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whitexwingedxdoves · 3 years

Text

Ghosts

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Pronouns: She/Her Time Frame: Pre Apocalypse (Aprox. A month prior) Warnings: Drug abuse, death, swearing. Summary: You escort your sister to her new dealers house when things take a turn for the worst. A/N:I drew inspiration from this listening to Deftones, haha. Enjoy I guess.

As you stood there, cradling yourself outside of a trailer you watched your sister as she nervously bounced in one spot awaiting the door to swing open. Your eye’s burning a hole in her, completely disgusted in her actions. She felt them burn but she didn’t say a word. Just then the door opened and from it appeared a tall bald man, who from the way he couldn’t hold himself in one spot seemed completely out of it.

“Rose!” he slurred, greeting your sister before his eyes met yours. “Oh fresh meat!” the way he looked at you sent shivers down your spine and bile climbed your throat.

“Yeah, this is my sister, Y/N '' Rose quickly answered, pushing past him and into the trailer. Just as you were about to follow her, the man's arm slammed onto the door frame in front of you stopping your entrance. A sudden rush of nerves took over your body as you tensed up clenching your jaw, your reaction only making the man snigger.

“Merle’s the name” he whispered in your ear. Your eyes met him with only hatred, his hand slowly coming away from the door frame and allowing you inside. As you reached the inside, you noted how unclean the whole trailer was, can’s and cigarette butt’s covered the floor and the smell, well you did your best to ignore it as you made your way to your sister's side. Rose was sitting on the sofa built into the motorhome, you couldn’t bear the thought of touching anything in there so you chose to stand, leaning ever so lightly on the wall. You watched Merle pass you as he threw himself next to your sister on the sofa and started to rummage through a wooden box on the small coffee table in front of them. Your eyes snapped to the other end of the trailer as a door opened, you watched as man stood there looping his belt back up seemingly he was leaving the bathroom, a cigarette hanging from his lips only halfway smoked, when he looked up at you he seemed a little startled but he continued to walk towards you, it wasn’t lost on you how handsome he looked. Slumping himself down on a camper chair opposite Merle and Rose he took the smoke from his lips and let a thick cloud of while smoke fill the room.

“Daryl, this is Rose and…” Merle looked your way playing with a small zip lock bag filled with a brown substance and started snapping his fingers at you with his free hand.

“Y/N” you snapped at him, he responded with a laugh and repeated to you before turning his attention back to the bag as he poured some of the powder on a spoon. “This is my baby brother, Daryl” he slurred, his eyes not leaving the spoon as he held a lighter up to it.

Your eyes trailed to your sister as she picked up a belt from the table in front of her and wrapped it tightly around her arm. The way her eyes looked hungry made you feel sick to your stomach, your eyes darted away attempting to hold back any tears, chewing on the inside of your mouth.

“Hey” Daryl said, looking up at you. He sensed how uncomfortable you were, his eyes wandering from you to your sister and back again. You responded to him with half a smile, though it wasn’t genuine. Your eyes wandered back to your sister as Merle now held a needle to her arm, you couldn’t hide your disgust as he injected her with the poison and even with your best efforts you couldn’t help but let a tear roll down your cheek. You had grown up around this your whole life, you watched your mother fall into the same trap. It was everywhere in your life, past boyfriends, friends and now your sister. Your thoughts became distracted as Merle got your attention.

“You want some?” he teased, holding out the needle to you. You just rolled your eyes, biting down on your bottom lip and let out a frustrated sigh. You watched as he laid your sister on her side, her legs propped up on his thighs. You’d never felt this angry in your life. Your stomach twisting and turning as you watched your sister there helplessly.

A couple of minutes had passed and your eyes didn’t leave your sister, that was until you felt a tap on your shoulder. “Ya look like ya could use some fresh air” it was Daryl, his tone was sweet, almost caring, you looked back down at your sister, your leg bouncing the same way hers did when she craved her next hit. You just nodded and pushed yourself away from the wall and followed the younger brother out the door. The both of you sat, squeezed tightly on the steps to the trailer. You let your lungs breathe in the outside air as you relaxed a little. Your tongue pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you let an annoyed laugh seep out shaking your head. Daryl nudged you gently with his knee holding out a pack of cigarettes and you took one without a word. Playing with the tip of the cig before the man held out a lighter for you. Gently holding it in your lips you leaned into the flame and allowed your lungs to fill with smoke. Now with the cigarette placed carefully between your fingers, you chewed on your thumb, a nervous tick if you will. The smoke from the cig dried your eye out a little as you stared into nothingness.

“Why’d ya come?” Daryl broke the silence though you couldn’t think of the answer anymore, you’d been asking yourself the same question since you pulled up to the motorhome. You shrugged at the question, you felt his eyes all over you. Taking another puff of smoke you leaned back slightly and turned to the rugged man.

“I tried so many times to get her to stop… I figured If I can't get her to stop, I can at least make sure she’s safe” you admitted, your words soft and innocent. He nodded, chewing the corner of his mouth, his head hanging slightly. “What about you? Why are you here?” Bouncing the question back at him, you watched as shifted his body, clearing his throat.

“Aint no where else to be!” You could feel the pain in his words, as simple as they were, you studied him for a moment, the way his jaw bone was prominent, his light coloured beard that shaped the bottom half of his face. You passed your fingers through your hair as you diverted your eyes away from him, what the hell am I thinking, checking out a guy in this situation. You pulled yourself up from the stairs as you took in your surroundings. You noticed a small body of water not far from the trailer, instantly drawn to it you don’t hesitate and walk straight for it.

You heard footsteps behind you, your head turning until you saw Daryl following you. You flicked the butt of your cig onto the ground before reaching the end of the small pond. Not long after Daryl was right by your side and you gave him a warm smile, His heart fluttered at the sight of a genuine smile from you and without thinking he flashed one back at you. Both of you then set your sights on the body of water, the relaxing sensation that took over as you watched it ripple peacefully. You spent a moment there with Daryl just taking in nature, you’ve always felt connected to the outside world, you knew since you were a little girl you were meant to be free outside, not cooped up in a trailer park or stingy house. You needed to be free, to be just out in the world, in the middle of nowhere, no people, no drugs, nothing. Your daydreaming soon came to an end when you heard the roaring of bike engines. Both you and Daryl followed the noise with your eyes. Your hand came to land on his shoulder and he couldn’t ignore the warm feeling that rushed over him.

“Who’s that?” you questioned him, your eyes not leaving the group of men climbing off their bikes and heading towards Merles trailer. Daryl just shook his head in response and without another word you both made your way back up to the trailer.

You broke into a small jog as you heard banging coming from inside the trailer but before you could reach the door, a group of men pushed past you, seemingly in a hurry to get to their bikes. You could hear Daryl behind you cussing at the men but not one of them turned back around as they rushed to their bikes and started them instantly and just like that they were gone. You looked back at Daryl and shared a look of confusion just then Merle pushed through the door. “We need to go” he demanded, instantly grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the trailer, tugging at you as you tried to pull away.

“I need to get Rose!” struggling to pull from his grasp, attempting to dig your feet into the ground to stop the man from pulling you further from your sister. He stopped once you were at your car, both his hands holding onto your arms as he leaned down to your eye level. His face was no longer spewing arrogance, instead it was replaced with remorse and guilt. Your stomach turned instantly as you shook your head, blocking any signals he was trying to throw at you. Soon you felt Daryl push between you both but you were frozen. Daryl could feel every breath you took on his back, he could feel them getting shorter and faster.

“What the hell is happenin’” You growled at his brother, ignoring the orange light that lit up his brothers expression. It wasn’t lost on you, you turned slowly before your eyes met the trailer which was quickly being engulfed in flames. You whimpered involuntarily as the reality of the situation set in, you fell to your knees in disbelief. On the inside you were screaming but nothing left your lips. The heat from the trailer now hitting your skin, your jaw dropped, the once cold tears now heating up on your cheeks. You felt arms wrap around your waist as you was lifted. You seemed to black out as Daryl picked you up and put you in the back seat of the car, climbing in next to you he kept his arms wrapped tightly around you, shushing you as the look of heartbreak never left your features. You didn’t

feel the car start up but considering the outside world now seemed blurry, you knew you were on the move. You still couldn’t speak. You just listened as Daryl pressed his brother for answers of what happened while you were outside. You heard Merle explain how the men were there because he owed them money and despite the trailer being stolen they managed to track him down, how they picked him up from the sofa and pinned him down as they started setting the place a light, How he watched as Rose turned over and started choking on her own sick but he couldn’t get to her, the wouldn’t let him up. He just had to sit and watch her die. He noted that none of the men in the room saw her die but once they realised and the trailer was sufficiently laced with gasoline, they only had a small window to leave and so they did. With every word Merle spoke, a fresh tear escaped your tear ducts. You felt the arms around you tighten at the end of the story. You heard Daryl cuss into your hair as he tried to stop you from shivering. Yet you couldn’t move, you couldn’t speak…. at this point you were a shell.

Time had passed, you’re not sure how long, it felt like forever. The entire time in the car you didn’t speak a word, not fully processing losing your sister so suddenly like that. Every time your chest heaved a little too aggressively Daryl’s hold on you would tighten. You felt the car come to a stop, you felt the weight shift in the car as Merle left the drivers seat and once again when Daryl climbed out, it was long until the door at your side swung open and he guided you out of the vehicle and slowly walked you towards a large building complex. A motel of course. It was all blur, the lights from the neon sign welcoming people blurred into one large bright light. You’ve never felt so vulnerable, completely lost, the image of the trailer in a blaze engraved on your brain, it’s all you could see when you blinked. You overheard Merle talking about how he managed to get two rooms for the night, asking Daryl which one he was staying in, you suddenly snapped back to reality when you heard Merle try to convince Daryl that you couldn’t be alone.

“No, I’m fine on my own” your voice was shaky but stern, you watched the younger brother examine your face before nodding.

“We’re right next door, if ya need anythin’” you could sense how uneasy he was about leaving you on your own but not another word was said as you all made way towards the rooms. Merle wasted no time as he bust through his door and immediately headed for the mini bar but Daryl stood back for a moment, making sure you got into your room safely before he entered his own small room. There was only one bed and as if it was automatic Daryl set himself up on a chair in the corner closest to the door. His hands seem pretty shaken as he reached for the pack of smokes in his pocket. Merle paid no attention to his surroundings as he knocked back mini bottles of alcohol one after another, finally throwing the last small glass bottle at the wall “Fuck!” the sound of glass shattering didn’t phase Daryl, he barely even noticed, deep in thought… thinking about you.

Once the door closed behind you, finally alone you pressed your back to the door and the hyperventilating began. It felt like you were suffocating, slowly falling to the ground as you clawed at your white shirt trying to get as much air as you possibly could. Your jaw clenched and you felt every individual teeth grind against each other as you passed a growl, with your breathing slowing down you picked yourself off the floor, filled with rage you looked around the room panicked. You heard the glass smash against your wall coming from Daryl and Merle’s room which only fuelled your anger. You noticed a TV and vase with fake flowers on the dresser, presumably to brighten up the stingy, dirty room and without hesitation you threw your hands across the table, sending the vase into a million pieces as it hit the floor, your scream followed with it. Your whole body filled with rage instantly fell back into sorrow. Leaning over the dressing table, you allowed your tears to fall directly on the oak wood, forming a puddle where the vase once lived.

You managed to pull yourself together enough to escape into the shower, the water washing over you freeing your cheeks from the salt water sting. You focused on each individual water droplet on your fingers, watching the way they danced on your skin in a pathetic attempt to distract yourself. Curled up in a ball at the bottom of the shower, completely bare and exposed, vulnerability at its best. The steam seemed to calm you down, soothe you.

After your shower you sat docile on the double bed, staring into the pitch black spots in your room, the only light that leaked in was from the neon sign outside which flickered often, something that would usually tip you over the edge but you became completely numb. Your gaze was cut short as someone knocked on your door. You waited for a moment, making sure it was real, making sure you haven’t started hallucinating in the trauma of it all. You saw a shadow on your window indicating someone was waiting at your door. Pushing yourself from your bed you dragged yourself to the door to open it. It was Daryl, holding a variety of snacks in his arm.

“Ya should eat!” he insisted, pushing the snacks a little higher.

“Not hungry” he stared at you for a moment, chewing on the corner of his mouth before shaking his head.

“Nah, ya gotta eat.” He demanded, pushing past the door and into your room, throwing the snacks on the edge of your bed. He looked around the room and noticed the vase and without hesitation he started to clean it up, the best he could. You closed the door behind him before resuming your spot in the middle of the bed, your eyes dancing from snack to snack hoping if you stare long enough you’d gain an appetite for at least one of them, you settled on a small bag of chips, popped them open and slipped one into your mouth. You watched as an absolute stranger tended to your room, you couldn’t help but feel more at ease with him being there. You watched as he picked up as many pieces of the vase as he could before locating the bin and chucking them in. He caught your eyes as he turned around and watched you for a moment, unsure of what to say to someone who had just lost their sister. His head dropped before making his way to your side, turning on the lamp next to the bed. He sat down on the chair next to the bed and watched for a moment before he picked up a snack himself and started to eat it, it was gone almost immediately, while you were still struggling to eat your second chip.

After a few moments of silence you turned to Daryl, instantly gaining his attention. You didn’t say anything, you just looked at him “You okay?” he questioned, his face looking puzzled.

“No” you admitted but he understood, he just nodded, standing back up with a little stretch making his way to the door.

“Well, I’ll see ya in the mornin’ “ but before he could twist the handle you called out to him.

“Stay” you swallowed the lump in your throat, finally admitting you couldn’t be alone anymore. It was too much. He just nodded before sitting back down on the chair, leaning back into it. You put the half empty packet of chips on the bed side table as you climbed under the covers, your eyes still on Daryl. He took that as his cue to turn the lights back off and settle back into his chair. Your eyes fluttered open and closed for a while as you tried to fight it, scared of what your dreams will hold for you tonight after everything that happened but eventually you sub came to tiredness and drifted off to sleep.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #the walking dead fandom #daryl dixon #norman reedus #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic

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mystic-poet · 3 years

Text

ROGUE PATHS

I wake up to find myself handcuffed to the hospital bed. The drug they injected me with to tame me seems to be wearing off. Ugh! This again. Better to get it over with, I guess. I drag my free hand into my bun and retrieve a small blade. As usual the dumb police never bothered to check in there thinking a man’s bun would just be a fashion statement. I twist to my side and turn the blade in the keyhole clockwise. My hand comes free. I learnt to pick locks when I was young, one of my many talents. I shake my hand hard to get rid of the stiffness and get up from the bed.

I stride confidently straight towards the door, not in the sneaky kind like a criminal would. As expected, a police officer stands at guard. His lips are on the verge of screaming when I silence him by waving a hundred bucks in front of his eyes. He raises his eyebrows at me and I throw in another four hundred to satisfy his thirst. That ought to shut him up. Money! The most deadly weapon and beautiful thing anyone can ever have.

□□□

Outside the hospital waits Beth. She teaches German in Crawford High. Well, it would be safe to say she taught me the art of viciousness. If angels can house demons, there isn’t any harm in a teacher being an evil mastermind.

“They shot you pretty bad in that leg, huh?” she says as I limp on one good leg. She gives me a look that was overflowing with pity. How I hate that!

“Enough with the puppy eyes already!” I snap. My right leg was hurting real bad and I would have stayed in the hospital until they mended it and made my grand escape later but I won’t want to deprive the world of its foul folks. Besides, I have business to finish.

“I must say, I didn’t expect you to be in the hospital,” Beth says unlocking her car and we sit in.

“They shot my leg in the encounter at the bank and I was losing blood by the second. Couldn’t get much out of me while I was thrashing in pain,” I explain.

“Did you find anything at the bank?” Beth asks raising an eyebrow at me as she drives the car out of the parking lot.

“I was close to. The property papers were in my hands before the cops caught up with me. Couldn’t read a word.”

“So, what are going to do? Got anything up your sleeves?”

“Well, I do. I am going to father’s house this Wednesday,” I say coolly.

“You do know that’s two days away, don’t you?”

“I have thought it through. You’ll see,” I say grinning.

Beth shakes her head. “Just remember I need my share of the money, Carl.”

“We talked about this a million times, Beth. You’ll get your forty percent,” I say casually leaning into the passenger’s seat.

□□□

My dad abandoned me when I was a teen. He is the owner of a multinational electronic company my late grandpa founded. Beth was the assistant manager. She was a frequent visitor in thehouse and shared a fine bond with dad until one day, she was fired when my dad accused her of a theft she never committed or so she told me.

When I was old enough, I tracked her down and discovered that she craved revenge with dad for all the wrongs done to her. She wanted to blow the lid off and reveal all the dark secrets behind dad’s firm. In a way, our common want of vengeance united us.

My dad is stinking rich whereas I was left in some community home and survived off donations. This is why I despise pity; I have lived with it all my life. I have my rightful place in the company and the fortune my grandpa left behind. But I need theofficial documents and my one chance of getting them from the bank slipped away. That’s where the part of infiltrating his house comes in. Ah! It’s been such long while since I did something of this kind. Infiltrating seems such a gorgeous word now.

□□□

“So, how are we doing it?” asks Beth pouring two glasses of red wine for the both of us. She drove us to her house for it’s probably the safest place to be.

“He is hosting some success party on Wednesday and there’s bound to be security. My idea is to go through as delivery persons. The rest will follow. You will tip toe to the computer room while I put up some distraction. I will catch up with you soon enough. Till then, find the papers,” I instruct taking a swig from my glass.

“It won’t be that simple, you know,” she says with a smirk.

“I was thinking you need that forty percent,” I say with mock seriousness.

“Fine!” she says exasperated. How I love when I am obeyed.

□□□

We are wheeling the cart that supposedly holds the cake but instead I just stuffed it with a wad of cotton. I ring the bell of the grand house with Beth beside me. The housekeeper, a woman in maybe in her thirties, opens the door. She gestures to where the cake should be kept. I look around at the magnificence of the place and its each and every adornment and decoration, from the mahogany coffee table to the velvet curtains and even the intricate designs on the glass vases, conveyed royalty. I feel a rush of hatred inside me. My father enjoyed all the money at his disposal and lived in comfort with rugs beneath his feet whereas I tossed and turned with unease in my bed every night wondering if my parents would ever make their way back to me. At least my mother passed away before she witnessed the return of her abandoned son.

“You know what to do,” I whisper in Beth’s ear. She nodded. I take my blade out and make a shallow cut in the back of my hand oozing out blood. That blade is indeed a good partner. I pocket it as swiftly as I took it out.

“Oh, I am bleeding. I am bleeding,” I say dramatically and hold my hand out purposefully for everyone to see the scarlet covering it.

“Oh dear, God. I will fetch you some ice from the kitchens,” the housekeeper says and disappears into a corridor. That’s the thing about kind people; they are easy prey.

I signal to Beth and she sets off in a half-walk and half-run up the stairs. She knows the way to the computer room from all those years of coming to dinners and teas in the house. As she turns into the corner, I rush behind her too wiping the blood on my pants.

I catch up with her soon enough as she looks straight ahead navigating through the rich corridor filled with a few guests. I walk behind her maintaining a safe distance; we can’t afford to attract any attention.

We walk into a long deserted hallway. I am sure the computer room is here and so does Beth, I suppose, as she carefully notices each door. She comes to an abrupt stop in front of the door at the far end of the hallway and opens it without a glance at me. In the middle of the room sits a computer that would be the cause of my dad’s doom. Beth turns it on and gets to work as I stand at the door occasionally peaking in. I was afraid it might have a password but it didn’t. Arrogance! Father must be sure no one could evade his computer. Well, I guess history is being made today.

“Do it quick!” I hiss at her.

“Does it look like I am not trying?” she says making an irritated face at me.

We are silent for five minutes or so when Beth says, “Carl, I found them!”

A smirk creeps across my face. “Transfer it to me. All of it,” I say in an excited whisper.

Beth turns back to the computer and presses send. The next few moments go by as quickly as the blink of an eye. I lock Beth in the computer room and somewhere a safety alarm triggers deafening my ears. I hear her muffled screams calling out to meechoing in the hallway but without looking back I descend the two flights of stairs.

I bump into the security on a landing and adopting my best worried voice I say, “A woman in the computer room. Upstairs.” The words barely escape my mouth and they run upstairs to find the trespasser while I walk out of the mansion with satisfaction.

Indeed, Beth taught me too much than she should have. Call me selfish but that’s what the world made me. I couldn’t have let Beth have forty per cent. After all, what would she do with it in jail? As for my father this episode would definitely motivate him to set a computer password. I whistle walking on the road thinking of the colour my bungalow would be.

Tagging:

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Thank you so much for giving this a read dears!

Comments, criticism and suggestions are always welcome <3!!!

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bubblesuga · 3 years

Text

off the table.

Summary: Fate has an odd way of playing with your mind. When you leave Min Yoongi on his door step nearly a decade ago, you became positive that you would never find love again. Settling for a man you thought you could learn to love, you had given up on fully moving on. But again, fate likes to play.

W/C: 11,680

Genre: Idol!AU, smut, fluff

Warnings: cussing, smut, mentions of exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, Jimin is curious about Yoongi’s (non-existent) sex life,

A/N: Based loosely off of Off The Table by Ariana Grande if you want a song to listen to as you read :) x

“So, this is it then?”

“Yeah.”

The near migraine-inducing memory always happens to flash in your mind at the worst times possible. Eight years ago, you found yourself standing at the front door of your ex boyfriend’s dorm with a solemn heart as he softly explained what his life was going to turn into. It was a short conversation, one the both of you had seen coming but neither of you wanted to admit it.

As his new friends and new life began to form behind him in the small one bedroom apartment, you nodded, and you left with one last kiss to his rosy lips. His deep brown eyes bore into yours with just as much sadness that you felt before you dragged yourself away helplessly.

Of course, now that you were 3 months into a new relationship, the memory decides to pop it’s way back into your brain as if it had just happened. A soft whisper in your mind gently coaxed you away from your latest fling and disassociated you from the moment entirely. He’s a nice guy, as well. Good head on his shoulders, smart with money, and loves to cook for you. So the sense of guilt you felt was tremendous because despite having this gorgeous man in front of you, your mind always flew back to him.

It has become more and more difficult not to think of him considering the fact that his face is now everywhere. The news, the internet, your fucking cold brew... He was there, the same bright features and adorable nose. You wondered if he thought of you from time to time, how you’re doing or what you could be up to since you graduated university. With as hectic of a schedule that you’re sure he held, you highly doubted that you have been on his mind since the end. Knowing him, he threw himself into his work and hasn’t looked back. It shows in his music, though. You always knew that he would be successful.

“...are you even listening to me?”

The words dragged you out of your trance and you immediately set down your coffee, “What? Of course I am.”

Junwoo couldn’t help but roll his eyes, “What was I talking about then?”

Fuck.

You push your hair back, a habit you developed recently as your desire to try and forget about your ex boyfriend has grown stronger, “I’m sorry, I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately.”

Maybe it hasn’t just been lately. Maybe every single time you feel Junwoo’s lips against yours, you can’t help but compare him to Yoongi. He didn’t need to know that, though.

“Yeah, you use that a lot as your excuse. I’ll try not to bore you with tales from my clients anymore.” Junwoo slides the plate in front of you, a heart shaped kimchi pancake lay flat in the middle of it, and you feel your guilt grow stronger.

“No! I love hearing about them, I- I think I need to see someone about what’s going on in my head.” You explain. You had yet to mention to anyone that you dated Suga of BTS before he was known as such. In fact, you’re pretty sure if you even hinted at it, you’d become the laughing stock of Seoul. It made it impossibly difficult to talk about your feelings with Junwoo. He always tries to pry, but you shut him down completely.

“What’s going on? Is it serious?” concern laces his features and he sits carefully beside you at the table.

“No, I just need someone to talk to.” you try to shake the feeling of discontent when his arm wraps around your shoulder.

He leans his head on yours- “you can always talk to me.” -you shutter.

“A professional, just to help me get back on my game. Regain control of...” you let out a soft sigh and feel Junwoo’s lips brush against your temple, “...myself.”

“_____, I am a literal therapist.”

“A literal therapist who is emotionally involved with me. Isn’t it inappropriate to make out with your patients?” You quirk, raising an eyebrow.

He rolls his eyes again, “Okay. Let me know if you need recommendations. Us in the brain community are pretty tight-knit.” He stands up and runs a hand through your hair before trotting back to the kitchen to begin his own breakfast.

You nibble on the inside of your cheek as you stare down at your pancake, picking up the butter knife beside your plate and dragging it down the center with a grimace on your face.

~*~*~

Even though you spent many years studying medicine, you didn’t think it would involve this much typing. Staring at patient charts has become a normal during your regular work day, especially since you’re boss decided that he didn’t need to look at the charts, he just wanted to hear from you.

You’re a nurse, not a secretary.

Today you were assigned to the emergency room, which was one of your favorite places to be. Everything was much faster than if you happened to be in post-op or general medicine, but the moment you enter the doors, you were piled with paperwork that you were sure a medical assistant could be doing.

The drowning sounds of chatter and machine’s melodic beeping blended with your fingers as they typed name after name, number after number for an hour straight. Just as you thought your soul had completely drained from your body, you hear a tap on the desk.

“H- hi, uh- my friend’s foot got cut open and we think he needs stitches. Is there any way that we could get seen quickly?” You glance up and your eyes immediately go wide.

You remember meeting Namjoon a few times in passing when you were still seeing Yoongi, but he’s much taller than you remember. Instantly you feel your face go red, and you were frozen in place. Why the hell was Namjoon here? How did he manage to choose this hospital of all the ones in Seoul?

You happen to tear your eyes away from him for a second, glancing over and seeing Jungkook being held up by Jimin as his foot stays elevated in the air. The minute you see a t-shirt wrapped tightly around Jungkook’s foot, you move to action.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that! Let me get you a wheelchair,” you swing around the desk and grab one of the folded up wheelchairs and roll it towards Jungkook. He grimaces as he sits down, his foot crossed onto the opposite knee. Jimin seems relieved not to have his friend leaning on him anymore, and you pause for a second to assess the situation.

“Jenni! Do we have an open bed anywhere?” You grab your co worker who walks passed you with her hands filled with bandages.

“Back corner, we just cleaned it.” She calls back, walking without glancing at the people you’re trying to help.

You nod, immediately walking Jungkook towards the back and gesturing for Namjoon and Jimin to follow. You grab an empty chart as you walk, before opening the curtain for the bed and allowing the three men to slide into the area.

“I hate to be pushy but this really hurts.” Jungkook hisses as wrap your arm beneath his and slowly lift him towards the bed. Immediately, you slip gloves onto your hands and begin to unwrap the t-shirt. There’s quite a bit of blood, but not enough to have you worried that he hit an artery.

Namjoon bites his lip before speaking, “I should have watched the stage better. I’m sorry.”

Jungkook shrugs, wincing while he attempts to pull himself up higher, “It was hard to see. Not your fault, or anyone else’s.”

“Except for the person who broke the stage.” Namjoon quips, rubbing his hands over his face, frustrated.

“It’s fine, hyung. The pretty nurse is going to fix Kookie right up.” Jimin is quick to comfort both of his friends while simultaneously causing you to blush.

It’s then that you notice the three of them in clothes similar to their rehearsal getup from all those years ago. Sweat lines each of their foreheads and you wonder just how this whole thing happened.

After inspecting the wound, you whip towards the suture kit, “It is deep enough to require stitches. I’m going to call the doctor down and have her suture you up. Until then would you like me to numb the pain?” Even though you’re well aware who these men are, and how close you potentially are to your ex boyfriend, you can’t help but let your professional prowess overpower your incessant need to think of Yoongi.

Jungkook nods, “At this point I’ll take a shot of whiskey and something to knock me out.”

You smile, “Unfortunately there isn’t any whiskey here. Believe me, I’ve been searching since I got here.”

Namjoon chuckles from beside you as you put your finger up to let them know you’ll be right back. Pulling open the curtain, you meander over to the nurse’s station and pick up the phone to call the ER doctor down. As you wait for him, you grab all the supplies to clean Jungkook’s foot, including a Lidocaine injection. Before you get the chance to turn back around, you hear the ER doors burst open and see four sweaty men tearing their way into the hospital.

Four sweaty men, including Min Yoongi.

An uncharacteristic whimper leaves your lips as you spot the rest of the members, all rushing passed you when they see Namjoon stick his head out of the curtains.

You feel all the blood drain from your face when the familiarity of Yoongi’s presence passes by you. Jenni notices your panic from the other side of the nurse’s station and lets out a little giggle, “Come on, you can’t get all shy just because they’re BTS. You have a job to do.”

“I can’t go in there now, Jenni. You have to take over.” You turn back to her with wild eyes, desperately trying to hand her all the supplies you gathered. Your eyes continuously glance backwards, watching them pile in. Yoongi can’t see you, you won’t be able to look the man in the eyes. You can’t even begin to think about the embarrassment you will feel if Yoongi sees you.

Jenni only laughs, “You’re a professional. Dr. Gwan will be down soon so you only have to be with them for a few moments.”

In a last ditch effort, you call out to her as she walks towards another patient.

Okay. You’re panicking now.

The universe has to be playing some sort of sick game on you right about now. You have not been able to get that stupid man off your mind lately and now here he was in your emergency room. First he’s worried about his brother but now he’s going to see you and want to chat and catch up. Knowing him, he’ll ask you for coffee and you’ll probably learn of his girlfriend or possible wife. He’ll wonder why you’re not married yet, and you’ll have to hide the fact that you haven’t been able to properly move on because of him.

That’s only to say if he even remembers you.

Taking a deep breath, you swallow your anxiety and enter the curtain.

“Alright, Jungkook. Do you have any allergies that I should know about before I inject you with my magic numbing liquid?” It’s much more cramped in the room than it was before. The 6 members crowd to one side of the bed while you stand on the other. You refuse to look up for fear that Yoongi is going to recognize you.

“No allergies.” Jungkook shakes his head.

“Good, good,” you lean forward, elevating Jungkook’s foot and removing the make shift bandage, “you’re gonna feel a slight pinch.”

“He’s not going to lose his foot or anything, right?” A voice asks. You recognize it as Taehyung’s.

“No,” you’re sure they can sense how rigid you are, “he’s not going to be able to dance for a little bit, but he’ll be back and better than ever in no time.” No one responds, and you finally make eye contact with Jungkook, “Are you ready?”

Again, he nods, and you slowly push the needle into his foot. He cringes enough to jerk his upper body slightly, but Jimin is at his side just as quickly as it started.

You dispose of the needle immediately afterwards, wrapping his foot up to keep pressure applied to the wound, “Okay, Dr. Gwan will be here soon. She’ll get you sutured up and I’ll be back later to check on you.”

“Thank you, miss. It already feels better.” He sighs happily, relaxing backwards onto the pillow.

You grin, momentarily forgetting that your ex boyfriend is 3 feet away, “Of course, Jungkook. That’s my job.”

It’s then that you catch Yoongi’s eye for the first time that night. It’s not to say he didn’t recognize you before, but he wasn’t able to say anything once he saw you working. He was deathly still, the rest of the day leaving his mind when your shiny eyes met his. He sees you swallow, and you walk out without saying anything else.

“That was _____.” Yoongi murmurs after a moment, staring at the swaying curtains where you once exited.

The chatter stops instantly, and everyone turns to Yoongi.

“The _____?” Hoseok questions, his eyes wide while he also turns to watch the curtains.

Yoongi nods, his throat going dry as memories of you sleeping beside him at night when he had nothing to his name wash over him. You, with the exception of his brother, were the only person supporting him when he said he wanted a career in music. You applied to universities in Seoul so you could be closer to his dream, you were always so excited to hear his new music and you always told him that he was going to make it big.

It’s not like Yoongi hadn’t thought of you since you broke up. He was a complete mess for months afterwards. His schedule solely consisted of working and rehearsing because he couldn’t bare to have a moment to himself.

Yoongi repeatedly beat himself up for the way he ended things and more specifically, the reason he ended things. After getting into BigHit, Yoongi realized he was seeing less and less of you. You were so busy with med school and he was so busy with rehearsals that you were lucky to see each other once a week. He knew you’d be better off finding someone who could be there for you, and that it was best for him to focus on his career.

He just wasn’t aware of how much that would kill him inside.

“Well what are you doing here? Aren’t you going to go talk to her?” Seokjin pushes. There are times when Yoongi has to remind himself that he isn’t the oldest in the group, and that usually comes when Seokjin takes his role as older brother very seriously.

Yoongi scoffs at the taller man, “What do you want me to say? ‘Hey I know it’s been 8 years but lets meet up for coffee and pretend like we didn’t break each other’s hearts’?” he takes a moment to collect his thoughts, “Besides, Jungkook needs us here while he gets his foot stabbed.”

“Oh no, hyung,” Jungkook laughs, “I’m doing juuuust fine. You go talk to the pretty nurse.”

Yoongi swallows, “What should I say?”

Namjoon shrugs, “Whatever comes to mind.”

Yoongi’s feet carry him out of the curtained off area, his eyes searching across the emergency room in an attempt to find you. He spots you at the desk by the front door, and with a nervous head tilt, he’s dragging himself towards you.

The moment you left Jungkook, you threw yourself back into paperwork and became so immersed that you didn’t hear anything going on around you. Except for the soft footsteps pattering up to your station, which causes you to tear your eyes away from the chicken scratch handwriting on the chart in front of you.

It’s silent for a beat, you can feel the heat rising to your ears as you look up at him. His hair is longer, different from the short style he’d gel up every morning before the break up. There’s more piercings on his ears, but at the core of the new flashy clothes and dyed hair, he’s still the same man who professed his love for you at 17 years old.

“Hi.” he whispers.

“...hi.” you respond, your hands still frozen over the keyboard as Yoongi fiddles with his fingers on top of the desk.

“Thank you for helping-” Yoongi is cut off by another Nurse calling you over from a different bed in the emergency room.

You give him a quick glance, “I’m sorry, duty calls.”

Yoongi couldn’t help but feel his heartbeat quicken when you stand. He had a better look at the pink scrubs donned on your body, and the smile on his face was nearly uncontrollable when he realizes that you made it exactly where you wanted to be. Your dreams of helping people has now become a reality.

You’re truly in your element, and Yoongi can tell. The concern on your face as you help a little girl sat in the center of a bed way too big for her was a sure fire way to know that you were in the right place.

So, Yoongi doesn’t push a conversation. Instead, he walks back to his band mates and watches in awe as Dr. Gwan stitches up Jungkook’s foot.

~*~*~

“He walked away.”

“He walked away?!”

“He. Walked. Away.” You emphasize to Jenni, holding your hands to your face while you let out a groan.

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” she sets down her iced americano, the chatter of the hospital cafeteria drowned out by your conversation, “you dated Suga from BTS before he was famous, and he broke up with you because you were both leading different lives?”

You nod.

She continues, “and you see him in person for the first time in 8 years, and you don’t talk to him?!”

“Wait why are you yelling at me?!”

“Because, dummy,” she leans over the table and flicks your forehead, “he’s been on your mind a lot lately and suddenly he’s at your job! It’s not a coincidence.”

It’s only been about a week since you saw Yoongi, and of course your attempts to get him out of your mind has been fruitless.

“What am I meant to do? Drop everything and run to him?” You ask incredulously, angrily digging your spoon in your yogurt.

Jenni waves her hand haphazardly, “No, no. You catch up with him, see how he’s doing now that he’s a world famous rapper- oh my god, _____ you let go of him?! You didn’t fight for him?!”

“You said you weren’t going to judge me!”

“That was before I learned exactly what you did! Dumb girl,” Jenni shakes her head disapprovingly, “and you’ve settled for Mr. Brainiac instead.”

Jenni isn’t the biggest fan of Junwoo.

“Mr. Brainiac is nice and sweet and knows how to treat me right,” You explain quietly, the fruit in your yogurt seemingly tasteless on your tongue, “but...”

“But he’s not Yoongi?” Jenni tilts her head.

“I don’t think anyone can ever compare to Yoongi. I’m sure it’s unrequited at this point.” As much as you hate to admit it, that’s the part that broke your heart the most about seeing Yoongi. The fact that you couldn’t bare to look at him for more than a second, because it just wasn’t the same as before. It will never been the same as before.

Jenni shrugs, “you won’t know until you find out.”

“And I’m supposed to... what? Show up at his house?”

Jenni’s eyes seem to trail behind you, and a grin on her face, “When is Jungkook supposed to get his sutures removed?”

Confused, you raise an eyebrow and turn around in your chair to see none other than the man of the hour, Min Yoongi. Instead of being dressed in rehearsal clothes like the other day, Yoongi wears all black with a silver bag wrapped around his torso.

You whip back around and glare at Jenni, “I swear to god if you call him-”

“Suga!” Jenni calls out before you can finish your sentence. Your head falls into your hands with another frustrated moan. Jenni waves her hand to him, Yoongi watching warily before he spots that you’re sat right across from her.

He hesitates for a moment, noticing the way you drag knees to your chest which is a nervous tick you have had since before Yoongi had met you. However, he realizes that if he ever wants to talk to you, now would be the best time. Having followed Jungkook to the hospital for the sole purpose of possibly bumping into you, he had to make due with any interaction he could get.

Jenni gets up and leaves as Yoongi walks his way over to you. Your head is now buried in your knees, but you hear the chair screech across from you.

“Hi again.”

You lift your head up, “Hi, Suga. How is life?”

You can see hurt flash through Yoongi’s face at your use of his stage name, but he shakes it off, “Life is going pretty well. How about yours?”

“It’s going well.”

You still haven’t made direct eye contact with him. Despite having not seen you in person in so many years, his heart ached in his chest at the thought that you may still be hurt. Who is he kidding, though? He’s still hurt by the decision himself.

With a sigh, he scoots his chair forward, “Are we going to pretend that there isn’t a history behind us?”

You laugh bitterly, “Haven’t you been doing a pretty good job of that for the passed eight years?”

Yoongi’s jaw drops. You don’t remember Yoongi ever showing his emotions so freely on his face. That was one of the good things from the interviews you have seen, those 6 boys have opened up Yoongi more and more to his emotions. You feel bad for your response, but you’re unsure how to apologize.

“I didn’t want to end things just much as you didn’t,” He bites, ignoring the tinge in his heart, “I want to catch up. It’s nice seeing you again.”

“I have a boyfriend.” You say, your yogurt seeming much more interesting than it was moments before.

He clears his throat, “That’s okay.”

“Because I had to move on.”

“That’s okay.” He repeats, his fingertips drumming along the table top. He hasn’t been chewing his nails lately. That’s good for him. Though, the nervous habit has developed into something different, the drumming of his finger tips echoing more and more in your head as the awkward silence mulls on. Even in a loud cafeteria, your mind only focused on him.

With out thinking much of it, you reach your hand forward and place it on top of his to get the drumming to stop. Yoongi looks up at you while you hold your hand atop of his. For a moment, the silence continues as you stare into his deep brown eyes. You’re transported back to your late teens, where you felt as though you were on top of the world with Min Yoongi by your side. He stared at you as if you were his entire universe, spending night after night cuddled up together, talking about your dreams and aspirations while simultaneously chasing them together.

Well, it used to be together, but instead you had to push yourself through your dreams alone.

Yoongi’s the first to break the silence, letting a dry chuckle fall effortlessly from his lips while he stares down at your touching hands, “You used to do the same thing if you saw me biting my nails.”

Even though you want to be mad, you wand to walk away and never speak to him again, you can’t. Instead, you nibble on your lip in an attempt to stifle your giggle. Yoongi notices and realizes he’s making good headway into conversation.

“You told me to help you stop, the only thing that seemed to get you to stop was-”

“Your touch?” Yoongi suggests, a teasing gummy grin on his face.

“Yeah,” you finally let out a laugh, “my touch distracted you from a lot of things.”

The people in the cafeteria didn’t seem to be bothered by the two of you in the center of the room. Busy doctors and nurses trying to get their lunch in, loved ones of patients desperately waiting to hear if their surgeries went well, all is forgotten as you fall into the same pit you found yourself in many years ago. Bottomless, but bright. Visions of the future dancing along you as you fall deeper and deeper. Although now, it seems to be visions of what could have been.

“Of course it did, how could I focus when I had your pretty face in front of me?” Yoongi’s tone is still teasing, but melancholy wades through his words.

You slip your hand away hesitantly, and Yoongi’s wrist twitches at the sudden loss of contact. “That’s the reason it ended, isn’t it?”

This is a conversation that Yoongi is not ready for, but at this point he’ll take anything he can get with you, “What do you mean?”

“You broke up with me because you knew I’d distract you from your dream.”

He brings the hand you once held upward, scorching skin touching the back of his neck nervously as he takes a deep breath, “I’d be lying if I said that didn’t play a part.”

You inhale and drop your legs from the edge of your chair before leaning forward. After years of questioning whether or not you would ever move on, you finally have the chance to get some closure. “What was the final straw?”

He bites his lip, “I was able to fall asleep without you.”

You didn’t think you’d be able to feel your heart sink as deep as it has. Even after all these years, your emotions are bubbling to the surface. How can something so simple break your heart so badly?

“You were in school during the day and I was training at night,” he continues, “we never saw each other and I struggled for so long to fall asleep without you next to me. Then... one day my head hit the pillow and I fell asleep immediately.”

Another knife to your chest.

“Did you struggle at all? After the break up, I mean.” You try to search for some sense of regret in his eyes but he’s always been very good at putting up a wall and having people fight for a way in.

He laughs bitterly, “Of course I struggled. Are you kidding me? I thought I was going to marry you, have kids with you. I was nearly inconsolable once it really set in that you weren’t going to be with me anymore.”

You swallow anxiously, “But it was really for the best, yeah? You’ve got your career and I’ve got mine. We’re both successful. Given, you’re entirely more successful than I am but I’m happy with where I’m at.”

“Don’t say that,” Yoongi breaths, “you worked your ass off to get to where you are, you’re just as successful as I am.”

“You think we wouldn’t have got to where we are if we stayed together.” It’s more of a statement than a question, but Yoongi seems to ponder on his answer.

“I think we were young and didn’t know much about life. It was a shitty time for both of us, but I did and still do think that in some aspect of the word, you are my soulmate.”

Your breath hitches at the word.

Beyond already having thought this yourself, the realization that Yoongi thinks it as well causes your chest to flush with heat. The adoration you felt years ago when Yoongi’s hair was always styled neatly in a mohawk and you had no clue how to use eyeliner still rests itself neatly at the bottom of your heart. Hearing Yoongi even say the word ‘soulmate’ nearly reduced you to a puddle of tears.

Yoongi notices that you haven’t let out a breath, “Fuck,” he’s panicking, running his hand anxiously through his hair, “fuck. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to freak you out, I- I-” He cuts himself off and allows his head to fall into his hands.

A moment passes, and he seems to gather himself once he hears you exhale, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I saw you last. I dreamed about what I wanted to say to you and insisted on being the one to drive Jungkook to the hospital today with just the hope and slightest chance that I might run into you.”

“What’s your plan here, then?”

“I want to be friends.” He proposes.

You scoff, “Do you have time for friends now?”

He sighs, expecting the reply but still feeling his chest tighten, “Let’s hang out on a day where the two of us have nothing going on. When are you off next?”

“I have a boyfriend.” You reiterate, raising an eyebrow.

“Not a date,” he dismisses you, “just as friends. When are you off next?”

Crossing your arms, you eye him suspiciously as he widens his eyes in an attempt to push you towards an answer.

“Saturday.”

“Great,” he breathes, “I’ll make sure I’m free that day too.”

~*~*~

Maybe you are taking a bit too much time getting ready for a man who has already seen you at your worst. Maybe you purposely wore purple lipstick in an attempt to show that you have been paying attention to his career and maybe, just maybe, you are way too happy to be hanging out with Min Yoongi once again.

That doesn’t take away from your nervousness, though. Your hand shakes as you finish applying your mascara. You don’t live in a nice mansion like Yoongi does, and you’re terrified that someone will spot him picking you up from your apartment and all hell will break loose. You’ve read some of the tabloids involving anyone close to the group, so your anxiety is nearly palpable.

“Get a grip,” you whisper to yourself, “you’ve seen this man naked before. There’s no need to be nervous.”

As you finish your make up, you move on to your hair but stop once you hear a knock on your door.

Yoongi isn’t supposed to be here for another half hour.

“Fuck.” you whisper, standing quickly from your vanity mirror and rushing towards the front door in a panic. You peep through the lens in the door, confusion striking you when you spot Junwoo.

The lock turns loudly and you slide open the door, “Hi?”

His eyes raise from the ground until he meets yours, “You’re awfully dressed up just to be hanging at home.”

“I have plans.” You state, slipping your undone hair behind your ear. You couldn’t help but notice the instant meekness you felt take over your body the moment you saw Junwoo.

“With me?” He questions, stepping into your apartment. His black hair is pushed back with way too much gel to be comfortable, the honey brown eyes that usually comforted you suddenly made you feel uneasy.

You shake your head in response, “An old friend. He and I are-”

“He?” Junwoo cuts you off, much louder than he was moments before. You take a step back at the sudden change of tone, your jaw nearly dropping at his audacity.

“Yes, he. Is that a problem?” It was probably in your best interest not to challenge Junwoo. If there is anything you learned in your short time together it’s that he was very good at manipulating your words. He claims it’s his way of reading deeper into the situation but you think your intentions are pretty surface-level.

Junwoo didn’t seem to expect your attitude, backing down immediately with a nervous scratch to the back of his neck. “Well, I don’t know how I feel about you hanging out with another guy.”

A scoff leaves your mouth as you scan Junwoo’s posture change, “Are you one of those people who assumes men and women can’t be platonic friends?”

“Yes.”

Well, at least he’s honest.

You roll your eyes, “I can assure you that he’s just a friend.”

A friend who you have a long, egregious history with. A friend who’s lips have touched every inch of your body, has seen you break down over text books and has kissed away your tears when you were beginning to reach adulthood.

But yeah, a friend nonetheless.

“Are you still going to hang out with him if I tell you I’m uncomfortable with it?” Junwoo presses, puffing out his chest.

“I don’t feel like you have the right to tell me who I can and can’t be friends with,” you furrow your brows, “why are you even here?”

“I wanted to take you to the park, but that’s not important. Were you going to tell me that you were going out with a guy?” Man, Junwoo’s ability to annoy the fuck out of you has seemingly grown beyond a point of retribution in the short 10 minutes he’s been in front of you.

As you open your mouth to respond, another knock sounds on the door. You let out a small groan, reaching towards the doorknob and turning it swiftly. On the other side is Yoongi, a striped black and white button down unbuttoned on his torso with a white t-shirt underneath. He’s certainly gotten a better fashion sense.

“Hi, Yoongi. I’m almost ready,” you send a glare in Junwoo’s direction, “I have to finish my hair and I’ll be ready.”

Junwoo is staring wide-eyed at Yoongi with his jaw dropped. Yoongi looks back at him and subtly crinkles his nose, just enough for you to spot it.

After a moment, you break the silence, “Yoongi, this is Junwoo. Junwoo,” you gesture to Yoongi, “Suga of BTS.”

Yoongi lets out a laugh, “Stop introducing me like that to people.”

“That is your name, isn’t it?” You tease, spinning the black hat on his head backwards. “Anyway, are you heading out, Junwoo?”

“You didn’t tell me that it was Suga you were hanging out with.” Junwoo speaks accusingly, making you realize that you truly didn’t make any progress throughout your entire conversation.

“He’s an old friend,” you explain, “I’ll call you later.”

Junwoo opens his mouth but closes it again. You know it’s more than likely because he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of someone so influential. Junwoo cared too much about his image to do anything to disrupt it. One bad word from Yoongi and he was done for.

Silently, he steps out of your apartment but doesn’t hesitate on slamming the door shut.

Yoongi glances at you and points to the door, “Him?”

“I never claimed to make good decisions.” You sigh, causing Yoongi to giggle. “Anyway, let me finish my hair. Help yourself to anything here.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You hesitate for a moment before deciding that you didn’t have anything in particular that Yoongi could accidentally get his hands on that would be embarrassing.

As you walk out of the room, Yoongi runs his fingers along the picture frames on your wall. He remembers these pictures previously sitting on your desk in your parents’ house. Now they were lined perfectly across the off-white painted wall in your living room, images of your family and close friends filling the black painted frames.

He smiles at the picture of your mother, you’re an exact replica of her. One of the first things he struggled with beyond not seeing you anymore was the fact that he wouldn’t see your family. Despite your relationship being short lived in the beginning, he had grown very close to your family in the process. After the break up, your mother called Yoongi repeatedly asking if he needed food and clothes. He knows that you gained your big heart from her, and he wishes that he can speak with her again.

Moving on, he spots the familiar picture of you leaning against a bookshelf with Le Fleurs Du Mal by Charles Baudelaire gripped loosely in your hands. He remembers that picture from the end of high school, you insisted on stopping by the local Daegu city library one last time before you both moved to Seoul. Yoongi snapped the picture as an opportunity to remember your hometown, because he was sure the two of you would never be back there again. You would stay together and conquer the world, but unfortunately that never happened.

Yoongi can’t help but run his fingers along the side of your face, your smile hiding behind the book. Yoongi’s reflection can be seen in the window behind you, his grin just as wide as yours.

You were in love, and Yoongi misses that.

Of course now it’s not like he can do anything about that. You have a boyfriend who is clearly very loving and trusting in you.

Yoongi wasn’t necessarily sure what his plan was when he was searching for you in the hospital, nor was he sure what his plan is now that he has you within arms reach of him. Namjoon was sure to tell him how stupid he was for even attempting to get involved with you again even though you have a boyfriend but Yoongi didn’t care. So long as you were in his life somehow, he was willing to make it work. Friends, maybe more. He wasn’t sure, but he wanted whatever he could get.

He did...okay for a few years without you. He dated on and off but never really developed a connection with anyone the way he had you. He couldn’t help but compare everyone who came into his life to you no matter how hard he tried not to. It’s laughable at best, because deep down in his mind he’s well aware that nobody will ever compare to you.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

Yoongi tears his eyes away from the picture and instantaneously rakes his eyes up and down your body, “Whoa.”

Dressed in a simple leggings and plaid button down combination, it accentuates your curves and causes Yoongi’s mouth to water.

You let out an embarrassed giggle, “I, uh- I wasn’t sure what we were doing to I tried to dress casually.”

Yoongi doesn’t stop his eyes from staring at your hips, “It works. Everything about you, works.”

“Careful now.” You warn jokingly, putting a hand out in an attempt to pause his thoughts.

Yoongi shakes his head, “Okay, I have a reservation ready for us.”

You lead him out your door and to the car park, “You better not be taking me to some expensive restaurant because I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“Nah,” Yoongi shakes his head, opening the passenger side door for you, “but if you still love chicken then I may have found the greatest restaurant in existence.”

Slipping into his car, you wait to respond until he moves over to the drivers side and turns the car on. “You remember that I love chicken?”

He smiles, gummy and bright just like before, “I remember everything about you.”

You ignore the flutter in your heart at his words, and sit silently beside him while the radio plays softly from his speakers. The car is far nicer than the one he used to have, and the seats have a warmer that Yoongi seemed to know the perfect temperature of. As he continues to drive on, you try not to watch the way his left hand grips the steering wheel and his right sits idly on his thigh.

8 years ago, that hand would have been resting on your thigh, fingertips brushing the inner part of your softest flesh while you leaned your head back listened to the melodic tunes of whatever song he made most recently. A few of those tunes have been turned into BTS songs, and you still felt beyond proud of him.

“Okay, we have to go around the back and through the kitchen. I just don’t want to risk-”

“Yeah, yeah,” you cut him off, waving your hand dismissively, “you’re hot shot famous guy now. Don’t want to risk getting seen with a lady.”

Yoongi chuckles, “I may be some hot shot famous guy but I’m still the same person I was a decade ago.”

You watch as he turns the car off, “Prove it.”

“What?” He laughs in disbelief.

“Prove that you’re the same person you were all those years ago.” You push, tongue in cheek while you smirk at the man beside you. He seems to ponder for a moment, puckering his lips in thought before he exits the car and runs over to your side of the car.

“Come on,” he gestures for you to get up, “hurry up.”

“Hold your horses, Mister.” you adjust the bag around your torso as you stand and let your eyes fall back to Yoongi. His back is to you and his knees are bent. Hands reach backwards for you and he turns to look at you expectantly.

Tilting your head, you smile as you hop onto Yoongi’s back. A move he’d do regularly when you’d spend hours on your feet interning at various hospitals around the city. His large hands gripped the back of your thighs and you let out a squeal as he hikes you up until your legs are wrapped around his waist.

It takes a moment for him to steady his walk as he leads you carefully up to the back door. You lean upward and knock on the back door labeled “staff only” and wait patiently as you feel Yoongi adjust you again.

“You used to carry me around like this all the time.” You grin, wrapping your arms around his neck in a hug. It didn’t feel weird hugging him like this. Natural instincts kicked in and the whiff of his cologne had you reeling. It’s exactly the same as he wore before, and his hair smelled of coconut conditioner. Before you would turn his head and kiss his lips every time you caught his scent, and it’s taking everything in you right now not to do exactly that.

“I did,” you can hear the smile in Yoongi’s voice, “and you never reciprocated.”

“I’ll give you a piggy back on the way out, how about that?” You pat the top of his head as the door opens to reveal a very confused looking employee.

A sheepish smile is held on Yoongi’s face while the employee realizes who he is. “Mr. Min,” he bows his head, “lovely to have you again. We have your usual table set up in the back.”

“Awesome,” Yoongi drawls sweetly, “lead the way!”

Heat fills your face as the kitchen staff of the unnamed restaurant watch curiously while Yoongi walks you to the table.

He doesn’t allow you to get off, instead he turns around and drops you onto the booth seat as you try to silence the squeal that leaves your mouth. Yoongi only laughs as he flips back around to see the top half of your body slip between the table and the seat. He’s quick to help you up but his arms grow weak from laughing so he takes a few moments to pull you back up. You couldn’t help but laugh as well, the ridiculousness of the situation bringing back memories.

“I’m sorry,” he says, inhaling another laugh as he slips into the seat opposite of you, “I didn’t think you would fall.”

You adjust the hat on your head, “It’s fine, I didn’t need my equilibrium to work properly anyway.”

Yoongi can’t help but watch you carefully as you open the menu. Your nose still crinkled when you came across a dish you may not particularly like, and your eyes widened whenever you saw something that you thought looked good.

Both of you decided on a beer to drink and various flavors of dry rub wings to enjoy. As you waited on your food to be cooked, you sip your beer and suck your teeth while you decide whether or not you want to ask him all your dying questions.

Deciding to start small, you took a deep breath as Yoongi met your eyes, “How much did they have to fight you to get you to start dancing?”

He let out a sigh of relief, half expecting the awkwardness of your history together to take over, “I almost quit like four times, I won’t lie.”

You giggle, “I figured. You do well, though. I was amazed by your Seesaw performance when you started dancing on your own up there. Genuinely was the last thing I expected.

Yoongi doesn’t respond, he only smiles widely with his head rested gently on his hand. You tilt your head as his eyes scan yours, “What?” You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, wanting the world to swallow you up at the thought that you could have come across as weird or creepy by knowing so much about Yoongi’s career.

“You watch my performances?” He questions, his smile not dropping. A hint of pink brushes the tip of his nose.

“Of course,” you say almost incredulously, “you’re everywhere. It’s hard not to.”

“What’s your favorite song?” Yoongi presses, leaning forward to show you’ve piqued his interest.

Okay, there’s no way you’re going to let him think he has some sort of head over you.

“Cypher part 3.” you say confidently.

“Oh?”

“Mhm,” you hum, nibbling on the bottom of your lip for a moment before deciding to say why it was your favorite, “specifically the part where you say you’re a starfish feeding off the envy of others.”

“Ah, yes. Truly a fan favorite. You should hear the cheers when I explain what my tongue can do.” Yoongi whispers the latter half of his sentence, causing your throat to go dry. His tongue is skillful in many ways, not just rapping, and you were well aware of that. Decadence rested on the tip of his tongue, and you’d like to think that you contributed to his *ahem* practice.

He pulls away with a cheeky grin just as the waiter comes by with steaming plates of food.

The affect that his words had on you still amazes you to this day. Maybe he does have a head above you, and maybe you’re okay with that.

The rest of the dinner goes by with a breeze, the two of you laughing over drinks and trying each other’s food. It didn’t take long for you to fall into a comfortable fit with Yoongi, even though so much time had passed. It was like he never left, and he truly is still the same person he was before. He laughs the same, his shoulders shakes and his grin is always huge. Although his hair style changes and his fashion sense has gotten better, you still see the old Yoongi poking out whenever he laughed particularly hard.

Being face to face with him has allowed you to compare to the younger him, though. His face has slimmed and his voice has gotten deeper, the adam’s apple you kiss at night was larger than before and his neck was longer. Despite all that, he was still the same. Fame hadn’t changed him a bit.

The moment the check comes you snatch it up quickly.

“_____.” the way Yoongi says your name shoots a chill down your spine, but you ignore it when you slip your cash into the designated sleeve.

“Yoongi.” You mock, handing the sleeve back to the waitress who seems scared of Yoongi’s deep tone.

“I was supposed to pay.” He pouts, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Be faster then.” You grin, standing up and crouching in front of Yoongi’s side.

He laughs, remembering your promise from earlier and slipping onto your back. The path you to through the kitchen is a bit less crowded now, but you felt the same amount of eyes on you the entire time. You felt much less embarrassed about it now, though, because Yoongi had a way of calming you down even at your worst points.

“The night is still young,” Yoongi speaks as he slips off of your back and unlocks his car, “would you like to revisit Yongsan Park?”

“Always.”

It wasn’t a far drive from the restaurant, and it was spent mostly talking about music and the new album that Yoongi was extremely proud of. Of course you had already listened to it but you didn’t want to take away from his excitement of showing you some of the songs.

When you made it to the park, the lights lining the jogging path were already on. You hadn’t expected it to be so dark yet but fall time always had a habit of sneaking up on you.

There was an intense rush of nostalgia associated with this park for the both of you. Nights where the two of you huddled close under the stars were spent here, right beneath the biggest tree in the park. It was unspoken that that was your spot, and you hadn’t been to it since you broke up.

Yet, muscle memory kicks in and both of your legs carry you right to the tree.

“Isn’t it funny how we spent so many nights here?” You bring up as you sit at the base of the tree.

Yoongi nods, “So many nights in this exact spot.”

“I love it here, it was our spot.”

Yoongi’s proximity to you is much closer than it should be but neither of you are making any move to change it. His shoulder brushes against yours and you resist the urge to rest your head on his shoulder.

“It still is.” He corrects, tapping your knee gently with his hand and resting in there.

You freeze for a moment, not knowing how to process his touch anymore but you can’t push him away. In fact, you’re relishing in the heat burning on your skin beneath his hand. It’s one of the best feelings in the world.

“Do you remember when you tried to scare me by climbing a tree and the branch broke?” Yoongi looks up, and you can tell he’s trying not to laugh at the memory.

“Yeah but that was because I was trying to get you back for pouring ice water on me when I fell asleep on my text book.” You roll your eyes at the memory, distinctly remembering the chill on your back while Yoongi cackled in your small one bedroom apartment.

That same cackle leaves Yoongi’s lips from beside you. You snap your head towards him, “Oh you think it’s funny still?”

“Yeah,” his laugh turns into a giggle, “you can still see the broken branch.”

“What?” You glance up, and sure enough the branch is still gone. Your jaw drops and you use your hands to push Yoongi over. He doesn’t fight you on it and falls with ease even though you didn’t use very much pressure at all, and you’re quick to try and wrestle him down. “It must be so funny,” you groan as you try to pin him down, straddling your legs on either side of his waist, “to still be pinned by- holy shit you’ve gotten strong.”

Yoongi takes his opportunity to flip the two of you over, switching positions and easily pinning your hands on either side of your head. Vaguely, you wonder how much time it took for him to gain so much strength, but your mind quickly shifts once you realize the precarious position that Yoongi has put you in.

Glancing down, you see his hips rest just above your navel, and images of the many nights you shared together flash through your mind. Rushed breathing and sweaty skin sticking together as you explored each other’s bodies and always found new ways to please each other. Briefly, a rush of heat flashes through your lower abdomen at the way your imagination flushes with possibilities of Yoongi’s touch.

You inhale, your chest heaving and Yoongi’s eyes fly to the way your cleavage displays itself for him. You’ve gotten fuller than before, and it suits you. He’s enjoying every second of it.

Before he can stop himself, he leans down and smashes his lips onto yours. The grip on your wrists loosen just enough for you to slip out and have your hands flying to his cheeks. He tastes the same as he did before, his smell intoxicating as it fills your nose. Your senses are overwhelmed with him, his tastes, his scent, the way his lips feel against yours. The familiarity is there, but they feel new and exciting at the same time, like you were pushed back to your youth.

He exhales against you as if he’s been waiting all night to do just this. Slipping his legs out from beneath him, he presses his chest against yours as your hands slide to the back of his neck to hold him against you. The rest of the world falls, dissolving into nothing. You keen helplessly as you feel him grind against you, and that noise seems to push Yoongi over the edge. He growls into your mouth, pulling away to start his descent onto your neck with bites and licks in all the places you loved before.

Arching into him, your hands loop through his black locks with a gasp as his tongue licks at your wine kissed collarbones.

This is everything you’ve been wishing for. Everything feels so right.

Yet, it’s wrong. You need to stop him. You need to ask him to pull away. But you can’t. He feels too fucking good. It’s not until he reaches the stop of your chest, his fingers hesitantly reaching at your collar does he look into your eyes for permission.

And you stop him.

“I- I think I need to go have a very uncomfortable conversation with Junwoo.” You state, and Yoongi’s face drops.

“I can’t believe you still managed to think about him when I was kissing you.” He says nearly incredulously, crawling off of you and leaning his back against the tree again. His chest is rising and falling faster than before, showing that your affect on him was much stronger than you previously had thought.

Your heart twinged at Yoongi’s cold tone. You swallow, “If you think there’s a possibility of us continuing this, I have to end things with Junwoo.”

Yoongi whines, “Why now?”

You let out a little giggle, sitting up and leaning your head on his shoulder like you wanted to before. “Even if I didn’t do it right now, I don’t think we could go any further in the middle of a park.”

“I thought you liked exhibitionism.” Yoongi leans to the side, kissing you once again. It’s much breathier than before, and he prays that you don’t feel his heart pounding wildly in his rib cage at the mere thought of someone catching the two of you outside.

You gasp into the kiss and force yourself to pull away even though you didn’t want to at all. Giving him a look, Yoongi sighs.

“Okay, okay. I’ll drive you home so you can have that uncomfortable conversation.” He mutters, standing up and pulling you with him. He’s much more touchy than before, his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders while he guides you back to his car.

The conversation you’re about to have with Junwoo will truly be one of the most anxiety inducing things you’ve ever done.

~*~*~

The dorms are dark when Yoongi arrives back. The living room in which everyone has a tendency to congregate after a particularly grueling practice day holds no one, a small reminder that everyone finally got some well deserved rest.

He hums softly to the tune of ‘People’, one of his favorite songs from his recent mixtape and opens the fridge to grab a bottle of water. When he closes it, Jimin is standing on the other side.

Yoongi jumps, “Jesus fucking christ, Park Jimin!”

“Didja get back together with her?”

“What?” Yoongi takes a second to assess Jimin’s pajama clad body, “N- no. We just hung out.”

“It’s a shame,” Jimin reaches forward and grabs the water bottle from Yoongi’s hand, “I heard you humming so I figured you finally got laid.” Yoongi opens his mouth to protest but Jimin continues before he can, “You know, I’ve known you for so long and I don’t think you’ve ever had a woman sign an NDA? Have you even had sex since you broke up with the pretty nurse?”

“I feel like that’s none of your business.” Yoongi yanks the water bottle back, opening it and praying that Jimin didn’t backwash.

“But it is my business because I have no clue how you did it. I’m sure she was fucking other guys regularly. I hear it’s bad for women to go without sex because they turn into-” Yoongi attempts to drown out the sounds of his roommate, his hand gripping the counter top tightly with unwanted images of you in another man’s bed ripping through his brain, “-and I’ve always wondered what it was like to only ever have your hand to get yourself off. Is it lonely? How much porn do you-”

“Jimin!” Yoongi shouts.

“Cutting me off is awfully rude, don’t you think?”

“Shut. the. fuck. up.” Yoongi grits his teeth, moving to walk away as Jimin laughs.

“Called it! I knew you were a born again virgi-”

“Goodnight!” Yoongi calls back, walking up to his room and locking the door behind him. He plops down onto his bed, the TV situated perfectly level with his bed. It’s a stark contrast to the small black and white TV he could afford all those years ago, so the familiar sound of his TV sounding on brings a smile to his face as he realizes yet again how fortunate he’s become.

Now he’s determined to make sure you feel the same sense of fortune that he has. Because he has you back in his life. Was it a twist of fate or the inevitability of soulmates, Yoongi isn’t sure. However, he’s immensely grateful to have you back, even if you’re not truly his yet.

~*~*~

"I’m breaking up with you.”

“What?!”

You cover your mouth as the unexpected sentence leaves your mouth. Junwoo sits in his office with his fists clenched tightly on top of his desk. He’s never been particularly good at hearing bad news, and even though it’s only been a few months you feel as though you’re signing divorce papers judging my his reaction.

It’s been two days since you last saw Yoongi. You put off speaking to Junwoo for a little bit to try and figure out exactly what you were going to say to him. You had a whole speech ready, talking about how he deserves better and that he’ll find his soulmate eventually.

But when the moment came, your speech was practically thrown to the ceiling fan and torn into a million pieces.

“W- why? What did I do?” Junwoo asks, he seems more angry than anything which you didn’t expect.

“You didn’t do anything,” you sigh, plopping in the seat on the other side of his desk, “I just don’t think it’s going to work out.”

“Everything was going so well!” Oh god, he’s yelling. “It’s that fucker Suga’s fault, isn’t it? He’s putting you up to this!”

“Fucking hell, Junwoo! How old are you, honestly? Immediately assuming that it was Yoongi is the most childish thing you could have done.” It is Yoongi, though. You know that, and unfortunately Junwoo knows that as well. It isn’t in good conscience to deny his allegations but you can’t help but do so.

Though, the inevitability of your relationship ending would have happened with out without Yoongi’s push.

“Well excuse me for thinking you would fuck a member of the biggest band on the planet! For God’s sake, any whore would drop their pants for one of them.”

Your jaw drops, “I didn’t fuck him.”

Junwoo rolls his eyes, “Are you sure? Because it’s almost like I could smell the stench coming off of you.”

You place your tongue in your cheek, biting back a response. Should have figured the man wouldn’t know how to take a break up.

Then, you laugh, “Okay. You got me, I fucked him.”

“I knew it.” Junwoo’s nostrils flare.

“Hundreds of times, eight years ago,” You spit, standing up quick enough for the chair behind you to tip over. “it wasn’t working out anyway and clearly that’s for the best. The last thing I need is a chauvinist asshole who refuses to see what was right in front of him.”

“I-”

“No,” you put your hand up, “I’m done.”

You turn around swiftly, walking out of his office and ignoring the stares from his receptionists. Surely they heard the yelling and the last thing you needed was to feel judged.

Except you weren’t being judged. Just before you reached the elevator, one of the girls spoke out. “You’re the second break up he’s had this week, don’t feel bad.”

You turn around, watching her flick vivaciously through a magazine. “What was that?” You speak slowly, turning around walking up to the desk.

“Another woman came by earlier this week, she said he’s been fucking some nurse behind her back and threw a ring at him.” She shrugs, then leans forward with a whisper, “You’re better off without him.”

You scoff, “and I had the decency to break up with him before I fucked someone else. Thanks for the tip, darling.”

As soon as the elevator doors close, you whip out your phone and text Yoongi.

To: Suga Delivered: 13:52

Deed is done if you still want me to come by

You make it to your car and hear your phone ding.

From: Suga Received: 13:57

I’ll meet you outside

Your heart flutters, so you start your car and drive as quickly as you can towards the directions of the dorm. It’s not hard, everyone in Seoul is keenly aware of where BTS stay, but there’s an unspoken rule that nobody is to bother them. One of the things you enjoyed most about this whole situation is the amount of respect they boys have earned, and you couldn’t feel more proud of Yoongi.

The gated group of buildings is intimidating to say the least, but you’re unable to contain your excitement as you pull up. Yoongi is a few feet away, waving from the other side of the gate as he presses a few buttons before you hear the gate click and begin to side open.

Your excitement over simply seeing him is nearly too much to contain. A week ago you struggled to not get nauseous at the thought of him seeing you but now you didn’t know how you ever made it without him. Inching your car forward became an arduous task because it took precious seconds away from you being able to kiss Yoongi once again.

So, you throw your car into park as the gates slip closed behind you and run out of your car to jump towards Yoongi.

He catches you, immediately slamming your lips onto his. It’s soft this time, the urgency isn’t there but he doesn’t mind the feeling of your hands gently tugging at his hair and scratching his scalp.

“Mm,” he hums against your lips, “does this mean you’re mine again?”

“With some adjustments to both of our lives,” you smile, “and making time for each other, then I’m willing to try again.”

“Good,” he grins, “let me take you inside and show you how much I’m gonna try.”

He slides you down his torso and grabs your hand, yanking you closely behind him. You let out a quiet yelp as he does so, following him into the building and welcoming the warmth that greets you. You’re lead through a long hallway but are stopped abruptly once Yoongi spots Hoseok walking through the living room.

“Hey pretty nurse, and Yoongi.” Hoseok says without looking up, and Yoongi lets out a sigh of relief.

You give him a questioning look but shake it off when Yoongi leads you up a lot of stairs and straight to his bedroom.

“Okay, there’s two ways this can go-” Yoongi slips his shirt over his head and you try to process everything as it’s happening because holy shit you’re going to fuck Yoongi for the first time in years and might actually be able to have an orgasm “-slow and steady or hard and fast.”

“Save the romance for next time,” you giggle, slipping your dress over your head and falling backwards onto his bed, “I haven’t had you inside me in years. Hard and fast.”

He chuckles, “You got it baby.”

He jumps on top of you, his hand flying to your thigh to steady your leg as he grinds his still clothed cock into your core. He’s already hard, and you’re already dripping. The last two days you spent not being near him was the most difficult thing you had experienced because you knew what was coming and how he was going to do it.

And you’re loving every second of it.

Spreading your legs wide, you reach between the two of you and play with the hem of his boxers. He groans into your mouth, inching upward so your hand slips further in, “No teasing, baby girl. Hard and fast.”

“Right, yes. I’m sorry.” you bite his bottom lip before lifting your hips and feeling his hands loop on either side of your panties to slip them down your legs. He drops between your legs immediately and inhales your scent, tossing his head back in pleasure.

“Fuck, just like I remember.” Yoongi dives back, his nose brushing against your aching clit while his tongue darts out and licks your quivering hole. You let out a quiet moan but are quick to cover your mouth as you remember there are six other men on the other side of these thin walls.

The pleasure of knowing that he remembers your scent is enough to send you feral, your back arching off the bed as his lips finally wrap around your clit and sucks hard. The obscene sound of him drinking in your juices fills the room, his groans against your core sending chills up your spine. If there was anything you knew about Min Yoongi, it’s that he knew how to use his tongue.

You fill your core begin to heat up as your orgasm builds and before you know it, you’re uncovering your mouth and letting out a moan loud enough to be heard for miles.

Yoongi can’t help but smirk against you as he drinks in your release, moving to trail kisses up your abdomen as you come down from the pleasure.

“You ready for more?” He kisses your lips, and it’s then that you notice his cock his gloriously hard against his stomach, boxers long discarded.

“Please, yes. Please please plea-”

“Alright, hold your horses.” Yoongi jokes, brushing the head of his cock against your slit a few times teasingly.

You pout, “You said no teasing.”

He nods, “I can’t help it. Your face is so cute when you’re begging for my cock.”

As you’re thinking of a rebuttal, Yoongi finally slips inside. Both of you moan in pleasure at the clenching of your core. He remembers exactly how to move to get you to gasp, how deep to move to get you to clench, and he remembers what each of your movements mean. Your nails currently dig into his back harshly but he doesn’t complain, because that means his thrusts are going at just the right speed.

He wishes you can scream like you used to, but he realizes how weird that could be for his bandmates to hear. However, he can’t say that he necesarily minds all things considered. He’d love for Jimin to hear what he’s doing to you after the way his smart mouth moved the other night. He could imagine his face as he listens, but then Yoongi is dragged back to the moment when he feels you clench particularly hard.

You feel him tensing more and more, struggling to hold on as your vice grip on him tightens even further. The soft sponge of your warm cunt is nearly too much for him to bare, and as you feel your second orgasm approach, you grip Yoongi’s face in your hands, “Cum for me. Please.” His eyes flutter closed and he begins to thrust faster, lips on yours and sweat building on both of your foreheads. Then, your second orgasm washes over you deliciously, Yoongi’s hips stuttering before he follows with his own release, his cum coating your walls white. He’s still for a moment, gasping above you. When you reach up and brush the hair from his forehead, he collapses on top of you, “Fuck, that’s even better than I remembered.”

“Good,” you giggle, kissing his nose, “because there’s so much more I want to try with you.”

His heart flutters irrevocably, knocking the wind out of him when he realizes that you’re in this for the long run just as he is. This time he swears he’s going to make it work, and he plans on spending the rest of his life with you.

His lips brush against you once again, then he speaks.

“Write me a list, baby girl.”

#ty for reading!!#min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi #suga #bts #suga x reader #suga x reader smut #yoongi x reader smut #min yoongi x reader smut #suga x reader fluff #yoongi x reader fluff

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just-dreaming-marvel · 3 years

Text

Love and Medicine ~ 7

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 4,400ish

Summary: Clint has feelings. You try not to cause too much drama at work.

You immediately began avoiding Steve after Gamora caught you two in the car. You need not need her, or anyone else, thinking that you were sleeping with him to get ahead. Having no desire to get ready for work, you laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, as your alarm buzzed.

Outside in the hall, Clint was nervously walked towards your door with two cups of coffee.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just ask her out?” Valkyrie suddenly asked, popping out of her room.

“Ah!” Clint jumped, slipping the coffees on him. “Val!”

“She’s right, ya know?” Scott added, stepping out of his room. “Just ask her out. It’s not like it will be awkward when she tells you no.”

“I hate you both,” Clint grumbled. He leaned into your door, able to hear to slam on the snooze button for the third time. “She’s gonna be late.”

“Maybe not.”

“We should wait for her.”

“Definitely not,” Val shook her head. “I’m not her mother, and you are not her boyfriend.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Scott added.

“Stop, both of you, okay?” Clint said, frustrated. “I told you I’m not interested.”

“Life is short, Clint,” Val said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Do you really want to die before you ever ask her out?”

“I do not want to ask her out.”

“Do you really want to die a liar?” Scott said.

“I’m not… I’m not dying.”

~~~

From the parking garage, you rushed towards the building. Late for work. As you wait for the elevator, you see Steve coming toward you.

“Crap,” you mutter.

“Crap?” Steve repeated, having heard you.

“Hi. I’m late.”

“Hi, late. You’re avoiding me.”

“You’re right. But I can’t do this right now. I’m late.” You hurried towards the stairs, only for him to follow you.

“Okay, but are we going to talk about this?”

“No.” You marched up the stairs.

“About us and Gamora and what she saw?”

“I don’t need to talk about it. I experienced it. Naked.”

“This is getting complicated.”

“Complicated for me. Not necessarily for you. I’m the intern sleeping with the attending. Gamora isn’t even speaking to me anymore!”

“Not that, that’s a bad thing. If I was a better guy, I’d walk away.”

“Yes, you would.”

“Do you want me to be a better guy.”

“Yes. Now,” you reached the level of the locker rooms, “I’m late. Please leave me alone and get to my job.” You opened the door. Steve caught it, keeping it open as you walked away.

“Take your time! Think about it!”

“Think about what?” Tony asked, walking over to Steve. He looked to where Steve was looking, watching her rush down the all. “Ooohhh… I get it now. Well, at least she’s talking to you.”

“The date go bad with Pepper?”

“It didn’t go at all. I was pulled into a surgery and completely forgot about it.”

“Yikes.”

“I think I’ve blown it.”

“Me too, Stark. Me too.”

~~~

“That was definitely worth being late,” Natasha sighed as she put on her pants.

“Thanks,” Bruce smiled shyly, doing the same. “Is this a… should we talk about this?”

“Yeah,” Natasha slipped her shirt on, “definitely. Just, I’m late.”

She rushed out of the on-call room and straight to the locker room, where you were getting ready.

“You’re late,” you stated.

“So are you,” Natasha responded.

“I know, and I can’t afford to piss off Gamora any more. Do you think she told anyone?”

“About you and Captain McDreamy?”

“Yeah.”

“No, he’s her boss too.”

“If they find out, what can they… Can they kick me out? Or—“

“No…. Well, I don’t think officially. You'll just get edged out, blacklisted, banned from his surgeries, passed over for chief resident. It’ll be humiliating, but you’ll live.”

“I have to end it. I definitely have to end it… I have to end it, right?”

“Y/N, shut up.” Nat headed out of the locker room.

“What?” You chased after her. “Did you seriously just tell me to shut up?”

“Oh, please. You got a hot doctor who like to make you open up, and say "ahh." It's the American dream, stop whining about it.”

“No. No good can come from sleeping with your boss.” You two arrived in front of Gamora.

“Natasha, you’re late,” Gamora stated, unhappy.

“So is Y/N,” Natasha replied, pointing at you.

“When we walk in this door, you will maintain decorum,” Gamora continued, ignoring Nat and you. “You will not laugh, vomit, or drop your jaw. Are we understood?” She walked to a door.

“Why would we laugh?” Val asked quietly.

“Oh, just you wait,” Peter replied.

The interns followed Gamora into a patient room. On the bed, there was a heavier woman with an extremely large tumor bulging out fo her side.

“Good morning, Miss Anderson,” Gamora greeted.

“Good Morning,” Miss Anderson, the patient, replied.

“What is it?” Scott whispered.

“Tumor,” Nat responded.

“Good morning, Millie,” Peter smiled, walking around to the other side of the patient’s bed. “How are you? This is Dr. Gamora and some of my fellow interns.”

“Dr. Quill, we refer to patients as ‘mister’ and—“ Gamora began to reprimand.

“I old him to call me Millie,” the patient interrupted. “Miss Anderson makes me feel old and fat, which I am, but why have to feel that way?”

“Good morning,” Dr. Banner greeted upon entering, eyes lingering on Natasha a beat too long.

“Millie, this is Dr. Banner,” Peter stated.

“Dr. Quill, give us the run down.”

“Millie Anderson is a 43-year-old woman who presented last night with progressive shortness of breath fo the past three months. Found to have a very large tumor of unknown origin pressed against her diaphragm. Stable vital signs. Scheduled for CT this morning, sir.”

“Thank you, Dr. Quill.” Banner turned to Millie. “Are you at all claustrophobic?”

“I’ve been housebound for the last year,” Millie replied. “How claustrophobic could I be?”

“Alright then. Dr. Valkyrie is going to take you up for a CT. It’ll give us a better look at the tumor, and we’ll know how to proceed.”

“Could someone tell my dad? He’ll worry if he gets back and I’m not here.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And would it be possible for Peter to take me instead? I mean, he… he’s just so fun to look at.”

“Millie,” Peter laughed, clearly trying to gain favor.

“Sure,” Banner said. “Sure, Miss Anderson. Excuse me.”

Dr. Banner left the room, with Dr. Gamora and the interns following.

“How much do you think it weighs?” Scott asked.

“60 pounds,” Clint answered.

“More,” Val said. “She’s carrying a whole extra person.”

“This one’s going in the books,” Natasha said. “I’ve got to get in.”

“I almost did,” Val glared at Peter.

“I was on call last night when she came in,” Peter said. “I’m never leaving this place again.”

“Let’s move, people,” Gamora said. “Miss Anderson’ surgery, should we choose to proceed, will take most, if not all, of the surgeons off the floor. Which means you people will have to work extra hard not to kill anyone, cause we won’t be there to fix your mistakes.”

You and the others listened to Gamora’s orders while Natasha slipped away to talk to Bruce.

“I really want in on this,” she whispered to him.

“I thought we weren’t talking,” Bruce replied, eyebrow up.

“I’m not talking. I’m just saying.”

Bruce sighed. “Find her father, get a family history, and I’ll tell Gamora.”

~~~

“I know you both think I like Y/N,” Clint stated as him, Scott, and Val walked up the stairs. “But I don’t like Y/N.”

“What?” Val questioned.

“No. I like Y/N. Obviously, I like her. She’s my roommate. I just… I don’t have a thing for her.” Scott and Val shared a look.

“Okay,” Scott said.

“It’s just this morning… I know you two were probably just teasing. But I don’t want you to say anything like that to her. Because, you know, we live together and that’d be awkward.”

“Clint, stop talking,” Val ordered.

“Okay, then… It’s just—“

“Seriously, dude,” Scott stopped in front of Clint. “You’re making this all worse. Just stop.” Scott peered behind Clint where you were making your way towards them. “Or you could just be honest with yourself and us and ask her out now.” Clint looked back to see you almost there.

“What are you guys standing here for?” You asked. “We’re going to be late meeting Gamora.”

You and Val continued on your way with Scott watching Clint watch you.

“Liar,” Scott muttered, shaking his head.

The two guys caught up with you and Val. The four of you met up with Gamora in another patient room. Inside the room, a man is trying to walk but was having difficulty. Steve was also in there and a younger woman.

“Morning,” Gamora greeted.

“Mr. Jones, this is Dr. Gamora and her fine staff of surgical interns,” Steve introduced. Steve, yourself, and Gamora all exchanged glances.

“Welcome to hell, kids,” Mr. Jones stated.

“Who’s presenting?” Gamora asked.

“Edward Jones,” Clint stated, “is a 63-year-old man admitted for pain management for Dyskinesia. He's been stable since last night, and responding to the bolus injections.”

“Val, possible treatments?”

“For Parkinson’s disease?” Val questioned. “Um, deep brain stimulation has shown—“

“Not for Parkinson’s,” Steve clarified, “for spinal pain.”

“Oh, um…”

“Instraspinal catheter,” you stated. “That way, he can have constant pain medication.”

“Excellent,” Steve smiled. “This is Dr. L/N. She’s gonna prep you for the procedure and assist.” His pager beeped, causing him to look down. “Excuse me.” He left.

“You make yourselves busy,” Gamora said, following Steve out. “I’ll catch up with you.”

She followed Steve to the elevator. Where they end up alone.

“Gamora,” Steve greeted.

“Excuse me?” She responded.

“Well, that’s your name, right? It’s on your jacket.” She wasn’t impressed. “Alright, fine. Dr. Gamora then.”

“You think you're charming in that talented, neurotic, overly moussed hair sort of way, good for you. But if you think I'm going to stand back and watch while you favor her—“

“I don’t favor her. She’s good.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“You know, can I point out that, technically, I'm your boss?”

“You don't scare me. Look, I'm not going to advertise your extracurricular activities with my intern. However, the next time I see you favoring Y/N L/N in any way, I'll make sure she doesn't see the inside of on OR for a month. Just for the sake of balance.”

~~~

“Okay, Mr. Jones,” you said with a smile. “We're going to get you more comfortable, okay? I'm going to go downstairs and I'll be back up shortly.”

“Okay,” Mr. Jones responded.

“Okay.”

You left, with the younger woman from the room following you out.

“Excuse me,” the younger woman called out, causing you to turn your attention to her. “I’m sorry, doctor…”

“L/N,” you smiled.

“Dr. L/N. I’m Lucy, his daughter. My dad seems to like you. He’s always liked your type. Is that rude? I’m sorry. I’m so tired.”

“Is there something—“

“I was wondering if you would talk to him.”

“About?”

“Brain surgery. The doctor mentioned it, and I've read about it online. If it worked, it could help with most of his symptoms, not just his pain.”

“Is he a candidate? I don’t—“

“He is, but he's afraid of it. Surgery on his back, he can understand, but his brain...And there are risks. But his quality of life…”

“There isn’t any.”

“And, it keeps getting worse. I'm getting married next month. I already lost my mom. And I want him to walk...I want him with me. Maybe that's selfish, but...you don't know what it's like having a parent...Watching him…”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.”

You immediately left in search of Steve. You watched outside a room where he was talking to Gamora and Banner about Miss Anderson.

“Dr. Rogers,” you called as he walked out. “Mr. Jones, the Parkinson's patient, is he a good candidate for DBS?”

“Yes,” he replied, “but he’s not interested.”

“Okay, but I think it's worth talking to him again, pushing him.”

“We're talking about a brain surgery that is performed while the patient is wide awake, a risk of paralysis, a risk of death. And, the patient doesn't want it. It is not my job to push him into anything and it's definitely not yours.”

“Okay.”

“And since you’re clearly uncomfortable with my decision in this case, it's probably best you don't scrub in.”

“But—“

“It’s a minor procedure. You won’t be missed.” This took you by surprise. “I’m good here, Dr. L/N.” With your mind reeling, you walked away. Steve turned to Gamora, who had been watching. “You know that you’re a bully, right?”

“So I’ve heard,” Gamora replied.

~~~

You and Val were sitting in a corner of the cafeteria, eating lunch.

“It's just that he blatantly favors me in front of her and then blatantly dismisses me,” you complained to her.

“How do you know he was favoring you?” She asked, which you didn’t answer. “Look, you've got a brain. You got into this program. Just because Rogers wants to munch your cookies doesn't mean you didn't deserve what you worked for.”

“But he’s making me look bad. I have to end it.”

“Right.”

“It’s over.”

“Sure.”

“Is it true you get to scrub in on that tumor?” Peter asked Natasha, appearing out of nowhere with Val. They both sat down at your table.

“Don’t sit here.”

“You get to scrub in?” Val repeated. “How psyched are you?”

“On a scale of one to ecstatic, ecstatic.”

“It’s unbelievable,” Peter complained. “You know what I think? I think Banner wants to get into your scrubs.”

“Why are you sitting here?”

“He kicked me off that surgery for the same crap most of you pull every day.”

“You know what.” Natasha held up her fork. “If I stuck this fork into his thigh, would I get in trouble?”

“Not if you make it look like an accident,” you answered.

“Hey!” Clint greeted, coming up with Scott.

“Thank goodness,” Peter exclaimed. “I’m drowning in estrogen here.”

Clint sat down next to you, studying you. “You look… is everything okay?” He asked you.

“Rogers is a jackass,” you muttered.

“Really?” Val questioned. “I think he’s kind of great.”

“He reamed her out in front of Gamora,” Natasha said.

“Why?”

“Cause he’s a jackass,” you repeated.

“Well, bad days are… bad,” Clint said. “Maybe tonight, uh, if, you know, if you drink alcohol, I mean… we could, all of us, I mean, go out and rink alcohol… because of the bad day.”

Your pager beeped. “I’ve got to go.” And you left.

“Dude,” Peter laughed at Clint once you were gone.

Clint groaned and rested his head on the table. Scott panted his shoulder while the others laughed.

~~~

Steve had called you to Mr. Jones room. You stood near the door, watching.

“How’s your back?” Steve asked Mr. Jones as he checked him over.

“Still good,” the patient responded.

“Good.” Steve turned to Mr. Jones daughter. “How are you? Good?” She nodded as he turned his attention back to her father. “Can you lean forward for me? I just want to check something. Does that feel okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Right here?” Steve pressed along Mr. Jones’ back. The man grunts slightly and Steve looked up, finally noticing you. “Mr. Jones,” Steve took his hands off the man, “have you given any more thought about the other surgical options we discussed this morning?”

“What? Why would I? I already told you no. I'm letting you cut into my back, but that's not enough for you. All you guys ever want to do is cut.”

“Dad,” his daughter scolded, “just listen to what he has to say.”

“I already listened.”

“Sir, there’s a very small window of opportunity here,” Steve stated. “You know, once the Parkinson's progresses to a point of dementia, there's, you know, you're no longer a candidate for DBS.”

“And when I'm no longer a candidate, is that when you people will leave me the hell alone! What? Do I have to start drooling, and forget my name to get a little peace and quiet?”

“Alright,” Steve nodded. “I’ll check back with you later. Try to get some rest.” Steve left while you lingered a bit longer, just more in the hallway.

“Dad, you’re being unreasonable,” the daughter said. “The doctors are only trying to help you.”

“It’s my damn life, and it’s my damn brain,” Mr. Jones stated. “You want me to let them cut up my brain while I'm lying there awake, for what?”

“Dad!”

“I'll be at your wedding. I will sit in the back. Your uncle will walk you down the aisle. I know it's not perfect, but it's life. Life is messy sometimes.”

“I know that.” The daughter walked out and Mr. Jones looked at you.

“If she knows, then what the hell are we still talking for, huh? Why in the hell can’t she drop it?”

“It is your life,” you said, stepping further into the room. “But it’s her life too. And you have a chance to get better here. And all she's asking you to do is try.”

~~~

Mr. Jones agreed to the DBS. But you needed to hurry and find Steve, before the man changed his mind. You found him scrubbing in for Miss Anderson’s surgery with Banner and Gamora.

“Dr. Rogers,” you called.

“Yes?” He responded, looking over with his red, white, and blue scrub cap on and a mask.

“Mr. Jones has agreed to DBS. Only if we do it today. If he leaves, he won’t come back.”

“Don’t worry, Steve,” Bruce said. “It’ll take hours before we get around to the spine. I’ll page you.”

“Alright, then,” Steve said, shaking off his wet hands. “Let’s do it.”

Steve walked out of the scrub room while Bruce walked into the OR, leaving you and Gamora alone.

“Dr. Gamora. I didn’t know… I din’t know that he was my boss, when I met him,” you said. “I really didn’t know.”

“I don’t care,” she responded.

“Really? Oh, well, you sort of seemed to not be talking to me, so I—“

“You see this, what's happening right here? This is the problem with you sleeping with my boss. Not whether or not you know him before, but how it affects my day. And me standing here talking to you about your sex life affects my day. And the longer this little fling goes on, the more favors you get over the others, who are fighting tooth and nail just to make it through this program without any assistance. When those people start finding out what's going on and they don't want to work with you and talk to you or look at you, and they start bitching and moaning at me, the more it affects my day. So, no, Dr. L/N, I don't care what you know, or when you know it. Are we understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

~~~

“Neuro sponge,” a male nurse said, handing a sponge to Steve.

“How you doing, Mr. Jones?” Steve asked.

“Alright,” Mr. Jones responded.

“Drill bit’s charged,” the nurse announced.

“Where’s the girl doctor?”

“I’m right here,” you responded, stepping closer. “Can’t you see me?”

“I’m shaky, not blind. Anything goes wrong here, I’m blaming you.”

“Okay, in that case, I'll stay where you can see me. Now we just have to drill a hole and try to find the spot that controls the motor function.”

“You can't see my brain from there. Aren't you supposed to be learning something?”

“I’m good,” you grabbed onto his hand, “right here.”

“EEG waves look good,” the nurse stated.

“Okay, Mr. Jones. Just take a couple of deep breaths,” Steve told him. “Focus on the pretty girl. Okay, this is going to sound really scary, but try and relax. You shouldn't feel a thing.”

Then Steve began to drill into Mr. Jones’ head. After a few hours, Steve asked you to have Mr. Jones try and mimic you.

“Just keep trying, Mr. Jones,” you encouraged. “Mimic my motions. You can do it.”

“Oh, damn it!” His body was too shaky to mimic the motions.

“Take a breath and try again. The probe is almost in. You’ll know when we find the right spot.” Mr. Jones tries again, to find that he stopped shaking and was able to mimic you. “Well, how about that?” You smiled, though it was covered with a mask.

“There it is,” Steve said.

~~~

After the surgery, you and Steve brought Mr. Jones back to his room and met back in the hallway.

“I know you’re probably asking yourself why I took you off the surgery,” Steve said. “Gamora was on the warpath. I was trying to protect you.”

“You trying to protect me is why she's on the warpath,” you replied, the both of you heading down the hall. “You can't do me favors. You can't ask me to scrub in when I haven't earned it.”

“Okay, okay.”

“And you can't treat me like crap when I haven't earned that either.”

“Okay.”

“I can take care of myself. I got myself into this mess, and I’ll—“

“And you'll get yourself out?”

“I don’t… I don’t know that yet.” Steve’s pager went off as you arrived at the staircase. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“You did great work here today.” He smiled at you then headed off.

“Dr. Rogers,” you called after him.

“Yeah?” He turned around to face you.

“Sorry I called you a jackass.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. Twice.”

Steve chuckled and continued on his way. Tony had heard and seen the exchange from behind. He came up beside you.

“You both are love sick idiots,” he said.

“And you aren’t?” You responded.

“Yes. But I blew it.”

“Dr. Potts will give you another chance.”

“How do you know? Did she tell you that?”

“No. I just know from experience.”

~~~

You decided to go to the OR gallery and watch Miss Anderson’s surgery. Peter was up there watching as well.

“Wow, it’s unbelievable,” you said, looking at the mess down below.

“Right,” Peter agreed.

“How did she live like that?”

“Watch what you say. You never know who's listening.” He looks down below, then laughed. “Look at Scottie. He looks like he's about to fall in.”

“Are you really as shallow and callous as you seem?”

“Oh, you want to go out for a drink later and hear about my secret pain?”

“Does that line ever work for you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Oh. Must be because you look like that.”

“Like what?” You laughed at him. “So is that a yes?”

“No. I can't. I’m… seeing someone.”

“Look, if you don't want to go out with me, just say so. No need to lie.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I don't want to go out with you. But I think I really might be seeing someone.”

Suddenly, Val entered the OR below. And you could hear everything that was happening.

“Mr. Collins, the post-op heart patient in 2114. I had to open his sternotomy bedside,” Val stated, almost panicked.

“You what?” / “What?”

Peter quickly left the gallery and you stood up to watch from the glass.

“He had cardiac tamponade. His chest films were clean this morning,” Val explained. “It just... It happened fast. He was in PEA. There was no time.”

“Go ahead,” Steve told Bruce. “I got it. We’re okay here.”

“Okay.” Bruce hurried out with Val.

“I need some retraction. Pull back on the retractor. And someone page Hill to help… Never a dull moment here at the medical center.” A blood vessel burst, suddenly, squirting blood all over Steve and Gamora. “Oh!”

“Oh!” Gamora exclaimed.

“Get right in there!”

“She can’t afford to lose this much blood. We need more blood.”

“Get me some suction here. I can't see what I'm doing. Clamp, clamp, clamp, please. Is there any blood in the rapid infuser?”

“We’re waiting on two units,” the female nurse stated.

“What do you mean, waiting?”

“Well, we didn’t anticipate this much blood loss,” Gamora replied.

“They’re on their way,” the nurse said.

“We prepped a double supply. We’ve used it all.”

“What did you cut?” Steve asked.

“Nothing. It just blew. She came in with too much damage. The artery walls are too weak. Ten units of o-negative.”

“I cannot see. Lang, give me your hand. Push right down here. Pull it towards you. Suction! Suction!”

“The pressure’s dropping,” a nurse stated.

“She needs blood. Where the hell is the blood?! Somebody grab that. Push it back, Lang. Come on.” Everyone is breathless as they move Miss Anderson more onto the table. “Oh, God. Just squeeze it off right there. Here we go… Some suction, please, in here, now. Come on. We're losing her now. Look at this. Look at this. Come on!” He started CPR, with the flatline of the machine going. "Oh, come on! Come on!” He continued with the CPR. "Come on!” After a few more times, Steve breathlessly stopped CPR. “Time of death is 11:42.”

~~~

Natasha found her way to an on call room after Miss Anderson’s surgery. She was stretching when Bruce entered.

“I'm not doing you any more favors,” he stated. “This was it.”

Natasha scoffed. “I've been holding up 50 pounds of tumor for the past 12 hours. My back's going to need traction, and the patient died anyways. And you think you did me a favor?”

“Look, I'm just… What is this… that we're doing here? What is it?”

“You need a definition? You really want to be that guy?”

He watched as she continued to stretch, then he locked the door.

~~~

You waited in the parking garage for Steve to leave the hospital. He walked up to you.

“I, um, know this place where they’re an amazing view of the sunrise and ferryboats,” you told him, pulling out some beers from your bag.

“I have a thing for ferry boats,” he smirked.

“I remember.”

He took a hold of your hand, leading you to his car.

next chapter >

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

#steve rogers x reader #tony stark x reader #the avengers x reader #avengers x reader #marvel x reader #gamora x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #clint barton x reader #scott lang x reader #valkyrie x reader #peter quill x reader #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #steve rogers imagine

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monsoonblooms12 · 3 years

Text

Detectives by Chance: Chapter 8- The Final Bow

Series Summary: It was supposed to be a usual weekend for the four. Coffee, fun, friends and love. But an unexpected case changed their lives in a way they had never imagined. A mystery - a murder - many secrets… Will Ethan, Pooja, Alexandra and Mark, be able to survive? Or will the circumstances twist and break their lives forever?

A/N: This is the end. The end of the first ever series, the first ever fanfics I ever wrote. It's melancholic you know? Bidding adieu to Open Heart and Detectives by Chance all at one? Anywho, I hope you enjoy this piece💕

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey X f!MC (Pooja Sharma)

Rating: Teen (to be safe)

Warnings: Blood, Murder, Swear Words, Gun Violence

I would recommend reading the previous parts first, because I am sure this makes little sense without knowing what happened previously.

Read the previous chapters here!

The trail from the crumpled door to the back ground felt likes hours of navigating through the blazing desert, no one in sight.

The scarlet memoirs of the wounds that now covered her skin did not give her much relief either. Blood soaked into her shirt, colouring it red from cream at a steady rate. Lazy tracks formed as solitary drops slipped down to meet the ground.

Papers clutched with a death grip, her resolve did not waver. After all the goose chase she had done in the manor, she was sure she could do this. But then again, there was not much of a choice there.

Ethan's POV:

A hazy screen appeared before his orbs as they slowly, timidly, fluttered open, as if scared to look around. A blackness had spread around him, and his mind could not make out if it was a musty old dungeon or some place else.

Soft scents of the intoxicating vanilla and bluebell perfume gently let him know of their presence, and he sighed in relief.

Wherever he was, he was close to her.

And with that knowledge came a subtle sense of calm, a realization that as long as he was near her, he wouldn't mind even dying.

He just wanted her, his strength, with him.

He tried to get up, and the wince of pain came almost immediately. His legs ached due to the cramped position in the short space of wherever. As he managed to pull himself up from the sleeping position, a very faint jingle of keys could be heard in the background of his groans.

Then with a click, the front door flew open and he unclearly made out a thud of some kind of folder in the front passenger seat. Soon the driver's seat was occupied as well, and the engine was raved to life.

The scent of vanilla and bluebell grew strong and he knew it was her.

"Pooja?" He whispered so lightly that for a second he wondered if he had even spoken it aloud.

"Ethan! Oh thank fucking god you are- Ah!" She was cutoff mid sentence by a horrifying but muted shriek which had escaped as she tried to close the door.

"Are you okay? Please tell me you're okay!" Worry laced his tone as her other hand painfully completed the supposedly easy task.

"You are okay and I've everything we need to save Lex & Mark. That's all that matters, E."

"What about you?"

But her attention had already shifted to the driving the automobile. She had always been like that, too unconcerned about herself. As well as he knew her, he was sure she had been biting her lip a tad bit harder with every moment just to keep painful screams at bay.

"It doesn't matter."

A shrill roar suddenly invaded the eerie, uncomfortable silence of the abandoned area. The voice was human, but the intensity of the sound reminded them more of an enraged tiger trapped in a cage, ready to pounce at the chance of freedom.

Staying here for a second more could be a dangerous idea.

A slow pain spread though his forehead, an after-effect of whatever that was forcefully injected during his investigation of the murky place, too dishevelled to call it even an office, let alone a hospital. The ache became all-too-consuming, his struggle to keep his eyes open turning futile. The blackness grasped him steadily as consciousness bid adieu and the dangers of the world in front of him, at bay.

End of Ethan's POV

Pooja's clutch on the steering wheel was so hard that the fingernails that dug into its material left deep moon shaped indents, as a mark of their visit. The teeth pressed so deep into her lip that it had drawn blood. The gap of the missing tooth felt like an aftermath of the reckless rescue operations she had led at the building.

Why did her mind refused to cooperate with her now, when she had finally made her way out?

Another line of thought began to form, but before it spread it's being, a second horrifying scream broke through the audible silence like a dagger.

Sweat of hardwork was now the cold sweat of fear. A sense of great danger that lingered now completely flooded every chamber of her heart & she refused to stop.

Digging her teeth into her lips, tears streaming as every movement made her want to shriek and wail in agony, she revved the engine, turned the steering & fled out of there.

————————————

A rash drive followed. She sped through the roads, going straight without a turn until she was sure the they were not being followed.

A safe distance away, she stopped. Every moment was precious now, but she was done. She could not do this anymore.

Hell, she could not do anything anymore.

The left portion of her shirt that she wore was now soaked in scarlet, the stench of blood growing on her. She doubted that if she wasn't a doctor, she would have thrown up or passed out by now.

Pooja looked behind, the scarce daylight making it a difficult job to be done. She was quite sure that Ethan had been overcome by another bout of unconsciousness and the feeling of helplessness spread through her chest, forming a hollow through its path.

Her head felt light too. The injuries were starting to show effects, although the overwhelming sense of failure and danger had already numbed their pain.

Taking a deep breath, and another, and another, she tried to centre herself, though not to much avail.

Something she had realized was now, the necessity to keep moving was a need & not a want.

A slow kick on the gas pedal & she carried on her journey to the final destination.

————————————

At the police station, the unfolding of events occurred like a film sequence set on fast forward.

Pooja had barely made it there, an urgency ringing through her mind, a constant worry that she was late, too late. But thankfully, she wasn't.

Dragging her foot (her entire body, at this point) she entered and almost fell face down on the station floor.

Hastily handing over the evidence she had meticulously collected and suffered all the injuries for, she tried to explain what she had found.

Officers repeatedly asked her to calm down, but she refused. The three of them, Ethan, Alex and Mark, They were her family. They always mattered more than her. They always will.

At last, all she managed was to point a finger at her car, before her body gave up on the fight. A small smile of satisfaction decorated her tired, overworked features. It was a win. A well deserved one. A strange sense of pride, overwhelmed her as she slowly faded into unconsciousness.

————————————

It has been 36 hours since the ghastly raid of Miles's manor.

The evidence collected opened a lot of tied knots, the page from Miles's diary, even though muddy, serving priceless for the investigation. Almost everything got crystal clear from it.

Pooja underwent a major surgery, and was still under bedrest. Minor to Major, there were a plethora of injuries that needed to be treated. Recovery was going to take a long time but her response had been up to the mark.

As for Mark and Alex, the court deemed them not guilty for any of the charges made against them & they were released. The very instant they rushed to the hospital, tears streaming down endlessly both in gratitude & in worry.

Miles Danvers, as expected, was not found. The manor was investigated after the release of Mark & Alex, a big mistake, and nothing was left behind except a few beeping machines & broken furniture. The investigators now await Pooja's recovery for interrogation & to close the case as soon as possible because stories of a deranged murderer roaming around the dark streets doesn't exactly spark a rush of serotonin through the citizens.

Meanwhile in a dark, gloomy alleyway:

It had been seconds too long. The man's pace faltered at slightest sounds, fingers fidgeting the two ring that shone under whatever little light reached the area.

Why were they not here yet?

But his wait was cut off soon. Muffled footsteps echoed like, every step closer increasing their intensity. Even though he had been expecting them, his heart leapt up his throat, which tightened in fear.

He turned around, not being able to make out their faces. But at the time, he found it to be a blessing in disguise, because he was sure he would have thrown up from the fright of being the cause of their anger.

A hand extended out, the silver bracelet dangling from it gleaming in moonlight. It gripped the lapel of his coat, and a scared murmur escaped him without caution.

The person on the other side, let out a slow growl of rage, boiling blood coursing through their veins. The man's teeth chattered, the cold pressing against his skin even more as a chill ran down his spine.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, the touch of cold metal against his neck made him shudder.

It was... It was a gun.

"Thi..s, Th..., This w-was not what, w-what we plann-nned upon." He quietly muttered, shocked that sound still escaped through the dryness of his throat.

"What were you supposed to do?" The person, no, the man, That man, growled, the evil of his heart almost visible in the spoken words.

The man stood soundless. It took two hard knocks of the metal to make him speak.

"K-K-Kill"

"And what did you do? Let her escape with a bagful of evidence." The words were being hissed now, with so much intensity that the man was surprised that he hadn't peed his pants yet.

"And since" The gun was displaced and he let out a sigh of relief. "You did such wonderful work, you deserve to be rewarded."

And before the man could even process what just happened, a single shot pierced through the fog settling around, and hit right in the forehead.

Seconds later, his lifeless body met its origin & any sign of life in the alleyway seized to exist.

End Note: Open Heart ended and it feels unreal. I have had a weird, wonderful journey with it. I would have never come to tumblr, make edits or write fanfics if not for it. It is a series which many of us, me included, hold close to our heart.

Firstly, I would like to thank everyone who provided their precious thoughts over the past chapters of this series. I always have & always will hold Detectives by Chance close to my heart, because it has some of my earliest fanfics & it was the beginning of a wonderful journey for me. So if you took your time & have followed this story from the start, I am so very grateful for you. Thank you❤

With OH ending, many have chosen to continue in this fandom & some have decided to move on. Whatever your decision may be, I hope you be happy & have a good time ahead💕

Detectives by Chance gets a Bonus part, with no relation to the storyline, like not an epilogue, but something that will answer the lingering questions. As for if this is really the end of DbC or not, I will let you guys decide that😉

Tags (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed or if I forgot you):

Perma: @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @udishaman @aestheticartsx @twinkleallnight @schnitzelbutterfingers @sophxwithers @sweatyrysconnoisseur @nikki-2406 @choicesfanaf @trrfanaddict @starrystarrytrouble @gardeningourmet @parkbarks @mvalentine @lovablegranny @mercury84choices @helloayz

Open Heart (All fics and edit): @lucy-268 @maurine07 @bellcat2010

Ethan x Pooja (fics): @aleynareads @stygianflood @choicesaddict5 @mysticaurathings @jamespotterthefirst @ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

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coleyholts · 3 years

Photo

Here is the first time I had ever attempted a sphere. Let’s all say “hiiii, little sphere,” as he feels a little self-conscious due to his lumps.

When healing from a traumatic event, all of the professionals say to get back to “normal.”

Trigger Warning: flashbacks, traumatic child injury.

Let’s talk about what that means. All humans have the same basic needs: food, water, shelter. Those are the basic things we need to survive; the things we need to merely keep our hearts beating. Humans are intelligent creatures. This fact comes with its share of additional work on our parts, as it truly adds to our list of boxes to check on the reg. We need love, companionship, choices, a way to make money, the ability to properly execute tasks, affirmation, the feeling of being understood... the list goes on.

So here’s why I am bringing this up. As we have already established, I am struggling with PTSD-and just to set the record straight as we dive into my sadness, I want you all that care about me to know that I am NOT a self-harm risk. I am medicated, in therapy and under the supervision of the most talented medical professionals I’ve ever met. I am able to trust my doctors and therapist and I feel so fortunate for that.

.I went back to work on July 19, 2021. This was only 37 days since my sweet baby’s accident. Childcare is provided solely by my mother who is an RN, so the idea of her getting hurt was not what was bothering me as I walked into work that day. I was able to chat with Daniel that morning before he left, and I had purposely set myself up to have a great day. I got myself an iced coffee and took some deep breaths. I played my favorite music on the ride into town.

I clocked in at 10 am. I was so excited to see everyone. Staying home the previous month really got lonely sometimes, and that’s when the pain was the freshest. I get hugs, kind questions, and compassion. Being that I've had the same coworkers for years makes them feel like family and I appreciate that. They checked on me while I was gone, and a few visited. I was so happy for the first half hour of greetings, then I sat down to work.

I sat and I talked about things casually, and I was okay as we weren’t discussing the super heavy moments I have shared with you all yet. But when the conversation stopped, I had a rush of feelings and imagery. I have been referring to these episodes as flashbacks, since I don’t really know what else to call them.

You know when there are certain smells, songs, places, photos and little reminders that brings you to a memory? Have you ever experienced this in such detail that you feel like you are physically feeling, hearing, smelling and seeing everything in that exact moment? It’s like when you smell your grandmother’s perfume and you are instantly transported to sitting next to her on the church pew and pushing your face into her scratchy, sequined blouse because you were fighting to stay awake during Mass. It’s when you see a kid riding a bike so similar to the one you had, you are brought to your childhood neighborhood block where you are riding said bike. But with all of the sensory going on, you really feel it-the pain and the fear-when you make a turn to fast and skin your knee.

This is what is happening to me-but presently I’m at the point where I don’t need something to trigger me to have an episode.

I am sitting at work. I am looking at my list of projects. I check my accounts and reset my passwords since they had expired over the month I was out, and when I was about to get down to it, I wasn’t there anymore.

GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF MY “FLASHBACKS”: I was sitting in the Emergency Room with my baby in my arms, limp and eyes rolling as they poked her over and over again to find a vein that still had blood in it. They couldn’t and I screamed and cried. They perfectly executed every single stick, but there was no blood in any of her limbs. They tell me they are going to have to put in a line using a power drill into my 8 month old’s shins. She had no medication in her to keep her conscious, supply her with fluids, give her a transfusion, or to relieve pain. I begged them to administer anything they could through injection or nasally.

Hard to read? Worse to live it.

My post-accident mind takes me to this awful place while the world around me just keeps moving. The anxiety, pain, guilt, confusion and profound sorrow that you are suddenly feeling at 100% are completely invisible to those around you.

So, I cried and cried. I said. “I’m not ready to be here,” as I was comforted by my people. I excused myself to the restroom and washed my face. I took deep breaths and asked mom for a picture of my baby. She was sleeping so perfectly, like a little doll. After a short break, I went back to my computer and got to work. When it was time to clock out, I had no recollection of any of my projects. All I remembered was my episode.

Getting back to normal is hard.

I think going back to work (three days/week) was the right move for me in my recovery journey. It hurt so much, but before you say you can’t, give it a shot and see if the shitty times pass.

I truly believe that working, alone time, making art, cooking and cleaning, raising my baby, and spending time with my husband are my actual personal needs. After that realization, I have grown so much. In two weeks, I can leave my baby without crying, provide solid feedback in conversations at home and at work, get my house clean, and I’m learning to follow my bliss. That’s back to normal, the healthiest healing environment.

Taking these steps are so hard, but for the first time, I am really feeling the benefits and acceleration in my healing process.

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shelby-love · 4 years

Text

JAY HALSTEAD

“Nightmare that came true”

Requested: yes

Prompts: none

Warnings: angst

Authors note: /

“Well. Her test results came back negative,” You swipe through the tablet before handing it over to doctor Charles. “She’s all yours.”

A girl came in the ED today, she was bleeding and screaming things about witches and ghosts. You stopped her bleeding and patched her up. Now she’s completely physically healthy and you’re handing her to the chief of Psychiatry.

“Let’s give her some Ativan. Get her to calm down,” Dr. Charles instructs one of the nurses. The nurse hurriedly goes to the screaming patient and injects the medication. Once the girl is calmed down you nod and wish luck to the older man.

It’s a fairly peaceful day at the ED. You had a few patients, all of which went home with a smile on their face. This girl so far was the only one in a need for serious help. You patched her up, now the only problem she has is on Dr. Charles - someone qualified to help her.

“Doctor Y/LN!” You know that the patient that’s about to come in is seriously injured as soon as Maggie calls you by your last name. “Incoming!

You spot the two paramedics rushing in with a GSW patient and you run to join them. Behind them you see the members of the Intelligence unit rush in. When you see their worried paled faces and don’t spot Jay, your fiancé, your heart sinks and your biggest nightmare comes true.

Jay lies on the stretcher soaked in his own blood. The paramedics start to recite his contidion but you can barely listen to them. "Detective Jay Halstead, 27 year old male. Shot on the line of duty. Stats 100, BP 102 over 69, heart rate 110. A little hypotensive and tachycardic. Doctor?”

She pulls you out of your trance, you lead them into the trauma room. It won’t do Jay any good if I don’t focus. “We transfer him on my count. Gently! One, two, three!”

The moment the love of your life is on that hospital bed you swear with everything you have. I swear I’ll help you pull through this Jay. The nurses hang the IV and connect him to the monitors as you inspect his contidion through tears. “Doctor Y/LN,” One of the nurses, Doris, carefully calls out for you. “His stats are lowering. Are you okay?”

Your head snaps to the direction of the monitor, “Let’s get a 16 in each arm and bolus a liter of LR on the rapid transfuser, and 50 of fentanyl for pain.” You put the stethoscope on his chest and listen carefully. The bruises on his neck that appear to be from choking are making it difficult for him to breathe. “I need to intubate to protect his airway.”

Doris nods and reaches behind for the intubation kit and you place yourself at the head of the bed behind Jay’s head. You look at his face and almost break down, Doris places the kid and you grab the laryngoscope and insert it in his mouth, you grab the tube and slowly find the right spot, “Okay I’m in. Give me the bag,” The last step, you connect the bag and start bagging him manually with oxygen until you connect him to the ventilator. “He’s stable. BP is going up, heart beat is getting better.” Doris informs and you sigh in relief.

A 1st year residency student, Noah Sexton looks for the wounds in Jay’s leg. “How’s his leg looking Noah?”

“A likely entrance hole in the upper right thigh. Big hematoma. No apparent fracture.”

“All right, Noah, pop quiz. Let’s see how much you recall. After we figure out where the bullet went in, - what do we do?” You ask, trying to keep your voice stable when you know that you’re seconds away from breaking down completely.

“Count the holes doc. If there’s an even number, it came out.” He answers.

“Okay, good job. We need a an x-ray, ultrasound, CT, and MRI. An endoscopy and blood work just to be safe.” You pull his shirt up to see a big bruise on his abs. His vest saved him from a fatal injury. You move towards Noah, where the bleeding was put in control.

“I think I see an exit hole,” Noah says, “It’s tiny… Too tiny,”

“It’s probably a shrapnel. The bullets still in there. We need to get him to radiology and see where it is. Now.” You say, examinating upper par of the leg.

You get Jay to radiology immediately and request that the results come urgently fast. With every second passing by Jay has a tougher challenge in front of him. You want that bullet out and then you want him transfered to the ICU. Where you could really watch over him.

Currently, you’re waiting for the MRI results. You’re resting your elbows on the receptions desk, your back facing the trauma room Jay is currently in. You cup your head in your hands and tug your hair, tears are running down your cheeks and you don’t registrate anything or anyone around you. When someone taps you on the shoulder tense and frantically wipe your tears away, you rise your head and look at Maggie. Her eyes take in the sight of you, “The MRI results are done.” she hands you the tablet and you look at the scans.

***

You stand behind the window of the OR. You’re biting your nails as you watch Connor operate on your fiancé. With tears in your eyes you watch the big TV and look at what he’s doing.

The bullet traveled all the way to his abdomen.

***

“Hey,” Connor meets you outside the OR. “You did amazing today.”

“You mean I didn’t break down while I tried to stabilize him and give a diagnosis?” You saw the way everyone looked at you. They didn’t think you’d be able to think straight. They thought you’re going to be way too emotionally involved to think straight. That’s why you weren’t allow to do the surgery or even assist. Jay is now resting and you’re waiting for him to wake up.

“He’s lucky to have you Y/N,” Connor squeezes your shoulder and you give him a smile before he leaves the room. Will had to return to his patient and the rest of the Intelligence was getting food in the cafeteria. You took the rest of the day off so you can wait for Jay to wake up. To be with him when he wakes up.

You watch and admire him. You don’t want to go and eat, Burgess brought you a coffee - you couldn’t drink it. Not until Jay woke up and proved that he’s alright.

Just as Voights about to drag you out to eat something you see Jay stirr. You fall into the chair and grab Jay’s hand and watch his eyes open. Tears of happiness rush down your cheeks as you kiss his hand and squeeze it.

“What happened? Where am I?” He tries to pull himself to sit but your stop him immediately.

“No don’t move,” You say. “You were shot Jay.”

He hated seeing you cry. Especially when he was the reason behind your tears. He knew your biggest fear was him coming into the ED like he did today.

“Y/N I’m sorry… I’m an idiot.”

“It’s okay Jay. You’re okay and that’s all that matters now,” You smile and wipe your tears away before kissing his knuckles once more. You press your lips to his forehead, silently thanking God for taking care of him.

“Don’t ever come to the ED like that again, okay? I’d rather have you in the ED because you need to arrest me.” You try to sound stern but when he gives you his boyish smile that you love so much you crack and smile brightly. “I love you.”

“What would I do without you Y/N Y/LN?” He traces your ring finger where your engagement ring rests.

#jay halstead fanfiction #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead #chicago pd #chicago med #chicago #Imagine

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illicitivywp · 3 years

Text

mal de vivre.

The morning that Harry wakes up and you're not sleeping peacefully beside him is the worst of his entire life.

He can sense that you're not there. The air still circulates whiffs of your caramel shampoo and the breeze of your automatic fan that you always insist on leaving on all night still whirs leisurely and tickles the back of his neck.

Regardless, the room is vacant. He doesn't have to open his eyes to know that much.

For now, he remains entirely numb. Immune to the flooding sobs and intolerable agony and festering anger, he supposes it's in his best interest to stay like that for a while.

For a few days, at least. Until he can fully process your absence. He's not certain how long it takes the average person to wholly recognise an entire chunk of themselves missing, but he figures he's already suffered enough.

Surely, the universe isn't that cruel.

Your love is delightedly grand, and with its sudden unavailability, he feels so dejectedly vague.

He's clearly not perceiving time correctly, perhaps it's his distant concentration or maybe even his body's method of rejecting life and the wretched torture of its innate malice.

A few times, he's experienced sleep paralysis. The first, horrifying occasion is long-forgotten, when he was seven or so - it happened only after staying up until one in the morning to watch a horror movie that he'd been specifically warned not to watch and a towering vacuum of danger stood solid as stone at the end of his bed.

If it weren't for his fingertips subconsciously tracing featherlight scribes of your name on his forearm, he might reasonably assume he's haunted with the condition once again.

A clattering of paws on hard floorboards injects a little more reality into his thoughts, and he still can't bear, physically, to turn over and greet the sweet puppy you'd snuck home and surprised him with upon his arrival home from work around a year ago, knowing that his acceptance of a familiarly-shaped void is waiting just inches away.

Eventually, and after another chaotic scramble of claws in need of a cut, Chi is bouncing enthusiastically at his side and attempting an ambitious leap onto the mattress. She fails theatrically, landing in a resounding thud on her back and launching back to her feet, completely unaware of her owner's awaiting grief.

Masking his greatest fears with scooping a palm beneath Chi's belly and hauling her upwards to nestle into his chest, the reposition forces him to lay on his back (she's always detested laying on her side, especially when smothered with adoring cuddles) and, like the coward he truly is, his eyes focus adamantly on a random spot of the pale ceiling. With every minute shuffle, it becomes more and more achingly apparent that you're really not here.

And if everything runs correctly, you'll squirm and giggle graciously at his waking before returning his kiss, to his lips, this time, and he'll suggest applying a little moisturiser, like he always does, and you'll love him like you should.

When his eyelids snap open and his head curves breezily to your claimed side of the bed, he's somewhat unsurprised to confirm that his life truly has transformed to a dreadful bundle of tragedy. In your imposing place, is a neatly-made bed and an envelope.

A single, white envelope, stained by the sweet, flowing cursive that could flow only from your touch.

Chi leaps naturally to the spectacle, sniffing curiously at the letter and nudging it around a little, whilst Harry is so unexplainably pained that he's unable to move. Swallowing thickly, he's not certain word-for-word what lies in the confines of this envelope, but he does know it'll confirm your leaving him, and for some strange reason, he's relieved you left an explanation, at least.

A souvenir of you to hang onto forever, along with the millions of other items and memories of yours in his possession.

Carefully removing it from Chi's vicinity and replacing the object of her attention with a random squeaky toy that he'd discovered burrowed beneath his bed a few nights ago, he traces your exquisite handwriting with his fingertip and reads along with inaudible movements of his mouth; For Harry, mon amour.

In that moment, he realises profoundly that he'll never get to request hearing you say different words in your accent again.

The amount of times he implored relentlessly to hear je t'aime and have it accompanied with an endearing kiss is infinite.

Harry, my love,

I'm so incredibly sorry that I couldn't handle the pain.

Seeing your face cures any anguish I feel, but not this time.

I really, really tried; I know you did, too. I wanted it to work out, I prayed every day that our suffering would magically end and we could return to our love, I hoped that one day I would wake and cuddle you tightly and describe this awful nightmare I'd had.

Possibly, I may write to you in the future; please, don't try to contact me, it won't work and you know it's for the best. My family and close friends know where I am, where I will be, and they also know not to tell you if you ask.

I wish I could kiss all of your heartache away and protect you from all evil in this world, but I feel my presence is detrimental to your recovery.

My love for you is never-ending. Please be okay.

Forgive me and love someone else like you loved me. Let someone else love you like I loved you. Tellement, tellement.

Forever, I'll think of you and how unbelievably content I felt waking up next to you every day for seven-hundred and eighty (? - I'm estimating) mornings straight.

I will never, ever leave our love behind, and I adore you more than I can express. Your strength and resilience are admirable, and you are truly the best thing to ever happen to me.

Mon bébé, I miss you terribly.

Toujours, ton amour.

Chi tugs eagerly on her lead at the sight of the familiar entrance to her home, Harry in tow right behind. Sludgy snow muddies his shoes and soaks the hem of his jeans. His puppy's paws are undoubtedly drenched, too, but her fur is protected valiantly by her favourite jacket. He'd purchased it from a specialist store in France a year prior, and, since surprising her with the present upon his shared return, it'd become her primary option during the winter months.

Retrieving a reasonable pile of letters from his designated section, a rapid flick through displays bills, scams and all of the usual junk he usually receives. He offers his elderly neighbour a polite smile and holds open the door with his knee to construct a clear path for her exit.

He grimaces slightly at the teeth-shaped arc of damp dents into his mail - he hadn't particularly considered the repercussions of carrying it that way - and unclips Chi's lead, allowing her to run rampage through his airy apartment. Absently dropping his keys into its small dish of residence and taking a closer inspection at his post to infiltrate any wrong addresses or scams, he selects an apple from his fruit bowl and steals one firm chunk before noticing something peculiar.

Groomed eyebrows knitting together in confusion, he plucks one particular letter from the bunch and stacks it to the top. Perplexed by the sorely familiar curve of the writing scrawled on the front, his head shakes in denial - you wouldn't have, surely.

Discarding of all other mail on his kitchen counter, he's puzzled beyond belief; you'd left with no verbal warning and a letter that, admittedly, had been the source of several bouts of severe depression and, in spite of its awful affects, read dutifully every single day since your disappearance.

Rashly, he wishes you hadn't changed your phone number and email address shortly before leaving so he could possibly contact you regarding this mystery. However, he knows just as well as you clearly foresaw; his topic of discussion wouldn't be only the letter.

Tearing open the corner cautiously, he's incredibly delicate with checking inside the envelope once open to ensure it contains only his presumed note. Reviewing the front with a scouring gaze of disbelief, it really, truly has come from you.

He can't remember how many times he read each postcard that you'd gifted him with at the very beginning of your relationship. You'd recently made the permanent move from France to England, and, in a new country with limited knowledge of the native language, Harry had unintentionally become your beacon of comfort here.

With his fluent French and English, he was the perfect contender for kindly correcting your terminology and educating you on the essential etiquettes of Britain. Within weeks, however, your sweet smile had changed from an enjoyable sight during your frequent coffee shop meetings to something he craved.

He misses reading your silly, awful puns based around your home country, especially his favourite. A laughably unfunny joke paired with a matching scribble of the two of you; what do french fries do when they meet? They ketchup!

Harry,

I feel awful for waiting so long to speak to you again.

Your voice and your hugs. I've imagined them every single day.

I miss my Chi. How is she? I hope she's not missing her maman. Give her a kiss from me.

And the biggest kiss to yourself, because you deserve it, mon tout.

I'm inexplicably sorry for leaving so abruptly; I just couldn't take much more. The reminders were too much. Seeing your inconsolable pain every day was too much.

I'm so, so selfish, but I still believe allowing you to heal without my troubles was the best and easiest path for both of us.

I'm sure you noticed, but I may have stolen one of our pictures. It was your favourite, and that's why I had to choose that one, I suppose. Horrible, again.

I miss your dimples (and irritating you by poking them all the time). I miss your lips, they were so soft. No wonder you always bossed me around with the lip balm - I have my own now, I take it everywhere with me.

It smells like caramel.

Most of all, I miss your love. I've never known someone to love like you do. You were, are, and always will be, incredible.

Have you found someone to love yet?

Do you still think about me? If yes, please don't.

It's not fair of me to appear out of nowhere like this and not allow you a chance to reply. If you wish, post your letter to my maman's house - I'm not there, just to crush any other hope you have, but I'll receive it.

I'll be sorry forever, mon amour.

Sois gentil avec toi-même.

Câlins pour toujours, your baby.

Auriele,

I'm so thankful you decided to reach out again. I've missed you. Tellement, tellement.

Chi is brilliant, still eating everything and constantly in need of a haircut. She does miss you.

My hurt is still prevalent, I've accepted that it always will be. I truly don't believe it can be fixed again, but I'm still trying.

I spent the two weeks after your leaving searching for every single picture in existence of us. I cried so many times, I wish I could tell you that I'm wholly recovered and that you're fully forgiven, but I can't.

I think I counted them all. It's either three-hundred and seventy-seven or one-thousand, one-hundred and two (I have two sticky notes labelled pictures, I'm not sure which is correct.)

No one could ever love me like you do, tu es le meilleur.

I suppose that answers both of your questions.

Thank you for the chance to respond. I was incredibly confused when I received your thoughtful letter. I'm assuming by this one's destination being your maman's house, you're in France? You don't have to answer that. I would understand.

Mon bébé chéri, je t'aime.

Harry x

Harry,

It was the least I could do. I hurt you doubly and you never deserved that.

Tell her I love her. Buy her an ice cream for me (note the two dollars also enclosed in this envelope!)

There aren't enough apologies in the world to properly cover the extent of my mistakes, but I'll continue gathering as many as I can. And send them straight to you.

I also wish you could truthfully claim that you're okay, and I hope, with time, that you will be. It's all you ever deserved, mon chéri. You don't ever have to forgive me. I understand entirely if you hate me.

I wouldn't be surprised if those numbers were both low counts. I loved your face, as superficial as it sounds, but it truly was prettier than anything, and my favourite thing was always surrounding myself with it. Aussi longtemps que je pouvais.

My baby, I only tried my hardest to love you, and I sincerely hope I haven't ruined your idea of love so much that I'm your standard. Please, travel, find people to connect with, fall in love with a place, if not a person.

I bet Chi would love Spain. Australia, maybe? Thailand? Your choice entirely. You always were smarter than me (i.e. I left you - doesn't get much dumber.)

I am in France, feel free to ask any question you want about my current life if you decide to write back - you really don't have to. It's okay. You're still perfect.

Just not my address. It's so selfish of me to hide away from you when you're the one who deserves closure, but I'm not ready to share that information. Again, I'm sorry, and I hope you understand.

Tu me manques. Tu me manques ma maman et mon père. Tu me manques au cœur.

All my love, Auriele x

Every day, his thoughts are plagued with ideas of how to write his next letter. Your previous few communications ran smoothly; you seem incredibly apologetic and, as much as he would've gladly ignored the past tense use of 'love' in your most recent letter, he can't help but realise the difference from your first each time he reads it.

He's not certain why his first letter practically poured from his pen and before he knew it, it was sealed, posted and received. This time, however, he can't even construct a way to greet you.

Has distance and time really weakened your connection that much? His favourite childhood Disney movies would be ashamed.

The heartache you've endured together is insufferable, the bitterness remaining fresh and the misery continuing to roll onwards with him, and yet, you're both still alive. Perhaps, he should be a little more thankful.

He's tested out various support groups over the past few months; they appear to help in the moment, but once he returns home to a completely empty house, - aside from Chi - he realises all of his progress to be entirely fake.

How can he realistically recover from his insurmountable loss in solitude?

An apartment which used to breathe vibrant life and excitement for the future, diminished to nothing but silence.

He might as well have lost his house, too. Every second he spends there, surrounded by reminders of his grief, is draining. Of course, if he were a millionaire, he would've discovered a lovely, one bed flat with wide, open floors and windows. If he were a millionaire, though, maybe none of this agony would've ever happened.

He could’ve fixed it.

Regardless, he didn't, and now he returns home every single day, monotonous and finding solace only in rereading your letters and running through his local park with Chi, no matter the weather.

Sometimes, he hears the faint echo of your melodious voice ringing in his ear; mon doux bébé. For a moment, he believes you may be talking to him, but with a resounding giggle of contentment, you never were.

Within a month, he lost both of his sweet baby girls, and the pain is simply too much to comprehend.

Elle, mon cœur,

Firstly, I apologize for my late reply. This letter was, for some reason, incredibly difficult to write.

You hurt me never. Life hurt me, and it hurt you, too, and I'm sorry it's so cruel.

Chi adored her ice cream - vanilla, your favourite - and said thanks! (complimentary picture attached, for you).

Sympathy and apologies aren't a cure. I've received enough of them to know. I hope you have, too. We might not accept it and it might not heal our pain, but it is nice to know you have people by your side.

Mon amour, I would/could never come close to hatred for you. You are my entire heart, and you own everything within it.

I hope, one day, I can forgive you. I hope you can forgive me. We both made mistakes. We're both accountable, and so is fate. Unfortunately, it wasn't on our side, and we have to welcome that.

Your face is certainly Top Five list of physical attributes, which goes as followed:

1. your lips. I know I complained about them being dry all the time, but I miss them, still.

2. your eyes. Somewhere between the ocean and a cottage filled with flowers, they were paradise.

3. your thighs. I am a man - a broken one, but a man nonetheless - and they are certainly the most family-friendly feature I could think of.

4. your smile. Even on my darkest days, your smile was heaven. I hope you're smiling right now. I wish I could see it.

5. your face? All of the above and everything else. Was that cheating?

I wish I could leave here. I wish I could find a small, tropic island where Chi and I can get tipsy on Virgin Mary's and surf all day, but I feel it wouldn't be fair for both of us to run.

Although, Chi would certainly have a great time in Thailand. She told me so.

Did I mention she misses you? We miss you.

I have more questions than you can imagine. This is only my second letter, however, so I suppose I'll stick to three for now, (sorry for all the lists!)

How are you? Mentally? Physically?

Have you made new friends whilst you've been out there?

Would you ever visit London again?

I miss you forever.

Ton bébé.

Harry x

Harry,

It's more tough to write my letters than you might assume. No need to apologise, I understand.

Life is shit. I thought I had accepted that. I never imagined how evil it could be.

Chi, my baby, looks so pretty. I love her haircut (number 8694743? out of infinite).

I have heard my fair share of sympathy. At first, I felt bitter. They didn't understand what I had suffered, they didn't understand the pain I felt. With time, I realised that, sometimes, sorry is all you need to hear to feel a little better. To feel like you're managing life, at least.

I wish I could believe I deserve it, but I truly don't.

My mistakes seem perpetual. I'm constantly remembering new ones. Things I could've noticed faster, signs that I should've recognised. Yours are nothing. You made no mistakes, mon amour, please believe that. As much as fate has been my least favourite higher power for the past year, I agree about welcoming our own.

I would make a list of my personal favourites of your appearance, but I'd be here all day, and I'm meeting with a friend in an hour (your second question - check).

It wasn't fair for either of us to run. I think it's turned out for the best, however.

I can imagine Chi passed out on the beach. You both deserve a holiday. Go to Scotland, or something, at least. Just away from London.

I miss you both. Much more than I can express.

I'm well. Mentally; it's a struggle, but that's just life, I suppose. Physically; my sickness stopped a while ago. I hope your headaches did, too, but I've been searching for cures for those for a long time.

Yes! I've made quite a few close friends. They all know and love you. I'll tell them you asked.

London holds far too many memories for me to bear. You're the only one I can stand. Maybe one day.

Tellement de câlins.

Auriele.

The second your letter arrives and is read fully three times over, Harry's scrambling to collect his fancy paper and ink pen, thousands of ideas about how to reply brimming in his head.

Pen to paper, however, his mind is entirely blank.

You're inching closer to addressing the subject of your pain, and so is he. So far, the only discussions you've had regarding that difficult topic have ended either in awful arguments or uncontrollable, endless crying and they all occurred before your disappearance.

Since then, you've had ten months and seventeen days shared to mature from and process the situation. Perhaps, if you were to have a conversation about it now, it would be beneficial.

Harry is aware of the solution to his strange writer's block and urges to attempt to fix your hurt, but he's not quite sure if he's ready. Physically forcing himself up from his cluttered desk, he tries not to think of the main event when changing his sloppy t-shirt and joggers to jeans and a jumper; it's February, so the wind is still well and alive but, luckily for Chi and the duration of her walks, the temperatures are beginning to rise.

His destination is barely a thirty minute leisurely stroll through the city away, and he feels shameful to admit that this is his first visit in ten and a half months. Several times, he's gathered his courage to stand on the pavement, surveying the vast area but never making it closer than the protective fences.

This time, though, he's determined to make it. And he will, with je t'aime's and sweet giggles bubbling in his ears.

Your je t'aime's and her sweet giggles.

Auriele,

Life will continue to surprise us. It may be malicious, but it's also given me you, so I guess there are a few reasons to be grateful.

I think it's more like *8694744 out of infinite, and I'm sure she'll have many more unpleasant trips to the groomers in the future.

You are handling life impeccably, considering all. You deserve showers of recognition for just being here.

No one has ever been more deserving of my love, and no one ever will.

Please, don't blame yourself entirely. Yes, there were signs. Signs that we both should've seen earlier. We knew as much as everyone else. We can't know if things would be different if we'd noticed them, because they're not.

I'm glad you're enjoying life in France. Is it peaceful? Is it too far to ask if you're living with one of your new friends? What're their names, if you don't mind my asking?

If I were to go on holiday right now, Paris would be my first choice.

I'm glad you're feeling better, I hope you continue to improve mentally in the future. I wish you nothing but true happiness.

If you're ever here, I'd be honoured to see you again.

This might surprise you. Before I wrote this letter, I went to visit her.

I haven't since we were there together.

I talked to her for hours about my life and my pain and your letters and your pain and anything I'd love to say to you if I knew how. Meline always was the best listener, no offence to you. She just understands.

I miss her. I miss you. I miss my babies.

Please, send me a picture of you (always topping lists) in your next letter. I need to see you now. I bet you're glowing.

Toujours, Harry x

Harry, mon amour,

I feel as if I should address the end of your letter first, because I certainly wasn't expecting it. I cried a lot. I'm still crying as I write this.

It feels nice to feel.

I've been so numb to it all. I know I should sob every day, think of her every single second. I don't. That may make me an awful person, but I always preferred not to lie. Especially to you. I don't think the gravity has quite hit me yet.

Back to the normal, top to bottom of your letter.

My family is a gift. My parents, you and Meline, specifically. I've never admired anyone more.

I miss Chi. Especially today, for some reason. Send more pictures of her when you next write. (I enclosed an updated picture of me in town, if you hadn't noticed! It was taken last week.)

I had concerns. Concerns that I didn't follow up on. We knew something was wrong, but we did everything we could, right? We found help. We found medicine. Why didn't it work?

How fucking cruel can life possibly be?

It's much quieter than London. The air quality is visibly better. I am, actually. My closest friends are Leon and Aline. I'm living with them!

Paris is about as good a holiday as you can get. If I'm ever near you, whatever country it happens to be in, I'll be sure to see you.

The last part of your letter. I already touched upon it but not nearly enough.

I haven't said, heard or read her name in eleven months. I miss it. I miss your voice. And her laughs. She was so, so lively and enthusiastic for life.

It's so unfair that she didn't get the chance.

And I agree; she always was a fantastic listener. I told her about our issues more than I should've.

I wish I could hear her again. Her name wasn't Meline Risette Styles for nothing. Her laughs were so pretty. I could've listened on repeat.

I did. For a year.

I miss her.

I miss you. I miss your warmth. I miss your heart and your love and your smile and everything about you.

I miss normality.

When we thought things would be okay.

We were wrong, and hindsight, that's okay, too.

We will heal eventually, I trust that life can't take much more away from me.

Tout mon amour, Auriele x

Since that day, Harry's visited Meline every Sunday without fail - it's only been three weeks, but going in the first place was an unimaginable step.

He even combined Chi's walk with the most recent, and each time, entering, staying at and emerging from the cemetery becomes easier.

The first time, he paced through the gates several times before building the bravery to even step inside without running back. His flight or fight instinct had been touchy the whole time, bias towards flight the entire time.

He just wanted to be as far away from the source of his pain as possible.

At the same time, he just wanted his daughter back. Alive and healthy.

Once he'd settled, laid on the ground like a madman next to her grave, he never wanted to leave her again. He even brought her flowers and a little teddy bear from a shop he'd passed on his hurried journey there.

It was well and truly dark by the time he even considered returning home, because he'd rather be with his sweet baby than alone at home.

Now, Chi sniffs inquisitively around at the bundles of flowers placed on surrounding graves whilst Harry converses with his dead child's grave like she was as animated and eager as he remembered.

It's a little questionable for his sanity, but extremely helpful for his own mental health. And he's trying to fix them both.

He just wishes so much that he'd pushed for more tests in the hospital. If he could, he'd reject their diagnosis and prescription of heart medication and an inhaler for when her asthma flared up.

They claimed she had a weakened respiratory system and, subsequently, her heart didn't deal well under stress, mostly due to her premature birth.

They were correct.

However, they were entirely wrong when they sent you all home with a tub of medicine and advice to lower any potential stressors around her.

Harry remembers scoffing to himself; she was one, what could possibly be stressing her that much?

Apparently, a lot of things.

Your je t'aime's and her sweet giggles.

There's truly nothing better.

Auriele,

I understand completely about any emotion feeling refreshing. For a while, I felt immune to it. I cried and I got angry, but nothing ever really set in.

I'm thankful that I can feel now and it doesn't destroy me.

You're not at all a bad person, or a bad parent. Often, I wish I could forget about her. And not just to remove the pain for a day or two. Also, I appreciate the honesty.

Important things must be talked about first. And while this paragraph isn't quite at the top of my letter, it certainly is my most admiritive.

You're so, so unbelievably beautiful. Even more so, now.

Your eyes are still paradise. That picture is stuck onto the cork board in the kitchen forever.

We did absolutely everything in our power to help our baby. As soon as we noticed an issue, we took her to the hospital. Maybe they accidentally underestimated her condition, maybe they just assumed it'd be treated with that medication.

Either way, we helped her as much as we could. And you were, are, and always will be the most incredible mother.

Meline was lucky, truly. She loved you so much.

As it turns out, life can be our greatest enemy. It's difficult to control and even harder to accept, but everything happens for a reason, I suppose.

Leon and Aline sound wonderful. I know it's not my place, but tell them I said thank you for being there for you? You don't have to.

I've never known someone deserve a full, healthy life more than our sweet girl, and it's an injustice to steal that opportunity from her at such a young age.

She would've been two next week. I'm sure you don't need reminding, but I'm still trying to handle my feelings about it. I already know her birthday is going to be the worst day since she died.

Meline Risette Styles deserves the world, as do you. Please don't be afraid to take it. You've earned it.

Her name still brings me so much joy; little honey, pleasant little laugh. It was such an apt description, in her short life.

Life can always take more, but it gives things that are so wonderful. Sois optimiste.

Tout mon amour et câlins, Harry x

wattpad:

#harry styles #letters #heartbreak #sad books #harry

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rosaetae · 5 years

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the chrysanthemum effect | 1

[this chapter is apart of the chrysanthemum effect]

☇ “Keeping your flowers, keeping your pain— it's already everything you need to move on. How do you move on from things if you're not willing to accept them?"

➣ pairing: taehyung x reader

➣ genre: hanahaki!au, model!taehyung, weddingplanner(ish)!au

➣ word count: 3.7k

➣ a/n: here’s the first chapter! i really hope you guys enjoy it and i PROMISE i’ll have it uploaded on wattpad too :)

➣ summary: the hanahaki disease has become a stigma in this world where if you had it, you are looked down upon. her flowers were white chrysanthemums and they have been for the past two years. she was in love with someone who obviously didn’t feel the same way, and this was her way of moving on— along with the people in her life who had to conform around the hanahaki disease.

There it was.

The minute your eyes open, there was that annoying churning feeling that you've eventually grown accustomed to after 2 years of waking up to it every morning. The use of an alarm clock and a cup of coffee became redundant in your everyday life when that sharp pain in your stomach became the wake up call you needed, though not ideal.

These small things that you've known from waking up to the obnoxious noise of an alarm clock or even enjoying a cup of coffee with plain milk for the sole purpose of caffeine became luxuries to you.

It all became... blurry, and now you live with waking up to the discomfort and having to prevent from anything to happen afterwards.

And by that, you mean the spewing of your flowers that represent, in the society that you grew up in, foolishness, naivety, and simply what else that makes up unrequited love.

You would always try to immediately sit up straight to prevent that. And you have been doing so for almost 2 years.

The Hanahaki Disease was something, as your mother recalls, fools have. She claims that you had to be an idiot for still having feelings for someone who stopped altogether. Or just naive to think that you can be in love and not keep those lingering feelings that come awry. Needless to say when you called your mother about your diagnosis, you were an idiot in her mind, but she knew it were to be inevitable to happen when you told her about him.

Your parents have been pushing you to take the surgery since the beginning— not to mind the expenses as they wanted to pay from their own pocket, but it wasn't that you didn't wanted to take the surgery. You would have done it the minute you saw your flowers floating on toilet water that unfaithful night at a stranger's bathroom, but if it weren't for the fact that removing your flowers would also remove your memories of the one you love, then you would've undoubtedly done it.

Now, you go to check-ups once every Wednesday with Doctor Wren who not only became your doctor in helping to help you cope with your flowers, he became someone you confide to as he was also, unfortunately, one who had Hanahaki Disease albeit he took the surgery.

"I know I said we wouldn't have two check-ups this week, but can you open up Friday morning?" Doctor Wren asks as you sit up watching him type something into his computer.

"Sure," you reply smoothly, eyes scanning the clinic room. "Same time?"

"Yes. 10 AM," he nods, eyes scrunching as he clicks and types something into the computer. He's probably updating your prescriptions, or scheduling the next check up that same week. "Sorry for the last minute change, but I just want to make sure your vitals are okay since tomorrow is..."

Hearing his voice trail off, you caught his momentary glance, giving him a knowing nod. He was always cautious to particular events like tomorrow. Having to have a check up with him every week for two years, he had come to know when the most crucial dates of your life are even when you didn't tell him— you didn't need to. From finding out how fast your heart races and having to find you throwing up in the clinic's trash can when he just walked in, he knew these symptoms led to something.

"Have you been taking your medicine?"

You nod honestly. "Once every night like you tell me."

"Good," he states. You were glad he didn't peg you as someone who would lie about taking their medicine, fortunately. Maybe you missed a night or two, but that only led to the unwelcoming feeling equivalent to the feeling after chugging down a whole bottle of Hennessy, so you try your best not to skip a night. "Have they been seemingly getting worst?"

"Nope. Can't tell if it's the medicine working or if I'm just really good at swallowing them down."

Doctor Wren snorts. "Try swallowing down sunflowers. Worst thing ever."

"Sunflowers," you marvel as the image of radiant yellow paints your mind. To you, he seemed like a roses or carnations type of guy. "Why sunflowers?"

You watch as he gives your curious self a glance, raising a flashlight to indicate that he was going to flash the usual white light in your eyes and have you follow it.

"Her wedding bouquet," he says as he was midway moving the light horizontally. "Well. Supposedly. We got married in the summer. July 2015. She made it her bouquet, centerpiece, the aisle decorations," he continues, clicking off the flashlight to where you blinked multiple times and nod. "At least, that's what my friends have told me. If I'm being completely honest with you, I don't remember a thing about her."

And that, admittedly, is where it scares you.

The idea of forgetting the memories that you make. The people that you meet.

That is a choice given by divine right through the surgery of flowers that once removed, so will the memories of your loved one.

A lot of people, when the suffering becomes too much, too painful— they result into taking the surgery.

The biggest misconception of the Hanahaki Disease is that people believe that getting the surgery finally means moving on. It's not.

You remember Doctor Wren asking you after 6 months in of suppressing your flowers on "why you don't just take surgery?" And you had told him this— the reason why you're still going even after 2 years.

"Keeping your flowers, keeping your pain— it's already everything you need to move on," you state as he was injecting a needle into your arm. "How do you move on from things if you're not willing to accept them?"

Doctor Wren looks at you at that moment with curiosity. As if he was wondering what on earth happened to you to have you think such a thing.

"It's something that I thought about a couple months back," you answer to his wandering question. "I was staring at my flowers and then I thought that maybe I'm strong enough to move on from this type of pain. That I can move on and still have him in my thoughts, you know."

"Let me ask you something, ___. Why do you want to remember Taehyung so badly?"

As the sound of his name still brings butterflies, you simply shrugged your other arm, a tiny curl of your lips growing on your face. "Coming to terms on loving someone who you know doesn't love you back, to me, seems like a step of acceptance and loving yourself even when someone doesn't love you back. A bit paradoxical and confusing, but in a world where the gods find that loving someone who doesn't feel the same is foolish? I'd say my morals are the least of anyone's worries."

"I'd say your morals can save a life," Doctor Wren says. "And I, for one, hope it can save yours."

And that's when Doctor Wren felt like a soul you knew. Either in another lifetime or in a parallel universe. Just the way he is and just the way he could understand what you're going through. In the beginning, you almost felt like he was just using you for his research on the Hanahaki Disease, but finding out that he too also coughed up flowers, you knew that he was also trying to cure you. He always asked questions about you and your life, but your answer to those questions used to be open-ended and bland.

However, throughout time, he became someone you gradually opened up to, and your answers became something he took note of. Just like give and take, Doctor Wren opened up to you as well. As he asks you questions about your origin of the disease, he tells you about the post of his disease— his husband.

You watch as he unraveled his stethoscope from his neck and placed them into his ears. Like always, you remove your jacket for him so he could hear your heartbeat clearer.

As he placed the end to your upper back, you begin to breathe in and breathe out.

"What's your reasoning for chrysanthemums?"

He glances down at his watch before he looks at you for an answer to which you shrug.

"It was a book that he got me," you smile sadly. "White Chrysanthemums. He thought real flowers were cheesy."

He gives a wry grin. "Seems like a romantic."

"Oh he is," you chuckle lightly, only to have it die down in sudden realization. Doctor Wren must have caught it because he takes his stethoscope back. "Or he was... to me."

He didn't need to use his stethoscope to to hear your heart break at that single moment.

"Love, romance... whatever," he begins as he slowly stands up and walks over to his computer. "It can bring us happiness or adrenaline. Or it can brings us pain and suffering. But if there's anything that I learned from my life and yours, we need both. The universe likes to make us live in hell, but it's only to make us stronger."

You snort at him. "Did you get a degree in romance, too?"

"Associates, actually," he laughs before he's straightening up his composure. "I want you to call me as soon as something happens tomorrow. I remember last year it smelled chrysanthemums everywhere for a week. In a hospital."

Growing a tinge of embarrassment, you let out a sheepish laugh and nodded. "Yeah, well, thanks to you, I'm better at suppressing them."

"Take your medication," he says, letting his composure unravel as a notion that was the end of the check-up.

"I will."

"And drink the tea."

You throw your jacket on and jump off of the chair you at in. "The tea is the best part."

"No."

"Yes."

"The hell I am."

"Yes, the hell you are."

"No, Hoseok," you stress as you grab your bag from the counter chair along with your files for your boss to look over. "After work, I'm going straight home and taking a long nap. I'm not interested in going to a club where most people drown their sorrows through drinking and dancing."

Hoseok scoffs. "Most people don't do that at clubs."

"Let me guess, you want to take me to Mint Night. That's the number one place where broken hearts go, Hoseok. Their pipes get clogged like every other night because of the influx of petals being flushed down the damn toilet," you explain in a passive aggressive tone, rounding around the table to grab your keys. Hoseok was trailing behind you, annoyed stance and all by your objection, but when turn around, you narrow your eyes at him. "Why would you think I would agree with that?"

"Aw, come on, Sugartits!" Hoseok groans as you walk away to grab your shoes "You used to love going to the club. Come on, it's been awhile."

"When was the last time I went?"

Hoseok shrugs. "I don't know— like a year ago?"

"Wrong, idiot. It was last week to pick you and Somin's drunk asses up."

"Okay, no. That doesn't count because you weren't having fun."

"I don't have fun at clubs anymore, Hoseok. I can't even remember the last time I was having fun at one."

It was true. The last time you went to the club was for the intention of drowning away your sorrows. Mint Night was good for that— it's especially known for that. You were probably at the lowest of the low— pain and everything, but those nights were too blurry for you to recall.

Somin, bless her sweet sympathetic soul, was always the one to pick you up in the middle of the night in her pajamas.

Then that night became nights and it wasn't just her being concerned about your well-being anymore.

One night, you stumbled upon Hoseok, someone you met through Taehyung, and he was wondering why on earth you were at the night club alone. It was that moment where perfect timing seemed existent because that's when Somin found you, and though she thought that Hoseok was a harasser at first, you couldn't help notice the way Hoseok made Somin laugh (even if it was just a little bit). You'd like to pat yourself on the back for, in a way, bringing those two together. Though it's just them that makes it hard for you to actually feel successful in your weak attempt at match-making.

Hoseok didn't like labels and Somin didn't like commitment— and now they're stuck in this gray area where they're attracted to each other (obviously... since Hoseok likes to raid your shared apartment every now and then), but coming to terms on what their relationship is not apart of their so-called agreement.

And now Hoseok has suddenly grown the heart to take care of you after finding you one night with petals surrounding you, and suddenly that encounter at the night club and the constant doctor check-ups clicked.

Not that you hated him, but knowing how Taehyung and him are friends keeps you at your toes because the last thing you would want was for Taehyung to find out about your flowers. And it's not like he pities you either— he just feels that there was a moment where you were happy and he just wants you to experience that happiness again.

So, friends is where you think you and Hoseok lies— the one label that Hoseok doesn't mind.

"Well, tonight is your night to have fun! Come on, I drove straight here during my break just to invite you."

"Oh, invite me," you laugh. "Don't you have work? Like some business offer to worry about? Or, I don't know, planning a charity event you're hosting next weekend?"

Hoseok groans. "You make this difficult."

You pause and as you turn around to face his exasperation, you look at him with a teasing smile. "No one asked you to come here and beg me to go to a club to because tonight is one of those nights," you retort before he's groaning again. "Hoseok, I'll be fine. I just need some carbs and a some sleep and tomorrow everything will be okay. Stop worrying."

"It's because I worry that I'm not letting you do that."

"That's sweet. Jung Hoseok worries about me and my well-being," you surmise as you notice that you were getting on his nerve. "I think you know me enough to know that I'm capable of my own."

You give Hoseok a glance while you open the door. He had a crinkled, frustrated look and you couldn't help but snort at him. "Why can't you just go? For me?"

Giving him another smile, you shook your head. "Because I don't want to."

If you had known that you were going to have to go anyways just to pick their Hoseok and Somin's drunk selves up, then maybe you wouldn't have gone through that constant banter with Hoseok. Because when you wake up to 5 missed calls and 32 drunk messages from both Hoseok and Somin, you begin to curse yourself for not thinking that you would actually get to sleep through the night.

You're blindly grabbing at your glasses, giving yourself sight to turn on the light. It was 2 AM and here you were, grabbing a jacket and a pair of shoes to take a bus to the damn club.

Knowing Hoseok, he probably drove there again. The first time was an accident and he ended up drinking to where you were called and had to drive his car back to your apartment. The second time was just a dependent mechanism where he knew he had you and of course, you would drive down there just to make sure they got home safe.

Before, you just wondered why Hoseok didn't just call his chauffeur, but he complained about how he can't afford to be seen leaving a club with Somin and into his well known car— and abandoning Somin alone wasn't the move either.

Arriving at their usual club, Pandemonium, you wave at the bouncer who had known you for the multiple times you were here for your sake and for Hoseok and Somin's sake. He lets you in easily, and you were suddenly in a complete wake when you hear the loud music and piercing bass and the smell of alcohol in the air. It was all familiar, but no longer your cup of tea.

You'd always look at the bar first, but it was empty except for a girl who was downing a round of shots in front of her. And then the dance floor was still packed, filled with strangers who blended in with each other. And then the VIP area where Hoseok had easy access to, but knowing Somin, she probably wouldn't have gone there due to it being on the second level.

Instead of looking thoroughly in a place that made you unsettlingly queasy, you depart to the nearest bathroom, knowing the way to it with ease even your drunken mind could make its way to the closest toilet to throw up anything remaining in your stomach.

As you go in, you're, surprisingly, introduced to an empty bathroom, with the music being muffled the second the door closed behind you. You dig your phone out of your hoodie to immediately text Somin where her and Hoseok were followed by her many text messages of "pick us uppp!" or "can u pick us up pls??!1".

Texting her with annoyance because it was 2 AM and you couldn't find them the first round of gazing around the club, you were then interrupted with the sudden slam of the door and hurried shuffles of someone who was in urgency. You look up from your screen and peer at the mirror to see the same profile of the girl at the bar taking too many shots to count push at the nearest stall. It didn't take you long to realize what she needed to do by the way she clutched her stomach.

Admittedly, you were curious and you wanted to help. You couldn't stand the sound of her stomach being forced to empty itself and not one person was accompanying her to help her.

You cautiously open the stall door to see her form lurched over the toilet, throwing up her entire guts. As you near her, you realize that they weren't the unfortunate image of her lunch or bile— they were actually flowers.

They were blue poppies.

Silently, you kneel down at her height, gather the fallen strands of her dyed hair that looked red under the scarlet light and held it back as you use your other hand to pat her back gently.

This was probably a familiar sight in another's eyes. And by another, you mean Somin.

It had been two months since you and Taehyung had ended things in an abrupt and open-ended note. You and Somin were at Hoseok's that morning as he insisted you and Somin just stayed for the night of the after-party. You remember drinking an endless cup only to black out in a room by yourself, and then to wake up in the midst of the party dialing down. Jolting up from the couch, you struggled to stay steady, fighting through the people in front of you as you ran to the bathroom and immediately embraced yourself for the foul smell of your guts.

But as you began, you didn't stop. And what even came out of your mouth wasn't something you entirely expected because as you had taken a tiring pause, you blinked at the toilet bowl filled with flowers. And you thought it was your imagination, until you reached out to pick a petal up.

White chrysanthemums.

And that's where Somin comes in to see your whole body collapsed against the toilet bowl as you leaned your arm with your cheek against it. And though your eyes were barely open and everything was a drunken and nebulous haze to you, the look on Somin's face as she found you and your flowers had hurt you to the point where ever since then, it was easier to suppress your flowers to save others— your parents and Somin— pain and worry.

If there was anything you knew in your life, it was and will never be your intention to make people worry or have them get hurt. You've felt enough of that to know how it feels.

Once the stranger had finished the last wave of her flowers, you watch quietly and remorsefully at how she had pushed away from the toilet, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

She was beautiful even with mascara and eyeliner running. She had some glitter on her eyelids and cheeks, and her berry lipstick seemed to smudge all over her lower face, but it was no doubt you probably looked similar to that the first night you threw up your flowers.

"Thanks," she sighs meekly.

You offer her a smile. "Are you okay?"

Scoffing playfully, she glances at you with a smile. "Never been better."

You laugh along as well. "How long?"

The girl with glitter on her face fixes her posture and sits up properly against the tiled wall. "Had it for 2 months," her lips curls. "Getting the surgery tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Shouldn't you be resting for it?"

"Nah. This'll probably be the last time I'm ever going to party depressed. Gotta make the most out of it."

You nod, admiring the girl as you held your knees close to your chest. She seems about your age, maybe a little bit younger, and so far, a little bit wiser for taking the choice to remove her flowers yet make memories of her last depressed partying.

"How about you? What are your flowers?"

To that, you scoff playfully. "White chrysanthemums. Had it for 2 years."

"Shut the fuck up," she looks at you, her stained lips parting in awe. "2 years?"

You give her a slight nod.

"You're insane," blue poppy gapes, giggling loudly. "How the hell do you live like that?"

And for awhile, you've asked yourself that exact same question. The idea of "how" and the "why" stuck in your brain— not to mention your friends and your family asking the same thing constantly. And as always, there's an answer to the question that the universe created for you and it was—

"You just live with it."

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chimbbles · 5 years

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anybody ever thinks about doctor!hendery? because that’s the first thing that popped into my mind the second I saw him

T/W: mentions of blood, and I'm sorry I keep bringing up tetanus I don't mean to mock it or anything

it wasn’t a big deal, but the constant ringing in your head was getting harder to differentiate between a migraine and your incessant worries building up

days ago you were fixing up a shelf from ikea, your roommate having suggested you guys get a proper apparatus to house your various clutters

both of you went at it for the whole night, after coming home from a long day’s worth of work and neither of you denied the tiny spark of regret for getting something you can’t really handle at 1am in the morning

at last, the cheap metal frame is up, a job well done rewarded by crashing into the couch and dozing off right there

morning came and the shelf was thoroughly forgotten, even with its huge size propped right in front you

the effect of the iconic, “I’m late for work”

throwing yourself off the couch you ignored your hard work and skidded past absentmindedly, until it reminded you with a nasty gash in the shower

if your pinky toe was stinging in the water, it felt way worse when soap ran down your body

you had to stop and check, clenching your teeth at the act of rinsing off the soap to get a good look, and voila

a fresh cut just below your cuticle, long and crimson till it reaches the joint

you definitely don’t have time for this

so you slap on some antibacterial cream, stick on a band-aid and call it class one first aid with 5 minutes till work starts

the day was: bad

not only you had to run, your shoes covered your wounded toe and you honestly doubt it does more to protect rather than harm it

your boss was obviously not impressed, and you’re stuck with a self appointed adult detention with a foul, cold sandwich titled gruesome lunch; at the set venue of your cubicle

having been reminded by the constant ache on your toe, you made it a point to text your roommate, informing them you two had built a death machine

they, however, took the joke a little too literally, and from the moment after lunch, they kept texting you to get it checked out

“what if it’s tetanus?”

“you could die from an infection!”

“are you sure the cream isn’t expired?”

“did you apply it properly”

“get it checked out you might be at risk”

and that’s why you’re here man no pun intended

where once again, things weren’t this serious, and were blew out of proportion

your self appointed detention unfortunately lasted for days, long as your boss was happy, and your punishment was a huge project with a short deadline

you pulled overtime for a straight 3 days now, and the projects almost there, just one day left

the all-nighter you suffered through proved efficient when you finished the project at near 5am in the morning, rumours of company ghosts no longer scare you when you roam amongst them as a comrad

your zombified limbs pack up by themselves, brain too damaged from the cups of coffee chugged down your throat at the ungodly hours

your roommate’s nagging makes its appearance again, buzzing through your brain like a broken record

“you could have tetanus, it’s metal!”

you remember there’s a hospital on the route back home, so why not? staying up longer it doesn’t quite matter at this point

the reception desk threw a fit when they heard you connect the words ‘tetanus’ and ‘a few days ago’

that’s how you end up in line at the ER, instead of the intended clinic visit

it’s eerily chilly, with the bland white walls staring back at you

without you knowing it; the whirring of the busy machines and clinking of metal appliances lulls your tired figure to sleep, head leaning back and mouth open in a silent snore

“oh my goodness they blacked out”

“we need help here!”

within seconds your body was hauled onto a stretcher and pulled away in a whim, straight into a private room with an unsuspecting doctor

“came in saying they might have tetanus and the wound’s a few days old. ER’s full from a car crash and they just blacked out in the hall,”

“temperature’s rising, I think the fever started to set in, if you could take a look first dr.wong-”

“sure, sure”

‘dr.wong’ rounds the edge of his table to plant himself beside you, and you think the only regret you don’t have for the night is seeing his handsome face

he reads the thermometer before plucking the pen lodged at the opening of his white coat,

“okay, I need you to focus on this pen, follow it with your eyes, alright?”

of course he doesn’t wait for your agreement before waving the pen in front of you, and your slow brain can’t receive stimuli that well while it’s raving on caffeine

“I’m getting slow response, fetch the vaccine now,”

one of the nurses hurriedly leaves the room, leaving one to stay and help the doctor,

he picks up the stethoscope from his desk and plugs the two ends into his ears, “alright, I need you to breathe for me,”

“and check the wound, please”

the nurse nods and springs into action, and your brain-- finally-- comes back to life

your grab the hand that’s holding the metal plate with both of yours, surprising him and making him go wide-eyed

but what do you say???

it could be tetanus but you don’t feel unwell at all, and you really, really don’t want a pissed off nurse to glare at you for the false alarm

also, you don’t want anyone to look at your ugly toes

“are you okay? does it hurt?”

the nurse stops taking off your shoe at the mention of pain, and waits for further instructions from the doctor

you bite down the embarrassment for your lame excuse, and gesture roughly to your throat, “....water”

they both share a concerned look, before the nurse moves and heads towards the door with a “I’ll be right back doctor”

now that you’re left with him alone, you feel less anxious about the whole situation, and sit up properly to talk to him

“I don’t have tetanus,”

you can see him processing your words before he lets out a hearty chuckle, “having tetanus isn’t illegal or contagious, we won’t throw you in quarantine,”

“no, no, I told them I don’t think it’s tetanus, it’s merely a cut from metal-- yes, but it’s not infected or anything, I just came here for a confirmation,”

he pauses to mull over your words, before taking off your shoe and tugging at your socks,

“I’m fine, really, I think this was a mistake-”

your socks successfully comes off, and he’s tentatively ripping your band-aid off, trying not to provoke the wound any further

when the wrapping comes off, he’s not too impressed by his present, which you think he fully expects a nasty, nasty wound, with yellow mucus oozing out from the opening and rotten flesh scent-- instead of a clean, clear, thread sized cut

“and I didn’t black out, I’m just very tired and the coffee’s not helping,”

he looks up from your foot and seems so confused, so you do him a favour to explain at the best your brain allows you to

by the time the nurse is back, you two had ran through a quick summary of your activities for the past few days, and her cup of water is the perfect solution to a real, dry throat

“patient does not have tetanus, a false alarm, but they’re still gonna require a shot, just in case,”

he gestures to your foot and she looks fairly annoyed, but says nothing at the presence of a doctor

she excuses herself to help out outside, and dr.wong sits back at his desk to wait for the vaccine, while you lay your head down to rest

“I think she hates me,”

he laughs, “nah, we just haven’t had a tetanus case in a while, I think she got too worked up,”

the other nurse comes back with your vaccine, and helps clean up your arm for the injection, “you’re not scared of needles, are you?”

you can taste the amusement in the air, tension lifted and light in the air thanks to his teasing, “patient does not have an infection, but is taking a shot for proper measures, and the high body temp is caused from lack of sleep for days, and a slightly inflamed liver, does not require further care, but a follow up is needed in a month’s time,”

the nurse scribbles your prescription while he stabs your arm with the long needle, and you try your best not to panic

after the nurse leaves the room, you two are left alone once again, and the ambiguous question hangs in the air, “am I allowed to leave now?”

he peers up from his book, “yes, but it’s 5:37am now, and my shift ends at 6; if you could stay a bit longer,” he trails off,

he senses your confusion and hurriedly explains himself, “I’m trying to avoid having breakfast with someone, and I’m no longer needed for emergency cases, it would be nice to have some peace and quiet,”

“you could take a nap-- I’ll wake you at 6,”

“can you put in a good word for me with the nurses?”

“deal.”

“can we eat breakfast too?” words kind of jumbled up from your fatigue

he takes a bit longer to respond, and by the time he does, you don’t hear it-- having already fallen asleep on the white stretcher,

“sure, that’ll be nice.”

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fuwafuwamedb · 4 years

Text

The Treasured Dragon (Saber! Gil, Hakuno, Gil Collective)

“You know, it surprises me.”

Archer and Enkidu both looked over at the woman nearby, watching her frown at the doorway nearby. Her book was lowered at the moment. Her attention seemed focused on one door in particular.

The two servants glanced at one another before Enkidu shrugged.

“What’s on your mind, Hakuno?”

“I keep thinking that it’s weird with Saber Gilgamesh. Saber seems to get worried every time he sees little Gula. This morning she gave him coffee and he nearly dropped the cup.”

The woman glanced over at the two of them, shaking her head.

“I’m sure it’s probably just odd to see one of your selves having kids, but his reaction was a bit more than Rider and Ruler’s responses. I thought there might be a reason behind how he acts.”

“I doubt it,” Gil Archer replied, setting down a few cards and watching Enkidu laugh. “The only thing that’s ever on Saber’s mind is simply bedding anything that moves. He’s an atrocious version of me… I wouldn’t go near him if I were you. I have stated that before.”

“You have.”

The man turned those eyes to her. “Then you should listen better, Hakuno, and stay by my side.”

Still, it just didn’t sit well with her.

Saber had been dodgy with her since the start.

He was still very insistent, very bedroom friendly. He was good and pulling others to his bed and getting them under him. Between the smooth talking, the bedroom eyes, the lip nip he did when he was in the mood, and his arms wrapping around a person; it was incredibly difficult to turn him down.

“I’ll be back,” she told the two, heading from the room.

The man was sharpening his sword when she entered, his eyes drifting over to her only to pause.

“Is there something you need… master?”

I really want to know why you never really call me Hakuno if we’re alone.

She couldn’t ask that though. Instead, she just smiled a bit and moved to sit down near him on the bed.

“I came to see you. Gula said you were a little awkward this morning.”

“She imagined it.”

His attention returned to his weapon.

Considering that Gula was their child, she had no doubt in her mind that she could notice things far more easily than most. Along with that, she knew Gil enough to know that he would rather entertain himself with a person more than anything else. Even when they were doing something or on a mission, Gilgamesh paid great attention to those around him.

Saber’s eyes were focused on his blade.

Right.

“I was thinking that you and I could go train a bit in the rayshift. I’ll let you pick the place,” Hakuno offered.

“Hmm?”

Those red eyes lifted, staring at her.

The hyperfocus had her hesitating a moment.

“You and I could go train… anywhere in any time.”

“What about the others?”

She gave a small shrug.

Whatever was going on in his mind, he needed time to beat some enemies up. Gudako wanted more materials anyway. This way, they could kill two birds with one stone.

The man opened his gates, tossing his blade in before he stood up.

“Alright, but you must remain at my side the entire time.”

“I have nowhere else that I would rather be.”

He hesitated at that, a small smirk playing on those lips a moment before he turned and headed for the door. The two of them were heading down the hall, all the way to the command room.

His hands went to the computer keyboards for a small spell, his typing filling the room as Hakuno found herself giving the restroom a quick try. When she came out, the man was waiting, leaning against the door.

“Ready?”

“I am.”

The man motioned into the room.

“You’re going first,” he told her. “I will follow after you in a moment.”

“Are you sure?”

“I must make sure communications and everything works for being able to get back to Chaldea.”

That… was quite a smart way of doing things. Maybe they should have grabbed someone to watch the monitors. Then again, whomever they got to help would be quick to tell the other Gilgamesh where she’d gone.

This also could have been about trust.

I wouldn’t put it passed Gil.

“Let’s head out then.” She gave the man a smile before moving into the other room.

“Hakuno!”

The man hurried after her a moment, handing her a set of odd gloves and boots.

“They’re meant for you to wear.”

Yeah… She could gather that.

Gilgamesh waited as she changed her shoes, handing him hers and testing the new shoes out gingerly.

“These are a bit…”

He glanced her way, making her stop before she said something foolish like that they felt uncomfortable.

They’re for one go around.

She’d tell him when they got back.

Hakuno waved him off, watching him leave her in the room. She placed her gloves on and frowned more at the needle-like parts in the things. Actually, looking a bit closer, it kinda felt like there was mana in these-

The moment the machines began to whir, she could tell something was going on. The machines were never this loud. The shoes and the gloves suddenly tightened a moment before she felt herself being shifted to their target location.

Pain shot through straight to her mana circuits. Mana poured heavily into her system, knocking her from her feet and onto the ground.

Her breakfast was lost as she felt a wave of nausea hit her system. She peeled off the gloves and shoes immediately, but that did little to help. While there were no longer needles piercing her person, there was still the mana.

So much mana…

She could barely breathe. The mana needed to be used.

There was nothing else she could do but use it somehow. If she could just have an enemy or-

“Breathe,” a familiar voice purred. “You need to breathe. Let yourself create as many flowers as you need.”

Flowers…

Like Merlin?

Hakuno glanced over at Saber, watching him as he rubbed her back.

“What… what did you… do-“

“I gave you the mana that you were missing. My Hakuno had much more mana than you. She also had memories of this world, but one cannot have everything, I suppose. We are here to retrieve something important to me.”

Important?

“The key to your treasury… is in my room… in Chaldea.”

The man laughed, shaking his head.

What the hell was he after?

“Breathe, Hakuno. The mana will not kill you.”

He did not know that.

Essentially, he’d shoved a thousand needles into her, injected gods only knew how much mana into her system, and now was pretty much telling her to walk it off.

“We should get the others.”

“You don’t need them.”

Like hell she didn’t-

Saber sighed, hauling her up into his arms and carrying her along the grassy plain. They moved to a small cottage and found the man smirking softly.

“…What?”

The smirk vanished. “It’s nothing. We should hurry. I imagine he is probably in here.”

He?

Gilgamesh was knocking on the door though, finding the place opening and the woman inside pausing.

“…It’s about damn time.”

“Is he-“

“Sleeping. I see you managed to save her.”

Saber said nothing, carrying her into the small place.

The woman at the door looked almost like Scathach… If it wasn’t for the black suit, she would have sworn it was her.

Hakuno turned her attention to the room and paused, finding Saber setting her on a cot in the corner before moving to the hearth.

His hands pulled the small bundle from the rug, pulling back the fabrics a bit to see the little one’s…

Was that baby Gula?

“Usumgal,” Gilgamesh murmured. “Did you watch over the mongrel here?”

“Watch your mouth,” the Scathach looking lady growled.

“Silence, Aife. I have no use for your nonsense… I saw your lover while I was away, by the way.”

“Eh, keep him. He’s no use to me.” Aife shook her head, yawning. “If you both are back, then I’m leaving. I’m sure my sister is being a fool in the mountains.”

The man waved her off, leaning in towards the small baby as Aife let herself out.

She wasn’t sure if she should say anything or remain silent.

“Hakuno,” Saber glanced over at her. “Come here.”

She tried moving. Her stomach hurt.

“Hakuno-“

“Can you bring her here?” Hakuno asked. “The mana infusion was painful as hell.”

Gilgamesh flashed her a look before standing up, carrying the little one over to her side and settling the little one into her arms.

“This is Usumgal,” he told her. “He is your son. Your eldest.”

He would be the youngest compared to the five she had in Chaldea, but she wouldn’t say that. Her eyes drifted down to the brunet, noting the red eyes.

Her hand brushed at his cheek a bit.

“Do not exert mana at him,” Gil warned.

“I’m not! I’m just looking at him. He looks like Gula.”

“My Hakuno went to fight Mordred in this time to protect the two of us. She thought she could either talk sense into the woman or kill her.”

“And?”

Saber glanced at the little one for a bit.

It must not have gone as well as one had hoped.

Her eyes drifted down to the infant, holding him a little closer.

“What does his name mean, if anything.”

“Dragon.”

“Dragon?”

Saber leaned in, smirking a bit as he bumped his head against hers a bit and looked at the bundle in her arms more closely.

“You described his kicking like a dragon getting ready to unfurl from your stomach and slaughter our enemies… and mentioned my temper was about as nasty as a useless creature like a dragon. The moment he was born, you used the word you got from me that meant dragon and tossed it upon the boy’s shoulders without a second thought. I tried many alternatives and you wouldn’t hear of it.”

“The name is cute.”

He rolled his eyes.

Dragon…

No, Usumgal.

She could probably have Saber keep the little one in his chambers at Chaldea. At this point, Chaldea was big enough that it probably wasn’t a problem.

“Saber,” Hakuno glanced over at the man. “Let’s go back… We’ll take Usumgal with us.”

They made it back in record time, leaving her to throw the gloves and boots that fell into the room in a trash bin on the way out.

Her stomach still hurt, but she moved slowly, letting Gilgamesh hold the small bundle in his arms.

“…You will get accustomed to the mana soon,” he told her easily enough. “Perhaps that will jog memories of what happened between us.”

Was that why he’d done-

She paused at a restroom, slipping through the door once more as another bout of nausea hit her.

She could hear Gilgamesh coming in behind her, standing by the sink.

“Your mother is no good with her mana right now, Usum. She’s going to end up learning how to control her mana after you.”

“I’ve never handled this much mana before,” Hakuno growled.

The man shrugged. “You did once. If I recall correctly, you had a voracious appetite to go with it.”

Voracious…

“You’re in front of our son!” Hakuno hissed.

“Never stopped you before.”

His eyes gleamed in amusement, leaving her to glare at him.

She had never, in any capacity, succumbed to those kinds of things with a ‘voracious’ appetite. She had a regular libido, unlike this golden asshole.

She doubted her other self was that way too.

“Hakuno, you’re making-“

The door was held open as Caster peeked in. The man’s eyes met Saber and his tiny infant.

“…What do you have there, Saber?”

“Evidence of Hakuno’s undying devotion for her favorite servant.”

She leaned over the toilet more.

I’ll just remain here with my head like this, she thought to herself. I’m not going to look back at Caster.

“Hakuno,” Caster’s gentle, deceptively calm voice purred. “Explain why there’s another infant in Chaldea with your hair color.”

#drabble #drabbles

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imagine-whore · 5 years

Text

I’m Captain America.

Plot: You came back from a very traumatizing mission that was given to you by S.H.I.E.L.D, and when Steve tries to help, you accidentally hurt him, but instead of leaving you, he wants to help you more.

Warnings: Abuse and torture.

Pairings: Steve x Reader

Author’s Note: Hey guys!!! It’s me, again. So uh, let’s all pretend this was around TWS because, come on, me making an imagine about grandpa Steve is just straight up creepy.

____________________________

You look at your arms and legs, all filled with cuts and bruises. You remember how the pirates tied you up and swirled the knife deep in your skin, not caring how much pain it caused you and not minding how loud you scream and cry, pleading them to stop.

I guess pirates don’t really take plea and begs, because they decided to have some “fun” with you until the money comes.

You feel the little tear your skin have on your neck, caused by them choking you using a chain. You relive every single experience in that ship just by seeing every wound imprinted on your body.

You lie down on your bed, throwing the book you were trying to read but couldn’t focus anyway down at the floor and closed your eyes in attempt to sleep.

Then they came. Those pirates came in again and you were back tied to that chair tightly, you were almost drowning in your blood and you’re close to not feeling your limbs anymore.

It’s not real. It’s not real, Y/N. Not real, it’s just your mind, Y/N.

But it felt real. You felt that it was real again. The pirate stabbed through your hand, and you wake up screaming. Your room, as you observed, is still the same. Lamp-lit, messy, and normal.

Fat tears start rolling through your cheeks and you were sobbing again. You hated yourself for being so weak, being so vulnerable, and you wanted to suppress this sob and sob quietly, but you couldn’t.

“Help, please, help me, help me, help me, help me, help... please help, I.. Steve? Nat? I need help please— I—“ You cry out, clawing your skin hardly until they draw blood. “One, two, three, h— help please!”

The door almost broke down as it flung open. Steve rushed to you, sitting next to you and help you recollect.

“Hey Y/N, I’m here, I’m here Y/N. You’re going to be okay.” Steve cooes, as he tries to hold you.

You were still spiraling down when you felt his arms wrap around you. Unable to respond correctly to affection, your body automatically went to punch him hard until he fell down the floor.

“Oh my god, Steve, I—“ You wanted to ramble and explain, but you couldn’t speak properly. In effect, you just made little sounds, inaudible. “Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve.. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, Steve, I’m sorry, I—“

“Y/N, it’s okay. I’m okay, all things.. considered.” Steve waves his finger around his swollen lip, and laughs. You manage to let out a small smile. “I’m Captain America. I’m pretty sure I can handle a sucker punch.”

“That’s not the point, you were trying— you were trying to, to help you know? I.. And I just— I just punched you. I punched— I punched Captain.. God this.. is so— I can’t do this. I never should’ve.. This is nonsense. I can’t even speak straight!”

“Y/N, listen to me. I’m here, I’m here to help and I’m here for you. Stop blaming yourself for what uh, happened.”

“I.. I can’t sleep. I can’t feel my arms. I can’t read. I can’t do anything, I can’t do— I can’t—“

“Let’s talk, but I can’t do that if I’m sleepy. I’m going to make coffee, and not sleep until we sleep together.”

“Steve, no, you can’t possible risk your health to—“

“I also risked my health when I injected heavy drugs in my bloodstream that made me look buff, Y/N. I’m Captain America. I’m sure I can handle a sleepless night or two.”

“You seriously need to stop using the ‘I’m Captain America’ card.”

“I’m Captain Am—“

“Steve!!”

That night wasn’t really pretty. Pretty isn’t really the word to describe it. But that night, you knew, that even if you were the ugliest woman on Earth or the prettiest one, even if you were stable or not, Steve would still love you uncontrollably.

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avengerscompound · 5 years

Text

The Tower - Chapter 20

The Tower: An Avengers Fanfic

Chapter 20

Series Masterlist

Chapters: one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve / thirteen / fourteen / fifteen / sixteen / seventeen / eighteen / nineteen / twenty / twenty-one / twenty-two / twenty-three / twenty-four / twenty-five / twenty-six / twenty-seven / twenty-eight

Word Count: 2662

Warnings: Smut (FFF threesome, oral sex, fingering, toy use, Wanda does stuff with her powers)

Synopsis: Wanda, Natasha and Elly have a girls night.

Author’s Note: Co-written with @fanficwriter013

Chapter 20 - Open Communication

Steve and Clint returned just fine. The worry was absolutely over nothing. When he got home, I punched him in the arm and told him not to scare me like that. He pulled me into his arms and held me against his chest, resting his cheek on the top of my head.

“I’m so sorry for scaring you. I just wanted you to know.” He said.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and breathed him in. “I guess I’m going to have to get used to the whole ‘going out on missions’ thing, aren’t I?” I said into his chest.

“Well, the good thing is there are eight people here you can talk to when you’re freaking out. We’ve all got your back.” He said. I looked up and he leaned down and kissed me softly. “I love you, Elly.”

“Love you too, Steve,” I said with a smile.

The missions were tough. It was one thing when it was just one or two of them, but when it was all of them I had trouble doing anything. My work suffered, my stomach was constantly in knots, and I couldn’t sleep. I ended up seeing a therapist. It wasn’t until I started, that I realized how badly I needed it. Not just for the stress of losing them. I was in a relationship with eight people. Eight superheroes who were famous, and could absolutely never come clean about the lives they lived because of the expectations society put on them. It was surprising how much that had been weighing on me. Having someone objective helping me and just listening to me was a godsend.

One of the issues I had was coming to terms with the fact that Tony kept throwing money at me. I was fine with the way he spent it on himself or the others, but if he came to me with anything more than a t-shirt the first words out of my mouth were ‘Tony, no.’

It was something Tony had trouble with too. He had the kind of money that spending it was nothing to him. He could buy and sell companies without a thought. So buying me a piece of jewelry or a little Knick Knack was nothing to him. Having someone balk at the way he showed affection was painful for him too.

One day he came into my apartment while I was sorting out my finances. Mostly paying off the different debts I had accrued since I ran away from home.

He dropped down on the couch next to me and draped his arm over the back of the couch behind me. “I thought we could go out.” He said.

“Yep, just give me a minute,” I answered, giving his thigh a rub.

Tony looked over my shoulder at what I was doing. “Is that how much debt you’re in?” He said, dragging the computer over to him.

I snatched it back so I could continue doing what I was doing. “Some of it,” I said going back to what I was doing.

“I can take care of it for you.” He said pulling out his phone.

I took the phone from his hand and put it on the coffee table. “Tony, please.”

“What? It’s nothing. Let me do this for you.” He said, picking his phone back up again.

I moved my computer away and put my hand on his phone. “Okay, time for some open communication. You ready?”

“Oh shit. What did I do?” Tony groaned.

“Nothing. Nothing.” I moved his phone back to the coffee table and took both his hands in mine. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So, out in the real world, you have a lot of fans. You may have noticed that.”

“Who can blame them? I am Tony Stark.” He teased.

I chuckled and kissed the back of his hands. “The term ‘sugar daddy’ gets used a lot out there. I just… don’t want you to ever think that’s why I am here. I don’t want you to think I only care about you for your money. You could go bankrupt tomorrow and I’d still want to be with you.”

“No. That’s just… No.” He said, looking at me shocked. “I have never thought that about you. I want to be able to look at something, go, El would love that and be able to buy it without you freaking out that I’m spending too much on you. I make a ridiculous amount of money. I might not ever be able to say… I.” He coughed like he was trying to clear his throat. “Love.” He paused his eyes darting around the room. “You know? But I can buy you stuff. And stuff that is you, and that you’ll like. It’s as much part of my thing.” He tapped his temple.

I felt the threat of tears about to happen, and I wiped under my eyes with my fingertips. “Uh oh.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not yelling at you. I don't…. this is… I have…There are…” He rambled. “I have my issues. And one of them is the not verbalizing. And the other is the showering people with stuff for the not verbalizing.”

I pressed my head against his chest for a moment. “There’s something else,” I said. “It’s going to be hard to hear, and it’s harder for me to say. You ready for it?”

“Okay.” He said quietly.

I sat back and looked at him. “So you know how my dad is a complete piece of garbage right?”

“Yes.” He said, the word tinged with suspicion.

“I know my dad loved me. You know how I know that? Every time he physically hurt me he would make up for it by buying me something. When I was a kid he broke my arm, and the next day I got a new pony. When I was sixteen I bought my girlfriend home and he dislocated my shoulder. The next day he gave me a new car.” I explained.

Tony looked at me for a moment and then wrapped both his arms around me and pulled me against him. “Shit. Fuck. I’m sorry.” He muttered.

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t do that to me.” I said, snuggling into his chest.

“I just… I don’t… I can’t…” He stammered.

I sat back and looked at him. “I know why you do it, Tony. We’re both in the bad dad club here. But please know this, I’m trying. I’m trying to be okay with it because you aren’t him, and that’s your way. I get it. I just… please know you’re enough. Without the money, you’re enough. Without saying the words you’re enough. I know how you feel about me and what you do is enough.”

He pulled me into a hard kiss his hands going to my hair. I cupped his jaw and ran my hands through his beard and down his neck. He pulled back and leaned his forehead on mine. “I love you, Tony,” I whispered.

“I - You… I.” He stuttered.

I put my finger to his lips. “It’s okay. Don’t force it. Now, I think we’ve pushed this emotional stuff far enough. We need to inject some snark.”

He laughed and kissed my cheek. “Dork.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard.” I joked pulling my computer back towards me.

“You’re gonna let me pay that for you now though right? Since we’re both trying now?” He teased picking up his phone.

“Tony!” I yelled, shoving him.

A few days later, Wanda, Natasha and I had our girls night. We could only convince Natasha to do it if it was in her apartment. So Wanda and I went to Natasha’s apartment in pajamas and laden down with alcohol, popcorn, and candy. I somehow even managed to get Natasha to sit on the ground in front of me so I could braid her hair while we watched a movie.

“There is not enough vodka in the world for this,” Natasha said taking a drink straight from the bottle.

“Don’t believe her.” Wanda teased. “She’s loving it. Every time your fingers touch her scalp she gets all shivery.”

“Wanda!” Natasha yelped and jumped to her feet. Wanda scrambled over the back of the couch and Natasha launched herself at her. Wanda’s hands went up and she caught Natasha mid-air with her powers and they both broke down into laughter.

Wanda placed Natasha back on the floor and they both took up the spots where they were sitting in before. I went back to braiding Natasha’s hair.

“Hey Tasha, can I ask you a question?” I asked.

“Of course, Mishka,” Natasha replied.

“How come when you are with me alone, or when we’re with Steve or Clint you’re at least a little bit domme, but with Bucky not at all?” I asked.

Natasha tilted her head back so it was on my lap and she was looking up at me. She sighed. “You know how I’ve told you about the Red Room? Where I grew up? What they did to me?”

I nodded. It was not a topic she brought up often. It was grisly and awful and made my childhood look quite pleasant in comparison.

“James was there too,” Natasha said. “Well… not James. The Winter Soldier. I saw what they did to him. I know what he’s been through. I see him now and I just can’t do that to him. He’s never asked. So we just… play a different game.”

I leaned down and kissed Natasha on the forehead and she reached up holding me in place as she brought her lips to mine. Our tongues circled together and when I pulled back she dragged her teeth over my bottom lip.

“You don’t do that domme stuff with me either,” Wanda said.

Natasha, turned around shaking her hair so that the braid I’d been doing fell loose, she crawled up onto the couch like she was a cat stalking a mouse. “That is because you are my little záĭka.” She purred.

Wanda giggled and wrapped her arms around Natasha’s neck. The two of them kissed. Wanda couldn’t stop smiling through it. When then broke apart Natasha sat back between both Wanda and me, and we curled into her. “If I am your bunny and Elly is your mouse, what does that make you?” Wanda asked.

“I am the fox and I am going to eat you both.” She said.

“That sounds like a sweet deal,” I said, nuzzling under her neck and placing slow open mouth kisses on her throat. Natasha chuckled and ran her fingers up and down my back.

“That is lisichka in Russian?” Wanda asked.

“That’s right,” Natasha answered. She leaned over towards Wanda and teased her lips over Wanda’s.

“In řomani čhib, it’s veshen jukkal.” Wanda said.

They kissed again and I reached over and ran my hand up Wanda’s thigh. Natasha’s hand went to Wanda’s head and she brushed her hair from her face before cupping her cheek. “I think we should go to the bedroom. What do you think, my sweet girls?”

“Sounds good to me.” I agreed, getting to my feet. Wanda and Natasha followed after me and we stripped our clothes off as we went dropping garments like a trail of breadcrumbs from the living room to the bedroom.

Wanda and I climbed up onto the bed and sat at the bedhead with our knees pulled up against ourselves waiting for Natasha to follow us. She stood at the end of the bed looking at us. Her deep red hair spilled over her pale shoulders in stark contrast. “You girls start without me, I’ll be right back.”

Wanda and I turned to each other and started kissing. As we kissed we wriggled down and tangled our legs together. The pink glow of Wanda’s energy projection engaging swirled over her fingers and spread over me. It wasn’t focused on anything, just a general tingle being added to my skin making my hair follicles stand on end. Our hands trailed over each other with no particular aim. We just wanted to touch as much as we could.

Natasha returned to the room with a handful of toys, she climbed up on the bed and spooned me from behind kissing a trail over my shoulders. She reached over me and began to knead Wanda’s breasts. Wanda and I broke our kiss and Wanda and Natasha began kissing over my shoulder. The buzz became more focused, teasing my nipples and flickering against my clit. The same must have started happening to Nat too because she let out a soft hum.

I kissed a trail down to Wanda’s breasts and sucked a nipple into my mouth. I pressed my teeth on it and flicked my tongue over the top. Wanda made a squeaking sound and I smiled against her skin and kept moving down. When I reached her pussy I spread her folds with my fingers and ran my tongue up them. The intensity of the buzz increased and I whimpered against Wanda’s cunt. I began to flick my tongue, starting with just tiny kitten licks on her clit. There was a shift of bodies around me and I rolled over so my head was between Wanda’s leg and every lick went from her clit down to her entrance. Natasha lay so she formed a triangle between Wanda and I. Her mouth went to my cunt as Wanda began to lap at Natasha’s.

The room began to fill with the sounds of our moans and whimpers as we each gradually brought the other to orgasm with our mouths. The buzz Wanda created continued to tease us. It vibrated against my tongue as I flicked it over her clit and dipped it inside of her. Wanda and Natasha seemed perfectly in tune with each other and me. Like they could read every twitch and moan. So when I felt that pressure in my core push down on me, threatening to break, Wanda’s walls began to clench and flutter against my fingers. When I came so did Natasha and Wanda. The room filled with the sound of us, and I drank up Wanda’s juices as I lapped through her orgasm.

When it passed through us we moved back up the bed, this time Natasha picked up the toys and handed one each to me and Wanda. They were each vibrators, one red, and two slightly different shades of purple. All three meant for g-spot and clit stimulation and each a little different to each other. We lay down and turned the toys on. I held mine against Natasha’s clit and began to kiss Wanda neck. Natasha began teasing Wanda’s pussy with her vibe and latched onto my breast while Wanda began using her vibe on me and placed small kisses along Natasha’s collarbone.

We became a tangled mass of mouths and limbs. Fucking each other with the vibes as our mouths explored the rest. We marked each other to the point that it was hard to know who caused which bruise. There was no timing involved with the toys. We just kept bringing each other to orgasm again and again until eventually we were all sweating and trembling and our voices were raw.

“Stop. Stop.” Wanda croaked, taking the toy from me and pushing Natasha away from her. We all stopped and collapsed down into a panting mess of limbs.

“I lost track of how many times I came then.” I panted.

“I think we all did, Mishka,” Natasha said and pressed her lips to my temple.

Wanda hummed and rested her head on my shoulder. “Girls night is fun. We should do this more often.”

“Yeah, everyone knows that boys have cooties.” I teased.

Natasha and Wanda laughed. “You’re such a dork,” Natasha said.

I hummed and gave them both a squeeze. “Mm… I know. I love you both, too.”

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