#Whys the pot so big? I don’t know the man has a big appetite leave him alone

[zombieapocalypse666]

Postal Dude making mac n cheese

Shes listening to the 1987 Sepultura Album "Schizophrenia" because she's awesome

#Whys the pot so big? I don’t know the man has a big appetite leave him alone #postal dude

[junghelioseok]

clandestine. | 01

↳ forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au ◇ 10.3k [1/6]

notes: this fic was originally going to be a oneshot, but i changed my mind and decided i didn’t want to kill tumblr with a totally unnecessary 50k jk fic so 🤷🏻‍♀️ here is part one of a fic that 100% only came about because @puellaigmotum​ coerced me into it like 2 years ago (lmao rip 💀) and also bc i have zero self-control and am hopelessly h*rny for jungkook these days and don’t look at me i don’t wanna talk about it okay??? 🙈

warnings: jk’s massive noona kink, some ~under the table~ action, too much detail about jk’s dumb veiny arms probably, but at least he doesn’t have tattoos bc i started writing this before he got them and i don’t need to torture myself anymore than i already do!!!

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 

It’s always been easy to spot your brother in a crowd. Passengers flood off the train, jostling around you on their way to the station’s exit, but even in the swarm you can perfectly see Jimin’s golden head of hair bobbing its way toward you, a deep scowl etched across his face. “You’re late,” he says in lieu of a greeting, his honey brown eyes raking over your scuffed suitcase distastefully as he comes to a stop a few feet away.

“And you’re just as impatient as ever,” you retort, coming to a stop before him with your luggage in tow. “Think you can lord it over me since you can drive now?”

“Don’t forget that I’m your ride home,” Jimin scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I could just as easily leave you here to fend for yourself.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you tell him, raising a brow in silent challenge.

Jimin stares down at you unflinchingly, and you stare right back. The tension stretches between you, taut and heavy, until every passing second feels like a light year. Around you, the crowd slowly dissipates, but still you remain—two motionless statues locked in a wordless struggle. From somewhere overhead, a monotone voice announces the next train departure times.

Jimin’s mouth twitches. You blink, twice in quick succession.

And then your little brother breaks into a grin—one that’s so wide you fear his mouth may detach from his face entirely. An answering smile settles across your face as you watch him throw his head back, dissolving into laughter that you can’t help but echo.

“Damn it, Chim!” you say, instinctively grabbing onto his wrist when it looks like he might fall over. “Your poker face still sucks.”

“I’ve gotten better!” Jimin immediately defends. “I mean, you’ve got to admit that, right?”

“Nope.” You sigh and hold a hand over your head so you can measure your height against his ever-so-slightly taller frame. “Same old annoying kid I grew up with. Seriously, have you grown at all in the past year?”

“Whoa, too far, Noona.” Jimin takes ahold of both of your cheeks, pinching them affectionately. “You’re only a year older than me, you know. Besides, I’ve been taller than you for two years now!”

“I’m pretty sure hitting puberty at age seventeen isn’t something to be proud of,” you reply, pulling away from him with a mock grimace and giggling when he lets out an offended squeak. Playfully, you reach up to ruffle his hair, scrubbing your knuckles just a little too roughly against his skull.

“Noonaaa,” he complains, drawing out the last syllable until he runs out of air. “Jeez, you haven’t even been back for an hour yet and you’re already being mean to me. When do you go back to Seoul again?”

“Three weeks,” you reply, narrowing your eyes. “But I can and will make these three weeks hell for you. Don’t test me.”

Jimin snickers and drapes his arm over your shoulders. He picks up your suitcase with the other hand, and you thank him with another, gentler hair ruffle as the two of you start toward the exit of the train station. “College hasn’t changed you one bit.”

“And senior year hasn’t changed you,” you say, letting him guide you outside and breathing in the balmy summer evening air. Jimin’s brow furrows as he tries to remember where he’s parked, and you kindly take your suitcase back when he nods decisively and heads toward the left side of the lot. “You excited to graduate?”

He sighs, fumbling in his pocket for the keys as the two of you approach the car. “It’s going to suck. Your ceremony was boring as hell last year.”

“Wow, rude.”

Jimin looks up from where he’s unlocking the driver’s side door. “Am I wrong, though?”

You flash him a grin as he unlocks the remaining doors, heaving your suitcase into the backseat before sliding into the passenger seat beside him. “Nope. But afterward, you’ll be done with high school forever.”

“Thank god.” Your brother rakes a hand through his hair, mussing it further as he carefully starts the ignition and checks his mirrors with all the diligence of a new driver. Once satisfied, he pulls out of the parking space, meandering his way out of the lot and onto the main street.

The ride back to your childhood home is a short one, full of familiar storefronts and landmarks that dredge up all sorts of fond memories. You hadn’t expected your first year of university—away from your family and your hometown—to make you quite so emotional. But before you know it, Jimin is making the turn into your neighborhood, and you can’t stop the way your eyes begin to well up when you see your house in the distance.

As if reading your mind, Jimin glances at you as he pulls into the driveway. “Feel good to be home?”

You nod, blinking back tears. “Feels great.”

He grins. Pulling the key from the ignition, he climbs out of the car and grabs your suitcase, waving for you to head inside. Eagerly, you start toward the front door, but you barely make it halfway up the driveway when it bursts open, revealing your father standing there with open arms and an enormous grin. He’s just as tall as you remember, and looks exactly the same save a few more strands of silver lacing his hair. All of a sudden, you’re a little girl again, running up to give him a hug and giggling madly when he tries to scoop you up like he used to do so many years ago.

“Hi Dad,” you greet when he gives up and sets you back down on two feet. “Where’s Mom?”

“Cooking up a storm,” he replies, chortling. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, he leads you into the kitchen where your mother is hunched over the stove with a spatula, delicious aromas wafting up from the array of pots and pans in front of her. “Honey, look who’s home!”

“Hi Mom,” you say, grinning when she whirls around, startled. The spatula, still dangling loosely from her hand, drips sauce onto the tiled floor, but she barely notices in her eagerness to give you a hug, throwing it down into one of the simmering pots and striding forward to wrap you up in a tight embrace.

“How was your trip?” she asks, pulling back and angling your face this way and that. “Did you sleep on the ride? Did Jimin drive safely?”

The last question draws a protesting whine from your brother, who has lugged your suitcase over the threshold and is now seated at the dining table, fiddling with a spoon. “My driving was fine, right Noona?” he says, his bottom lip jutting out into a pout.

“Yes, Chim,” you agree, laughing at the pleased expression that overtakes his face. Curiously, you walk over to the stove to inspect the food, your jaw dropping as you take in the assorted vegetables and meats. “Wow, Mom. Are you cooking for an army?”

“Jungkook is coming over for dinner,” she explains, following you over and plucking up the spatula again. “That boy has the biggest appetite I’ve ever seen—you remember, right?”

You laugh. “Of course I remember. He and Jimin were always stealing bites of my lunch at school.” Peering over at your brother, you fix him with a mock glare before walking over to the cutting board on the counter and sizing up the pile of onions and peppers sitting there. “It’ll be nice to see him again, though. How is he doing?”

To your surprise, a new voice answers your question—a voice that somehow manages to be simultaneously familiar and foreign. “Why don’t you ask me directly, Noona?” it says, and you whirl around, wide-eyed, to face the newcomer.

This can’t possibly be Jeon Jungkook, is your first thought upon seeing the young man standing in the kitchen doorway. The Jungkook you knew in high school was a scrawny kid—all gangly limbs and a nose that was too big for his face. The Jungkook you knew wore oversized white t-shirts that made him look even younger than he was, a look that was only enhanced by round wire-rimmed glasses that always gave him a look of permanent astonishment. The Jungkook you knew was nowhere near this tall, and definitely not this broad.

But this Jungkook—this Jungkook takes up nearly the entire doorframe with his bulk. Dark eyes stare at you from beneath equally dark hair, his gaze unhindered by his old glasses. A cobalt blue shirt stretches tight over his chest, and you swallow when you notice just how much the buttons are straining to contain the muscle underneath. Black jeans and simple black sneakers complete his outfit, and the entire look is so jarringly different from what you’re used to that you are left momentarily speechless, gaping like a fish out of water. Vaguely, you wonder when he got his ears pierced.

And then Jungkook—or at least, the young man claiming to be Jungkook—takes three steps forward, his entire face melting into a crinkly-eyed grin. You catch a glimpse of the adorably prominent front teeth that always made him look like a rabbit, and that’s all it takes to break the spell.

“Jungkookie!” you exclaim, darting forward to greet him. “It’s been so long!”

“Hi, Noona,” he replies, his grin widening at your approach. In an instant, he has you wrapped up in an embrace, easily lifting you off the floor in a display of strength that would’ve had a lesser woman swooning. His hands curl firmly around your waist, and you have no choice but to wrap yours around his nape, squeaking in protest when he spins you in a full circle.

“Kookie!” you gasp, wriggling helplessly in his grasp and huffing when he only cackles. “Put me down!”

Obediently, Jungkook lowers you back to the ground. His hands linger on your waist until he’s certain that both your feet are planted firmly, and it’s only then that he pulls back to get a good look at your face. “You know I’d never drop you, right?” he asks innocently.

“As if I can trust anything that comes out of your mouth,” you retort with a laugh. “I’ve seen you scam your way out of detention with those pretty doe eyes. Don’t try me, kid.”

Jungkook snorts. “Kid? I’m not that much younger than you. Plus I’m older than Jimin, y’know.”

“By a month!” your brother protests from the dining room, his blond head popping up from behind the vase of daisies serving as a centerpiece.

“Month and a half,” Jungkook stage-whispers to you, cupping a hand and bringing his mouth to your ear conspiratorially. His breath tickles your cheek, and you swat him away with a giggle that becomes a full-on laugh when Jimin lets out an offended cry and rises to his feet. Striding over, he pokes Jungkook squarely in the chest, his eyes narrowed.

“I invite you over to my house and this is the thanks I get?”

Your dad chooses that moment to interrupt from the living room. “Your house? When exactly did you start paying rent, Jimin?”

Jimin’s jaw drops. “Are you taking his side?” he asks in disbelief, glaring at Jungkook when he starts laughing. “I’m your son!”

“I’m your father,” your dad replies.

“And I’m your mother,” your mom pipes up, brandishing a spoon. “And I’m telling all of you to get your butts over to that dining table in the next ten seconds, or no dinner for any of you.”

Your dad, Jimin, and Jungkook immediately fall silent, cowed by her proclamation. Grinning, you join your mother at the counter, grabbing a handful of spoons and accepting the platter of kimchi she hands over. “Direct as always, Mom.”

She laughs and picks up a bowl of rice. “To deal with men like them? You have to be.”

Food in hand, you make your way into the dining room. The table is set, the steaming food arranged neatly in the center, and you watch as your mother takes her seat next to Jimin and leaves you to sit beside Jungkook on the opposite side. Your father beams from his spot at the head of the table, glancing at each of you in turn before turning and giving your shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

“Look at you kids, all sitting at the same table again.” He sighs, and you’re certain that he’s thinking back to the last time all of you were together—well over a year ago, at this point. “It’s a shame that your parents couldn’t join us, though, Jungkook.”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, they told me to apologize on their behalf. They have tickets for the theatre tonight, and couldn’t get a refund on them.”

Your father laughs and waves the apology off. “I’m sure we’ll catch them next time,” he says. “Pretty hard to avoid each other when you live next door, isn’t it?”

“Definitely,” Jungkook agrees with a chuckle. Then he turns to you, the silver hoops in his ears glinting in the light from the overhead chandelier. “I’m sure they’ll drop by soon to see you, Noona. Mom wants to hear all about Seoul—I think she’s worried about sending me so far away by myself.”

“Junghyun stayed in Busan for university, didn’t he?” your mom asks.

Jungkook nods. “Yep, he still lives downtown and everything. He wanted to come over tonight, but his work wouldn’t let him take the time off.”

Your mom sighs. “That’s such a shame. Is he at least attending your graduation?”

“He’s driving in the day after tomorrow for the ceremony,” Jungkook confirms. Then he pauses, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His gaze flickers down to the plate of sweet potatoes on the other side of the table, and before he can even open his mouth, your mother is already passing him the plate. He thanks her with an embarrassed chuckle but digs into the food nonetheless, and everyone else takes it as a sign to follow suit. You’re in the middle of scooping rice into your bowl when Jimin speaks up again.

“So what’s it like living in Seoul?” he asks, his cheeks bulging with pork belly. “You have roommates, right?”

“Suitemates,” you correct. “But yeah, I live with three other people. Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jennie are all great though, so it hasn’t been a problem.”

Jungkook pauses mid-chew to gape at you. “You live with guys?”

“My building’s co-ed,” you explain. “We all have separate bedrooms, but we share a common space and bathrooms.”

Your mother—on the lookout for any potential future grandchildren, as always—perks up. “Namjoon and Hoseok sound like nice boys. Are you friends?”

“Yes, Mom,” you sigh. “We’re friends. Just friends.” And then before she can ask about whether or not any other boys have caught your eye, you quickly turn back to your brother. “So, what’s your plan for next year? Are you and Jungkook living together?”

Jimin hums. “Yep, that’s the plan. Unless you want to live with us too, Noona.”

You laugh. “Why, so I can protect you from all the bullies like I did in elementary school?”

He flashes you a cheeky grin. “More like so I can protect you from all the weird college guys. Who’s this Hoseok guy anyway? Do I need to beat him up?”

“Please don’t beat up Hobi,” you entreaty, giggling when he pretends to crack his knuckles. “Or Joon!” you add quickly when he remains undeterred and makes to stand up from the table to defend your honor. Balling up your napkin, you throw it at him, and both of you burst into hysterics when your makeshift weapon bounces off his forehead and straight into his glass of water. The rest of dinner passes in a haze of similarly playful antics and happy chatter, and by the time the last bowl is scraped clean, it feels as if you’d never even left.

“I’ll do the dishes,” you volunteer, standing up and gathering up the empty platters. Jungkook and Jimin are quick to jump to your aid, collecting any utensils that you missed, and you offer them a grateful smile as they follow you into the kitchen.

“Let me do the washing, Noona.” Jungkook rolls up the sleeves of his cobalt blue shirt to expose a familiar silver watch glinting on his left wrist—a watch that his father handed down to him when he was sixteen, and that had been worn by his grandfather before him. You still remember the day he’d first worn it to school, proudly displaying it even though the band was too loose around his narrow wrist.

He’s grown into it now, you realize. The watch no longer flops around like it used to, and sits snugly in place instead. Your eyes trace the silver buckle on the inside of his wrist before trailing up to follow the network of thin, branching veins in his forearm, admiring the smooth flex of muscle as he grabs a sponge from the wire rack hanging above the sink and squirts some dish soap onto the surface.

“I’ll dry,” Jimin chirps, selecting a towel and brandishing it. “Noona, do you want to help me? We’ll finish faster that way.”

Nodding, you pull another towel out from the drawer and rejoin the two boys at the sink. Jungkook washes quickly and efficiently, and you determinedly avoid staring at the way water trickles along the patchwork veins on his hands as he gives you bowl after bowl to dry.

It doesn’t take long for all the dishes to be washed and dried. The three of you take the time to put them back into the proper cabinets before bidding your parents a good night, heading out onto the back porch. Falling back into old routines feels like second nature, so you plop down onto the steps without hesitation and grin when Jungkook takes a seat beside you.

“Wait, I almost forgot!” Jimin exclaims, bouncing up from where he was beginning to sit down next to Jungkook. “I bought some beer earlier and left it in the trunk. Be right back!”

You watch your brother run off, his floppy blond hair a stark contrast with the deep blue evening sky. In seconds, he’s disappeared around the corner of the house, leaving you and Jungkook alone on the porch steps.

“Chim really hasn’t changed one bit,” you remark with a laugh, turning toward your dark-haired companion.

Jungkook chuckles. “The kid loves his alcohol, that’s for sure.”

“Please.” You elbow him in the ribs. “I know you’re just as bad as he is.”

“Maybe,” he concedes with another chuckle. “But come on, Noona, you can’t tell me you don’t enjoy a drink every now and then. What about all that college stress?”

You hum, leaning back on your hands and staring up at the sky where the full moon is just beginning to rise, surrounded by a smattering of stars peeking through the velvety darkness of night. “I never said that I didn’t enjoy a drink, or five.” Jungkook laughs at your remark, and you smile before letting out a soft sigh. “I’m glad Jimin got the beer, though. Maybe I’ll finally be able to stop stressing out about my internship.”

That sobers Jungkook up immediately, his eyes widening as he peers down at you and lays a gentle hand on your back. “Are you still worried? You already got the job, didn’t you?”

You nod slowly, thinking back to the job offer that you had accepted at the end of the semester. It had been difficult finding a company in your desired field that offered internships to first-year students, but with dogged persistence and a lot of luck, you’d managed to snag a summer position. It isn’t due to start for another three weeks, however, and while you’re grateful for the chance to visit your family, part of you also wishes that you didn’t have to wait such a long time. “I just have no idea what to expect, you know? The only jobs I’ve ever had were in retail and food service, and that was all ages ago. I don’t feel ready at all.”

A strong arm settles across your shoulders, and you look up to see Jungkook gazing down at you with something indiscernible sparkling in his deep brown eyes. “You’re gonna be amazing,” he murmurs, his voice whisper-soft. “You know that, right? You always are. This won’t be any different.”

And you believe him. Every detail of his face is bathed in silvery moonlight—the gentle slope of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw, the little scar high on his cheekbone—and you wonder how you never realized how handsome he is before now. And maybe it’s the low, soothing timbre of his voice, or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you—with unspeakable tenderness and gentle affection glimmering in his irises—but you lean in before you can even realize what you’re doing. You don’t look away, and neither does he.

Jungkook’s gaze drops, trailing down the slope of your cheeks until it lands on the curve of your mouth. He hesitates for a split second, his throat bobbing harshly as he swallows and sucks in a breath.

And then his lips are pressing against yours—soft and tentative and just a little bit chapped. Your eyes flutter shut almost on instinct, your body relaxing as he shifts and pulls you a little more firmly against him. Slowly, his arm finds its way to the curve of your waist and settles there. Your fingers curl around his nape, carding through his silky hair.

It’s only when Jungkook’s tongue darts out to run along the seam of your lips that reality comes crashing back down, your stomach plummeting down to somewhere around your toes as you wrench away from his embrace. “Kookie!” you gasp, your breathing labored. “We can’t!”

Jungkook blinks, momentarily entrancing you with the way the stars reflect in his gaze like glittering diamonds. “Why not?” he asks, reaching out for you again. “You kissed me back, didn’t you?”

Squeaking, you bat his hands away. “Jungkook, no! We can’t! You’re Jimin’s best friend, and god, this is all kinds of weird, and—“

The dark-haired young man looks like he wants to protest more, but the sound of footsteps coming back around the house sends both of you scooting back to your original positions on the porch steps. Jimin appears two seconds later, plopping down beside Jungkook cheerfully and dropping a six-pack of beer at his feet.

“What’d I miss?” he asks, seemingly oblivious to the tension lingering in the air as he pops open a bottle and hands it to you.

“Nothing,” you say immediately, accepting the proffered beer. The cool glass bottle is a welcome relief, and you hurriedly take a long sip when your mind unwillingly begins to wander back to just how warm and soft your dark-haired companion’s lips had been.

Jungkook is much slower to respond to Jimin’s question. His shoulders slump as he reaches down to grab a drink of his own, twisting the cap open viciously and taking a swig. “Yeah,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nothing at all.”

Luck must be on your side, because Jimin doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss as he grabs a beer for himself and flops backward, resting his weight on his elbows as he gazes up at the night sky. “It’s nice out,” he remarks, looking utterly at ease.

You are anything but. Beside you, Jungkook is sipping pensively on his beer, and you are painfully aware of the heat radiating off his body. Jimin is still chattering away, rambling about whatever pops into his head, and you take the opportunity to sneak a glance at Jungkook. His face is cast in silvery luminescence from the moon, his mouth pulled down into a deep, contemplative frown—and you are once again forced to shake off thoughts of how nice it felt to have his mouth pressed against yours.

This is Jeon Jungkook, you tell yourself sternly. Friend, neighbor, and Jimin’s best friend in the entire universe. You kissed him, sure, but it was a mistake. A moment of weakness. And it won’t happen again.

You repeat that over and over, silently reciting it in your head like a mantra, until, at last, you finally start to believe it.

///

You’re in the middle of brewing a fresh pot of coffee after a lazy morning spent sleeping in when you spot Jungkook outside through the kitchen window. He’s standing in the yard in a sleeveless white tee, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand as he thoughtfully regards the row of hedges that serves as the property line between your house and the Jeons’ house next door. In his other hand is a shovel, and you can’t help the way your gaze automatically traces his exposed biceps, admiring the way they flex when he finally selects a spot and begins digging.

“Is the coffee done yet, Noona?”

Jimin’s voice yanks your attention away from your gardening neighbor, your vision overtaken by a mess of fluffy blond bedhead as he sneaks into the space between you and the counter and obnoxiously cuts you off from the pot of fresh brew. “Hey!” you protest, but Jimin just gives you a cheeky wink before grabbing a mug and pouring out a generous helping of piping hot coffee. After a moment’s thought, he pours you a mug as well, handing it over with an exaggerated bow.

You roll your eyes, but accept the warm cup nonetheless. Following him into the living room, you make yourself comfortable on the couch as he flops down onto the carpeted floor and turns on the television. Idly, he begins flipping through the channels in search for something to watch, and you endure random snippets of the morning news, a cheesy soap opera, and a series of infomercials before sighing and rising to your feet again. “I’m getting some food. Want some toast, Chimchim?”

“Mmm. Sure.”

Slowly, you meander your way back into the kitchen. Your mother is standing at the counter stirring sugar into her coffee, and you smile as you walk up to join her. “Morning, Mom.”

“Good morning, sweetie,” she says, taking a careful sip of her drink. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a log,” you reply with a grin. Grabbing the loaf of bread off the counter, you pull out a few slices and shove them in the toaster. “Do you want toast? I’m making some for me and Chimchim.”

“Just one slice for me,” she says, opening up the dish cabinet and pulling out three plates. Obligingly, you hand her one of the two freshly toasted slices and drop the other onto your plate. Popping some more bread into the toaster, you’re just about to grab the jam from the fridge when there’s a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it!” Jimin yells from the living room. You hear the soft pad of his footsteps in the hallway and the low creak of the front door as it swings open—and then your brother is snorting out a laugh at whoever is on your doorstep. “Dude, why are you covered in dirt?”

You’re beginning to have a sneaking suspicion as to who your guest is, and it’s confirmed when your brother’s question is answered.

“I’m helping Mom plant some hydrangeas out back,” Jungkook’s voice explains, his tall figure stepping into view a moment later. “Can you come help me lift the bushes?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “You could’ve just texted me.”

“Who knows if you would’ve answered?” Jungkook asks, laughing. “Knowing you, you’d just leave me on read. Besides—” and here he glances over at you, dark eyes glimmering with an emotion that you can’t quite pinpoint, “—I wouldn’t get to see two of my favorite ladies if I didn’t stop by.”

Jimin pretends to vomit at the line, but your mother laughs delightedly as Jungkook takes another step into the foyer and flashes her a winning grin. “Good morning, Jungkookie,” she greets him. “Have you eaten breakfast yet? {Name} was just making some toast, and we’ve got fresh coffee.”

Jungkook’s gaze slides over to you again, taking in the flannel pajama pants and oversized t-shirt you’re wearing. “Thanks, Mrs. Park,” he says, though his eyes never leave yours. “I ate already, but coffee sounds wonderful.”

You are beginning to feel increasingly vulnerable as Jungkook continues looking unblinkingly in your direction. Thankfully, your mom pipes up, drawing his attention away with a decisive clap of her hands. “Coffee it is, then!” she says brightly. “{Name}, why don’t you grab Jungkook a cup?”

Hurriedly, you turn toward the cabinets, trying your best to ignore Jungkook as he chats comfortably with your family. Your success is limited though, and you can feel his penetrating stare lingering on your back even as you fetch a mug and fill it up to the brim.

“Noona.” Jungkook’s voice comes from behind you, much closer than you remember him being. “Can I have some cream and sugar, please?”

Somehow, you manage to reply without stammering. “Yeah. Sure.” Dumping some of the excess coffee into the sink, you spoon in some sugar and give it a quick stir. Just as you turn toward the refrigerator for the cream, a strong arm cuts you off.

“I got it, Noona,” Jungkook murmurs, backing you up against the counter as he tucks the little white carton into your outstretched hand. His proximity has your heart skipping several beats, and you almost drop the carton entirely when he speaks again in a husky whisper, his mouth at the shell of your ear. “Just a little bit, please.”

You are acutely aware of the heat radiating off of his body, warming your back and flushing your cheeks. Quietly, you open up the carton and pour a splash of cream into his mug, the swirl of white melding with the dark liquid within. “Is—is that enough?”

Jungkook reaches around you to open up the silverware drawer, grabbing a spoon and giving the coffee a stir. “That’s perfect,” he purrs, his hot breath stirring gooseflesh on the back of your neck.

This close to him, it’s easy to forget where you are and who you’re with, but you somehow manage to regain enough of your senses to wrench away and reclaim your personal space. “G-great,” you stammer, picking up the mug and shoving it into his hands, determinedly ignoring the ripple of his arm muscles as he accepts. “Um. Chim. Did you want your toast?”

“Yes, please,” Jimin says, barely glancing up from where he’s made himself comfortable at the kitchen island, idly playing on his phone.

Your mother pokes her head around the doorframe of the adjoining laundry room, where she has clearly started a fresh load if the sound of splashing water is anything to go by. “Don’t make your sister do all of the work, Jimin. Go help her—it’s your food, isn’t it?”

Obligingly, Jimin hops off the stool and grabs his favorite jar of jam, joining you at the counter. He takes the slice of toast you offer him, slathering it messily and taking an enormous bite. “Thanks for breakfast, Noona,” he says, blowing you an exaggerated kiss. “Ready, Kook?”

Jungkook raises his mug of coffee in acknowledgement. “Ready.” Then his gaze flickers back to you, twinkling with silent mirth. “And Noona—thanks. The coffee’s delicious.”

You can’t find the words to answer. Silently, you watch him disappear out the front door with Jimin, following his dark head of hair as it bobs across the yard. His biceps flex as he gestures for Jimin to help him lift a hydrangea bush, and your eyes linger on the stretch of defined muscle, tracing the network of prominent veins running along his forearm before your brain can caution you to stop. It’s almost as if you’re on autopilot, and by the time you zone back in, your gaze has wandered too far south for your liking. Letting out an audible groan, you tear your eyes away from the mouthwatering view of his thick thighs and return to your now-cold breakfast. And you don’t think about Jeon Jungkook again, pushing the image of his broad shoulders and handsome face into the darkest recesses of your mind.

Or at least, that was the plan. Jimin comes back inside after about an hour, tracking mud through half the house before your mother reprimands him and orders him to take off his shoes. Jungkook, thankfully, chose to return to his own home as well, and you immediately banish the thought of him showering off all the sweat and grime that has no doubt accumulated on his toned body. You shove away the mental image of water slicking his golden skin and collecting in the hollows of his collarbones, and when your mind conjures up pictures of what lies south of his waist, you resist the urge to scream into the pile of freshly laundered pillowcases your mom presses into your arms.

You’re just about to head upstairs to scream into a real pillow when there’s another knock on your front door—a familiar cadence that you heard just this morning. And that’s when you realize—to your complete and utter dismay—that Jeon Jungkook isn’t done tormenting you yet. Not by a long shot.

“You again? You do realize that this isn’t your house, right?” you ask, swinging open the door and thanking whatever gods may be out there that your voice remains steady. Then you raise a brow, glancing down at his change in attire. “Wait, why are you wearing a suit?”

Jungkook gives you an infuriatingly impish grin. “Do I need a reason?” His hair is still damp from the shower, a stray lock flopping down across his forehead, and as you watch him brush it away absently, you notice that he’s holding something in his free hand.

“What’s that?” you ask curiously.

Footsteps sound from behind you, interrupting before he can answer. “Jungkookie?” your mother asks, appearing at the foot of the stairs. “I thought I heard your voice. Are you here for Jimin again?”

Jungkook flashes her a winning smile and raises the garment bag he’s holding. “No, I was actually hoping to get some advice. I’ve got my suit ready to go for graduation tomorrow, but I can’t decide which shirt looks better. My mom likes how I look in blue, but I wanted a second opinion from you and Noona.”

To your utter annoyance, your mother coos and gestures for him to come in. He’s already wearing the blue shirt—a pale periwinkle one that reminds you of a cloudless day—but your mom takes the garment bag out of his hand and unzips it to look inside. “What are your options?” she asks.

“Blue, red, and yellow,” Jungkook replies, pulling each shirt off its hanger and holding them up to his chest in turn. “What do you think, Mrs. Park?”

“The blue is lovely,” your mom says thoughtfully, straightening his collar. “But this shade of yellow looks nice too. A handsome young man like you—you really can’t go wrong with any of these.”

Jungkook grins and scratches behind his ear, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Thanks, Mrs. Park.”

The dryer chooses that moment to beep shrilly, signalling the end of its cycle, and your mother darts off to tend to it, leaving you and Jungkook alone in the living room.

“What about you, Noona?” Jungkook asks, just as you’re about to try and sneak out under the pretense of helping with the laundry. “Which shirt do you like?”

“Does it matter?” you ask. “It’s just going to be hidden underneath those horrible black trash bags they make you wear.”

He laughs. “Sure, but what about before and after? You know my mom’s going to want to take a million pictures.”

“Can’t argue there.” Resigning yourself to your fate, you put your stack of clean pillowcases down on the arm of the couch and cross your arms over your chest. “Show them to me again?”

Jungkook raises the yellow shirt, holding it up for a few seconds before swapping it out for the red. “Well?”

You pause to consider it. “Red,” you decide after some deliberation, pointing at your choice. It’s a deep crimson color—almost burgundy—and you rub the silky material between your fingertips before taking it and replacing it onto its hanger. Jungkook joins you with the yellow shirt, his arm bumping into yours as you both reach for the garment bag, and even though you flinch away from the contact, Jungkook doesn’t let you stray very far. A strong hand clamps down around your forearm, and you inhale sharply when he backs you up against the wall and cages you in with his solid body.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Jungkook looks thoroughly unfazed as he blinks a few loose strands of hair out of his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Jungkook—” you hiss, struggling to see over his shoulder if your mother has returned. “Get off me.”

“Come on, Noona,” Jungkook murmurs. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me. Ever since you got back—ever since we kissed—”

“A mistake,” you say, cutting him off with a finger to the lips and glancing around furtively to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “That was a mistake.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “Was it? Because I really wanted to kiss you, and I’m pretty sure you wanted to kiss me too. You kissed back, didn’t you?”

“Y-you—“ You clear your throat and try again, cringing at how shaky your voice comes out. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But Jungkook simply laughs. “Don’t I?” He inches closer until you’re chest to chest, his gaze darkening as it flickers downward and lands on your mouth. Your heartbeat quickens, thudding erratically in your ribcage. It would be so easy to push to your tiptoes and close the distance between your lips.

“God,” you huff. “You’re so—”

His other eyebrow rises to join the first. “I’m so—?” he presses, tilting his head as he awaits your answer. The loose lock of hair flops across his forehead again, and this time you cannot stop yourself from reaching up to brush it away.

“Shut up,” you hiss as your fingers drop down to wind into the soft hair at his nape. “Just shut up.”

And then you’re kissing him—really, really kissing him—pulling him down to your level and sliding your free hand up his infuriatingly toned chest.

“See?” Jungkook’s lips curl up into a smug smirk as he pulls away slightly, his warm breath fanning across your cheeks with every word. “I knew you were into me.”

“God, do you ever stop talking?” you retort, pushing him back until you have enough room to switch your positions and maneuver him against the wall.

Jungkook lets you pin him in place, blinking down at you lazily with his mouth still stretched into that maddening little smirk. “Only if you make me, Noona.” His hands slide down your sides, coming to a stop at your hips in an ironclad grip. “Only if you kiss me like that again.”

So you do. Your fingers tighten in his hair as you crush your mouth to his, and when his lips part you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook—still smirking—relaxes and lets you take control of the kiss, but his hands continue to wander. Before you know it, he’s already snuck underneath the hem of your shirt, rubbing warm circles into the soft skin of your waist. His lips move languidly against yours, his tongue careful and gentle in its exploration of your mouth, and you sigh when he tugs you closer. You’re pressed flush against him by this point, pinning him between your body and the wall, and neither you nor he have any intent to move anytime soon.

The sudden slamming of a door jerks you back to reality. Here you are, standing in the living room where anyone could walk by and see you kissing your brother’s best friend—again. Shakily, you pull away from Jungkook with your heart in your throat, putting as much space as you possibly can between your bodies. “Fuck,” you mutter. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. We can’t do this.”

Jungkook’s chest is heaving, his lips swollen and red. “{Name}—” he tries, but you shake your head and cut him off before he can continue.

“You need to leave,” you whisper.

“But—”

“Please,” you say, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. “Please, Jungkook. Just leave.”

Jungkook swallows, hard. And then, much to your relief, he picks up his garment bag, shoving both shirts back inside. “Okay,” he rasps. “I’ll go.”

Elsewhere in the house, you can hear your mother calling for Jimin. Your father is watching TV in his study—you can hear the low hum of voices and a laugh track. Your entire family is here.

And yet, you’ve never felt more alone as you watch Jungkook stride down the hallway and disappear out the front door.

///

Returning to your high school is odd. The hallways and classrooms are familiar, but they all seem smaller than you remember. And were the ceilings always this short? You aren’t sure. What you are sure of, however, is that Jungkook and his family are currently headed your way, with beaming smiles on their faces and colorful flower bouquets in hand. Greetings and congratulations are exchanged, and it isn’t long before you are face-to-face with Jungkook himself, a tight smile on his face as he meets your eyes.

“Hi, Noona.”

“Hi,” you reply. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

Now that the graduation ceremony is over, he’s taken off his robe to reveal the red shirt underneath. The silky material drapes over his torso and clings to the toned planes of his chest, and your fingers itch to run across the defined muscle. Swallowing down the urge, you instead gesture toward his parents, who are engaged in deep conversation with your own parents while Jimin chats with Junghyun off to the side. “I guess we’re all getting dinner after this, huh?”

He nods. “Yeah, at that one place downtow—“

“Jungkook! Jimin!” A feminine voice interrupts him mid-sentence, and you watch in surprise as both your brother and Jungkook are suddenly engulfed in a massive tangle of limbs. Immediately, you recognize Jisoo and Lisa—two girls you considered casual friends from your own high school days. The third girl in the trio of friends—Chaeyoung—is noticeably absent, but you don’t get a chance to question her whereabouts. “Can you believe it? We’re graduates!” Lisa is saying excitedly, still clutching tightly onto Jungkook’s shoulders. She’s pressed flush against him, her chest molded to his, and the sudden rush of jealousy that takes root in the pit of your stomach takes you aback with its ferocity.

Calm the fuck down, you instruct your pounding heart. Stop it, right now.

“Has Tae told you about the party tomorrow night?” Jisoo asks, breaking you out of your thoughts. “You guys better be there—and that means you, too, {Name}! It’s been forever since we’ve seen you!”

You clear your throat and attempt to smile. “Yeah, it’s been way too long. It’ll be nice to finally catch up.” Unwillingly, your gaze flickers back over to Jungkook and Lisa, doing your best to maintain a neutral expression when you notice the casual way his arm drapes over her shoulders.

Your attempts are in vain. Jungkook notices your stare immediately, a massive shit-eating grin spreading across his face. One eyebrow rises in a silent taunt, and you swear his grip around her tightens. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you instead turn back to Jisoo, finally voicing the question that’s on your mind.

“So, where’s Chaeyoung? I saw her during the ceremony, but haven’t seen her around since. She didn’t leave already, did she?”

“No, she’s still here,” Jisoo answers, exchanging a look with Lisa. Curiosity piqued, you watch her gaze dart over to Jungkook for a split second before returning to you, a tiny smile gracing her face once more. “She’s with her family right now, but she’ll be at the party tomorrow.”

“I’ll congratulate her there, then,” you say, returning her smile with one of her own. Silently, you wonder at the uneasy glance the two girls had exchanged, but decide not to press it, chalking it up to some senior year drama that isn’t any of your business.

“Well, we should probably get going,” Jisoo says after another beat. “We’re off to dinner.”

“We should be on our way too,” you agree, glancing over at where your parents are still chatting, having absorbed Junghyun into their conversation at some point. Bidding the two girls goodbye, you sidle over to join them, trying your best to subtly nudge your parents toward the door.

After what feels like an eternity, your parents finally decide that they’re ready for a change in scenery. The drive to the restaurant is blessedly short, much to the relief of your grumbling stomach, and you are more than grateful for the brief reprieve from Jungkook and his knowing smirk. It doesn’t last long, however, and you mentally brace yourself when you spot the Jeons’ car in the parking lot of the restaurant. Upon entering, you are quickly ushered to your reserved table where the Jeons are already waiting, and somehow in the shuffle you end up right between Jungkook and Junghyun, the former’s face dissolving into a satisfied grin as he watches you sit down.

Then he turns to Jimin, who’s seated on his other side. “Hey, man.”

You bristle at the blatant way he’s ignoring you. But two can play at that game, so you turn to Junghyun with a winning smile, laying a hand on his shoulder for good measure. The older Jeon brother is four years your senior, but despite the age difference, you’ve always gotten along well.

“Junghyun, I haven’t seen you in ages! How have you been?”

The elder Jeon grins and leans in to give you a hug. “Good, good—work’s insane, but that’s old news. What about you? How’s school going so far?”

You can feel Jungkook’s gaze on you, hot and heavy. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle under the weight of it, and you resist the urge to shiver. Instead, you give Junghyun’s bicep a final squeeze before pulling away, steadfastly ignoring the way Jungkook lets out a disgruntled hiss from between his teeth.

“School is good,” you tell Junghyun. “I’m trying to get all my general requirements out of the way early, so my first semester wasn’t very interesting. I took some more focused classes in the second, though, which made things infinitely better.”

The elder Jeon laughs. “Guess that means you’re on the right track then, huh?”

“Guess so,” you reply, laughing right along with him.

The server stops by to take drink orders, and your parents take it upon themselves to order food for the table as well. You continue chatting amicably with Junghyun as the server returns with a tray of water, sodas, and soju; beside you, Jungkook does the same with Jimin. The only break in conversation comes when the server—a pretty girl with a chirpy voice and a nametag that reads ‘Mina’—leans over to set a glass of Coke down in front of Jungkook. He thanks her with a crooked smirk and a low purr of gratitude that has her cheeks flushing pink, and it’s all you can do not to gape at him like a fish. The flirtatious quirk of his lips, the seductive tone—it all comes far too naturally to him, and you wonder for a moment just where the old Jungkook has gone. The Jungkook you used to know stammered every time he had to talk to an unfamiliar girl, and had trouble looking even you in the eye despite having known you since grade school.

But now, he’s nowhere to be found. The young man sitting beside you remains as calm as can be, shifting his body toward Mina so that he can request a straw.

“Of course, here you go!” Mina’s gaze lingers on his hand as he accepts the proffered straw, eyes widening when his fingers brush against hers lightly.

“Fast service,” Jungkook remarks, his voice dipping into a low, indolent drawl. “I like that.”

Mina giggles and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She’s clearly about to respond to him—flirt right back, undoubtedly—but your father stands up and taps his glass with a spoon before she can open her mouth. “I want to make a toast,” he says, and you send him a silent, heartfelt thank you when Mina wisely chooses to make herself scarce. “Congratulations to Jungkook and Jimin, our two rad grads!”

An audible groan rises up from your side of the table, where Jimin has buried his face in his hands. “Oh my god, Dad.”

“What?” your father asks innocently. “I really think you’re rad, grad!”

Jimin groans again, muffled by the sleeves of his jacket. “I want the earth to swallow me whole.”

Laughter all around. More toasts are given, and the bottles of soju scattered around the table slowly dwindle down to their last dregs. Junghyun picks up the one closest to him and fills up your glass for the fourth time, drawing a protesting whine from your lips as you try to cut him off. “Wait, that’s not fair! Pour some for yourself too!”

“Relax, we can always order more,” Junghyun says with a laugh, topping off your glass before glancing around to find Mina. Much to your irritation, she’s already headed your way, bearing loaded platters of meat and vegetables and wearing a bright smile that seems to only be directed to Jungkook.

“I hope you’re all hungry!” she chirps, coming to a stop between you and the subject of her affections. You swear she shoots you a dirty look over her shoulder before turning back to the table, her cheerful facade back in place as she smiles at Jungkook. “Where did you want me to put the meat?”

“Anywhere it’ll fit,” Jungkook tells her with a suggestive smirk, keeping his voice soft enough so that only you and she can hear.

Mina cannot hide her answering smile. Likewise, you cannot hide the way your nostrils flare, throat bobbing as you swallow down the ugly feelings bubbling up in your chest. You can feel Jungkook’s gaze roving across your skin, but you refuse to look at him, stubbornly facing the front as Mina distributes food around the table. As soon as she’s departed again—her fingers brushing across the back of Jungkook’s chair in the process—you’re up and out of your seat, heart beating faster than you’d like to admit.

“Restroom,” you say shortly by way of explanation. It’s thankfully empty when you arrive, and you immediately make a beeline toward the sink to splash some cold water on your cheeks.

It’s absurd—this snaking jealousy coiling in your belly and winding up between the slats of your ribcage. Straightening up, you give your reflection in the mirror a stern look, silently willing the feelings in your chest to abate. Gradually, your heartbeat slows into a regular rhythm, your cheeks cooling, and after waiting another two minutes, you decide that it’s been long enough. Drying off your hands, you exit the restroom and wind your way back to the table, keeping your pace leisurely even when Jungkook looks up and catches your eye. His expression is unreadable, and you valiantly ignore his burning gaze as you take a seat.

“How is everything?” you ask Junghyun, picking up a spoon and piling your plate with food from the nearest platter.

Junghyun pauses mid-bite to answer. His mouth opens, but you don’t catch his answer because there is a sudden, heavy weight on your knee. A warm palm caresses the skin exposed by the hem of your dress, slow and sensual and deliberate. Your eyes widen and your lips part, but no sound escapes. The rest of the table’s occupants fade away into the background, conversations and laughter dulling into a low drone. Beside you, Junghyun is still talking, but all you can hear is blood rushing through your ears.

And on your other side, Jungkook is smirking.

The bastard.

Gentle fingertips skim along your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Your entire body stiffens, but Jungkook refuses to relent. He’s still chatting with Jimin, chuckling at a joke you didn’t hear, and you wonder how he can remain so calm when you are anything but. Your heart takes off in a sprint, clattering wildly against your ribcage, and for a few moments you are absolutely positive that everyone at the table can hear. Any moment, one of your parents will look over and see how wide your eyes are and how warm your cheeks feel. Any moment, Jimin will look down and see his best friend’s arm snaking beneath the table and realize what’s happening.

And then Jungkook squeezes your thigh, and all thought flies out of your head, dissipating like fog in the sunlight. He’s growing increasingly bold, his fingers trailing up until he can trace the hem of your dress, teasing at the soft material. Your breath hitches in your throat, and Jungkook’s smirk widens. You can see him out of the corner of your eye, trying to hide his smugness behind his soju glass, and for a moment you’re tempted to throw his drink in his face.

But more than that—more than anything else right now—you want him to continue touching you.

He’s sliding beneath your dress now, inching down to the delicate skin of your inner thigh and tracing nonsensical patterns there. You grip the edge of the table as he trails closer and closer to the lace of your panties, knuckles turning white against the dark wood. It’s a wonder no one has noticed your flustered state yet, and you cast concerned glances at Junghyun and Jimin before Jungkook notices your inattention. Punishingly, he slides a single finger into your panties, snapping the lace against your skin and covering the sound with a cough that he buries in his elbow. He can’t hide the way you jolt in your seat though, your knee thudding against the table. Junghyun gives you a worried look, laying a hand on your shoulder as he asks if you’re okay, and you hurriedly nod. And underneath the table, Jungkook resumes his ministrations, languorous and soft and deliberately avoiding the place you need him most, as if he has all the time in the world.

There’s a growing damp spot between your legs. You can feel it seeping through the cottony material of your panties, sticking uncomfortably to your folds. Jungkook’s touch is whisper-soft, caressing along your thigh until your skin is tingling, and it’s all you can do to swallow down the whimper that’s bubbling up in your throat. He’s thoroughly enjoying this—you can tell—and you’re certain he can feel the way you tense up when he suddenly drags a single finger up your clothed slit. A low hiss escapes your parted lips, and in an instant, all eyes are on you.

“Noona?” Jimin asks curiously. “Something wrong?”

“I—” Your mind whirs, searching for an excuse. “It’s nothing. I’m fine. The, uh, sauce was just spicier than I was expecting it to be.”

You haven’t touched a single thing on your plate in minutes, but no one seems to notice your obvious lie. Conversation resumes, and you determinedly pick up your spoon again, intent on getting something more substantial in your belly than the fluttering butterflies that have taken up residence there.

“You sure you want to eat that, Noona?” Jungkook’s voice reaches your ears—a low, dulcet purr that sends electricity shooting down your spine. “You should probably drink some water to cool down.”

And before you can answer—before you even manage to reach for your water glass—he’s slipped his hand into your panties, the warm pad of his thumb pressing experimentally against your clit. The slight pressure has you gasping, your heart pounding hard enough to leap out of your chest as you drop your spoon. Your hands drop down to your lap—one gripping the edge of your chair while the other finds its way around Jungkook’s wrist, and you aren’t sure whether you’re trying to stop him or spur him on. His arm muscles flex underneath your fingertips, and that’s all the warning you get before he angles his hand, a lone finger sinking inside your drenched entrance.

“Oh, fuck.” You can’t stop the strangled curse that escapes your lips, an airy hiss from behind clenched teeth. Your grip on Jungkook’s wrist tightens, but it doesn’t seem to dissuade him at all as he begins a leisurely pace, sinking deeper into your cunt with each thrust.

Luckily, no one hears your whimper. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you bite back the sounds threatening to spill out and instead focus on maintaining as neutral an expression as you can muster. Beneath the table, Jungkook remains relentless. Even when your mother looks over and addresses him directly, he doesn’t cease his ministrations, keeping both his tone and his pace even as he responds.

“Jungkookie, you’ve barely touched your pork belly. Are you full already?”

“Stuffed,” Jungkook replies smoothly. He punctuates the word by adding a second finger, and you almost bang your knee on the table again, your eyes going wide at his audacity.

Your mother pushes the platter of meat closer to him anyway. “No need to be polite, honey. Here, eat up.”

Obligingly, Jungkook picks out a few pieces with his free hand and piles them on his plate. “Thanks, Mrs. Park,” he says as he brings some to his mouth. “It’s delicious.”

Satisfied, your mother turns her attention elsewhere. Jungkook returns his to you, and you almost groan aloud when his thumb brushes against your clit again, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bud before he sheathes both fingers inside you once more. There’s a growing heat coiling in the pit of your stomach by this point, lighting every single one of your nerves on fire. Your body is screaming for release, and Jungkook seems more than eager to give it to you. He’s freed his wrist from your grip, leaving you to clutch helplessly at the table as he angles his fingers upward. No doubt he’s searching for the spot that will have you seeing stars, and you know he’s found it when a sudden burst of pleasure spikes through you. Your mouth falls lax, and Jungkook grins, thoroughly satisfied.

There’s something building inside you, something that has your tummy tensing and your toes curling in your shoes. Jungkook’s fingers dig deep, his palm rubbing against your clit with every thrust, and it takes every remaining ounce of your self-control to resist the urge to rock your hips into his hand. A bit more of that delicious friction, and you’ll be falling over the edge. You know it, and so does Jungkook if the smirk on his face is anything to go by.

And then a voice is pulling you back to reality, a warm hand settling on your shoulder. You flinch at the contact, your startled gaze flying up to Junghyun’s, and balk when you see him staring at you with equal parts amusement and concern.

“I—what?” you stammer. “Did… did you say something?”

Beneath the table, you feel Jungkook’s fingers retreat, leaving you empty and aching for release. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook wipe his glistening hand on his napkin, a frown that can only be described as petulant settling onto his face.

“Whoa, relax!” Junghyun drags your attention back to him, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I just wanted to say goodbye. I have to be up early for work tomorrow, so I’m driving back into the city tonight.”

“Oh!” It takes you a few seconds to process his words. “Right, yeah. Have a safe drive back. It was good to see you.”

“Ditto,” he replies, flashing you a warm grin. “But hey, are you all right? You’ve been a little weird the whole night. Was it the food?”

Gratefully, you seize upon the excuse. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. I think maybe something isn’t sitting quite right in my stomach, but I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about it.”

He nods and leans in for a hug. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”

“You too. Bye, Junghyun.”

With the elder Jeon brother’s departure, everyone else quickly decides that it’s time to disperse as well. You adamantly refuse to look in Jungkook’s direction as your parents fight over the bill, focusing your goodbyes on Mr. and Mrs. Jeon even when he glances your way with a knowing little smirk and a soft murmur of, “Bye, Noona.”

You can’t look at him. Not when every movement reminds you just how damp your panties are, your core begging for relief. Not when he’s waggling his fingers in farewell—the gesture anything but innocent. “Bye,” you warble weakly, before fleeing to the car.

The memory of his fingers burns fresh in your mind later that night as you lie in bed, your hand stuffed down your panties and working furiously to find that sweet, sweet relief.

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #kpop scenarios #brother's best friend!au #brother's best friend au #lia writes

[oliviajdjarin]

Chapter 5: An Old Friend

Warnings: this one is mostly fluff, so I don’t think there are any warnings. Maybe references to past trauma? If I’m missing one please lmk!

Author’s Note: Chapter 5!! Enjoy!!

(gif gotten from javierian)

After the little…. predicament with the last mission…. you couldn’t deny that you had gotten closer with the anonymous man you had been living with.

You made pleasant conversation, never too deep, but you felt more comfortable in his company. You had felt the same way with Peli… but this was different.

Your heart rate would increase whenever he would talk to you, and your mood would increase as well. You were excited to get to know him! This man who had taken you in knowing absolutely nothing about you. The least you could do was make him feel comfortable around you, and that didn’t even feel like enough.

It made you happy when he would ask you questions, like “did you enjoy the dinner last night” or “how did you sleep.”

It felt good to have someone be curious and care about you in your present state, not just your past or your abilities. And you loved to ask him questions too.

If you were lucky, he would tell you a story about an old job he did, and those were the best. It was like getting little pieces to a much larger, beautiful puzzle. A puzzle you prayed you would see finished by the end of your time with him.

The best interaction you had, by far, was when he finally ate with you.

It had been a nice day. You guys had stopped for supplies and it felt good to stretch your legs a little bit.

You found a great little food stand that had fresh meat and vegetables, and you knew you could make a delicious meal out of it. You shared your excitement with Mando, who nodded and helped you carry the supplies back to the crest.

Once you made it back and put all the supplies down in the incredibly tiny kitchen, you went to work.

You used amazing spices that you hadn’t tasted in weeks on the meat, and made sure to brown the vegetables in the same pan you used for the meat. That way they would soak up the amazing rendered flavors that the meat left over. After that, you put it all together in a pot and poured savory chicken broth in to mix the flavors.

Your stomach was grumbling at the smell alone.

The kid was hungry too, you could tell by the way he stared at you while you worked, so you made sure to save a hefty serving for him when you poured the meal into serving bowls.

You gave the little guy his serving and set yours right next to his on the dining table. You then carried Mando’s serving to the cockpit to give it to him.

You had an idea…. and you hated how you got your hopes up that he would agree.

You stood behind the pilot’s chair for a moment, until you finally took a deep breath and said, “Dinner is ready.”

Mando spun around in his chair and took the bowl from you.

“This smells amazing. Thank you,” he said and got up to walk to his room. He always ate in there because of his creed, and you felt a pull on your heartstrings every time you would think about him eating all alone. You wanted him with you and the kid. You felt full when you three were together, and Mando eating alone felt like you were leaving him out. You knew what that felt like, and you never wanted to inflict it on others.

This was it. This was the moment.

“Wait,” you said, and he turned back around to you, still holding the bowl in his hands.

Every time he looked at you straight on you felt your nerves creep up your spine and your hands become fidgety. You felt cheesy and stupid. This man was basically your roommate, not some partner you needed to impress.

But why does it feel that way?

“I uh… I was thinking that maybe.. we could figure out a way to eat together? I feel bad that you have to eat alone in your room, so maybe I could.. I don’t know.. turn around? And get the kid to do that as well? If you aren’t comfortable with that I totally get it, I just.. feel really bad that you don’t have anyone to eat with,” you say.

Of course he will say no. Why would he trust someone to just “turn around?” As if they wouldn’t want to catch a glimpse?

Your hopes were sinking every moment he stood in silence, and you weren’t liking your chances.

He looked down at his bowl and then back up at you, and these were the moments you wished he wasn’t so good at hiding his emotions. You wanted to see and feel what he was thinking, but he was impenetrable. He was like a stone wall, and you hated it.

He sighed, obviously thinking about what you said, and you just waited. You didn’t want to pressure him anymore. He can make his own decisions, and you can deal with them.

“If I do that,” he says, “you have to swear to me… you won’t turn around. And you won’t let the kid turn either.”

Your eyes widened.

It worked, you think. How the hell did that work?

“I swear Mando. I will not turn around on any circumstance, and I will do everything in my power to keep the kid at bay. If he doesn’t want to cooperate, I will eat with him away from you just to be safe. I promise,” you say and he nods.

“Ok,” he mumbles, and you smile at him. A genuine smile. A smile that says all the things you wish you could say, but are too afraid.

You hoped he wasn’t as good at reading people as you were.

“Ok. Let’s go,” you say and he follows you back to the table.

“Ok kid. You’ve gotta turn around for me ok,” you say to the kid and he babbles something incoherent.

“Thank you for the compliment on the food. I’ve known that recipe for a while,” you say with a giggle while turning his chair around.

You turn yours around as well and grab your bowl to set on your lap.

You and the child are now facing away from Mando, eating your dinner, and you couldn’t be happier.

Your belly slowly becoming more full calms your excitement, until you hear a small hiss and the sound of metal scratching the floor.

It’s off. Mando’s helmet is off.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes.

He did it. He really trusts me to do this.

You hear the sounds of him eating the soup and you swear this couldn’t get any better.

You go back to eating with a huge grin on your face, and you keep the child in your peripheral vision to make sure he doesn’t turn either.

You had connected with him through the force a couple of times since your first meeting. You had gotten better at reading the little one, and you could see just a faint look of understanding in his body language.

He didn’t waver. He didn’t squirm. He just ate as still as he could, and you were so grateful.

Seriously? This was all it took for the kid to behave, you wondered to yourself

Mando mumbling, “This is really good,” shatters through your thoughts like ice.

Mando’s voice. His true voice, just hit your ears for the first time ever, and you wanted it burned into your brain forever. You never wanted to hear anything different.

It wasn’t just the sound of it, but the feeling. You could hear the gratitude in his voice and it sent chills down your arms.

It was him. His voice. Something no one could ever replicate. It was truly his own.

“Thank you,” you say and take another sip of your soup. Your appetite has basically vanished at this point, and your ears just yearn to hear more.

“I think the kid is enjoying himself,” you say, and you pray you get Mando’s rarest gem of all in its rawest form.

And you do.

He gives a soft chuckle of a laugh. “Yeah, I think so too,” he says and takes another bite.

If you dropped dead right now, you would die a happy woman.

How do you even iterate what that felt like? What it felt like to hear this big, scary, metallic man give off something so vulnerable to you.

Had other people heard this at all? Maybe not even since he was a child?

Your hands started to shake from the endorphins and you finished your bowl. You took the kid’s bowl as well and placed it inside your own and just sat. Just soaked in this happy moment that you never wanted to end.

If only you knew how big of a smile Mando had on his face behind you.

~~*~~

A few days pass and the energy on the ship is the best it’s ever been.

You had eaten dinner together every day since then, and you wondered how something so simple could make you so….happy.

Mando was at his pilot’s chair (as usual) and he called for you to come to the cockpit.

Luckily it was pretty late, so the kid was passed out.

You made your way to the cockpit and saw that Mando had an image broadcasting from the ship’s holoprojecter. The image was of a man with a darker skin tone and flecks of grey in his hair. He looked like he had been through a lot, as his clothes were slightly tattered and ripped.

“I’d like you to hear this,” Mando said before pressing play.

The man in the image proceeded to explain how ranks of ex- imperial guards were ruling over his city and they needed Mando’s help to take them down. He proposed that Mando return to Nevaro and bring the child as bait, and once they got near the client, Mando would kill him.

The man said that if Mando succeeded, he would have his name cleared in the Guild and he can keep the child.

The clip ended and Mando turned to face you.

“What do you think,” he asked, and you looked to the floor with knit eyebrows, thinking.

“Bringing the child as bait is incredibly risky, but if you trust that man, I don’t see a problem with it. You can take down ex- Imperial guards no problem,” you say, and he nods.

“I’m just confused how you even know that man,” you say.

“He’s… an old friend,” Mando says, and you don’t like the sound of that.

“We kinda got off on the wrong foot last time we talked,” he said, and you nodded.

“So… he is saying you get to keep the child if you succeed, but we have had him this whole time?”

“There’s something you need to know,” he says, and he goes to explain how he really got the child, and how he has been being hunted by the Empire this whole time.

Throughout the explanation, you listen intently, nodding and keeping eye contact with Mando.

You would think that the fact that the Empire had been on your tracks the whole time would scare you, but it doesn’t.

It fuels you. You three were pissing the Empire off, and there was nothing you liked doing more.

You felt powerful. Unstoppable. For once you were making them mad, not the other way around. And you liked it.

You are not angry at Mando, not even a little. You feel relieved.

This perfect man who had given you nothing but happiness….wasn’t perfect. You had so many demons, and you found someone who did too. Someone who did something bad for the right reasons. You found a good person, who did the right thing because it was right. He had a good heart rather than an ego, and he let you in on something so precious to him. This child.

And you were not gonna let the galaxy rip him away.

Once he finished, you took a deep breath. You looked at him and smiled.

“You know…I am pretty relieved Mando,” you say, and he cocked his head to the side slightly in confusion.

“I thought you looked like that under the helmet,” you say, gesturing with your head to the sleeping green creature behind you, and you laugh.

Mando’s shoulders relax, and his grip on the arm rests of the pilot’s chair softens.

“Seriously Mando, it’s ok. You did the right thing. 99% of people would have just dumped the kid and left. I am proud of you. I am proud to be on this mission,” you say.

“If saving a baby from the Empire gets me arrested, then by all means let them arrest me.”

Mando’s shoulders shake a little. It probably felt incredible to get this off his chest. He had been keeping this from you for a while.

I wonder if eating with me helped him trust me more?

“Ok,” he breathes out of his helmet. “Good. I was hoping you’d stay.”

“Oh I’m staying alright,” you say and he gives a breathy laugh.

“But this is your decision Mando. I am up for going or staying. I know you understand there are risks in both options,” you say, referring to the offer the man on the recording had given you earlier.

“Whatever you want to do. I trust you,” you say and his head snaps back to make eye contact with you.

You give him a weak smile, and allow what you said to sink through his beskar and into his skin.

I. Trust. You.

After a moment, he turns back to his controls and stares into space.

If you’re being honest, you have no idea what you would choose. If you don’t go, the kid will keep being hunted and at risk. If you do go, that man could betray you and get you all killed.

Mando is in deep thought, as are you, and you jump a little when he starts punching coordinates into the controls.

“Sorgan? Why Sorgan?” you ask.

He turns to face back to you, and you can only imagine the cocky smirk he has on his face.

“An old friend.”

Tag list:

@leahkenobi @pinkninja200 @bookloverfilmoholic @farfromjustordinary

#din djarin #mando #din djarin imagine #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian

[tomtenadia]

A Little Braver - 20

Even if I had a crazy day at work I did manage to do my Monday post as promise... but if you notice typos...I am sorry. I read it and edited but my brain  left with the boat tonight (I work for a ferry company, hence the joke)

This is the first of a few chapters where our bird boy is away and Hamel is causing problems to our gang.

Also, Aelin tries to cook... well... you can imagine how did that go.

--------------------

After the trip to the base Aelin had taken home a very sad Elide and then got back to her own place and cried herself to sleep while hugging Rowan’s pillow. It was very late in the afternoon and it was her day off and she had no intention of leaving her bed.

Her head was buried under the pillow when she heard her phone buzz so she scrambled to get it and her heart raced when she saw it was Rowan.

“Hi,” she said with a croaked vice.

“Are you okay?” Rowan was already in fussing mode.

“Yes I just woke up.” She heard a lot of background noise “where are you?”

“Vulture’s row.” He activated his camera and showed Aelin the view of a fully functional flight deck. “Uh, wait.” He pointed the camera stern of the ship and showed Aelin a jet landing.

“That was so cool.” He turned the camera to him and she saw him with his sunglasses and his hair messed up by the wind. Then he switched off the camera and they went back to normal.

“Are you there yet?”

“We are skirting around. We still have a few hours before we are fully in enemy territory.”

Then Aelin heard a siren of some sort and Rowan swore “I’ll call you as soon as I can again. I need to scramble. Love you.”

“Be safe.” She managed to add before he closed the phone call.

She collapsed again in bed then decided to call Lysandra and Elide and organise a day out the three of them shopping. Elide needed cheering up as well.

The next day Aelin, Elide and Lysandra had decided to have a girls’ afternoon to cheer up the two ladies who had their boys away. They met at the entrance of the shopping centre and Aelin went to hug Elide first of all “how are you doing?”

“Lorcan gave me a brief call yesterday telling me they were on the ship and on their way, then he had to go.”

Aelin sighed “today we don’t think about our far away boys.”

“And maybe you can buy some very sexy lingerie as a present for when Lorcan comes back.” Commented Lysandra and Elide blushed.

“What’s the point?” Asked Elide “you are taking it off anyway.”

Aelin laughed and took Elide’s hand “remember the dress I had at the navy party?”

Elide nodded “it was stunning.”

“I was not wearing anything underneath. It drove Rowan crazy.”

“I have done it a few times with Aedion and I agree with Aelin. The sex afterward has been amazing.”

“How do I learn all these things?”

“Stick with us and we will teach you.”

“Let’s go for some food,” said Aelin, “I haven’t eaten yet.”

“How will you survive now without your sexy chef in the house?” Asked Lysandra.

“Oh, I’ll just go back to my usual order in and ready meals.” Shrugged Aelin who had no intention of even trying to cook anything.

Lysandra took Aelin’s hand and walked toward a restaurant “come on Elide, let’s get this girl properly fed.”

The three women got into the restaurant and sat down and Aelin started perusing the menu eager for some decent food and not long after they placed their order. Lys was right, without Rowan she would be lost when it came to food. Rowan had properly spoiled her.

“How are the wedding preparations going?” Asked Aelin.

Lysandra and Aedion’s wedding was not far away and she was excited to see her best friend finally having her happy ending.

“We are getting there.”

“Do you have a dress yet?” Asked Elide all excited.

Lysandra took out her phone and showed them her dress.

“That is gorgeous. Aedion will not be able to keep his eyes off you during the ceremony.”

“That is the plan.” Lysandra smiled wickedly “but the biggest question is who is going to be next?”

“My money is on Aelin,” chimed Elide “Lor is not emotionally ready for such a step. You and the captain on the other hand…” her eyebrows flicked in amusement.

“She is right, and the two of you basically live together.”

“Yes and no.”

“What do you mean?” Lysandra was confused by the admission.

“We haven’t covered the subject yet. He still has his flat and some of his stuff there. Even after I recovered he never left and I never pushed because I like having him around.”

“Will you ask him to move in officially?”

Aelin sighed “maybe. When he comes back. I don’t know. Things are going well and I don’t want to mess it up.”

“Do you think he’ll say no?” Asked Lysandra. Brainstorming with her friend was always helpful and recently she hadn’t done it enough.

“I don’t think so. But living together is as far as we can go just now. For many, many reasons.”

“Is it because of Sam?”

“Only partially.” She was not going to tell her friends Rowan’s story. She had no right. So she remained vague hoping the two friends would get the hint and not ask anymore questions.

“Still, my money is on you two.” Added Lys “Elide is right, Lorcan does not seem to have yet the emotional ability to commit.”

“Hey, he kissed her in public. And yesterday at the base he seemed quite nice to her.”

“Quite?”

“I don’t know, I was concentrating on Rowan I just cast a brief glance at them.” Replied Aelin.

“He was super kind.” Added Elide taking biting on a breadstick.

Their food finally arrived and Aelin was the first to tuck in.

“Does the captain know about your crazy eating habits?” Asked Lysandra amused.

“Yes,” replied Aelin, enjoying her food “he calls me his bottomless pit. When we had our first date he joked that he might need a mortgage just to feed me.”

Elide laughed “Sam used to joke and say that he needed a second job just for feeding you.”

“I move a lot,” replied Aelin with a grin “I have a big appetite.”

“I think it must be a firefighter thing. Aedion is the same.” Lysandra grinned “and we burn a lot of calories.”

“Eeewwww, I did not need to know that. He is my cousin.”

“Oh come one, as if you and hot captain do not engage in illicit activities. The whole squad guessed that the other night you two had sex in the shower after the call at the club.”

“I was just giving him a special goodbye.” Her hand gently brushed the spot where she could feel his tags. She did a bit of research and she was happy she had a copy. Having the real one meant he was gone and she could not think about that.

“Are you okay?” Asked Lysandra worried at her sudden change of expression.

“Yeah.” She added flatly, then gave them a big smile. It was their day off she should not spoil it.

“So, are we taking Elide lingerie shopping?” Aelin teased trying to raise the spirits of her friend.

“Yes, it’s going to be fun.” Added Lysandra all excited.

“Girls… there is really no need. What I have is okay. Lorcan is not fussed.”

Aelin took a bite of her food “oh but we will make sure he is fussed and also that he knows how sexy you are so he does not decide to…. wander.”

“How do I keep him? I am nowhere near as interesting as the two of you. He might get bored of me very soon.”

Aelin stared at her friend and it broke her heart that her horrible past left her with no confidence at all. Elide was brilliant at her job and she was an intelligent woman and she was positive she would make quite a few heads turn.

“Don’t you say something like that ever again.” Lysandra preceded her. She was even more protective of Elide than her “I work with you everyday and I know how awesome you are and I am positive that if we go to a club you’d have your share of men looking at you.”

Aelin nodded.

They finished their meal and went back wandering around the shopping centre and visited a few shops. In one of them Aelin wandered in the male department and spotted a couple of lovely jumpers. One of them was a deep green and looked very cozy and she realised she had no idea of when it was Rowan’s birthday.

Silly question, you never told me your birthday. She sent the text and knew a reply might take a long time to come. She grabbed the jumper and tried to decide whether it was the right size for him.

“That is a lovely jumper.” Said Lysandra joining her at her side “already thinking about useful presents? You are like an old married couple.”

Aelin laughed.

“But I think this one is really nice and the man seems to look amazing in green.”

“I am just wondering about the size.”

Lysandra grabbed the tag “this one will fit Aedion so you should be fine.”

A moment later Elide rejoined them, her face beetroot red “I feel so silly.” And showed the girls her bag with her lingerie purchase.

“Hey, Ace and I are joking. You didn’t have to buy it if it makes uncomfortable.” But Elide surprised them “I will buy just one pair for now and I’ll see how it goes.”

Lysandra laughed “Aelin is already buying presents married couple style and you are still in the sexy lingerie stage. My girls have grow up so much.”

“And what stage are you and Aedion?” Asked Aelin with a grin.

“The one where I go to the grocery store and I phone him to ask him if he wants beef or chicken for dinner.”

The rest of the afternoon went swimmingly and she loved spending the day with Lys and Elide. They didn’t do that nearly enough.

Now she was back home and in the kitchen trying to accomplish her new mission. She had bought a cooking book for beginners and she had decided she was going to try and cook dinner. Lysandra had told her to start with something as simple as a stir fry. So she had bought a few more kitchen supplies and a pan Lys had told her was called a wok. She had mused why she could not use the pot she already had and Lys had rolled her eyes. Aelin had also bought the ingredients and now they were all lined up in front of her, the book open and a fire blanket and a small fire extinguisher on the counter just to be safe it was her cooking after all. She took a photo and sent it to Rowan then started working. When it got to cut the onions she cursed herself for deciding to cook.

Her phone rang and put it on speaker “hey,” her voice sounded strained and Rowan went in full fussing mode “are you okay?”

“Yeah, cutting those blasted onions.” She sniffled.

Over the line she heard Rowan roar with laughter “what are you making?” He asked as soon as he stopped laughing.

“A chicken stir fry. Lys said it’s easy to do.”

“Why are you putting onions in it?”

“Because I like them, mr I know how to cook.”

“I even bought a wok. Apparently I cannot use my pot.” She added as while throwing the ingredients in the pan.

“Seriously, when I get back we are going to have a massive overhaul of your kitchen.”

And Aelin’s heart raced in joy. It sounded like he had no intention of going back permanently to his flat. Maybe when he got back she should ask him the question after all.

“Aelin, it’s a miracle you have cutlery and two plates.” She could hear the humour in his voice.

“How are things going?”

“I just came off patrol. I am on my way to my quarters to get changed. I don’t have the most appealing scent just now.”

“Shower without me, so what? Two minutes max?”

“That’s about it. The water supply is not endless.”

He finally got to his quarters and collapsed on his bed after removing his boots then lay down and activated the camera.

“Hi sexy,” she did the same and placed the phone against the wall in front of her so he could see her as well.

“I don’t see any smoke. That’s a good start, considering it’s you.”

Aelin gave him the middle finger and then showed him her small fire extinguisher “I am prepared.” She took a bit of her food “for now it tastes edible, but not as good as yours.”

She saw him give her a smug smile and her instinct was to wipe it off his face with a kiss.

“The answer is July 16th, by the way.”

Aelin looked at him not understanding his statement.

“My birthday? You asked me earlier on.”

That she did “That’s two months away.”

“And when it’s yours?”

“May 3rd.”

“Aelin, that’s in two days.” He added sadly “and it sucks I can’t be there.”

“Lys has planned to drag me out with the girls of the firehouse. It’s also her bachelorette party. I have to go.”

“I almost forgot they were getting married. That came around quickly.”

Aelin laughed “not when you have been around them for years.” Aelin placed her food in a plate and moved to the sofa, taking her phone with her.

“When is the wedding?”

“This weekend. The weather is meant to be gorgeous which is a good thing since they are getting married outdoors.”

She heard him sigh “I really, really wish I could be there with you.”

She did not add that she had been thinking the same. So she just took a bite of her food.

“Edible?”

“Fuck no,”Aelin spit the morsel back in the plate “I must have done something wrong with the spices. It tastes horrible.” She grabbed her house phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Clearly ordering in. I am not eating this.”

Rowan rolled his eyes “you should practice more.”

“Why bother? I am clearly not cut for cooking. I am hopeless.”

“Do I need to tell you the amount of times my food sucked when I was still learning to cook decently? I got better with trial and error.”

Aelin huffed “fine I’ll try again on my next day off.” Then she put her house phone down after placing the order “I thought you were going for a shower?”

“Eager to get rid of me?”

“No, I just was hoping to have a peek at that nice arse of yours.”

Rowan laughed “If you behave.”

“Do you have the quarters all for yourself?”

Rowan nodded in the screen “the perks of rank. Gav is sharing with Vaughan. The twins are on their own.”

“Is that wise?”

“This carrier has a nice number of female officers. No one wants to go anywhere near that room.”

“Remember I am jealous, Whitethorn.”

“Some of them are middies on their snot cruise, so very young. The others… still not interested.”

“Who is a middie?”

“It’s short for midshipman or woman. They are the lowest ranking officers in the navy, just above the cadets. And a snot cruise is their first time out at sea on a proper mission.”

“Are your students middies as well?” She loved asking all those questions that might have sounded silly to him, but he never made her feel stupid for asking. He was always happy to answer.

“No, my students are called pilot officers. Then they become Flying officers, then flight lieutenants which is what the twins are, then Vaughan is our squadron leader, Gav is the Wing commander and then you have me.”

“Sounds so complicated.” She definitely needed to do more research to understand his job a bit better.

“It’s like you guys. Aedion looks after one rig as a lieutenant, you are the captain and are in charge of the operations of both at the same time and Dorian will be in charge of all the engines in case multiples houses are involved. Am I correct?”

Aelin nodded impressed.

“Same for us. Vaughan looks after our small squadron, Gav two or three squadrons, which is called a wing. I look after a unit composed of different wings and then Lorcan plays god in the CIC.”

“Now it makes more sense. So I could be your wing commander.”

“Having you fly with us would be insane. We would not concentrate on the enemy.”

Aelin laughed, then the buzzer of the door went off “just a sec, buzzard, food is here.” She went to get her food and plopped back on the sofa resuming her call with Rowan.

“Is your ship nice?”

“I served on her before. Not as swanky as the new one, but she is decent enough.” Rowan sat back up “hey, I really need to take that shower and then it’s chow time. If I miss it I don’t eat until tomorrow morning.”

“Go. Sorry for keeping you.”

“You did not such things. I have been looking forward to call you.”

“I love you.” She told him, sending back the tears that had started forming.

“I love you too, Fireheart.”

Aelin waved him goodbye and went back eating while tears had begun flowing down her cheeks. It had only been two days and she hoped it would get easier being so far apart.

***

The next morning she arrived at the station bright and early, got changed and went straight to Aedion “Are you ready?”

The man nodded “Peter is covering you until we get back from the police and I got Manon in charge of the second rig.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

They arrived at the police headquarters not long after and Chaol met them at the reception area “Hi guys,”

“Here’s my favourite cop.” Aelin went to hug Chaol.

“Just because I keep reporters away from you.”

She gave him a huge smile back.

“Come, detective Ytger is waiting for you.” They followed behind him in silence and stopped in front of a door and knocked.

A female voice told them to go in and once in the office Aelin recognised the same woman at one of the arson cases a few months back.

“Captain, Lieutenant, we meet again.” The three shook hands and the detective sat back down and invited both cousins to do the same.

The detective threw a thick file on the desk “you two have just made a very powerful enemy.”

“The man is a bastard.”

“Believe me, captain, when I tell you that Hamel has been a thorn in my side for a very long time.”

“And why is he still at large? Two people died and the man did not care.”

The woman pinched the bridge of her nose “he has very powerful lawyers and always gets away with murder. We have been working on him for a long time but whatever piece of proof we bring in is never enough to get him behind bars for good.” Aelin could sense the tiredness in her voice.

“Did you close his club as I asked?”

“We did, but he owns almost all the ones in Orynth. And so much more.”

“Can’t you arrest him for murder?” voiced Aedion.

“No, his lawyers showed us the papers of the latest inspections and the place was deemed to code. He blamed the company that did the inspections for lying to him.”

“Detective, I hope you are aware that is a bullshit.” Said Aedion, fury burning under his surface.

“I am well aware.” The woman added almost apologetically “the closure is temporary. It will not stick too long.”

Aelin almost swore “Have the other clubs been checked?”

“We did some undercover recon but we don’t have the full skillset to know what’s up to code.”

Aelin smiled wickedly “well, it’s a good thing that you have a firefighter whose birthday is very soon and was planning to go to a club.”

“You are not dragging Lys and the others in this.”

“Calm down. Hamel does not know them, they are safe. I will wear a disguise.”

“I don’t like the sound of this.” He protested again but he knew Aelin could be stubborn.

“I am coming too.”

“No,” said Aelin “One: Hamel remembers how you lifted him up and he will not forget such act. Two: it’s Lys bachelorette party as well. So, no.” she paused “you can take the guys to another one.”

“What happens if we find both clubs not up to specs?” Asked Aelin worried that it was going to be a lost cause.

“We can start by closing them and gather a bit more time to have more material against him. We have other leads. We just need something significant.”

They discussed with the detective which clubs to hit and they left.

Once in the car Aedion made his displeasure quite clear “I do not like this.”

“Neither do I, but the police has no idea what to look for.” Replied Aelin.

“We are not cops.”

“And they are not firefighters.”

After that they drove in silence all the way back to the station.

***

Two days had passed and Aelin’s birthday had arrived. She arrived at the station and laughed at the scene. One of the rigs was covered in balloons and a sign saying happy birthday, cap and the second rig was for Aedion and Lysandra and the front of the truck had a long white sheet over it that looked like a bridal veil and two massive papier mache rings attached to the front.

She laughed and joined Ansel and Manon who were doing some checks “did everyone see this?” She pointed at the engine and truck. The two women nodded.

“Then let’s clear it. I do not want to go on a call in that state.”

“Yes, captain.” Said the two women in unison. 

The locker room was empty and she sat down on the bench and looked at her phone again. She was hoping for a text from Rowan or a call but nothing yet. She kept telling herself that he was busy and probably out flying. She removed his dog tags and hung them in the locker and stood and stared at the pictures she had hung up. It was some of the photos they had taken in Doranelle. With her finger she brushed a photo of him. He was standing and looking up to the sky. His eyes closed and a small smile painted on his face and his hair all tousled after she had messed it up. It was one of her favourite photos of him. “Be safe, please.” And she blew him a kiss.

Aelin got dressed and then reached the team who was having breakfast in the communal room.

“She is here.” Shouted Nox happily.

Luca grabbed her arm and pulled to the table where a cake was waiting for her.

“Chocolate hazelnut cake. Your favourite.” He cut a slice and offered it to her.

Aelin grabbed it eagerly “mmmmm”

“Get a room you two,” shouted Ress.

A moment later Manon came through with a man carrying a large box “he says this is for you, captain.”

“Thanks, Manon.”

Aelin grabbed the box from the courier and sat down on the sofa. It came from a shop in Orynth. Strange. She opened the box and when she peeked inside she saw a massive stuffed toy. Once she lifted it she realised it was a bird and she had a feeling she knew who it was from.

“A bird? Why a bird?” Asked Lysandra.

Aelin smiled, grabbed the stuffed toy and walked to her bunk to be alone when she noticed the letter inside.

Once alone she sat down on her bed and placed the bird at her side and read the letter

Happy birthday, fireheart.

I wish I could be there for you but I can’t and it hurts more than I thought possible.

If you are reading this, you have met your new friend. I could not find a buzzard but a toy shop in Orynth had a white-tailed hawk and since I have silver hair I thought it was the closest option. Do we look similar? He will keep you company while I can’t be there with you.

I will try and call you tomorrow if I get a free moment, but the guys and I have pulled alert crew duty for the day so no phone for me.

Have fun with the girls and leave the other guys alone especially if they are navy and army.  Aelin chuckled at the joke

I miss you already.

I love you. Madly. 

To whatever end.

Yours, 

Buzzard.

By the time she had finished reading the letter she was in tears. She hugged the soft toy and for a moment she hoped to smell his scent of pine and snow. She went to her locker, grabbed the dog tags and put them around the bird’s neck “you look after them while I am on shift, but then I take them back.” After that she took a photo and sent it to Rowan “I think I will call him Rowan.”

**

It was later that night and Lysandra and Elide were at Aelin’s place to get ready for their fun night. Aelin though, was not in the mood. Rowan had eventually called her but the phone call was cut short when he had go and scramble. Soft toy Rowan was on her bed, his dog tags back on since she would not be wearing them with her dress.

Lysandra was going through her wardrobe looking for a dress for the night.

“So, the captain does have clothes that are not uniform,” said the woman going through his clothes but Aelin glared at her and Lys went back to Aelin’s side of the dresser.

“Did he phone you?”

“Yeah.” Said Aelin flatly while wearing her dress.

“Lorcan said they were having a couple of shitty days.”

Aelin ignored her friend or she would end up in tears and ruin her make up.

“Did he give you his dog tags?” Asked Lys noting them pending from the bird’s neck.

“No, he can’t. He made a copy. And I don’t want the original ones until he retires.”

“Why?” Asked Elide while she was busy fixing her hair.

“Because it means he is dead. They are used for identification.” Replied Lysandra flatly. She had learned that from Aedion.

“Can we please change subject?” Snapped Aelin.

Lysandra grabbed a green dress “what do you think?”

“It will go perfectly with your eyes.” Said Aelin wearing her blue dress.

“I thought you loved the captain.” Said Elide.

“Uh?”

“That dress?” Added Lys pointing at her attire “it makes you look as if you are open to being chased.”

“Too slutty?”

“Ansel will be proud of you.”

Aelin smiled “I do love the captain and I have no plans on taking anyone home. My only companion in bed tonight will be bird Rowan.” Then she wore a wig of red hair.

“Why the wig?”

Aelin and Aedion had decided not to tell anyone about their plan for the night, so she had to lie although it hurt lying to Lysandra “just for some fun.”

They arrived at the club half an hour later and Manon, Asterin and Ansel were already there and apparently already having fun.

“You made it” shouted the red-haired woman. “And who is the hot red-haired friend?”

“It’s me, Ansel.”

“Captain, you look hot.”

Aelin laughed “thank you.”

“We got some drinks already,” said Manon.

“Happy birthday, captain,” said Asterin raising her glass “and congratulation to Lys for bagging the meanest lieutenant in the TFD.”

Their glasses clinked and then Aelin spotted Chaol in the distance. What the heck was he doing at the club? She nodded at him and he gave her a small nod back. Everyone knew Chaol and if the girls spotted him it could raise some questions so she texted him with the pretence of being the overbearing girlfriend checking on her man.

The girls went out dancing and she stood behind saying she was not in the mood when she was actually trying to check out the place. She was about to join Chaol in his hideout when a guy stopped at her side and blocked her way “aren’t you a stunning creature?” He said and Aelin cringed. She really hated clubs and the pigs that came with them.

“Of course I am.”

She felt his arm sneak around her waist and his body move closer to hers and she closed her eyes at the fact that those arms were not Rowan’s.

“What if I buy you a few drink and have some fun you and I?”

“You couldn’t handle me.” She said to him in a whisper.

“I love a good challenge. My flat is not far from here.” And his hand slithered up on her back.

Aelin scoffed “I’d never have sex with you even if we were the last two humans left in the world.”

She made to walk away but he grabbed her arm. She almost punched him but in that instant she felt someone hugging her from behind “it’s me, follow my lead.” He whispered in her ear and she noticed it was Chaol.

“Thank you for finding my girlfriend. I went to the gents and I lost her.”

“Sorry darling,” said Aelin caressing Chaol’s face.

The stranger walked away annoyed.

“Thank you.”

“You were holding your own anyway.” He commented.

“I was about to punch him and cause a scene and mess up the mission.” She whispered then grabbed his hand and pulled him to a quiet booth at the back of the club

“What are you doing here?”

“Detective Ytger sent me here as back up. Hamel’s minions know all of the detectives but not us beat cops.”

“How do you want to proceed?” She asked him.

“You are the firefighter, I am just here to make sure you get out okay.”

“Ok, I need to walk around. Just keep an eye on me.” Chaol nodded and Aelin walked away.

She went back to the bar area and smiled when Elide walked toward her “Ace!! Come on it’s your birthday, you need to come and have fun.” She also had a job to do but felt bad at abandoning her friends. So she joined them again and Lys grabbed her for some dancing.

“How how many hearts did you break?”

“Just the one but he was a pig.”

“Did you tell him you have a super hot captain waiting for you?” 

Aelin shrugged and turned to Elide.

“How many drinks did Ansel give you?”

Elide lifted three fingers in front of her face “two.”

Aelin laughed “no more alcohol for you.”

“Buuut I am sad and I miss Lorcan.” Aelin hugged her friend knowing full well how she felt.

“Still, no more alcohol, you just can’t hold it.”

She walked Elide to Manon “can you keep an eye on her please? And just water please. Elide has reached her alcohol quota for the evening.”

“Of course.”

Aelin smiled at the white-haired woman. She was very introverted and of a very few words but she did not care about that since she was good at her job. She was the complete opposite of Ansel.

Speaking of the woman…”where did Ansel go?”

“Last time I have seen her she was dancing with a brunette.” Aelin dragged a hand on her face “I am going to the ladies. Just behave, okay?”

She used the excuse to slip away and walk around as she was supposed to do. She wanted to try and take some photo as proof but covert operations were not her forte.

“You are back,” whispered Chaol at her back.

“I’ll pretend to be drunk and lost.”

“Be careful, this is making me nervous.”

She nodded and walked away from him. Part of her was glad she had not mentioned this to Rowan, he would have gone in full protective mode.

She kept pretending she was drunk and dumb and ended up in the kitchen “sorry,” she slurred, leaning against the doorframe “are these the loos?”

“No miss,” said one of the staff “they are down there and on your right.” She gave the man a goofy smile and a wet kiss on the cheek “thank you, sweet man.” The hug had given her the time to have a very quick look in the kitchen and note there was no safety equipment. That was enough for her to shut down that club as well. How could they run a kitchen that way? She really had to take down the bastard. She hid in the shadows of the club and and checked the fire doors without activating them and found them of shoddy quality. She was fuming. She had a good look at the club and realised even the numbers of people allowed in was probably over the limit. Those doors were for 60 people, she could only see three on ground level, which meant a limit of 180 people. There were probably over three hundred, all crammed and spread on two levels. It was a firefighter nightmare. She ran back to Chaol “go home. I have seen enough. Tell the detective this place needs to be shut down as well.”

“I’ll phone her as soon as I am out. She was waiting for news anyway.”

“Go, and say hi to Yrene.”

Chaol left and she ran back to her friends nervous that she was placing them in danger. She wanted to go but the idea of leaving all those people behind made her nervous. She texted Aedion and rage surged back when he told her that their club was the same.

The girls took her dancing in the middle of the dance floor and danced away ignoring a couple of guys basically dancing on her. She hated clubs so much and the music was horrible. She bit down her annoyance and went to hug Lysandra “how does it feel to be almost married?”

“Weird.” She looked at Aelin “are you having fun?”

“You know I don’t like clubs but I came for you, it’s your night after all.”

“It’s your birthday too.”

Aelin shook her head “I get one every year, you better marry my cousin and stick to him.”

“And you stick to the captain. I want to come to your wedding.”

Aelin laughed “we’ll see…” then she turned and saw Elide leaning against the counter half asleep “what if we take the party to my place? I am sick of this place.”

“Please,” said Manon in a hopeful tone. She hated clubs as well “we can get alcohol on the way home. If I hear another man asking me why my hair is white I am going to start snapping necks.”

“Hey Manon, no need to snap necks,” then Aelin looked around for Ansel.

“I’ll get her,”said Asterin when she noticed the woman in the distance.

The woman came back with Ansel in tow and moved closer to Aelin “the fire exits are not enough and one is blocked.” She whispered.

“I know, I am going to call Peter and explain the situation to him.” She took her phone out “take the others to the cars. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Aelin watched Asterin walking the group to safety then hid in dark a corner and phoned Peter explaining that they had to pretend they had an anonymous call and come and pay a visit to the place and shut it down. The man agreed after she explained him the situation in terms of safety. She was playing dirty but could not care less. People’s lives were at stake. Hamel could just go and impale himself for all she cared.

Quickly she left the building and she went to her car joining Lys and Elide. The remaining women were in Manon’s car.

They stopped for booze on the way and finally got back home. Aelin took Elide piggyback style as the woman had fallen asleep. Once in the flat she placed Elide in the spare bedroom and covered her with a blanket then went back to the rest of the group camped in her living room. A text from Peter told her that the club had been safely evacuated and closed. Apparently he had found even more infractions that she had not the time to spot. 

“Ok, ladies back to the party.” Aelin grabbed a mixed selection of glasses and mugs for the beer.

Ansel stood and went to use the bathroom and came back a few minutes later “why do you have guy’s stuff on the bathroom shelf? Do you live with the silver fox?”

Aelin sighed “Rowan has been living here since I was discharged from the hospital.”

“That was a while ago.”

“I know.” Aelin sighed.

“Yes!” Shouted Ansel pulling Aelin toward her “our captain is shacking up. I am so proud of you.”

After a few drinks, Ansel would become very friendly with anyone. It was a good thing they had left the club.

In that instant she got a text from Aedion saying that he had activated the fire alarm in their club and evacuated the whole place after he had spotted a shit ton of infractions. Well, that was probably another club down. Definitely not what they had agreed with the detective but they had to do something.

“Ok, since this is a bachelorette party as well, we can have a bit of spiciness.” Said Asterin while drinking her beer “unusual place where you had sex. We need to give Lys some ideas.”

“Do we?” Joked Aelin “Lys would definitely teach us something.” Then everyone looked at Ansel “after her of course.”

“I once hooked up with civilian pilot and we did it in his cockpit before he got to fly the plane”

“Where you flying as well?” Asked Lysandra curious.

Ansel nodded “it’s a long story.”

“Aelin, you are up. I bet the captain is wild.” Lysandra’s eyebrows lifted suggestively.

“He is pretty amazing but the strangest places have been a beach, the sea, behind a waterfall, a pool at the foot of two different waterfalls and almost on a military ship.”

“Almost?” Asked Manon curious.

“I’ll show you the dress.”

Aelin went to get her black dress and got back a moment later “and he knew I had nothing underneath.”

The group of women cheered loudly “that must have driven him insane.” Joked Asterin.

“That’s why the almost. We would have been in a lot of trouble if we got caught.”

“I have nothing left to teach you.”Ansel was sprawled on a chair and lifted her beer in acknowledgment.

“Lys?”

The woman blushed savagely “in a car wash. Aedion and I stayed in the car while it was getting washed and… well.. it was quick but fun.”

“Definitely nothing to teach you,” Aelin clinked her bottle with her friend.

“Asterin?”

“My previous firehouse, with one of my colleagues on top of a rig on a night shift.”

Manon gave a light chuckle “was it when you were at the Regional 2?”

Asterin nodded “he was some hot firefighter. We are still friends. We did it once and then it felt so weird and never happened again.” She explained.

Aelin sighed “The night of the mayor’s party, Thomas and I hooked up. We ended up at my place. We did it, realised it was rebound sex and finished the night with tv and junk food.” Thinking about him still pained her.

“No friggin way. More than the kiss?” Asked Lysandra shocked.

Aelin nodded “after you saw us kissing I left, he found me, we went back to my place.”

Aelin looked around and noticed that no one wanted to make too many comments, his death was still too fresh for everyone and he had been Manon’s and Asterin’s captain.

“Does Rowan know?”

“I told him and he is fine. We were nothing at the time and I was mad at him.”

In that instant Elide joined the group and Aelin stood and went to her “hey, how are you feeling?”

“My head hurts.” Replied the woman leaning against Aelin.

“I should take her home. We are working tomorrow we should all go home.”

“Lys is right,” added Asterin “another 24hrs shift ahead, we need some sleep.”

Manon and Asterin offered to take Ansel home and Aelin remained with Lys and a sleepy Elide.

“I am sorry the evening sucked.”

“Hey,” Lysandra placed her hands on Aelin’s shoulders “it didn’t, and to be honest we were all quite tired. All it matters is to marry that annoying cousin of yours.”

“Take Elide home, she is about to go to sleep again.”

Once Aelin was alone she finally shed the dress and opened one of Rowan’s drawers and grabbed a t-shirt. They were usually far too big for her but she loved them as pyjama. She went to the bathroom, got ready and then finally got in bed with bird Rowan and squeezed close to his pillow to inhale his scent.

She grabbed her phone and found a text from Rowan

I hope you had a nice evening. I wish I had been there with you because it’s bad out here. I hope bird me is keeping you company. Have a nice night, Fireheart. Love you.

Aelin’s heart sank at the anguish in his voice. She tried to call him but had no answer.

I love you, come back to me, was all she managed.

She squeezed bird Rowan and tried very hard to fall asleep.

TAGS:

@rowaelinismyotp​

@jlinez​

@swankii-art-teacher​

@courtofjurdan​

@whimsicallyreading​

@tillyrubes10​

@surielandiareendgame​

@aelin-bitch-queen​

@bruiseonthefaceofhumanity 

#rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #aelin galathynius #Lysandra #elide lochan #Throne of Glass series #fanfic

[ptergwen]

hi could you do a fluffy blurb where the (stark)reader and peter have to babysit morgan so they go to the park and have a picnic while she plays? could you also make it a little angsty with mentions of Tony’s death? thank you <3

i went a little hard on the angst in the beginning idk what came over me but i hope you like 😭

when the news was broken that tony stark took his last breath, the whole world went into mourning. he was loved by so many, looked up to and raved about worldwide.

they say his death was an act of selflessness, that saved everyone except himself. you don’t see it that way. it’s simply a tragedy in your eyes. that a hero’s destiny is to sacrifice their life for the greater good, it’s just complete bullshit. what about the greater good of you? your mom? morgan? a father and husband are missing from your lives now.

the father who taught you how to use the extraordinary mind you were blessed with, and encouraged you to do whatever you want with it. he turned the simplest of mishaps into silly life lessons, like when he spilled a pot of coffee down the front of his louis vuitton and went on about the importance of knowing a good walk-in dry cleaner.

you’re obviously aware that people around the whole world are grieving your dad, but his absence is a heavier hole to fill for you and everyone who was in his life. this has fundamentally changed who you are, and only a couple of things can help you cope.

one of them is peter.

he’s experienced more loss and pain than most people ever will, tony’s fate only adding to it, so he understands completely what you’re going through. he comforts you while also dealing with his own grief. you not only need, but deserve the support, and only peter can give it to you in the ways you’re looking for. even his presence by your side throughout the day makes your heavy heart feel a little lighter.

what also helps is your family, mostly morgan.

she doesn’t quite get what happened to tony because you all agreed not to tell her yet. she’s smart and strong and extremely capable for a five year old. still, it’s a lot for anyone to handle, especially when you’re as impressionable as morgan. she knows that tony is gone and won’t be coming back, that’s it.

since she doesn’t have to carry the weight of her dad’s passing, she’s living in blissful ignorance. she’s the same ray of sunshine and hope, of everything good, and being around her is refreshing. she makes each day feel normal again.

pepper isn’t home because she’s on a work trip, so you and peter have the job of watching morgan. she’s thrown herself into her ceo responsibilities more than ever as a distraction. to lift your spirits a bit, peter suggested the three of you go to the park. morgan insisted that you also have a picnic, which leads you to now, halfheartedly packing a cooler in the kitchen.

“we need the juice pops!” morgan beams, going to grab the box from the freezer. “you love those things,” peter chuckles and takes them from her outstretched hands. she’s quick. tony got her into them not too long ago, and it’s an obsession now. you crack a small smile as you lean against the counter. you’re only watching them pack.

“ok, what’s next?” peter asks himself, rubbing his hands together. “sandwiches because that’s all i can make. cool.” that earns a playful scoff from you. “sounds promising.” “hey, i do a great peanut butter and jelly,” he defends and leans over to peck your cheek. you hum in content of his soft lips on your skin. “we’ll see about that. don’t forget drinks.”

after morgan demands that you two stop being gross and you finish packing the cooler, you head out for the park. it’s one you’ve been to a few times. unlike the parks in the city, this one has less going on, more isolated and peaceful.

“why not the movies or something? why this?” you ask peter as the three of you step onto the grass, morgan trailing along in between you. you’re holding one of her hands, and peter is holding the other. “because it’s nice out,” he hums in response. there’s a warm breeze and blue sky above you. “and, some fresh air might make you feel better,” he adds more seriously.

you haven’t left the house much recently, so he’s probably right. leaving it at that, you settle on a spot with a lot of open space surrounding you. peter lays out the blanket while morgan digs into the cooler. she goes right for a juice pop, an orange one that she takes a big bite out of.

“aw, man. doesn’t that hurt?” you giggle at your sister, whose answer is to happily continue chomping on the freezing cold thing. “she’s a wild one. we better hide the rest,” peter jokes, then places the cooler down in the center of the blanket. morgan gasps and rushes over. “stay away!” she gestures to peter with her stick. “or i’ll blast you.” “and how’s that gonna work?” he tests her with a small smile.

your heart speeds up and falls into the pit of your stomach. “um... dad gave her one of his old blasters a while ago,” you explain, avoiding peter’s eyes as you take a seat on the blanket. morgan finishes off the rest of her juice pop and goes in for another. “well, she technically found it. she got to keep it, though,” you continue and pull the cooler away before she ruins her appetite. she sticks her tongue out at you.

“that’s nice,” peter murmurs, sitting down next to you, putting a hand on your back. you were in a pretty good mood until the reminder that tony isn’t here to join you hits. he can see that. “hey, morg? why don’t you go play while we set everything up,” he tells her sweetly and hand her one of the many toys she insisted on bringing. it’s her luke skywalker action figure. you blame peter for that one.

“ok, bye!” morgan is gone without a care in the world, on a pretend space invasion. once she’s out of hearing range, peter checks in on you.

“you okay? i didn’t mean to bring that up,” he says quietly and fully wraps his arm around you. clenching your teeth into each other, you let your shoulders drop. “it’s okay. i just...” you feel your throat getting tight. “i can’t believe he’s gone, peter. it’s not fucking fair.” tears cloud your vision, peter pulling you into his chest. he presses his lips to your hair.

“i know, baby. it isn’t,” he coos, a muffled whimper escaping you. you grab onto one of his biceps and let out a breath. “i wish i could move on, be more like morgan. i hate having this at the back of my mind.” peter nods as you speak while cradling you in his arms. “you get there when you get there,” he encourages and kisses your forehead for good measure. you wind your arms around his torso.

he’s so good at telling you exactly what you need to hear.

“you’ll have me through all of it.”

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker angst #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you

[bluebellwriting]

Love Me Tender Part 3

(Note: I know Molly hasn’t been confirmed as a demon nor is she in Hell, but for the sake of the story, I’m saying that she is a demon and she is in Hell. There’s not a lot of information on the spider fam so I’m going to be taking some liberties here)

Sunday dinners at your dad’s home have always a tradition, even when you all were alive. It wasn’t religious, Lord knows if it had been you probably wouldn’t have ended up here. But when your family spends every day of their lives and afterlives meeting with mob bosses, disposing of bodies, and doing drugs, it was nice to have a reason to come together and remind each other that you were all still here. It was because of those dinners and the evenings spent cooking with your Nonna that your love of cooking came to fruition.

Oh, your Nonna. You’ve tried looking for her down here, even though you know that there was no way she was deserving of a place like this. She was a saint, the mother you deserved instead of the mother you actually had. Your mother was cold, lazy, vain, couldn’t care for her children to save her life, judgmental -- she always insisted you try whatever insane weight loss trend was popular. Nonna was kind, understanding, taught you to be tough but also how to take care of those you loved, and never tried to pit you and your sister against each other. She’s honestly the only reason yours and Molly’s relationship survived.

But when she died, you took over as the family’s cook as the only person who could actually make something without burning it. Until you yourself died at the ripe age of 23, long before the rest of your family. Your family doesn’t talk about it much, but you can just imagine what the first dinner without you was like. How sad and empty, how burnt the food must have been if there even was any.

But you’re together again and your dinners were able to survive your family’s plunge into the afterlife. Apparently, so did your family home.

As soon as you entered the threshold of the home, you and Angel were smushed into a hug by Molly.

“My darlings!” She cries. Angel and you snuggle into the warm arms of your sister and wrap your arms around her.

“How are ya, Mol?” Angel asks.

“Oh, ya know, same old, same old.”

“Are those creeps giving you trouble at the store?” You take a step back and eye your sister up and down, looking for any physical manifestation that those creepy men crushing on your sister are up to no good.

“Not since you had a little chat with them, (N/N),” she teases.

Molly’s eyes brighten at the sight of your outfit.

“Ooh! You’re wearing the new skirt and blouse! It’s so pretty on you, (Y/N)! And I know I always say this but you have a great rack girl, ya gotta show it off like this more.”

You blush brightly and cross your arms over your torso.

“Gee thanks, Molly,” you mumble.

“I don’t know how you haven’t found a man yet with that bod!” She squeals and pinches your cheeks.

“Well, since ya mentioned it...” Angel smirks.

“Nope!” You shout and storm further into the house to avoid your baby siblings.

Molly looks back at Angel with an arched brow, the question looming in the air.

You make it to the kitchen, where your father and brother are heating up the food you left here last week. You turn your nose up.

“You know, I could have made something fresh. This is all a week old! And here I thought you were going to cook for once.”

“Very funny, (Y/N),” Niss grumbles, stirring the pasta sauce you had brought over last time.

“How are ya, sweetheart?” Henroin gives you a warm hug, one that is snug and warm and reserved for his unofficially favorite child.

“I’m good, dad. Doing just fine.”

“They’re running you ragged at that hotel.”

“Which means I’m left to pick up the slack,” Niss growls. You pull away from the hug and pull your brother into a forceful hug, just to make him uncomfortable. You were the same height as Niss and a year younger, and as grumpy and infuriating he can be, you always felt the closest to him. You’d like to think he felt the same, considering he scolds you the least. Or maybe that’s just because you’re way stronger than him and you have wrestled him to the ground.

“I know, but I’m doing this for Angel--”

“Anthony,” Niss hisses.

“If he tells me he wants to go by Angel, then I’m calling him Angel.” You narrow your eyes, your irises flashing a dangerous red and your teeth grow into vicious fangs in an instant. Niss rolls his eyes but backs down, trying to hide the shiver that went up his spine.

“I still don’t see how they’re supposed to help him.”

“Neither do I but I genuinely believe that that hotel is his only chance.”

“But why do you have to be there, too?” Your father asks.

“Because I’m the only one who knows how to handle him,” you beam.

“And because she’s dating the Radio Demon,” Molly squeals as she bursts in the kitchen, followed closely by a smirking Angel.

“What?!” Your brother and dad yell.

“I am not dating the Radio Demon, right, Angel?” You stalk over to him and stomp on his foot.

“Ah! Fine, fine. But she’s got him wrapped around her little finger, don’t ya, sis?”

“What the hell does that mean, (Y/N)?” Niss growls. Your father just stares at you, his eyes empty of all emotion but his shoulders are tensed.

“It means nothing. We work together and. That’s. It.” Everyone in the kitchen is staring at you. Angel is smirking, Molly is biting her lip as she holds in a squeal, Niss looks as though he’s about to punch a wall, and your dad is still staring at you. Their eyes are like deadly sunbeams and your body is a wilting flower. You wrap your arms around yourself, wishing the ground would just swallow you up and transport you to Second Hell, or whatever lies beyond this reality. A part of you finds yourself longing for arms to hold you, to wrap around you and shield you. Longing for grey arms in a red suit to protect you.

Oh jeez, maybe you do love him.

“The sauce is burning,” you break the silence and move towards the stove. “Is the pasta ready?”

“Yeah,” Henroin says and brings a bowl of noodles to the already set table. You turn the stove off and slip on two oven mitts to bring over the pot of sauce.

“Sit down,” you command. Your siblings scurry to their seats as your dad and you arrange everything on the table.

Once you’ve all sat and filled your plates (and taken away Angel’s phone), you turn to your dad.

“So what was the big announcement?” You ask.

Henroin swallows, “Not so much of an announcement, more of a request of you and Anth-- Angel. I know this hotel has been good for you,” he says to your brother. “And it sounds like it’s been... good for you too, (Y/N). But I need you to start pulling your weight around here, especially you, (Y/N).”

“Why me?” (Y/N) you ask, sending your father an incredulous look. “I thought I told you I wanted out of all of that nasty business.”

“Because some of our partners respond better to you. You have a way with people, in the way that is below my stature and beyond anything your brother can do.”

“Dad!” Niss yells, offended.

“Shut up. Now listen, (Y/N), you can still stay at the hotel, do whatever the hell it is you do there,” he gives you a pointed look, hinting that he hasn’t forgotten the Radio Demon business.

“But when I need you to attend a meeting or negotiation,” he continues. “I expect you to be there. You owe your family that.”

You look down at your barely-picked-at-plate, having suddenly lost your appetite.

“I’m guessing you have a meeting soon that you think I’d be well-suited for,” you mumble.

“There’s an Overlord we need to do some business with and I finally convinced her to have an audience. But word on the street is that she responds better to friends or women. And since we’re not friends and I’m definitely not sending Molly--”

“Daddy, you wound me!”

“--That leaves you, kid. We’re counting on you.”

You nod your head. The conversation continues, your siblings argue, Henroin gives you details for the meeting but you let it all wash over you like a wave. You actually thought you could finally start living for yourself for once, that you could stop taking care of others. You were wrong.

---

The city is alive with the sound of laughing and screaming, but all you can think about is the meeting tomorrow with Rosie, an Overlord and the owner of Rosie’s Emporium. Your eyes are heavy from the chaotic dinner, the three times you had to keep Niss from launching himself across the table at Angel, Molly talking your ear off about some cute man who would be perfect for you, and the new weight that has been added to your shoulders. It takes everything in you not to crash the car on your way home.

When you arrive back at the hotel it’s late at night and somehow Angel has boundless energy. He prances to the door, calling out about some party he’s been invited to by Cherri.

“Angel, it’s a Sunday night,” You scold.

“And? My work doesn’t exactly require me to be up and at em at 8, doll.” He bursts through the doors and immediately goes over to Husk and the bar, probably to pregame. You shuffle your way inside after him, rubbing your temples in an effort to tame the ache developing in your head.

“Oh, darling,” Alastor sings. He dances into the lobby from the kitchen, smile as wide as ever, holding two steaming mugs. Except instead of one of his pristine suits, he is dressed in slacks, suspenders, a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a red apron. He looks completely and utterly adorable, and you’re just loving the view of his lithe forearms.

As soon as he heard Angel’s voice bothering Husk, Alastor came running to the lobby with the hot chocolate he had spent hours perfecting. His first batch was too bitter, the second far too sweet for anyone’s liking, and the third was accidentally consumed by Charlie (who is now hiding somewhere in the hotel to avoid his wrath). Plus, he had to endure Charlie’s relentless teasing. But he was certain this would be the perfect cup of liquid goodness to impress his sweetest darling. And judging by your tense shoulders and the stress in the lines of your face, you would definitely be needing something to lift your spirits.

“Goodness, did the dinner not go well?”

You released a deep, exhausted sigh, and lifted your head slowly to meet his eyes. For a moment, Alastor wonders if this might have been the wrong move. You were clearly worn out. You probably just wanted to shut yourself in your room and go to bed and not have anything to do with him and his boyish attempts to woo you. Hot chocolate, really? What was he thinking? Someone like you deserved something lavish, and you would probably scoff at something so simple as a hot drink.

His shoulders deflate at your lack of smile.

“It went about the same as it always did,” you sigh. “Siblings fighting, me saving dinner, my sister trying to set me up with some man.”

Alastor has to restrain the growl bubbling up in his chest.

Your eyes fall to the two mugs in his hands. You sniff the air and smile at the rich scent.

“Is that hot chocolate?”

“Oh... yes, it is.”

“Mm, is there any left?”

“Well of course! I made this cup especially for you, dearest!” He practically shoves the mug into your hands.

You quickly lift the mug to your lips and hope to all that is good and holy that he chalks your blushing cheeks to the heat of the drink.

“Oh, Alastor, this is wonderful. Thank you. I really needed this after the night I had.” You smile up at him, the lines in your face easing immediately. It’s enough to make the Radio Demon’s knees quake.

“You are absolutely welcome...” He pauses. The original plan was to woo you with the drink, whisk you off to a remote corner of the hotel, and attempt to confess his undying love to you. But the yawn you try to stifle almost causes him to deflate. Almost.

“Would like to talk about it, love? I’m all ears! U-Unless you’re too tired. You absolutely do not have to--”

Love. Love. You grip the mug tighter.

“Actually, Alastor, that would be lovely. If you don’t mind.”

Alastor grins.

“Not at all.”

He places a hand on the small of your back and transports you both to the library. He snaps his fingers and a fire lights up the room for you both. You flop onto the couch and Alastor takes a seat beside you, making a point to sidle up to you as you proceed to detail everything about your day.

At first you were rather restrained, convinced that the last thing this important, powerful, strong, kind, considerate, lovely man wanted was to listen to your problems. But as he asked more and more questions, he opened you up like an oyster, waiting patiently for the pearl inside.

“So now I’m meeting with this Rosie tomorrow. Something about transporting her goods across territories.”

“Rosie, you say?”

“Yes. Oh, do you know her?”

“Why yes! She’s an old and dear friend. But, um, quite ruthless towards strangers. You said you’re going alone?”

“Right.”

“Is that... normal? I mean, for you to go alone to meet such dangerous individuals.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve been doing so since I was 18 and alive.”

Alastor chokes on his drink.

“That young?”

“I grew up in the mafia, Al.” You send him a coy smile. “I’m not as defenseless as I look.”

“Oh, I never doubted that, dearest, but... to not have anyone there for support...”

“When you grow up the way I did, you learn not to trust anyone. Not fully at least, and definitely not until you know them well enough.”

“Is that right... Do... Do you trust me, then? Or have I not earned that honor?” Alastor smiles at you but within he is a mess. This is it. The moment you tell him that he’s far too dangerous, too vicious, too disgusting for you to ever let into your life in the way he craves.

“You’re on your way.” You smirk at him and the light floods back into his body. That’s a start.

“So, would you allow me to accompany you tomorrow then?”

“Oh, no, Alastor I could never impose on you like that--” He’s just being polite, you tell yourself. He doesn’t actually want to spend time with you outside of the hotel, isn’t actually concerned with whether you die at the hands of this Rosie.

“Nonsense, my darling.” He leans down, smelling the chocolate on your breath. His nose is so close to yours, your lips just as near to his. He could lean forward just a bit, feign a fall, just for one chance to kiss you like he’s dreamed.

“I would love nothing more than to be your knight in shining armor.”

You smile, “Just to be clear, if you are going to escort me, Alastor. I am no damsel in distress.” You boop his nose and giggle at the hot blush on his cheeks.

“But,” you continue, “I would love nothing more than to have your company tomorrow.”

“Well, then have it you shall, love.”

#alastor x reader #alastor x chubby!reader #hazbin hotel #x chubby!reader #x chubby reader #they say write the stories you want to see

[fieryhonesty]

The life of You

[AO3]

 “I’m sorry! My brain was everywhere this week I should have update this earlier! But certain Adeptus took all of my attention...”

Words: 3525

Not sure how long has passed but when you woke up you could feel a ticklish feeling on cheeks. Kaeya's head was hung down, snuggled close to you. His uncovered eye was closed shut, breathes were even and his arms were firmly wrapped around your waist. How can he sleep like this?

Before you could stop your hand it hesitantly reached towards the male's face. Gently brushing against his skin with your fingertips. It surprised you when he snuggled against your hand. Thinking he was asleep, how naive you are? This man is a light sleeper and good actor at once. He was probably awake even before your hand mindlessly shot up to his cheeks.

"I could get used to being woken up like this.~" Whispering while still having closed eye.

"How comes you are all flirty even after just waking up..." Remarking and retreating your hand. Hearing a disappointed sigh coming out of the male's lips

The rain has stopped, freeing yourself out of Kaeya's arms. Feeling how your clothes are still uncomfortably wet. Not as before but it was far from dry. He helped you to pack up things and then you headed back to the city. You two joked about how it would be funny if you would actually end up sick. You had proudly announced it’s impossible for you to get sick. It’s been a while after all. 

Well how it always goes. When one's boasting about something too much, it gets back to them. And of course you got sick. Feeling horribly and unable to get out of bed. You quickly ran out of stocked food and since your cooking skills are miserable... Well even if you could cook there's no way you would be able to stand up and make something.

Maybe it's time to bother neighbors if they could fetch you some food but even that seemed like too much work. Laying on the sofa, listening to your protesting belly. Perhaps if you fall asleep it will stop making noises. 

As much as sleeping with an empty stomach proved to be difficult. You managed to fall asleep, only to be woken up by knocking at the door. 'Archons, I can't- no I don't want to move...'

The knocking didn't stop and instead got more loud. It must be really urgent. Forcing yourself to get up, slowly reaching the front door. Using walls as support. Not even bothering to look through the peephole and open the door.

It took you several seconds to realize who you were looking at. Normally you would give him a smile but in your current state all you could manage was a silent groan. Expecting some earful remark but instead the scarlet haired man pushed the door open and slid inside. 

Noticing he carried bags, you could smell something yummy. Eyes going up to meet up with his crimson ones. What's that look of his? Is it worry? Considering how Diluc usually behaves, you would have expected he would be angry at you. Clearly remembering that one day when it was colder and he met you wearing just light clothes. He gave you a long lecture and made you go home to fetch something more warm. 

"H-Hey... what's with that look?" You coughed, nearly losing balance. Feeling a pair of firm hands supporting you. "M-My hero..." Murmuring before leaning against the tall man. You had long forgotten how it does feel to be sick. 

You had no strength to protest or say anything when he moved your hands around his neck, securing his grip on your thighs and carried you. If you were not so busy with feeling 'I'm dying' you would have probably paid more attention to butterflies in your stomach. This way you just blamed it on hunger than anything else. 

Diluc laid you back on the sofa, as gently as he could. If he was not sick worried about your well being he would probably scold you on the spot. When he heard from your landlord you fell ill he was not so worried at first. But giving it a second thought. He decided to pay a visit, now being glad he did so. Even more glad for being mindful and fetching some food and meds.

Something was telling him it will come handy. Little did he know his friend is irresponsible enough to not have any kinds of meds at home at all.

Not even painkillers?! One thing was sure, he will have to have a word with you later. For now he will just try to get you to feel better. Moving a spoon with syrup towards your mouth, ‘say: aah'. It felt like taking care of a kid more than an adult. 

He didn’t need to check your forehead to know about the fever. Giving you a cold cloth over it. Hearing your little whine about it being too cold. When he was about to turn away your hand gripped on his coat.

"Diluc... I'm hungry..." 

"Just wait a bit." He said, gently releasing from the grip. 

Moving to the kitchen, looking around a bit and searching for needed stuff. Being aware of how you can barely cook, burning even the easiest things. He put his coat away, rolling up sleeves and getting rid of his gloves. 

First he chopped veggies then sliced meat into tiny pieces. Being mindful you might have a sore throat and not being able to gulp too well. It's been a while since he cooked, however that meant nothing as he was quickly creating yummy magic in the pot. Stirring it every now and then.

The kitchen was quickly filled with the pleasant smell of chicken soup. Meanwhile he was waiting for it to be done. He made a lot of tea and some small snack. He planned to drop by later again to check on you and probably bring more food. By looking at you, he knew you would be laying down for a couple of days.

By the time when the soup was done he already made you drink a cup of tea and eat a part of an orange and banana. Your eyes were sparkling when he brought two bowls and placed one right in front of you on the coffee table. He was glad to see you have appetite, that's a good thing.

Giving it a try, despite your taste buds being sleepy. You could feel the intense chicken flavor complimented with a gentle and sweet carrot aftertaste. Eating was probably the most happiest moment of the whole day. It was good, and made you feel warm and full. 

When you were done with the bowl, pleading eyes looking at the chef who was just half way through his own portion. He noticed your gaze, looking at the bowl. You didn't need to say it out loud for him to get the message. 

As you were going through your second bowl he noticed your face is getting more color into it. Feeling a bit relieved but keeping his stoic expression. For some reason he was doubting his cooking abilities. He knew you wouldn’t say anything as you were hungry and all but still. That little uneasiness was there, trying to get under his skin.

Once you were done with food, having a happy and full belly. Leaning back on the sofa, feeling a bit better. Not sure if it's because of the meds he gave you or because of the food. Probably both. You let out a satisfied sigh.

"You are truly my hero, Diluc." Whispering as you patted your belly. "I didn't know you could cook."

"What's wrong about it? I might have maids but I can cook just fine, only if I had more time for it." He retorted before disappearing into the kitchen and bringing a small platter with cut fruits and more tea.

You were touched. Was he doing all of this just for you? Really?! You didn't know how much he could be caring. Yes he always seemed to be concerned whenever you showed up with some scratch or something. But this was a whole different level of caring. 

Your heart skipped a beat when he reached to your forehead. 

"You are still burning."

"Uh, huh?" 

Not sure if you were burning because of being sick or because of his sudden touch. Averting your eyes and laying down. Feeling a bit confused why your body was reacting the way it was.

"Here." Giving you fresh cloth over your forehead. 

"T-Thanks..."

Diluc hummed in response before retreating to the kitchen to fetch his clothing. He still has to take care of a few things. Before he left you called out to him.

"I will drop by later on in case you are worried I'd let you starve." Clarifying as he was adjusting his gloves.

"That's not it... I wanted to say thank you. I appreciate what you did, really." 

He did not think of it that much. For him it was just a simple worry about somebody who's close to him. He'd be rather if you could spend your sickness at his manor as there is always somebody who could check on you. However in your state it’s better to stay where you are.

"Oh, Diluc! I guess you could take my spare keys... in case I faint so you can find me, heh." 

It was a good sign as your humor was coming back a little. Although he would have preferred not to find you unconscious or something else. Still taking your spare keys felt a little too personal, glancing at you.

"Are you sure about it?"

"Ah, c'mon. If you were somebody else I'd reconsider it but I trust you. Besides, I was thinking of giving you spare keys before. It's not a big deal."

Letting out a sigh. He still does not feel right about it but coming to the conclusion it will be better if you just stay in bed. Also in case you will be sleeping he could just quickly leave food here and disappear again. 

"Alright then. Where are they?" 

"They are in- uh. Kitchen, first drawer. I hid them under cutlery."

Strange place where to hide spare keys but part of him was glad it had been the kitchen and not your bedroom. Not sure if he would have dared to venture in there. As much as you two know each other he has some boundaries and privacy respecting. 

After he secured the keys he took his leave. Leaving you alone. You wanted to sleep but at the same time your brain was replaying last hour. It was somehow hard to believe somebody came to rescue. He literally came here just to cook and give you meds. And did not ask for anything in return. 

This was the first time when somebody did it for you. It was a new thing to you. And the warm feeling inside, what is it? You were used to your assistant being worried, bringing some tea. But in fact you never were sick that much to end up in bed. Unable to get up or take care of yourself. It was usually just some minor cold which faded after two or three days of resting.

Diluc was dropping by for the next few days, sometimes staying for a while to exchange a few words, sometimes he just left food in the kitchen and left. It was mostly because of his schedule. 

You felt a bit bad for him for making time specially for your needs. When you tried to bring it up and tell him it's fine, that you feel much better now. He gave you a lecture about how it would be more than irresponsible to roam in streets while being ill.

Also adding remarks on how stupid idea it was to hang out with Kaeya. When he first heard what was the cause of you falling ill he wanted to go after the said man. But you grabbed his hand, convincing him it was not Kaeya's fault. Like how was he supposed to know it will be raining? Which Diluc retorted with 'You could have hid somewhere before getting wet.' 

You wanted to try and explain it more in detail but he didn’t care. Anything related to Kaeya was always making him at least annoyed. He refused to talk about him. Diluc let out a defeated sigh. He was tired to reason with you about it. Leaving it at remark "the knights are irresponsible as always, including their Captain..."

You deadpanned.

"Here we go again." 

"What. You can't deny it."

Rather not answering that and just cuddling into your fuzzy blanket. Feeling much better than before. Fevers were gone and you could move around the apartment without feeling like you will die at any second.

He got quite used to just opening the door and entering like it was something he did for years. His first uneasiness tied to intruding his friend's place was gone. Perhaps he should have stayed more cautious for a bit as one day he came in and couldn't find you.

He ran into you as you just got out of shower. Probably both of you had a heart attack, he quickly turned away and murmured an apology. You also felt guilty, you could have got dressed in the bathroom, not to walk around just in a towel. Answering him with a little apology and asking if he could wait for you in the living room.

As you felt good enough to take a shower, you didn’t expect Diluc would come at this hour! Usually he dropped by around lunch or before dinner. There was no need for him to come twice a day.

Your fridge was filled with home made dishes tweaked to you likings. You really didn't know why he cared so much, why he troubled himself to cook for you. Maybe you should take some cooking classes once you are fit again. Just for the sake of not making your friends worried in future.

Now when you were dry and in fresh clothes, feeling more like a human. You could face Diluc who was just staring at the coffee table. Coughing to get his attention, exchanging embarrassed looks. And just like that you promised to each other to not talk about it. 

Being glad it was just him who saw you. You were sure if it was somebody else he wouldn't let you be and tease about it for several days.

"So, what's new? Also fancy to have some tea or you gonna swoosh away?"

"If I were to swoosh, I wouldn't be here now. I have time. Also I brought you some fresh grapes, you need vitamins." 

Giggling at the way he repeated the swoosh. Waltzing into the kitchen and putting the kettle on the stove. Finding it funny how the stove lately was used much more and it was only because of your friend cooking on it. You rarely used it, mostly to boil water or heat up some quick made food you bought at the market. 

Checking the fridge and seeing a quite bountiful amount of grapes. When he said some you expected like one twig not three. 

"Um, Diluc? Those grapes are from your... won't you miss them?"

You shouted at him while your head was still partially stuck in the fridge, plucking a few pieces. 

"Do you really think this little will affect the wine production? Besides those wouldn't be used for wine."

You peeked into the living room mouth filled with several grapes.

"So you gave me some bad ones I see."

"No, it's not like that. You know we grow separate grapes for selling."

"I know. I'm joking, thanks by the way." Returning back to the kitchen as the water was boiling already.

A bit later you brought two cups of steaming tea and somehow managed to balance a plate with grapes on one of the cups. Diluc raised an eyebrow at you.

"You wouldn't die from going there again, you know." 

"Ah yes, the Diluc I know is back. How about you compliment my uh... waitress skills instead of being sarcastic, hmm?"

Moving the plate closer if he wants but he just shakes his head. He brought it for you after all. Observing how you were happily stuffing your face with the fruit.

"You asked about the news. Your new sword is finished."

"A new sword? Since when I- DILUC?!" You had issues not to spit in surprise. Grapes on Diluc’s face was the last thing you wanted to see.

"What? The sooner it's done the sooner you can use it to keep yourself safe."

How can he say it so casually. Like it’s nothing?! You were staring at Diluc in horror. 'Please tell me you didn't pay for it too...' You already felt bad and paying for a sword was not a joke. Weapons are expensive, especially the sturdier ones.

"S-So... how much do I owe?"

"A promise you will look after yourself." 

"YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS! IT'S EXPENSIVE!"

Diluc smugged at you. That damn smug was somehow fitting to him but that’s not the point. He paid for your sword?!

"Well how about this. Consider it as a gift. I still didn't give you anything to welcome you back despite you being here for a while now."

"But you don't have to give me anything! You already did enough with letting me sleep under your roof for a while and now you have been nursing me." 

You couldn't resist the urge to massage your temples. "You better forget about my birthday and Christmas existence, you hear me."

Why was everyone giving you welcome back gifts?! The mugs you drink tea from are from Lisa. The bathrobe which was currently in the laundry basket was from Jean. Then there's Kaeya and his sleepover. Well the Darknight Hero was topping all of these in terms of price. 

You were pondering over if this was his way to flex over a certain cryo user. Rather not asking him that out loud and changing topic.

"How's business? Last time you said you were rushing to a meeting or something like that."

"Not really meeting. Somebody was hosting a celebration and wanted a few barrels." 

"Barrels..." You repeat mindlessly while Diluc drinks from his mug. 

Your eyes lingered at his face for too long. He is really handsome, no wonder the girl from florists has hearts in her eyes whenever he passes by. His face is perfectly decorated with the loose hair which couldn't fit into his pony tail as they were too short. 

"Why don't you tie up your hair higher more often?"

It escaped your lips before you could stop yourself. Realizing what you had said out loud. Inner panic was taking over you. Just why did you say that?! If you could you would jump behind the sofa and hide away from his surprised gaze. This feeling is mortifying.  

"You think I should?" He asked with tilted head to the side.

"Um, forget about it. It was just a slip of tongue. Uh.. Any other news?"

You have to quickly change the subject. Diluc's gaze was killing you, you could swear your cheeks were slowly turning into the same color as his hair. In panic you pulled the blanket next to you over yourself. Diluc was just winking as he was confused with what his friend was doing. Clearing his throat.

"There's nothing much new. Well other than Aether will leave in a few days."

Peeking out of your cover. "Huh? Where to?"

"Liyue. There will be soon a rite of descension am I right?" 

You hummed in response. 

"I wonder. Where could his sister be? Also do you think once he finds her he will visit us before leaving to their world?" More than a question it was a slight worry. You weren’t sure about the boy’s plans, nor wanted to feel him like he is obliged to do something. He came here to search for his sister anyway.

Diluc sips from his cup again. "Probably."

"Mhhh, I suppose I could tag along. I'm sure he'd welcome a guide." Pondering over it for a while until you noticed Diluc’s gaze.

"What? I'm feeling fine. Thanks to your care. Besides, I have a feeling Mrs. Yue would like me to attend. Last year was so hectic and previous ones I was too busy. I mean... I'm a little eager to see it. So far I have only seen it once and it was just part way..."

Diluc couldn't say anything about it as he knew about the policy between you and the assistant. From what he heard people in Liyue tend to follow traditions and you look well. Probably you will be ready for the travel. 

"I see. I guess I should give you back the keys."

"Keep them- in case of emergency. Or~ in case I adopt some adorable street cat and I will need you to feed it in my absence."

Grunting in disapproval. As if he didn't have enough keys already…

Previous ✨ Next 

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #genshin impact x reader #f!reader #genshin diluc #genshin kaeya #genshin impact diluc #genshin impact kaeya #diluc #kaeya #fiery series #what could go wrong?

[sterekchub]

Feeder for Hire

Fat!Derek and feeder!Stiles Get Beached: Challenge Week Word Count: ~3000 Prompts: Captive/Captor Relationship, Size Pride, Too Fat for Things Read on A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25550704 “You sure about this guy?”

For the last time, yes, Scott. I’ll text you his address and a photo and if you don’t hear from me -”

“ - by five in the morning, call the cops. I know the deal. You haven’t gone to anyone’s house in years. I thought you said no more?”

Stiles shrugged. “He’s hot as hell, we’ve done some video sessions before, and he pays…really well. A few nights a week with him and I can pay off this semester.”

“Have fun! Text me if anything…comes up.” Scott grinned, although Stiles knew he was still hesitant about how he made his income.

Stiles nodded, making sure he grabbed his keys, doubled checked he had his phone, the contract, and his preference lists in his pocket before leaving their dorm. Derek – although that could very well be a fake name – had met Stiles through a gainer website three years back, admitting he had followed Stiles’ page for awhile before messaging him. It had been a few months of exchanging back and forth conversations before Derek had asked about paid video sessions, and then in-person feedings. Scott was right, Stiles very rarely offered to do in session feedings, but Derek was a special case. Not only did he live only a few towns over, unlike most of the guys he dealt with, Derek was polite, almost embarrassed of his wants, tipped extremely well, and meshed well with Stiles. He had a snarky, quick wit and, from what Stiles had seen through a few pictures and fuzzy video screens, was exactly Stiles’ type.

Tall, dark, handsome, a wide bubble butt, thighs that rubbed together with each step, and a slightly furry pot-belly that was quickly becoming more of a blubbery gut as he passed three-hundred and fifty pounds, and kept going. Stiles has asked once if he had a goal weight. Derek admitted he didn’t know. He had already gained seventy-five pounds since he had first messaged Stiles.

Stiles had read through Derek’s profile a hundred times. He had requested short scenes, getting Derek through a stuffing, teasing and humiliating and forcing him to finish if needed. It was a little colder and more forceful than what Stiles usually liked to do with partners, but he wasn’t going to judge Derek for his interests.

1) Teasing and humiliation only. No praise. 2) Hitting/spanking/pain, okay. 3) I will provide the food. I expect to be forced to finish it all, by any means. 4) Funnel and tube feeding okay. 5) Tying down okay, rope or cloths only. 6) No blindfold. 7) You are not to let me come or touch myself until I’ve finished eating. 8) I will pay half up front, half when you leave. 9) Safe word: Triskelion

In return, Stiles provided a similar list, including his safe word, Scott. His were more focused on what he wouldn’t do, regardless of his clients’ request. It was a short list, mostly consisting of bodily fluids like spitting on clients, inflation, and serious pain. He had a feeling most would be a moot point with Derek, but he hadn’t felt the need to adjust his standard contract.  

*******

Their second session went similarly to their first, minus the awkward introductions. Once again, Derek had set out the same spread of food on his table. Pan of alfredo pasta, chicken, blender full of gainer power and ice cream, and peanut butter brownies.

“You must really love pasta.”

“Highest calories.”

“Do you like it?”

Derek only shrugged.

“Do you cook? I don’t have an oven or anything in the dorm, but if you don’t mind me using your kitchen, I could come earlier and help – ”

“ – I order delivery.”

“That’s a crime, man. You have a brand-new kitchen! Stainless steel!”

“More work.”

“Is that why you don’t talk much? Too much work?”

That earned him something that was close to a smile. “You talk enough for both of us.”

“Guess it is hard to talk with all that food in your mouth, Big Guy.”

“Does it look like I’m eating?”

“You better fix that, then. I’m surprised a pig like you could hold back around all this food.”

That did it. Derek’s eyes darkened in arousal and he immediately sank into his chair and pulled the chicken closer towards him. Dutifully, Stiles pulled up a chair next to him, poking him in the stomach periodically and making remarks.

“Slowing down already? You only finished the chicken; I know you aren’t done yet.”

“You didn’t get that figure from moderation.”

“Jeans a little tight? Hold up that flabby gut for me and I’ll unbutton them. Wouldn’t want that to stop you from stuffing your face with even more…”

It was more natural with Derek. Stiles often had to revert to a script with other clients, repeating a few phrases he knew they wanted to hear. He did have to bite back his urge to praise Derek for his sizeable appetite, tell him how good he looked blissfully stuffed, panting and belching even as he reached for more. It was a shame Derek didn’t want to be worshipped or hand fed, treated softly like Stiles would have loved to do.

“Can’t – urp – too full.”

Stiles held up the half empty pitcher. “Drink it.”

Derek groaned and rest both hands on the side of his overstuffed stomach. “’m gonna pop.”

Stiles desperately wanted to slide his hands under Derek’s shirt and ease some of that fullness for him. It took a lot of self-control and mental reminders of Derek’s request to instead push down on the curve of his gut, eliciting a huge belch. As soon as he opened his mouth, Stiles tipped the contents of the pitcher slowly down’s Derek throat.

“See? Plenty of room.”

“No – urp- no more. URP.”

“Too bad.” Stiles told him, making sure Derek swallowed another mouthful before pulling the pitcher back slightly. “Should have thought about that before you finished all that food like a greedy hog.”

“ ‘S not my fault,” Derek panted, dutifully gulping down a few more mouthfuls.

“No?” Stiles knelt down besides Derek, slipping a hand under Derek’s paunch to palm his throbbing erection. “You haven’t been getting hard, thinking about how much you’ve been eating? How fat this is going to make you?”

“I – fuuuck. How much – urp- left?”

“Only a little bit. Why don’t you finish it off?”

Derek took the pitcher from Stiles, breathing heavily, clearly pushing himself to finish the little remaining.

“Getting too big for this,” Stiles told him, pinching his fleshly lower belly with one hand as he took his time jerking Derek off with his other. “Going to need both hands just to hold up all this blubber. Can you even get yourself off anymore? Or is your belly in the way?”

Derek came with a breathless moan, cut short by him cursing and stifling another belch. Stiles wished he could see Derek’s face in its entirety, but from his angle on the ground, the mountainous sphere blocked his view.

Grinning, Stiles got to his feet. “Knew you could finish it.”

He gave Derek a few minutes for his breathing to slow, then gestured at his swollen midsection. “Want help with that? I give amazing belly rubs, dude.”

“Don’t – urp- call me dude.”

“Is that a no?”

“Yes. Go home. I’ll send you the other half of your payment.”

Stiles nodded unhappily. “Fine. Text me if you’d like to schedule another session. Goodnight, Derek.”

He left, leaving Derek slumped uncomfortably in his chair, jean unbuttoned, come splattered on his lower belly.

*******

“Derek, sorry, hi! I’m here. Only…thirty minutes late. Shit, I’m sorry. The jeep was having problems starting and then it started raining….”

“I started eating without you.” Derek shrugged.  “What was wrong with the jeep now?”

“Same thing. It’s an old car. It was pay for textbooks or pay for a new engine.” Derek looked guilty, like he was responsible for Stiles’ financial hardships, even though he was the main contributor to Stiles’ bank account, so Stiles added, “I’ll have it fixed next semester, probably.”

“If – if you ever need a ride or anything, you can borrow the Camaro.”

Stiles gaped at him. Derek was very protective of the car sitting in his driveway. Stiles had never seen a spot on it. He wasn’t even allowed to park the jeep anywhere near it because Derek was so afraid of it being damaged.

“You’re kidding.”

“No. I’ll have to get a, ah, roomier one, eventually.”

“Too much of a spare tire?” Stiles laughed, pressing himself against said belly so he could, just barely, reach behind Derek to grab handfuls of his ass. “Too much junk in the trunk?”

“Both. And if you’re done with the bad metaphors…. you’re soaking wet. Take off your clothes before you catch something,” Derek said gruffly. “You can borrow some of mine.”

Derek had a clear wet splotch on his shirt from where Stiles had leaned into him. Now that he was inside and less frantic about being late, Stiles realized he was shivering and dripping on Derek’s floor.

“Or we could both get out of these clothes and go upstairs.”

“That – yeah. Or that.”

It wasn’t what they usually did. Derek had rarely seen Stiles undressed, and normally Derek was too full to do much of anything in the bedroom. Stiles was happy to do all of the work, relishing the feeling of Derek’s belly resting against his back or riding Derek, watching his breasts and belly wobble. He frequently had to remind himself that Derek was a client, who requested teasing, not admiration and compliments, no matter how badly Stiles wanted to give them.

The contrast between them was even more apparent when they were together in the bedroom. Stiles threw his wet clothes by the doorway and eagerly got Derek out of his own.  Pressed up against Derek, he had the chance to really appreciate how massive the other man was. Stiles’ leaned against him to press their lips together and Derek’s waistline spread out to either side of him.

“It’s official. Can’t wrap my arms around you anymore.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Nope. You’re that fat.”

Derek pushed him down on the bed. “Not to fat to fuck you.”

“Yet,” breathed Stiles, grabbing Derek’s side rolls as he was pinned to the bed by Derek’s lard. Derek had himself propped up with both arms. His doughy belly still hung low enough to press against Stiles, but it kept his weight from being completely crushing. “Keep gorging yourself and you will be.”

“Think so?”

“It’d be a good look for you. Stuffed, too fat to get out of bed, laying there like a beached whale and letting me do all the work.”

“Mhmn. You’d be up to that?”

“I’d be my favorite job,” Stiles told him honestly.  “How long do you think, Der? Ten years? Five? I’ve seen all the ice cream in your fridge and the fast food wrappers the trash. Immobility isn’t that far away.”

“’S your fault.” He moved one hand to smack his gut, watching it quiver. “Getting harder to jerk off with all this in the way.”

“Awww, no wonder you need me. Your belly weighs more than me. Gonna be too much effort to try and find your dick buried in all that flab.”

“Fuck,” Derek moaned, rutting against Stiles. Beads of sweat were forming on Derek’s forehead from the exertion of holding himself up. Stiles swatted at his arm and tried to wiggle out from under him. The heavier man got the hint and collapsed on the bed next to Stiles, trying to catch his breath.

“Still up to pounding me into the mattress?”

“Give me…a minute.”

“Take all the time you need. Want me to bring the rest of your dinner up first?”

“…yes.”

******* Derek was dressed in a suit when he answered the door for Stiles. It was clearly an expensive piece, tailored to a man a few pounds smaller. The pants were stretched thin over Derek’s thighs and the jacket button was equally as stretched.

“Hey, Derek! That suit is a good look.”

“Work ran late,” Derek told him gruffly. “I didn’t have time to order the food. I’ll pay you for the extra time.”

Stiles waved a hand. “No worries. Rough day at work?”

“Yes.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Derek looked unsure. Stiles took a step forward and unbuttoned his jacket, helping Derek shrug if off, then started on his shirt buttons. After a few seconds, Derek burst out, “I hate being the asshole boss! I know – I know what they say about me behind my back. But they don’t understand! A missed deadline means we all look bad and with talks of layoffs and restructuring, we can’t afford any mistakes.”

“They’ll warm up to you. You’re secretly as soft as you look.”

“You don’t know me, Stiles,” Derek said tiredly.

“I know enough. You’re a good guy. Why don’t you relax? Take a bath, change, and I’ll order food. Sounds like you need chocolate. If you like chocolate.”

“What?”

“Chocolate. For bad days? Like chocolate cake?  Or ice cream?"

“It’s been awhile since I had either. I was going to order the usual.”

Stiles shook his head. “Trust me, if you’re upset, you’re going to feel awful if you stuff yourself. I had something else in mind, if it’s okay.”

Derek looked hesitant.  

“I was thinking, you eat your weight in desserts while I eat you out?”

“Let’s- yeah. We can do that.”

“Then get that fat ass in the shower,” Stiles laughed, “and I’ll bring the food upstairs when it arrives.”

******* Stiles had been hesitant since he walked in the door. Derek had been less talkative than usual, admitting only he stopped for fast food on his way home from work, before he had started on their nightly feast.

“Eating without me?”

“Ran into my ex,” Derek admitted through a mouthful of food. “Said a few…choice words about my weight.”

“So you went into McDonalds to spite her?”

“She’s a bitch.”

Stiles laughed uncomfortably. Derek was acting nonchalant, but still seemed upset. “Guess so. Look on her face must have been priceless.”

“Can’t have anyone thinking I got to be this size on accident.”

“The way you eat? I doubt anyone thinks that. How much did you order at McDonalds?”

“Twenty-piece nugget, double cheeseburger, milkshakes, two large fries.”

“Jeeze. Still think you can finish all this?” He saw Derek struggling more than usual to take bite after bite.  Derek took a bite and then gagged; hand clamped over his mouth like he was going to be sick.  “Are you okay?”

Derek took a few seconds, hand still clamped over his mouth, before swallowing and nodding weakly. “I’m fine. Must’ve swallowed too fast.”

“Maybe you should take a break for a little?”

“No,” Derek told him firmly, stabbing his fork back into the chicken, “I’m fine.”

Stiles could tell he wasn’t. His stomach was stretched out further than Stiles has ever seen, stretch marks an angry red. Derek had to be in pain. His arm was wavering, breath coming in shallow pants, each burp looking like it would result in a total upheaval of his entire meal. Stiles wasn’t sure he could sit and watch Derek force himself bite by bite to finish the sizeable amount of food left.

“Scott,” Stiles gasped out, “Derek, Scott.”

Derek immediately froze. “Fuck, are you – is it a panic attack? What…urp-  can I do?”

“No. No. I’m fine. It’s – I can’t watch you do this.”

“You haven’t had a problem with it before.”

“Usually you’re enjoying.”

“I can – urp – keep going.”

“You almost threw up. Tell me you didn’t, Derek.”

“Jus’ need a few minutes….”

“No.” Stiles slid the food a few inches away. Derek reached forward, belly grumbling audibly as he groaned in pain, and fell back into his chair, glaring at Stiles.

“Then you can go. I’ll pay you for the full session.”

“Dude, no way I’m leaving you like this.”

“Mmpppfh. S’fine.”

“No, it isn’t. Think you can make it upstairs?”

Derek made it, but it was a laborious task. Stiles helped him slowly to his feet and kept a steading hand on the small of Derek’s back as he waddled up the stairs, taking one step by a time in agonizingly slow steps, trying not to jostle his overstuffed middle weighing him down. He finally made it and sunk with a groan of relief on the bed.

Stiles bent down and pulled off Derek’s shoes and socks. “Stand up, Big Guy. You’ll be more comfortable with less clothes.”

“Ngggh.”

“Come on,” Stiles laughed, pinching his inner thigh, “only a few seconds and you can lay back down.”

Derek reluctantly got to his feet so Stiles could pull his jeans down around his ankles while Derek tugged off his shirt. As soon as it was done, he fell back on the bed.

“’M too full to do anything.”

“No sex tonight,” Stiles promised. “This might be better.”

He rubbed circles over the top of Derek’s gut, which was so taut with food it had lost its usual softness. Occasionally, he would stop to trace over the multitude of stretchmarks, or press a little bit harder, massaging away the soreness. Eventually, Derek’s heavy, labored breathing, belches and groans fell away to snoring and snuffling.

[mon-dayragingslut4monstaxday6]

See You (Part 1)

See You

A/N: This is the beginning of something beautiful. There will be fluff, angst and smut, but we have to start somewhere. There are no warnings, just really cute. 2.5k words.

@ckyunoirs​, @to-all-the-stories-i-love​, @kpop---scenarios​(you’ll see why). Let me know if you want to be added!❤️

I sit at the dinner table with my sister, staring at my bowl of soup. The soup is delicious, but with the amount of effort we put in, I lost my appetite. Dammit, but the smell hitting my nostrils is making my mouth salivate.

“Are you going to eat or are you just going to stare?”, Bailey mumbles, tapping the table to get my attention. I take a spoonful of soup and embrace the feeling of hard work being paid off.

“I’m just distracted”, I sigh before dipping a roll into the broth.

“By?”, Bailey wonders.

“This guy I’m talking to”, I take a big bite out of my roll.

“You’re still talking to that Korean guy? He seems like bad news”, she scoffs.

“How? He hasn’t gotten weird yet”, I shrug.

“Yet”, she points out.

“I’m thinking about asking him to show his face”, I bow my head in shame. Instead of choking on her soup, which is what I imagined, she calmly swirls her spoon.

“Do you think you’re ready for that?”, she turned sincere.

“It’s not like we’re dating. We make small talk, but nothing farther than a friendship level”, I shrug.

“Could you see yourself being with this guy?”, she turns giggly.

“I couldn’t say. We get along great, but I could definitely see us being friends”, I turn my visual focus to my soup.

“What if he’s hot”, she gasps. I can feel my cheeks start to warm up.

“He won’t be, stop”, I bashfully mumble.

“But what if he likes you! You’re stunning, he will absolutely adore you”, she adds, hyping up the vibe.

“You’re making me blush”, I hide my smile.

“Oh honey. If you’re blushing now, you’ll be a mess when you see his face”, she pokes fun. Shit, she’s right. I will be a mess.

“Should I just ask for a selfie or could he just catfish me?”, I groan.

“He will probably catfish if you ask for a selfie. Just FaceTime him. If you get uncomfortable, just click out of it. You don’t owe him anything”, she points to my phone. I take a few more spoonfuls of my soup and pick up my phone.

“I’m going to schedule a FaceTime session with him”, I inhale.

“And may he be a creepy gross man who is just using those apps to get sweet naive girls like my dumbass sister”, my sister toasts. I clink and swig my drink.

“But what if he is hot”, I worry. “Then snatch that fucker”, she shamelessly sips her drink. I nearly choke on my soup.

“How would I do that?”, I egg her on.

“Send him a photo of your tits, ass, and thighs and he will be crawling all over you”, she points to my features.

“What if he’s taken?”, I gasp. I never realized I never asked if he was single. The topic never came up!

“Then why is he texting you”, she winks.

“For tutoring”, I assert.

“Tutoring to get in your pants more like”, she continues to give me the side eye.

“He’s not like that”, I scoff.

“Yet”, she scrunches her face.

I unlock my phone and message him good morning.

Min: Good evening to you, Sophie!

I need to get a grip. It’s just asking for a video chat, no big deal. Oh goodness, I never thought that maybe he would say no.

Me: I was wondering if you would want to video chat.

Min: You wonder what I look like?

Son of a bitch, he’s smarter than I thought.

Me: Yes. Are you not curious about me?

Min: I am.

My heart is pounding. I need to eat my soup to calm my nerves.

Me: We don’t have to video chat if you don’t want to.

I put my phone down to compose my thoughts and refocus on my soup.

“What is he saying?”, Bailey teases.

“He asked me if I wonder what he looks like and I said yes and I asked him if he wonders what I look like and he said yes”, I calmly recite the messages. I hear my phone buzz and I don’t have the strength to pick it up.

“Eat and then message him. It’s still morning over there anyway”, she shoos my phone away. I follow the advice, because my stomach is growling from neglect. I eat the rest of my soup and roll in peace, collecting thoughts about what this video chat would be like. Obviously, it will be awkward. A solid two minutes of us saying hi and waving, trying to think on what to say.

I feel mildly shameful for getting to know this one guy I met online. I’ve been using some apps to tutor Korean’s English, getting some extra cash at my own pace. There was this one guy who frequently requested tutoring. Out of all of the people I tutored, he made the best progress, but he still has a long way to go. He innocently asked for my WhatsApp, to have better contact with me. Being naive, I gave him my contact information. When I realized what I did, I guaranteed that once the conversation drifts to something explicit, I’ll immediately block him. He never gave the impression that he would be like that, but we only talked about tutoring and typical conversation translations.

It’s been a couple of weeks or so since we started casually messaging. I learned he’s an artist, a weakness of mine. He sent me photos of some of his work and his simplistic style is very visually pleasing, very tranquil. I knew that when I told him that I’m a fellow artist, our conversations will shift. Suddenly, we can relate to each other, something I wanted to avoid.

He hasn’t asked me what I looked like yet, something I’m personally surprised by, but I’m going to take the plunge and finally see him. It’s not like I would stop talking to him if he’s ugly, I just don’t know what I will do if he’s pretty.

Having the soup settle in my tummy, I pick up my phone.

Min: I want to. I’m afraid you will think of me differently if you see me.

Me: How come?

The wait for a reply is making me anxious. To take my attention away from my phone, I wash my dishes in the sink.

“Sophie. We have a dishwasher”, Bailey points to the dishwasher right next to me.

“I need to keep busy”, I huff.

“It’s just a boy. Schedule a video chat then go to bed”, she laughs at my anguish.

“What if he’s pretty Bailey!”, I jokingly whine.

“Then good for you! That means you have a pretty friend. There is nothing weird with having a pretty friend”, Bailey explains.

“You’re right. You’re right”, I acknowledge as I stack my dishes on the drying rack. I hear my phone ding and Bailey and I exchanged glances.

“Don’t do it. Keep busy and put the food away”, Bailey warns. Without hesitation I grab some deep tupperware from the cupboard to store the soup. I hear a giggle from the dining room. Peaking over my shoulder and Bailey is reading the message preview on my phone screen.

“Bailey!”, I gasp.

“You’re getting catfished”, she cackles.

“Why, what did he say?”, I pout my lip.

“He claims he’s a model”, she laughs. I try not to roll my eyes.

“Then he sent you a link to his instagram”, she continues.

“Did you open it?”, I wonder.

“I need your password”, she catches her breath from laughing.

“Give me a second while I put the food away”, I gesture to the kitchen counter. Could he really be catfishing me? He wouldn’t. Would he? It’s not like I know the guy. Stop imagining, get your act together!

I pour the soup in a couple of containers, enough for Bailey and I to have our own large bowl.

“I’ll wash the pot, go talk to your man”, she cackles, switching places with me. I unlock my phone and see a swarm of messages.

Min: I’m afraid you will recognize me. I do modeling so a lot of my photos are styled.

Min: You can see my Instagram. If you don’t believe it, we can still video chat.

Min: I would very much like to see you.

He sends me a link to his Instagram and I already don’t know how to feel about it. Only thirty-four posts but over six hundred thousand followers but following none. That sounds suspicious. I see some selfies and my phone drops out of my hands. That can’t be him. He can’t be that pretty. He can’t!

“Bailey, I fucked up. He’s pretty”, I cry out.

“He could use someone else's face. Facetime him. I dare you”, Bailey aggressively points.

“Should I send him my Instagram?”, I mumble.

“No, leave the mystery”, she winks at me.

Me: Is that really you on Instagram?

Min: Sorry I’ve been hiding it from you.

Me: That didn’t answer my question haha

Min: It is me. Can I see yours?

Me: Let’s video chat. I’m probably too ugly for you.

Min: Doubt it. I’m sure you’re beautiful.

Don’t blush. Don’t blush. Don’t blush. I was going to wait to video call him, but I can’t wait any longer. I need to see him.

Me: Could you video chat now? Just for a few minutes?

Min: Sure!

“Bailey, it’s happening”, I panic. Bailey stops what she’s doing and blankly stares at me.

“Stay calm. Nothing to worry about. It’s just a boy. Go to your room, get comfortable. Say hi and ask him about his day”, Bailey walks me through this.

“If he starts acting weird. Hang up”, her voice turns worrisome.

“If he asks you to get naked, hang up”, she continues to list possible scenarios.

“Wouldn’t that be under acting weird?”, my voice trembles. She shrugs.

“If he’s naked, definitely hang up”, she adds.

“Enough. I’m going”, I exclaim, rushing to my bedroom. Looking in the mirror, goodness how did I let my skin look so bad! It’s fine, it’s fine. It’s just one video call. One. I half ass my skin care routine, skipping some steps. My phone buzzes, a message from Min. He sent me his info to video call him. What the fuck am I wearing! I swiftly change into my favorite comfy sweater. First impressions matter and he needs to see me as cute as possible! I leap onto my bed, sitting up against the headboard.

Min: Are you ready or do you want to reschedule?

Me: No, I’m ready!

Setting up the according video chatting app, I squirm nervously, imagining every scenario possible. He could be a creeper who tries to traffick girls. He could be some weird old guy who catfishes as a handsome young man to get sugar babies. He could not be a catfish but has a girlfriend and he’s doing this as a way to cheat. I need to stop this negativity. He could be a perfectly normal guy who likes making friends.

Dialing. Ringing. Ringing. Ringing. I hide my face with my sleeve. I can’t bear seeing him. The ringing stops. There’s some shuffling.

“Sophie?”, I hear a sweet, soft, slightly feminine voice. His little laugh makes my heart flutter. His laugh sounds genuine, from his diaphragm, kind of breathy. I sneak a peek and he’s as beautiful as his Instagram. He has very kissable lips. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that I can easily escape in. He is a living Disney prince.

“Hi, Minhyuk”, I wave while keeping one hand over my face.

“Why are you hiding?”, he can’t stop smiling. His accent is pretty strong, but he did work hard on his English.

“I’m shy”, I mindlessly confess. He jokingly pouts.

“It’s ok, it’s just me”, he comforts. I lower my hand, but keep myself wrapped in the sweater. He grins from cheek to cheek, showing his pearly whites. His cheekbones couldn’t be more pronounced. He hasn’t done or said anything for a couple of seconds, is he frozen?

“Minhyuk?”, I ask.

“How are you this beautiful?”, he chuckles.

“Huh?”, my jaw drops.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?”, Minhyuk continues. I sweater paw to hide my cheeky grin.

“Stop it”, I bashfully look away.

“No, you are beautiful. I can’t believe you’re real”, he cackles. I gasp.

“Me?! You’re the model!”, I exclaim, laughing hard enough for me to snort. I can’t believe I snorted in the time talking to a guy. His laugh is comforting.

“You’re so cute”, he compliments.

“I’m not cute”, I pout, crossing my arms. A smile has yet to leave his face. Is this going well?

“Yes, you are”, he scrunches his nose. Oh my goodness, don’t do that again or else I will actually fall apart.

“What are you doing today?”, I change the subject, hoping for a casual conversation.

“I got schedules, a full day of work. What did you do today? Did you eat?”, he gets the hint. He changes his sitting position to be more comfortable.

“I just had some good soup. Work was rough today, but I have tomorrow off”, my eyes lock onto his.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”, he tilts his head slightly.

“Going shopping”, I casually guess.

“Will you message me while you shop?”, he mumbles. I notice his eyes blink irregularly.

“Yes”, I nod. Minhyuk looks offscreen and his face shifts from a smile to a more relaxed look.

“One second, please”, he whispers to the screen. I hear a muffled man’s voice offscreen. Minhyuk converses with the person obviously in his room. His voice in Korean is even more attractive than his English voice. Not saying his English voice isn’t attractive, it’s very attractive. Hell, everything about him is attractive. How is he real? How did the universe maneuver it’s way for us to find each other? How does he find me beautiful? I don’t understand it. I’m so fascinated by his face and his voice. I want to know more about him. I’d love to paint with him through video chatting. What am I going to say to Bailey when this is over? I’ll tell her the truth. Minhyuk looks over at me and catches me absentmindedly staring.

“Sophie?”, he laughs to get my attention, knocking me out of my trance.

“I have to get ready for the day. I can call you when you wake up”, he pouts.

“Oh, yeah! Sure, I’ll message you when I’m awake”, I smile.

“Sleep well and sweet dreams. I’ll talk to you tomorrow”, he sweetly waves.

“Have a good day at work, be safe and eat good food”, I kindly wave. He scrunches his nose one more time before hanging up. I plop my phone next to me so I can melt onto my blankets.

There’s a knock on my door.

“Come in”, I welcome. Bailey peaks her head in and laughs at me fully spread out on my bed.

“How was it?”, she shows her curiosity.

“Amazing”, I sigh in disappointment. I could talk to him for hours when we message, I can’t even imagine how long we would video chat.

“Was he pretty?”, Bailey continues.

“Gorgeous”, I whine. She squeals. 

“What did he think of you?”, she gasps. I turn over to lay on my stomach.

“He called me beautiful and cute”, I scream into my pillow.

#monsta x fluff #monsta x #monsta x minhyuk #monsta x scenarios #monsta x imagines #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #90 day fiance

[emospritelet]

Twisted Fate - chapter 19

Belle and Gold have The Talk. Time for some much-needed clearing of the air, and for Gold to pull up his big boy pants and tell her how he feels. 

Prompt me from this list or this list  :)

[AO3]

x

Belle slept better than she had since before the accident, waking only to go to the bathroom. By the time she was dressed, she could smell coffee brewing, and she wandered through to the kitchen to find Gold preparing breakfast, his silk robe open and the ends of the belt brushing against his legs as he walked from the fridge to the counter. Sunlight was shining through the windows, the radio playing a pleasant classical tune, and he smiled at her, a carton of milk in one hand. He was looking very good, and she wondered if he had slept as well as she. Perhaps opening up was giving him some peace. She hoped so.

“Morning,” he said. “You’re looking well. The bruises are starting to fade.”

“No, they’re not,” she said flatly. “I still look as though I lost a fight with a monster truck. But I did sleep well.”

“Good. Take a seat, I’ll make you some breakfast.”

“What are we having?”

Gold shrugged. “Pancakes?”

“Perfect.”

Belle took a seat at the table, reaching for the teapot and pouring herself a cup while he began making the pancake batter. She added milk to her cup and stirred, closing her eyes and listening to Gold whisk the batter. The spring sun was warm against her skin, and she stretched and yawned, enjoying the feel of it and thinking ahead to the summer months, when they would have a baby to care for and take on walks in the park. The thought made her smile.

“I - ah - I was wondering if you’d spoken to your father recently,” said Gold, and Belle frowned, opening her eyes.

“Not since he pretty much cut me off, no,” she said. “Why? Did you see him while you were in Storybrooke?”

“No.” He glanced at her over his shoulder, still whisking. “Not to speak to, anyway. I saw him outside the shop as I drove past, that’s all. It made me wonder if he knew you had been injured.”

“No.” She hunched her shoulders a little, picking up her cup. “He’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want to speak to me.”

“You think he’s still as angry as he was?”

Belle sat back in her chair with a sigh.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe not. Maybe he’s just too proud to pick up the damn phone.”

“Does he know you live here now?”

“No.” Belle sipped at her tea. “I didn’t give him the address yet. Maybe I should. The baby will be here soon, and - and maybe he’ll pull his head out of his arse and get involved in his grandchild’s life.”

“Maybe so.”

Gold carried the bowl of pancake batter to the fridge and put it inside.

“We’ll give it half an hour to rest,” he said. “Unless you’re starving.”

Belle sighed, putting down her cup.

“Weirdly enough, talking about my father just stole my appetite.”

“In which case, I’ll be sure not to mention him again,” he said lightly, and she smiled.

“No, you’re right, I do need to talk to him. I don’t want my first conversation with him to be in the delivery room.”

“Well, there’s still time,” he said diplomatically, reaching for the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup. “I can always deliver a message the next time I’m in Storybrooke.”

“I think that would go down even less well than me approaching him,” she said dryly, and Gold pulled a face.

“Perhaps you’re right.”

He took a sip of his coffee, licking his lips as he set down the cup. Beneath the silk robe he wore a smooth grey T-shirt that clung to his chest, and she could see the points of his nipples pushing against it. It made her remember how it felt to run her tongue over his skin, how he tasted, how he felt inside her. Sunlight was catching on the hair at his temples, silver strands glinting. She wanted to reach out and run her fingers through it, and caught herself, burying her face in her tea cup.  Not the time, Belle, for crying out loud.

“Did you have any plans for today?”

His voice made her start, and she looked up, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks as she tried to shove away her inappropriate thoughts.

“Oh, just stumbling around the apartment, having you wait on me hand and foot, maybe a little light reading...” she said, with a wry smile. “You know, the usual.”

Gold grinned.

“I thought I’d do laundry,” he said. “And later I might do some baking. So, if there’s anything specific you want, let me know.”

“You’re a pretty good roommate, you know.”

His grin widened.

“Well, it’s been a long time since I had to care for someone,” he said. “I’m actually enjoying it.”

“You’re good at it,” she said. “I think you’ll be great with the baby, when it comes.”

“I’ll certainly try my best.”

“Three a.m. feeds and cleaning up puke and poop?”

“It’ll be worth it.”

“Trips to the playground and Any Given Sundae and getting your suit covered in mud and ice cream?”

He shrugged.

“Storybrooke’s dry cleaners will appreciate the extra custom.”

“The fearsome Mr Gold, out in public doting on his child,” she teased. “Your reputation will be ruined.”

“Maybe I don’t mind too much.”

He looked highly amused, his eyes sparkling, and she wanted to lean over and kiss him. It was painful to remember that they were not together, and that he was only there to help out because of her broken arm. She could feel her smile slip a little, and so she reached for her tea to hide her face. Gold sat back, picking up his coffee again.

“So,” he said. “Baking, as I promised. Any requests?”

“Can you make chocolate cake?”

He bowed his head a little.

“Consider it done.”

x

He did make a cake, filling the apartment with the scent of rich, dark chocolate that made Belle lift her nose and sniff the air whenever she entered the kitchen. He covered it with chocolate ganache, spread thick with a palette knife and pulled into soft, glistening peaks, and Belle licked her lips each time she passed the cake on its plate. Her appetite had well and truly returned since Gold had moved in, and she ate every scrap of the dinner he prepared (lamb cutlets with potatoes and a sauce made with red wine and rosemary). A thick slice of the chocolate cake followed, and Belle drew a finger through the ganache frosting, putting it in her mouth and letting out a low moan of appreciation. Gold grinned from across the table, a piece of cake balanced very properly on his fork.

“God, that’s obscenely good,” she said thickly, and sucked off the last traces of chocolate. “Pretty sure it has to be illegal.”

“Perhaps it’s the way you’re eating it,” he suggested, and Belle chuckled.

“Well, okay, if you want me to be polite and use cutlery like a loser…”

His grin widened, and he popped the cake into his mouth. He pursed his lips, nodding as he chewed.

“Okay, that is pretty good,” he said. “Not that I want to blow my own trumpet.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll blow it for you,” she said, and almost choked as she realised what she had said, a blush rising in her cheeks. Gold inclined his head.

“Well well,” he remarked, cutting off another piece of cake with the edge of the fork. “This conversation has gone straight into the gutter.”

“I blame you for making sexually-arousing cake.”

“The secret ingredient is your dirty mind, it seems to me.”

She giggled, and he speared the piece of cake with his fork, popping it into his mouth and grinning at her. He reached for his glass of wine, taking a sip, and there was silence as they ate. Belle popped the last piece into her mouth with a contented noise, and Gold put his fork down and reached for his wine.

“I had another call from my lawyer while I was on the way back from Storybrooke,” he said, and Belle glanced up, suddenly wary.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” He took a drink, watching her. “She wanted to know when we’re likely to be coming in to discuss the paperwork.”

“Oh.” Belle dropped her eyes, one finger pushing crumbs around on her plate. “Well. I don’t know. Not yet, I guess.”

“We held off on going because of your accident,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, I know.”

“But you seem well enough to at least leave the apartment now.” 

“Did you miss the part when I said I was covered in bruises.”

“Does that prevent you from leaving the apartment?” he asked.

“I suppose not,” she said cautiously. “I was thinking of going into college. I’ve decided I’m going to stop studying once I’ve finished the paper I’m working on, but I’d like to talk to Professor South when I drop it off, let her know I won’t be back until - well, until I’m back.”

“When did you want to go?”

“I don’t know - Monday?”

Gold took another sip of his wine, setting down the glass and licking his lips.

“I could take you on Monday morning, if you like,” he said. “Perhaps a walk in the park to get some air, have a little lunch…”

“That would be nice.”

“And then we can go to my lawyer’s office before your usual hospital appointment,” he added. “Did you speak to your own lawyer yet?”

Belle sat back with a sigh, her good mood evaporating.

“No.”

There was a moment of silence. Gold held her gaze with a flat stare that made her want to squirm. The fingers of his right hand curled inwards, as though he wanted to drum them irritably, but he seemed to catch himself and spread them out on the table top, poised on their tips.

“We’ve been talking about this for weeks now,” he said patiently.

“I know.”

“I can give you the names of some excellent firms, if you don’t know who to approach,” he went on. ”I realise that you broke your arm, but that shouldn’t stop you speaking to a lawyer.”

“I know.”

“You really ought to get some advice on this.”

“Alex, I know!”

“I’m only saying this for your own good, Belle, and I don’t understand why you’re fighting it.”

“I’m not!”

The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, and she pushed up from the table and stomped from the room, irritation making her heart thump and her skin tingle. Damn the man! I’m gonna have tell him, I can’t stand this!

She could hear the scrape of chair legs in the kitchen, and she tightened her jaw, waiting for Gold to join her. He looked puzzled and wary, and she threw up a hand before he could say anything.

“I haven’t looked into getting legal advice on our bloody child support arrangements because I don’t want to think about it,” she said flatly. “There. I said it.”

“Okay.” Gold’s forehead creased. “But - you do realise we need to come to an arrangement, yes? I’m happy for your lawyer and mine to discuss the terms but I want everything agreed before the baby is born: signed, witnessed - everything. I won’t leave this up to chance, Belle, you know that.”

“I know!” She began pacing. “I know that. I get it. I get that you’re terrified I’m gonna run off into the night with our baby and that you’ll never see it again, I understand. But every time I try to read through that - that thing you’ve drawn up with your lawyers I feel sick!”

He was silent, still watching her with that wary look in his eyes, and it made her want to scream!

“When I think about those papers and this agreement we’re supposed to come to, it’s like my whole life is laid out in front of me and it makes me want to cry, don’t you get that?”

She was rambling, sentences falling over one another, but it was as though she had opened the door to her inner turmoil, and she couldn’t have stopped if she had tried.

“All this time I’ve been in love with you, and I’ve been scared and - and angry, and pregnant and alone and telling myself you were a bastard who didn’t care about anyone or anything,” she said, the words tumbling from her mouth, “and - and then you come back into my life and you want this baby and I know you’ll love it so, so much, and all I can see is what our lives could have been like if you loved me, and it kills me!”

He was staring at her, and the wariness had gone from his eyes, replaced by something that she couldn’t interpret. It was almost a look of pain.

“I know you’re only here temporarily,” she said, “and that once I’m well and the baby’s born and we’re settled, then you’ll move out and you’ll go back to your life and I’ll have mine, and - and we’ll just be another couple who didn’t make it and who have to see each other because of the child they created.”

His jaw had tightened, but whether through pain or anger or something else she didn’t know.

“And so we continue,” she went on, gesturing between the two of them. “We carry on with this - this forced politeness and stepping around each other and meeting twice a week to do the handover of our child and alternating Christmases and birthdays so that every other year feels strange and empty, and ten years down the line I wake up one day and realise that I’m still not over you and I probably never will be and you don’t feel anything for me and I die a little more inside, and—”

“I do.”

The words, spoken so quietly she barely heard them, cut across her rant, and Belle swallowed the rest of her sentence as she stared at him. Gold wasn’t quite looking at her, his eyes darting to hers before flicking away again, as though he was ashamed.

“What?” she snapped.

“I - I feel,” he said hesitantly. “You say I don’t feel anything for you, and that’s not true, Belle. It never has been.”

“Oh, well yeah...” She flicked her hair out of her eyes. “I know you definitely felt something. Let me try to remember how you let me know you were interested in me in the first place. Something about taking me to bed and fucking me hard?”

He closed his eyes.

“I - I realise that wasn’t perhaps the most—”

“And then later, when you were done with everything we had, when you wanted me gone, when you broke my bloody heart, you said—”

“I know!” he said sharply, looking up again, his eyes flashing. “I know what I fucking said, alright? Those words have bloody haunted me! They’ve played over and over in my head ever since.”

“Well, join the bloody club!” she snapped. “Do you have any idea how many times I cried alone thinking about that night? Especially after I found out I was pregnant?”

“I’m sorry.” He seemed anguished, that almost helpless look in his eyes again. “Truly, Belle. I am so, so sorry!”

“Then why did you do it?” she demanded. “Why? If you regret it so much, if - if it’s haunted you so much, why the hell did you do it?”

He was silent, his mouth working a little, as though his throat was jammed with words he couldn’t speak, and she shook her head and began pacing back and forth. Hadn’t meant to have this out now, but screw it! I need to talk about it. We need to talk about it.

“So I've worked out that you had started to feel something for me," she said. "Not much, clearly. Not enough to let me down gently, but something. Was that why you pushed me away?"

Nothing. Silence. She could feel her anger growing.

"Did you even mean those terrible things you said to me?” she asked. “Did you mean any of it?”

His mouth twisted a little, his eyes wide and pleading, as though he would cry, and he shook his head.

“No,” he said softly. “No, I didn’t mean any of it. None of it. I - I wanted to push you away, I admit that, but everything I said was a lie.”

His admission was like a blow to the heart, a sharp stab between her ribs, piercing her soul, and Belle put a hand to her mouth, a sob bursting from her as she turned away. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, not wanting to let them fall and open the floodgates.

“How could you do that to me?” she whimpered, her voice tiny, broken. “If you cared for me even the tiniest bit, how could you do that? Do you know how much you hurt me? The things you said…”

“I lied,” he said desperately. “I stood there and I lied to you, Belle. I thought of the worst things I could possibly say to you, and - and I said them. But none of it was true, not - not one word. I - I know you can’t forgive me, and - and God knows I don’t deserve it, but—”

“Forgive you?”

Her grief was a lake, a river, a raging torrent, and she hated that he would see her break all over again. She turned back to face him, trying to summon her anger, and the illusion of strength that rage could give her.

“I loved you!” she said, her voice shaking. “I told you I loved you! And - and you took that and twisted it and turned it against me! You made everything I felt seem like - like garbage, like nothing! You went out of your way to say the most hurtful, most damaging things you could, and now you turn around and tell me it was all bullshit, that everything you said to me was a lie? You want me to forgive that?”

“I’m sorry!” His lower lip trembled, his expression desperate. “I was wrong, I know that. It was a terrible thing to do, and I’m so, so sorry!”

“But why?” she pleaded. “Why did you do it? Why - destroy - everything between us?”

“Because I was afraid.”

It was barely a whisper, and for some reason it made her angrier than if he had shouted.

“You were afraid?” She stared at him incredulously. “Yeah, big surprise! I bloody well called it! You were afraid of someone getting close to you! You’re still afraid!”

“Yes.”

His admission, short and blunt, his voice calm, stopped her in her tracks, and for a moment she simply stared at him.

“You’re right,” he said. “I’m a coward. I’ve always been afraid, Belle. I still am.”

“Of what?” She glared at him. “Of me? What do I do that’s so terrifying?"

He opened and closed his mouth, glancing around as though someone would come to his rescue and speak the words that seemed to elude him.

“It - it wasn’t supposed to happen!” he said eventually. “You were leaving, you were going. I was ready for you to go, I wanted you to go, and - and then you told me that maybe you’d stay.”

“So?” she snapped. “Would that have been so terrible, seeing each other? Being together?”

“I didn’t want that for you!”

Belle put her hands on her hips, feeling her jaw tighten.

“So you thought ripping my heart out was somehow better?”

“No!”

He growled something under his breath, beginning to pace just as she had, back and forth, his mouth working.

“I couldn’t give you what you needed,” he said. “I knew that. And - and you would have seen that in time. You would have seen what I am, and I couldn’t bear it. Better to end it before it started. Better for you to go, to live your own life, to be happy.”

“I was happy!” she insisted. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“But I had nothing more to give you!” he insisted, tapping against his chest, fingers splayed against his shirt. “Inside, there’s - there’s nothing! Just a - a void! You wouldn’t be happy with that. Not long term.”

“So you thought you’d force the issue?” she returned. “You thought you’d make my choices for me, because God knows I can’t be trusted to do it for myself. Stupid little girl who doesn’t know what’s best for her, is that it?”

“I’ve never thought that—”

“But you didn’t trust me to decide for myself!”

“I just wanted—” He cut off with a frustrated exhalation, running a hand over his face. “You deserve more than I can give you, that’s all. I’m - I’m nothing! I can offer you nothing!”

“I don’t believe you!” she blurted. “I know there’s love in you, I’ve seen it! I saw the look on your face when you felt our baby kick, and - and the pain in your eyes when you talked about your son! You tell me you don’t feel anything? You’re lying to yourself!”

“I just—” He lifted a hand, let it fall against his leg with a dull smack, a helpless expression on his face. “I can’t give you what you need.”

“So your answer is not to even bloody try?”

She turned away again, furious with him. Tears were brimming in her eyes, welling up and spilling over. Anger, frustration, and grief, swirling inside her, boiling and seething. She had read something once about tears having a different structure depending on their cause, and wondered what her own would look like. As jagged and broken as she felt, perhaps.

“Belle, please…”

His voice was soft, a low, regretful whisper, and she turned back to face him, her mouth twisting.

“We could have been together!” she wept. “If you’d just opened up to me! Just once! There was no need for any of this! Months of pain, of - of misery! For both of us! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? How are we supposed to come back from that?”

Gold shook his head, looking stricken, his lower lip trembling. He reached out hesitantly, his hand touching hers, and she snatched it away.

“Don’t!” she snapped. “Just - just leave me alone!”

She turned her back on him, stomping away to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her. She’d wanted honesty from him. He’d answered her questions. But God, did it have to hurt so much? 

Gold let her go, wincing as she slammed the door. He waited in silence for several minutes, half-expecting her to come out and yell at him again, but she didn’t. Feeling battered and weary, he turned back to the kitchen to clean up, his body aching and leaden as he wiped down the surfaces and put the rest of the chocolate cake in a tin to keep it fresh. He felt as though he never wanted to eat again, his stomach knotted and painful. My own fault. All of this is my fault. I have to make it better. I have to try.

He drank what was left of the wine in his glass, and after a moment’s hesitation poured another, taking it through to the lounge and sitting down with a sigh.  Perhaps she’ll come out again. I need to talk to her. I need to tell her how I feel. Maybe it’ll help. Can’t make things worse than they are.

x

He sat in silence for a long time, his thoughts a frantic, jumbled mess of memories, regrets and broken dreams. So many things to try to fix between them. So many broken pieces to tease back together with clumsy hands. He barely knew where to start. He had heard Belle’s door open once, and then sounds of running water in the bathroom as she readied herself for bed. When her bedroom door closed again, and he realised that she wouldn’t come back into the lounge, he pushed up out of the chair, stumbling towards his own room to change into his night things. Not that he thought he’d get any sleep.

He cleaned his teeth, trying not to look at his reflection as he did so, hating the sight of himself. Splashing cold water on his face didn’t make him feel any better, and he towelled off and slipped on a clean T-shirt over loose pants, followed by his silk robe. Perhaps if he lay in the darkness for long enough, he could think of a decent enough apology.

He was on his way back from the bathroom when he heard a sound from Belle’s room. A sniffle. A muffled sob. He paused outside her door, unsure what to do. Would she even want to see him? God, he wanted to help her, to tell her exactly how he felt, to reassure her. He wanted to prove to her that he could be a good man. Or at least a better one. Starting from zero would surely mean he could be better. Fuck what you want, you piece of shit, start thinking about what she wants.

Hesitantly, he reached up and knocked quietly on her door.

“Belle?”

The sound inside cut off, and he imagined her lying in bed with the blankets pulled up over her face, glaring at the door.

“Sweetheart,” he said gently. “Please. At least let me know you’re alright.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Alright.” He waited a moment. “Can I come in?”

“Whatever.”

Her voice was wobbly, petulant, and he pushed open the door, slipping into the room. Belle was curled in bed with her knees drawn up and her arms around her curving belly, as though she was already hugging their child. It made him feel desperately sad. God, I’ve screwed everything up. I should go. It would be for the best. Give her some space.

"I think we should talk," he said. "You're right to be angry with me, and I don't blame you for it. Just - just tell me what I can do to make things easier on you."

Belle sat up slowly, the blankets falling around her waist as she leaned back against the pillows. She hadn't told him to get out, and so he sat down on the edge of the bed, fingers flexing on the handle of his cane

“I could leave,” he suggested. “I - I wouldn’t leave you alone, obviously, but I could arrange for someone to come and help you. A nurse, maybe. A carer. Someone who could do what I’ve been doing, only - well, only not me.”

Belle stared at him.

“You’re offering to pay for someone to come and care for me every day?” she said, in a neutral tone.

“Yes.”

“Which means you’d move out and probably head back to Storybrooke.”

“Well, I’d be back to take you to the hospital…”

“So I tell you I want you to open up, and you do, and we fight, and your solution to all this is to run away, is that right?”

Gold opened and closed his mouth.

“I - I just thought you wouldn’t want to see me, that’s all.”

“I’m tired of you assuming that you know what I want, Alexander.”

He snapped his mouth shut, and Belle sighed.

“Why couldn’t you have told me how you were feeling all those months ago?” she asked wearily. “You didn’t have to tell me you loved me, you just - you just had to let me in!”

He was shaking his head even before she had finished speaking.

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” 

“I don’t know.” He dropped his eyes, focusing on the blankets between them, where his fingers plucked awkwardly at a fold in the cloth. “Fear. Denial, maybe, I don’t know."

"Fear of what?"

Gold pulled a face, lifting a hand in a helpless expression.

"I can't explain it right now," he said. "It’s - it’s something I’ve started to talk about with Dr Hopper, but it’s not going to be something that I can flip a switch and fix.”

Belle sighed, pushing herself a little more upright and running a hand through her hair.

“I’m not expecting you to,” she said, and her voice was somewhat gentler. “I just - I just want you to be honest with me, that’s all. I want you to try.”

Gold sighed heavily, nodding. Come on. Tell her, you fucking idiot. You owe her the world, tell her how you fucking feel. He looked up, and Belle was staring at him, dark curls framing her face, her lower lip trembling a little. God, she’s so beautiful. How did I ever get to touch her? He licked his lips, his mouth dry.

“I love you,” he said softly. “I love you, Belle. I always have. I think - no, I know - I know I always will. I - I realise it’s probably about a year too late, but it’s true.”

She sucked in a shuddering breath, squeezing her eyes shut. Two tears tracked silvery paths down her cheeks, and he wanted to kiss them away.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” he said. “I’m so, so sorry that I broke your heart. I’m sorry that I tried to make your decisions for you, and cut myself out of your life.”

Letting the words fall from his mouth was almost a relief, as though a heavy, poisonous growth inside him had been lanced, loss and pain draining out of him, and he could feel his own tears rising, stinging his eyes, threatening to break him.

“I - I’m sorry that I hurt you so badly that you couldn’t tell me about the baby,” he went on. “I’m sorry you thought I didn’t care, because I care so fucking much it hurts, Belle. And - and it scares me, and I - I don't know what to do."

She swallowed hard, glancing away as her mouth twisted.

"I don’t think I’ve ever fucked anything up to the extent that I’ve fucked up our lives, but I can’t say it’s come as a surprise," he added. "Everything that was ever good and pure and light in my life, I’ve lost it or - or destroyed it or driven it away. It was only a matter of time before I did the same to you.”

Belle shook her head sadly.

“You say that like it was inevitable,” she said. “Like it was some - some external force that you had no control over, but it wasn’t. You chose to drive me away.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I did. I don’t know how I can make up for it, or - or if you even want me to.”

“I don’t know what I want right now,” she said. Her voice was quiet, subdued, and she shook her head. “God, I’m tired. I’m so tired. Why did you have to make it so hard?”

He dropped his eyes again, cold steel claws of shame and self-loathing raking deep rents in his soul. It hurt, a tearing pain deep in his chest, and he willed himself not to cry. The unexpected warmth of a hand on his made him look up, and Belle was staring at him, her eyes wet with tears, her expression somewhat softened.

“We have a lot to talk about,” she said.

“Yes.”

“We’re not going to fix everything tonight,” she added, and he shook his head.

“No.”

“Do you want to fix things?” she asked, and Gold felt his mouth twist.

“Yes,” he whispered. “God, Belle, I want to fix everything! I - I don’t know how we can, but—”

“Neither do I,” she said. “But maybe wanting to is the first step.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and she squeezed his hand.

“It’s late,” she said. “We should sleep.”

“Alright.”

She tilted her head, her eyes gazing into his, as though she was searching for something. He wondered what it was she saw. If indeed there was anything to see.

“Will you stay?” she asked then, and he blinked.

“What?”

Belle sat back, patting the bed beside her.

“Stay with me,” she said. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He stared at her for a moment, surprised by the request, but then nodded.

“As you wish.”

Hesitantly, he moved to the other side of the bed, lying down on top of the blankets.

"Alex?"

"Yes?"

"Get in the bloody bed, you idiot."

"Oh. Right."

It felt awkward, shrugging out of his robe and draping it over the chair, and he caught the end of his cane in the trailing corner of the blanket, almost falling on his face. Belle didn’t seem to notice, curled on her side with her back to him. He leaned the cane against the corner of the nightstand where it met the wall, lifting the edge of the blankets and climbing in beside her. The bed was unfamiliar, the scent of Belle’s perfume on the pillows, and he lay on his back for a moment, reluctant to move and disturb her.

“You can put your arm around me,” she said, making him start.

He turned onto his side, eyes following the dark curls of her hair in the dim light. Shifting a little closer, he kept his arm above the blankets, wrapping it around her waist so that his hand was on the curve of her belly. A smile curved his lips at the thought of the child that would soon be in the world. He would try to make amends, to be the person that Belle and their child deserved. He would try his best to fix things. For all of them.

#fic: twisted fate #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #my fic #ripperblackstaff

[flowercrown-bucky]

Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Modern!Loki x Reader, Modern!Thor x Reader, Loki x Wanda

Series Warnings: Cheating, affairs, swearing, legal alcohol consumption, smut later on, mention of smoking

Summary: What do you do when you fall in love? Embark on a clandestine affair with their brother, of course.

Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two

Chapter Three - Regarding the events in the restaurant and everything that followed on the roof.

——

TAG LIST: OPEN (PLEASE COMMENT OR MESSAGE ME IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE ADDED!)

The apartment you shared with Thor was small, but you thought it was perfect. Nothing spectacular, a modest two-bed, bath-and-ensuite in Hackney, overlooking Clissord Park. If you leant out of the front window, you could see the vast green expanse, littered with trees, the manor house poking through the trees in the distance.

Your bedroom was light and airy, thanks to the enormous north-facing window, the space dominated by your bed. A chest of draws sat to its left, decorated with your memories, framed and immortalised. At the bottom of the bed sat a large floor length mirror, and it was this mirror you were currently staring into.

You fiddled with the slightly too tight straps of your dress, silently willing your boyfriend to hurry up and get out of the shower. Frigga had arranged a family dinner in a restaurant in the city, and by your count, you would already be ten minutes late when you eventually arrived. And Thor wasn't even out of the shower yet.

Your gaze turned to the photos strung up next to the mirror. Thor and his friends, you and your friends, Thor and you on a trip to Thailand earlier that year. You and your sister, you and Frigga, Thor and Loki with their mother, Thor and Loki as boys.

Thor, Loki and you in Italy.

You could barely bring yourself to look at it, shame clouding your vision as the memories of that night flooded your mind. That single moment of vulnerability had haunted you for the past few months.

"Why the long face?" Thor's soft voice filled your ears, his hand gently caressing your shoulder.

You turned to face him, his blue eyes staring straight into yours. He stood before you, half dressed in a dark pair of jeans. The muscles in his back rippled as he rifled through his side of the wardrobe, searching for a shirt to wear.

"Nothing." You replied, getting to your feet. "It was nothing."

Thor smiled, turning back to face you as he shrugged on a pale blue dress shirt, running a towel through his wet hair.

"I'm glad." He kissed your head softly. "I don't like seeing you unhappy."

"I'm fine, honestly." You looped your arms around his neck. "But we are going to be very, very late."

He looked down at the steak sat half eaten on his plate. Somehow it no longer looked appetising.

He glanced across at you. You, also, were pushing your risotto around your plate, seemingly struck by a sudden lack of appetite.

He watched you inquisitively, making polite conversation with his aunt, your lips delicately stained by the pinot you were steadily making your way through. You listened as Thor re-enacted a vaguely amusing anecdote regarding you and the blender. Oddly, he'd noticed that in his brother's stories, you were always the butt of the joke, always the supporting cast, and your smile never quite reached your eyes.

He wondered for a moment, if you'd smile on his arm.

"Hey, you okay?" He felt a hand on his forearm. The big green eyes of his girlfriend stared back into his own.

"Yeah." He murmured, smiling softly at her. "I'm just great."

She squeezed his hand reassuringly.

In the five months Loki had been dating Wanda, you had never met her before.

As you looked at her, you could not for the life of you understand why. With green eyes set into a creamy complexion, framed by long, dark hair, she didn't exactly conjure up the image of a bunny boiler, and the short conversation you'd had led you to believe she was a pleasant, sweet young woman.

She'd greeted you with a warm, friendly hug. Loki had not.

You'd awkwardly hugged, your lips barely brushing skin as you'd kissed each other's cheeks. Things had been fine between the two of you, more distant than before, but fine. The two of you would be fine.

"Can I have everyone's attention please?" Thor clinked his spoon against his wine glass. "Before we finish our meal, I'd like to make a toast to my beautiful girlfriend. To Y/N!"

The vivid flush of your cheeks brought a smile to Loki's face, but the short, sweet kiss you and Thor shared he could not bear to watch.

"You're sweet, you're clever, you're kind." Thor took your chin between his fingers, lifting your head. "You're funny, you're caring, and I'm so lucky to call you mine."

The scraping of his chair as he rose to his feet was the only noise to be heard in the now uncomfortably quiet room.

Panic rose in Loki's chest as his brother fumbled in his pocket, slowly dropping to the floor. He felt as if he might be sick.

Wether your heart or his was beating harder, it would be impossible to call.

"So, my beautiful girl," Thor smiled up at you. "Will you do me the honour of being mine forever and becoming my wife?"

The silence that settled over the room was unbearably uncomfortable. All of a sudden, every eye in the room was on you.

You bit back a gulp, words suddenly escaping you.

Loki was almost entirely certain he was going to be sick. He could almost feel his heart sitting in the back of his throat, his eyes stinging almost as if he was going to cry.

Oh god, he thought to himself. Please don't cry.

The bitten stubs of his nails dug into the soft flesh of his palms, anticipation building in his belly.

With one words, Loki's heart shattered into a thousand teeny, tiny pieces.

"Yes."

Often, when he was upset, Loki liked to watch over the city. It calmed him to watch the world go by beneath him.

His favourite place to watch the world go by was, of course, his balcony. A stressful day in the office, a day in the courtroom, would often end on his balcony. His tie would remain disregarded on the floor, his suit jacket on the arm of the sofa. Armed with a large Dillon's Rye, he would sit on the sole chair and light a cigarette. He was not a habitual smoker, so much so that he had never purchased an actual ashtray, opting instead to butt his cigarettes on the sole of his shoe and toss them into the plant pot he'd bought but never used for any other purpose, but he always had a box of Marlboro Lites hidden inside a saucepan. He'd quietly observe the world below him until his mood had subsided or he simply became too cold.

The bar in shoreditch, with its electric heaters and ivy shrouded columns, was not a bad substitute.

He leant down on his forearms, rubbing his face.

He shouldn't be bothered by you getting engaged.

He shouldn't be bothered by the idea of you giving love to another man.

He shouldn't be so bothered by the intimate, tender kiss you'd shared with his brother.

He had Wanda.

Wanda was beautiful, kind, sweet. Wanda made him forget.

But she wasn't you.

Every moment with you made him completely lose himself. With you, he felt out of body, out of mind.

And you would make his brother feel that way for the rest of your forever.

On the rooftop, out of the corner of your eye, you could see a tall, dark figure.

He'd been crisply cut in his expensive suit at dinner, but from where you could see him now, his dark jacket hung on the railing next to him, leaving him in a linen shirt with rolled up sleeves and a silk tie that looked to be coming undone, almost as if someone had tugged on it. A few glossy strands of hair had escaped from his ponytail, and fir a second, you were overcome by the urge to release it from the elastic and run your fingers through his dark tresses.

He started as you approached him, the heels of your shoes giving you away. You smiled, holding out the martini you'd brought for him.

"What do you know about the origin of love, Loki?" Your voice was soft, your gaze trained on the sky above you.

"You followed me." His voice cracked, his question hanging unspoken in the air. Why?

"It's been said that early humanity was like two men or two women squished together." You ignored his statement. "But that we grew too strong, so Zeus split all of mankind into two halves. Modern humans spend their lives looking for their once other halves, and the pain of being split has become familiar, and we've called it love. When we find them, we make love because we're trying to put ourselves back together."

He sat for a moment, pondering your story. What were you trying to say? Were you trying to tell him Thor was your other half? Or... Was he?

He thought about that moment of hesitation. Short, but still, you hesitated.

Were you looking for a way out?

"Why did you leave, Loki?" Your voice was soft.

"I felt queasy. Needed some air."  He replied, not able to bring himself to look at you. "Why did you follow me?"

"You looked queasy, like you needed some air." He could almost hear the smile in your voice, and could not help but crack a similar grin himself.

"I'm glad you're ok, Loki." You squeezed his hand gently, before turning to walk away.

His heart leapt. You were slipping through his fingers like sand. Could he let you go like that?

"Wait." A desperate plea left his lips, his arm reaching out to grab your wrist almost instinctively. You turned to look at him, confusion in your eyes.

His mind blanked. What was he doing? What should he say? Was he out of his fucking mind?

"Don'tmarryhim." The words came out of his mouth before he was aware of what he was saying, sort of rushing out of his mouth and bashing into each other.

"What?" You asked. Loki wasn’t entirely sure whether you were clear on what he said or why he said it.

Loki wasn’t entirely sure wether he himself was clear on what he said or why he said it.

“Don’t marry him.” He took a deep breath, regretting the words as they left his mouth.

A deeply uncomfortable silence settled over you both.

“Loki, what are you trying to say?” Eventually you broke the silence. He shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. What was he trying to say? He wasn’t sure.

“I’m, I’m, I just..” He gnawed at his bottom lip uncomfortably. “I’m not saying marry- I’m saying marry- not me, him, not...”

He paused for a moment.

“Nothing. I’m saying nothing.” He rubbed at his forehead, screwing up his face.

You looked at him for a moment, something in the darks of your eyes that he couldn’t quite recognise. A soft hand came up to his face, your knuckles gently stroking his cheekbone as you stepped closer to him.

A little over six months later, he would see this look in your eyes again. Two things would instantaneously occur as he did; the first would be the dawning realisation of exactly what the unspoken words of your expression were.

The second?

The crushing feeling that would accompany the realisation that he had recognised this expression too late.

“Loki,” You whispered, looking up into his eyes. “I’m going to go back inside, and we never speak of this again.”

It wouldn’t be the first time, (Or the last, but more on that later) but without a word, he let you go.

Chapter Four - La Vie En Rose

——

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[cowandcalf]

Writer’s Month 2020 - To Find A Way

Prompt No.6 - Ocean

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Danny kicks the entrance door gently open. "Coming in!" He shouts into the room before he hesitantly steps in, guarded, and with perked ears. He still doesn't know what's up with Steve. He's definitely ex-military or special ops, definitely ex-elite. "Hey, Steve, give a sign so I know that you know I'm coming in. You gave me quite the show out there." He calls and listens but all he hears is irritated, half-loud breathing out from the left.

It's a funny building. The façade is a solid brick wall with windows but behind the door, space opens up into one big room. It's spacious, simple white walls which have seen better days. The wooden planks on the floor are worn and dusty but add a comfy touch to the atmosphere. The set-up in the single room is sparse: there's a large navy-blue couch with a few strewn pillows pushed against the wall, right under a big America flag that is pinned to the wall.

Steve watches him with certain alertness. "Weapon's on the table. I'm not going to shoot you. If I have wanted you off my ground you would be already on your way back where you came from. I wanted to scare you off. Didn't work. You're still here." Steve states calmly. "You know Kame and you've brought food. You've gained some credit to negotiate."

There's something in Steve's voice. Danny's heart answers to the silent undercurrent. Heat spreads over his torso. "Negotiate? About what? I'm the one with the food, smartass." Danny chuckles. "You know, that's not the best way to start a conversation with a guy you don't know." Steve doesn't answer.

Danny makes out about three dirty raincoats on a racket on the wall and several bags of potting soil piled up in the corner. "Play nice, Tarzan. I come in peace." Danny strolls into the big room and sees the makeshift kitchen built from a table at the other side. He spots an electric water jug, a tray with different sized mugs, a fridge and the stuff people need to eat and cook. "Do you live out here?" He asks.

"You ask too many questions for a guy who plays a delivery boy." Steve leans against a super long and old wooden table. He darts him a hot, dark look. Danny's sure Steve aims to be intimidating but all Danny could feel is more heat spreading further south.

"Touché." Danny grins and juts his chin out. "What are you doing with all the baby flowers? Planting? Dotting the jungle with colors? Creating a magic garden?" He points behind Steve where a heap of fresh soil sits in the middle of the table. Steve must have potted flowers. The chaos has an order and next to the small, empty flowerpots are a few plastic crates with a large variety of baby flowers. Danny sweats and the flutter of nervousness makes him run his mouth.

Steve has his feet crossed at the ankles and his hands rest on the rim of the wood table. "Why is it so difficult for an HPD Detective to imagine a man doing gardening, invested in the flora and fauna of Hawai'i?" Steve slips into a defensive mechanism and wears a harder streak around his mouth.

Danny knows he has to control his brain to mouth filter. "Hey, look, I'm sorry. I know, it's super impolite to ask prying questions but you held me at gunpoint. That was rude and I guess I've earned the right to go a bit off the rails with the rules of how a stranger behaves in a guy's private room." The lunch bags noisily land on the wooden surface of the smaller kitchen table.

Steve eyes him with high concentration and an unreadable face. "Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?"

"Safes lives," Danny answers without batting an eye. He keeps his cool but feels Steve's tension like barely-there electricity. His hair on both arms feels sensitive to the unfamiliar vibes he tries to analyze. Danny gestures a bit bashfully into the direction of Steve's baby flower collection. "I was disrespectful. I'm sorry if I've offended you. I just wanted to break the ice, get the talk going, you know."

"I'm not offended, annoyed would come pretty close though. You talk a guy's head off and I'm hungry. I don't like to waste time. I have to finish my daily workload."

"Duly noted," Danny turns his head. "Got any plates?" He feels like the fifth wheel. Steve and his plants are a solid union and he's the intruder. He can't shake the feeling Steve would want him to leave. This dark, dangerous, super handsome man gets antsier the longer Danny stays in a close range.

"And they're called seedlings or offset, not baby flowers." Steve pushes off the rim of the table he has leaned against. His voice is defensive. "Wash your hands first. Hand sanitizer is over there." He orders and points to the corner with the sink.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to contaminate your private rooms. I can assure you I'm very cautious and I take the rules of the Lockdown very seriously. Do you want me to put my mask back on?" Danny walks over to the washbasin and turns the faucet on. The liquid soap squirts on his hand. He cocks his head and glances over his shoulder. "Do you need me to put my mask back on?" He asks again.

Steve's bleak expression quickly turns, he scowls. "No."

Danny nods and watches, lost in thoughts, how the water swirls before it vanishes down the drain. The sudden mood-drop takes him off-guard. The light banter hasn't breached the steel walls Steve seemed to draw up when Danny turns his eyes in his direction. He feels sad. The dull emptiness swashes in his stomach and steals his appetite. "Do you want me to leave?" He has no idea why he asks this. It's important to hear Steve's answer.

Steve takes his time to reply. Danny dries his hands with paper towels. He tries to find the waste bin. The longer Steve makes him wait for the answer the more determined Danny gets to stay. "Okay, big guy, I get it. You don't like visitors. You don't even like visitors who bring food. And I'll leave but you just have to say it. I'm not offended. I can eat my delicious shrimps somewhere on a rock, gazing over the ocean. I just thought you might enjoy the company."

Steve has his arms crossed over his chest. A sheen of sweat covers his upper body. Danny notices the way he balls his fists and how his biceps bulge. Steve is nervous. The realization hits Danny. He keeps Steve in his sight and steps toward the big, old wooden table. Steve's stance is wide. He seems to feel uncomfortable. "You can stay." He says flatly. The vibes he gives off make Danny's neck muscles tense.

"Okay, let's eat then and I'm out of your hair." Danny grabs the bags. He still hasn't found plates. It's not very stimulating to notice Steve's not supportive. Maybe the unexpected disappointment Danny senses on his tongue makes him act unwary. He spots the waste bin at the other end of the seedling station. Steve's wary gaze gets him clumsy. Danny steps forward to throw the paper ball into the waste bin but he bumps into the corner of the huge, old table.

Everything happens in slow motion. Danny watches how the impact makes the freshly repotted seedlings wobble before three pots tumble over the edge and start to fall. Danny hears the surprised and fearful gasp from Steve and he expects this athlete of a man to leap forward to catch his babies. Instead, Steve freezes and Danny has his hands full with the bags of shrimps and the paper towel. He's too slow. There's this split second where he watches how the pots get pulled down to the floor by gravity. He decides to hold on to the food and drops the paper towels. He tries to catch one of the pots, without success.

The loud noise of cracking clay pots seems to detonate in the utter silence. Danny feels the hard push of hands and he stumbles. Steve rudely shoves him aside. Danny hears Steve's harsh panting he sucks in air like a drowning man.

"I'm sorry, Steve. Shit, sorry man. I didn't mean to – "

"What have you done?" Steve crouches on the floor, hunched over the broken pots. His hands fly over the spilled baby-plants without coordination. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" He yells.

Danny doesn't understand what's happening. He watches helplessly how Steve falls apart right before his eyes. "Steve, I'm sorry. Come on, let me help you." He drops the bag with lunch on the floor and squats down. His hand comes down to rest gently on Steve's shoulder.

Steve's wild. The angry jerk has Danny almost drop on his rear. His hand got swatted off aggressively. "Go away. Leave! You have to leave, I need – I can't," Steve's voice is a hoarse croak, laced with a fear Danny can't grasp but he’s more than willing to try to understand.

"Hey, buddy, let me help you."

"They're hurt, god, I have to – I have to," Steve murmurs to himself. Sweat runs down his temple and leaves a wet track in the smudge of dirt on his skin.

Nausea sets in the pit of Danny's stomach when he sees how Steve shakes. Within seconds he's covered in sweat and collapses slowly with his entire focus on the plants on the floor. His hands scoop up the flower dirt around the naked plants. The gentle, white baby-roots show and one of the young leaves is broken. Steve seems heartbroken. He cups them with both hands, his breathing ragged.

Danny can't move, too frightened by the shocking realization about what he's witnessing. Steve is caught in a world Danny can't see but he senses in what kind of horrible loop Steve has been sucked in. Battlefields. War zones. Destruction and death, agonizing memories Danny can't even start to fathom how unsettling those inner images must be. They seem to rule Steve's presence. The broken clay pots have flipped a switch.

"They'll make it. Yeah, you'll be fine, fine. I'm not giving up on you," Steve's eyes dart over to Danny.

The wild, helpless look on his face kicks Danny into motion. Steve must have lost friends in horrible fights, bled to death, nasty bullet wounds in impassable areas with no help to get them out alive. Danny has no idea if he's interpreting the situation correctly. Sever PTSD has many faces. And he's sure he stares in one of them now. Danny only knows he has to help Steve save the plants no matter how ridiculous this might seem. They're more to Steve than just plants. They're his friends who got killed in action. The ones Steve couldn't save.

Danny jumps to his feet. "I've got you, Steve. I'm here. We'll save your plants. Let's – " he walks over to this proud, brave man who's hunched over, unable to snap out of it. Danny empties one of the crates and is back at Steve's side in a second. "Put them in here. We'll pot them in new and bigger flower pots, okay? Here, lay them down, yes, just like that. They're strong. They're gonna make it."

Steve's hands shake uncontrollably. Danny tries not to stare at the strong arms and the helpless way Steve's experiences as a soldier let him crash completely. He's drowning in an ocean of bad memories that have messed so terribly with the emotional state he almost keens over baby-plants on the floor. "They're gonna be fine, yes," Steve mumbles and does as Danny says.

Danny wants to cry. The cruelty and the unfairness of the world cut through him like a glowing blade. He hands Steve the crate with the saved flower seedlings. "Let's get up. Come on. They need your care, new soil, and some water." Danny grunts when he pushes himself up. His knee screams with pain from kneeling for so long. He pushes the pain aside. "Steve?" He whispers.

Steve's hunched over and cleans the floor with his bare hands. Damp soil seems to be everywhere. He scoops the spilled soil to a smaller heap, totally caught up in this mundane action. Danny's eyes catch the tremor in his left hand. He bites his lips and waits a moment to collect his emotions that are all over the place. "Steve? Come on, buddy, get up." Danny touches Steve's shoulder once again, cautious and butterfly soft fingertips graze over Steve's bare shoulder. He waits and almost sobs when Steve twitches and shuffles to get up from kneeling on the floor but waits instead.

Danny doesn't know what to do. "I uh, look, I put the crate on the table. Your babies have enough earth. You take your time, okay? I'll, uhm, I'll go and make some coffee." Danny puts the box on the wooden table and turns his back to Steve. He washes his hands under the faucet. He bites his tongue and swallows the shock.

He listens with a wild beating heart when Steve gets up. Nothing. He hears nothing after that. He slowly turns around and holds his breath. Steve hugs his upper body, rocking back and forth. His breathing is labored and he still seems to be a prisoner of the relapse he experiences. His shirt is soaked in sweat. His skin glistens in the evening light. Steve looks lost.

Danny tosses the rag with which he has dried his hands in a corner of the makeshift kitchen. He knows from police training that people with an anxiety disorder need different tools to flip the switch, to get out of the loop. He has no idea if Steve has such a toolbox or if he needs something else. He has to try to get him out of the destructive undercurrent of the dark, dangerous ocean he has been sucked in. It's Danny's fault, Steve's such a mess. It's his fucking fault. He has to try!

"Steve," Danny whispers, scared to spook him with a too-loud voice, "what do you need?"

TBC

Also on AO3 - To Find A Way

#writersmonth2020 #h50 #prompt fill #ocean #mcdanno fic #part 3 #cowandcalf writes #different prompts one story

[unmanageable-day]

15. Between a friend and another friend

When you are friends for so long, and it has never come across your mind to date one of them. Until one particular guy friend of yours came to offer you a relationship, a new chapter of life like no other before. 

prev | next

a/n : i hope this is not messed up :’)

Finally, came the day when the last boxes of your stuff had officially moved in to the future house. Nobody was thrilled more than your parents. The big day was really coming and your stomach felt funny. Nervous? Yes, definitely. Ecstatic? Excited? Nah, you were not even sure about that.

After arranging your stuff with typical bickering with the soon-to-be husband, you and Doyoung ended the long day with a big portion of ramyun. He was satisfied looking at the new feeling of his home. The shared closet filled with clothes in similar range of color, shoe drawer that was dominated by your collection of flat shoes, mules and heels, kitchen and dining supplies—including a newly bought tea set, last but not least was the make-up and dressing table full of skin care products.

“The boys want to throw a welcoming party for you,” told him before starting digging in. “For being the new member of this apartment complex, they said.”

“You don't mean a housewarming party in this house, right?”

He chuckled. He definitely read your mind and your horrified expression that you didn't want to do the cleaning after a mess from an occasion with a pack of people. “No. Yuta is booking a restaurant nearby. How about this Sunday? Is that okay with you?”

You nodded, feeling relieved. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Great. I'll let them know.”

“Anyway, Doyoung?”

“Yes?”

“Did Taeyong call you?”

Doyoung was stunned. He had to control his facial expression and his emotion. Thank goodness that he and you had finished eating. Clearing his throat, he started to tidy up the dining table and headed to the sink. “Why?” he asked, his back facing you as he started to wash the ramyun pot.

“Well, I met him, and we talked a bit. I guess he's ready to.. you know, to sort some things up between us. I haven't heard from him again. Did he contact you?”

It takes several days for you to tell me? he said in his head. “Ah, yeah, he did yesterday. We're meeting tomorrow.”

“That's great.”

“Yeah.”

“I hope it will go well for you. Both of you.”

“Wish me luck, I guess?”

“Of course,” you assured him, your voice sounded delighted.

No. Really, wish me luck so I will be the lucky one to get to be with you.

Even the fact that you had decided to move in still couldn't gave him that confidence. He still felt the insecurity consuming him whenever the thought of Taeyong came to his mind.

ㅡ ❆

The dinner with the guys this weekend would remark as the first event after Taeyong finally stopped avoiding you and Doyoung. Hopefully it could be a fresh start for the three of you. You assumed these bestfriends had made up. Although it was inevitable to be the same like the old times, you still wished that things would return to normal.

“Everything will be alright, right?” you asked Doyoung for assurance before heading out. It was funny how you felt nervous to meet your own squad, but as Doyoung's 'housemate'.

“Of course. I've got your back.” He pat your shoulder.

On your way to the restaurant which you decided to go on foot, you were blabbering non-stop about this and that and all random things to overcome the nervousness. Probably it was irritating Doyoung's ears as he didn't respond much. “Okay. Here goes nothing,” you spoke to yourself, breathing in deeply before pushing open the restaurant door.

When you arrived, there were Yuta, Johnny and his girlfriend, Jaehyun, Mark, Donghyuk, Jaemin, Jeno, Sooyoung, and Seulgi already sitting, chattering, and devouring the appetizer. Yuta was the first to welcome you with his loud personality when he saw you by the door. Just then, Taeyong appeared from toilet and he made eye contact with you and Doyoung. You were about to say hi to him, yet he chose to go directly back to his chair. You spotted the empty seat beside Taeyong, so you naturally went there. Doyoung followed and sat down next to you, feeling restless.

“Now that Jooyeon is here, should we cheer for Mr. and soon-to-be Mrs. Kim Doyoung?” Yuta excitedly lead the group for a toast. The mood was instantly liven up, thanks to him. After the first toast, all of you continued to eat.

When you were scanning all the food on the table, Jaehyun offered you a basket of seafood platter, which taken by Taeyong instead. He took the remaining fried fish fillet and put them on your plate, leaving the shrimp and calamari on the basket. You looked at him, not saying anything but he got you. “You're allergic to prawn and you don't like squid.”

You drew a sincere smile. The fact that he still remembered your eating habit somehow made you feel touched. “Thank you,” you almost squealed.

Doyoung silently watched and observed what just happened. Suddenly a bitter taste crept up his mouth although he was munching some baked sweet potato. His appetite was slowly decreasing as he couldn't help but to witness the affection Taeyong showered you.

Taeyong would always picked a food that he thinks you would like. He would make sure that the food he put on your plate didn't contain some ingredients that you disliked. He would check if the food taste spicy or not before he gave some to you. He even switched the chocolate pudding he got for you when everybody knew that it was his favorite dessert.

For Doyoung, this dinner felt like a soft torture he had to endure. He felt powerless. It didn't feel like he was your fiancee. It was like just he was being there as your regular friend. Yes, you were the star of tonight. Being a good friend and partner as you thought you were, you would still talk to him and shared some food, even feeding him with your hand. But Doyoung knew you paid more attention to Taeyong. You were all ears listening attentively to whatever Taeyong was talking about. This bestfriend of yours didn't even steal the spotlight for tonight. Yet he got your fullest attention. And it was shown in his sparkly eyes, how he was comfortably enjoying your company.

“You didn't eat much. Are you sick?” you asked when you arrived home.

“I'm fine.”

“Want me to cook something for you?” You checked the fridge only to find eggs and some side dishes from Doyoung's mom. “Toast with eggs?” you offered.

“That would be nice.”

While waiting for his food, his mind recalled his meeting with Taeyong.

'I assume you already know that Hyemi and I are over,' Taeyong started. 'I've told Jooyeon about that too.' 'I want to say I'm sorry, but I guess that's not the case for you. Am I right?' Doyoung responded calmly. 'You're right.' 'Look, I'm sorry for the way I was. You know how much I value you as a friend. You're very precious for me. And so is she. I'm not gonna lie it still hurts watching her with you. But I guess, I just have to deal with it and overcome it, right?' 'I'd appreciate it. Really.' But, really, how do you deal with it, Taeyong? 'Sometimes I wish you or Johnny were a girl. I'd definitely choose you or him over anything.' The bunny guy tried to laugh without sounded fake. Or awkward. At least Taeyong had tried to make a joke about this already.

Doyoung mindlessly sighed. Although Taeyong didn't say anything weird, what if he tries to win you again this time?

“Did everything go well with Taeyong?” you asked, distracting him and snapping him out of his own thinking.

Getting a yes or no question from you had never been easier. “Yeah, of course,” he quickly answered. Without even thinking.

“I'm glad to hear that.” Soon you joined him on the couch with his toast.

He silently finished the toast, whereas you occupied yourself watching TV beside him. It was oddly quiet. Although you did wonder what might happen with Doyoung, and particularly how his conversation went with Taeyong, you didn't ask him. You didn't tell him what happened when you met Taeyong the other night either. Not telling each other might be a wise choice. Yet not even a single thought crossed your mind that he felt bothered by the fact you and Taeyong had made up.

“Let's go to sleep.” Doyoung got up and put the plate on the sink. He sent you off to the bedroom first.

You had settled under the blanket on the bed while Doyoung was brushing his teeth. Your eyes were shut, trying to sleep but Doyoung's arms sneaking to your waist made you startled and flinched that you abruptly opened your eyes again.

“Sorry. Did I wake you up?” he softly muttered. His fingers traced your hairline and tucked some hair strands behind your ear.

“No,” you mumbled, repositioning your head as you could feel his attempt to shift closer to you.

You wanted to close your eyes again. Yet the way Doyoung intensely stared at you made you uneasy, you had to look away or look at the striped pattern of his pajamas. A part of you was afraid of what he might do if you close your eyes, particularly in this position where you were locked around his arms.

“Do you regret anything until now?”

You squirmed, trying to find a more comfortable position. “Why would I?”

Because there is another man who loves you unconditionally and selflessly. He can make you happy, if you want to be with him. Because he is Lee Taeyong.

Doyoung didn't answer you back. Instead he was brushing your hair gently. Until his hand stopped at the back of your neck. "Just because," he said, before leaning in to plant a soft kiss on your forehead. Then he continued to peck your blushing cheek. He inhaled before he moved closer until his lips were only few centimeters away from yours. “Can I?” he whispered.

You gulped. Your heart was beating like crazy.

This guy was not kidding when he said there is no turning back.

You were contemplating whether to say yes or no. In your mind, both answers would result in awkward outcomes. What happened to 'living with a friend' and 'a roommate sharing a house with'? What kind of roommate who is a friend that do this such an intimate thing?

Oh, wait. Right. Kim Doyoung was not just a friend anymore.

Your eyes were quivering, slightly glancing back and forth at his eyes, his nose, then his lips. Meanwhile he was patiently waiting for your permission, staying still at where he was. You had no idea how your facial expression looked like in his eyes. Was it confused expression? Or maybe terrified? Or even disgusted? That he finally said, “It's okay if I can't.” with a little smile made you even more puzzled. Yet the courage in you suddenly popped up.

"It's not that you can't..." you shyly and hesitantly mumbled, your fist slightly cover your mouth.

The smile on Doyoung's face was getting bigger. “Then it means I can?”

“You said you wanted.. to.. try again..” You couldn't believe you said that. Never had you wanted to be buried alive, or suffocated yourself against the pillow due to embarrassment like this.

Moving away from your neck, his hand reached yours and squeezed it a bit to make it more relaxed. He gestured to guide your hand to hold on to his slim waist, or his back if you wanted. “We're taking it slow, okay?” he whispered as his palm found the back of your neck again. As he leaned in closer, you closed your eyes in panic, just like the first time. You would just let him take the lead because you were already dying from being embarrassed although this is not the first time.

In seconds, his lips finally met yours. Properly, this time. It was a gentle kiss, not particularly a short one since he took a good time to feel the softness of your lips. As if he wanted to preserve the taste of your lips, and at the same time, he wanted you to remember the shape of his lips too. Along with the feelings and the quiet atmosphere when you were just focusing on each other. It was far from a passionate or a hungry kiss as he didn't want to scare you. At least he was hoping it was good enough to make you get used to this.

You almost forgot how to breathe, having no idea how long the kiss lasted. It felt like forever honestly, although it didn't mean you found the kiss awful, or unpleasant. It was just weird to kiss, to be kissed romantically by your very own friend. Maybe you should try to get rid of this kind of thoughts, especially Doyoung will be your husband in a matter of weeks.

He finally released your lips for a breathe of air. Yet he didn't shift away as he still had his nose and forehead against yours. “How was it? Not very bad for the second time, right?”

Unable to look at him in the eyes, you curled your body and buried your face, snuggling against his chest. “Stop asking how it was right away after we did it,” you whined, giving playful slaps while he chuckled at your reaction.

#nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fanfic #nct au #nct angst #nct fluff #nct doyoung #doyoung imagines #nct taeyong #taeyong imagines #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop imagines #post by yourblinkies

[navalcriminalimagines]

You’re safe now, I’ve got you - Dwayne Pride

@countrybabe2345​ asked : Hey I like all your fan fics that you write, I was wondering if you would write one for me, it would be about Dwayne Pride. The reader would get kidnapped and locked up and they start to panic and end up really scared, and Dwayne would rescue/save the reader and the reader would not let go of him and doesn’t want him to leave them, wants him to stay with them because they feel safe with him. Using number 79, writing prompt.

First, thank you for your words and asking for this prompt! I really hope this is what you were waiting for!! 

Warnings : none?

Words : 2,052

Something about the case doesn’t feel right. Of course, it’s a murder case, people would say. But obviously, arresting one handy man of a growing and powerful Cartel can’t lead to good things. That man wasn’t particularly physically impressive, but when he defended himself against you and Sebastian, you understood why he was a part of the Cartel. Even two against one wasn’t enough, you quickly lost sight of your coworker after ending on the floor, holding your left leg and tasting your own blood coming from your nose. Thankfully, Dwayne arrived when the man started to run away and hit him with his car.

“Outch,” you complained, while Dwayne tries to clean your face. “Y/N, stop moving!” he ordered. “I’m almost done,” he said, disinfecting the last wound on your cheek. You tried to keep a neutral face but it was burning too much, you grabbed Dwayne’s shirt into a fist, making him even closer to you. “Are you the same person that got shot in the arm last year but kept looking for our murderer?” Dwayne teased you. “I’m done, Sissy,” he laughed. “I want a piece of that guy, D” you said, eagerly, putting your hair into an bun just like before every interrogation.

The interrogation didn’t go as you wish. Except teasing you, the handy man didn’t say anything interesting so you gave up after two hours. You needed a break, it was driving you crazy. The Cartel brings drugs into the Navy and several young soldiers overdosed already. Some survived but others haven’t. And it was painful to you. They are innocent souls.

After drinking a coffee freshly made by Dwayne, you mentioned the team you needed to take a walk. What you actually needed was to smoke a cigarette, but no one knows you do. At least, Dwayne now thinks you stopped months ago, after he smelled your scent during one of his hugs. He gave you a dad lecture about your health and how bad it is, and you care so much about him so you tried to give up. But it only lasted a week. You quickly stopped to buy a pack, since you left yours buried deep into your bag. Stopping on the sidewalk to light your cigarette, you didn’t see anything coming. You didn’t see the black SVU parking next to you, you didn’t see the two men coming out of it. You didn’t realize you were being kidnapped. It was only when everything became dark around you that you understood what was going on, right before you passed out.

“Where’s Y/N?” Dwayne asked entering the squadroom. “They needed to take a walk,” Tammy answered, focused on her laptop. “When was it?” “I don’t know, 5 or 10 minutes ago,” “You don’t know?” he almost yelled, obviously worried. “What’s wrong? She does that a lot, Pride,”

He didn’t answer, just pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried to call you for the third time. Straight to voice mail. Something doesn’t feel right at all. Another 10 minutes passed. And 10 more. Dwayne called after Sebastian, and they went to look out for you. Around the building, at your place, your favorite spots, Tru Tune. Nothing, you were nowhere to be find. Worried as hell, the two men came back to the building. They didn’t have time to say anything, Tammy and Hannah jumped on them, “We received a call,” Hannah said, with a low voice. They put in on. The Cartel have you and they want their man back. No negotiation.  

* * * * It was dark, dirty and uncomfortable. Your vision got used to the blackness but you couldn’t figure out anything of where you are. You felt sore and tired. Water, you would kill for water right now. You tried to move but a pressure on your wrists prevented from going anywhere. You tried to unlocked yourself but the stone beam wouldn’t move. You battled for a long moment, you yelled for help even though you knew it would lead nowhere. Helplessly, you brought your knees to your chest and buried your face in it. What else could you do now, except praying? “Dwayne…” you cried.

* * * *

Who? The Cartel. When? During your walk. Where? Three streets away from the building.

“Since when is Y/N smoking?” Sebastian asked after seeing you on the camera, right before you got kidnapped. “Is that really the question, Sebastian?” Dwayne retorted, angry and worried.

For what? Get their man back.

Of course, Dwayne is thinking about letting their suspect go. Of course he wishes it could be that simple. But honestly, what would they do after they got their man? Kill you. This only thought make King sick. He has to find you. He has to save you, wherever you are. Patton did everything he could to find a location from the phone call but this was a dead end. “The best way to find her is to keep investigating,” Hannah said to everyone. Dwayne knew she was right but he couldn’t think clearly. Were you okay? Were you alive? Were you scared? You can appeared like a badass to people and your boss knows you have some fears. Being locked is one of them. Dwayne took the opportunity when everyone was working in the squadroom to grab the suspect and locked the two of them in the interrogation room. Just five minutes, he told himself. But it lasted much longer than that and after a few punches, Dwayne had no other information. “Pride, what the hell?” Hannah exclaimed, after she entered the room and the bloody face of the suspect. “He knows where they are!” Dwayne retorted. “Get out, now,” She ordered. She has been the boss around here while Dwayne has another position and she knew she had to lead things for now. He sighed and got out. Hannah followed him and grabbed his arm to make him face her. “What were you expecting from him, Pride? You thought he would to tell where Y/N is?” “He knows how and where they work. He has to—” “Maybe, he does,” Hannah said louder than Dwayne. “But beating the hell out of him won’t work, you know that. So get back to your desk and help us find another way to bring them back—safe,” “You don’t believe in that yourself,”

When the sun got down, it was worse. Would you make it through the night? What were they doing to you? The Cartel hasn’t called back yet and two clues the team has was actually wrong ones. Everyone felt helpless and a sleepless night was coming their way. “Let’s go back to the start,” Tammy offered, with a fresh pot of coffee.

* * * * A big bucket of cold water woke you up. You opened your eyes but it was still dark and blurry now. You know there is a man standing in front of you. “Wake up,” you heard. Your month felt so dry – because of the drugs they gave you – you tried to swallow a few drops of water. “Thirsty, huh?” the voice said. “Please,” you begged. What were you begging for? Water? Light? Being freed? A cigarette? You weren’t quite sure. “It’s up to your mates, darling,” he said before pushing you back to unconsciousness.

* * * * It’s not often Dwayne Pride is scared like this during an operation. The fact that you could get hurt – or already are – makes him sicker and sicker. Putting his vest on, he looked up to Hannah who gave him a reassuring look. It’s gonna be okay. “Clear,” Sebastian whispered to his boss, after looking in a small room. They moved to the next room, still nothing. Than he shed Sebastian. Small sobs. It was you. “Y/N?!” Dwayne yelled. “D…” he heard back, a little louder than the cries. “One, two, three,” Sebastian counted and Dwayne destroyed the door with his foot. You were here. Tied to a beam, wet, scared and tired. It’s only when he got closer to you that he noticed the bruises on your face, they have beaten you up. “I’m here, Y/N, it’s over,” Sebastian stayed in the back, checking if there was no one else from the Cartel. When they heard gun shots, Dwayne turned to look at his coworker, “I’ve got this, take her out,” Sebastian almost ordered before leaving. When he finally untied you, you weakly crawled in his arms, holding his neck as tight as you could. Dwayne held you back, and kept saying it was okay. He waited there with you until came to tell them it was clear. You curled against his body like a little scared child. His heart was bounding inside his chest, thankfully you’re alive and in his arms. After long minutes, Tammy showed up, “It’s done, let’s go,” You were too weak to walk on your own, so Dwayne picked you up to the car. Tammy kissed your cheek, and outside, Sebastian awkwardly hugged you while you still were in Dwayne’s arms. Your own arms still around his neck, you didn’t let go of him, so Tammy had to drive you to the hospital.

* * * *

Dwayne brought you back from the hospital to your apartment. Your tiny and unsecure apartment. He prepared a nice meal while you took a shower. Fortunately, they didn’t beat you up to badly. You had a few wounds, a black eye and you were still very tired from the drugs. With only a towel around your body, you joined Dwayne in the kitchen. You were shaking. You could feel a panic attack building inside of you, “Can you—Can you hold me, D?” you shyly asked. Dwayne simply put his stuff down, came to you and wrapped you with his strong and secure arms. You buried your face in his chest and slowly breathed his scent. It was putting the anxiety away.

“You’re safe now, I’ve got you,” he whispered, kissing your hair and slowly stroking it. “Stay for the night, please,” you whispered back. “I’m not going anywhere,”

Dwayne almost had to feed you to make sure you were eating something. Your stomach was a mess, even his infamous gumbo didn’t bring you any appetite. The only bite you had was to make Dwayne stop talking and worrying.

“Y/N, whatcha doing?” Dwayne asked after he found you on the balcony. His voice scared the hell out of you, your cigarette fell on the floor while you jumped and yelped. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he ran to you. It was cold outside and he only had a sweatpants on. He held you against his bare chest. He could feel your entire body shaking from fear, anxiety and cold. He smelled the cigarette but didn’t say anything about it. “I—I couldn’t breathe,” you softly said, “Needed some fresh air,”

Dwayne nodded and kissed your forehead. He made you sat on your outside chair and disappeared for a minute. When he came back, he had his shirt back on and a blanket on his shoulder. He made you stand up briefly just so you could get comfortable on him. He stroked your hair to put you back to sleep. Your breathing was heavy, the shakes didn’t completely disappeared, even when you finally fell asleep. You whined a little, probably from a nightmare but it stopped as soon as Dwayne held you closer to him. You woke up not so long after that, sweating and once again, you put your arms around his neck, searching for all the comfort you could get from him. “I wasn’t sure I was going to survive,” you confessed, with a few tears. “Those drugs…” At the hospital you learned that the drugs they gave you was the ones circulating in the Navy. The ones that made several kids overdosed and killed some of them. It could have been you. “You’re stronger than you think, Y/N,” he said, kissing your temple but you shocked your head. “Only when you’re here,” “In the morning, you’ll pack a few things and you’ll stay with me,”

Right here on the balcony, Dwayne was holding like a child, stroking your hair and he softly started to sing a lullaby.

#dwayne pride #dwayne pride x reader #dwayne pride imagine #ncis imagine #ncis nola imagine #NCIS New Orleans #writing #prompt #ncis reader insert

[justthehiddleswrites]

Bah Hiddleston | Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Tamra Harmon) | Chapter 2 | Winter Wonderland

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Tamra Harmon)

Summary:  Tamra Harmon has no mind to mess with Christmas. All that talk about Christmas magic and the joy of the holidays is just a bunch of mumbo jumbo. But will a chance encounter with perennial Christmas lover Tom Hiddleston change all that?

This chapter:  A chance meeting at Afternoon Tea at the National Gallery sets Tom and Tamra on a Christmas adventure. Plus ice skating and hot chocolate.

Warnings for story: smut, oral sex, implied smut, vaginal sex, light angst

-

Tom’s jaw remained slack as he pulled back to study Tamra. She didn’t seem like the kind of person to spew such blasphemous language.

“I don’t understand you. Everyone likes Christmas.”

“Tamra Harmon.” she held her hand out, “Certified Christmas Hater.”

“Tom. Normal Person.” He shook her hand. “If you don’t like Christmas, why on earth did you come to London?”

Tamra studied Tom for a moment. His face looked familiar. But she couldn’t place where. She shrugged off the nagging feeling for the moment. “For the museums, Tom, no last name. I’m a curator. This is a low season for me.”

Tom’s eyebrows shot up. “Not the answer I expected.”

An attendant brought tea and food, interrupting Tamra’s response. Tom set to prep the tea. Tamra divided the sandwiches and pastries between the two plates.

“May I pour for you?” Tom held up the pot. Tamra held her cup for him to pour. He put the pot down and held up the sugar. Tamra held up one finger. Tom finished fixing the tea before tucking into the sandwiches and chocolate pastries with a voracious appetite.

“Wow!” She gave a low whistle. “How do you stay so fit with the way you eat?”

Tom chuckled as he swallowed the bite of chocolate chip scone. “I work out.” he deadpanned.

Tamra giggled. “Well, you look like you carbing up for a marathon.”

“With busy hammers closing rivets up, give dreadful note of preparation. In this case, I am preparing for Christmas crowds.”

“Shakespeare.”

“Quite right.” Tom shoved another bite of scone. “Henry V.”

“Act Four, Scene 1.”

“I’m impressed. Few can recount act and scene. Fan of the Bard?”

“Yes. I am a bit of a history buff. I take from your comment you are as well.”

Tom’s cheeks blushed at the comment. “Occupational hazard, I’m afraid.”

Tamra tilted her head to the side. “Occupational hazard?”

“I’m an actor. And what with being British, Shakespeare appears to run through my veins.”

Tamra’s mind flashed to six months ago when PBS reran The Hollow Crown. The hair longer, the beard more pronounced but now Tamra knew who sat before her.

“Holy FUCK, you’re Tom Hiddleston!” She exclaimed louder than she planned.

“In the flesh, I’m afraid. And I would advise to keep your voice down unless you want to cause a scene.” Tom held his finger to his lips and Tamra nodded.

“So why are here at the National Gallery for tea?” Tamra took a bite of a tea sandwich before wrinkling her nose and placing it back on the tray.

“I skipped lunch. I’m hungry.” Tom took a large sip of tea before popping another bite of pastry in his mouth. “Shopping is exhausting work.”

“Don’t you have assistants to do that sort of thing?” Tamra found the chocolate chip scone much more appetizing. “I prefer to do my family Christmas shopping myself.” Tamra wrinkled her nose. Tom punched his fist against the table. “That is the second time you have reacted to Christmas since I sat down. What is your problem with Christmas?”

Tamra narrowed her eyes and Tom did the same, in an unspoken game of chicken, seeing who would blink first. Tamra lost her focus in Tom’s clear blue eyes and she blinked. “I don’t have fond memories of the holidays.” she huffed.

“With such a sparkling personality as yours, I find that hard to believe.” His voice dripping with sarcasm.

“My parents got divorced at Christmas.”

Tom’s smile wiped from his face. He reached across the table and placed his hand onto of hers. “I’m sorry. I have been there myself when I was young. It is never easy.”

Tamra nodded and shoved a big bite of scone into her mouth to end the conversation. Their conversation died out as the din from the dining room filled the air. Tamra snuck glances across the table at Tom, who seemed oblivious to her spying.

Tom stared out the window as he ate. The Christmas tree glittered in the afternoon light. He chewed on the conversation as he chewed on a savory pastry. Tamra’s whole attitude towards Christmas unsettled Tom, not just the attitude but reasoning behind the negativity. A plan brewed and percolated in a corner of his mind. He turned to face Tamra, who threw her gaze askance as he faced her. Tom smiled at the whole scene. He was used to having people gawk and stare but there was something different here. Tom saw the wheels turning in Tamra’s mind.

She is a complete stranger. He mulled, trying to convince himself to not to follow through of his ridiculous plan. Luke will be furious. She might be a psychopath or worse a crazed fan. He listed all the reasons not to do this and each time he rationalized the reason away. After wrestling with himself, he gave a small nod as if to set down the path he chose.

“So…” he placed his cup back on the saucer. “My holiday plans have changed because of unforeseen circumstances and I will be in town longer than I expected. I would love some company.”

Tamra raised one eyebrow. “You want to hang out with me?” Her nose wrinkled. “What’s the catch?”

Tom’s eyes sparkled at how quickly she caught on. “You are clever. While we would keep each other company, I would like to show you all the joy and wonder that Christmas has to offer. How long are you in the country?”

“Twelve days.”

“Perfect. What do you say? What to spend Christmas with a man who eats afternoon tea alone?”

Tamra leaned back and studied Tom, mulling his proposal. She didn’t want to anything Christmas related, but she also didn’t want to spend the next twelve days alone. And she could imagine worse company than a handsome British guy.

“On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“I am here for the museums. So I will partake of holiday activities if we go to one museum a day.”

“Deal.” Tom extended his hand. Tamra shook his hand.

“Deal.” Tom began to busy himself clearing the table. “What on earth are you doing?”

“I only twelve days. I’m not wasting a moment.” he smiled as he stood and straightened his sweater.

Tamra placed the last bite of scone in her mouth before rising as well. “Well, aren’t you a man of action?”

“You have no idea.”

The two of them tugged on their winter coats as they headed out into the chilled air. Tom led the way through the busy London streets and he left Tamra with little choice but to hold his hand as he weaved into and out among the pedestrians. She didn’t know their destination headed and Tom refused to divulge his plans.

After about 30 minutes, they arrived at Hyde Park, Winter Wonderland to be precise. Tamra glared at Tom as he attempted to pull her into the cavalcade of lights and sound.

“We made a deal.” Tom responded.

“Aren’t you afraid of being recognized?”

Tom pulled his ball cap lower on his brow. “I’m invisible.”

Tamra laughed at the notion that a black baseball cap somehow rendered Tom invisible to the crowd. Tamra relented as Tom tugged on her arm again. The light arches lined the main walk area. She observed midway games, food and drink, and carnival rides. Everything Christmas themed. Tamra’s eyes darted from side to side taking in the sights. She wondered how the organizers construct something so extensive just for the holidays. Tom led them to the skating rink.

“Are you serious?” Tamra questioned as they stood in line to purchase tickets and rent skates.

“As a heart attack.” Tom gave a dazzling smile. “You don’t like ice skating? It is a time-honored winter activity, not a Christmas activity.”

“We don’t do a lot of ice skating in Florida.”

“Fair enough.” Tom nodded. “Florida, that would explain the lightweight winter coat.” Tom pulled at Tamra’s sleeve.

She moved out of his reach. “Hey, I did the best I could. They don’t sell a lot of wool at the mall. Now bathing suits, I can handle.”

She blushed realizing what she said and saw Tom blush as well.

“I am sure you dazzle in a bikini as you do in a parka and scarf with your winning personality.” Tom teased.

“Are you flirting, Hiddleston?”

“Not in the slightest. Just making an observation.”

Tamra blushed deeper as Tom wiggled his eyebrows for effect. Tom paid for the tickets and grabbed both sets of skates. In no time, he had his shoes off and skates on.

“You can put your shoes in the locker with mine.”

“Do they smell?”

“I’m not sure, but you are welcome to check.”

“Hard pass.”

Tamra pulled off her boots and placed him next to Tom’s in the locker. Tom locked the door while Tamra pulled on the skates. He helped Tamra stand, and they moved their way to the ice. Tom stepped out first, gliding out on wobbly legs.

“You look like a baby giraffe.” she giggled as she clung to the railing.

“Not the first time I have been called a giraffe.” Tom held his hands out. “Your turn.”

Tamra gripped tight to the railing.

“Trust me, Tamra. I am here.” Tom beckoned her.

With trepidation, Tamra placed one foot onto the ice followed by the other, still gripping the side.

“Trust.” Tom reassured.

She pushed off the side towards Tom’s outstretched arms. She smiled as she glided towards Tom. As she neared him, they both realized she couldn’t stop. Tamra plowed at full speed into Tom and they both dropped like a rock to the ice. They collapsed into a pile of limbs.

“That will leave a bruise.” Tom groaned as he sat up.

Tamra rubbed her backside. “Agreed.”

“Let’s try this again. A little less speed this time.”

Tamra nodded. Tom rose to his feet first, looking as graceful as one could on ice in skates. He pulled Tamra to her feet next, and they set off again, albeit much slower.

-

“And they say Floridians can’t skate.” Tom commented as they made their final round before their session ended. Tamra held Tom’s tight until the last ten minutes when he let her go. Tamra’s eye shot over to him as he pulled behind her. He shooed her away.

“I did it!” she exclaimed as she came to a stop at the side.

Tom smiled as he glided behind her, bumping against her just to tease her.

“You need more confidence.”

They stepped back onto terra firma and exchanged their skates for their shoes. As they stepped back onto the main walkway, Tamra noticed the chill of air. She rubbed her arms to warm up.

“Need to warm up?”

“Yeah, all those falls wet my clothes.”

“I know just the thing.”

Tom led her to a row of food tents. They ducked a food tent.

“Welcome to Thor’s!” the bartender greeted them.

“I guess I should have looked at the name before we entered.” Tom commented.

Tamra snickered. They perused the drinks menu. Tamra ordered a hot cocoa.

“There is nothing on here for Loki. This is an outrage!” he slammed his fists in mock anger.

“There is a Frosty Giant.” Tamra pointed out.

“One measly drink. This is unacceptable.” Tom leaned to the bartender. “Tell your boss the God of Mischief is not pleased.”

The bartender nodded and Tom gave him a wink before ordering a hot cocoa as well.

The bartender turned to prepare their drinks.

“Do you always harass the waitstaff?”

“Only when I am in good company.” He shoved her shoulder.

“On the house for the God of Mischief and his date.” the bartender commented, handing them two large mugs of cocoa.

“Not his date.” Tamra deadpanned before turning to find a seat.

Tom shrugged his shoulders at the bartender before following Tamra.

The hot cocoa warmed them to the core. They drained the mugs in no time and then stepped out into the wonderland.

“How about we check out the Christmas market?”

“What’s a Christmas market?”

“A collection of people selling Christmas related items.”

Tamra wrinkled her nose. “I will go, but I won’t enjoy myself.”

“That is all I ask.” Tom gave a small bow.

“Stop it! You are drawing attention to us!” Tamra pulled at his arm.

“As you wish.”

They moved from stall to stall with Tom looking at everything and asking questions while Tamra stood nearby wanting it all to be over. She lingered at one of the last stalls, admiring the workmanship of a hand-blown glass ornament. Tamra turned it over in her hands a few times before putting it down in haste when she caught Tom spying. She hustled away to the next stall, leaving Tom behind.

Tom picked out a few ornaments for his mother and sisters.

“Which one did the young lady look at?”

The owner gestured to a beautiful blue and white ball. Tom picked it up. The ornament was the color of the ocean. Perfect for a girl from Florida.

“I will take that one too. And can you wrap it please?”

The owner nodded and rang up the purchases. Tom trotted off to catch up with Tamra, who was tapping her foot at the end of the aisle.

“What’s in there?” Tamra gestured at the bag in Tom’s hand.

“Some presents for my sisters and mother.” Not a lie. He fudged.

“It’s starting to get dark, should we head out?”

“I have one more activity in mind.”

Tamra groaned as Tom dragged her off in the direction of the Observation Wheel.

“A Ferris Wheel? Are we at the county fair?”

“We are at Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park. And it’s Observation Wheel. Now stop complaining. You will be free of me for the night in no time.”

Tamra shuffled her feet. She didn’t want to admit but Tom was pleasant company. After waiting in line, the attendant loaded them into their seats. The wheel started to rise and lifted them into the London sky.

“This is how London should be viewed.” Tom gestured to the windows.

At first, Tamra saw the rainbow of lights from the Wonderland. She could see the rides and the skating rink. As they rose, the lights of the city twinkled in the evening. Tamra couldn’t pick out anything other than the London Eye in the distance but it looked beautiful just the same. At first Tom sat back to watch her, but before long he too became enamored with the view.

The lights fell from view as they made their descent and before long they were back in the cold London evening air. They walked in silence to the entrance.

“So I guess I will see you tomorrow. How will this whole thing work?” she asked.

Tom gave a nervous giggle. “I haven’t thought it out.” He rocked back on his heels. “The least I can do is give you a ride to your hotel—”

“Airbnb.”

“—Even better. We can exchange mobile numbers. And I will call you in the morning to pick you up.”

“I can’t impose on you like that. I can take the Tube.”

“Nonsense. Where are you staying?”

“Over by the Bakersfield station.”

Tom clapped his hands.

“On my way home. It’s settled. I’m taking you.” He fished his phone out his pocket and dialed a number.

“Over by Winter Wonderland by Hyde Park. Thank you.” Tom hung the phone. “Driver will be here in about ten minutes.”

“Wow. Driver on command. Fancy.”

“I assure you it is more of a pain than I care to admit.”

Tamra rolled her eyes but said nothing. A black car pulled up, and the driver got out to open the door for Tom. He gave a glare as Tamra approached the car, but Tom waved him it off.

“It’s okay, she’s with me.” Tamra slid into the back seat. The driver closed the door and returned to behind the wheel.

“Where to, Mr Hiddleston?”

“Give him the address.” Tom whispered to Tamra.

She pulled out her phone to give the address of her Airbnb. Traffic was light at night so they got to her place in about fifteen minutes. Tom lept from the car, much to the dismay of the driver, to run around the car and open Tamra’s door.

“Allow me.”

“Thank you.”

Tamra gestured to the door. “This is me.”

“Thank you for the company and being a good sport. Feeling the Christmas spirit?” Tom asked with hopeful eyes.

Tamra’s face dropped. “I am feeling the bruises forming on my ass from ice skating. Is that what the Christmas spirt feels like?”

“Hardly. I will have to try again tomorrow. Before I leave, I need your mobile.” Tamra handed Tom her phone. He typed for a bit before looking up at her with a grin and returning to type. Tom then typed into his own phone. He returned her phone after several minutes.

“Don’t look at it until tomorrow.” he ordered.

“Fine. Goodnight Tom.”

“Goodnight Tamra.” Tom extended his hand; she shook it.

“It’s been weird.” she retorted before opening her door. “See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

Tom stood in the cold until the door shut behind Tamra. He rubbed his arms and hurried back into the car.

“Home, please.” He asked of the driver.

Tom sat for a moment in the silence, wondering how he got here and what he would do tomorrow. He wondered about all the things to do in London and that spark a thought.

“Fuck!” he muttered as he fished his phone out. He punched in a familiar number. Despite the late hour, the person on the other end, answer on the first ring.

“Luke… I have something to tell you.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston angst #tom hiddleston smut #bah hiddleston

[foxtophat]

WHOOO BOY okay here we are! i’m all done with another mercy fic!!! that is honestly amazing, startling, thrilling, all that good shit. i am STOKED!!!

i don’t have much to say about it, other than writing kim and john interacting has been so much fun!!! i’m going to have to come up with more reasons for the two of them to hang out. when john and nick talk it’s like fighting words all the time but with kim john can actually just be a tired adult, and i think he might need that sometimes.

so, i took the fic’s title from a new mountain goats song that i really like. it’s very depressing though. even worms turn into butterflies i guess :(

as usual, the chapter is beneath the cut for those of you who don’t want to leave tumblr’s comfortable embrace.  i absolutely adore kudos, comments, likes, reblogs and those passing glances on the street as you wonder “is that the famous author of a tiny fandom’s niche survival au????”  yeah, i see you out there, looking for me. i’m carmen san diego, bitch!!! good luck with that!!!!

love you guys, have a good day, and thanks for putting up with me!!! <3

John might try to couch it in exasperation and paint it as a tactical retreat, but Kim sees him leaving for what it really is: gut instinct telling him to escape. She doesn't blame him for needing space, of course. From the way Nick watches him go, it's clear that the day's been harder than either of them have let on. She's sure that Nick will tell her the details later, but right now, it doesn't look like he has the energy. That's also fine; John's fragile emotional state is easily put on the back-burner. She has more important things to worry about right now. For one thing, she's got eighty pounds of supplies to handle and a family that's uncomfortable with the responsibility.

"It's still too much for us, isn't it," Nick says mournfully. "We gotta give more away, don't we?"

Kim privately admits to herself that she doesn't want to give any more away. Hell, she's even reluctant to give away what might be kept for bargaining later. The boxes of military rations, the ten pounds of salt, the five pounds of rice — they wouldn't have anything to worry about during winter. They wouldn't even have to leave the house if they didn't want to. But John has left all of that in a neutral fifth pile for them to divvy out equally, and Kim can't allow herself to be more selfish than him. That is absolutely unacceptable.

"We can give away the potato flakes," Kim says, diplomatically moving them to the center pile. "If we still don't feel like it's enough, we can give away more. But right now, we need to conserve the resources we have control over." Sighing hard in an attempt to blow stray hairs from her face, she adds, "Honestly, we should check that everything is still good before we decide to give anything away." After all, everything looks fine at a glance, but Kim has seen first-hand just how insidious mold can be in ill-stored supplies. Just because Jacob seemed to be prepared doesn't mean he couldn't make a mistake, and Kim isn't about to trust any Seed implicitly.

"I guess you're right," Nick replies, picking up one of the mylar bags and examining its contents through the clear side. Kim remembers the brand of powdered stock so clearly that if she closes her eyes, she can see exactly where it was stocked on the store shelves. Nick seems to be thinking the same thing, sounding strangely nostalgic as he asks, "You don't think there's still time to spice up dinner, do you?"

"Maybe if you guys had gotten here an hour ago," Kim says. "Much longer on the fire and everything is going to be mushy paste. And, again, we don't know if it's safe to use."

"Can we have these tomorrow?" Carmina asks, lifting one of the packaged rations up for approval.

"Not unless they won't last through winter," Kim replies. "Now, I know none of us are excited about five-day stew, but we can't let edible food go to waste just because there's something tastier in front of us." That doesn't do much to rally the troops, unfortunately, and Kim is stuck feeling like the bad guy, so she tries again. "Salt doesn't really go bad, though — I'm sure we can use that."

Nick accepts the terms of the compromise, thankfully, because he's an adult when he needs to be. He redirects his leftover energy towards the sealed bags, pointing Carmina towards the neutral pile. "Okay, you remember how to check whether something's gone bad, right?"

It's been a while since they've relied on store-bought goods, but Carmina hasn't forgotten best-by dates or how to spot discoloration. It's easy enough for them to determine the rations are still good; although the packaging boasts a dubious "fifty-year shelf-life," all of the wrappers are fresh and odorless. They'll have to open one up to be sure, but Kim isn't getting Carmina excited for that this close to dinner. The rice and salt are also easy passes, which means Kim hasn't made too lofty a promise to her family just by offering basic seasoning.

They don't risk breaking any seals quite yet, not without clean containers to hold everything, but it's easy to do a visual check even without opening anything up. Jacob had done his job well — other than the triple-wrapped bottles of liquor, the cache is entirely dry and moisture-free, and everything stored inside was meant to last. That tracks with what Kim knows of the oldest brother. He had been a sharp-minded survivalist; cunning, ruthless, and hard to outwit. He must have been a meticulous planner, putting all of this together, but Kim is struggling to understand what he had expected to do with it all. Like John had said — what good would food be to a man who had planned to survive the apocalypse inside a fully stocked, industrial bunker? And if he didn't trust the Project to save him, then why did he put so much effort into building its militia?

Jacob's motivations are a mystery that Kim isn't interested in solving. She's just glad that, for whatever reason, he'd buried these supplies in particular, and that he'd bothered to share the location with John. Thanks to his opaque planning, Kim can scratch some pipe-dream items off her supply list, and that's good enough for her. Honestly, food had been the last thing she'd suspected John could help them with — she still has trouble believing it's all here in front of her.

With Nick and Carmina studiously inspecting the cache supplies, Kim takes some time to pull the food from the fire. It's the third day they've eaten from this particular batch of stew, and the newest ingredients she put in today are almost a week old. The only thing she can say in favor of their leftovers at this point is that there isn't a lot of it left. She can only hope the salt helps, otherwise she's going to cave on the military rations herself.

Kim brings the pot into the kitchen, then decides it's time to check on John. There's a slim chance that he might have decided to disappear into the hangar, or walked as far as the end of the drive, and Kim isn't going to stand around shouting for him like some kind of Little Home on the Prairie character. She gives Nick a thumbs up as she heads for the front door; he doesn't stop her, but the crease in his brow tells her he wants to.

There's a path laid in the dirt between the porch and the truck where John clearly had been pacing, but when Kim comes outside, he's sitting motionless on the porch steps. He doesn't react as Kim comes up next to him, his elbows resting on his knees as he presses his forehead against his palms. She can't tell if he's ignoring her on purpose, or if he's just so deep in thought that he doesn't realize she's there. His turmoil tends to give him tunnel-vision, and he doesn't always notice his surroundings.

Kim doesn't think he's trying to give her the silent treatment, so she gives in first. "Dinner's going to be ready any minute," she tells him. "It's going to be the last tasteless meal for a while, so I hope you're excited."

"Thrilled," he replies, with just enough sarcasm for Kim to trust she isn't interrupting him mid-crisis. She gives him a minute, and sure enough, he eventually drops his hands from his face. Sighing heavily, he addresses the dirt when he speaks. "I take it I'll need a good excuse to get out of eating."

"Maybe if you had eaten breakfast, I'd be more willing to look the other way." Even though she knows John won't take her concern seriously, she can't completely hide it under her exasperation. She tries for his sake, but it's a lost cause. "I don't think you've finished a meal in days."

John closes his eyes briefly. "I haven't been hungry," he says.

Kim wishes he would be more petulant about it. She can handle it when John acts like a child — she's got nine years of raising Carmina under her belt, after all — but John's resignation is a weariness that reflects her own. She doesn't know how to help him with it any more than she knows how to help herself. She can hardly help Nick when he gets like this. She has no idea how to handle John.

Kim cranes her neck as she checks on Nick and Carmina, who are still busy with the supplies. Satisfied that they aren't in any immediate danger, she finally takes a seat next to John on the porch. He still doesn't look at her, his eyes fixed on his hands, but she's hardly surprised. She turns her own gaze to the truck, glinting in the sunset, and tries to follow the tire-tracks backward. She bets the dirt's held their tracks all the way back to the field.

"If it makes you feel better, my appetite has been terrible, too. Sometimes, all I can do is try to keep everything down." She sighs, lamenting mostly to herself, "What I wouldn't give for a Big Mac right now."

That earns her an amused huff from John, which is better than she'd expected. If he's able to tolerate her bad jokes, then at least she can be sure she isn't making things worse.

"At least once we get through our leftovers, we'll be able to start adding those emergency rations into rotation," Kim continues. John probably doesn't care about meal planning, but Kim doesn't need him to be an interested sounding board. "And with the extra seasoning, even our leftovers are going to be better than they were." She knows she's pushing it when she tries to relate, but she can't help commenting, "It was lucky that Jacob squirreled so much food away."

"That isn't what he would call it," John heaves. His fingers twist against his jeans. "He was prepared for anything that might happen. Luck had nothing to do with it."

"It was lucky for us," Kim points out. "And, you know... considering how much effort he put into hiding it, I bet he'd be relieved to know that you were able to find it after all this time."

"It doesn't matter what he'd think. He's dead."

John takes a sharp breath after he spits the comment out and Kim watches the regret bloom in real time, his scowl deepening as he stares at the dirt. Sometimes, she suspects he beats himself up like this because they refuse to do it for him. She wishes he would stop, already. It used to annoy her, but lately, it's only managed to make her feel terribly sad.

"Maybe it doesn't matter to him, but it might make you feel better."

John barks out a noise that hardly resembles a laugh. "Nothing is going to make me feel better ," he snaps, his anger flaring up and dissipating too abruptly for him to keep hold of it. All it leaves behind is resignation. "It doesn't matter. He'll just... My nightmares will latch on to anything. Jacob will never be happy in them." He sighs, burying his hands in his hair, twisting his fingers as though he might pull clumps out by the root. "Nothing I do helps. I just want it to stop ."

Kim wishes she had a solution for him, but she has nothing besides a lame suggestion to get more rest. That clearly hasn't worked for any of them, let alone John, who treats his nightmares like physical intruders instead of figments of his imagination. She doesn't know what they do to haunt him so badly, and she isn't sure she's ready to learn. She's only just now starting to get used to him as a person — she's not ready to unpack all of his damage.

John sighs and rubs his temples. "I knew Jacob didn't believe," he admits. "Not in the religious doctrine, anyway. But I didn't know that he had... planned around it. If I'd known, then maybe..."

John trails off, and Kim hums sympathetically after he fails to pick back up. Most of John's trauma is bespoke to him and him alone, but this is something that any survivor would be able to commiserate with. "Hindsight really does suck," she says. "Trust me, you're not the only one wondering what could've gone differently."

Usually, John is almost impossible to console, but it seems like the day has worn the fight right out of him. He only shakes his head miserably at her attempt to sympathize. "It wouldn't have been any better," he mutters. "It would only have been a different kind of worse."

"Maybe," Kim supposes, although she's not entirely convinced. There were plenty of points between the Project's arrival and the Collapse where a split in leadership would have benefited everybody. She's thought about it before now, remembering rare moments when she'd thought she'd seen something beneath the veneer of otherwise devout believers. She's wondered more than once what might've happened, if only they had convinced the right person to turn their back. God, she's hypothesized about a thousand missed opportunities left in that half-decade. There are a million ways things could have turned out better for even just one more person.

At last, Kim surrenders her side of the conversation — or what's left of it, anyway. "Well, for whatever it's worth, you've done us a big favor, and we're not going to let it go to waste. And a lot of people are going to benefit from your hard work."

John takes a deep, unhappy breath. "Yes," he says. He opens his mouth to soften the word with something else, something to hide the fact that he still depends on blind acceptance when overwhelmed, but he can't seem to come up with anything.

Kim doesn't need an excuse. She puts a hand on his shoulder, feeling him tense under her gentle grip, anticipating more than simple reassurance. It offended her at first, how often he seemed to expect them to be violent with him. The idea that he thought either of them were capable of the same awfulness as the cult had pissed her off. But nowadays, she's come to accept that it's simply hardwiring left over from before. She's not sure there's anything to be done about it at this point.

There are no platitudes she can offer him that wouldn't sound insincere, so she relies on facts. "When you're ready, come inside and try to eat something. You look like you wore yourself out."

John's tension slowly ebbs. "I... may have overdone it," he admits somewhat reluctantly, which tells Kim that he definitely overdid it. He scrubs his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "I needed to know I was right. I... needed him to know I hadn't forgotten."

So much for Jacob being too dead to care about. Despite everything, Kim can't help but sympathize. She feels his remorse in her own way whenever she thinks about her parents, and she knows that everybody carries something like that with them these days. She might not be haunted by her parents the way John is, but she thinks she can understand his sorrow. It might be the only thing about him she really gets.

"That's okay," she tells him, because it is, and somebody should tell him as much. "But you can't let it get in the way of taking care of yourself."

He nods, but Kim knows he doesn't believe her. He treats every attempt to reassure him as empty platitudes — not that she can blame him, really. But sometimes, like right now, she wonders if he would be less inclined to beat himself up so much if they'd just punished him the way he'd wanted from the start. It's just her exasperation talking, frustrated by his continued misery. John needs time, just like the rest of them, and beating him up ten months ago would only have made things worse.

A loud thud interrupts them, followed immediately by Carmina shouting, " Ow !" Nick starts to laugh, which keeps Kim from getting particularly worried about Carmina's safety, but she still gets up to investigate. John doesn't follow, although she catches him turning his head to watch her as she heads inside.

Nick, still seated at the table, laughs at their daughter as she lies sprawled back on the ground, her feet still guiltily stuck in the barrel.

"Told you, you're too big! No way you'd fit."

"I had to try ," Carmina grumbles as she kicks her way out of the barrel.

" Why ?" Kim laughs.

"I dunno, I just had to!"

"Too bad I don't have a blow-torch," Nick laments. "We could've put some eye-holes in it for you, like a helmet. Maybe then you'd be able to ride around in the truck-bed without your mom getting all worked up."

Carmina gasps. " Really ?"

Kim is quick to smother that particular idea. " No ," she cuts in, trying not to laugh at the mental image that her husband's conjured up. She tries to guilt Nick with an exasperated glance, but the bastard doesn't look even remotely repentant about suggesting armor to their child. "There has to be a better use for it than that. Anyway, armored or not, I don't want you to get thrown out of the back of a moving vehicle! I don't know why that's so unreasonable."

Carmina opens her mouth to argue the point, but she's abruptly distracted as she glances into the barrel. Rearranging her legs to sit on her knees, she pulls the barrel towards her. Kim would write it off if it weren't for Carmina's obvious confusion as she peers inside.

"There's more stuff in here," she reveals, tipping the barrel upright. She's uncharacteristically uneasy as she mentions, "Um, I think it's cult stuff..."

Kim is the first one to investigate, peering down into what she'd thought was an empty cache. She finds a circular metal disk wedged catty-corner into the barrel, revealing a hidden compartment. Reaching past the false bottom, Kim finds some black fabric and a box. She figures out the tee-shirts from the tags inside the collars of the factory-starched fabric, but hesitates to investigate the rest. The other packages stored away had been factory-sealed and clearly labeled cardboard boxes; there was no hiding what was in those. This, on the other hand, is a wooden cigar box with no seals, the Eden's Gate cross etched elaborately into the lid.

"Uh, John?" Nick calls as Kim sets the box down on top of the shirts. She wonders if she should open it, or if it might be some kind of trap. Nick looks deeply distrusting as he stares at the emblem and repeats louder, "John?"

John is more confused than any of them when he enters the scene. He scowls as soon as he sees the box sitting on the table, which would be hard to miss even without Nick gesturing widely towards it. "Where did you find that?" he asks, looking from Nick to Carmina as if they might have different stories to give him.

"Where do you think, Mars?" Nick exclaims, exasperated. "You wanna tell me what's inside?"

"I don't know ," John grits out, "I haven't looked ."

But it's clear from his expression that he has an idea of what they're dealing with. He crosses the room and hovers momentarily in front of the box, flipping the lid open before Kim can decide if that's a good idea. It could be a bomb. It could have a tripwire. She doesn't want her home ruined by Bliss all over again!

Of course, nothing happens. Kim supposes that if it had been a trap, Carmina would have set it off by climbing on top of it. The reality is much less ominous than she could have expected. She hovers near John as he pulls a clean moleskin journal out, watching him flip through the blank pages before dismissing it. He's slower to write off the folded mass of paper that he takes out next, although he doesn't examine it right away. Kim doesn't need him to unfold it to see the topography lines and highway markers printed on it.

"An empty journal, a map, and..."

John scowls at the twenty or so bullets that rattle around at the bottom of the cigar box. They can't be any different from the rest of the ammunition, but for some reason, the sight of them triggers a sense of dread in Kim. After all, what kind of ammunition would Jacob have thought needed to be secreted away? It can't be good. It can't possibly be safe .

"Ah," John says. Kim can't say for sure, but he seems almost disappointed.

"What are they?" Nick asks.

"Bullets we infused with Bliss." John tilts the box, examining the ammunition as best he can without touching it. Kim can't help but want to snatch Carmina away, but they're past the point of hiding these things from her. She has a right to understand just how dangerous the cult was. But there's also a lingering fear that somehow, Carmina might be affected by that god-awful drug, even if it's from ten-year-old bullets.

"You don't have to worry," John says. He doesn't need to look up for Kim to know he's talking to her. "The drug would be inert by now."

"What should we do with them, then?" Nick asks.

"Destroy them," John replies honestly. "If not that, then... store them away. We don't need them, but..."

"But it would be stupid to throw away good ammunition," Kim finishes as John trails off.

"Exactly."

None of them make a move to take either action. Kim supposes that the bullets aren't hurting anyone right now, just sitting there, and it seems like Carmina is more interested in the map than the ammunition. She's trying and failing to peek at the folded pages without undoing the whole mess. They didn't have a map in the bunker, which means that this will be Carmina's first chance to see her home spread out as a whole.

"Here, let me," Kim tells her daughter. Nick takes her cue, clearing a space on the table for her as she picks up the map. All eyes are on the accordion folds as they unravel, revealing more and more of the county. Black stars dot locations Kim remembers, like Lorna's and Rae Rae's, and circled points of nothing are marked in the middle of empty fields and mountain road turnoffs. The key is neatly printed in the upper left corner; beneath it is a uniform list of numbers, most likely coordinates, written briskly in red ink.

Even without the key, Kim thinks she understands the various marks around the map. Spread out in front of them, she can see double circles around power boxes, and she spots a few other locations with the same notation. Stars are placed next to several prominent people's homes, including their own. There are other things, too — little ink drawings of wolves, bears and deer in spots across the map. A few lakes have the names of fish written over them in the same blocky letters as the food packaging; the river bend nearest to their home has the word BASS written neatly along the bend.

Standing next to Kim, staring down at the map, John finally says, "This doesn't make any sense."

Nick opens his mouth to respond, probably with something sarcastic, but he thinks better of it and goes a different route. "Why would he hide this stuff?" he asks. "I mean, I get the bullets, I guess... but hiding the map seems weird."

John scowls at the box in his hands, closing the lid vengefully. "This is what the cache should have been," he says. "It should have more of this — more weapons, more maps, more intel . What about all of the blueprints we'd drawn up for housing? Instructions on how to reconnect the power grid, or the deeds to prove we owned the land — that would help, no matter what you believed! We were prepared for an apocalypse, but — where is it all? Sugar and rice and cigarettes aren't helping anybody!"

Kim can't blame John for getting upset, although she wishes he wouldn't shout around Carmina. Knowing that Jacob had planned for the possibility of the Project not being around is one thing, but it must be particularly rough to see obvious signs of a long-forgotten plan. Especially one that John hadn't been told anything about, with only a few disjointed clues left for him to piece back together.

To her surprise, it's Nick who comes to John's rescue, standing to draw John's attention before he completely spirals. "Come on, that's not true. You know we need food more than anything else." He gestures towards the open map. "Besides, there are plenty of other spots we can check. And now we know what we're looking for, right?"

John sighs heavily. "Yes," he agrees.

"Okay," Nick continues, "And now we've got rations and a tent to take with us, so we don't go through another long day like today. Right?"

John rolls his eyes. It's no secret that he hates it when they treat him like a child, but there's not enough outrage left in him to get angry about it. Instead, he drops his eyes to the ground and agrees with a despondent, "Yes."

"So, alright, maybe we aren't going to learn how to reconnect the power grid, or how to build a solar water purifier, or whatever. But at least we know we're not going to struggle through winter. Neither is Grace, or the gang, or the town."

"I know," John sighs. "I know." He drops the box onto the table, grimacing at the sound it makes. "The map alone is worth all of today's effort." He doesn't look convinced, but Kim can appreciate his almost-apology for what it is.

Carmina, who has been examining the map to avoid John's outburst, finally sees an opening to speak up. "Um... Where is our house?" she asks.

Nick squints over the map, trying to pinpoint the spot from his upside-down vantage point. Neither he nor Kim are quick enough to answer, though, as John reaches out and taps his finger against one of the black stars in the lower-left corner. He doesn't even have to look — he clearly memorized their location a long time ago.

"Here," he says.

"Oh, good," Nick sighs, "We got a star."

"It meant you had something useful that you weren't willing to give up." John's finger drags across the paper to the label on the river. "But I don't understand why he marked fishing spots. And hunting locations. And these..." He taps the red numbers. Kim spots a few red dots on the map, hopefully corresponding to the coordinates, but they seem to be in random locations. Whatever logic the Project was using, Kim can't make it out.

"I don't know what any of these are," John says. His voice lacks the anger from moments ago, replaced by a growing fascination with the mysterious notations. "They're all up in the mountains, so I think... Well, except...."

He moves around Carmina, who watches him with wide eyes as he seems to forget she's standing right next to him. John's given her more attention in the last hour than he has this entire year, but it figures that his indifference to her is what's sticking out.

"This one," he says, tapping a red dot near the old Eden's Gate compound. "This might be the furthest south... No, wait. This one." He moves his attention again, indicating another red spot closer to town.

"Are they more barrels?" Carmina asks.

John is momentarily startled to find Carmina right beside him, but he doesn't immediately leap away to put some distance back. Mostly because doing so would send him right into Kim's personal space. "It could be," he admits, only letting Carmina's input rattle him for a second before he turns his attention back to the map. "They must have been late additions. But... I didn't hear anything about these, and I don't remember seeing them on other maps. If they were for the Project, I would have found out about them eventually."

"Wouldn't they have told you upfront?" Nick asks, surprised when John chuckles in response.

"There were plenty of things I had to learn second-hand. There are probably more secrets I never learned at all. But — this cache was buried weeks before the Reaping. We kept our maps updated almost daily, but I don't remember either of these being marked. And there's one at the compound... I would remember emergency supplies being stored at the church."

Carmina stands on the opposite side of John from Kim, watching his hand move as he talks. Seeing the two of them side-by-side should probably upset Kim. She should be worried about her daughter putting too much trust in John — even if he wants to do the right thing now, he doesn't always understand what the right thing might be, and Carmina is at an impressionable age. If John says or does something wrong, he could shift Carmina's entire worldview.

In reality, though, Kim doesn't particularly mind. John is clearly not comfortable around Carmina, even though her lukewarm interest in him is hardly a threat, and he's highly cautious when he talks to her. Whether it's because Carmina is Nick's kid, or because he's bad with kids in general, Kim doesn't know. All she knows is that John is always careful with his words when Carmina is around.

"Stars are people's homes, right?" Carmina asks. "What about crosses?"

John frowns, tearing his eyes away from the mystery coordinates long enough to look where Carmina is pointing. "Shrines," he tells her. He points out a few more symbols, although it's clear he's doing it to keep her from asking him more questions. "Triangles are silos. Circles are established caches. Unfilled squares are locations we wanted. Filled squares are places we owned."

Carmina frowns at the map. "There are a lot of those."

Nick clears his throat loudly, and John immediately opens his mouth to apologize. Nick doesn't seem to need it, though, scratching at his chin as he tells Carmina, "The cult stole a lot of property right from underneath the real owners. They didn't actually own any of it. They just lied, and pretended."

John frowns, but he makes no effort to defend the cult one way or another. "And now the Project holds none of it," he says, gesturing at the map. "You could take it all back. Nobody will be there to stop you."

"Yeah, assuming any of it is still useful."

"We're one-for-one so far," Kim points out. Nick purses his lips at her taking John's side, but he's the one who suggested armoring up Carmina earlier — he can deal with a little payback. "Besides, I think we could all use a little direction right now. Something to work towards beyond surviving day-to-day."

"There could still be useful intelligence stored away," John says. "Jacob had plans for a multitude of projects we could make use of. The only problem I can see is that Joseph might have a similar map. We may have to compete with him for resources."

"From what I've heard, they've been keeping to themselves. Something about Mennonites with bows and arrows, I don't know." Nick waves a hand dismissively over the map. "If we can use cult resources against Joseph, then I'm all for it."

"That makes two of us," John agrees.

Kim's eyes rove across the map, following the river eastward. The cattle ranch is marked by a star and a cross, but there isn't much there to see along the southern border; for whatever reason, the cult focused most of their resources on the northern half of the valley. It isn't until the now-jungles of the Henbane's territory that more outposts pop up, although she can't imagine any of them are used now. According to what's left of the rumor mill, the cult has mostly remained on what used to be Dutch's island. So far, they haven't seemed interested in making contact with outsiders, much less trying to make amends — if John and Nick do go out and encounter some cultists, she can't know how it will turn out. They seem to want to keep to themselves — but how long can that possibly last?

It's a worry that she'll have to deal with later. She's already anxious enough for the present; she doesn't need to add future paranoia to the mix. For now, she can focus on appreciating the stark benefits laid out on the table in front of her. Even if Joseph has his own map, he doesn't have gasoline, or working vehicles, or guns . He doesn't have radio communication across the entire county, whereas monopolizing the resources will only take Kim a few quick calls. Anything the cult tries to pull off will have to be done much more slowly, and with Joseph being in control of it all. It's a strange way for the tables to turn, but Kim can't say she doesn't like the satisfaction it brings, knowing that they're at least one step ahead of the Project. It only took, what, nine years?

"Well, damn, John," Nick says at last, "Way to set the bar high for next time."

"Don't expect more miracles," John replies, lifting one hand neutrally. But there's something in his expression, a sort of awkward bashfulness, that reminds Kim of Nick's own humble pride. Kim's surprised to find that humility is a good fit for John. It's better than the cold arrogance he used to display, that's for sure. Who knows — maybe in a few years, it won't take dragging him through one long, emotionally-draining day to get him to open up. If they're lucky, it won't take that long, but knowing John, he'll fight it every step of the way.

That's okay, though. Kim's got more than enough patience to wait him out.

#fc5 #fcnd #john seed #kim rye #far cry new dawn #honestly i need to stop tagging this fc5 #it's not any more #its 100% new dawn baby #my fic #mercyverse