable you say, Like the ocean hinges on the moon. Water tethered and kept from the shore by something as simple as gravity. Tae is right there. Tae is watching the driveway not saying anything with that same blank look Namjoon has seen on your face countless times.

All at once Namjoon is reminded of you in the summertime back when he first met you and trauma had you all quiet. Staring off into space in much the same way. Small and fragile and worth saving. You’ve always been that for him; worth saving.

Jin scrubs a hand across his face, clearing himself of the last little bits of sleep. He holds out his hand for the phone, but Namjoon doesn’t give it to him just paces right by him as he listens to you.

“I only picked up the phone because I have some things that I want to say to you.”

You sound more settled and less angry but just as resigned and convicted of what you're doing. Like no part of you doubts your choices. Namjoon wishes you sounded angry, that you sounded sad, but you don’t sound like any of those things.

“I'm not leaving because I think I don't deserve a life with you and the pack. I’m not leaving because I think that I’m not worth your love. I’m leaving because for the first time I know that I am.

“For the first time I understand why Yoongi left and why he didn’t come back until he knew it would be safe. Because when you love something the way that I love you, you’ll do anything to protect them. Can you really blame me Joonie? For doing what you might have done?”

You continue on like you’re not wrenching Namjoon’s heart clean from his chest. Like you’re not a hurricane on his very being- dark and thunderous tearing through him as impersonal as wind. Namjoon’s heart thuds and thuds and thuds.

“Before I leave you, I want you to know that if I loved you less- I might have stayed.”

Namjoon’s lungs ache, ache and sting and swell with words he can’t say, he can’t breathe. His mouth screwed into a soundless sob. He actually might be having a panic attack. He's never had one before- he's not sure if he knows what one feels like. If it's like this- if it's like this he can understand why people call them an attack.

It's frantic, like he's chewing off his own leg to get out of your words. The panic is so terrible. Namjoon hasn't been this scared since he was a child. At least Yoongi had the fucking decency not to make his leaving so visceral.

Namjoon is bent over, tears dripping down his nose, sagging almost to his knees. “Why are you doing this to us!? To me!”

Something jiggles the phone, something that makes your voice all warbly- Namjoon imagines you on the train in a window seat. Resting your cheek against the balmy glass while you talk to him. Staring out at the scenery racing by. Hurtling towards your future like a comet or maybe an asteroid (something more destructive- more appropriate for the wretchedness filling Namjoon’s lungs like tar, the desiccated bodies of the dreams he had for you and the plans he made with you in mind clogging his lungs and making it hard to breathe).

Who knows, maybe off between the trees and the road, you see a red car zooming, trying to keep pace with the train.

Namjoon’s heart feels like it’s skipping too many beats.

“Something Jin told me the other day got stuck in my head and I keep thinking about it, would you like to hear it?”

You take his silence for permission and Namjoon does not turn to look at Jin and Tae sitting on the outdoor furniture. They just sit there; they don't do anything. Namjoon wishes there was something they could do or something he could barter for your safe return but you already have all of him and all of him wasn't enough to make you stay.

“Jin showed me this little article the other day- a few weeks ago now. He can tell you it in more detail but basically, it was about these mice.”

Namjoon struggles to say something- unsure where you’re going with this but desperate to keep you on the line. At least until the others get to you. Drinking down your voice, the whisper of your breath, everything.

“They made like- two test groups, they wanted to measure like- willpower- or how long they would try to live before they gave up. It’s kinda dark I guess. I'm not a good judge of things like that you know.”

Your laugh is the prettiest and saddest thing that Namjoon’s ever heard. He wants to record it and save it for later like some hidden track and he never wants to hear it again.

“Anyways- they put the mice and a bucket of water and timed how long it took for them to stop swimming, to stop trying to live. They’d try for a little while but give up pretty quickly. Like- an hour. That’s how much will to live that they had: an hour’s worth of it.”

Namjoon breaks, shouting, “I don’t want to talk about mice I want to talk about getting you the fuck home!”

Namjoon can hear your smile in your voice, And no-no-no you won’t even let him fight- you won’t even let him snap at you and engage with it. Namjoon’s seen you sad, he’s seen you defeated. He’s seen you so hungry you could hardly hold your head up. But seeing you convicted of this punishment is worse than anything.

“Anyway- they just killed the first group for a baseline. But with the second group just before they died- just before they went underwater- They took them out of the water and dried them off.”

Your voice goes hushed at the end. The morning sunlight cuts across the top of the house yellow. The tree too- it’s early morning- Namjoon’s favorite time of day and he won’t be ever able to properly enjoy it again. Won’t ever be able to wake up at this time of day and not think about the morning you left.

“They let them rest and gave them some food.”

Namjoon feels like he’s about to have a heart attack, blood thumping and hitting against his ribcage. Bullying out the flowers and the butterflies in his stomach.

“Cuddled them a little.”

Namjoon stands at the doorway to the pack den. Hands so tight in their fists that they ache and ache. Namjoon’s hands have saved countless people’s lives before, and they’ve saved yours too- but right now they just hurt.

“And when they put them back in,”

Noodle meows dolefully from the door, swatting at Jin’s ankles and then purring around Tae’s. Namjoon’s knees are shaking.

“They lasted for a whole 12 hours longer. Because they thought they might be saved. Because they had some love to remember. They were able to last for a lot longer than they would have otherwise.”

His face is screwed something terrible with how hard he’s sobbing. How is it that just an hour ago you were safe in his arms, talking about getting away from here. Just an hour ago. It's still 5am a time zone away, if Namjoon got on a plane and flew there- would you still be safe? Is there any way to turn back time?

You only get to love people for as long as you get and not a second more. You get what you get and you don't get upset. Yoongi might have been your lifeblood, the air in your lungs and your reason for existing, but you’d still be that fragile creature close to drowning if it wasn’t for Namjoon.

“Namjoon?” You say his name once and then softer, a croon. “Joonie.”

He's sobbing too hard to see, “Don’t-”

“Thank you for drying me off.”

The phone clicks and disconnects.

Namjoon falls to the stairs, ass in a puddle but none of him cares. He remembers the first day he heard you speak, sitting on these stairs while he helped Yoongi fix the railing. Namjoon remembers the summer heat and feeling scared for you for the first time- because the railing felt so rickety and the last thing he wanted was for you or Jungkook or Hobi to fall. Namjoon is the one who is falling, hurtling towards destruction that stops and ends with his heart.

His hands hurt. He remembers laughing with the others and stealing sips of sweet tea. Nibbling on the sour lemons, sweaty and hot and dusty. His eyes feel like they’re going to fall out of his head with how hard he’s crying. He remembers that you’d poked his dimples and called them pretty, he remembers feeling tired after but fulfilled for it.

One scene in summer and the other in winter now. At the beginning of a relationship and now at the end. The stairs still creek, the wind still blows and Namjoon's hands are still sweaty.

Namjoon sobs loudly and it echos across the empty cul-de-sac gut-wrenching. People cry differently when they lose people they love. Namjoon has heard people cry like this after he’s told them bad news, no sign of brain activity. We did everything that we could. I'm so sorry. It sounds different now that it’s coming out of his own mouth.

He actually might pass out with how hard he’s breathing. Teeth dig into his lower lip so hard he tastes blood. He’s still holding the phone to his ear. “Pup- wait- I love you- you can’t do this to us- to me.” But you’ve already hung up on him.

The dial tone tears through him like a bullet. Namjoon should be bleeding, broken hearts don't hurt this much without blood. People don’t hurt this much without actual wounds.

Eventually, something touches his back, a soft furry creature that only makes Namjoon sob harder as Noodle bullies his way under Namjoon’s arm and licks at his fingertips. Before long there’s hands on him. Jin and Tae pull him up and onto the furniture. One hand in his hair and the other on his shoulder. Jin grabs his wrist. Circling it gently before he holds his hands and nudges them until they relax from their clenched fists.

Namjoon cries.

Together they watch the road and wait for the others to return.

~-~

(Hidden playlist ▶ Play track?)

“Shit!”

They miss the first train by just a few seconds. It screeches away from the platform when Jungkook gets out of the car. Standing there for a breath and watching it pull away. The metal thud screech of it drowns out Yoongi’s voice.

Jimin hits the wheel and growls before he revs the engine and turns, almost hitting a fire hydrant with how quick and jerky he backs up and accelerates. Leaning forward through the window to snap at Jungkook.

“Get back in the fucking car!”

Jungkook does, the door barely latching and almost swinging free as Jimin peels out of the parking lot. Slamming back shut when Jimin does a near 180 to accelerate back onto the main road.

“Sorry hyung,” Yoongi doesn’t need to reply- they all know that every second matters.

Jimin almost collides with a car stopped at the light before he drives on the shoulder, spinning around them. The train matches the road at this part of the tracks so it’s easy to follow it. They keep pace with it as Jimin pushes 70 miles an hour and then 80.

Jimin keeps the gas pedal well acquainted with the floor until they're going faster than the train. Weaving in and out of traffic back and forth, getting honked at and almost cut off several times. Leaving his packmates to grip to seats and their handles. Worried about getting thrown off but still- not wearing their seatbelts.

“We’re never going to make it! It’s too fast! We’re going to hit traffic soon!” The closer they get to the city the less likely it is that they'll be able to catch up to you. It's nearly early morning rush hour, another 30 minutes and these roads will be at a standstill.

“Hang on- let me see the map,” Hoseok watches Yoongi look at it.

“If we go to the next station, we won’t make it. But, if we try to go to the one after that and cut it off-” A look around the car says everyone agrees with Yoongi. Jimin steps on it, and there are a terrifying few minutes where Jimin’s driving skills honestly make them all count their prayers and promise things to gods that they’re already not fond of- but when they skitter and screech into the next station he hears it.

“The next inbound train will be arriving shortly, please collect your belongings. And remember-“

Hoseok is hot on the announcements heals. Sliding to get out of the car before it’s really stopped. “If we miss this one just go to the next station without us-”

“-if you see something say something.”

The train is coming- Hoseok can see the lights about a 100 feet down the tracks and it's moving fast. Yoongi almost makes to get out but Hoseok just shoves him back inside. Jungkook gets out of the car too, bolting in the direction of the stairs. “Hoseok-”

“Yoongi- Just go!”

There are maybe three flights of stairs up, then 50 feet across the tracks, and then the same amount of steps down. He and Jungkook book it up them. Making every second count. Hurtling through time and air. Ignoring the sore and tired pulse of their muscles. They’re clearing the top step and the train is below them. A silver bullet careening and destined to do damage but slowing down.

They bolt across the landing past the ticket kiosk and through the push doors. The train is stopping with a hiss of breaks and a screech of metal. A release of pressurized air that billows up to them warm carrying with it the smell of tar and city.

Hoseok’s lungs are burning. Jungkook is usually faster by just a little bit and would be on any ordinary day. They might be roughly the same height but Hoseok doesn't do cardio nearly as often as Jungkook does. Jungkook's the one who runs every day, who does cardio like it's sleeping and marathons like they're mid-afternoon naps. Who works out and hones his body to a lethal edge just because he can.

But he doesn’t run like Hoseok does.

Hoseok runs like his life depends on it- the same way you would run if he was walking into Geumjae’s arms. You’d never let Geumjae touch even a hair on Hoseok’s head and if- if Moonbyul is who you’re going to- then there is more at stake than just your phsyical safety, too much at stake for Hoseok to be held back by his body.

Hoseok thinks of the tiramisu. Of walking with you on the beach. Of making your nightime stacks just the way you like it. Of holding you that one time you almost fell into the water. Telling you that you had to be careful. Hoseok remembers driving out in his car, tugging your seatbelt to make sure it fit snug. Standing with you side by side in the flower refrigerators at work and the feeling the first time you’d rubbed your scent gland to his. Every playlist of his with your name on it, every song that you ever shared. All of that- she’s going to destroy all of that if Hoseok doesn’t get to you in time.

He remembers how small she made him feel. How small you were when he first saw you. He won’t let you get that way again. Hoseok won’t let you disappear.

Jungkook is the one who would win this race on any other day, where the stakes any different, but just this once Hoseok is faster. Hurling himself over the concrete as fast as his body will take him. Hoseok cuts through the air like wind.

They run, feet thumping. Bodies thudding, hearts and lungs delivering oxygen to their needy muscles. Beat-up sneakers gripping the concrete. Down and down the stairs, plummeting. Almost tripping and falling on the slippery concrete steps. The doors start to close just as they round the corner.

By some miracle of blood and sweat, Hobi's the one who overtakes Jungkook. The doors are closing and the train's metal shell is beginning to hum and vibrate as it makes to pull away from the tracks.

In a last-ditch effort, Hoseok throws himself in the direction of the closing doors.

~-~

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Do i think that hobi could have actually warned the pack what she was planning to do? Yes. Do I also think that he thought he had more time to warn them and really wanted to sleep off his near death experience? also yes. Namjoon giving him drugs obviously didn't help. i honestly don't think he was thinking clearly.

this is one of those chapters where everything could have gone differently if they'd just been given a little bit more- but i digress- we all know life isn't so neat and tidy.

I can't not write thinking about the angsty alternative ending for bily- but you guys should know the namjoon/m/c scene...if things had gone poorly in this chapter- this would have been the last time they spoke or touched each other for 3 years- for those who are wondering about the alternative ending- i will NOT be posting any of it on AO3. Only on tumblr through asks! i'll try to tag the super triggering stuff but yeah.

when i think of namjoon and the m/c and their relationship- i think that what they want most for each other is to just see the other old and happy like- that becomes the foundation for their relationship. thats why it's namjoon who she thanks. it also doesn't escape me that yoongi is not in this chapter very much- this is intentional. just wait for next chapter and his anger! i swear its so fucking hot my god i really wanted them to fuck in the next chapter but i just don't think it's going to happen.

the og version of this chapter called for jimin parking hobi's car on the tracks and literally letting the train hit it- not derail- but just hit it. just to get it to stop for the m/c however i figured that was going a bit too far.

Me writing any part with jimin in it- "what if i added a bit of religious trauma to it?"

the line where namjoon talks about his hands hurting is like- directly related to me, because my hands didn't hurt all the time before i started writing bily but now my Knuckles hurt almost every morning. After writing for more than an hour they hurt. i guess when you love something enough it hurts you lol i don't mind.

the "you want a lifetime with them" lines are mostly a callback to like...grey's anatomy. namjoon's charecter is LOOOSELY based on mcdreamy of course the whole...neurosurgeon thing and i am 3 seasons into a re-watch so~ you will have to tollerate that cringeworthy refrence~

i've always wanted to structure a chapter around the thud and thump of a heart and yeah!! i think did a few back but i wanted to do it again~

i don't think i was very subtle with the hoseok train station and the train ticket parts of the story like- i think i forshadowed pretty heavily that it was eventually going to be used but! i hope you liked the big reveal.

how did you guys like the cliffhanger? should i spoil it for you when i've always said that bily would get a happy ending????? i mean...come on... we all know hoseok's gonna be fast enough right?

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 28 days

Note

Congratulations!!

If you feel inspired by this combo and have time, could you write a ficlet using "I", 🍨, 🥰 or 😂, and 🔨?

Thank you!

(Apologies if you already got this ask--my device froze when I sent it the first time, so I don't know if it went through)

Thank you so much! 🥰I still remember your lovely comments on the mer-dude fic, so I hope you enjoy this little bonus! 🦕❤️🧜🏻‍♂️

Of mates and mer-dudes

Words: 996

Rated: T

Tags: summer camp AU; mer!Steve; established relationship; flirting; sexual tension; fade to black

Notes: Set in the same universe as Just add water

“Hammer.”

“Hammer,” Eddie repeats dutifully. Dustin spends two or three seconds trying to drive the nail in with the object he's been handed, until he realizes it's a screwdriver.

“Very funny. I said hammer.”

“Apologies,” Eddie mutters, chucking the screwdriver back into the mess that is their toolbox with one hand and wiping his sunburnt forehead with the other. “I think we've been out here longer than is strictly healthy. How ‘bout we call it a day and head back to camp? It's almost dinner time.”

Dustin scowls. The hair under his Thinking Cap is matted with sweat and he is red-faced and splotchy. An unavoidable side effect of working out on the secluded pier all afternoon.

“We can't just stop now, it's almost done,” Dustin claims, gesturing at their rickety construction of wood and mesh - it’s supposed to be an oversized fish trap, even though Eddie thinks it’s turning out to be more of a funky modern art installation. “This'll work, I know it. This time, I'll prove that Lovie is real. All those past times, it got away too quickly, but if I could just-”

“Jesus, kid,” Eddie groans. “You and your lake monster. You don't know when to give up, do you?”

“Give up?” Dustin scoffs. “If Thomas Edison had given up, we'd still be lighting candles. If Homer Ahr had given up, we would've never walked on the moon. I sure as hell won't-?”

“The fuck is Homer Ahr?”

Dustin heaves a long-suffering sigh.

“Only mission control's chief engineer, Eddie? Honestly, that's the kinda question I'd expect from Steve, not you. Where is he, by the way? I thought he wanted to help us.”

“No idea,” Eddie admits. “Lucky bastard.”

Dustin draws a breath, probably to ask what he means, but Eddie is saved by the sound of the dinner bell floating over from the camp grounds.

“Okay, you gremlin, off you go,” he says, pushing the kid towards the sound before another argument can break loose. “We can finish this tomorrow when we aren't dehydrated and grouchy.”

Dustin grumbles. “What about you?”

Eddie waves him off. “Be there in a sec, lemme put away your shit first.”

He starts picking up their scattered tools, throwing them back into the box. Only when he's sure that Dustin is well out of earshot does he collapse at the edge of the pier, naked feet dangling over the water's surface.

“Man,” he says. “That kid, right?”

There's a soft growl from behind him, and the barest of sloshing sounds, and a shadow falls over him. He only just manages to suck in a breath - knowing he'll need it - before a massive snout pushes between his shoulder blades and he goes plummeting into the lake. He’s dimly aware of the toolbox going down with him, and then the world vanishes in a whirl of bubbles.

He resurfaces to the feeling of arms wrapping around his waist and massive fins brushing his legs, and the sound of laughing voices - one human, one very much not so. He tries to glower at their owners, but actually needs a second to part the sopping curtain of his hair.

“So fucking hilarious, you aquatic asshats. I thought I told you to quit doing that.”

Lovie the lake creature just chirps merrily and dives back under again, splashing him with her fins as she goes.

Steve shrugs. The motion makes tiny droplets of water run down his bare shoulders and collarbones, bringing out his freckles and moles and tiny, glittering scales. Eddie wants to lick them. He has long stopped worrying about what that says about him.

“Sorry. She just wants you in the water with us. She likes it when the flock is together.”

His smile is apologetic, but his tail curls around Eddie’s legs in the water, fins wrapping around the two of them possessively.

Because, see, here's the thing. Over the past year, Eddie has not only discovered that his infuriatingly pretty fellow camp counselor is a mermaid and the guardian of an ancient lake creature. He has also somehow managed to score said mer-dude as a boyfriend and been adopted into the lake creature's flock.

“She never does that shit with Buckley,” he grouses, even though Steve’s words make something flutter in his chest. Steve's touch, also - hands on his hips, fins on his ankles. “She's part of the flock, too, isn't she?”

“Yeah…” Steve blushes, a delicious pink hue on wet, sun-tanned skin. Eddie wants to lick that, too. “But Robin isn't my…”

He trails off into an unintelligible mumble after that. Eddie wrinkles his brow.

“Your what? Come again, fish boy, I didn’t-”

“My mate,” Steve blurts, and the fins on his hips flutter excitedly under Eddie’s fingers. “Robin isn’t my mate.”

Eddie feels his mouth drop open. The water is unpleasantly cold against his flushed skin.

“Wait,” he says when he finally remembers how to form words again. “Hold on a second. When did that happen?”

Steve’s face is still scarlet, but his lips start twitching when he meets Eddie’s eyes. “That’s just the way she sees it. You can’t expect her to think in human standards. Now c’mon, we gotta get to dinner or the kids will wonder where-”

“Oh, no!” Eddie interrupts him, mouth tugging into a stupid, wide grin of his own. “No, no, no, sweetheart. You don’t get to tell me that we’ve been mer-mated for God knows how long and never officially consummated that sacred connection. I’m gonna get a mer-divorce if you don’t-”

“Oh God, shut up,” Steve groans, and kisses him.

As he gets dragged off to their favorite little shore, well out of sight from the camp grounds, Eddie bids a brief mental farewell to the toolbox lying abandoned at the ground of the lake. He’ll have to make up some story about where it went when Dustin asks him, but that's a problem for later.

For now, he’s got other things to think about.

More celebration ficlets

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #just add water #hype's 1k follower ficlets

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 5 days

Note

Hi!!! I love your Amelia and Emily fics so much, I’ve basically binged them 😂 I was wondering if I could request an Amelia x reader fic where maybe reader is like 6 months pregnant with her and Amelia’s first child and has a bad history with her dad and her dad comes into the hospital with his new wife and her kid and it just stirs bad feelings for reader and Amelia comforts her? Maybe autistic reader? Thank you so much!

Thank you so much! 💕 I'm so, so glad you enjoy them! Also, thanks especially for an autistic!reader request, they're some of my favorites to write! Hope you enjoy! – illdowhatiwantthanks

The R Word

Amelia Shepherd x fem!autistic!reader Warnings: autism struggles, ableism, use of ableist slurs, overstimulation (the autism kind, not the sex kind), explicit language, pregnancy times (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: It's a typical day working with a child in the ER when your estranged father shows up and makes you feel just as small and stupid and alien as he did when you were growing up. Amelia is there to comfort you and remind you of who you really are.

“No, Mommy!” the little girl wailed as she writhed on the hospital bed. “I want to go home!”

Her mom looked at you apologetically as she tried to soothe her child. You needed to get her vitals. Based on the mom’s description, you also probably needed to get IV fluids and an antiemetic in her. But you knew that wasn’t going to happen while the kid felt scared and overwhelmed. This wasn’t your first rodeo with kids in the ER. In fact, the other ER nurses often called you over when kids were difficult to work with. They called you the “bad kid whisperer.”

You knew better. They weren’t bad kids. They were usually just scared. There was a lot to be scared of at a hospital. And you were good with them because you understood better than most what it was like for your body and brain to feel so overwhelmed that you could no longer regulate your emotions. Being autistic was hard sometimes, it made you stand out, but this was a place where it made you stand out in a good way.

You lifted your hands to show the little girl that you were setting down all your medical instruments.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly, pulling the curtain closed around the bed. Sometimes making the space smaller helped. You bent down to her height, careful to keep your distance and not to touch her.

“I’m Y/N,” you said. “What’s your name?”

The girl didn’t answer, shaking as she sobbed.

You nodded. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk right now. Do you feel like you can’t breathe or anything?”

The girl shook her head.

“Good. Then all this other stuff can wait, okay? I’m not gonna touch you. No needles, no thermometer, no heartbeat or anything until you feel a little calmer. We can wait.”

She seemed to calm down a bit when she realized you weren’t going to make her do anything, her sobs subsiding to the occasionally aggressive sniffle.

“Here,” you offered, pulling a tiny tech deck skateboard out of the pocket of your scrubs. “Sometimes when I’m scared or nervous, having something to do with my hands makes me feel better.” You rolled the skateboard toward her, and she started running it across the rails of the hospital bed, her breathing starting to calm.

“Better?” you asked.

She nodded.

You started taking her vitals and continued the conversation. “You think you can tell me your name now?”

“Maddy,” she whispered.

You smiled even as you read her temperature: 103.4. Pretty high. She was almost certainly dehydrated. “That’s a really cool name. Now, do you know why your mom brought you here?”

“I threw up,” she told you, lip quivering.

“Oh, man,” you commiserated. “That’s the worst. I hate throwing up.”

Maddy nodded.

“Did you throw up just one time or a lot of times?”

“A lot.”

You exchanged glances with the mom to make sure this information was accurate.

“She can’t keep anything down,” the mom worried, biting her nails.

“Okay. Well, that’s okay. We’re gonna help you feel better. First, we’re gonna get some fluids in you. Do you know what that means?”

She shook her head as you gathered the supplies and pulled on gloves.

“It means your tummy is so sick that when you drink water, it all just comes right back out. And that’s not good because your body needs water. Your heart and your lungs and all the things that make you healthy and strong, they need water. So since you can’t swallow it, we’re gonna put a little tube in your arm and send water through the tube. That way your body gets the water it needs. And we’ll send medicine and electrolytes and all kinds of other good stuff to fight the sickness, too. It’s like we’re sneaking weapons past the sick.”

This explanation seemed to cheer her up a bit. “Like a secret mission?” she asked.

You nodded conspiratorially. “Exactly like a secret mission. But to get all that good stuff in there, we’re gonna have to put a needle in your arm. Just for a second! It makes the path for the supplies to go in.”

Maddy seemed to think deeply about this, then nodded. You had her play with the skateboard while you placed the IV line, ensuring that she was comfortably positioned for a good hour or so of fluid intake.

“Thank you,” her mom mouthed to you, and you gave her a quick thumbs up before adding a few reminders to your chart–what to check in the next hour, etc.

Maddy, now calmer, took a good look at you for the first time, from your glasses to your fingers that twitched by your ears, to your stomach that protruded out past your waistline–you were six months pregnant.

“Why are you so fat?” Maddy blurted out.

“Madeline Grace!” her mom hissed.

“It’s okay,” you laughed. “My tummy looks like this because there’s a baby in there. But some tummies are just bigger than others, too, and that’s okay. All tummies are good tummies.”

“Where’s the daddy?” she asked, reaching out to brush her hand over your stomach.

“No daddy,” you explained. “This baby has two mommies. His other mommy works upstairs. On brains.”

“Brains!?” she squealed.

You nodded. “Yeah. She’s pretty cool.”

Just then, the relative calm of a midday ER was interrupted by a loud, brash voice, bursting through the doors, yelling at the nurses at the station.

“Where the fuck is my daughter!? Middle of the fucking work day. Unbelievable. Am I going too fast for you? Read my lips, sweetheart. Madeline. Y/L/N.”

You froze, any icy stream of panic running from the back of your neck all the way down to your heels. You’d know that voice anywhere. It was an angry voice, a coach’s voice, the voice that had yelled at you to “stay the fuck in the bleachers” when all you wanted was to sit in the car and breathe. The same voice that growled at you to stop “doing that shit with your hands, you look like a r*tard.” The same voice that told you over and over that you weren’t “stupid enough to be on the short bus,” but you were “too stupid to function in real life.”

You felt your brain start swirling, felt panic building in your chest. You knew he’d gotten remarried, of course you knew. But you didn’t talk to him, hadn’t talked to him in nearly a decade. You knew they’d had a kid, but you didn’t know it was this kid.

All the ER noises, the beeps of the machines, the buzzing of the overhead lights–were they getting brighter?–the clang of instruments being set down, wails, conversations, and above it all your dad’s voice. Your dad’s voice. It was too much. It was all way, way too much.

You felt your hands start to shake at your sides, your body swinging back and forth, and you had to stop. You had to stop. Your dad would kill you.

He threw back the curtain, and his jaw dropped when he saw you.

“You!?” he spat, looking down. “Are you pregnant!?”

Maddy seemed oblivious to the tension. “Daddy!” she called. “Her name is Y/N and she gave me this little skateboard and the water is fighting the sickness through my tubes and she has a baby in her tummy and the baby’s other mommy fixes brains.”

You tried so hard not to stim, but it was not working.

“Don’t tell me you’re a nurse?! God, it’s a miracle you didn’t fucking stab her. You shouldn’t be holding any needles with those flappy arms. Probably shouldn’t be holding any babies either.” He shot out his hand and grabbed Teddy’s arm, which was wild to you. The audacity of the man to assume he had the authority to bother the trauma surgeon. “Yeah, honey, we need a different nurse over here. This one’s a r*tard.”

Teddy looked flabbergasted and deeply offended, but also concerned, as you clenched your teeth, hugging yourself, twisting your body back and forth. “It’s doctor, sir, and that word is not welcome at Grey-Sloan. Y/N is a perfectly capable medical professional. In fact, she’s one of our best, especially with kids.”

“I don’t know if you know this, but I feel like it’s my responsibility to tell you,” your dad whispered loudly to Teddy. “She’s got autism. She shouldn’t be handling tools or people or anything.”

Teddy pressed her lips together in frustration. “As I said, sir,” she repeated more forcefully. “Y/N is a perfectly capable medical professional, and we’re lucky to have her. But I’ll get another nurse over here for you. Y/N?”

Teddy beckoned you over, careful not to touch you, and led you to a quieter corner of the room.

“Who the fuck is that guy?!” she asked.

“M-my dad,” you stuttered. Everything in the room–sounds, lights, smells, all of it–seemed to be crashing over you again and again. As if you’d been knocked over by a wave and couldn’t get back up again because they just kept coming.

“You want to hang out in one of the on-call rooms for a bit?” Teddy suggested.

You nodded.

“Should I page Amelia?”

You shook your head. “She’s in surgery.”

Teddy pulled out her tablet to look. “I mean, we could just check.”

“Don’t bother her,” you repeated. “She’s got work to do. I’ll be okay.”

You made your way to the elevator and up to an on-call room, breathing heavily when you shut the door against the rest of the hospital. You turned off the lights, curling into a corner of the bottom bunk and pulling your knees up to your chest–or as close to your chest as they could get with your baby bump in the way.

You rocked yourself back and forth, thoughts spiraling. The movement and the dark usually calmed you down, but you were having a hard time regulating today, and nothing seemed to be working. Your breath just got faster and faster. And the fact that you couldn’t get yourself out of your spiral only made you spiral more.

You knew you were a good nurse. You knew that. You knew because you’d done it. But you hadn’t ever been a mom before. What if he was right? What if the baby made you overstimulated and you yelled or lashed out? What if the baby went to school and you went to parent nights and he was embarrassed of you, of how you couldn’t make eye contact and didn’t start conversations right and didn’t get the jokes. What if being autistic made you a bad mom?

You had tears streaming down your face by the time you heard a light knock on the door. It creaked open and Amelia’s head popped in. When she saw it was you, she quickly let herself in and locked the door.

“Oh, babe,” she said, watching your body rock back and forth in huge, aggressive sweeps. “A bad one, huh?”

“Go away, Amelia,” you hiccuped.

“Hey,” she said, jokingly. Then when she got closer and saw the tear tracks on your face, she said it again, quieter, sitting next to you on the bed. “Hey.”

When you didn’t say anything, Amelia shrugged. “Teddy said your… dad was here?”

You nodded.

She let out a deep breath, running a hand through her hair. “Honey, will you let me hold you? Please?”

You nodded again.

“Alright,” she said, waiting for your body to line up with hers as you rocked, then quickly grabbing you up in her arms, like she was catching something midair. “Gotcha.” She rocked with you.

“What did he say?” she asked, her breath warm on the top of your head.

“That I shouldn’t hold medical tools or babies because I’m a fucking re– I don’t want to say it. I hate that word.”

You felt Amelia’s arms tighten around you, and her breath came out in huffs. She was very angry. “As you should,” she told you. “It’s a nasty word. And it’s a word that doesn’t describe you at all, you know that.”

“I don’t know, Amy,” you whispered into her chest. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Babe, I think that ship has sailed,” Amelia said, running her fingers through your hair.

“Not my dad,” you explained. “The baby.”

Amelia was quiet for a moment, then you felt her lips press against the top of your head.

“Oh, honey,” she said, her voice soft. “Of course he’ll like you. He’ll love you. You're his mom.”

“But what if I’m bad at it? What if autism makes me bad at it?”

“Y/N,” Amelia said, gently grabbing your face and positioning it so that you had to look in her general direction, if not in her eyes. “Look how good you are with the kids in the ER. You’re gonna be an incredible mom.”

“I’m just scared,” you admitted.

“I’m a little scared, too,” Amelia told you. “But you know what? I think we’re gonna be okay. Me and you together? I mean, surely, combined, we can be at least one whole good mom, right?”

You giggled.

Amelia grinned at you. “There she is.”

You were quiet for a moment, playing with Amelia’s finger, with the edges of her scrubs.

“You know what you are?” Amelia asked after a bit, kissing your forehead. “You are smart and kind and empathetic. You’re funny and brave and you work hard. You’re my favorite person in the whole world.”

You looked away.

“Hey,” she said, pulling your face back toward her again. “I don’t like people talking about my wife like that. Even you.”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around her waist and pressing your face to her chest.

“Are you going back down there?” Amelia asked.

You shrugged.

“Want me to check if your dad’s still here?”

“Would you?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, standing and placing one more kiss on your cheek. “In fact, I’d really like to talk to him.”

“Don’t do anything that’ll get you fired, Amy,” you called after her.

She looked back at you and winked as she walked through the door. “Can’t make any promises.”

#amelia shepherd #amelia shepherd x reader #amelia shepherd x fem!reader #amelia shepherd x autistic!reader #amelia shepherd fanfic #amelia shepherd fluff #amelia shepherd hc #hurt/comfort #grey's anatomy #grey's anatomy fanfic

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pablitogavii · 10 months

Note

can you do where the reader is a ballerina and pablo goes to see her and he brings her flowers and he’s so proud and cute 🥺🥺

Bellerina

Pablo's POV

"Will you relax already hermano!?" Pedri was helping me get ready and I was very thankful he and Ansu agreed to come with me to my girlfriend's premier night.

"Do you think we are overdressed!?" Ansu came out never in his life wearing a suit which made both me and Pedri laugh out loud when we saw him. I really needed this laugh right now!

"It's a ballet premier cabrón! Everyone is dressing up!" I said and Ansu groaned rolling his eyes while checking himself out on the mirror. I took my phone out smiling when I saw the message from her.

nena<3: I'm turning off my Pablito..I can't wait to see you after the show ❤️❤️ te amo!

pablitoo: good luck princesa mia! i'll be watching you proudly and know you will do great! just be yourself and be careful please ❤️❤️ te amo muchisimo!

"Ready to go?" Pedri said and I put my phone away grabbing the tickets and we all left to drive to the theater together.

Y/n's POV

"Your boyfriend is coming tonight right!?" Sofia (one of my closest friends) asked and I nodded blushing red at the thought of Pablo watching me dance.

"I know that's exciting, but I hope you will remain focused!?" teacher added and I nodded smiling at my friend when she left.

After texting Pablo knowing I will need to turn off my phone to stay concentrated, I also posted a picture on Instagram hoping people would come see out show we worked so hard to prepare.

y.n.bebe

Tonight is the BIG SHOW! Who is coming?? ❤️ #ballerina

comments:

pablogavi: can't wait to watch you dance bebé ❤️❤️

pablitogavii: he's going to watch her!!??

gavigavi: now i need to go!!

y/ngavicouple: it's her night! 😔

ansufati: I wore a suit for this!! 😂 can't wait!!

pedri: we're all supporting you amiga!!

sofiabellarina: let's do this!

aurorapaezg: always beautiful! 😍

Pablo's POV

We drove first to the florist to grab a bouquet for her and I was looking at all of them unsure which one is perfect.

"If you're nervous, just choose her favorite flower.." lady asked and I smiled asking if she can make anything with orchids remembering your story how people don't appreciate water flowers enough.

"That might be hard..but I'll do my best" she said making the bouquet right there before giving ti to me and I smiled really hoping my girl likes it. I payed and we left to the car.

When we arrived, we gave out tickets walking inside before the hoard of fans could get to us. I promised myself that tonight is about her, and she was going to the the only one who will have my attention.

We went to our seats and shortly afterwards the show started. This was the first time I was in the ballet show and I had to admit it was a strange feeling.

"When is her solo part?" Pedri asked and Pablo showed him the program pointing at your name proudly smiling knowing that he will be keeping this piece of paper forever.

You always told him how proud it made you when you came to watch his games, and tonight he felt exact the same finally understanding what it means.

"She's next.." Pablo said putting down the paper and looking at the stage as the curtains opened and the music started.

Y/n POV

I said my preyer before the music started cuing me to walk on stage. I forgot about everything around em just focusing on the melody moving to it on stage feeling like I was flying.

It was strange but I could feel his gaze on me the whole time. It didn't distract me, the contrary, it made me more engulfed int he feeling of the piece and the emotion it portrayed.

When my solo came to the end I kept the final pose for a few seconds while everyone applauded and I was finally able to open my eyes meeting his brown ones in the close rows.

I saw him smile proudly at me and my heart was full as I walked off the stage. It was a new strange feel of accomplishment when I saw that he was proud of me.

"Y/n!" teacher called and I rushed seeing her smile as she pulled me into a tight embrace. It was very out of character for her to show emotion but I was glad he enjoyed my performance so much.

"You were..I'm speechless..also, this was sent from the audience for you darling" she gave me the bouquet and before even reading the note I knew who it was from..the orchids..he remembered.

mi amor...you're my special water flower and I will forever cherish and appreciate you. te amo! -your Pablito

You just blushed smelling the flowers while all your friends were cheering telling you how lucky you were to have such a sweet boyfriend.

Pablo's POV

Show was soon over and everyone enjoyed it applauding loudly at the end. Even Pedri and Ansu asked if they can come again some time and I chuckled nodding my head.

"We can take you backstage now" they came to pick us up and I was excitedly rushing to finally see her again. I couldn't wait to congratulate her in person finally.

"Amor!" I called and she rushed to me still in her costume which I thought it was adorable. She jumped in my arms and I grabbed her small body twirling her around.

"You were..amazing princesa" I said and she blushed before I held her face and kissing her lips passionately. She pulled away wanting to greet my friends too which I completely forgot they were there.

"Thank you for coming..I hope it wasn't too boring" she said and both of them shook their heads congratulating her which made her smile happily. She was so pretty whens he was smiling.

"You also look amazing in a suit Ansu" she chuckled and we all joined her before both of them hugged her saying they will go back to the seats and leave you two alone before the final bow.

"What can I say except..I am beyond proud of you..and I love you so much" I held her in my arms and she chuckled going up on her point shoes which gave her enough height to kiss my lips.

"Mm those are quite helpful huh?" I said and she chuckled nodding her head before I kissed her again pulling her closer and we danced together for awhile.

"Time for the finale" teacher called and she smiled nodding her head and turning back to look at me. I didn't want to let her go just yet.

Y/n's POV

"I have to go cariño..but we're going home together afterwards" I reminded him hating to see his sad face and he gave me a smile I needed to see kissing me one more time.

"I love you.." he said after letting go off me and I smiled nodding my head.

"I love you too.." I said starting to walk away and he did as well but then something came to my mind and I called his name making him turn around quickly.

"Thank you for the flowers cariño..they are perfect" I yelled and he smiled happy he chose right.

"Just like you..go mi ballerina!" he said and I rushed away while he returned to his seat with his friends.

When we came out for the final bow, everyone applauded and Pablo's eyes were only glued on my face..tonight was absolutely perfect. <3

pablogavi

Mi ballerina, you were incredible tonight and I am beyond proud of you. I can't believe I'm the lucky guy who gets to hold you and love you. You are special mi amor..so special ❤️ @y.n.bebe

comments:

y.n.bebe: this made me cry cariño 🥺❤️❤️ I love you so much!!

pablogavi: only happy tears are allowed princesa ❤️❤️

y/ngavicouplefans: they are so perfect!! always supporting each other!

sofiballerina: you're welcome on the picture!!

y.n.bebe: 😳❤️

belengavira79: perfectos!

pablogavi: ❤️

y.n.bebe: ❤️

pablogavifans: he's so happy! you're gorgeous Y/n!!

#pablo gavi x you #fc barca #fc barcelona #fc barça #gavi #gavigif #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi #pablo gavi icons #pablo martín páez gavira #pablo gavira #gavira #gavi x vini #gavi x yn #gavi x you #gavi x reader #pablogavixreaderfluff #pablogavixreadersmut

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erathene · 3 months

Text

F*ck It (Part 1)

Summary: Strider pays a visit to the Prancing Pony where you are working as a barmaid, but all does not seem well with the wandering ranger. You do your best to fix it.

Word count: 2.1k

Pairing: Aragorn x Female!Reader

Warnings: LOTS of swearing and cursing, you have been warned. Intoxicated behaviour and alcohol. Mention of menstruation in a humorous manner.

AO3 Link: F*ck It

Author's note: Special thanks goes to the members of @fellowshipofthefics discord group (vamp_ress, prettea and spider__lilies) who helped me explore new ideas when my inspiration dried up 😊 Also thanks to DocFigureskaterM for being my beta reader. I tried a completely new writing style with this fic; my toddler son is starting to understand words now, and I have had to really watch my mouth around him! 😂 So this fic was born out of trying not to use curse words in front of a 16 month old haha.

Part 2 has now been posted!

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

The Prancing Pony was busy tonight. All of the parlours were crammed with punters, and the air that lingered around the bar was thick and heavy with sweat and drink and pipeweed smoke.

You picked your way carefully through the crowds, collecting glasses as you went. You didn't mind bar work, but it's not like you had much choice. You couldn't shoe a horse, your needlecraft was shit, and you had fuck-all artistic flair for floristry, so that eliminated about half the jobs going in Bree. You didn't have two pennies to rub together, so that ruled out buying your own land to rear livestock or grow produce to sell. Fuck it, tavern work would do. It kept your belly full and a roof over your head, so it would do nicely.

Barliman Butterbur, the Gaffer, ensured you were paid fairly, but it wasn't a high-earning job. It wasn't a glamorous job either; your days mostly consisted of emptying piss pots from the upstairs chambers, scrubbing the parlour floors, or wiping out the tankards ready for the evening drinkers. And drink they did. As night fell, the punters came, downing pints and pints of ale and cider and anything else that could be poured into a flagon. Some were regulars, loose-lipped locals trading gossip and louts one-upping each other in pointless contests to see who could win in an arm wrestle or a brawl out back. Some were strangers, passing through from abroad or travelling merchants wanting nothing more than a bite to eat and a soft bed for the night.

And then there was him.

You rarely traded conversation with the punters. The less they knew of you and you of them, the better. Moving mouths made idle hands, so your Mam used to say, and she was absolutely right because striking up a conversation with any punter would mean you had less time to get through all your cleaning. But you knew his name, Strider, and you knew he was a ranger. He wasn't a regular, though he frequented the Pony about once a month, and neither was he a stranger, for he knew your name and was on first name terms with the Gaffer too. He was just Strider. He was tall, towering over most men, with a mop of dark hair and curtain bangs that occasionally hid his grey eyes. Grey eyes that were never cold despite the colour. Broad shouldered, a bow and bedroll usually strapped to his back, and a large-as-fuck weapon at his belt. He wore a mottled green cloak with a hood, the type that you'd use if you wanted to fuck off into a forest and never be found again. Whenever he turned up, he had a ragged look about him, like he'd been through a bush backwards and had a good story to tell about it too.

You would never admit it, even if you were on your fucking deathbed looking at the lord creator himself. But if you had to describe your "type", it would be Strider.

So it's no surprise when your heart stuttered for a microsecond as soon as his giant mud-soaked leather boot stepped over the threshold. He'd been gone for a while and it had been months since he was last here. Not that you were counting the days of his absence like some lovesick maiden awaiting the return of her knight in shining armour. Fuck that shit.

Normally, Strider would ask for a half-pint of the local cider, take it to his favourite table in the corner of the bar, and settle himself comfortably, retrieving his pipe and tobacco from his travelling pack. Fuck, if there was a sign you'd worked here too long, knowing his exact routine was probably it. You readied a half-size tumbler as he approached the bar.

"An ale today, y/n" he said, placing a fistful of coins on the bar in front of you. "And make it a full pint, if you would be so kind."

That was.. odd. You did as instructed, like a good tavern girl, pouring dark amber liquid into a larger flagon. As the container filled, you noted Strider looked more roughed up than he normally did; flecks of mud clung to his skin and hair along with perhaps a fortnight's worth of grime, the filth on his palms and between his fingers would have rivalled that of any gardener, and you'd bet your last copper his clothes hadn't seen the inside of a washbasin in over a month. Placing the tankard down in front of the man, you took just one coin from his pile. "The ale's no dearer since your last visit, Strider," you commented with one eyebrow raised and a glance at his gold. But he paid you no mind whatsoever; the flagon you had handed him moments ago was almost vertical as he downed the pint.

"Another," he croaked, planting the empty flagon on the bar beside the coins that remained. You poured another from the same barrel. The second pint disappeared almost as quickly as the first, and was soon followed by a third.

Upon ordering his fourth drink in what felt like as many minutes, you slammed your hands on the bar and looked him dead in the eye. "What the fuck's the matter with you?" you asked, not bothering with pleasantries. His grey eyes met yours for a fleeting second before he looked away. You thought you caught a look of shame in those eyes before he broke contact, as though he knew he was getting a telling-off for his behaviour but he was going to carry on anyway and fuck everyone else. Very strange indeed. This was unlike the Strider you'd had dealings with in the past, who would politely ask you to share any tales you'd heard from locals over diluted cider and a puff of pipeweed. This Strider seemed out of sorts, as though he was holding onto thoughts and feelings about fuck knows what, and all he could do to control it was to force more alcohol down his throat, to drown it and make sure it never saw the light of day. You'd seen this behaviour in other punters plenty of times before. But not in Strider. Strider was always in control, always predictable.

You already knew you weren't getting an answer to your question. Fuck, you shouldn't have even asked in the first place. Another punter down the bar started growling loudly about the lack of service. Resisting the urge to tell the prick to pipe down and wait his turn, you quickly refilled Strider's flagon.

For the rest of the night, your work mostly kept your attention away from the ranger. The fleeting glances you did make in his direction confirmed to you that he continued to drink, and the more he consumed the more he leaned into the bar for support. As the punters began to clear off for home or to their chambers upstairs, Strider was one of the final ones who remained. When the Gaffer called last orders, the ranger had folded his arms across the bar with his head rested upon them. You approached him slowly, ready to take away the many empty flagons that surrounded him.

"I'll.. need a room, y/n", he said as you neared, his words slurring together.

You sighed. Fuck's sake, Strider. "We're full for the night, I'm afraid." If the fucking fool had decided that earlier rather than at last orders, he might have a bed upstairs by now.

Strider groaned in disappointment. Clearly this wasn't what he wanted to hear, but there was fuck all you could do about it. He made to rise from the bar, but his movements were completely uncoordinated, and he staggered sideways, catching himself by the edges of his fingertips on the solid bar. He glanced at you with a confused expression, probably wondering why the world was spinning and why there were six of you standing before him. You'd seen that look before in patrons who couldn't hold their drink. Seemed that Strider was one such patron.

Fuck. With every room upstairs taken, the only option for Strider would be to sleep on the street, and if he was lucky enough to find an alleyway that wasn't covered in pig shit and piss, he'd likely find himself mugged for his remaining coin or possibly worse. Bree was often subject to petty crime with so many people coming and going. Were you resolved to letting this man wonder the roadways until he collapsed in surrender to his drunken stupor? You gritted your teeth. The Gaffer would be locking up soon, he was already rearranging empty chairs and stools at the other end of the room.

You glanced back at Strider. Actually, the street was not his only option. There was a free bed upstairs: yours.

You moved quickly whilst the Gaffer was distracted. Yanking Strider's arm, you pulled the drunkard to his feet, catching his dead weight as he failed to remain upright. You both awkwardly shuffled to the narrow stairway that led to the upper floors of the inn. Strider was muscular and well-built, and that made him fucking heavy. Lifting and shifting barrels over the years here was paying off though as you managed to get him upstairs with only minor difficulty. As soon as you crossed the threshold into your dimly-lit and modest bed chamber, Strider doubled over and vomited violently onto the hardwood floor.

A stream of curse words flew from your mouth, the likes of which would make your Mam turn in her grave, god rest her soul. This was one extra cleaning job you could fucking do without. Fucking Strider and his lightweight stomach, no wonder he never strayed from his fucking cider if this was how he got after one too many ales. You dropped him ungraciously onto your single bed in the corner of the room where he curled up into a ball on top of the blankets, his hands cupping his head. You took a deep breath and tried to calm your emotions. The fool was probably suffering enough right now.

"Wait here whilst I get something to clean this mess up," you instructed him. "And any more where that came from can go in there," you added, kicking an empty bucket in his direction. Strider grunted in acknowledgement, but did not move.

It took you over twenty minutes to mop up the mess and scrub the stink of bile out of the floor. On your way back downstairs to return the mop and bucket, you grabbed a couple of flagons and filled them with fresh water. Strider would probably wake up with a giant fucking hangover tomorrow and he would need liquids that were alcohol-free. Once back upstairs, you tried to hand one of the water-filled jugs to Strider, only for him to crudely bat away your hand.

"It's water, you moron. Drink." You were not in the mood for his shit. You were already facing the prospect of sleeping on your own floor and this thought left your bedside manner extremely lacking. But you tried, adding "you'll feel like utter shit tomorrow if you don't."

Strider lifted his head from your feather pillow. Taking the flagon, he uttered his thanks before drinking deeply. "I s'pose you think I'm a complete fool," he slurred as he returned the goblet to you.

Before you could respond, there was a harsh knock at your door. "Y/n! Are you in there?"

Shit, it was the Gaffer. He was probably wondering where you had got to whilst you'd been spending time tending to the drunk fucker sprawled on your bed. You pulled a throw from your laundry heap and tossed it over Strider to hide his form, before hurrying to open the door.

"Sorry Gaffer, I was just.. changing," you said quickly. The Gaffer looked you up and down with one eyebrow raised, clearly seeing you remained in the same basic dress and apron that you'd been wearing all evening. "My underwear," you added hastily. "Y'know.. Women's problems." You flashed him a friendly smile. He wouldn't ask any more questions after that.

It was well into the wee small hours when at last, your shift was done for the night and you were able to ascend the stairs. You pushed the door to your chamber open and found Strider exactly where you had left him, his dark head poking out from under the blanket. He was snoring softly. Peering into the bucket, you saw with satisfaction that he hadn't lost any more contents of his stomach, nor had he made any more mess anywhere else. This was good. You pulled a spare quilt from your solitary cupboard and laid it out over the floorboards. Sinking to your knees without even bothering to change clothes, you wrapped half the quilt over yourself and within minutes entered a dreamless sleep.

#aragorn x y/n #aragorn x reader #aragorn x you #aragorn #lord of the rings #lotr fanfic #fanfiction

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kitthepurplepotato · 5 months

Text

Chapter 15 - The first fight

Summary: Kirishima goes over to Katsuki’s to see how’s Y/N doing. He sees… uhm… things.

Y/N and Katsuki slowly move in together but they can’t stop fighting about Y/N’s hero work so Mr. Third Wheel Kirishima decides to kick some sense into the two.

Warnings: Swear words, mentions of doing the cheeky, but no details or anything! 5 seconds of angst. 😂

First Chapter Master List

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Kirishima didn’t mean to pry.

He just wanted to see how Y/N’s appointment went, that’s all.

Why didn’t he knock, you ask? He has a spare key, duh. Why would he, anyway? Katsuki is his best bro, he doesn’t need to knock on Katsuki’s door.

Well… he absolutely hates himself right now for even coming over.

Why, you ask?

Oh well, you have a shit load of questions, don’t you?!

Just let him finish his fucking story, goddamnit!

So Eijirou went in with his spare key. He went in and sat down on the sofa with his laptop; it was paperwork day so he could absolutely wait around for the two to come back from their appointment and Katsuki’s sofa is really comfortable so at least his back won’t be aching tomorrow from all the crouching. He was full on focused on his work when the two fumbled in through the door; he was about to say hi and ask how it went when his best bro threw the poor girl into the wall and shoved his tongue right into her mouth, right in front of Kirishima’s face. He wasn’t sure if he was turned on by that or rather disgusted, probably something between the two. He prayed for the gods that they don’t decide to do more right by the entrance, but the gods did not listen to Kirishima’s pleads; he tried not to look, he tried, he swears, but he couldn’t miss the way Katsuki looked at Y/N with eyes dark like … the forest? The empty space in Kirishima’s skull? Fuck, he’s not a poet, leave him the fuck alone.

“Bedroom. Now.” Katsuki muttered, both of his hands on Y/N’s peachy bottoms; Kirishima must say it was quite hot how his best bro just took the girl into his arms like she weights nothing and maneuvered through his flat with his tongue still down the poor gal’s throat.

After the bedroom door has closed, Kirishima stayed in one place, which wasn’t the brightest idea of them all; he heard things he never wanted to hear, tiny whimpers and moans, mostly Y/N and when a really loud moan left her mouth, that’s when Kirishima decided the two are probably too invested in each other to care if the door opens now so he made his way out the flat, silent like a fucking ninja and lonely like the that smelly dude on the train he tried to entertain the other day but apparently, being alone is better than to listen to Kirishima’s shitty jokes.

Kirishima has no idea how he will look into his best bro’s eyes tomorrow after knowing how his horny face looks like.

There are a lot things bros can know about each other, but he’s quite sure this isn’t one of those things.

Kirishima will definitely not sleep tonight. Hell, he will never even blink for too long.

“Are you okay, boss?” His teammate had asked him when he came back into his agency with his face white as a sheet.

“No. I’ve seen something I can never unsee.” He muttered under his nose, not even looking up.

“Did you go to use the toilet when the new lizard guy did? That happened to me too and that was indeed terrifying. I did ask him about it, though and he can retract the spikes in case he wants to… get frisky so it doesn’t hurt the other person…”

“Oh my god, shut up!” Kirishima yelled, absolutely disgusted, for real this time.

You know what, seeing his best bro manhandling his girlfriend is probably not that bad as whatever this guy is talking about it.

Kirishima will be fine… eventually.

~•💥•~

This is just another day for Mr. Katsuki. The sun shines through the slits of his brand new, super expensive curtains, Steven is already wide awake at the humble hour of 6AM, aggressively knocking on his balcony door to get fed, even though Katsuki put a fucking automatic bird feeder right next to his ridiculously expensive bird house and there is a nice warmth coming from his left side but it’s fucking cold on the other.

Steven is really fucking annoying today and he really doesn’t like the cold but nothing in the whole fucking universe can fuck up Katsuki’s good mood today.

Why, you ask?

Because Bakugou Katsuki has finally got laid. And it was really fucking awesome.

It was weirdly awkward sometimes but at the same time it was really… cosy? He is really bad at explaining feelings and shit so don’t ask him questions but while his first time was absolutely not how he expected it to be; he fumbled a lot then he cried like an idiot after the action; but somehow, even with all the weird pauses it was… it was better than he expected it to be. So much better. Oh my, Mr. Bakugou Katsuki can’t wait to try all the possible poses in the near future - ahh, there is a book about it, right? Katsuki needs to get that and start to study.

Okay, Mr. Bakugou Katsuki needs to stop thinking about cheeky things right before work.

Why, you ask?

Well, fucking guess.

“Hm…” Katsuki’s woman grumbles, still attached to his half-dead arm. Oh, that bloody woman, how much he fucking loves her ugly little scrunched face when she wakes up. Fuck’s sake. “You need some help with that?” The menace bites into his ear and Katsuki can barely stop himself from moaning out loud. He got more sensitive, isn’t he? Is this a normal thing?

“We need to be in the office in an hour.” Katsuki murmurs begrudgingly, but he pulls Y/N closer anyway, because he can’t fucking stop himself.

“Challenge accepted…” She kisses down his neck and Katsuki’s little friend comes alive once more.

Mr. Bakugou Katsuki only just woke up but he already managed to try out a new pose, just how he wanted.

This isn’t just another day. No.

This is… the best day of Katsuki’s life.

~•💥•~

When Katsuki and his woman arrives at the agency, Shitty hair is nowhere to be seen.

This is certainly odd; Eijirou is usually the first one to arrive, ready with everyone’s coffee because there is sunshine coming out of his ass even at 7 in the morning; but instead of his best friend, his eyes are met with all the extras looking at them two like they both grew a second head which is impossible in his case and quite possible in Y/N’s. Katsuki looks at his woman and the badly covered bite mark on her neck; he did that and he’s proud and also, she only has one head. Thank fucking god for that.

“The fuck are you staring for, extras?!” Katsuki yells because he’s a good boss who wants to know if the extras are bothered by something - no, he doesn’t really fucking care nor he wants to solve the problem, that’s what shitty hair is for but he can listen. For five seconds, max, but still… he can.

“Uhm… you two came in through the hallway at the same time. I was just wondering…” One really fucking brave bitch decides to speak up for the team - her name? Katsuki has zero clue but she’s quite helpful with the paperwork.

“Can you not finish your sentence, thrift store Avril Lavigne? Do you not have the balls or what?!” Katsuki challenges the chick and hell, he really hopes the chick takes it as that and not as workplace abuse because the last thing Katsuki needs in his life right now is an hour in the HR office.

“Did you guys have a one night stand or something?” Thrift Store Avril comes forward with her hand on her chest, probably to make sure her heart doesn’t jump out of it from how terrified she is right now. Katsuki sees red.

“Did you just call my woman a whore?”

“Katsuki, calm down…” Y/N stands between them to save the poor girl’s life, but Katsuki is not having it. The whole office gawks at the sound of his first name. What the fuck, did they not know his name before?! “She didn’t mean it like that…”

“Be disrespectful to her again and I’ll fire your ass and send you to the moon, I’ll blast you up through your asshole…”

“Babe!” Y/N downright laughs in the blond’s face but instead of getting angry all he can do is to remember how Y/N giggled in the morning while she slowly moved on top of him and… “I’m sorry, Akari and everyone. You’ll see me coming out of Katsuki’s apartment quite a lot because…”

“Because she will fucking live there. From today. Yeah.” Katsuki barges into Y/N’s sentence with zero remorse. “Take that, you lonely bitches, I have a serious relationship and I fucking love this woman and I ain’t ashamed of it anymore.” Instead of the sounds of terror he can only hear a bunch of “awwwwww”, which makes no sense but whatever. “Now let us fucking go and mind your own business. Also, find fucking Kirishima. I can’t be bothered.” He barely finishes the sentence before the door slams behind him. “Fucking nosy extras…”

“I love you too, Kats.” Y/N kisses him on the lips once they’re behind close doors. Fuck, Katsuki loves his life.

It’s really hard to start the day with Y/N’s tongue down his throat but Katsuki manages to get the office ready by the time his useless partner/best friend barges into his office. He looks disheveled and out of breath so maybe… maybe he got into a fight on his way to the office?! It wouldn’t be the first time to be fair nor the last. There are no scars or blood visible on his skin which is also quite normal as the guy is literally indestructible. The only clue Katsuki has about Kirishima’s lateness is the TWELVE FUCKING COFFEES in his hand, 6 in each, in a little plastic holder with red handles.

“What the actual….” One of the handles break in Kirishima’s stressed grasp and all six of the coffees end up on the floor. On Katsuki’s. Fucking. Floor. “Fuck.”

“Katsuki. I’m in love.” Kirishima falls to the floor dramatically, not even saying sorry for the mess he just made. Katsuki… again… sees red. And no, he doesn’t see Kirishima. I mean he does, obviously, it’s quite hard to miss his fucking obnoxious hair but… what he means is that he gets… angry. I know. A shocker.

“And what does the twelve fucking coffees spilled on my floor have to do with that?!”

“Six spilled coffees. Uhm… six and a half. Eight.” Eijirou babbles, clearly ready to die. “She made them, Katsuki. They taste like honey, like happiness. Like unicorns and candy clouds, like Crimson Riot’s sweat and tears, Katsuki she’s so beautiful and so sweet and kinda rude but like, I really like that? She could kick my butt and I’d say thank you…”

“You are fucking dead, Shitty Hair.” Katsuki takes one step, then another and Kirishima falls out of the window, the glass shattering all over as his heavy, hardened body flies towards the parking space. As Katsuki stares after his best friend he can’t help but notice someone inside the staff area of the freshly opened coffee shop, a red haired woman, laughing her ass off as Kirishima finally lands on the now broken concrete, flat like a pancake.

“Call the window people. We also need someone to fix the concrete.” Katsuki mutters, back to work mode as he quickly grabs his handy little car vacuum sitting in his drawer to clean his chair from the glass shards.

“Roger that, boss.” Y/N grins, phone already by her ears.

No one even asks a single question. Not the team, not the repair people. This is how normal it is in this agency to break shit.

Katsuki loves his agency. So fucking much.

~•💥•~

The next few days are probably the best days of your life; you two don’t talk about moving together anymore but you never get to go home or even if you do, Katsuki comes with you and packs random stuff into your suitcase you don’t even need so even without him saying it, you know he was serious about moving in together. You should probably sit down and talk about it, make sure this is what you both want but at the same time, it just feels so… right, to slowly move your life into his home, fill the wardrobe until it’s nice, full and lived in… without words, the decision was made and you are sure that by the time your lease expires, there will be nothing in your flat anyway.

Sharing a life with Katsuki is surprisingly easy.

There is no reason for you to talk about responsibilities around the house; Katsuki loves to cook and you don’t mind doing the dishes, Katsuki enjoys hanging the wet clothes on the drying rack for some reason so you automatically do the washing, knowing the hard work will be shared so there is no frustration in the air about one doing too much or too less.

The only silly thing about Katsuki is his obsession with having all his spices in alphabetical order and his clothes color-coordinated but Katsuki is a great partner so instead of forcing you to do it his way he just asks you to let him do his own thing so he “won’t have a meltdown.” It doesn’t mean you don��t try your best to remember these small things in case you ever need to do it for him, but… it’s a nice thought. Bakugou Katsuki is really fucking nice in his own fucked up way.

There is one thing that you can’t help but fight about and it’s constant; it’s your hero work.

“It has only been two fucking weeks, woman, chill the fuck out! We are training every fucking day.” Katsuki yells, exasperated for needing to say the same thing over and over. “You can’t just jump back into the battlefield like you haven’t been away for years. I know you are fucking frustrated, I hated every single minute of my life after the Big War, I felt fucking useless for not being able to help while my old classmates who didn’t get fucked up were getting all the recognition while I was rotting on my couch for a month.”

“One month Katsuki!” You yell back. “I’ve been rotting away for a whole fucking year, even more than that! I’m not asking you to let me beat up the biggest gang in Japan, I just want to help with smaller cases! You are being unprofessional! Even the small fries are out on the streets, patrolling yet here I am, kicking your fucking ass every day yet I can’t even go out on the street to stop an unarmed, quirkless thief!” You yell back with tears in your eyes.

“Uhm, sorry to interrupt but Y/N is right. She should be able to help out with smaller cases, I would even dare to say she’s more than capable to be on the sidelines when it comes to the bigger ones, like the one we are getting ready for right now…” Kirishima mumbles into the space, feeling extremely awkward to speak up; even though you are all in Katsuki’s office it does feel like a lover’s quarrel and not like a hero talking to her boss about getting a promotion.

“Since when are you here?!” Katsuki yells, even more exasperated.

“Since the beginning, Katsuki.” Eijirou sighs, clearly done with his life. “I’ve been here for an hour. You saw me come in. You even rolled your eyes to say hi.”

“I fucking did not.” Katsuki mutters with a red face.

“So what the fuck do you want me to do to prove I’m more than capable to kick an ass?! Should I write an assay? Should I swear loyalty to you like a fucking knight?! Katsuki, even Kirishima says I should be able to go back! You are not acting as my boss but as my boyfriend right now and while I’m really happy you worry about me, I’m dying here! You are suffocating me!” You yell with tears in your eyes. You hate this. So fucking much. You hate the look Katsuki gives you, the worry in his eyes, the terrified frown on his face as you finish your last sentence.

“Oi, oi, oi, both of you, SHUT UP!” Kirishima yells, for the first time since you’ve started working here. Kirishima can be really scary when he’s mad, by the way. You are actually about to shit your pants as you look at him. “Katsuki, she doesn’t mean YOU. She means this situation. She’s not breaking up with you!”

“Yeah, definitely not. I love you, idiot.” You mutter with a red face, avoiding eye contact with everyone. Kirishima nods at that. Katsuki looks like he’s about to cry from the relief.

“Also, I have an idea.” He continues with determination. “If Y/N is able to keep up with Number One Hero in a fight, will you let her join us on our next mission?” Kirishima has lost his mind, but also, he’s kind of a genius. “Deku has several quirks himself. It will be a fair fight. I’m not saying you are not good enough but Y/N already knows your fighting style. She also knows mine. Deku plus Todoroki would be a brand new challenge for her. Those two are a terrible pair to fight against. If she can win against them or even just bare with the two for a long time she’s more than capable to join our main team. Not the small fries, the main.”

“If I lose I’ll join the small fries for however long you want me to. But if I win… I’ll fight by your side.” You look at Kirishima with nothing but wonder in your eyes; you didn’t realize how amazing he is at compromising. Now it makes so much sense how he ended up being Katsuki’s best friend.

“Fuck. Fuck!” Katsuki yells, frustrated. “Okay. Fucking… okay.” He finally sits down, defeated. You can’t help but go over to him, put your arms around his small middle and give him a kiss on his temple.

“Thank you. I won’t disappoint.”

“I know, that’s the problem.” He mutters with nothing, but worry in his beautiful crimson eyes.

“I love you too.” You snicker, the love pouring out of your heart as you stare at your amazing, caring boyfriend. “We’ll be the hottest hero couple of the history.”

Katsuki pulls you into his lap as you say that; he embraces you so tightly you can barely breathe but the movement is so full of affection and love you have no heart to tell him.

“Okay, I’m leaving before I see something I don’t want to see.” Kirishima leaves you two alone before you can say bye. You need to tell him how amazing he is before your shift ends.

“I fucking hate this, Y/N.” Katsuki admits with his face hidden in your chest. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. I know that’s the shitty boyfriend talking, I know it’s wrong but fuck, I don’t want to loose you.” Katsuki mutters, clearly shocked by the sudden change.

“You won’t. You know why?” You smile at him, your fingers raking through his soft hair. “Because I have someone to fight for, I have a beautiful boyfriend to come home to. I have a family. You are my family.” You leave another kiss on his temple, really close to crying.

“Stop making me feel all mushy and sensitive, I hate it.” Katsuki sniffles, pulling you even closer. Oh, how much you fucking love this man. Fuck’s sake.

“But think about how sexy it will be when I kick your old rival’s ass for you. Think about going home after that and…” you whisper into his ear suggestively, not even sorry for the shudder that goes down the blond’s spine from the action.

“When is your break?” Katsuki mutters with heat in his voice.

“In an hour. But my boss wouldn’t mind if I would take it a bit sooner, would he?”

Katsuki doesn’t answer; he just takes you into his arms and carries you towards the office door with pure determination then kicks his front door open only a few seconds after.

Needless to say, your break was really… uhm… satisfying.

The impromptu lunch was good, too.

… Next Chapter!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- Bro I love these two so much but I also like how sometimes they still need Kirishima to be able to sort their shit out because they are both too stubborn to compromise 😂

- The Kirishima coffee bit is actually a part of the new Kirishima series I’ll start posting once this one ends! We will see how he ended up with 12 coffees in Chapter 1!

- If I don’t deviate from my original plans this story ends after the fight then there will be an extra story (I don’t want to spoil it but it’s connected to something that happened in season 1 and it will be fucking hilarious! Tell me your guesses! :D)

- The next chapter might be a little late thanks to the Christmas rush in retail + I’m terrible with writing fights so GIVE ME SOME TIME 😂

- Tell me how your thoughts! 💜 cheers x x x

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

TL: @sixxze @iwannahaveaprettyaesthetic @hanatsuki-hime @cloroxisadelectabletreat @cheesenmax @coffeent @smolsleepybat @therealpotatobish @qardasngan @canarystwin @unofficialmuilover @nanamomo1 @mikestuffffs @p4ndawrites @yao-ai

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou x self insert #bakugo x you #shenanigansbypurplepotato #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #pro hero dynamight x reader #soft katsuki

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biteofcherry · 2 years

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Ari plus basement wife Reader being kept tied naked an blindfolfed for him to use when he wants. And he wants her plenty? Maybe adding guests to enjoy her and test if she recognizes their touch and cocks? And if she fails she goes at it again? And when she succeds Ari still feels her with his seed?

The prompts were supposed to be simple 😂 You wrote a little story of your own, lol

I'm going with Ari + basement wife in general

warnings: dark!Ari; basement wife kink; kindapping; mentions of voyeurism; mentions of foursome; breeding kink; lactation kink; stockholm syndrome;

"Ain't that lovely?" Ari hummed, running his hands along your body as you stood with your back pressed to his chest.

"You chose a pretty pattern, love." He compliments the curtains you sew - an off-white base with green monstera leaves.

They now framed the little window Ari installed for you; a reward for being compliant and good for two weeks now. The window wasn't big and had bars in it, but it also let the sunlight in and gave you a peek of the grass and lilacs outside.

The glass was reinforced, your small weak fists wouldn't brake it. No sound would carry out either. You weren't considering trying to either, too scared of the punishment that would await you.

Ari was good to you when you obeyed. Very caring and dotting, and worshipping every inch of your body as long as you didn't fight back.

Though sometimes he liked it when you struggled.

He liked pinning you down. Liked the sound of ripping clothes and your muffled cries.

"Thank you," you said quietly. "For the window. And the new dress, too."

You glanced at the short, blue dress draped over the back of the armchair.

Ari brought you a pretty, shell-shaped chair and a small table, so you could sit and read at it, or do your makeup at. He got you any book you wanted.

Often stayed with you in your bed after fucking you senseless and read to you aloud until you fell asleep.

"It may be a little loose for now." Ari pulled down the strap of the white dress you were currently wearing and kissed your bare shoulder.

"But soon it'll fit-" he spread his fingers over your lower belly.

Your breath hitched.

Ari's been talking about starting a family from the very beginning of this madness. You took it as just dirty talk at first. One that scared you, but also made you come harder when Ari spilled inside you.

"Once you're so full of me it starts showing," he said while rolling your dress up over your hips, "I take you upstairs."

He pulled the dress completely off of you then picked you up. He took you to your bed and placed you on your hands and knees.

"To ensure your safety, I'll have a tracker installed in your body." Ari caressed your back as he knelt behind you.

His hand clenched on the back of your neck as he pushed your head down into the sheets.

"Lloyd can do that easily. Said it'll be his wedding gift to us. You remember Llloyd, don't you?"

How could you not. Him and Steve were the two friends Ari introduced you to.

Forced you to pleasure them while he watched. Allowed them to fuck your holes and say degrading things about you.

Though he never let them come inside your pussy.

"Of course you do," Ari's chuckle was dark, his hand slipping between your legs to touch your wet folds - you weren't sure if he conditioned you, or if your body really aroused for him so quickly.

"You cried so prettily when he fucked your tight ass."

He slipped two fingers inside you, your hips rocking back against him eagerly.

"He'll have to rely on the video to get himself off from now on." Ari pulled his fingers out and smacked your ass. "I won't let anyone enjoy this responsive, full body once you're pregnant. You're all mine, love. Only mine."

"Yes, Ari." You whimpered, cheek pressed to the mattress.

"But-" He considered aloud- "we might be generous hosts when my friends visit. Let them taste your milky breasts. Perhaps watch as I pump you full of my cum again."

#ari levinson x reader #dark!ari levinson #dark fic #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson x you #mind you that it is a dark fic #mentions of :#lloyd hansen x reader #steve rogers x reader #my writing #anonymous #reply

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joels6string · 1 year

Note

you’re a genius and your plot and world-building skills are next level. i’m truly such a fan girl you have no idea 👉🏼👈🏼

i’m politely begging you for a joel miller ANYTHING with prompts 2, 35, 41, and 44. all the sweetness and whatever else you think it deserves! i trust you wholeheartedly with all of P’s characters 🤍 thank you so much for sharing your gift with all of us!!

Stop it...thank you so much. I appreciate you very much💜 Oh goodness, don't trust me with all of them lol. Ezra, you're a gem, but we don't vibe 😂 I was also politely begging for anything Joel Miller so I'll literally happily oblige. Actual loml. I also thoroughly appreciate the subtle shout-out to Buckley the dog. I made a shitty gif and everything for it. I'm fairly certain I'm the only one who likes slow-burning shit like this 😂 but hey, I hope someone else enjoys it too.

Illegible

Joel Miller x f!reader

"Wait a minute. Are you jealous?"//"Stop laughing at me."//"You need some sleep."//"I'm only here for the dog."

Word Count: 3.5k Content: Buckley the dog in all his goodest boy glory, flirting with Joel Miller is like romancing a very handsome brick wall, fluff, mutual crush, two hopeless morons, matchmaker Maria to the rescue, first kiss

Farming rotation had always been your favorite assignment. It was rigorous, exhausting, and the pre-dawn wakeups were less than desirable, but there was something soothing about it. People mostly kept to themselves here, just asking for a hand when needed, and damn if this job didn’t feel useful. Food you’d worked for months to grow fed this whole damn town, and if that wasn’t something to be proud of, nothing was.

Maria knew you preferred it here in the greenhouses, being friendly with her certainly had its perks, too. Your gate patrols had become minimal, the shotgun almost felt foreign in your hands now when you had to head up atop the walls and survey the wilderness for threats from infected and hunters alike.

It was another early morning, an eerie gray seeping through your thin curtains and rain dripping down the windows ahead of your fieldwork, a heady sigh leaving your lips as you slipped the rubber boots that were two sizes too big onto your feet. But even on days like today, you didn’t mind the work. Sure, the soil would be heavier soaked and your clothes would be clinging to your skin within the hour, but it sure as hell beat fighting for your life outside these walls.

It had been a miracle you’d stumbled across a patrol team a few months back, scared and alone. The vetting was brutal and the townsfolk were wary of the newcomer for weeks after your arrival. But you’d earned their trust through your hard work and willingness to do what was needed. You were a damn fine cook, too, and that went a long way.

By the time noon hit, the rain hadn’t slowed at all. You were shivering despite the exertion, the warmth of the pub calling your name even if it would only be for the hour allotted for your lunch. The cover of the plastic enclosures had done little to keep you dry with how many times you’d gone in and out, the humidity the plants needed keeping you thoroughly damp and chilled. You were finishing your final task, your hands quivering too much for the precision you needed,

“You look cold,” a Texas drawl chuckled from behind you, “Why are you out in the rain anyway? Can’t this wait?”

“You tell me, boss,” you replied with a grin, your gaze shooting back over your shoulder to see Tommy Miller, his faithful companion Buckley at his side.

“It can wait til it’s dry. Come on.”

The Millers–Tommy and Maria–were good friends, but Tommy’s brother Joel, while revered in the town, was someone you hadn’t had much contact with, not anything of merit anyway. That was an avoidance of your own creation, your thoughts dizzying into idiocy when you were in his presence for more than a few minutes. It was shameful. But it was thankfully easy to maintain. He mostly kept to himself in his big house by the cemetery, his job solely a patrolman thanks to his exceptional skills with just about every weapon under the sun and his proficiency at what some of the town referred to as “extermination.” Joel could kill anything and not bat an eye, and everyone knew it, too.

“Dinner at our place tonight,” Tommy offered after walking you past the pub and to your front door, “Maria is cooking, but if you wanted to maybe come a little early and make those sweet potatoes, you won’t find a soul complainin’ and I got a basket full.”

“Well, you did get me out of the rain,” you answered, waving goodbye as your body ached for a warm shower and dry clothes.

By three o’clock you were knocking on Tommy’s door and none other than Joel greeted you as it swung open after a single knock, a mug of coffee being swallowed whole by his hand.

“Joel…” you gasped, his hazel eyes widening at the sight of you.

“Tommy said you were comin’,” he muttered, you couldn’t tell if it was just to himself, your stomach flipping just like it had every other time you’d been this close to him.

Joel was tall and broad, his thick gray hair almost brushing his brow and an equally lush and silvered beard covering his jaw and cheeks. Heat flushed your face beneath his gaze–typical–the reason for your stark evasion of the man coming to full fruition here and now. He’d caught your eye long before you knew who he was, not that you’d ever even considered acting on this ridiculous little crush. You were too old for this anyway, and Joel, well, he’d never once acted like he wanted to be bothered by anyone’s attention much less your own. There’d been many shared functions and yet you’d still never graduated past pleasantries, your quick escape plans always being enacted before you could reach the next stage of conversation.

“Are you gonna let her in or leave her to soak?!” you heard Tommy yelling from somewhere in the house, Joel’s obvious alarm from being shaken from whatever mental space he’d gone to playing out too charmingly on his face for you to deny giggling at.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, eyes on the floor as he stepped aside, the sack of spices and honey you’d brought to prep your dish jostling in your arms, “I’ll–let me,” he offered, the way his fingers brushed against the back of your hand had goosebumps erupting across your skin making you thankful for the cover of your sweater.

“Thanks,” you gasped, hoping it didn’t sound as pathetic to his ears as it did to your own.

Long strides had him well ahead of you on your way to the kitchen and you took full advantage to shake off the effects of Joel Miller’s studious gaze before joining the group, you didn’t need anyone getting any ideas.

“Welcome!” Tommy greeted almost too exuberantly, “Joel here said he’ll help you with whatever you need to get started.”

“What?” Joel interjected quietly to himself between Tommy’s words, his hands falling to his hips showcasing toned forearms straining against the rolled sleeves of his flannel.

“Anything at all.”

Clearly, something else was at play. With Tommy and Maria barely able to contain their fits of giggles, Joel’s brow knit in confusion, and you standing dumbfounded with Buckley sitting dutifully at your side it looked like something straight out of the sitcoms that had died decades ago. And somehow it felt like you were the butt of the joke.

“Why are you staring like that?” Maria pressed, “You said you wanted to get better at cooking, You’re reading those books. Time to put it into practice.”

“It’s fine,” you finally found the courage to speak, “I can do it.”

“What do you need help with?” Joel resigned with a sigh, turning to the sink to scrub his hands clean. That was a good start.

“No, you don’t have to–”

“Peel these,” Maria instructed, pushing the bowl of sweet potatoes she’d gotten out his way, “Let’s see if you’re as good with a knife on root vegetables as you are Clickers. Hmm?”

“Well, ain’t you funny this evening,” Joel grumbled, snatching the knife to his left and beginning work on his task.

You almost felt bad for him, watching him struggle to catch only the skin and not the orange flesh beneath it, his tongue clicking in disappointment at himself with every swipe too deep and dropped peel. It was so endearing, Buckley’s little whines matching the way pity had set a breeze on the butterflies that had taken flight in your belly

“Stop laughing at me,” Joel finally snapped after Maria and Tommy’s little snickers had gone on for too long, the knife slamming onto the counter in frustration.

“Let me help you,” you offered, rushing over and plucking the tool from beneath his palm and showing him your technique, his eyes attentive as he watched and listened.

When dinner was served, you took the seat beside him, your appetite whisked away from hours of nervous fidgeting and stolen glances. What you did manage to force down was delicious, but you were more concerned about the reception of your dish from one guest at the table than you were about judging what was on your own plate.

“So,” Maria began after everyone’s forks had started to slow, “I saw you and Gabe hitting it off at work the other day.” What on Earth was she doing? “He’s nice. Good head on his shoulders, competent, great carpenter.”

“Oh,” you stammered, a nervous laugh flitting free, “No, I…I just work with him.”

“I need to get goin’,” Joel announced suddenly, his chair loudly scraping against the floor as he cleared his plate in the kitchen, Buckley getting a pat on the head before he bid everyone a gracious thank you and goodbye for the evening, your nerves settling immediately as soon as the door clicked closed.

After a night of tossing and turning at the replay of the embarrassment of your interactions from the evening, you were back in the greenhouses in much more suitable weather the following day, Maria and Buckley on site to help with the harvesting from half the crops. Gabe had been assigned your partner, something you assumed was no accident after Maria’s prying last night, her quest to get you saddled in with a “nice guy” in full swing.

“Long day, huh?” Gabe chirped from beside you, chest heaving after another heavy load of produce was dropped into the back of the truck, “You doing all right?”

“Yeah,” you answered, keeping your eyes straight ahead on your task, “busy.”

“Lunch!” Maria bellowed, “Let’s go, everyone! No exceptions!”

There went your hopes of skipping the congregated, shared hour in favor of hiding behind the greenhouses for a moment of reprieve. Gabe walked you to the grouping of tables, the citizens of Jackson having banded together to give the farming group a grateful lunch for their labors, a sentiment you should have appreciated but found yourself loathing at the moment. You were too tired, too agitated, and entirely too distracted.

“Joel…” Maria sang knowingly as if she’d been expecting him despite his presence never once having graced the workspace before, “What a surprise.”

“Tommy around? He ran off soon as we passed the gate,” he grunted fresh off patrol, his t-shirt screaming around his biceps ready to tear and his pack equipped with more weapons than you’d ever seen on one person strapped to his back; you couldn’t look away, “Who’s this?”

“Him? Oh, that’s Gabe.”

Why was his face falling? Were you imagining things? His eyes flicked from you back to the man beside you, a hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his head as he repeated the inspection once again.

“That so?” he drawled, “Never heard of ya.”

Well, that was a lie, and the way Gabe’s face fell that the famed Joel Miller didn’t know he existed, despite the fact that he most certainly did, only seemed to add a little glimmer to Joel’s eye as he watched him scamper off dejected. It was a little cruel, but at the moment you couldn’t care less as you tried to decipher what the hell situation you were standing in the middle of.

“Wait a minute… Are you jealous?” Maria asked tauntingly, your face falling in horror at the blatant accusation made on what you knew was your behalf.

“I beg your pardon?” Joel barked, and you had to hand it to Maria for never being intimidated because if you were on the receiving end of the expression currently staring her in the face you’d have cowered into the nearest corner like a mouse being pursued by a cat.

“It’s a simple question.” “I’m only here for the dog.”

Buckley yapped right on cue as Joel bent over to scratch his ear, Maria’s eyes rolling at one of the most pitiful excuses she’d ever heard in her life, especially from a grown man.

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” she groaned.

"You need some sleep, Maria. You're gettin' delusional," he nagged as he stood, following after her as she stormed off towards the tables.

Maria’s question plagued you throughout the week. You hadn’t seen Joel again, but that didn’t stop your brain from spiraling with the hope that maybe she was right. Replaying the brief interactions you’d had with him led you nowhere, the man was entirely illegible, his face a stoic…handsome…mask and his random appearances too few to interpret but also too coincidental to be a coincidence.

During another dinner alone on the old futon you’d scavenged, a soft knock on your door had you ready to duck under your table and hide until whoever it was left. It had to be Gabe, maybe Maria, but your frayed nerves had already had their fill of human interaction for the week, you wanted two days holed up in your little cabin with your books. Was that too much to ask?

“You home?” a gruff, deep voice called out, a timbre that did not belong to Gabe or Maria.

Joel. That had you racing to the point you were tripping over your feet, catching him just as he’d begun to descend the three steps leading up to your front door.

“Joel!” you called out too loud, his demeanor unaffected by your outburst.

“Hi,” he greeted cautiously, “Maria told me your backdoor was broken, wanted me to come look at it.”

Your backdoor was not broken. Never had been. However, if you told him that he would leave, but he should leave because he didn’t need to be here…

“It ain’t broken, is it?” he resigned, the answer clearly written on your face.

“No,” you sighed, disappointment carving a hole out of your chest and hollowing it fast enough to have your lungs depleting.

“Well, if it’s all right with you I’ll check anyway. Can’t ever be too careful.”

The thorough inspection he gave your old wooden door surprised you knowing he’d discovered the ruse before stepping foot inside your house, and he did indeed find a few screws that needed tightening. You offered him a coffee that he gratefully accepted, the last of the grounds you’d traded for last month enough for two cups you sat around the small round table in your kitchen to enjoy as the crickets began to chirp outside the windows.

“Thank you,” you erupted, your voice too loud, too excited, his little chuckle confirming he could sense your school girl nervousness.

“Welcome,” that smooth, Texas twang settled in your stomach, pressing downward in the most forbidden of ways, “You know if you need a carpenter–”

“Oh no. I don’t.”

“Right. Okay.”

Wait, that was rude. He was about to offer help and you’d cut him off. His eyes hadn’t left the brown, murky depths swimming in the pink mug you’d given him, his shoulders slumped, chin to his chest.

“If I do though, I’ll let Maria know to tell you–”

“You can just…knock on my door. If I ain’t out on patrol, I’m home.”

“Oh. Sure.”

It felt like your entire body was vibrating, sweat was beading on your brow and it wasn’t a result of the hot coffee you were drinking. He seemed just as tense, you could see his knee bouncing beneath the table and you were desperate to know if it was nerves or simply his way of tolerating the less-than-ideal situation he’d found himself in. But that required a courage you didn’t think you’d ever be able to muster.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he announced after a moment of silence that had dragged on too long, “Let me know if that door needs tweakin’ again.”

Every nerve in your body lit up with the desire to keep him there, your hand involuntarily shooting out and gripping around his wrist as you leapt to your feet less than a second after he rose, fingers barely meeting around the sheer girth of it. Your stomach dropped to the floor when his head whipped around and his stony stare locked on wear your skin met, his lips slightly agape and brow furrowed. You were panting, not caring how it looked or whatever he was assuming, he was probably right. It was time to admit that.

“Are you hungry?” you asked meekly, listing the ingredients you knew you had off in your head to try and come up with a dish you could prepare, forgetting that your half-eaten dinner still sat on the small table beside the sofa.

“I could eat,” he replied barely above a whisper, his eyes shooting over to that very spot. You should have anticipated that level of perception.

“I’ll make you something.”

“If it’s too much trouble–”

“No!”

Now this was getting embarrassing. Your voice was quivering, breath ragged, your brain reminding you it had been more years than you’d like to admit since you’d had a man in any capacity, and it wasn’t like that was beyond a quick release of tension.

“Calm down, darlin’,” he comforted warily, the pet name hitting you square in the chest, “I ain’t gonna hurt ya…”

That was where his mind had gone? This situation was worse than one you could have ever doomed yourself to in your mind. He thought you were afraid of him? Well, in a way you were, but not the way he was assuming. Your tongue was paralyzed as your brain screamed to fix the situation, your fingers unknowingly tightening around his wrist.

“I know that,” you quaked, “I didn’t think…you would.”

“Okay. Good,” he sighed, tapping your white-knuckling hand with his free pointer finger, “That’s startin’ to hurt, ya know.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry!”

Balling your fists at your chest, you retreated backward until you hit the kitchen counter, completely overwhelmed and embarrassed, wondering how in the hell you dug yourself out of this hole or if you’d be needing to find another settlement to move to. You couldn’t look him, Maria, or Tommy in the eye after this. You could just go on patrol and never come back, not like anyone would come looking for you when they found out what a fool you’d made of yourself.

“Is Maria right?” he asked softly, his tone gentle and relaxed, “I can’t read this shit.”

“What?” you choked, his eyes taking on a warm glow you’d never seen on him before, it made him look younger and somehow even more endearing.

Nonchalantly, almost annoyed, he waved his hand between the two of you, your eyes widening in shock at his question before his arms crossed over his chest, his biceps stealing your attention so brazenly it had a wheezing laugh breaking free from a bright smile.

“That a yes?” he chuckled, eyeing you through his lashes mischievously.

“Um…” you stammered, did he really just think you were going to admit it so openly?

“S’okay if it is.”

The nod you gave him was barely discernible, but he understood, the corner of his mouth stretching up toward his eye as he took a step forward, then another, and then another until his arms were caging you in as they braced on the counter behind you, the smell of pine wood and leather hitting your senses like a tsunami.

“Joel…”

“Hmm?”

“It’s been a really long time…”

“Yeah. Me too.”

His lips were softer than you expected them to be, plush and silky as they pressed to yours nervously, his beard prickling your skin a sensation you hadn’t felt in too damn long. When he pulled away you sought him out again, following his mouth as your fingers fisted into his shirt, your cue being followed as he came back harder, more intentionally, his nose pressing to your cheek when you pulled him in deeper, a muffled whine hitting him and eliciting one of his own.

“I um–” you began when you broke for air.

“Shh,” he soothed, feeling your fingers tightening in his shirt nervously again, “You don’t need to talk. I can stop, or I can keep goin’. Your call.”

“Don’t stop.”

“Yes ma’am.”

When his tongue slid along the seam of your mouth you relaxed, one of your hands releasing his shirt to slide up into his hair, his groan of approval hitting the back of your throat as you opened up to him completely. You barely needed time to learn one another, your mouths finding a fluid rhythm of give and take quickly. His hands felt so good settled easily on your hips, the lack of desperation in his grip a testament to his self-control, something you were clearly lacking as you pulled yourself in closer, tugging on his hair hard enough to sting. If it did he either didn’t mind or purely enjoyed it, not even a flinch settling across his features as he devoured you.

He stopped you when your hands shot to his belt, arousal and desire having taken your wheel within seconds of this all beginning.

“Not tonight,” he breathed, “much as I want to. I do have standards.”

“Which are?” you inquired, enjoying the way his nose was nuzzling against your cheek.

“At least one damn date. I am a gentleman, after all.”

“Well, let’s just go to the pub now and get it out of the way.”

“Yeah… Yeah, I can do that.”

Part 2: Into Focus

I did not proofread this. I apologize and own any terrible typos.

Joel Miller Masterlist

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #joel miller

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elliesgaymachete · 4 months

Text

I’ve now seen mean girls the movie the musical the movie a second time and it’s still just as good so here’s a full review

The Narrators bit was so much fun, the way they kept looking at the camera, breaking the fourth wall, and that one shot where they’re doing announcements and the name plate just reads “narrators”. The way the movie opens on them recording a video for social media in a garage and it ends in the same place with the garage door closing while they wave under it like the curtain on a broadway stage. Amazing.

The way it switches from fullscreen to widescreen just for songs where Regina controls the narrative like a fucking puppeteer. Like, at first I thought it was every song, but it’s only for Meet the Plastics, Apex Predator, Someone Gets Hurt, and World Burn. It’s SUCH a stylistic choice and I absolutely loved it

THE CONTINUOUS SHOT IN I’D RATHER BE ME!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!!! IT’S SO COOL!!!!! I love me a good continuous shot and would have LOVED to be a fly on the wall on set that day

Also still on I’d rather be me, the way the huge iconic moment of regina getting hit by the bus is completely overshadowed by Janis getting her moment. Loved it.

There were also a lot more smaller continuous shots that were really cool!

The use of social media, especially since social media as we know it today didn’t really exist when the original movie came out. It was a big part of the broadway show and keeping that translated REALLY well to the big screen

I made a separate post about this but the fact that they actually made Janis canonically gay instead of it just being subtext or if you squint. It makes Janis a much more sympathetic character and makes her vendetta against Regina feel even more real.

Making Cady’s mom a single mom was a surprisingly nice change and Jenna Fisher was truly a delight in all of her scenes.

The tease when Tina Fey almost sang where do you belong 😂 (though I am still bummed they cut where do you belong 😔)

THE LINDSAY LOHAN JUMP SCARE

Avantika was a delight and her comedic timing + deadpan delivery as Karen was so perfect

Literally everything about renee rapp as regina was perfect, but especially at spring fling when she’s high on pain meds was so much fun

Someone Gets Hurt (Reprise) was absolutely phenomenal. I didn’t know it was gonna be in the movie and gave me chills the first time I heard it. Auli’i fucking crushed it

I also love how they took a homophobic insult from the original movie (“it’s not my fault you’re like in love with me”) and turned it into a new queer jam for the end credits song. Can a gay girl get an amen?

This movie is truly just a fun time

#mean girls #mean girls the movie the musical the movie

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the-bored-bat · 1 year

Text

Domestic life calls

Will Graham x fem!reader

(Totally self indulgent lol 😂)

Warnings- some angst but mostly

Fluff and light spoilers for S2.

You and Will had been dating for about a month now when you start staying the night more often then usual.

Will always has nightmares and you don’t mind because you know the hell he’s been through. It was 2:46am when Will begins to toss and turn. His side of the bed is drowning in sweat as he hyperventilates.

You wake up from his tossing only to find him panicking in his sleep.

“Will! Will! Sweetheart wake up.” You shake him until he bolts up looking around the room to be met by your eyes shining against the warm lamp light.

“I-I’m up, sorry did I wake you?” You shake your head, lying.

“No, I heard you panicking and thought it be best to wake you from whatever nightmare you had” Will looks up as you as you can almost sense another apology coming

“Don’t apologize, you are safe now and you didn’t wake me.” You hold Will close as he lays on your chest, listening to your heartbeat. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head and wraps him arms around your waist as he puts soft kisses on your shoulders. “I’m just happy it wasn’t real.”

You hold him and run your nails through his hair, he takes deep long breaths as his kisses slowly stop. He begins to fall back to sleep as your nails run up the base of his skull.

No one was here to bother you. No Hannibal, no Jack, no Chiliton and no work. It was just you, Will and his many dogs. It was peace, your own slice of heaven. In this moment Will never was framed and he was just your boyfriend.

You watch his chest rise and fall as you lay there making sure he was sleeping peacefully before even thinking about falling back to sleep. You couldn’t sleep though. This was the only time Will could feel like himself and feel safe. Away from everyone, in our own world as time crawls by. In this moment there was no crime scenes or designs. It was nothing more then a shared moment between lovers.

You watch Will sleep peacefully until finally sleep threatens your eyes as well. You both are asleep.

~~~

Hours fly by until the sun pours through the curtains and Will is kissing you awake.

“MmmMorning Will” you say through a long stretch. He chuckles as he is getting ready for work. You get up as watch him button his shirt up.

“Good morning to you too, my love.” He smells of aftershave and cologne as he leans into your space. You wrap your arms around his neck as you take long breaths of his cologne in.

“God honey, you smell so good.” You nuzzle into his neck but he pulls you away with a chuckle.

“I’m glad, let me get finished getting ready first.” He finishes buttoning his shirt and tying his tie he. Puts his glasses on and begins to walk out of the bedroom. You follow.

He sits at the kitchen table feeding all the dogs and then putting on his shoes. You hand him his coffee with a longer and more passionate kiss then usual. He pulls away blushing.

“Well I-I’ll see you at work dear.”

#will graham x reader #will graham #nbc hannibal #hugh dancy

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saintmagx · 10 months

Text

I Knew you were Trouble ❤️‍🔥

In which y/n joins the WWE as a female competitor and is thrown into the crazy world of the Usos. Friendship, love , betrayal and mutual pining awaits.

AN: Literally making this for myself, might publish more of it, might not - enjoy I guess? 😳😂

in this reality, Trinity is still with WWE

Pairing: Jimmy uso x reader, Jey uso x reader (platonic)

w/c: 766

⚠️ Warnings: 18+ , swearing, violence (this is the WWE after all) slight smut, infidelity, jealous Jimmy, bad writing, cringe story telling, the Usos (because they are a warning in themselves) ⚠️

I was in your sights, you got me alone, you found me❤️‍🔥

“And the challenger, being accompanied by the Usos, from y/h/t, y/r/n”

I was on top of the world. My life couldn’t be much better. I had my boys walking me down to the ring to face off against Charlotte for the Woman’s championship. I had been busting my ass for the past 8 months and finally earned my shot at the title. Nothing could ruin this moment for me - right?

“What the - ”

THUD

Then there was darkness.

Ok, so we may be getting a little bit ahead of ourselves, let’s take it back to 8 months ago, when it was your first day on Smackdown.

8 months ago

I was finally getting my opportunity after years of busting my ass in the independent circuit. I guess you could say I had made a name for myself and the WWE just had to have me.

Tonight I was making my debut on Smackdown, I was teaming up with Naomi to face off against Carmella and Mandy Rose. Carmella and Mandy where the current Woman’s tag team champions and Naomi had been teaming with Natalya - however she had been injured and I was asked to step in. This match could make or break me - I HAD to impress.

Standing backstage doing my pre-match stretched I’m broken from my trance

“Hey girl, I’m honestly so excited to be partnering with you tonight”

“Trinity hey, honestly same - though I’m a little disappointed we have to lose the match.”

“Yeah it bummed me out abit too at first, but all we have to do is put on one hell of a show”

“Good luck tonight baby” my eyes switch from Trinity to the handsome as hell man who approached her. His smile was infections, enough to make me weak at the knees. Wait…..baby?

“Y/n, this is my husband Jon, Jon this is y/n”

As if time stopped, his attention was on me, I could feel his eyes bore into me, slowly dragging up my body, my cheeks HAD to be red, oh god please don’t let anyone notice. Jon smirked at me - safe to say he noticed.

“Pleasure to meet you y/n”

Before I could reply, another equally as handsome man joined his side.

“Josh, this is y/n, y/n this is Josh, Jon's brother” Trinity said as she was stretching out for our match.

“I’m the handsome brother” Josh says, with a wink

“You do remember we are twins right?” Jon retorts

“Obviously uce, but I’m still the better looking brother”

Josh stood there with a shit eating grin plastered on his face. He had ruffled his brothers feathers once more and he was proud of himself.

These boy are going to be trouble.

• ❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

Our match was set up for us to lose, but we put on one hell of a show - main event material. Back at the gorilla Hunter were there to chat with me after my debut.

“Think of the bigger picture y/n” Hunter says

“You can’t always win. Remember when you go through that curtain you are telling a story, selling it with you matches and promos. Anyway, this sets it up perfectly for you guys to go for the titles”

“What?” I look up at him in disbelief

“The titles?”

“Y/n your hard work and determination shows off. The tag titles is a fantastic opportunity to kick start your time here.”

Not really sure what came over me but next thing I knew I had my arms wrapped around hunter squeezing him tight.

“You have no idea how much this means to me, thank you, thank you, thank you - I won’t let you down”

“You deserve it kid, now go show everyone what you are made of”

Leaving the gorilla my eyes glance to Trinity and the boys walking towards catering.

“TRIN DID YOU HEAR” I scream, jumping her from behind.

“HUNTER IS GIVING US THE TAG TITLES”

“What?”

A twinge of jealousy spreads across me as I watch Jon dip his head down and place a kiss on Trinity's forehead - wait, I shouldn’t even be feeling like this - I give myself a shake and turn my attention to Josh.

“We have to celebrate”

“Josh, we haven’t actually won the titles yet, let’s save the celebrations till then huh?” I laugh

“Wait that’s a great idea, let’s do drinks, come on y/n let’s go get ready” Trin says as she drags me off.

Guess we are celebrating tonight.

If I’d have know how the night would turn out, I’d have headed straight back to the hotel.

#jimmy uso x reader #jimmy uso fanfiction #jimmy uso smut #wwe fanfiction #wwe #wwe x reader

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sunflowerkissess · 2 years

Text

celine helps taking care of her sick mummy

masterlist

request:

— Hi I was wondering if you could please write something about mateo going through terrible twos and Harry and yn dealing with them

summary: y/n's sick and its in harry and celine's hands to take care of her for her to get better

word count: 8.8k+

warnings: sick y/n, symptoms of the flu, mentions of vomiting, vomiting, mentions of blood, sad celine, typical two year old throwing a tantrum, fluff, language, a small mention of smut

note: i wrote half of this while coming down with a cold 😂

UPDATE (04/21/2024): HI! It's been a long time and people probably don't read this anymore since then, but I'm making changes and updating this series. Celine is Harry and Y/N's first born daughter since Harry seems more like a girl dad lol. So the name Celine means, heavenly and her birthday is October 15, 2015.

Feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

Enjoy!

—

Harry was woken up to the bed jolting and his tattooed arm flopped onto the bed for what felt like the millionth time. The warmth where his once sick girlfriend once laid was the only remaining thing that told she was once there. Y/N has fallen sick overnight from catching the flu from the primary school she worked at from one of her co-workers not wanting to call in to get better, rather going into the school and spreading the illness no one wants. And Harry has been doing his best as a boyfriend to make sure that she has been taken care of without waking up their two-year-old daughter whose room was a few doors down the hall- meaning Harry was extra careful when it came to walking up and down the stairs to grab water and something easy for Y/N to eat and drink.

Harry sighed sadly as he sat up on the bed with his bare tattooed chest and torso on display to the cool air of their bedroom and the early morning light seeping through the sheer white curtains. Along with the horrible sound of Y/N spewing what he's given her a few hours prior into the toilet, the sound breaking Harry's heart hearing her cough and gag from the horrid taste of the bile that was creeping its way up her throat.

Each sound hitting Harry’s heart with a knife and like someone was twisting it to cause more pain.

Harry pushed the sheets and comforter off his body to leave him in his black joggers sitting low on his hips that showed off the laurels on his hips as he sluggishly made his way to the en suite bathroom door that was wide open from his girlfriend’s rush to get to the toilet before she threw up all over their plush carpet and the tiled floor of the bathroom. The usual bathroom lights that are usually bright and white were dialed down to create a more dark light so she wouldn’t get headaches from the light attacking her sensitive eyes and making her even more sick.

Before him was Y/N with her head resting against the cool white porcelain with goosebumps coated her skin from the cool air from the bathroom, the tiles, and the toilet seat. Her eyes were closed with sweat decorating her skin and hair that was sticking to her face from her hot temperature. She was wearing Harry’s black t-shirt that he wore to bed and light blue cotton shorts that once matched the long sleeved shirt that she wore to get warm but took it off because she was too hot.

Now here she is, taking deep breaths in and out and moves her head around to find another cold spot on the porcelain seat. Harry walked over and knelt down beside her and moved some of her sweaty hair out of her eyes with pouty lips and felt a burning sensation in eyes from seeing his girlfriend sick. Y/N leaned into Harry’s touch with closed eyes and a hum from the butterfly feeling of his fingertips against her temple.

Her skin was hot to the touch, too hot and not the normal temperature for a body to have. Harry had his brows drawn forward as he pressed his cold palm against her hot temple. His girlfriend leaned closer to his touch with a satisfied, scratchy hum. The heat from her temple was already heating up the palm of his hand and he had it placed there for a few seconds!

“You’re really hot, darlin’.” Harry stated, placing the back of his hand against her temple. Y/N’s achy body shook with laughter that was soon replaced with a harsh cough, making Harry quickly remove his hand and place it on her back and rubbing it comfortingly as she worked her way through the coughing fit that seemed to take forever to cease.

Y/N then cleared her throat to get rid of the mucus and disgusting stuff in her throat, along with a sore throat, and opened her tired eyes to look at her boyfriend with a weak smile. Her chapped lips have cracks stretching across the chapped skin but no blood. Butterflies flapped and soared through their tummies as they looked at each other along with the flutter and quick beats of their hearts as they made eye contact.

Seeing Harry with his moss green eyes with his messy, bedhead chocolate curls made him handsome despite him having a few hours of sleep to be by her side and to take care of her. She could tell that he was tired from his eyes trying to close for him to go to sleep but he’s fighting all just for her and to get her better.

Even if it meant him getting sick and taking care of their two year old.

“Wow, thanks babe. It’s been awhile since you’ve called me hot,” Y/N spoke hoarsely, staring at her boyfriend from a reaction from her words. “So are you.” She added, feeling a hotter warmth fill her cheeks. Harry sighed annoyingly through his nose and out his mouth. He moved his hand from her back to cup her hot cheek as he looked at her with a stare that made her feel like a dart board from how intimidating his stare is.

Harry leaned forward a bit— neither of them caring about his morning breath— as he continued to stare at his girlfriend who was looking at him with an annoying smirk from getting a reaction out of him from her words.

“Love, as much as I love you, but right now isn’t the time for flirting. As much as I accept the compliment.” He began, caressing the sweaty cheekbone softly with the pad of his thumb as he continued to look into his girlfriend’s beautiful, yet, tired eyes with worry. “I mean it, you’re really hot.”

"I mean it too, you're really hot too." Y/N replied, the slight cough making it out her mouth. She knows that he meant her temperature, but she still likes taking the piss and getting on his nerves. She lightly jabbed his ankle with her foot to get more of a reaction. She saw a pink flush appear on her boyfriend's cheeks and his chest along with a smile trying to fight its way on his lips as he looked down at the tiled ground. The cute fucking dimples she loves to death, and that Celine has inherited from her father along with Harry's cute little front teeth, dimples cratering the ends of Harry's lips.

“Y/N.” Harry stated in a serious tone despite him getting all flustered and blushy from her comments about how hot he is and herself. Twisting his words to get him annoyed and worked up even when she’s sick and throwing up whatever she ate. He had his moss green eyes looking up at her with his head lifted up a little bit to see her. The sight made the butterflies’ wings in her belly flutter even more and made her feel all gooey and mushy inside from how handsome her boyfriend is inside and out.

“Harry.” Y/N repeated the tone of her boyfriend with the same smirk on her face as she stared at him along with feeling gooey and happy while staring at her boyfriend. Harry lifted his head fully to look up at her with a stern look on his face. Brows furrowed at her with a straight line— the dimples no longer trying to fight their ways on the end of his lips. His eyes traced over her sweaty face as the sickness took over her.

“I’m being serious, m’love. You’re really temperature is high and I’m gettin’ worried.” Harry stressed as he looked over at the love of his life. Y/N felt her heart felt at her boyfriend’s worriedness and how he was still caressing her cheekbone with concern and gentleness like she was glass and might break if he pressed too hard on her cheekbone and might crack.

"You've seen me like this when I was pregnant with Celine, Harry." Y/N brought up with a hoarse laugh that caused her to clear her throat roughly to get rid of the gunk that was gathered in her throat. Harry immediately moved his hand from her face to the sweaty and greasy strands to hold them back from getting vomit in her hair if she felt like she was going to throw up again.

Harry felt like his heart was sinking lower and lower in his chest as he watched Y/N open her mouth as she cleared her throat and gagged to get whatever out of her throat. He was biting his lower lip as he held her hair in a ponytail in his grasp. He wishes that he can just make her feel better immediately and not miserable with the awful flu that goes around during the fall and winter.

She's supposed to go to work in a few hours and won’t be back till three or four. Harry would be watching their daughter after she goes to work and he has a meeting to go to- meaning he'll have to drop the two year old off at Gemma's since she complained about not seeing her niece as of late and she misses her-. And afterwards when his meeting is over and she's home from work, along with dinner being done, they were going to head out to get some early Christmas present shopping since it was around that time of the year to get presents for everyone in their families.

Of course they were going to bring Celine because she'll throw a fit if she's dropped off at Anne's and not with her parents, and they'll have to get things for the older people in their families. Because as soon as they go into a toy store or down the toy aisle then Harry’s little mini me would want everything that meets her little green eyes. Then whining and throwing a tantrum when he can't get the toys that he wants- probably most being on the list that Harry and Y/N made for themselves and their families to get from their daughter for Christmas-.

But now with his sick girlfriend laying the side of her head on the porcelain toilet seat with droopy eyes and weak heaving from the sickness that was taking its course over her body that its decided by himself and the state of her wellbeing that none of that will be happening today or tomorrow if she’s still not feeling better.

However, Y/N will try putting up a fight to go and do the things that she wants to do with Harry and Celine after work. But Harry isn't going down without a fight with her.

“Yeah, but your morning sickness doesn’t have you sweating this much. And you did sweat in your first trimester but not this much.” Harry stated, rubbing circles on her back to ease the ache that was all over her body. Y/N sighed in relief and closed her eyes with a small cough leaving her throat along with a rough clear of her throat. He remembers being by Y/N’s side during the first three months of her pregnancy back in 2015 when he was home and not on tour for One Direction, or they were in London, or Y/N was on tour with them till it was around the time for her to be back in their shared home when it got close to the end of her pregnancy.

Hours spent in the bathroom with Y/N over the toilet with Harry using one of his hair ties that was around his wrist to have her strands in a messy bun so that her hair was out of her face. He was rubbing her back and pressed butterfly kisses to the back of her neck and back to be there for her. Wishing that he can take the horrible feeling that his girlfriend of two years, at the time, was feeling and hug her tight.

And now here they are together for four years with a two year old that is adorable as even and they love so fucking much. Harry is doing what he always does for Y/N when she’s not feeling well and everything is the same with her comments when he makes a statement of her being hot because of her temperature. And complimenting him about his appearance.

“I think you should stay home, m’love.” Harry suggested as he continued rubbing circles on her back with furrowed brows as he awaited her answer. Y/N lifted her head up a little from the toilet seat to look at her boyfriend like he was insane from what he just said. She was slightly shaking from the body chills from the fever and sweat coating her skin. Glistening under the lowlights of the bathroom that show off her beauty and everything that Harry loves about her, even when she’s sick he still finds her beautiful.

"What did you just say?" Y/N asked him in a scratchy voice, clearing her throat roughly as she stared him down with a look that could shoot daggers into him. While she was sweating and looked miserable, if looks could kill then this would be the look that she's currently giving him. “Harry, I have to go in. I had this whole cute lesson planned out for the holidays for the kids. I promised them it’ll be a fun day with games and movies.” Her eyes started to become watery as she stared at her soulmate. “I can’t break the promise I made to them.”

"Darlin'," Harry sighed sadly and moved his hand that was on her back and cupped her sweaty cheek. "You're sweating pinballs, and your temperature isn't normal. You've been throwing up throughout the night. You need to stay home and let me take care of you till you get better. The kids will understand, they love you just as much as Celine does. As much as I do. Your wellbeing is my priority and I hate seeing you like this." He told her softly as he looked into her eyes. But Y/N wasn't going to give in easily as she rolled her eyes at her boyfriend's words at shifted on her numb legs from sitting on the cold tiled floor of the bathroom.

“I’ll be okay, babe. I’ll just take a shower, take some medicine, and then I’ll be–” She started to list off but she was cut off when she felt the awful tasting bile that was creeping up her throat with a burning sensation mixed with her sore throat. This caused her to immediately turn her head to the toilet bowl with her hands gripping the porcelain toilet seat and started throwing up the contents that were in her stomach that the flu didn’t seem to like.

Harry immediately held her hair back from her sweaty face as she gagged and threw up more with the vomit making noise from the vomit meeting the water. Harry felt his eyes water and burn from the tears from seeing Y/N sick and throwing up with weak cries leaving her lips. The tears were from the horrid smell of the vomit that was filling up the bathroom. He was kissing the top of her head with his eyes closed to stop the tears from falling down his light red cheeks.

His heart was breaking more and more as he felt his girlfriend shake from the chills that made its way through her body.

“See, proved my point.” Harry joked lightly which earned him a groan from his girlfriend. Y/N pulled away from the toilet and went back to her previous position she once was in when he found her with her eyes closed with Harry’s hand falling onto her lap. His hand gripping her goosebump covered thigh.

"Why are you always right?" She asked him sickly, opening her eyes a tad to look at him through her lashes to look at him. Harry chuckled lightly as he continued to caress the skin and scooted closer to her. She gave up more quickly than she usually does, meaning that she's really miserable and wants her boyfriend to take care of her.

"I'm not always right, Y/N. It's just I can tell you've got a bloody fever that's causing you to be miserable and it breaks my heart to see you like this m'love. You've taken care of people who need it and don't need it. Always putting them first, and that's what makes me love you s'much." His words caused her skin to become even warmer as she stared into his eyes that she got lost in when they talked together and in the bedroom when they were able to get alone time. The light in his eyes gets brighter and soft when he looks at her. She already knows how much Harry loves staring into her eyes or at her when she's not looking at her, telling her that he's written and will continue to write many songs about her.

The good times they will have or had together, the bad times that they go through. Songs about their little love bubble that his fans got to see: at concerts, in Harry's songs, sneaky pictures that fans take, in interviews where they can hear Y/N and Celine in the background but barely, when Harry would talk about Y/N and their daughter in interviews when asked about the two people that make his world brighter every day, he gets to be with them. Or during a concert when he'd read signs that would have him bring up Y/N and Celine. Allowing the fans a little peek at the woman that their favorite artist and crush gets to be with along with their daughter that looks like her dad.

"You took care of me for the whole entire recovery after the surgery I had on my wrist. I took care of you when you were pregnant with Celine. With Celine's help. It's our turn" Harry softly spoke to her, afraid that if he were to speak any louder and broke her out of her love-filled stare, causing her to blink a little followed by the stingy tears to Y/N's eyes and her heart floated with joy from his words. He wanted to take care of her, even though he's done that already and continues to do so. But she feels horrible with this flu making her feel ache and not herself.

Right now she just wants to go to bed and sleep off the drowsiness and stay in bed all day. But she needs to call into work and inform them she won't be able to make it due to being sick with the flu.

"Okay." Y/N sighed, looking at her boyfriend. Harry's moss green eyes lit up in happiness and relief at her simple way of telling him that he can take care of her. His heart beating with joy and a soft smile itching at his pink lips appeared as he reached his hands out for her to take to help her stand up.

She placed her hands in his big ones and sighed at the warmth of his palms and placed the bottom of her feet on the cold tile of the bathroom floor and pushed up.

"Let's get you in the shower, m'love. I'll take care of Celine afterwards while you rest. We'll bring you something to eat and drink. Give you a cuddle after you're done eating." Harry listed off after she was up on her feet and cuddled up against his warm tattooed chest with her eyes closed.

All he got as an answer from her was a simple nod and a sigh of relief and tiredness seeping into her bones. Harry smiled at the top of her head and told her to wait for a few minutes so he can gather her and himself fresh clean clothes after they get out of the bath. He was going to wash her hair and body since she was tired and was ready to go to bed.

Afterwards the two of them relaxed in the warm water in the bathtub with Y/N's face tucked into her boyfriends neck half asleep while Harry lightly ran the tips of his fingers against her skin. Pressing kisses along the side of her neck and shoulder with his own damp stands tickling her skin.

A few more minutes pass and Y/N's in one of Harry's faded band shirts with a pair of one of Harry's joggers to keep her warm and the covers over her sleeping form. She called into work to say that she won't be able to make it in and Harry called in to inform everyone he won't be able to make it to the meeting.

Harry hovered over her for a few more seconds, in his fresh clean clothes that were a white t-shirt and another pair of joggers. He tucked her in tight and moved some of her freshly washed strands out of her face and placed butterfly kisses on her skin before walking out of their shared bedroom with the tv playing quietly in the background of one of y/n’s favorite shows.

Now it was time to get Celine up for the day and let Y/N rest so she could get better.

–

“NO! I WANT TO DO THAT DADDY!” Celine screeched, causing Harry’s ears to ring from the high-pitched sound that echoed throughout the kitchen where the father and daughter were currently in. It’s now midday and the two year old has been in her terrible twos mood ever since she noticed that her mummy isn’t around nor up. Usually, Celine is just fine with one of them while the other is busy- it’s usually the other way around, Celine wanting Harry instead of being with Y/N- but it seems like Celine wants Y/N today after being told that her mummy isn’t feeling good. Despite Harry telling his mini me that she needs rest and can’t be up.

But Celine being only two years old doesn’t understand that well to what her daddy means mummy isn’t ‘feeling well’ so she proceeded to throw herself on the floor of the and scream in frustration since she’s not able to express how she’s feeling at all. She was kicking and hitting the floor with fat pinballs of tears running down her cheeks. Harry swears he felt his heart break into a million pieces once more today. One from his sick girlfriend and now from his upset daughter.

Harry got on the floor and picked up his daughter and cradled her with rocks back and forth to calm her down by kissing the top of her messy chestnut curls that she inherited from her father. Luckily afterwards, Harry was able to keep the two year old occupied by putting on Finding Nemo (reference to poor sick baby) since Celine loved Crush and Squirt. He even got construction paper with markers and crayons for his mini me to color and draw with to make her mummy a 'get well soon mummy’ card.

That gave Harry enough time to let Harry sneak upstairs to check up on Y/N to see if she was okay and if she needed anything. She seemed to be staying in bed mostly, the messy bed from her moving around to get comfortable and warm. As well as her getting up to use the bathroom or getting a drink out of a water bottle Harry left for her earlier.

Unfortunately, a cute movie about a clownfish and a pacific blue tang fish that has short-term memory looking for his daughter and going on an adventure with meeting characters that kids love dearly wasn’t enough to get the tantrum-filled toddler occupied or stopping the terrible twos tantrum from coming back.

Harry stopped adding the carrots, onions, and celery into the mixture and sweet-smelling soup that was in the silver metal pot that was sitting on the hot stovetop. He looked over at the two year old, who was wearing a pale pink pajama set with little deers all over them, some in front of a little bouquet of flowers. Her chestnut curls untamed from not being brushed like Y/N would do when getting the two year old for the day.

Harry felt his heart break into a million pieces as he looked down at the crying toddler that was standing on the black cushion of a chestnut wooden chair so that she could reach the metal pot with the wooden spoon that she was holding to stir the soup to perfection. His mini me’s cheeks red from crying and her green eyes are already getting red with more crystalline tears gathering along the waterline.

Harry immediately cleaned his hands of the vegetables with a towel and turned the knob on the stove to turn down the temperature so the soup wouldn’t burn and there wouldn’t be black stuff gathering to the top of the soup that is supposed to help his sick girlfriend upstairs feel better and not yucky.

Harry bent down to be eye level with the crying two year old who was clutching the wooden spoon like it was the last thing keeping him together before losing her shit. Harry felt his heart shatter and the other side of his entire world fall apart, Y/N and Celine making his whole world. Just the two of them making it whole, along with performing for his fans. But it’s mainly just his family that he comes home to and is with him when he’s on stage.

“Celi-bear, daddy doesn’t want you getting hurt. The pot is hot, and daddy doesn’t want you burning your little hands when you try to put the vegetables in the soup.” Harry gently told the two year old, cupping Celine’s adorable chubby cheeks that were hot to the touch because of her normal body temperature and because of the harsh tears that were making streams down her cheeks. The two year old was sniffling as she looked into her father’s matching eyes, her chest heaving as she stared at her father.

The toddler’s mind does not understand what she is being told and she can’t express herself the way her parents do when they’re together. Either it be Celine watching her daddy dancing with his mummy in the kitchen when she’s trying to make Celine’s snack. Fleetwood Mac playing in the background, mostly Say You Love Me playing loudly from Harry’s phone. Y/N laughing as Harry clumsily dances with her in the kitchen and presses kisses against her lips while murmuring the lyrics against her lips with a smile of his own.

To Y/N and Harry playing with Celine, Harry lightly tossed the toddler up in the air as Celine squealed as she felt the air running through her chocolate curls. And Harry holding his mini me tightly in his arms to let Y/N tickle her belly and feet. It was a cute domestic moment that takes place either in their home or during a tour backstage or in their hotel room.

The only thing that the two year old doesn’t see is when Y/N and Harry had an argument and aren’t talking to calm down before they are lashing out and causing another fight. Something that happened when they were nineteen years old, and Harry was home from the Where We Are Tour. It was over an article she read on him and asked him because of her insecurities, letting them take over her mind and causing a fight to break out between the two of them.

This also caused them to take a little bit of a break, only a few texts here and there and short-ended phone calls. But they’re better now, being together for eight years with a happy two year old and a healthy relationship.

Harry was snapped out of his thoughts by the clatter of the wooden spoon falling onto the kitchen floor and the sound of his child’s wailing echoing throughout the kitchen and possibly through the entire house. Even the neighbors probably heard him from how loud his wails are.

Harry immediately picked up the crying two year old and propped her on his hip. Rubbing Celine’s back and hugging him to get her to calm down instead of yelling at her. However, instead of giving into the hug like she usually does when being given a hug from either of her parents or both. The two year old tries to push her daddy away with her little hands with fat tears running down her cheeks with more gathering at his waterline. The action broke Harry’s heart even more, causing more and more cracks in the organ if that’s even possible.

But it certainly feels like it.

“Celine, it’s okay. Daddy just doesn’t want you getting hurt.” Harry cooed as he continued to rub the two year old’s back. Celine is trying to get out of her father’s grasp and is relentless. She was crying even harder, and she shook his head with her curls going everywhere. Some of the chocolate curls sticking to her wet face.

“No, no, no, no.” Celine repeated in a wobbly voice with her bottom lip wobbling from the sobs that were trying to escape her lips to make it known that she’s upset, typically Celine’s terrible twos aren’t as horrible as others are- sometimes they are, sometimes they’re not, basically fifty to fifty with Celine-. Harry felt his own eyes burn for what feels like infinity at this point seeing his girlfriend and daughter getting upset for two different things. One was sick and one is going through a terrible twos tantrum right now.

“You can’t put them in right now Celine. Daddy doesn’t want you getting hurt by the hot pot,” Harry repeated himself and looked at the pot that was cool by now by being put to a stop so it wouldn’t get burnt. But the white steam that was coming from the soup meant that it was still warm and not done. Maybe lightly touching the metal pot so it wouldn’t hurt the pads of Harry’s fingers and hand. Pretending that it burnt his hand and telling Celine that it hurt maybe she’ll understand better.

Celine was whining and reaching up with her tiny fingers to grab at Harry’s messy curls to get her daddy’s attention.

“Daddy.” Celine whined, giving another sharp tug at Harry’s curls once more to get Harry’s attention. And it worked, Harry hissed from the stinging sensation from his daughter’s fingers. Harry ripped his eyes away from the metal pot and lightly grabbed his child’s little wrist and pulled it away from the strands.

This caused the two year old to whine louder in frustration and yank her wrist out of her father’s gentle grasp. More tears were falling from her green eyes with her chubby cheeks full of streams from the tears. Even Harry wiping them away doesn’t make the redness that blooms on the two year old’s cheeks any less noticeable.

“Celine, don’t do that,” Harry told his mini me gently. “Hurts daddy.” He added. This didn’t go well with the two year old and an even louder cry escaped the two year old’s lips and this time with a hit to Harry’s shoulder. It didn’t hurt but still she needs to learn not to hit to express how she’s feeling. Harry’s gaze on his daughter turned into a stern look with his brows furrowed.

“Celine Anne Styles.” Harry spoke, he was in complete dad mode. His voice rumbled through his chest as he stared his daughter down. Celine immediately stopped crying and looked up at her dad with glassy green eyes and her mouth opened agape. The toddler sniffled as she stared at her daddy to hear what he needed to say. The two year old knew that she was in trouble if either of her parents had to use their 'parent tone’ with her when she’s done something she’s not supposed to do. Like, hitting or biting for example, but this was the first time Celine has done this.

“You don’t hit daddy, Celi-Bear. That’s not how you deal with your emotions. You don’t see mummy, daddy, nana, or aunt Gemma do that, do you?” Harry told his daughter, his heart breaking as he maintained eye contact with his daughter’s glassy green eyes. He felt Celine’s chest stutter from all the crying she’s done. The two year old shook her head slowly with a few more tears falling from her eyes, making Harry instinctively reach up with his hand that wasn’t holding his daughter on his hip and wipe away the tears. His own pink lips in a pout as he stared at his mini me.

“It breaks daddy’s heart to see you upset sweetheart, hurts mummy as well. Even when you hit me.” Harry whispered to the two year old. Celine’s eyes wandered all over Harry’s face with her breath stuttering from her crying.

“I’m sw-orry, daddy.” Celine lisped out an apology with a stutter in her accented voice. Harry felt his heart melt with his mini me’s apology, and he is going to accept immediately instead of some parents who don’t accept their two year old’s apology and make the two year old feel horrible. No, that’s not how Harry and Y/N do.

“It’s okay Celine, daddy accepts your apology.” Harry cooed, hugging his sad daughter to his chest. This time Celine wraps her little arms around her daddy’s neck with a little smile on her lips. Harry smiled as well as he pressed a kiss to the side of his daughter’s head, with the strands of her curls tickling Harry’s nose. Harry slightly swayed back and forth in the kitchen with his two year old in his arms. Celine laughed at the motion and the little tickle motions her daddy was giving her to make her laugh and feel better.

A few seconds afterwards, Harry brought Celine over to the pot to show her that it would hurt her little hand if she tried to put the vegetables in the soup.

“See, this is why daddy doesn’t want you putting the veggies in right now, Celine. Daddy doesn’t want you to get hurt.” Harry explained, reaching out one hand and placing it on the rim of the pot. The curious two year old's eyes widened as she watched her daddy’s hand on the rim. It wasn’t really hot anymore- more so cold and will need to be heated once more to continue making the soup- but Celine doesn’t know that. She thinks that it’s still hot and that her daddy is getting hurt.

“Daddy, no!” She exclaimed, reaching out for her daddy’s wrist to get his hand away from the 'hot’ rim of the pot and she didn’t want to see her daddy hurt. She was crying for two weeks straight when Harry got his wrist surgery done, seeing the white bandage on his wrist to keep the stitches from ripping made the two year old crying waterfalls.

Harry yanked his hand away from the pot and hissed like his hand was burning from the heat. His brows furrowed as he shook his hand. He looked over at Celine to see that her green eyes were once more turning glassy from seeing her father hurt as the grip on her father’s wrist tightened.

“Daddy.” the toddler whined with tears threatening to spill from her tear ducts. Harry was quick to cuddle the two year old close to him. Harry cooed to the two year old that he was okay and that is why she doesn’t need to be putting in vegetables just yet because it’s hot and he doesn’t want her getting hurt. Celine hurriedly nodded her head in understanding- she just wanted her daddy not to hurt anymore and wanted her mummy to feel better with a soup that her and Harry were making-.

And they eventually did resume making the soup, Harry cleaning the wooden spoon that was dropped on the floor by Celine to get the germs off the wood so Y/N wouldn’t get any sicker. His mini me was standing once more on the chair eagerly with a smile on her lips as she waited for her daddy to give her the spoon for her to stir the ingredients that were in the warming soup from the stovetop getting warm again. It was an adorable moment between father and daughter, the scene warm and welcoming as Harry handed Celine the wooden spoon and continued to add the last few chopped vegetables into the pot. The two year old was bouncing on the pads of her feet as she was eager to do her job.

And when it came to Celine’s turn to stir, Harry kept his daughter stable on his hip as he directed Celine on how to stir the soup gently enough so that she wouldn’t get the boiling broth on either of them or on the scolding hot stove. Celine giggled as she stirred the soup with a big smile on her face and it seemed like she didn’t even have a tantrum over not being able to put the vegetables in the soup. The sight warmed up Harry’s heart seeing his mini me all happy to make a meal that will ease her mummy’s tummy and make her feel better to get her on the road to recovery of this horrible flu.

–

Celine and Harry make their way to the slightly ajar from Harry leaving the bedroom earlier that morning with the quiet sounds of the show that Harry put on for Y/N was still playing with the voices of the characters talking to another. The steam and welcoming smell from the freshly made soup was warming the palm of one of Harry’s hands while the other was holding a fresh cold-water bottle in the other as he and his mini me got closer to the bedroom. Celine had a happy, eager smile on her face as she clutched the light pink construction paper with Harry’s handwriting on the front of the homemade card in black sharpie 'get well soon mummy’ and the front of the card and the inside is accompanied by Celine’s cute, but messy, drawings that are scribbles.

Both the father and daughter’s hearts were beating happily against their chest as they were going to see the queen of the home and their hearts. Celine started calling her a queen because 'she’s like those nice princesses in the Disney movies, daddy. The ones that get their happy ending, and you’re her king.’ and it seemed to stick. And Harry is the king of their home and Celine is the little princess that likes going on adventures and bringing 'imaginary’ things back from her adventures to show her parents. It was adorable.

“Alright, Celine. We need to be quiet, so we don’t wake up mummy if she’s asleep. She needs her rest to get better.” Harry whispered as they stopped in front of the white painted wood door. The toddler nodded her head quickly to her father’s words, not really paying attention to what Harry just told him. She was just excited to see her mummy and give her the homemade card and to see Y/N since she hasn’t seen her all day till now.

“Alright, let’s go see mummy.” Harry whispered as he opened the door to reveal that Y/N was up and watching the show Harry put on. The covers covering her legs as her tired eyes were focused on the show that captivated her attention. The eye bags under her eyes were dark and her hair was a mess from tossing and turning- the comforter and sheets being the proof of it-, and the remote in her hand was being held lazily. The water bottle Harry left for her earlier was empty with a few droplets of water sticking to the plastic.

Her attention was broken from the glass tv screen when she heard the happy squeal from her daughter that was standing by her boyfriend’s side.

“MUMMY!”

Despite the panging headache that’s making her feel miserable with the throbbing pain that’s not going to go away anytime soon without aspirin or sleeping to get rid of the headache that’s causing pain. And the cute squeal from their adorable daughter added a pang of pain from the high-pitched sound.

Y/N managed to give her daughter a weak smile from her cuteness and the sight of her still in her pajamas with Celine’s messy bed head curls. Her cute front teeth showing through her wide smile as Celine looks at her mummy.

“Hi, Celine! Mummy missed you!” Y/N greeted with a matching smile, not having the need to turn down the volume of the tv since the volume wasn’t too loud in the first place. “Hi babe.” Y/N greeted her boyfriend that caused her heart to flutter as well as Harry’s. It felt great to know that she was feeling a little bit better.

“Hi, m'love. We’ve made you some chicken noodle soup to help you feel better.” Harry lifted the cute dark blue porcelain bowl with white petal detailing on the outside and red on the inside with white flowers. The broth with the chicken and vegetables sitting in the bowl to keep it warm with parsley sitting on top of the soup.

Y/N felt her stomach grumble with hunger and the taste, and the smell of the soup is making her hungry and she can’t wait to taste the wonderful soup to make her feel better and feel it warm her throat a bit. She felt her smile widened at her boyfriend and daughter making her lunch to make her feel better.

“Aww, thank you.” Y/N thanked him. Harry’s smile spread across his pink lips with his dimples cratering at the ends of his lips. Matching Celine’s. Speaking of Celine, the two year old rushed from where she was standing next to her father and ran over to her mummy’s side of the bed with the construction paper in her little hands with the paper crinkling a bit. The toddler’s curls bounced atop of her head, brushing against her covered shoulders and getting into her eyes. Meaning that she’s gonna have to get a trim soon so that she won’t have any dead ends that would hurt her when Y/N or Harry brush his hair before heading out for the day.

“Mummy, I made you a card!” Celine exclaimed with a big smile on her face as she handed out the light pink construction paper. Y/N felt her heart melt at how adorable her daughter is as she holds out the homemade get-well card. She reached out her unoccupied hand since the other one was holding the remote to the tv. Her skin was coated in goosebumps from the fever.

“Mummy, you feel better?” Celine asked her, prodding the goosebumps on her skin with her little finger. Y/N shivered a bit from the contact of her child’s finger. Y/N smiled at her daughter and swallowed with a bit of trouble from the mucus build up in her throat along with the sore throat that came along with having the common flu. Y/N gently took the paper from her kids grasp, feeling a bit of warmth from the warm air coming from the AC Harry turned on earlier to keep his lovely girlfriend warm.

“Yeah, mummy’s feeling a bit better. Certainly, now that you and daddy are here.” She smiled, lightly nudging Celine’s chubby cheek with the edge of the folded paper before holding it before her to see Harry’s handwriting.

Y/N felt that familiar heat warm up her cheeks seeing Harry’s messy hearts decorating each word that was messily colored in by their daughter. Y/N felt her smile get wider when she saw scribbles of stick figures of three family members with messy drawn clothes. One shorter than the rest with messy brown hair that matched the other one. The little one was in the middle holding each hand of the taller stick figures. The third one had Y/n’s hair color and everything that looked like her. The little drawing brought tears to her eyes as she continued to stare at the cute drawing that her daughter made.

“You alright, Y/N?” Harry asked as he approached where the daughter and mother were. He placed the porcelain bowl on the chestnut bedside table, the bowl making a small 'clunk’ when meeting the wood of the table. Harry’s deep accented voice made Y/N’s heart jump out of her chest at the sound of his voice and how fast and quiet he got there. Harry smirked at her reaction from the slight jump her body did on the bed. His footsteps were so quiet against the plush carpet.

“Asshole,” Y/N murmured quietly under her breath so Celine wouldn’t be repeating bad words around them or their families. Like that one time when they were out to eat with Anne and their daughter dropped one of her chicken nuggets on the floor. She said 'fuck’ loud enough for the three of them to hear. It was a funny moment for a few seconds before Harry and Y/N had to tell her that it was a bad word, and she shouldn’t say it. And when asked who she heard it from, she just simply stared at her father as the answer to the question.

Harry.

Their daughter whined as her fingers were making indents in the soft material of the comforter to get into her mummy on the bed. Making Harry and Y/N look at the two year old, who had a scrunched-up nose and her little brows furrowed forward with crinkles at the end. Harry immediately picked up the two year old in his arms, tickling Celine a little bit with butterfly touches to make Celine kick her legs out with a loud giggle leaving his lips. The sight made Y/N smile even more before opening the light pink homemade get-well card to see if there was anything inside that she should need to see or read.

There weren’t any words besides there being a 'love, Celine & Harry’ and more cute little scribbles from the two year old with them being loosely colored by their little artist. And more of Harry’s hearts surrounding the words. Y/N felt her heart swore in the air in happiness from her boyfriend and daughter making a get-well card for her and she’s most certainly going to keep it in her bedside table for safe keeping so nothing bad happens to it or goes missing.

The mattress sunk down a little from Celine being placed next to her mummy. Y/N placed the card on the bedside table as well, keeping it standing up on the lamp while reaching for the bowl. Harry immediately reaches to give his girlfriend the soup for her to eat to help her feel better.

“Thank you.” Y/N smiled at her boyfriend as she took the bowl and placed it on her blanket covered lap and picked up the silver spoon that was sitting in the delicious smelling soup that was sitting before her to be eaten. Harry walked over to his side of the bed to sit next to his girlfriend and daughter before, and maybe, taking a nap with Y/N before it was dinner time for all three of them. Celine and Harry have something different while Y/N will have another serving of chicken noodle soup.

Y/N placed the bowl of the spoon of her mouth and hummed at the amazing taste of the soup that warmed her mouth with her eyes closed. While it tasted a little bit bland because of the flu that wasn’t allowing her to taste her boyfriend’s wonderful cooking skills. Harry was looking at his girlfriend with a hopeful look on his face to see if she liked the soup that he and Celine made.

“Is it good, m'love.” He asked her, Y/N opened her eyes and placed the bowl of the spoon back into the soup to get another serving. She gave him a thankful smile on her face, the goosebumps on her skin disappearing from the warm soup. Harry felt butterflies soar in his tummy and his heartbeat happily against his chest as she smiled at him.

“It’s amazing, H. Thank you.” She answered as she lifted the spoon out of the soup with some of the mixture dripping from the edges of the spoon back into the soup with drips. Harry nodded at his beautiful girlfriend wishing that he could kiss her but he knew she wouldn’t let him get that close to her because she doesn’t want him getting sick.

“You’re welcome, m'love.”

Celine pulled at her mummy’s arm that was holding the spoon with the hot soup in it with the steam swirling in the air. The movement makes Y/N’s heart speed up in fear about the hot soup landing on her skin or shirt that would burn her skin either way.

“Mummy, mummy, I helped too. I helped too!” Celine chanted as she continued to pull at her mummy’s arm to get her attention. Harry could tell that Y/N was panicking from how their daughter was pulling her mummy’s arm to get her attention to let her know that she helped her daddy make her lunch.

“Celine Anne Styles, be careful! Don’t burn mummy.” Harry told his mini me sternly with stern eyes. His daughter looked at her daddy for a few minutes before she stopped pulling her arm and looked at her mummy. She listened immediately since she didn’t want to get in trouble.

“I helped daddy too mummy.” Their daughter repeated herself eager to hear her mummy’s thank you and praise for her helping Harry with her lunch. Y/N looked away from her slightly shaking hand that was holding the spoon to look at her boyfriend’s mini me.

“Thank you, Celine! You and dad did an amazing job at making mummy soup to make her feel better. And thank you for the card, it’s cute and mummy isn’t going to lose it.” Y/N thanked her daughter with a smile and a scratchy voice, Celine giggled and looked down at her lap with a pink tint on her cheeks from her mummy’s thank you.

“You’re welcome, mummy.” she said quietly. Harry and Y/N looked at each other with love-filled smiles before Y/N returned to eating her soup so that she could be on the road to recovery. It took a few minutes for Y/N to finish the soup with a conversation going on between her, Celine, and Harry. It was a domestic moment between the three of them.

Y/N asking Celine if she’s given her father any trouble when making the soup, Celine was immediate to deny that she did anything to cause her daddy any trouble. But Y/N looked over at Harry to see if what their daughter was saying was true or not. Harry looked over at his daughter with a teasing smile before telling Y/N that she had a little fit that she couldn’t put the veggies in without getting hurt.

This caused Celine to throw another fit, jolting the bed a bit that caused both of her parents to say in a stern tone.

“Celine Anne Styles. Don’t.”

Celine immediately stopped under her parent’s stern gaze and cuddled closer to her mummy with her eyes getting droopy with sleepiness. And Y/N yawned from tiredness that got passed down to Harry. Meaning that the three of them are due for a nap before the day comes to an end. Y/N puts the empty bowl on the table before maneuvering the sleepy toddler between her and Harry. Putting the covers over Celine’s almost asleep form before her and Harry did the same with their heads cushioned by their soft pillows.

The family of three slept in the king-sized bed with the comforter and sheets as well as the additional blankets keeping them warm after some time talking and not paying attention to the tv. The tv playing the ending of one episode of Y/N’s show with the theme song playing in the background and Netflix telling her that the episode is expected to begin in five seconds. But neither of them is watching since they’re allowing sleep to overcome them. Y/N and Harry facing each other with their daughter sleeping between them, Celine closer to her mummy since she’s adamant on cuddling with her to 'make her feel better’.

Harry and Y/N had their arms placed on the comforter of their bed with Harry’s hand over Y/N’s smaller one. Trying to keep her cold hand warm with his warm palm. The empty bowl of fully eaten chicken noodle soup sitting on Y/N’s bedside table with a fresh cold-water bottle that is waiting to be drunk when Y/N wakes up. Along with the medicine that was placed there earlier when Harry snuck upstairs to check on her when Celine was occupied by Finding Nemo and placed the medicine on the bedside table with a haste kiss to her forehead before leaving.

However, right now, she’s sleeping once more with the love of her life and her adorable daughter.

—

Sorry that I haven't updated in a while! Personal things have been going on and I've had terrible writers block but i've got ideas for this last one shot, it's a standalone one shot with harry and y/n only. As well as an upcoming trope that i'm excited to write about! As well as other tropes!

To make up for making you all wait too long, here's a picture of my kitty 🥺. Sorry for the picture being too big, i didn't know it was going to be big. Show her some love pls, even though she gets a load from me.

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respectthepetty · 7 months

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Hello! I'm here because your posts about colors altered my brain chemistry and now I can't watch anything without, like, being aware of them?? I mean, I guess I just kind of notice some stuff, I definitely can't analyze them the way you do and I'm not even sure how you always notice all of those patterns 😂 ANYWAY, what I actually wanted to ask is: Triage colors. I just finished rewatching it and now I need the colors. Pretty please 🙏🏻 How much of that blue can I actually trust? (Maybe it's because the search tag sucks on mobile but I couldn't find anything on your blog.)

The Code Color Blue in Triage

@imlivingformyselfdontmindme, you found nothing for Triage in my tags because my petty ass wrote nothing.

I did not watch it weekly because I knew it was going to stress me out. The entire premise of one of the leads dying each episode seemed like a solid foundation for my blood pressure to rise each week which would cause my heart great distress, so I binged it right before the finale.

Then I was in my feels and refused to write about it. Like the petty person I am.

But I also didn't write about colors in the show because I wasn't sure if what I was seeing as an American was true of the Thai medical system since the purpose of triage in America is to prioritize patients' care based on resources and needs with the help of a color system and . . .

in America, "Code Blue" is used for a person who has gone into cardiac arrest.

Sound familiar?

As in, that was a major theme of the show?

A person having a heart attack?

In a show that was about heartless people finding their heart?

So I thought it was super fascinating how the colors were used in the series, from an American perspective, since the emergency room uniforms were blue (as they would be),

and blue on the triage scale would be needing close observations to monitor the situation.

But also how the other triage colors showed up. Like black is expected death.

Green is stable but still wounded and will need care.

And red is immediate care needed.

But above all else, the blue just really stood out to me because it was constant.

So at first, I thought Tin was a Blue Boy who needed to take care of his wounded.

But then I realized that the colors didn't actually show up on Tin outside of his hospital uniform until he started to care about Tol.

Because when they were kids, the blue was there.

Yet they both became jaded as they grew up and lost the love that colors life, so even though Tol only had his school uniform for most of the show, he still lacked color too.

Well, until they began caring again.

Then the blue came back.

Tin cared first because he had to go through the loop countless times to save Tol.

So even when Tin wasn't aware of the loops, his blue still showed up since it was guiding Tol.

And eventually, Tol got there too.

And once he realized it, he couldn't go back.

Because blue = 💙and both boys needed to take care of each other's. It wasn't just about finding love; it was about taking care of someone else's heart. Tin lost his sister and it broke his heart. Tol's heart would have killed him. Without the other person, neither would have survived.

But the other person saved them, literally, multiple times, and figuratively through love, which is why they both ended up in blue.

However, I'm looking at this Thai show through an American medical lens, so . . . the blue between Tol and Tin could mean nothing.

Sometimes, the curtains heart is just blue.

#triage the series #code blue is for the heart #color coded boys in love #the colors mean things #and it means they needed to take care of their hearts #sometimes the heart is just blue

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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

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Sister, my darlin’ Madi! 💗

So, I already told you that I will be in your inbox, right? I’m requesting a fic for Post Army!E. Uh oh…

What do you think you could do with this picture?

I was thinking maybe a little romance, a little smut action, a little exhibitionism kink (cause come on, we all know Elvis likes to watch his conquests), maybe a little bit of spanking. I don’t know, but it sounds a bit better in my head when I thought about it 😂 Feel free to do whatever you please with it. If you can’t stray away from angst, I welcome it.

-Daisy (@powerofelvis)

Ah, my darlin' darlin' baby! My first ever request and it seems entirely fitting that it's for you, my biggest cheerleader!! 💗 @powerofelvis

I hope I did your request justice--I maybe went in a little different direction (I couldn't manage the spanking for this one, sorry!) and I'm also apparently incapable of writing anything less than 4k, so here's your 5.7k monstrosity of smuttasticness! Love you, baby, and I hope you enjoy! 🥰

This is filthy, so Minors, DNI!! 18+

This is part of Madi's Get to Know Me Gala 💗. Requests/asks are still open for the time being!

So, here it is, my first Request: Snap

You pride yourself on being one of the top photographers in the field, especially when, just like so many other careers, it is dominated by men who think they know better and do better solely because of the dangling appendage between their legs. Luckily, your boss has a progressive outlook and sees your talent for what it is.

The thing is, you are able to get something different from your celebrity subjects and he knows it. The women feel more comfortable with you because they know you aren’t trying to get in their pants, and the men either soften or want to impress you to do just that. And you seem to have a naturally honed ability to figure out quickly what they want and need and are able to play to that to get the best shots.

It’s a win-win most of the time.

Luckily, you don’t tend to get starstruck easily, perhaps because you see behind the curtain of the business. Not to say you didn’t get some butterflies around Paul Newman or feel a sense of awe around Grace Kelly. But overall, the glitz and glamor doesn’t affect you much.

You are a little surprised, however, that your next assignment is the one and only Elvis Presley, fresh from his image-changing stint in the Army. And you sense that the change of image is going to be the challenge on this shoot because remaking a man who the public already has a solid image of through a measly photograph is easier said than done. You have little doubt, based on your research and what you’ve seen so far from his pretty army discharge pictures, that his rebellious streak is now over. But who he is now and who he wants to be going forward likely looks very different from the hip greaser image burned in your head from the 50s.

That and the fact that you’re traveling on a train with him as he heads off to his next big film in LA is throwing you a little for a loop. But you are nothing if not adaptable.

There are more than abundant rumors of Presley’s love for the ladies, which is how you think you find yourself the only photographer who is asked to join him on the train on his journey. The other male photographers had clamored their way past you, fighting for shots at the train station, both outside the train and in it, before it was set to leave. You hung back, taking a few pictures here and there, but mostly smirking to yourself at the desperation to get the man’s attention.

It surprises you a little how pleasant Presley is, how accommodating. He’s nothing but a polite Southern gentleman, giving everyone their piece of him graciously. And the interactions with the fans are nothing less than remarkable based on your experience with other celebrities, and you chronicle that with your camera. There is a presence about him, an essence, that you’ve never quite encountered before with the way he commands the space he is in, demanding attention without ever actually saying a word, without requiring it. But you are finding it a little difficult to get a true read on him with so many people around.

You sense there are many other sides to him, but it’s not until you are almost alone with him and the train starts moving that you are able to discern what they might be. When you are finally introduced properly and are up close to the man, you cannot deny that your heart flutters and you shiver a little at the open way his brilliant sapphire eyes take you in from head to toe.

“Well, hello there, honey,” he drawls, the words warm and dripping into your stomach as his hand clasps yours. “You must be our resident photographer.”

You hate the way his gaze and his touch disorient you. You’ve been around dozens of charming, handsome men, but this man is on another level altogether. He’s more than just a chiseled jaw and high cheekbones and stunning blue eyes. No, there is a magic about him that draws you in, throwing you off your game and threatening to melt you into an embarrassing puddle.

It’s more than a little infuriating.

You manage to snap out of it, clearing your throat and introducing yourself firmly, professionally, putting on your best celebrities-don’t-rattle-me affect. But the damage is done because you can see the glint of amusement in his eyes and the tiniest smirk play at those famous full lips.

You watch him relax with his friends, joking and messing about. Keeping a healthy distance, you get some shots that will likely never see the light of day but help you gauge the lighting and get a feel for him. When not around the onslaught of reporters, he seems filled with an almost adolescent penchant for horsing around, which seems interesting for a man of 25 fresh out of the Army who presents now as keen and intelligent enough despite the Southern accent that the snobs in LA and New York want to look down their noses at him for.

Suddenly, as if commanded silently, the others disperse into the different private cars reserved for him and his people, leaving the two of you alone. After a moment, those deep eyes of his find you, and he beckons you down the train car towards him in a come hither motion and the raise of an eyebrow.

That is when you realize what Elvis needs for you to get your shots. The man wants to play. A little tete è tete is in order, perhaps.

Easy enough, you think as you sit diagonally to him in the bank of seats across from him. You’ve played similar games before with other handsome men. Nothing tawdry, but a little flirtation never hurt anyone. Though with the way his eyes darken and his posture changes ever so slightly, for the first time ever, you think you might be a little out of your depth.

Regardless, you force yourself to maintain an air nonchalance. You hold up your camera. “May I?”

He nods, a smile playing at his lips. You’ve known some of the biggest stars to be uncomfortable under the gaze of a lens in their more private moments, but Presley seems to have no qualms whatsoever. And as you snap a few casual shots up close, it becomes crystal clear that the camera loves him. Every angle just works. He has no “bad side.” It’s almost exhilarating for someone like you who seeks to capture the truth in these moments to have the challenge of a man who was born to be in front of a camera as your subject.

Somehow, he’s both childlike and suave all at once. Innocent and sultry. Feminine and masculine. And he’s got the longest eyelashes you’ve ever seen on a man.

Elvis lets out a long whistle. “You sure are the prettiest photographer I’ve ever seen.”

Your eyebrow raises and you are thankful that your camera conceals the slight blush on your cheeks, despite knowing this is likely just a line to placate you.

“Is that so?” you respond evenly.

“Mhm. Sure is a nice change from the usual group of stuffy men up in my business, I’ll tell you for sure. Much rather have you up in my…” he trails off, then winks.

“I’m not sure you could handle a woman like me, Mr. Presley.” It’s a challenge and a risk, to be sure, taking this way to a man of such stature, but you put just a bit of playfulness in your voice to temper the slice.

He pauses, considering you in a different way, then mimics your own words back to you: “Is that so?”

Snap.

The photo you capture then is one you know has that edginess, that something else you are looking for.

There’s a sense of tension in his posture now, only recognizable to you because not a second so he was the picture of confident relaxation. But you’ve caught him out—that famous lip of his curling as he throws your words back at you, his almond eyes narrowing suspiciously but full of a feline sexual energy. While his right arm appears casual on the armrest, his long and slender pointer finger goes rigid, a suggestive gesture to be sure.

He’s playful about it but in such a way as a jungle cat seeks to play with its food before devouring it.

Heat courses through your limbs and pools low in your belly, a purely biological response to this amazing specimen of a man and the way he’s looking at you.

You manage to find your voice. “Quite so, I’m afraid,” you say with a flirty, faux sorrow.

“We’ll see,” he hums, then slides over the seat until right across from you. In a bold move you don’t see coming, Elvis nudges his toe under your skirt and in between your properly clasped knees, spreading your legs apart until his foot rests possessively through your thighs on the seat underneath you.

“You’re one cocky sonnuvabitch, aren’t ya?” you muse, finally bringing your camera down to look him in the eyes. You are hyper aware of the way his toe inches up, closer to the heat that now begins to pulse between your legs.

”Gonna have to wash your mouth out if ya keep talkin’ like that,” he purrs.

Snap.

“Oh, really?” You are loathe to admit just how badly you want to see him try.

“Yes, really.”

“Hmm, suppose you’d have to catch me first.” You are fully taunting him now, quickly hurtling into the realm of unprofessional but unable to stop yourself.

Snap.

But based off the smile on his face and the heat in his eyes, he is enjoying himself.

“Oh, that ain’t hard.”

“No?”

He chuckles and inches his foot up far enough that your thighs now encase it, sending a rolling shiver through you at the pressured sensation.

Snap.

Obviously, you know how a good round of flirtation and suggestion can open a subject up, so to speak, but you don’t mix business with pleasure. Right now, you are running headlong down a very dangerous road. You aren’t completely naive to the ways of men and sex, but you also aren’t overly experienced when it comes to the deed itself, due to propriety and self- preservation. Your experience has been limited to heavy petting and the basic mechanics of the act, but nothing you’d call very exciting or even overly enjoyable. The whole sex thing honestly seemed overrated, made more to please men than women.

But that was before Elvis Presley sat across from you and wedged his foot between your thighs.

The more you think about it, about him, the more you think you might burn right through your clothes as though it were the dead heat of summer and you’d been running for miles. You force yourself to breathe slowly, evenly, to keep control of your faculties and the situation, but he stares at you with those intense eyes and you already know it’s a losing battle.

“Show me how to work that camera, honey,” he says, surprising you with the change of tactics.

“What for?” Your camera is your livelihood, your baby, your artistic expression so this makes you nervous. Usually, you’d never, ever let a subject touch it. But these aren’t normal circumstances (and you also know that he has more than enough money to replace it if he screws something up).

“Oh, you’ll see,” he smirks, eyes dancing. He makes no indication that he’s going to move his foot from its precarious position in order for you to shift towards him, and when you raise your brows at him questioningly, he just smiles that wide, million dollar smile.

So you slowly, carefully, scoot your butt to the edge of the seat in order to lean far enough forward with the camera in hand. In doing so, however, the sole of his shoe is now flush against your core and you can’t help the little yelp that escapes your lips when he presses against you. It stokes something inside you that you’ve never felt to this extent before.

Oh, you are in trouble. You are in way, way over your head.

You manage a gulp and then clear your throat as you lean over to show him the workings of the camera. He meets you in the middle, and your eyes nearly roll back into your skull for the way it presses his toe into your now aching cunt.

Holy hell, the man smells intoxicating, and you are aware of just how close his face is to yours. It’s as if his eyelashes flutter in slow motion, his breath hot near your cheek, and a pressure builds inside of you, one you’ve only felt when your curious hand has made its way into your panties on a sleepless night or when you’ve pushed a pillow between your thighs, rocking into the friction. Certainly no man has ever made you really feel that way.

But that feeling barely touches the fire that courses through you now. In a slow daze, you show him the basic mechanics and he gently pulls the camera from your grasp. Suddenly, you feel vulnerable and bare without it, your shield of indifference taken away.

Elvis leans back, releasing some of the pressure on your core, and you can breathe again, if only for a moment, because the look in his eyes is nothing short of obscene in its sexiness.

“You develop your own film, darlin’?”

You are confused by the question, but all you can seem to do is nod in response, wondering where in the hell this is going.

“Good. Now, relax, honey, and pull that dress up for me,” he says, as though he’s asking something completely benign of you.

Your face must register your confusion, your surprise. To his credit, he moves his foot away, and his gaze and voice both soften, “I ain’t gonna hurt you, I promise, but you gotta tell me if this isn’t somethin’ you wanna do.”

To your credit, it doesn’t take you long to find your voice, as stammering as it might be. “I-I-I want to,” you say, and it comes out so breathless you’d roll your eyes at yourself in any other circumstance. In fact, you are rather shocked at your eagerness.

Elvis smiles broadly. “Well, okay then, honey. That dress,” he commands, nudging his chin up to remind you what it is he wants from you.

Your heart flutters so fast that you’re not sure it’s even fully beating anymore. You inch the fabric up, up, up your thighs, feeling the softness as it wrinkles under your palms, exposing your stockings to the man in front of you.

Much to your chagrin, you are utterly spellbound. A reasonable voice in the back of your head tells you to stop this nonsense immediately before you make a fool of yourself before you cross lines that cannot be uncrossed. Yet your body is so wound, so tuned into him, so needy for whatever it is he has in store for you that you can barely think.

Snap.

It takes a moment to register that its him taking pictures of you, not the other way around. An embarrassed heat rushes to your cheeks when you realize he’s aimed the camera squarely between your legs and not at your red face.

You pause when reaching the white lace tops of your stockings, the garter clips that hold them up now visible.

Snap.

It’s likely the way he bites his full lower lip behind the camera that gives you the courage to keep going, that little tell that perhaps he’s just as aroused as you, that this isn’t some cruel joke.

Finally, you pull the hem up over your hips, exposing your white panties fully to his scrutiny. Perhaps it’s the damp spot in the center of them that has him shifting his hips with a quiet, low groan. The sound sends a thrill rippling through your limbs.

Snap.

His voice comes out husky and about an octave lower this time. “Now reach into those panties and touch yourself for me, baby. D’you know how to get yourself goin’?”

“I think so, yes,” you reply breathlessly, altogether unsure if anything you’ve ever done to yourself is anything what this obviously experienced man expects.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll help guide ya if you need it,” he says with a kind of deference, patience.

You nod, then, biting your lip in concentration, you slip your hand down under the waistband of your underwear. The pads of your fingers are cool against the blazing heat of your sex as they trail down to that sensitive bundle of nerves you’ve only touched the surface of exploring. You circle the bud a few times, your hips rolling involuntarily in response.

Snap.

“Lower,” Elvis commands, and you obey, sliding down to find how swollen and soaking you already are. Something about the way he is watching you has a coil in your belly tightening in a way it never has before, has your body responding in ways it never has with another person.

“Are you wet, baby?” he breathes.

You nod.

“Show me.” It comes out sultry and eager and sets you on fire that he wants to see with his own eyes what he’s doing to you.

You pull your fingers out of the damp fabric and show him the slick shining there.

“Goddamn,” he whispers, snapping another photo. “Lemme taste you.” The blush revealed on his sky-high cheekbones when he pulls the camera away is enough to send your breath heaving, but it is nothing at all compared to what happens in your body the moment his lips close around your sticky fingertips.

An obscene moan rolls out from your mouth as his soft tongue licks your digits clean. The sound seems to urge him on, resulting in him sucking one, then the other, gently. Your hair stands on end, goosebumps running down your arms, your eyes fluttering closed. That coil inside your pelvis tightens so tight you feel like you might burst, but then he removes his mouth with a resounding pop.

You whimper at the loss and your eyes flutter back open to find his deep blues staring back at you with a passion that seems to rival your own.

“Sweet as honey,” he murmurs with a dreamy smile, picking up the camera once more. Something inside you is proud that he’s enjoyed tasting you, as if you were always meant for him to enjoy. “Now I wanna see that kitty.”

You didn’t know it was possible to be more flushed that you already are, but your cheeks rage with blood. You aren’t exactly sure how he wants that to happen and your brow furrows.

“Just pull those pretty panties to the side for me, baby,” Elvis encourages.

It feels like all the blood in your body rushes into your pussy the moment you slide the ruined cotton off to the side, leaving you bare for him. The cool air makes you shiver, or maybe it is the way he groans as he takes a picture of your most private of areas.

“T-touch yourself for me,” he says, his voice needy and strained now.

You run your fingers down then up through your lower lips, feeling the throbbing pulse of blood down there as you do so, feeling that tightness in your belly squirm for more. The obvious tent in his black slacks has you breathing even harder as you wonder what he would feel like buried inside of you.

But Elvis has other ideas.

“Aw, hell,” he moans before tossing your camera aside and falling to his knees in front of you like a desperate man praying for forgiveness. You barely have time to register your shock at the superstar prostrating himself at your feet before his large hands spread your thighs further apart, and his luscious lips kiss their way up your slit, landing on your aching clit.

“What are you—Oh my god!” you cry out before you can stop yourself, your hands flying into his dark mane of soft, perfectly styled hair. Never in your life had a man put his mouth there, it wasn’t even something you knew was done, and ohmifuckinggod it feels so good that your mind goes blank.

When Elvis moans into you, lathing his tongue flat against you and dragging it up your core, you think you stop breathing completely.

So far gone are you as his wicked tongue winds through and spears and soothes you, that you don’t realize that the mewling murmurs of, “Oh, Jesus. Holy mother of—Oh, Elvis!” are actually coming from your mouth. You feel him smile against you, pausing his ministrations long enough for you to catch your breath.

Which is good, because he immediately knocks it back out of you as he slides a long finger into your tight heat and latches himself to your clit like a man possessed. The deft way his finger pumps, then curves into some unknown spongy spot you didn’t know existed until this very moment has you writhing on the seat, clinging to his beautiful head for dear life. Somehow, the combination of the suckling and licking of your little nub coupled with the rapid work of his hand has your entire body tensing before he hurtles you over an invisible cliff, that tight coil in your belly snapping. Shuddering and gasping, you free fall, and a soothing warmth washes over you from head to toe.

You’ve never felt anything like it in your life.

Your chest heaves with exertion as you come back into yourself, whining at the emptiness when he removes his finger, then shivering as he replaces it with his tongue, lapping at the excess of slick arousal that now seems to coat everything below, including his face.

The aftershocks that he causes to ripple through you stoke the fire in your belly again, and you think that maybe, just maybe you had this sex thing all wrong. That the few men you’d fooled around with had absolutely no idea what they were doing. Because this…this was…so good you can’t even think of an intelligent way to describe it.

Elvis straightens and pulls up onto his knees, looking utterly pleased with himself, his pretty mouth shiny with you. Slotting between your open legs, his eyes shine with arousal.

“Was that good, baby? Did you come?” he asks.

“I—was that…? Did I come? What does that—?” you stammer, barely able to string together a coherent sentence, confused by his words in your haze.

He chuckles at your floundering. “Have you never come before? Never had an orgasm, honey? That’s a damn shame,” he says, wiping his mouth with his thumb, then licking it.

You blush at your inexperience and at his gesture. “That was an orgasm? I mean, of course it was…I, well, I’ve been with men, I just—that never—Um, yes, th-that was amazing,” you babble, knowing that you must be bright red with embarrassment, but your body is so loose and warm that you almost don’t care.

He only smiles at your bashfulness and leans up into you, his mouth hovering so close to yours that you feel his warm breath on your lips and can smell yourself on them. “Well, best give you another one for good measure. Whaddya say, baby?” he whispers, your entire body tingles at attention.

All you can do is nod, almost frantically, wondering how in the world he could make that happen again and absolutely desperate for it at the same time.

It’s then that he finally kisses you and you are consumed all at once with how pillowy soft his lips are, how you can taste yourself on his lips and it feels like it should be wrong, but you sort of like it. He’s surprisingly gentle, his passion evident but controlled as he explores your mouth much in the same way he explored your pussy—soft at first, but insistent. You open to him easily, his tongue quickly finding yours and in one fell swoop, he maneuvers you onto your back on the seat, slotting his long legs between your thighs.

The gentle way his hands and lips caress your face, your neck, down to your breasts and waist has you distracted enough that you are surprised when he rolls his pelvis into yours and his excitement is particularly evident as it pokes into your belly.

It’s because of me, you think in disbelief, I’ve made Elvis Presley, of all men, aroused.

And that thought suddenly has you ravenous and bold. You reach between you two, taking his clothed but considerable length in your hand and squeezing.

Elvis groans above you, then smiles. “You eager little minx. Give you a little taste and now it’s all you can think about, huh?” he teases.

Your response is to smile back and work his length with your hand. You may not know much about the female orgasm before today, but you sure as hell are familiar with how his equipment works.

“Okay, okay,” he gasps, his eyes rolling back, “Jesus, woman, I hear ya.”

He rids himself of his suit jacket while you make quick work of his belt and buttons and zippers. Unbeknownst to you, yet completely unsurprisingly, he is wearing no underwear, so with a quick push of his slacks off his hips, he’s totally bare for you.

He’s well-endowed enough for you to be a little nervous about it which he seems to pick up on. “Don’t you worry, baby, I’ll go slow,” he whispers kindly in your ear.

You nod and respond by wrapping your hand around him and pumping his shaft, swirling your thumb gently over his foreskin and over the head of him. The beaded pre-cum slicks over the tip, eliciting a low growl from the Adonis hovering above you.

Pulling up your skirt again, you bend your knees invitingly, letting him nestle between your legs. Elvis takes a moment to kiss you roughly, nipping at your lower lip, as he coats his erection in your slick, rubbing the length of it between your already sopping and swollen folds. The tip of him brushes against your clit maddeningly as he does so, causing you to arch and keen under him.

Finally, you can stand it no longer, reaching your hand down to line him up with your entrance. He smirks above you, but the look is wiped off his face and quickly replaced with something almost akin to awe as he pushes into you slowly. Your body yearns for him in such a way that, even though you are quite tight around him, you seem to suckle him in, inch by inch. The sensation has the both of you moaning, eyes rolling back and lips parting as you join together.

“Fuck, honey. So goddamned tight for me,” he groans, and a shudder of pleasure rolls through you.

It's utterly delicious the way he slots into you so perfectly, bottoming out as you swallow him whole. He gives you a moment to adjust and relax into the heaviness of him in your body, looking down at you with what you realize are quite soulful eyes. His arousal is obvious in the way his pupils are blown, but he still looks at you with an air of reverence even though this seems to be a spontaneous and casual fuck on a train.

When he starts thrusting in and out of you, slowly at first, and with somehow perfect precision, hitting spots inside you that you didn’t know existed, you realize you’ll never be able to have sex again without comparing it to the gorgeous man above you.

Lord, you wish you could take a picture of the way he looks right now, hair mussed and sweat beading on his forehead, his plump lips parted and panting. This is the perfectly imperfect Elvis you wished to capture when you got on this train. But in this moment, he is just for you to see. You don’t want to share him with the world.

He’s patient in his approach to keep his promise, yet he doesn’t need to wait long. Your body is humming with arousal, the warmth blossoming over you as his thrusts become more pointed and deeper. The way he rolls his pelvis, then swivels it, playing with motion and depth make you realize he’s gauging every reaction you have, adjusting to what brings you closer to falling apart.

You barely recognize the sounds coming out of your mouth, feeling every hard inch of him taking over you, wanting more, more, more. Your wet heat flutters around him and he speeds his thrusts, but it’s when he brings his hand between you and rubs his thumb against your hypersensitive bud that you truly begin to fall apart.

This time, it’s more gradual, the way the heat and pressure builds. You know more of what to expect, but holy hell, he’s playing you like an instrument, making your entire body quiver with desire and need. You almost want to escape the feeling—it’s so intense, so stimulating, as he pounds into you from above, but you also never want it to stop.

“C’mon, baby, that’s my good girl,” he praises in that low Southern drawl, and that takes you up, up, up the crest of your arousal.

You pant and whine, desperate now for a release you’ve never had a taste of until now.

“That’s it, come for me now, darlin’, come on me,” he moans, working your clit faster.

That sends you flying over the edge, hitting the crest of your orgasm so hard the wind is knocked out of you, and you see white stars in the blackness of your closed eyes. You clench around him, your legs wrapped around his waist, squeezing, as though he can keep you from flying away. Body shuddering with release, you feel a gush of warmth and he’s sliding so effortlessly through you, he could split you in two and you wouldn’t even know it.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so good for me…did so good baby,” he pants, watching you come down from your high.

Elvis slows down, easing you through it, though he looks like he wants to absolutely ravage you for the way he looks at you so hungrily. He’s holding back, you can tell.

“I’m gonna pull out, baby. I-I-I—can I come on your pretty lil’ face?” he gasps, eyes begging you.

You’d be more taken aback if he hadn’t just fucked you silly. Never in a thousand years would you think to let a man claim you in such a way, but you find that you want—no, need—it. You’d let him do almost anything with you at this point.

You nod, unable to speak with how fucked out you are. Elvis pulls out of your heat and you groan at the loss of him, but he’s pulling you down to the floor and you go, bonelessly, onto your knees. Towering above you, he stands, using the remnants of your glistening release to pump his cock expertly, and the sight sends shivers through you.

“Oh, that’s it, honey. Open your mouth for me,” he pants out, tapping your chin with his finger.

You obey without question.

Elvis clasps his free hand at the back of your neck, cupping your jaw as he thrusts roughly into his other hand. “Aw, f-f-f-fuckin’ hell,” he moans loudly, and then he comes violently. Pulsing, hot streams squirt over your cheeks, your chin, and you taste the bitter tang of his salty release on your tongue.

You’ve never tasted a man before, and you’re glad the first is Elvis Presley.

He looks absolutely ethereal in his release. The way he grits his teeth and then his mouth hangs open, eyes fluttering shut and body shuddering as he paints you with him makes him even more attractive than you thought possible.

You wait, mouth still agape and covered in his seed. His bedroom eyes open and he looks down at you. “Jesus, you look so damn beautiful covered in me,” he says dreamily. “Stay just like that.”

Then, surprising you once again, he grabs your camera which had been discarded earlier, bringing it up to his face.

Snap.

He memorializes the moment.

“Swallow, baby,” he guides you, tapping your chin closed. You do, even though it makes you a little queasy because you’ve never done this before.

Snap.

“Open,” he says, pulling the camera from his face. Then, he uses his thumb and fingers to wipe your face of him, depositing the rest of his cum in your mouth. “Want ya to take it all for me,” he coos. You take it willingly, and then suckle the rest off his fingers.

“My pretty lil’ photographer,” he moans out, snapping one last shot as he pumps his fingers in your mouth. “S’good for me, you dirty girl.”

You can’t help but whine at that.

Elvis flops back down onto the seat, dark hair failing in his eyes, and pulls you into his lap. He kisses you, gently, then with more insistence as he seems to relish the taste of himself on your tongue.

“Mmm, I want copies of those photos,” he says seriously, pulling back and looking into your eyes.

You blush furiously. “Okay,” you whisper, nodding.

He lets his head fall back onto the seat and closes his eyes in refraction. After a moment, he speaks again, pulling you in close.

“And I want you to be with me in California, once we get there. Will you stay?” he asks quietly.

The way he asks so earnestly both stuns and delights you. You couldn’t say no even if you wanted to.

“I will,” you say.

Elvis smiles.

Grabbing your camera, you take one last shot of your beautiful, mind-blowing man.

Snap.

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