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jeonqkooks · 1 year

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kyoho | ksj

You love your grape boy, and your grape boy... well, he might just love you a little too much.

pairing: seokjin x f!reader

rating: pg13

genre/warnings: established relationship, swearing bc when is there no swearing in my fics, mentions of seggs, suggestive themes, fluff, crack?? idk, my brand of fics is Unedited y'all know that's how we roll

word count: 1.8k

notes: i've been buying a lot of grapes lately (am i a grape person now??) and i've been eating them almost every day and of course i had to think about grape jinnie my beloved, my ultimate favorite seokjin and i want him to come back to me :((( idk that's how this lil thang came to me lmao it's the most crackhead shit i've ever written sOoOoOoOo please laugh or else ! 👿 jk but not really

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

"If you do this, we're done."

"Y/N."

"I swear, if you go through with this, we are over!"

Seokjin sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, clearly not expecting you to be so passionate about the subject at hand. "The appointment is in an hour," he says.

"Cancel it. I don't care!" you cry. "Please don't do this. Don't take him away. He means the world to me."

Your boyfriend stares at you, mouth agape, then points to his head incredulously. "Him? My hair?"

"Yes!" You crawl over to his side of the couch to straddle his lap, actual tears welling in your eyes. You run your fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft and silky it feels in your hands. His gorgeous, gorgeous purple locks. The ones he's ready to sacrifice in favor of half blond, half red hair by demand of one Jeon Jungkook.

You shouldn't be this upset over him dyeing his hair, but you are, despite knowing full well that the purple will be gone soon anyway. His dark roots are starting to show already.

It's shark week, and there are not enough words in the dictionary to express how devastated you are that he's taking away your emotional support Grape Jinnie.

A couple months ago, when he told you that he'd be dyeing his hair purple, you were highly skeptical of the decision. You didn't know if he had the face to pull off purple of all colors, even though you had already seen him sport every other color of the rainbow and absolutely rocked every single one.

The whole week leading up to his salon appointment, you teased him endlessly - started calling him Grape Boy, bought him box after box of Kyoho grapes, photoshopping Kylie Jenner's purple hair onto his head and making it your lockscreen... It was mostly just grape puns, you were really milking that whole thing.

But then he came home, hair freshly bleached and colored, and your jaw dropped to the ground and stayed there for ten whole minutes.

Your eyes almost fell out of their sockets from how good he looked.

No, he didn't just look good. He was stunning, breathtaking, mindbogglingly beautiful and all the other synonyms that one could name.

The man fucking ate and left no crumbs.

That night was one of the best sex you two have ever had.

To say that you were obsessed with this shade on him is the understatement of the year.

"Don't do it," you plead. "If you really love me, you won't do it."

"You're being so dramatic. It's just hair." Seokjin puts his hands on your waist while you keep yours on his head, clutching his strands like a lifeline. "Plus, I have to honor the bet!"

Your expression turns stony then, as your eyes travel from the silky purple down to his face. You tighten your grip on his hair and tug on it sharply until your boyfriend is scowling in discomfort.

The bet. The stupid fucking bet he made with Jungkook.

You had explicitly told him there no chance in hell that he could win, but Seokjin could be an overly confident asshole sometimes.

He was in way over his head, and now you're the one suffering.

"You idiot," you hiss, pulling on his hair again, "why the fuck did you think you could do more pushups than Jungkook?"

"I don't know! We were tipsy and it seemed possible at the time!"

Releasing his hair, you tuck your face into the crook of his neck and inhale deeply.

"Why am I being punished for your actions?" you mumble against his skin, then you ask, voice full of futile hope. "What if you just... don't do it?"

"Then I have to buy him a new mattress. He cut his mattress with scissors to make it fit into his bed frame and now it's all fucked up."

You give yourself a minute to think. There has to be a solution to your distress. You just gotta think. Think, brain, think!

And then you remember. Seokjin is still a man.

You lean back to look at him properly, straightening your position on his lap. You give him your biggest puppy dog eyes before you say, "I promise I will blow you every day from now on if you keep the hair."

If he was drinking water, you're fairly certain that he would've choked. Your boyfriend's eyes widen in surprise, his skin turning a dozen shades warmer, blushing from his cheeks all the way to the top of his ears.

Bingo.

"What?" he asks, like this is something so scandalous.

You lean forward to pepper kisses all over his face, putting more weight on your offer. "I promise," you say, pecking his cute cheek, "to blow you," then his forehead, "every single day," then his nose, "from now on," and finally his lips.

You linger near his mouth, not pulling away just yet. Your lips brush against his once more until you feel his hands tighten on your waist. You wrap your arms around his neck to hold him closer as you press forward, giving him a proper kiss to seal the deal.

Seokjin practically melts underneath you. Victory is so close that you can taste it. You're doing this for the greater good of mankind, for Grape Jinnie. Jungkook can fuck off with his half seasoned, half fried bullshit.

But then, Seokjin abruptly rips away from you to shriek, nearly blowing your eardrums out. The suddenness of his movements almost make you tumble off the couch.

"No, don't try to tempt me! Mattresses are expensive as fuck!"

It's been a few hours. He should be back any minute now.

Ever since Seokjin left to go to his hair appointment after having to peel you off of him because you were clinging to his body like a goddamn koala, you've been wallowing in your misery. You even busted out the big guns - Ben & Jerry's Peanut Butter Cup ice cream (with real peanut butter cups!) - to help you through this difficult time.

You're in full grieving mode now. Goddamnit. Fate is a cruel mistress.

Or in this case, Jungkook. Jungkook is a cruel mistress. That fucking guy.

When you hear the door open and the subsequent clanging of Seokjin's keys as he hangs them on one of the hooks in the entryway, you prepare to give him the biggest pout you can manage.

But then, he comes into view a few seconds later, and you gasp. You actually gasp. Before he knows what's happening, you're rising from the couch and sprinting toward him, launching into his arms with the biggest smile on your face like a kid on Christmas morning.

"You're still a grape!" you squeal joyously.

Seokjin lets out a surprise Oof! at the sudden force of your body knocking the breath out of him.

"What a warm welcome," he mutters. "I don't think you've ever been this happy to see me."

"What happened?!" you ask, eyes wide, grin even wider. "Did you change your mind because you love me so much?"

You run your hands through his hair to make sure that it's real, that you're not hallucinating this because you just love the purple so goddamn much.

And it is! It's still here! His hair is still that luscious shade of purple that you adore with your entire being.

Seokjin eyes you for a moment before he says, "I compromised with Jungkook. Did something else instead."

"What did you do?"

"I got a tattoo."

"You what?!"

"He said I wouldn't have to dye my hair if I got a tattoo of his choosing."

"Oh, no," you try to sound sympathetic but fail miserably. You cover your mouth with your hand to hide your smile, already sensing the absolute crackhead chaos that will ensue in a matter of minutes. Having been friends with Jungkook for years, you know that dude comes up with the craziest shit sometimes.

Seokjin turns around and pulls up his shirt, and you almost die from the fit of ugly snorting laughter that immediately rips itself free from your mouth. His skin underneath the transparent cling film is still slightly red, but the letters adorning the expanse of his lower back is clear as day.

You cannot find it in yourself to blink, not when the black ink is just staring at you like that. The font, so formal and classic, and yet the content of it... what a contrast.

"Kim Seokjin!" you wheeze, wiping tears from your eyes and struggling to catch your breath. "How could you possibly think that this is a better idea than to just dye your hair!"

"You begged me to keep the hair!"

"I did," you agree, clutching your stomach as giggles continue wracking through your whole body. It's almost painful at this point. "But I don't want my boyfriend to have a tramp stamp that says fucking Chicken in Times New Roman!"

"It was either this," he says, turning back to face you, "or a sketch of his head on a chicken's body."

"What is up with him and chickens? Is that his new thing now?"

"I don't fucking know!"

"Well, thank you for doing that for me," you say appreciatively as you pull him in for a kiss, which isn't very graceful because you're still tittering the whole time. "But please tell me that's not permanent."

Seokjin stays quiet, his eyes dropping to the floor, and you stop laughing immediately.

"Oh my god," you say. "Is the Chicken tramp stamp permanent?!"

"No," he finally admits after a moment of hanging it over your head. As funny as the whole thing is, you do not want the love of your life to walk around sporting the most ridiculous tattoo in human history. "It's supposed to fade after a month."

You lean into him again, heaving a giant sigh of relief and wrapping your arms around his neck. One of your hands go for his hair again, weaving through the soft locks with your fingers because how could you not? "I love you, Grape," you say, pecking his cheek with a grin.

Seokjin rolls his eyes affectionately, but returns a peck to your own cheek. "I have a tramp stamp of the word Chicken and my parents might disown me for that, but at least you get to keep your Grape Boy," he says, making you giggle again.

"Because you love me so much, right?"

"Hmm. You're lucky I do."

You give him another kiss, one full of gratitude, for indulging your antics. When you move to return to the couch, Seokjin tugs on your wrist, pulling you back into him.

"Now correct me if I'm wrong," he says, acting all coy and shit, "but I recall you making me a promise earlier, no? What was it again?"

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sehtoast · 26 days

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Hii! Id like a request!

Could you perhaps do a scenario where the reader gets stranded at an airport (Perhaps with panic attack)?

I'm experiencing this currently and thinking about Homelander is helping, Somehow

i'm so sorry you had to go through that anon ❤️ homie has an odd way of making life's woes suck a little less. apologies that this took as long as it did (and also i've never been in an airport before so idk if this is even the right vibe adfkljdfk), but i hope it's still enjoyable and i hope your airport adventure ended happily.

Oh, if you thought it couldn’t get worse, you were so wrong.

Cancellations across the board, a raging snow storm outside, disgruntled people everywhere, and far too much noise for your overloaded senses. This is what you get for flying out to go see a friend in the dead of winter.

It wasn’t like you could call an uber to the nearest hotel, either. Pretty much nobody was going anywhere in this storm, and you’ve been here for hours now. God, you should’ve picked a morning flight, but you just haaaad to sleep in.

Eventually it started getting to you.

You’re alone, surrounded by angry people, in the middle of fuck knows where, with no guarantee of getting home or if your ticket is still going to be honored and–

You don’t even notice your breathing growing frantic until it’s overpowering and all you can do is hug your knees and try to stay calm–

You reach for your phone and send off a text to the one person who would maybe be awake at this hour.

God I’m fucking stuck here and I miss you and I don’t know what to do.

Your chest feels tight and your mouth is dry. You hold your phone tight, cringing at the battery level.

7%.

You’d love to charge it, but the iPad parents are currently occupying every outlet in the area and if you hear one more child scream because they couldn’t watch their damn skibidi toilet videos–

It buzzes and you unlock it like a madman.

Told ya you should’ve flown air-Homelander.

You smile, warmth trickling in to fill your otherwise endless pit of anxiety.

It would’ve been too cold on my face :( and you’d be carrying all my luggage. Besides, I couldn't ask you to fly all this way.

The next response comes almost instantly. Well, as instantly as it can with how slow he types.

Picky picky. Where are you?

In the lounge-ish area. On the floor, because I guess I picked the busiest airport in the world…

2%. You’re almost ready to snag one of those outlets and suffer the blubbering.

Shucks, that’s a bummer.

It’s not so–

You wince as your screen flickers, waves of sadness overtaking you in conjunction with that dreaded anxiety. Gone is your only lifeline, and it hits you that you’ll have technically left him on read too. You should’ve told him about your battery– fuck, fuck, fuck.

You hug your knees again and shove your useless earbuds in, hoping to dampen some of the noise. It doesn’t work, and you can distinctly make out the sound of a man loudly demanding a full refund.

You try to imagine Homelander. What tales would he have for you once you returned home? How much trouble did he stir up while you were away? Probably the usual, but… you were supposed to see him tomorrow morning when you got home.

God, that thought makes you ache for home even more.

You shut your eyes and attempt a nap.

You try and try to sleep to no avail. Just when you think you might get a wink of rest, you hear audible gasps and shouting. Your eyes shoot open, expecting the absolute worst, but all you see are two imposing sets of red boots.

“You forgot to text me back,” he says nonchalantly.

Tears of joy bite at your eyes as you look up, and you all but launch yourself off the ground and into his arms.

“M’sorry,” you mumble against him. “Battery died.”

“Mm, if you say so. I feel like this was all part of your elaborate plan to get me here.” Homelander pulls away just slightly to look down at you, a twinkle of sympathy in his eyes- a very rare sight. “Well, I know I can’t fly you home, because you’ll turn into a big popsicle, but… there is a hotel nearby and you do deserve a nice place to lay your head.”

Your heart feels so warm it could melt the blizzard outside.

“You just gotta tolerate a little cold.” He grins, winking at you. “And air-Homelander doesn’t have delays. No luggage fees either.”

You throw yourself back into the hug, squeezing him with all you’ve got.

“You’re the best,” you whisper in his ear.

“Yeah, I know.” He replies, uncaring of the spectacle you two must be. “Now let’s get you cozy.”

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander fanfiction #antony starr #the boys #request

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prolix-yuy · 1 year

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Rising Phoenix

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian offers a gift greater than he imagined.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: M, allusions to sexual acts, some heavy petting, flirty banter up the wazoo, minor injury treatment, hand kink, hand worship, plot? Plot. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: Is this an excuse for me to put all of my favorite things about Mando into one story? Yes, yes it is. Including making fun of that tin can man's ridiculous fashion choices.

Takes place after If the Moon Walks Out.

Cross-posted on AO3

I Think of You Series Masterlist

Mando is hiding something from you.

If anyone on the outside was looking in, they’d think the opposite. They might even say he’s being more open than in months. After the bite and subsequent breakdown (which you’re still a little embarrassed about), Mando started showing you how he runs the Crest. Walking you through a takeoff sequence, demonstrating what the other buttons along the cargo hold walls do.

(you didn’t know there was a button to close Mando’s cramped cubby)

(might come in handy when you want a little privacy)

You were appreciative at first, until Mando started disappearing in the evenings with no warning or explanation. One minute he’d be feeding the child, the warm thrum of your cavewoman brain revving up -

(he wiped the child’s mouth with the edge of his cape and you had to go take a breather in the kitchenette)

- the next moment he was gone, up in the cockpit or down in the hold, wherever you’re not. A whiff of solder sometimes wafted by, or the clunk of metal on metal reached your ears. You’re curious, endlessly so, but if there’s one thing you would not betray, it’s the trust Mando has finally given you.

(he’ll come to you when he’s ready)

Instead you prepare food and tidy the hold and read on your holopad until he returns, either to bid you goodnight with the child tucked into his arm, or to put him down before sneaking back to you, large hands on your hips a precursor to his hushed question:

“Can I have you tonight, Mesh’la?”

(more often than not your nights end with him inside you)

But as the days continue, another bounty on the horizon, your treacherous mind begins toying with your insecurities. The next planet wasn’t far but Mando’s taking his time, making short hops instead of fast travel. When you questioned it, the threat of Imps and blaster residue in your nostrils, he said it was to show you how to hop in and out of hyperspace.

(the holopad full of calculations makes your head spin)

(you hold it like a lifeline)

“Mando, I appreciate you taking my feelings to heart, but moving this slow…aren’t we tempting our luck?” you finally asked, legs crossed in the jump seat when Mando pulled out of hyperspace yet again.

“I’m willing to press it,” he replied, “but not much longer. Tomorrow we land.”

“Could have landed three days ago,” you said, goading Mando to turn to you. He cocked the helmet, which still managed to thrill you, and leaned back.

“I thought you enjoyed my company,” he said, the tease making you smile. “You certainly did last night.” Your face turned molten as you played up a salacious gasp.

“That was a low blow, Mandalorian, you won’t get many more nights like that if you use them against me,” you scolded, biting back a bigger smile when Mando stood up to tower over you, cocking his hip.

(what you wouldn’t give to leave a mark on the flesh there)

(make him wear it under the armor)

(your own symbol of devotion)

“That’s an empty threat,” he said coolly, making you roll your eyes before he tucked his knuckle under your chin, swiping his thumb over your lower lip.

(a Keldabe kiss is one thing)

(this kiss is only for you)

“Only a little longer, Mesh’la. I promise it’s worth it.” he said, quieter, and you nodded, wrapping your hand around his wrist. One squeeze before he moved to the cargo hold.

“I was going to show you how to dump the waste reserves today,” he called up the ladder as he descended.

“Oh thank the Maker, the suspense was killing me!”

You chased his huffed laugh.

An arid planet comes into focus, the child perched in your lap as Mando begins descending into the atmosphere.

“We’re a day early, bounty’s not expected to be on world until tomorrow,” Mando says as the Crest leans into entry, hull shaking against the heat as it skims over the bubble-like surface of the atmosphere.

“What should we do until then?” you ask, lifting the child a little higher so he can watch the descent. “Looks like a dry planet, Bean, no frogs for you.” His trill of disappointment makes you wonder, yet again, if he understands you more than the energies you assume he’s reading. The thought is dashed from your mind as you focus on Mando’s technique, riding the curve of the planet until gravity begins to tug you down in your seat. The Crest dives like a much more graceful bird than her silhouette, weaving through clouds and pockets of rougher air as a stretch of open land surges up to meet you. With a gentle lurch (good job landing Mando), you’re back on solid ground and the child is chirping at his father.

“Yeah kid, we can go outside. We’re far out, should be safe,” Mando says, directing the last part of the sentence to you. As you make your way to the ramp Mando calls down.

“Wear something warm.”

Your head cocks at the request.

“It’s a desert, I’ll cook alive.”

“Trust me.”

You exchange a look with the child, who lifts and drops his ears in as close of an approximation to, “Beats me.” You shrug on a long-sleeve shirt (one of Mando’s old ones, you still covet a few) and comfortable boots. Giving the button a slap, you wait for Mando by the cargo ramp as hot air blows into the hold.

“I don’t agree with your opinion on the climate,” you call back, turning when his footsteps near. “I think the armor’s skewed your perception of heat.”

“You’ll need it for this.”

In Mando’s hands is a harness, leather straps reinforced with thick thread along the seams. A hefty buckle centers in the loops, which attach to the baffling item in question.

(a jetpack?)

Mando has his on too, clasped into the backplate of his armor. This secondary one is more beat-up, yellow and green paint flaking off in places. It hangs heavy, the straps gathered in one hand as he lifts it to you.

“It’s old, but it works fine. Used to belong to Cobb Vanth,” Mando says, shifting a little as you watch him with parted lips. Your eyebrows raise briefly at the name of the Mos Pelgo Mandalorian you ventured to meet when (your) Mando was still among the stars. The jetpack, however, and all its potential holds your attention.

When you don’t say anything, Mando continues. “The Rising Phoenix is calibrated to my vambrace, but this one could be programmed to a…” He trails off as you step closer, shifting the child in your arms to reach out and finger the leather strapping. “Is this okay?” he finally asks, low and quiet as you feel the T-visor burn along your cheeks.

“You made this?” you finally say, barely registering Mando taking the child from you so you can inspect the rig. “This is why we were taking so long?” you breathe out, realization warming you.The stitching is tight and neat, the soldering clean. It even looks like he tried to remove some of the flaking paint but gave up. He shrugs briefly.

“Makes sense for you to use it. It’s likely to draw attention. But if there’s trouble, it’s fast,” Mando says, his body language cautious right now. He must have been nervous at the proposition, anticipating your apprehension, but you feel anything but. This hunk of junk repurposed to protect you is a greater gift than he understands. It makes you break out into a dazzling smile.

“This is karking amazing!” you shout, the child joining in as you turn over the rig and inspect it from all angles. Mando’s chuckle sends tingles down your spine, and when you meet the visor again you can imagine a bashful smile gracing his face.

(a face you’ll never see, but dream of all the same)

“How do you…” you start, holding the jetpack to your chest like a child on Life Day.

“A desert planet with nothing to do seemed like a good place to teach you,” Mando says, sauntering down the ramp, the child’s ears bouncing. Your heart hammers into high speed while sweat beads along your hairline.

(you’re going to fly today)

Mando takes an especially long time to walk you through the components of the jetpack, how it works and what each part does. You’re barely containing your excitement, hovering over his quick-moving hands and nodding endlessly.

“What’s this for?” you ask, pointing at a cylinder in the center that looks empty. Mando shakes his head.

“That’s for another day, Mesh’la, today we’re flying,” he deflects, and you don’t push. The possibility of being weightless, suspended in air the way you’d only experienced in dreams, was a much greater distraction.

“Do you have the controller?” Mando asks. You flash the metal gauntlet on your wrist. It’s just as cleanly built, a small series of buttons that do the basics. You’ve ridden speeders with more complicated controls. Though speeders barely leave the ground.

“Ready?” he asks, holding the straps open for you to slip into. You flash him a bright smile before turning around, shouldering the bulky machinery like a school bag. It settles on the center of your back, Mando fussing with the chest clip and adjusting the tension of the straps.

“This needs a real harness, but for now it’ll work.” Mando slides his fingers under the restraints to test their tautness. “It won’t distribute your weight, so no long trips. You’ll bruise up.”

“I can handle a few bruises,” you challenge, a coy smile melting onto your face as Mando slows his pacing. He tips the helmet in, tugging on the central buckle once more.

“Cheeky,” he purrs before stepping away, typing something into his vambrace. You twist and test the harness. It’s a comforting level of snug, the kind that makes you feel made of durasteel. The child, left to his devices during the suit up, pats at your calf.

“Am I looking cool, Bean?” you ask, doing a quick spin for giggles. “I need a cape like your dad to go…with…” You trail off, a wicked little smile replacing your coy one. “Hey Mando,” you call out innocently, drawing his gaze. “Did you always have the Rising Phoenix?”

He tilts his head with some hesitancy.

“No.”

“So when we first met, you didn’t have it.”

“No.”

“And I remember you having quite the impressive cape back then.”

“I’ve always had…”

“And now it’s a little, you know. Worn. A little tattered. Maybe a little…burned.”

Mando stares you down and it takes all of your effort not to lose it.

“Do you…wear the cape when you’re flying, Mando?”

He shifts from one foot to the other.

“It takes a lot of work…”

“Oh my Stars, you do!”

Mando shifts into what you’ve come to call the Exasperated Stance, hands on his hips, shoulders squared, helmet tipped back.

“It’s easier to…”

“Mando, you are going to set yourself on fire, you kriffing idiot. I can see the scorch marks!”

Mando advances on you, and you skip backwards. Your hands fly to the controller on your wrist. It’s easy to psych yourself out thinking about flying, but with Mando stalking your way, your pounding heart could be attributed to that.

“Mesh’la…” he growls, but with little fire behind it.

(unlike the amount of fire he’s definitely set to that useless piece of fabric)

“Mando…” you mimic, hand dancing over the gauntlet like a gunslinger about to draw his weapon.

“Stop it.”

(perfect)

“Catch me and make me,” you taunt, taking off into a real run. Mando’s footsteps falter, then pick up speed behind you.

(now or never)

You press the short series of buttons to ignite the jetpack, your speed masking the initial jolt of thrust when it catches.

“Wait!” Mando shouts behind you. For a moment you do feel bad for the plaintive plea threading his shout, but adrenaline kicks in and if you do this right, you’ll be flying.

(if you do it wrong, well, you’ll just have a bruised ego…along with a few other places)

Three more long strides and the thrust lifts you off the ground, a disbelieving laugh following. Your feet dangle uselessly as you lift off, the wind in your ears drowning out further shouts. Faintly you hear another roar of ignition, Mando likely to yank you back out of the sky, but euphoria is all you can absorb. The drop in your stomach evens out as you slow your climb, easing the throttle until you’re hovering about fifty feet off the ground. You kick your legs, heat kissing the back of your thighs reminding you to be careful. Below, the sable sand and rock stretches like a rolling canvas, the undulations of hills and sharp creases of mountains in the distance shifting perspective as you absorb beauty at a height you’ve never known.

“Are you crazy?” Mando shouts, zipping into view right in front of you, broad beskar body blocking out the horizon you were just admiring. The startle makes your finger slip, and you drop ten feet fast, Mando’s hands chasing you. Regaining control, you zip away from him.

“I’m getting the hang of it!” you laugh back. His posture is rigid as he flies close behind, more disciplined with technique. You’re just happy that you haven’t crashed face-first into the hard packed dirt yet. Below the child watches you weave around, little hands raised when you zoom overhead. Narrowly avoiding Mando when he reaches out, no doubt to slow you down or scold you further, you speed up with the barest recognition that this is probably a bad idea.

“Look at this Bean!” you shout down, wobbling your shoulders back and forth until you discover how much sway banks you left or right. It doesn’t feel real, like you’re flying in a dream, even though the wind whips past your face and the straps pull painfully against your ribs.

(it feels like freedom)

A flash of silver glints in the corner of your eye and Mando is pulling up beside you, one hand clamping down on your bicep.

“Enough. Land,” he shouts, but for the first time in ages you feel light, like every care on your shoulders was left in the dirt. You don’t want to touch down and let it crawl back up yet.

Plus, it’s been too long since you sparred with Mando.

The controls are surprisingly intuitive, though considering he made them for you might that speaks to his intelligence. Or insight. But now he must be cursing his thoughtfulness because you speed up and up, the weight of his armor lagging him behind. His grip loosens and you spin away again, testing how quickly you can change direction. The dance continues, Mando’s hands coming close, his voice lost to the roar of the packs and the wind whipping against your cheeks. You push him back, kicking him in the chest once and feeling a little bad about it.

He finally yanks you down by your ankle, flipping you so the propulsion shoots you towards the ground. Righting yourself more nimbly than expected, he barrels into you and digs his fingers into your waistband.

“Stop. Teasing.” The growl is heavy, but even he can’t hide the winded excitement of the chase under the vocoder. You’re sure if you palmed him now he’d be hard.

(jetpack sex)

(no way, that’s how idiots go about dying)

“Make. Me. Mando,” you pant, hitting a random button on his vambrace. Thankfully it just stutters his jetpack, grip slipping enough for you to wriggle out. You want to see if you can do a loop, entertain the child below, fly along the horizon the way you’d always dreamed of when two desert suns set on your planet.

The jetpack lurches hard against you. The ever-present heat skirting down your thighs lessens. Something smells like chemicals and smoke.

(out of fuel)

(DANK FARRIK)

All the elation building in your chest freezes to terror when gravity pulls you, but before you can shout Mando’s hands jam under the harness, wrenching you to his chest as all your gravity-defying stunts fizzle out. You thud your forehead against his paudron as he lowers you back to solid earth, talking yourself down from the brief heart attack. Once your feet touch down you back away, Mando’s grip easing as you sweep sweat and dust from your forehead.

“Thanks for the rescue,” you mutter, cheeks hot with embarrassment before you turn your attention to the little green child hurrying his way over. “How’d you like the show Bean?” Kneeling down, he practically tumbles into your open arms, clawing his way up to your face to pat at your cheeks. “I’m okay buddy, had the time of my life up there thanks to…” Looking over at Mando you can almost see the frustration wafting off him in waves.

(kriff, you really pissed him off this time)

“Okay, how about we pop you in here and send you back to the Crest while I get a lecture,” you murmur as you tuck the child into the silver pram and send it scooting. The child looks back once, concerned ears perking, but turns back around when you wave him off. Mando’s footsteps approach heavily, scuffing in the dirt. You sigh, scrubbing a hand over your face.

“I’m sorry…” you start to say, ready for the harsh reprimand you’re sure is coming.

(how can you explain the wonderful gift he just gave to you?)

“Why didn’t you listen to me?” he says, dangerously low. His shoulders are tight, forehead almost pressed to yours. You can see how intimidating being on the Mandalorian’s bad side could be.

“I was…” you try to say, the emotionless visor following your gaze. The horizon, sparkling with midday sun, is where your gaze finally lands. “I’ve always dreamed of flying. I got carried away. I’m sorry.”

Seconds tick by as you wait for a scold, but it doesn’t come. Instead Mando sighs, and two heavy hands drop on your shoulders.

“You’re lucky I caught you,” he murmurs, squeezing briefly. You bring your eyes back to the smoky T-visor and quirk a wan smile.

“Seems like I’m always falling for you.”

(would that be such a bad thing?)

Mando stills, then cradles your cheek in his hand. The cool kiss of beskar on your forehead raises goosebumps despite the desert heat.

“Mesh’la,” he groans, “don’t tease.”

“Not teasing now, Mando.”

A rumble in his chest burns straight to your sex.

“Yeah? You’ll be good for me?”

(oh kark)

Mando twists you in his arms, back to front. The jetpack puts too much bulk between you, making you have to bend at the waist, but it’s immediately evident this is exactly what Mando wants. He palms your hips, dragging his hand up to stroke your stomach before sliding down to cup you over your pants.

“You want this?” he asks, but he’s already kneading at your mound, the heavy swipe of his fingers through your clothes sparking heat in your cunt.

“Mando…” you choke out, hands coming back to grab at his narrow hips. You’re unbalanced and clumsy against his unyielding stance. “The child.” His little silver pod is ascending the ramp into the Crest. Mando chuckles.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be quick.”

Your cunt clenches, ripples of pleasure as you scratch your nails into the rough weave of his pants. The jetpack tugs against your chest and you realize he’s using it as leverage to pull you back into him.

(jetpack sex jetpack sex jetpack sex)

“Feel what you do to me, Mesh’la. All the kriffing time.”

Your hands scrabble behind you, fumbling between your bodies.

(give it to me)

(all of it)

(all of you)

Mando shifts, jostling your body a fraction to the side. There’s a sudden white hotness against your arm and you cry out, jerking against his hold.

(the exhaust pipe)

The jetpack is still cooling down, hot rings of metal that just touched you at the worst possible time. Mando’s grip disappears immediately, the press of his body against you suddenly gone.

“What happened?” he says, and the vocoder can’t hide his concern. You twist your arms back up by your face, straightening back to standing. There’s a small welt, hot to the touch. You’ve barely inspected it yourself when Mando’s familiar orange-tipped gloves take your hand into his.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, careful not to touch the mark but still holding your arm so gently.

(oh Mando)

(never)

“Just touched the exhaust, nothing a little bacta can’t fix,” you say breezily, but you know the moment’s passed. Mando’s already leading you back to the Crest, and you follow begrudgingly.

(trust you to ruin some of the hottest foreplay with an injury)

The child burbles at your entrance, hovering the pram over to where you sit at the table, injury outstretched on the durasteel. You turn your arm to touch the burn against it, offering a tiny sliver of relief from the dull throb. Mando bustles into a cargo cubby, pulling out the medkit you’d put to good use barely a week before. A packet of bacta gel, and the Mandalorian, settle across from you.

“I promise, I’m okay,” you say with a lopsided smile, reaching for the bacta. He snags it up first, motioning for you to reveal the burn. It’s halfway up your forearm, the flesh rising.

“I know,” Mando says before tugging at the tips of his gloves.

(Maker)

The last time you got to watch this ritual closely (not clouded by lust or in a frantic scramble) was when he stood at the foot of the bed in Joeken’s inn. You’d admired his wide palms, his thick fingers, how capable they looked. There’s much there you remember, but age and circumstance changes all. There are more scars along his knuckles, callused and rough. He almost glows in the artificial lighting, a deep golden tone forever under his skin. Being able to savor it screams of transgression.

“Let me,” he says, breaking you from your reverie. You extend your arm into his reach, the scratch of his well-worked fingertips tracing the injury. He squeezes a small amount of bacta onto the burn and works it in with two fingers, the touch featherlight and gliding. Mesmerized by the methodical strokes, your other hand drifts to the back of his hand, your fingertips sliding over the smoother skin. His fingers falter as you both watch the slow advance of skin on skin.

“Mesh’la,” Mando breathes. You start to retract, afraid of an overstep. “No, it’s…” he stutters out, “It’s okay. Just not…used to it.”

(touch him until he forgets what it was like to go without)

Bacta application forgotten (or completed), Mando cups your injured hand, tracing the lines in your palm that supposedly speak of your future. You let your own wandering touch linger along the mountains of his knuckles, slip along the veins and raised injuries, before resting on his wrist. His chest hitches like he’s in pain, or something much sweeter.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks, now holding your hand between both of his.

“No, much better,” you answer, leaning when a flash of black catches your eye. Your mouth and one eyebrow quirks up. “Who gave you that?”

Mando turns his wrist, a black tattoo - two rings around a dot - appearing on the webbing between his thumb and pointer finger.

(target)

“Paz. A brother in arms.”

You stroke over it, no discernible texture.

“Did he give you more?” you ask cheekily. The child hovers closer to inspect his guardian’s ink, tilting his head and softly cooing.

“You’ll have to find those yourself,” he says, the edge of sass in his voice making you giggle. You move to pull away but his hands wrap around yours, warm and gentle for implements of such bloodshed.

“I never want to hurt you,” he says, much quieter. The vocoder almost loses his consonants. “If I ever do…”

“Hush,” you scold, leaning over the table to meet the visor. “It was an accident. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of them.” The stillness in his posture twists your stomach.

(he’d be devastated if he harmed you)

“You could never hurt me,” you say. Mando tilts his head, the sentiment too simplistic. But all of its meanings fill the silence.

(you would never do it purposefully)

(I’ll always forgive you)

(I would rather be hurt than without you)

With molten slowness Mando leans over your arm, raising it between you. You think it’s to inspect the burn, see that the bacta is working, but he just stares at it for a long moment. His hand drifts to the edge of his helmet, aimless and lost. When you touch him again he snaps back, standing up quickly.

“I have to make some preparations for tomorrow,” he squeezes out, taking a half step back. His movements are sluggish, quickening only when he strides away.

“Thank you, Mando,” you call as he mounts the ladder. He gives a nod, tugging his gloves on before climbing the ladder into the cockpit. The child hovers by your side, looking up at his retreating father figure before reaching up to you.

“Been a bit of a day, hasn’t it Bean?” you say, lifting the child out of the pram. The warmth of his touch lingers, the images of his hands holding yours only a blink away.

The baby yawn is all the answer you need.

In the cockpit, Din leans down and braces his hands on the console, trying to slow his pounding heart. He’s been inside you, why was letting you touch his bare hands more intimate? He’d had to cover them up to stop reliving every caress, the way your eyes roamed along the only bit of skin he’d allowed you to observe. His face burns with self-consciousness but also the thrill of your exploration.

But as much as that all excited him, it was that final moment that drove his heart into his throat and made him feel lightheaded. Because he held your hand and looked at the burn - an injury he caused, however inadvertently - and let a fleeting thought grow wild in his mind.

Kiss it better.

Something his mother would do with a scraped knee or a bruised finger.

Kiss it better.

Those three words grew from a whisper to an ocean roar as he considered how your skin would feel under his lips. If he could lift the helmet just enough to touch but not for you to see.

That wouldn’t risk his Creed.

Yes it would.

He crushed the desire down, left you behind a little more confused than before, but safe and cared for in his ship. Safe with the child and with him.

You could never hurt me.

You’re right. Din would never, could never bring harm to you. But some days, like today, he can see how much harm you could do to him. With your bright smile and open heart and patience, you could destroy the Mandalorian.

But from those ashes, Din Djarin could grow.

A flashing light grounds him as he flips on a holo-message. A halo of messy curls and a sassy expression glows to life, the dull scrapes and whines of a working hanger in the background. Din cocks his head as the message plays.

“Mando! Long time no see! Not that I miss that hunk of junk ship of yours. Well, I do miss the credits it brings in. Anyway, I’ve got a lead for you. You wanted those, right? About the Mandalorians? Got a client who may know where some are. The info’s not for free, I’ll fill you in when you get here. Bit of a time crunch, though, so you better shift that rust bucket into hyperspeed. You’re her last hope.”

Peli Motto’s image fizzles into static, and a blanket of duty settles back on Mando’s shoulders. A mission long paused. An outcome he comes to dread more with each passing day. A galaxy that spun on without the three of you for a long while.

But there is much work still to be done.

END

Episode 11 of the I Think of You Series

#mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x fem!reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x f!reader #prolix fics #i think of you series

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hbowarbabes · 1 month

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Letter from a Lover

John “Bucky” Egan x Roxanne Vernon (OC)

Summary: As Bucky sits in his barrack watching as the others receive letters, he’s surprised to find out there’s one for him.

Words: 1.2k

• • •

Bucky sat in silence as he smoked his cigarette, staring out the small window at the snowy, barren landscape that surrounded the prison camp. The bitter cold air seeped through the cracks in the walls, chilling him to the bone. He longed for warmth, for freedom, for the sweet taste of home.

He never knew how much he’d miss Roxanne until now. He couldn’t just talk to her or take her out like he once did.

Roxanne was his lifeline, his safe space, his everything. Without her, Bucky felt like a man without a purpose.

As he sat, lost in his thoughts, a voice broke through the stillness. "Mail call!" a man called out, reading the names on each letter. Bucky didn’t think he’d be receiving anything from anyone.

“Okay. Uh, Murphy?” The man pulled one of the letters, handing it to the man sitting next to Buck.

“Finally.” Murphy took the letter.

“Murphy.” Once again, the man handed Murphy another letter. Two letters. What a lucky man, Bucky thought.

“Hamilton.

“Thanks.” From the other side of the table, Hamilton got up and reached for the letter.

“And Cleven.”

Bucky watched in despair as his friend received the last of the letters. That already confirmed what Bucky had been thinking. He wasn’t getting anything.

“Oh- there’s another.” The man rummaged through the box of letters in his arm, pulling out one last letter.

“Egan.”

Bucky couldn’t believe it. He slowly reached to claim the letter, still in a state of shock. His heart skipped a beat as the man handed him a letter with familiar handwriting on the envelope. Roxanne’s handwriting.

“That’s it, fellas.” The man, not having any more correspondence to hand out, left the cramped barrack and continued about his mail delivery to the other men.

With trembling hands, Bucky tore open the letter and began to read. As Bucky read, Roxanne's words seemed to leap off the page, painting a vivid picture of her life without him.

"Dear Bucky," the letter began.

“I hope this letter finds you safe and well, wherever you are. For the past few months, I thought I’d never hear your name again.

Recently, I was informed that you’re still alive. That’s the best news I’ve heard in months.

I know it's been a while since we last saw each other, but please know that you are always in my thoughts and prayers. I miss you more than words can express.

It hurts knowing that I don’t have you to keep me company or sing in that awful voice of yours. I never thought I’d have to say this, but I do miss hearing you sing.

The days seem to drag on longer than they should. Working at the clinic is the only thing keeping my mind off you. But even then, I still worry. Life feels empty without you in it.

Every day I find myself looking at our pictures and reminiscing about the beautiful memories we’ve shared. I can still feel your embrace and hear your laughter, and it always brings a smile to my face.

Sometimes I just feel so helpless knowing you’re probably suffering in some hellhole while I’m enjoying the luxuries of freedom.

My friends keep trying to convince me to go out. I did once. We went to the officers’ club one night, and I spent the whole night staring at the stage and the microphone, thinking back to the night we first met. It all feels so far away now.

There is something I’ve been wanting to tell you for some time now. I know this might come as a surprise, but I couldn't wait any longer to share this news with you.

I’m pregnant. You are going to be a father! I found out a few weeks after you left. Hopefully this news will cheer you up as much as it did for me.

I’m not working as much as before, but I’m still trying to be productive. Jean and Sandra are taking good care of me. They are always keeping an eye on me, maybe more than they should. It’s honestly pretty scary how they always know where I am and what I’m doing, but I know it’s all with good intentions.

As of now, I continue to count down the days until we can be reunited. I’ll write to you as much as I can. It’s all I can do to help pass time whenever I’m not working. It’s the one thing that makes it feel like you’re here with me even if you’re miles away.

You wrote to me, and now it’s my turn. It would only be fair for me to hold up my end of the deal. And it’s a deal I will take any day if it means I can keep your spirits up.

Please take care of yourself. I’d like for our child to have a father.

I am eagerly waiting for the day when I can see your face again.

All my love,

Roxanne.”

Bucky's heart nearly stopped as he read the last parts of the letter. Roxanne was pregnant, carrying their child. He felt a surge of emotions wash over him - happiness, fear, excitement, and a deep sense of responsibility.

As tears welled up in his eyes, Bucky couldn’t believe it. He had feared that the war would keep them apart forever, but now he had something to hold onto, a reason to stay alive and to make it back home.

He never thought someone like him would be able to have a future with a woman, let alone start a family. And now it was all happening. A part of him wanted to believe he was dreaming.

His friend Buck noticed the change in his demeanor and raised an eyebrow. “What’s got you smiling all of a sudden?”

All the guys looked at Bucky, eager to hear of whatever news got him teary-eyed.

Bucky looked up, his eyes shining with a mix of joy and apprehension. "I’m gonna be a father." he said, unable to contain his emotions.

The thought of coming home to not just Roxanne, but also their child filled him with a sense of joy. He couldn't wait to meet his child, to hold them in his arms and look into their eyes.

Bucky's mind raced with thoughts of how he would be able to provide for his growing family from inside the confines of the prison camp. How would he support Roxanne and their unborn child? Would he even be able to make it out of the camp alive to meet his child?

No. He couldn’t think about that.

As he tucked the letter away in his jacket, Bucky felt a renewed feeling of hope and resolve. He had to make it back home to Roxanne and their child, no matter what it took.

Knowing that Roxanne was pretty far along, and that he might not be there for the birth of his child hurt him like a stake in the heart. He felt terrible knowing that Roxanne would have to go through the pain alone. But like she said, she just wanted him to come home, and nothing more.

In the weeks and months that followed, Bucky held onto Roxanne's letter like a lifeline. He read it over and over again, committing every word to memory. The words on the paper were more than just some simple exchange. That was his future, all in that letter.

#mota #mota fanfic #masters of the air #john egan #bucky egan #major john egan #major john egan x oc #john egan x oc #bucky egan x oc

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fellthemarvelous · 4 months

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Let's talk about Maggie and Aziraphale

Once again, I am just screenshotting my tweets and posting them here because I have more to say and Twitter's platform doesn't let me talk long enough uninterrupted.

Make way for more unhinged meta!

I cannot get this idea out of my head, and before you tell me that I'm crazy, just listen. Okay?

I think Aziraphale looks at Edinburgh as his Greatest Failure™️ because humanity and Crowley both paid the price for Aziraphale's mistake. It was a night that shook Aziraphale's confidence in himself, and it was a clear turning point for his understanding of shades of grey. He learned a valuable lesson at a horrific cost.

There is no possible way he has forgiven himself for Edinburgh.

When you are supposed to be the epitome of good, every single failure that carries any sort of weight sticks with you for the rest of your life because of the overwhelming guilt that comes with it. As someone who struggles with Catholic guilt...

Trust me. I know what I'm talking about.

Why does Maggie have a connection to a pub called the Resurrectionist, located in Edinburgh not far from the Gabriel statue in the cemetery where Wee Morag died and Crowley was sucked down into Hell? The Resurrectionist representing both Jesus Christ and Mr. Dalrymple.

Why does Aziraphale insist on taking the Bentley to Edinburgh with him?

He's scared to go back, and he's not risking Crowley's life again by bringing him along, but he takes the Bentley because it's an extension of Crowley, it makes him feel safe, and neither Heaven or Hell care for material objects and won't end up separating them again. It's a lifeline to Crowley while he's doing something without him and ensuring that Crowley won't be able to jump in and save him at the last minute if things go wrong.

He's scared to go back but he was getting extra copies of Every Day from one particular location nowhere near his bookshop before he even heard Jim singing it in the bookshop. And all of this ended up bringing him back to the statue of Gabriel where it all went wrong the first time Aziraphale and Crowley went to that cemetery together.

But I think the connection to Maggie is Elspeth. I keep going back and forth between her and Wee Morag, but Elspeth currently makes the most sense to me. I briefly wrote about the idea of lost souls and second chances here, but I'm still on the fence about it.

We don't know what Elspeth did with Aziraphale's money, but we know it was enough to turn her life around. We don't know who Maggie's great-great-grandmother is, but she has been keeping a little corner of the bookshop to "sell records" for Mr. Fell since the 1920s.

But if you look at the record art for Maggie's bookshop, some of them include all their tracks on the cover and they are telling actual stories. I've talked about Maggie's record shop before on this post. I'm still not sure what I believe, but the idea of it being Aziraphale's personal records keeps sticking with me. He's been around for a long time and there is a lot to keep up with.

Why is it so important to him that Maggie gets to dance with Nina? He told Nina he threw the ball so she would see that Maggie is in love with her, the same way he was going to use it to tell Crowley he loved him, but he was so delighted to see Maggie and Nina dance together.

And Aziraphale's love for Maggie isn't one-sided because she stays behind to help him even though she's up against something more powerful than herself. She refuses to leave him alone. She might be annoyed that he was interfering in her love life, but he's always been good to her and is probably the closest thing to family she has (we only ever see Crowley, Aziraphale and Nina talk to her).

She said she "had" brothers. Past tense. She stands up to Shax because she's no longer scared of...something. Nina tells Shax that Maggie is the bravest person she knows. Maggie comes up with the idea to spray the demons with the fire extinguishers. It might have been silly but it proves that humans are ready to fight back using whatever tools we have at our disposal.

Why didn't we know of her existence in season 1? We saw Maggie's chattering nun die onscreen. Was she one of Adam's additions to Aziraphale's bookshop? Where did she come from? Does Adam remember her face from when he was an infant? Sister Mary Loquacious (formerly) told Aziraphale and Crowley that the nuns had been very good at keeping records, but they all burned in the fire.

But Adam got a very good look at the faces of Sister Mary Loquacious and Sister Theresa Garrulous. He was an infant but he was still the son of Satan.

So is Maggie an Adam creation? Is she somehow related to Elspeth's existence? Why is she so important to Aziraphale?

#good omens #good omens meta #crowley #aziraphale #maggie and nina #elspeth and wee morag #chattering nuns

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meimi-haneoka · 4 months

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{drabble} Somewhere I belong - Kaito/Akiho

This is the second Kaito x Akiho / YunaAki drabble that is paired with the first one I wrote from Akiho's POV. Please read that one first so you can have a better understanding of the situation!

The setting is the same as the first drabble, but Kaito's thoughts drift all over the place because....well, he's Kaito. He's been officially named as the "overthinker" by CLAMP so now I'm going to call him that for quite some time 😂

As you will be able to see, while Akiho thought to herself without problems that she loved him, you won't see Kaito thinking that, here. This is a very early stage of their new life and he's still far from acknowledging any of that, but he's starting to come to terms with things, at least.

This one might be a bit more angstier than the other one, again because this is Kaito we're talking about. His self-loathing won't disappear overnight. But I hope that the finale will comfort you, at least. ❤️

Once again, I'm not a native English speaker so forgive me if any line sounds weird!

P.s. Dandelion, thank you again! P.s.2 Yes, I also like Linkin Park 😁

Excerpt:

“I’m sorry...”, I blurted out, in a whisper. Every time we ended up in this situation, I would apologize. And she would never reply to it. Maybe an apology wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but I had yet to find out what were the right words to say.

Kaito's POV

I don't think I'll ever be able to forget it.

The way she looked at me when they told her everything, that night. The way she had slowly turned her head and kept her gaze fixed on me, while the British magician rattled off all that my plan had entailed, down to the way it had affected my body. He recovered all the previous memories, and he knew Akiho-san needed an explanation more than anyone else, but also knew I was in no condition (neither mental, nor physical) to give it to her. I could feel her gaze piercing through me, while someone was helping me sitting down, as I couldn't even stand up.

Her hands gripped tightly the tablet, shaking. Her blue eyes, usually crystalline and bright like the Caribbean Sea, darkened several shades and became like a raging storm. They once again glazed over with emerging tears, but she probably held them back, because not even one dropped.

And I felt so weak. My guilt, growing again by the second. I would've given anything to remove that hardened gaze from her and bring back the soft features I've always known. But you see, that was my problem. Giving everything the way I did before wasn’t the correct answer. And I had finally surrendered to the truth, that night. But I didn't know any other way. I simply didn't know how to express how important she is to me without pushing it to an extreme, and that was exactly how we came to that point.

I don’t know when exactly I started to hear that voice inside of me, telling me that I wanted to connect with her.

I could hear it every day, before I carried out my plan. Louder and louder and louder. Kicking and screaming inside of me. I tried to fight it for so long, forcing myself not to hear it. But when she asked Sakura-san to bring me back, and she stated that she refused to keep living a fabricated life, wanting to go back to what she had before with me, I suddenly grew so tired. So, so tired. I was exhausted. I didn't want to fight it anymore.

I've fought countless magicians ever since I was a little boy, and defeated every single one of them. People kept me at a distance for that. And yet, completely oblivious to all of that, she was the one who defeated me every single time. Even this time around, she won. She won over that brutal, devastating desire to disappear forever that had consumed my life to such degree. She won over my guilt and self-loathing that I, quite frankly, haven’t got rid of yet.

So here I was, now, clinging to her like a lifeline in the kitchen, while I waited to regain control of my breathing. I had tried to hide it from her, the first couple of times after I got back on my feet, following that fateful night. But she found out every single time and made very clear that if we wanted to live together from now on, this had to stop. I didn't know what to do with myself anymore. Why was I fighting it again? So I did as she requested, and by now, this was already the third episode of seizure she had witnessed.

I didn't know.... how any of this worked. But I wanted to learn. I wanted to try.

I was slowly starting to get it. Why I caved in and agreed to go back to her, that night, despite how confused I was and how much I still despised myself for making her cry like that. She made me feel wanted. Made me feel accepted. Made me feel like I finally belonged somewhere. I hadn’t realized how much I actually had yearned for that, all this time.

I thought I was nothing to her. I thought that she could've lived perfectly fine without me, without remembering anything of what we experienced together. Because, in the end, who was I? Just her butler. I embarked on that mission with the full understanding that I would've always been just her butler, and I played that part till the end at the best of my ability. An expendable tool to let her reach the happiness she deserved.

But I wasn't. I wasn't, and I couldn't see that. I could only finally realize it that night in the most harrowing way possible, causing that face I wished to see eternally smile to be tainted with burning tears, as she poured out all her pain. Pain that I had caused. This wasn't the kind of support she wanted from me, and I failed her terribly.

I was willing to do anything to make things right. So when she asked me, no, rather demanded to not be kept in the dark whenever I had one of my seizures, I had no choice but to comply. That was what she wanted, and there was no way I could refuse it to her.

But now that the medicine was finally starting to kick in, and my breathing stabilized to a more normal rate, I raised my head to look at her worried face and I couldn’t help but think how unfair all of this was on her. She was so young, and she didn’t deserve to withstand all of this because of my choices.

She helped me stand up and supported me all the way to the couch, where I finally laid down and released the tension from my stiffened muscles. Seizures usually left me completely exhausted and sore.

She sat down on the floor next to the couch, and we exchanged a long, wordless stare. Her eyes were again clear and bright. Before I drifted in a dreamless heavy sleep, I remember I felt so grateful to have her by my side. I didn’t deserve it. But the warmth I felt in my chest, contrarily to before, felt so nice. And I was pretty sure she was the cause of it.

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tenderyellowbluefics · 2 years

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For Whom The Bell Tolls

Summary: When Vecna's curse gets a hold of you, there is only one song, Eddie knows for sure could save you.

Warnings: Swearing, slight angst, fluff.

No specific pronouns are stated ;)

Any advice on my writing is welcomed and appreciated!

"Dustin? Wheeler? Anyone? Fuck!"

Eddie shouted, tossing the walkie-talkie to the side.

The crew has been gone for an unusual amount of time now, and Eddies freaked out. We were in the main house but ended up back in the boat house after Eddie heard a noise and got spooked. That noise was in fact a squirrel, but Eddie insisted on staying in hiding.

"Eddie," I started, reaching my hand to place on his shoulder, careful not to startle him, "I'm sure everything’s fine, Steve and Dustin are probably just arguing and can't hear the walkie."

"I don't know-" He started, then stopped, once he was facing me, and his once slightly worried expression became extremely worried. "Y/N, your nose." he motioned to my face.

I reached a hand up to touch my nose and felt a cold liquid coming from it. Looking down to inspect my hand, I discovered it was blood. My blood.

I had been having nosebleeds all week, I assumed it was due to the dry weather and my roommate's tendency to never turn the AC off, especially at night. But then the headaches started to come, followed by the nightmares. Terrible nightmares.

I tried not to think too much Into it.

I lifted my head to look at Eddie only to be met with an empty space he previously occupied.

"Eddie?" I called out, frantically looking around, afraid he might have gotten spooked and ran off again.

Then I heard it.

The chime.

I had been hearing it all week. I thought I was just going crazy. It was the sound of a grandfather clock. I knew that because when I was small my grandmother had one in her home. It was over 100 years old and ragged. It always made me feel uneasy, as if the hands of the clock were going to jump through the glass window and strangle me while simultaneously deafening me with the chime.

I shook my head, attempting to escape the thoughts, and peaked out the window, trying to see if I could see Eddie anywhere.

With no luck, I decided to venture to the house, hoping to find Eddie there. As I walked through the wooded area, every branch that broke beneath my step seemed to become louder and louder. It felt as if the tree branches were replaced with bones.

As I turned the corner of the house, my heart started to pound faster. As if I was walking right into my own doom. I creeped my hand out to push the half opened screen door open, and there it was again.

The clocks chime.

Only this time the chime was much louder than any other time before. My body went into complete shock as I heard a low voice growl the words.

“Y/N, It’s so nice to see you”

Eddie’s POV

I couldn’t understand what was happening, one-second y/n was trying to reassure me and the next she was standing frozen while her eyes rolled in the back of her head. She was doing the same thing Chrissy did before that thing killed her.

I couldn’t let that happen to y/n. I’ve been a coward my whole fucking life but for this once I had to do something. I couldn’t lose her to this thing.

But I didn’t know what the hell to do. All I could possibly do was cling to her body while crying and begging her to wake up, to not leave me.

Then I remembered something Steve mentioned.

When max was in the boat house her headphones were playing a song constantly on repeat. I asked why and Steve said when someone loves a song, it can be used as some sort of a lifeline from the upside down to the normal world.

I scrambled to grab y/n’s cassette player that was laying on the couch before dumping a bag of tapes out and spreading them across the floor. Frantically searching for one in particular, the one I knew would for sure be her lifeline.

I popped it in the cassette player and jammed the chord connected to the headphones into the headphone jack. As I rushed back over to y/n, I feared I was too late, as her body started levitating. I leaped forward, grabbing her and pinning her to the ground. With my one arm wrapped around her waist tightly, I used the other to place the headset on her head and hit play.

I buried my face in her neck as I started to hear the song bleed out from the headphones.

For Whom The Bell Tolls was playing.

Your POV

As the evil slimy creature picked me up off the ground, I could feel my life coming to a close. They say when you die your life flashes before your eyes. But all I could think about or see was Eddie.

His beautiful smile, his sweet voice. How he hated when I gave him compliments in front of people because his cheeks would turn the brightest shade of red every time. How badass he looked playing his guitar. And how I was leaving him alone and scared.

I let a single tear fall from my eyes as I closed them. Expecting to never open them again.

When I heard a chime.

Not the normal chime I’ve been hearing from a grandfather clock, the chime of a bell ringing.

I knew that bell anywhere, it was the beginning of,

For Whom The Bell Tolls

I was starstruck, I had managed to win tickets to a Metallica show and was standing in front of James, Kirk, Lars, and Cliff. The group of men who’s music I lived and breathed.

I was so distracted by the band that the fact I was in the middle of a mosh pit slipped my mind. My eyes that were once on the band, were now staring at the ceiling of the arena the show was being held in as I lay on my back.

“Shit! Shit! Jesus H Christ!”

A man half-shouted from somewhere near in the crowd.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry.”

The man panted, now standing over me with a hand reached out for me.

I took his help with standing up, I couldn’t see much besides teased hair and pyro but when the lights flickered onto the crowd I saw one of the most beautiful men I had ever seen.

His perfectly curled and tossed dusky brunette hair shined in the lights of the show. His beautifully sculpted face, his lips contorted into a perfect smile. All left me in a daze.

“Sorry, that was my fault, I got a little too excited.” he chuckled, breaking me from my trance.

I opened my mouth to say something to him but was quickly distracted by James, the lead singer’s, voice booming through the mic.

“This next song is titled For Whom The Bell Tolls!”

He announced

The whole arena erupted, and mine and the man’s eyes lit up.

“This is my favorite song!” We both exclaimed simultaneously while grinning at each other.

“Holy shit we are like totally gonna be best friends but after this song! The names Eddie by the way!” He told me before turning his attention back to the stage a throwing devil horns up in the air.

That was our song, a strange pick I know. But it was what made us fall in love. Plus he claims he hates love songs despite singing along anytime I put one on.

My eyes shifted past the creature in front of me to an opening in the red clouds. Between the red fog, I could see Eddie crying while holding me. I could almost hear him.

“Please come back.”

Is all he kept blubbering.

My heart felt as though it was cracking into a million pieces. All I wanted to do was hold him and run my fingers through his long hair. I had to get to him.

With my arms and legs pinned to the structure behind me, I was left with only one possible weapon.

My teeth.

With the creature's long skinny hand reaching only a few inches from my face, I was able to reach and bite onto one of its fingers. I could’ve never prepared myself for the taste. It tasted like every single disgusting taste in the world thrown together, just burnt. I shook my head back and forth biting down harder, when I heard the skin ripping and felt the finger detach from the creature's hand.

It let out an ear-splitting scream and everything let go at once as it staggered backward.

I fell to the ground on my hands and knees immediately, I looked up to make sure the opening was still there and I wasn’t imagining things. It was. Eddie was still holding me, and our song was still playing. But now there was an extra voice, it was Eddie’s humming along to the song.

I got up and ran.

Ran as fast as I possibly could, I didn’t look back or think about that creature, I just kept running. I could hear it screaming and running towards me. But I couldn’t stop, I had to get out. I narrowed my vision in on Eddie. I focused on our song. And my heart beat picked up, my fear vanished, and my feet ran faster than ever before.

There I was, in the boat house, in Eddie’s arms.

“Eddie?” I questioned reaching a hand up to touch his face, not quite sure if this was real or not.

His head that was previously buried in the crook of my neck shot up. Frantically searching my face for confirmation that I was in fact back in the real world.

“Oh my god!” He choked out, burying his face back into my neck.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here now.” I ran my fingers through his slightly knotted hair, placing a kiss to his head.

“I was so afraid. I thought- I thought- ” he stammered now facing me upright again, cupping my face with his soft hands.

“You saved me.” I said, pulling a hand up to touch his hand now placed upon my face.

He scoffed, and looked down.

“I was gone. I had already made my amends with death when I heard our song. And I saw you. I knew I had to fight. For you”

His head shot back up, his eyes now filled with love, “I love you y/n, more than anything. I can’t possibly describe what you mean to me.”

“same,” I spoke in a low voice with a soft grin. Placing a light kiss to his lips, while his arms tightened around me. Savoring the feeling and the taste now that I know how quickly this could all be gone.

After pulling apart we paused for a moment, just to look into each others loving eyes.

“Are we interrupting something?” Dustin asked in a sarcastic tone with a huge grin.

I was so wrapped up in the moment I didn’t notice the door opening.

Eddie laughed a sarcastic chuckle and raised his middle finger.

“Okay well, now you’re not getting these spaghetti O’s!” Dustin said in a high-pitched tone, walking back out of the door.

“You wanna help me kill this son of a bitch?” Eddie questioned jokingly with a grin turning his attention back to me.

“Of course.” I laughed

“Well cmon,” he said standing up reaching a hand to help me up, “let’s go get our spaghetti O’s back sweetheart.” He laughed, looking down at me.

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #stranger things eddie #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie imagine #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #st4 #stranger things 4 #joseph quinn #steve harrington #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine

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blackwolfstabs · 6 months

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30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 20

INTRUDER

It's a peaceful evening, and then an unwanted visitor shows up.

Based on true events...

Tara’s gaze couldn’t deviate from the television screen, having been sitting in front of it for nearly 2 hours. Finally done with her homework and not having the responsibility to make dinner, it was the perfect time to relax and kill some time binge watching shows she had been meaning to keep up with.

It was actually pretty quiet in the Meeks-Martins’ apartment with Mindy making dinner and Chad in his room playing Xbox. He was now going on his 3rd hour of gaming, which was typical, but Tara couldn’t stand to watch him play the same mission over and over again for more than an hour. Sam was in Mindy’s room, helping her with a project while the owner went in and out to keep an eye on the stove.

So, that left the youngest member of the Core Four to have the sofa and TV all to herself, which she would argue she deserved. Nothing could take her attention away from her show.

Until it happened.

Movement caught the corner of her eye. Small movement that was a black blur. She glanced to the left of the screen. And then she saw it…

There was an intruder in the apartment. Her eyes went wide, her heart started pounding, and she pulled her feet away from the coffee table, where she had them perched and crossed at the ankles, to keep everything close to her body.

“Mindy, there’s a fucking roach!”

From the kitchen, Mindy turned around, looking just as freaked out as the one who had called her, “Where?” She leaned over to catch a view of the living room, not daring to go near it until she knew where the demon was lurking.

“On the wall,” the other answered, backing herself up into the corner.

“Holy shit!” Mindy stared at the insect crawling up the wall.

“Kill it!” Tara yelled.

“With what?!”

“I don’t know, do you guys not have Zevo?!” She leapt over the back of the couch and went towards the kitchen.

Meeks-Martin gave her a swift glare, careful not to let the roach out of her sight, “Do you think, if we did, I’d be asking you what to do, Tara?!” She looked around for something to use as a weapon.

“Here,” Tara held out a dish towel.

She took it, but shrugged, “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?!”

“I saw a hack! Put it in water, then slap it on top of him,” was the answer, “It’ll stun him until we get something to smash him!”

Her partner immediately spun around and doused the washcloth underneath the faucet, while she kept an eye on the roach. She cringed just by looking at it—that spawn of the Devil. Those things shouldn’t be permitted to walk the planet. Its long antennas quivered, and its spidery legs stroked the wall as it crawled up higher. Tara let out a small squeal of disgust. “Mindy, hurry!”

Mindy came back with the saturated weapon. “I got it, I got it.” She was hesitant as she slowly moved towards the wall, slightly ducked as if she was afraid it would fly at her—which it might, God help them all… “Fuck!”

“What?!” Tara gasped.

“I don’t wanna get near it!”

“Just be quick and then run! 3… 2… 1… Throw it!”

There was a split moment of tense silence as the older female hurled the cloth towards her target. A hard smack, an anticipated yelp, and then…

A scream.

Well, two screams actually as the cockroach spread its wings and flew straight towards its attacker. No coherent words came from Mindy, but Tara was fleeing in the opposite direction, yowling, “No! No! Fuck no!”

She met the other side of the room and spun around, panting. “Fuck that…”

Mindy broke towards the front door, before spinning around to find their enemy sneaking along the wooden flooring, making its way towards the kitchen. She glanced up to where Tara was, then found their next weapon of choice. “Tara, grab the broom! Come around behind him and whack him,” she ordered, her eyes jumping back and forth.

The young Carpenter obeyed and clutched the broom like it was her lifeline. She took the longest route around the insect, tiptoeing like it was going to make her safer. “Holy shit,” she whimpered, eyeing it as if a new Ghostface had spawned in the apartment.

“Just go! We’re gonna lose him!” Mindy was tempted to shove her forward, because she was wasting time.

Then, she let out a war cry and started smacking the floor with the broom, nearly dropping it as she did so, because she was way off target.

The cockroach bolted.

“Chase it! Don’t lose it!”

Tara followed, throwing the broom down as hard as she could. “It won’t die!” she screamed, chasing it towards the wall’s floor trim. There was a loud snap, and all that was left in her hands was a long wooden pole. When she looked down, the roach skittered onto the head of the broom, starting to come towards her. She shrieked and ran, abandoning the rest to run behind Mindy.

“You broke it!” Mindy criticized, but she didn’t sound as angry as she should’ve been.

“I tried!” was the retort.

A shadow then came out from the hallway, and just by the footsteps, the pair knew who it was.

“Sam! Can you come kill this roach?!” Mindy asked but was overlapped by Tara’s barks.

“There’s a roach right there, Sam!”

And as if triggered by all of the commotion, the bug broke away from the broom’s bristles and flew around the apartment, making the two girls cowering in the corner start screaming.

“What is going—” Sam was cut off by the fluttering of large wings and a red-brown blur buzzing in front of her face. The alarmed instinct in her made her scream with the other two, and she ducked from having it land on her. She bolted for the safety of the living room and turned around once the coast was clear.

“We told you!” her little sister stared at her with wide eyes. Meanwhile, Mindy explained their strategies.

“I tried to throw a wet cloth at it, because Tara said it would stick, but it didn’t—”

“It worked on the video!” Tara defended herself.

Sam caught on quick, “That was a paper towel!”

“And then she broke the broom, trying to smack the S.O.B.” Meeks-Martin finished.

Tara jumped back as their 2½ inch tormentor crawled back out from the hallway. It crawled right for Sam, who leapt clear.

“Step on it!” Mindy told her, for she was the only one out of the three with shoes on.

“I don’t want to feel the crunch!” she replied.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” the younger girls jinxed.

She gave them a glare. “You think if I was, I’d still be standing here?” She backed away. “Don’t let it out of your sight. I’m gonna go get something to kill it.”

At that moment, the first door on the left side of the hallway opened, and Chad peered out. He pulled his headphones off. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a roach!” Tara was going to be the first to answer that question to anyone who asked.

The other blinked between her and his sister, processing for a moment. He knew both of them were deathly afraid of roaches, and he knew Sam was on the fence. Sometimes she was and sometimes she wasn’t, it just depended on her mood. But they weren’t in any real danger so… He shrugged. “Y’all can handle it.” He put his headphones back on and went back to his Xbox.

“You jerk!” his girlfriend shouted, while his sister tailed her.

“You’re such a fuck-stick!”

Sam ran back into the living area, but when she did so, the vibration had the roach scurrying towards Mindy and Tara. Tara screeched and made a leap of faith past it to flee down the hall, sliding into Mindy’s room with her socks. Mindy dove in the other direction, having to climb over the chair keeping her from the hallway to follow her younger partner. The two slammed the door shut, leaving Sam to fend for herself.

Carpenter ripped the throw from the bed and skidded to cram it in the space beneath the door. “We gotta make sure it’s tight, ‘cause they can flatten themselves,” she explained, rushing to seal all openings.

“Oh, shit, we left Sam out there,” Mindy hissed next to her.

“She’ll be fine.”

“But what if she loses it? And then we’re screwed?”

“Good luck sleeping here tonight.”

“Fuck…”

Beyond the barricaded walls, a lot of thumping, smacking, and cursing came from Samantha. The two girls stayed on top of Mindy’s bed, not taking any chances being on the floor. It was a quick kill—much quicker than if it had just been the two of them racing around the apartment—but even when everything fell silent, they didn’t dare move.

Footsteps approached the hall and stopped by Chad’s door, which was thrown open.

“Chad!”

He must’ve taken off his headset, because Sam’s voice lowered.

“Can you come pick the roach up? I don’t mind killing it, but I’ll gag if I pick it up.”

“Yeah. I got you.”

“Thanks.”

The two’s voices grew louder, before fading back into the living room.

“Shit…” Chad must’ve said due to the mess that was made up of the area. “You made this whole mess over a little roach?”

There was a flame of irritation in the older female’s tone as she replied, “No, I made it because you wouldn’t get off the damn Xbox to help me.”

“You had your sister and Mindy.”

“Who are completely useless when it comes to roaches!”

From her place on the bed, Mindy scooted closer to the edge. “Do you think it’s safe? She said she killed it.”

But Tara didn’t move as she shook her head, “No, I’m not leaving until someone comes and gets us. Those things never die. I’m not taking any chances.”

Another brief moment of quiet was promising, but then they heard Sam yelp, which made the youngest straighten.

“Told you!”

“Chad!”

Before they could even understand the context of the way his name was said, footsteps rushed up to the door, and it was pushed open by him, who could maneuver the resistance of the stuffed blanket easily. He had his hands cupped over each other and held them out towards the two sheltering-in-place. “I got it! I got the roach!” he crowed, then threw his hands out to have what he held come hurtling in their direction.

Both of them shrieked, Mindy ducking to dive off of the bed, while Tara backed up and started kicking as if it was going to crawl on her immediately.

But then Chad exploded into laughter, clapping as he watched the pair try to figure out what just happened. “I got y’all good!”

Mindy overviewed the disheveled bedding—thanks to Tara’s kicking—and found the orange wrapping of a Reese’s peanut butter cup. “Goddammit…” she sighed, half-out-breath and half-relieved. Then, she snatched it and threw it at him as hard as she could. “You fucking asshole!”

Her brother didn’t care that it hit him and continued laughing. “Yo-hou should’ve seen your fa-ha-haces!” he cackled.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Tara then barked, just as angry as Mindy. He must’ve done the same thing to Sam, and that’s why she had yelped right before he came in. What a turd.

“Chad, leave them alone!” her older sister yelled from the kitchen.

Chad left the room, but his laughter carried down the hall and back into his own room.

Mindy went over to the open door and pulled her blanket off of the floor to throw it back on her bed. “I think the coast is clear now, Tara…” She began resituating some of the materials for her project that had gotten messed up amidst the escape from Chad’s prank.

Tara huffed as she slid off the mattress and stormed towards the entrance. She leaned down enough to rip the abandoned Reese’s from the floor, curling it in her fist as she stalked to her boyfriend’s room. She opened the door to sling it at him, successfully smacking him in the face.

She shut the door, without saying a word.

lmfaoooo it wasn't a bad "based off of true events..."

the true parts to this were: the roach (obviously), breaking a broom trying to kill it, having the only unafraid man in the house seeing us truly scared and saying "y'all can handle it" before going back to his Xbox, sheltering in place, and having a Reese's thrown at us thinking it was actually the killed roach. i'll never forget this memory.

All my best! ♡ - parker

#scream #scream v #scream vi #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #carpenter sisters #mindy meeks martin #chad meeks martin #core four #based on true events #30 day writing challenge #intruder #AU: All My Heart

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jackpotgirl · 1 year

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Just another Tuesday

A Chenford Missing Scene.

We all needed this - what happened between the rooftop and the precinct…

“I outrank you,” he tells Thorsen and tries frantically to push the flashes of Lucy’s face from his mind.

If he thinks about never seeing her again, he’ll panic and if he panics, he’s dead. He barely registers the other man getting out of the car through the rush of blood past his ears, only grasps that the car is creaking, balancing precariously on the edge of the roof.

“What are you doing?” He calls out when the car gets ever shakier and ever creakier.

Thorsen has grabbed the rear, throwing him a lifeline. Every hair on Tim’s body is standing up and he doesn’t think, he just moves. Not a second too late. His feet hit the ground and he can drag Thorsen from the car just in time before it tips over the ledge and hits the ground crashing and burning.

He thanks all the deities that the street below was empty while Thorsen cracks a joke in his own subsiding panic. That’s the kind of humor one will develop on the job - but Tim can’t laugh. He only thinks of her.

When Lucy hears about it later, returning her shop, she’s infinitely glad to not be behind the wheel anymore, she might have crashed her own car had she been driving. She forbids herself to think about it much further though, as she returns her gear, going through the motions. She can’t start imagining how easily the whole thing could have become the tragedy of her life, if she did, she’d scream and never stop. That’s the job, that’s the risk they’re all taking every day. She knows this.

“You alright?” One of the other officers, Annie Gupta, asks her as Lucy pours herself a coffee in the kitchen a couple of minutes later, her hand trembling a little.

“No, yeah, thanks,” Lucy replies mechanically. “Just needed some caffeine.”

“Late shift?” Annie asks casually.

“No, just… you know.” Lucy shrugs, noncommittal, and the other woman leaves it at that.

Usually, Lucy doesn’t make a habit out of drinking coffee this late in the day but she doesn’t expect to sleep tonight, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?

Her phone vibrating in her pocket finally fully takes her out of her head. It’s a text from Tim.

Pulling into the bay, got a sec?

Lucy abandons her coffee on the counter.

She arrives at the garage at the tail end of Tim sending Thorsen off with both their gear bags, saying something along the lines of payback for saving his life. Thorsen counters that he saved Tim’s life just the same but a raised eyebrow from his superior shuts him up.

Thorsen shoulders both bags with a grunt and then nods at Lucy as he passes her by.

“We nearly died today,” he tells her, “you heard?”

“I heard,” Lucy replies with a weak smile. “Good that you didn’t.”

“Just another Tuesday,” Thorsen jokes with a shrug he barely manages under the load as he walks off, though she can tell from the slight tightness in his voice that he’s still shaken up a little too.

Then she’s alone with Tim. And takes only the most cursory backward glance before she flings herself at him and wraps him in tightly in a hug she hopes will say all the desperate things she won’t let herself voice out loud. Because she doesn’t want to cry and because it’s too soon for I love you, never ever leave me ever.

Tim wraps Lucy in his arms the second their bodies connect and pulls her close, holding her for much longer than would be appropriate for just-colleagues — but he doesn’t care. Feeling her body flush and solid against his is everything. It’s what he did not allow himself to be terrified of losing before.

Neither of them says anything, wrapped up in their own little world for the moment. They both know better than to linger on these things, on these near-misses and brushes with death, otherwise they might not return to work at any given day. Instead – once he finally lets her go – he just sighs, smiles, and lets her get back onto her full feet.

“So… pretty uneventful day, huh?” He says and Lucy snorts a laugh that speaks of complete relief.

“Just another Tuesday,” she echoes Thorsen’s earlier comment — and God, he wishes it wasn’t way too soon to tell her that he loves her.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t die,” she tells him with that cop’s humor that has permeated the whole ordeal as they’re making their way through the precinct to change a minute later. “You owe me a redo on our date.”

“It’s what gave me the will to live,” Tim shoots back evenly, not missing a beat, and he’s infinitely glad that Lucy makes it so easy to be at ease. And that she likes him and his dumb jokes, evidenced by her suppressed little chuckle.

“In my mind, I’m hitting you right now,” she tells him, trying not to laugh.

“Good to know,” he quips and grins.

As soon as they have rounded the corner to the corridor leading to the locker room where it’s a little less crowded, he inclines his head to her to ask under his breath: “Are you free tonight?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” She’s beaming.

And when, fifteen minutes later, she sneaks into his truck around the corner from the precinct, she looks radiant like the sun… and holds his hand the entire ride to the park.

#Chenford #missing scene #the rookie fic

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narcissiah · 2 years

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Headcanon: Ready, Set, Action! [Black Noir x Actor!GN!Reader

Warnings: super fucking long. cursing, like "fuck" and "shit" i think. idk, i didn't edit this lol.

srsly tho, supes long. like 1,135 words but written in a bulleted list.

also tried to keep it GN but if there's like hint of gender in there, tell me so i can fix it.

Being the hottest self-made shit in town, with 84.9 million subscribers on YouTube alone, you're kind-of a big deal.

Though you’re not officially on Vought’s payroll as a Seven team member, Vought calls you when they have jobs you might be interested in.

One day, Vought calls you to see if you’re interested in acting in a multi-genre superhero movie. It would focus on Black Noir as the lead, obviously. You, however, were the supporting lead, playing the love interest and villain.

Not only was this movie a huge boost to your career, but a dream come true. The plot sounded amazing, the character relatable, sympathetic, and downright fucking insane.

Also, growing up in supe-infested corporate America, you idolized the Seven—especially Black Noir. So working with a childhood role model, playing both the villain and the love interest of his?

Obviously, you didn’t say no.

On the day filming started, you ran into Noir. While you were annoyingly excited about the whole event, and downright irritating when you met your hero, you kept yourself in check. It was a struggle, but you managed.

You greeted him, "Hey, I'm [Supe Name]! Since we're filming buddies, want to run over some scenes later?"

Sure as shit, he acted like you didn't exist!

For the first couple of days after the snub, you tried your best to correct whatever first impression he had of you.

You talked to him, or to see if he will practice a certain fight scene with you that involved a lot of coordination.

When that didn’t work, you tried to make a funny joke or two when the situation called for it so he would at least lower that stand-offish barrier around him. Though the crew often laughed at your perfectly timed jokes, Noir would just stare at you or have already left the group.

Your last resort was acting like a good little secretary, offering to get him food and drinks from the communal food table. While he often took you up on your offer, that was as far as the interactions went. Once he was satisfied, ignoring you like you didn’t exist begun once again.

No matter, you got the message loud and clear: stay away.

Despite the crushing start, and understanding the old saying, “Never meet your heroes,” it was the most fun you had in a while.

You acted like your life depended on it; you’d be damned if you failed the crew and audience with mediocre acting. That, and to show Noir that you were worth the time of day.

You did your best to look sympathetic and relatable, even if your ideology of your “perfect world” was madness. You put heart and soul into your character, doing so well you had to remind yourself that you’re [Name], not the villainous [Supe Alias].

Then, you started filming the romantic scenes.

In the first two parts of the movie, it wasn’t too bad. Just longer periods of staring, playful smiles, gentle touches. Nothing too serious.

However, there were times were his muscles would tense beneath his suit when you had touched him. You’d die a little on the inside for two reasons: you’re touching him, and he hates your guts.

Though you two avoided each other like the plague off set, none of the crew were wiser about it when you acted out the beloved “Hero and Villain in love but never to be” trope on set.

Noir would stare at you the way Darcy stared at Elizabeth in Pride and Prejudice. You could feel the burning gaze behind his goggles.

When you held his hand, he would grasp it like it was a lifeline and pull you closer to him. Most of that was on the spot, not in the script.

At the end, he would hold your body as you “succumbed” to your wounds because he had no choice but to “kill” your character?

One word: Swoon!

And then there were the scenes when you were the villain.

Though they were steamy but not overly sexual, the implications were obviously there.

Like when you tied him up? When you would tilt his head up so his goggles were staring at you? Gentle and not-so-gentle face holding? Barely respectable sensual touches (lol)? Your faces together, so teasingly close for a kiss (with the mask still on) but no cigar?

Two words this time: Sweet Jesus!

Filming ends on the last day. You’re shaking hands with the director, the crew, thanking them for their hard work, excited to see the final product on the silver screen soon.

When you get to Noir, you play nice and hold out your hand. While you didn’t want to relive the rejection a second time, you prepared for the inevitable.

However, you were shell-shocked when Noir took your hand and gave it a single shake. You couldn’t help the large grin on your face, or the triumph soaring in your heart.

As you let go of his hand, he holds out his other with a folded note. Though confused, you still smile and take it. You’re about to unfold it when he gently stops your hand and shakes his head.

Now even more confused, and anxious because what could be on the note? A rant about your behavior and him denouncing you as a supe? A cartoonish picture that doesn’t paint you in a good light, resembling what he thinks of you as a person? What? What?

You put the picture in the back of your pocket and do your best to ignore it the rest of the night; if it was something negative, you wouldn’t let it bring down the best natural high you’ve had all day, though it burned a hole in your pocket.

When you finally get to your apartment, it’s past midnight. You’re too drunk on good food and a few shots to do much more than take off your shoes and plop on your bed. In your haze, you remember the note.

Not feeling so dreadfully anxious about it, you grab it and unfold it.

At first, as you stare at it, you’re not sure what you’re looking at. Or how you feel about it. Then your vision clears, and sobriety hits you hard and fast. But in a good way. A great way.

The picture is of you, hand-drawn and cartoonish, but not in a negative light. Think of those artistic drawings of people with big heads and small bodies, but ten-times better.

Every aspect of the picture was beautiful, and the longer you stared at it, the more amazing it got. Really, it belonged in a gallery.

But that led to the question: Black Noir made this for you? Why?

You flip the paper over and see written; I hope this isn’t our last goodbye ♥

#black noir #the boys #the boys tv #the boys amazon #black noir x reader #the boys x reader #the boys headcanons #black noir headcanons

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annaraebananawriter · 1 year

Text

It’s Stupid, Really

Well, well, well. What do we have here? Why, it’s another oneshot based off of some tweets from @dreemurr-skelememer, this time about Dream having a panic attack/ptsd episode in front of Nightmare, how interesting!

I did change a few small details, but the overall idea is the same. I just got into a flow while writing it and rid the flow until the end.

Also, fun fact: I had planned to write this in January. I got all the dialogue written in my document and everything and then never touched it until now. I had originally planned to do it from Nightmare’s POV, but apparently that was the wrong move, because I looked at it again and decided to write from Dream’s POV instead, and I kid you not that the exact second I made that decision, I knew how to do it.

All the motivation I was missing came flooding in.

So, maybe all that advice about scenes maybe needing to be written from a different POV than what you planned is true.

And the pacing of this might be fast, maybe too fast, but I think it reads well. Reads like you’re short of breath, I think.

Now, I...I don’t have much else to add. Happy reading, I guess!!!

Fandom: Undertale/UTMV

Characters: Dream, Nightmare (Who belong to Joku), and mentioned Ink (Who belongs to Comyet), mentioned Bad Sanses, and mentioned Blue (Who belongs to P0pcornPr1nce)

Warnings: A panic attack and/or a PTSD episode, calling a panic attack and/or PTSD episode ‘stupid’, and self-hate, and I think that’s it. Let me know!

Summary: “ A party with a big crowd of people triggers a panic attack for Dream, who gets lost in memories of the Apple Incident. Luckily, or unluckily, depending, Nightmare is also at this party and is also the closest person available for Dream to cling to. (UTMV, Dream Sans Centric)”

Word Count: 3240

~oOo~

Dream tries to hunch himself over to appear smaller. Maybe he can blend into the crowd and can slip out of here soon.

Ink had heard of a party in some AU and really wanted to go. He tried to get both Dream and Blue to go with him, but Blue already had things to do. Dream, on the other hand, had a rather boring day planned of lying in bed and thinking for hours, and he felt bad because he wanted to say no but didn’t have a real excuse, so he ended up saying yes. Ink was excited, however, and they arrived rather early.

One would think that arriving early would help him get used to the size of the crowd, but the more skeletons he watched enter, the worse he felt. He was offered a drink multiple times and could politely deny only a few times before people got suspicious, wondering if he was alright. He grabbed some water to make people stop asking. It seemed to work, so his next problem was getting lost in the crowd until he could escape to a quieter part of the building. It made him uncomfortable, being surrounded by people, but he forced himself to work through it, sipping at his drink.

Oh, look. An exit was right in front of him, and only a few skeletons were in the way.

He sighs in relief, clutching his drink like a lifeline.

“Hey, Dream!” A Sans he’s only seen a couple of times from an AU he can’t remember the name of shouts, leaning on him. He grabs Dream’s drink out of his hands. “Why’re you just drinking water? Let me get you a real drink.”

“Oh, no thank you, I…” Dream starts, but the Sans stumbles off anyway. He cringes, sighs, and backs away, aiming to huddle into a corner and be invisible until the end of the party.

On his way, more people shout, gleeful about something happening further into the crowd, and he flinches. People shift, aiming to get a closer look at all the commotion, and he tries to elbow his way through as gently as he can. He stumbles and gets dragged into the crowd, people pushing him multiple ways.

He cringes again, trying to escape, but can’t find a gap to squeeze through. Is it just him, or is it really hot in here all of a sudden?

“You absolute beast!” Someone shouts, sparking laughter—

No, no, not laughter, jeers. People whisper to each other, nasty things about his brother—

No, no, no, not about his brother, just comments on whatever is going on—

No, wait. More people are shouting, some proclaiming that they knew it, some hurling insults, some just scoffing in disbelief—

In disgust.

Someone in front of him shifts to the right. He catches a glimpse of a skeleton huddled on the ground, curled up by the base of something—

A tree, Mother—

No, stop, stop being stupid—

And something rolling on the ground in front of them—

An apple—

Stop.

Dream’s breath hitches.

He steps back, turning, trying to get away from it, telling himself it wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real. It was the past. He wasn’t there anymore, he left long ago. This wasn’t happening. Someone shoves at him—

And if this wasn’t real, would he still feel that? He can’t tell.

There are more leers and someone whoops, throwing something in the air—

Rocks rain down on Mother.

Nightmare tries to talk over all the noise, frantically explaining himself, but no one is listening.

Dream tries to fight his way through, get in front of the crowd, in front of his friends. He’s confused because they never acted this mean before. They keep throwing rocks, and he knows being hit with a rock hurts, so why are they throwing them at Nighty?

Something is wrong, something is wrong, something is wrong.

The wrongness fills him in rhythm with his footsteps. He’s breathing heavily, using all of his efforts to get out of this blasted crowd and find Nighty and get him away from all of this noise. His brother doesn’t like loud noises anymore. He doesn’t know why, but that doesn’t matter, because this is a loud noise and Nighty hates it here, he’s sure of it.

They need to get out.

Dream runs—

Stop, stop, stop, get out of here, this isn’t right, move on, move away—

Find Nighty and protect him, find him and protect him, find him and protect him—

Hurry, hurry, hurry—

With a final shove, he steps out in front of the crowd and looks up frantically, searching.

Only, Mother isn’t here. Neither is Nighty.

Blinking, he turns, facing the crowd of villagers, but this crowd is warped, wrong. They are all wrong. He doesn’t recognize any of them. He backs away from them, confused and worried and alarmed. His back presses against a wall and he stops breathing.

He can’t move.

He can’t move anymore, something hardening his body and making him numb—

No, no, no, no, no. Not happening. You’re not there.

Stop being stupid.

He needs to find his brother. He needs to find him. They’re in danger. Nighty’s in danger. They need to find each other and run before it all goes wrong. They need to escape.

Where is his brother? Where is he? Where—

The word looks dizzy, he feels dizzy—

There’s someone beside him and—

“Dream?”

—They know his name.

Dream blinks.

The breath he was holding escapes him in a gasp.

The person beside them is dark and blurry. He can’t make out many details. Something moves behind them. Another villager? Then that means this is a villager. Not one that he recognizes, though. But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe they can help.

They might know where Nightmare is.

“Dream, what…” the villager starts, confused, and concerned. Dream jolts into action, frantically grabbing onto their shoulders. His hands slid, almost like he was grabbing at oil. That’s odd. It’s familiar, too. Odd. He tightens his grip. “Hey! Get off—”

They don’t like that very much. Dream doesn’t care what they do or don’t like as long as they help him. “Have you seen my brother?”

The villager stills. “Huh?”

Frustrated, his fingers twitch. He glances around as the villager takes a moment to reorient themselves.

No Mother, no brother. Still the same.

His chest is beginning to tighten again.

“What?”

“My brother.” Dream exhales sharply at the villager’s confusion. “Looks like me, exactly like me. Just wears purple instead. It’s his favorite colour.” He doesn’t know why he mentioned that. The villager didn’t need to know that. Can’t he do anything right? “Have you seen him? I need to find him. I need to find him. Fast.”

The villager laughs harshly in disbelief. “Is—Is this a joke or something? Dream—”

“It’s not safe here. Not safe. I need to find Nighty. I need to get to him. It’s not safe here.” Dream explains, glancing around again. No change. Has it gotten hotter? He feels like he’s sweating a lot. “We’re in danger. Very bad, bad danger. He’s in danger. I need to find him. Have you seen him? Please tell me where he is.”

“Dream…”

Though he hears the villager try to speak, Dream rushes over him, impatient. “Tell me, please. Tell me, tell me, tell me. Please. I need to get there in time. I can’t be late again. Things—” He chokes on a breath and something pricks at his sockets, the edges of his vision darkening. “I can’t lose him. I can’t. He’s all I have. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please…” His voice cracks and he repeats the word over and over.

Please help him, please, please, please—

Please save Nighty, please, please, please, please—

Please, please, please, please—

He’s being led somewhere. Is the villager helping him?

Please, please, please, please—

The music—when did that start? Where even was he?—fades the further they get.

Please, please, please, please—

Doors shut behind them.

Dream can’t see anything anymore; he’s panicking too much.

Where was he? Where is Nightmare? He needs to find Nightmare.

The villager makes him sit down. He frowns, trying to get up. He can’t rest now, not when Nighty needs him. The villager doesn’t let him up.

“Breathe, Dream.”

He is breathing. Isn’t he? Maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s dead and that’s why this place is so unfamiliar and Nighty wasn’t here and, and, and—

“Breathe.”

He’s breathing. He’s trying.

He wants his brother.

“I’m right here. Keep breathing, slowly. Match me. In…out. Good. You’re not in the village, Dream. Okay? You’re not there.”

But wasn’t he just…?

“You haven’t been there in years. We’re both safe. It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t okay.

He needs to—

“Keep breathing, focus on breathing.”

Dream wants to scowl. He wants to frown and complain that he is doing all of that and it’s not helping. But he doesn’t, he instead inhales—

And his chest lightens a bit.

He squeezes his eyes shut, and exhales, trying to do as ordered.

His chest continues to lighten, cracks appearing in the stone as patches fall off of him—

You’re not there. You haven’t been there in years. Focus, Dream.

But it all feels so real.

And he can practically taste the apple on his tongue, the smell of negativity in the air—

And he inhales—

And the feel of a smooth staff in his hand, fabric clenched in his fist, tinging in his legs as he’s turned to stone—

And he exhales—

And the sound of wind and silence and manic laughter—

And he breathes—

And he sees—

And he—

And…

And he blinks, sockets aching.

And he sees the darkness in his vision fading. It bubbles away, letting his surroundings take its place. He’s sitting against the railing of the balcony of the building. One of them, at least. The bars bite into his back. There’s a faint breeze, carrying the smell of flowers from the garden below. It’s nice.

And Nightmare is in front of him, kneeling, hand outstretched and hovering.

Dream blinks in surprise.

Nightmare looks concerned, eye wide.

They stare at each other for a moment.

Brow furrowing, Dream clears his throat, craving a glass of water. His voice is hoarse. “…Nightmare?”

Nightmare shifts, hand lowering. “Yeah.” His brother relaxes a bit, still watching him.

Something drips off his fingers.

Goop the same colour as the goop that covers his brother covers his hands. It’s slimy and gross and the minute he notices, he wants to wipe it off, but it feels awkward and inconsiderate of him to do that in front of his brother.

Dream glances around, avoiding looking at him. Shame begins to heat his face and he internally sighs. Of course. He just had to get this way in front of Nightmare. This is like, the worst possible thing. But it’s just his luck. And now he’s left here afterward, wanting nothing more than to teleport straight home and sleep the next week away.

But doesn’t he owe it to Nighty for an explanation?

“Sorry…” His voice cracks again, and he coughs. “I—”

His mouth continues moving, but nothing comes out.

He frowns, trying again. “I—”

“Hold that thought.”

Dream looks up as Nightmare stands, walking back inside.

Well, if he really wants to, he could teleport away now and not face the humiliation surely coming his way. Nightmare will probably return with one of his guys and then a fight will break out, taking advantage of his weakened state. He doesn’t want to fight right now, doesn’t even want to move. If he could, he would just flop over and sleep right here. Then all of the aftermath of this can be dealt with once he wakes up.

But, no, he’s a big boy, and he will face it now as he should.

He wraps his arms around his legs and buries his head in his knees. God, he’s such an idiot. No, he’s weak. He knew coming to this party with Ink would be a risk. He felt the panic at the start, the minute they arrived and people were still pouring into the big, big room, but he swallowed it back and tried to forget about it. It was only when the crowd pulled him along that he got lost in his head. Everyone he pushed in his fight to get away must be so confused, and they must’ve talked about it with their friends and now everyone was probably wondering why he was acting so weird.

Hopefully, no one noticed the terror he felt, but he has a feeling it might’ve been obvious…

This will be such a big mess to clean up. Why did his brain have to betray him like this? Why did he give in so easily? It was like he wanted to get lost, and he never wants to get lost. He always says that it’s the last time he’d ever feel like this, but there always ends up being another thing that triggers it again. He doesn’t know how to stop it besides avoiding anything he manages to clue in on, like crowds.

And yet, here he was. Here he fucking was.

A hand grabs his wrist. Dream’s head snaps up. He watches, eyes wide, as Nightmare holds his hand and runs a damp washcloth over it, cleaning it. For some reason. Why? Why would his brother come back just to clean him up?

This wasn’t his mess to deal with.

This…this, the cleaning, reminds him of patching Nightmare up under Mother. It brings the aching longing he got sleeping in branches and walking through the woods to the front of his mind. It hurts and hurts and he’s unable to shake it off.

“Are you alright?” Nightmare asks, focusing on his task.

Dream swallows. “I’m fine.”

His brother looks up, unconvinced, raising a brow.

“Really, I am,” he insists.

Nightmare’s eye flicks over his face, searching for a lie.

Dream prepares himself, resigned at explaining. The words are on the tip of his tongue, ready, when—

“Okay.”

“Huh?”

“Okay.” Nightmare goes back to cleaning. He’s ruing a perfectly good washcloth just for Dream. He doesn’t know how to feel. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

The words feel foreign to him. “Oh…Thanks.”

Nightmare hums.

Odd.

Dream’s not used to being told he doesn’t have to talk about things if he doesn’t want to. The villagers always wanted to make sure he was happy, asking him again and again if he was and flocking to make him feel better if he said he wasn’t. Even now, people prefer to know everything about his job. Most of the conversations he has with people besides Blue or Ink or a few others are one-sided questions about himself.

He's relieved that Nightmare is giving him a choice. He wants to stay silent and let them both forget this ever existed. If they can, that is. Still. He wants to keep any of what he was thinking about to himself, as much as he can. His brother is still his enemy, after all, and giving away all his vulnerabilities will only result in more difficult battles.

He doesn’t want to say anything, and yet he does.

For some reason, having a choice makes him want to tell Nightmare something even more. “I don’t like crowds. Specifically, not, um…big ones. Or loud ones. Or big loud crowds crammed in a small room. Whenever I’m in one for a long time, it…” He swallows again, glancing up and catching Nightmare’s eye. “It brings back bad memories,” he whispers, feeling childish that he’s avoiding saying anything specific.

Nightmare watches him for a moment. “Okay.”

His face is expertly blank. He can’t tell what his brother is feeling.

“I apologize that you had to deal with this.” Dream sighs. “I usually handle it.” He chuckles, tired. “It’s stupid, really.”

Nightmare still doesn’t say anything. Still blank. He’s finished with his task, setting the washcloth aside so he can fiddle with his fingers.

Dream starts, “I—”

“I don’t like apples.”

He blinks, forgetting what he was going to say. “…What?”

“I don’t. Brings back some bad memories. So, I don’t buy any or eat any. And that’s fine. I’m sure my boys know my dislike of them, too, ‘cause they never bring any home when they go shopping.” Nightmare pauses. “They may not…understand, exactly, but they don’t need to. They’re my friends. They accept it and live with it.” He looks right at Dream. “We all do.”

Dream blinks, looking at his hands. There wasn’t a speck left on them. Even all the dirt from the week, the build-up of grime he hadn’t had the energy to wash off, it was all gone. It felt strange to see the white bones underneath, marred by scratches as they were. He clenches them and opens them, admiring them.

Nightmare wasn’t talking about himself anymore. In his own, roundabout way, he was offering some advice that Dream really needs to hear. Stuff he has told others to do—trust those around you because the fact they were still there meant they cared far more than you realized. Friends lean on each other; no friendship is one-sided. Communicate, and you’ll have a better relationship. Whenever he had given the advice, he always felt he was lying, spouting facts he didn’t know were true. His brother seems to say it with such belief, and he probably does because he's learned all of it himself.

While Dream was stuck in stone, Nightmare was growing and moving on. He already knew this but it still surprises and pains him when he sees what that really means firsthand.

And yet…for all of his moving on, his brother still helped him today.

His brother could’ve just left him to his panic attack, let him make a fool of himself in front of everyone. Let rumors spread across the multiverse about him, watch his reputation and others’ trust in him crumble. Let him be weak. That was his goal, right? Beat him and give him a taste of what was owed to him, a sliver of what happened to his brother all those years ago? Why help his enemy out of a vulnerable spot, why not take advantage?

Dream wants to say it’s because, despite everything, they were still brothers, and that took priority over anything else.

With a new surge of confidence, Dream clenches his fists. “Right…Night, I—” But when he looks up, Nightmare is gone. He falters, looking around the empty garden as if his brother was simply hiding from him, but he knows he is gone.

He doesn’t sense him in the AU anymore.

Sighing, he stands on shaky legs. He’s disappointed, yes, but not surprised. He’ll just have to tell him another day how sorry he was about what happened, how much he misses him. Ask if he feels the same way. Ask if he wants to be brothers again in more than just title. Maybe, just maybe, Night’ll listen to him and maybe he’ll even say he wants to as well.

For now, though, Dream steels his resolve and leaves.

He’ll explain to Ink in the morning that he doesn’t really like big crowds, parties included.

#my writing #my fanfiction #fanfiction #oneshot #undertale #utmv #dreamtale #dream sans #nightmare sans #mentioned ink sans #mentioned blue sans #mentioned nightmare's gang #tw panic attack #tw ptsd #tw ptsd episode #tw self-hate #hope you enjoy!!

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darlingshane · 2 years

Text

Greetings from Boston

Michael Berzatto x GN!Reader

Rating: T // Content/Warnings: Bars, Drinking, Eating, Swearing, Fluff, Crack, Making Out, Old Friends, Pet Names.

WC: 2,105

Summary: You haven't seen Michael in six years. One night, after moving back to Chicago, you see him in a bar and spend the night out together.

-- Read below or at AO3.

You've wondered for years how different your life would be if you and Michael had pursued your five-minute affair for longer than that. If there was anything you regretted, after moving back to Boston, it was that. You weren't in love with the other, cause you never got enough time to build up something deeper. And when the day came, it felt really easy at the time to pack, and get on with the rest of your life like nothing ever happened.

You got a job in your hometown. He stayed in Chicago, managing the restaurant he had just inherited from his parents.

You were celebrating a friend's birthday in a lounge when you went over to the bar to get more drinks and were taken aback by his handsome profile. He was talking with his, always right hand, and best friend, Richie, you recognized, and a couple of more people that you didn't know.

It had been close to six years since you last saw him during that night of passion you shared together before leaving, just to say goodbye. It was also probably one of the best nights of your life. It stayed with you clearly. And what you felt during that brief time you were with him, came back to you the moment you saw him there.

He wouldn't remember you. Would he? You thought, and hesitated whether to say something or not. You lost touch quickly after you went away. Besides a few calls and texts exchanged, and a couple of postcards sent during the first month, you both got busy with your lives, and eventually he became just a number in your contacts.

His back was turned to you. The music was loud, but his voice was louder, and it made you smile to yourself hearing it when you leaned on the edge of the bar and waved at the bartender.

Instead of tapping on his shoulder and interrupting his story, trying to see if he remembered you, when you placed the order for your drinks, you added a beer, and asked the bartender to send it his way.

It kind of an old move, you believed, but you were too chicken shit to do anything else at the moment.

You went back to your table, sat, grabbed another chocolate cupcake from the tray, and stuffed your mouth with it, waiting to see what happened…

The lovely bartender did as you told her and pointed in your direction after serving the drink. Suddenly his eyes were on you. You swallowed and nodded timidly, still unsure if he had recognized you or not.

It might have taken him a moment, but he did. He said something to Richie and walked up to your table with his new beer bottle in hand.

“Hey, Boston. Long time…” he trailed off when noticing your friends staring at him. His mouth turned into a bashful smile, pressing his teeth on his bottom lip.

You almost melted into a puddle, and barely could keep your cool, saying back, “Hey. Having a good night?”

“Just got better. I appreciate the beer,” he tilted the bottle up to his lips, and took a sip in your honor.

You simply nodded again, unable to think of anything else to say, despite the million questions you had in your head. You kept staring at him like an idiot, blinded by how attractive he was. You were the epitome of shallowness at that moment, and you couldn't deny it. Sure, you'd say his charm and shameless wit was you liked, but deep down, only you knew that the first thing that drew you to him was his rough handsome features and the sturdy, broad shape of his body.

“You guys should join us,” one of your friends said, throwing you a lifeline.

“Yeah, definitely,” you smiled at him.

He was certainly just as surprised as you were to have found the other again, but took her offer, and after joining the two parties you were both eyeing each other for a while before easing up into the conversation.

It had been a long time since you stayed up that late, and it was because of him only. This was going to hurt in the morning, and you didn't care.

After leaving the bar past 3AM, some of your friends went home. The rest of you wandered through the streets, ending up in a very crowded club, dancing the rest of the night.

He didn't dare to join you on the dance floor, even after you asked, but you could feel his eyes glued to you.

You caught up some with what you both had been up to, but none of the important questions were asked yet. So there was no way for you to know if he was single. He had no ring on his finger, but not everyone wears them. All you knew is that you suddenly were so euphoric from the music, the couple of drinks you had, and all the fun of being back here, that all you wanted to kiss him. You would have if you knew, but alas you didn't… yet.

Now, here you are, sitting on the counter of his kitchen at 7AM, after he invited you for breakfast to cure the hangover. You weren't hungover really, but you were ravenous after eating nothing since those sweet cupcakes.

You look to the side, and through the door ajar, you see Richie on the couch talking and laughing with one of your friends he clicked with.

Both of you stay in silence, hearing your friends laugh and have a good time.

Your stomach was already protesting before having your nose trespassed by the delicious smell of bacon cooking on the cast iron, now it’s furious, and it’s seriously begging to get some of it inside, pronto.

“Can I have one now?” you ask, seeing him transfer the cooked bacon strips to a clean plate.

“In a minute.”

“Michael,” you sigh, “if you don't give me some food now, I'm gonna eat your cabinets. That's how hungry I am.”

He chuckles and glances at you over his shoulder, “I’m almost done, I promise.”

You extend your hand enough to reach the fridge to see if he has at least something to drink in the meantime. You grab a bottle of juice, and when you close the door you notice something stuck to it with a magnet, you hadn't paid attention before– A postcard that says: Greetings from Boston. Mass.

It can’t be. Could it? You carefully pick it up and turn it around to see your own handwriting on it on a simple, brief message that reads: I miss you, Bear. That’s how you used to call him. Taken from his last name. It feels like you wrote that in a different lifetime. Did you have more feelings for him than you initially thought? Probably. You run in your head what happened for you to stop calling or texting. Or was it him the one who stopped? All the events lead you to decipher that it was pretty mutual. One day you just didn’t with no explanation. At least that’s what you believe, maybe he has another explanation for it.

“You kept this?” You utter and he turns to look at you.

“Yeah. Are you surprised I did?”

“A little.” You shrug, “earlier… I thought you wouldn’t recognize me.”

“C’mon. You don’t really believe that… I know we never had a real relationship, whatever that is… but you meant a lot to me.”

“So, what happened?”

“You left,” he crosses his arms, and leans on the breakfast bar.

“And after that?”

“Life happened… you had a new job, I had my own set of problems… and we both moved on.”

“You call this moving on?” you utter, showing him the postcard again.

“I mean, I tried.”

“So, there’s nobody else in your life?”

“Sweetie, you wouldn’t be here if I had anybody else. I’ve dated, sure… but,” he finishes his sentence with a shrug, getting interrupted by Richie who flies through the kitchen, grabbing a plate, and filling it with food.

“Don’t mind us. We’ll be in the room for a while, if you know what I mean… ” he grins like an asshole who is about to get laid.

“He lives with you?” you ask Michael, when Richie’s out.

“Uh-uh. He’s just staying here for a few weeks. Had a mold problem in his building.”

You swallow and ask for a glass to have some of that juice before you pass out.

“Oh, no… I’m sorry. Let’s get some food in you.”

Without moving from your spot on the counter, he hands you a plate and a glass, and you enjoy your breakfast with him, chatting some more.

“I take it you’re not seeing anybody either?” he’s the one asking now.

You shake your head, “I almost got married a year ago.”

“Shit, for real?”

“For real.”

“Did you leave him at the altar or did he?”

“Pfff, no. Luckily, it didn’t get as far as that. Found out they were cheating on me before that, and that was the end of it. Kinda… we used to work together and seeing them every day drove me nuts. I knew they weren’t going anywhere… and when I saw there was an opening in our branch here, I put in for a transfer.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No, you’re not,” your lips pull up at the corners.

“You got me… How long have you been here?”

“A month.”

“You’re staying for good?”

“I think so…” you pause and drink some of your juice, “you wanna go out later for coffee or something?”

“Why? Do you wanna pick it out where we left off?”

“No, asshole. I just wanna hang out.”

“I gotta work, but we can hang out here… you don’t have to go right away, do you?”

You’re utterly spent, but you don’t want this day to end, not just yet, “I guess I can stay for a while.”

You smile at each other and all of a sudden you hear music being loudly played from one of the rooms.

“I’m so sorry about that,” he laughs, and moves quickly to cover your ears, “he does it every time he has sex.”

“Wow, he works quickly.”

“Is that a dig at me?” and he tilts his head to the side, displaying a fake offense at your words.

“What? Uh-uh… not at all,” his palms are still on your ears, and you grab his wrists to move them away.

Then, you find yourself weaving your fingers with his, over your lap, as his expression changes.

You can tell he wants to kiss you. And you wanna kiss him too… and after a long five seconds, It’s you who makes the move.

You draw some air and lean forwards, pressing one at the corner of his lips, and a second one in the middle. His mouth parts, inviting you to go deeper, and with ease and a lot of sweetness you lock your lips together, getting acquainted with his mouth once again. As it gradually intensifies, you break the link of your fingers, and as your arms circle his neck, he curls his around your waist.

You wish something else was playing in the background, but it doesn’t really matter, cause you’re only going to remember the way his tongue tastes and moves around your mouth.

Your legs part wider, having him pressing himself against you. The sensation makes you dizzy and feels terribly amazing. You want to capture the warmth of his naked body against you, badly, but you’re not ready for it yet.

It’s hard to think properly at this hour, but you do, and without warning– you pull back slightly from his mouth, and lean your forehead on his.

“I don’t wanna have sex…” you confess with a small voice, momentarily regretting of saying that out loud, “not yet at least. Not like this.”

“‘S okay, we don’t have to, sweetheart,” he swipes your lips with his thumb.

“I mean, I want to, but I’m just really tired right now. Do you want to?”

“I do, baby… so much,” he clears his throat, “whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Can we lie down for a bit, though?”

He nods, promptly picks you up from the counter, and carries you to the couch.

After placing you down gently, you both kick your shoes off, and let him spoon you. He plays with your hair, whispers in your ear, lulling you slowly to fall asleep.

#michael berzatto #michael berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear fanfiction #jon bernthal #fanfiction #fluff #darlingwrites

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kalena-henden · 6 months

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Taemin's whole life he's been pushed to be the company's next leader with little time to think of anything else because of how busy he was with work. Living with his family allowed for constant reinforcement of those self-sacrificing expectations at home as well. His year in jail gave Taemin a reprieve from both his work and his family. That's alot of time off to reflect on his life and what he wants out of it. One of the things he kept coming back to as he worked out in jail daily is how much he enjoyed training with Hyoshim and missed spending time with her. I'm sure this is what led to him to start looking at her in a romantic light. Which in and of itself is a natural thing.

When Taemin first calls Hyoshim after he's released, she is relieved and happy to hear from him again. She seemed to like him as a person and client. However, when he wants to start spending personal time with her, she begins to show signs of discomfort. This is the disconnect. During her year away from him, Hyoshim worried about Taemin as a person but this did not lead to any romantic awaking on her end. After a few times hanging out with him out of obligation, she only felt increasingly aware of the divide between them. Taemin feels at ease with her in a way he doesn't with his colleagues or even family. You can see it in the way he interacts with her and why he's trying to share about his life with her. Unfortunately for Taemin, Hyoshim doesn't feel the same. A handsome, wealthy man paying attention to her isn't giving her dreams of becoming his Cinderella. His notice feels like a burden she wants to escape. Each interaction keeps confirming that she doesn't want a romantic relationship with him.

The problem is that Taemin has given up his autonomy in every area of his life out of filial duty, exactly like Hyoshim. He's been unable to break free, but holding onto Hyoshim feels like a lifeline. He's about to hit his boiling point. If he lets go of the idea of a romantic relationship with her, I think he actually might break because there is no valve to release the pressure building up in his life. It's why he refuses to give up on her even though he knows she's not interested. He's grasping at his last shred of hope for happiness.

What Taemin doesn't realize is Hyoshim is not the right person for him because she is repeating his mistakes in her own life. They both need someone who will give them the encouragement and support to stand up to their superiors at work and families at home to take control of their own lives. This is the only way for both of them to truly find happiness.

Taeho appears to be the right person for Hyoshim. They challenge each other, making them consider things from a new perspective. Until recently, they've done this in a combative way but moving forward I see them doing this in a more respectful way. This brutal honesty has naturally led to an ease and comfort between them that will pave the way for their romance.

While it's a little early, it appears that the reporter is a good match for Taemin. Their interactions have also been combative and brutally honest. They don't hesitate to speak their minds to each other. Her family business is powerful enough to help him wield that power to help sway his company's board members. Also, she would be no pushover for Taemin's mom to control. Instead, she would flick his mom away like the annoying bug she is, giving Taemin the freedom to do as he pleases. Right now he's bristling at her advances, the way Hyoshim is bristling at his. The looming question is will he see the light before it's too late? Before he does, I think he's going to lash out in the wrong ways that will hurt rather than help him.

#kbs live your own life #live your own life #kdrama #kalenapost #kalenameta #this is my response to an mdl comment #and i thought i'd post it here too #i didn't realize i had this many thoughts on it #lol #anyway i'm really liking the romance between hyoshim and taeho

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yatorihell · 4 months

Text

Noragami Reread Volume 11-13

I'm so sad Adachitoka you make me so sad

We've hit the Sakura chapters and the hospital arc and I am not having a good time

Vol 11

They're visiting Suzuha's tree they've not forgotten him

Coo phone where are you baby

Yato shaming Kazuma for being like That with Bishamon

Father is like 'I want to have as much fun as I can' then makes that woman jump off the balcony

Father wants to save Hiyori from his worthless son jshd

'She might take Yato away from you' 'that would never happen' lol suffer

'Just being near him is enough to bring someone disaster' why did we ignore the red flags

Father stop saying you got dumped dieeee

Crush his balls Hiyori

Yato clinging to Hiyori wanting her to talk about her problems

'I have to do something for her' grant her wish lol

Capyperland trauma here we go

Yato using his money for someone else is such a development

Kofuku wanting to ruin Yato's smile hsh

Hiyori preserving belief that Capypers are real

Yukine deserves to go to Capyperland

Kms the trio are all together they're so happy even with all the disaster happening

Hate that the Marry Me sign wasn't in the ova

'Can we stay together a little longer' sad to say I think a little while is over

'How much can I trust your words' hand scene had me more feral than the season 1 ending

Yato's goddess Hiyori dream would be a fun little ova

Kofuku backstory time

Kofuku being banned from shinki but taking Daikoku because he's hot, I wonder why Heaven didn't make her release him

Daikoku giving Kofuku a name in return

Daigo was so cute but all I can think of is the Kagome children, creepy bastard is probably in there

Yato cutting Daikoku's ties but it was fake and they worked it out together I'm so sad

Daikoku would raise Kofuku if she even reincarnated I'm so sad

Bubble era Kofuku is a look

Mayu's past but what we really wanted right then was Yukine's

Father letting Yato make memories to destroy later die challenge

Gods greatest secret and Sakura arc let's go

Vol 12

'If he'd lived his shadow would be longer than mine' mine would be a lot shorter if I was stood on a cliff

Fuck offff Father croc ass bitch makes himself known

He's really making him play video games

I forgot what happened to the old word

Necessary evil foreshadowing

'I won't do anything to Yukine' liarrrrrrr 'Hiyori chan on the other hand' zsgcgcf DIE

'You're a taker' vs Yato giving Hiyori his last breath I hate this manga

Father die challenge

Yato calling Hiyori my pure white yet more foreshadowing

Love how they've both been sent photos of the kiss/trip out of spite

Nora go away (I forgive you)

Is that Father's hand on Yukine's shoulder during the fight sjhdb

'One day Yukine will belong to your Father' dieeee this had us pressed for years until it happened

Bishamon seeing Yato in a new light

Yato's concern for Yukine after the Nora fight he's really got the daddy issue and daddy solution package

'I was getting hot and heavy with Hiyori'

Yato reveal that he has a lifeline

'You wanna dig out my tush crystal'

Hiyori tail memories let's goooo

God this is so fucked up look at all baby's murders

Yato's Sakura tree has me quaking cos you know when we see it again it's bad!!!!

Baby Yato is so cute

Nora's reaction to being given away for Yato to name

I wonder if the black background and boom boom SFX are meant to represent the womb fir Nora's memories

Yato immediately starts swinging once he gets a sword

Yato and Sakura meeting and he has the attention span of that butterfly

Sakura smacking the shit out of Yato he needs it tbh

Father ready to punish Nora even without proof because Yato's lethargic, not blighted

Yato experiences geniune, no strings attached affection for the first time?

Yato get out of the tits

Yato learning kindness from humans and how to be a kid

'I want to be with sakura a little while longer' WHERE HAVE WE HEARD THAT BEFORE

And then he ruins it by killing

Adachitoka really gets the emotion down to a T in this manga Sakura's face is perfect

Sakura finding her purpose is to teach Yato

Father punishing Nora again for Yato's actions but he's a good dad (joke)

Nora like 'and I took that personally' when Sakura notices she has 2 names

When you read it you're like oh she evil but then next chapter you know she didn't know what would happen

Father said its for her own good

Vol 13

Love how we've ignored the whole Hiyori storyline lol when did she last ask to be fixed

Kazuma trying to put a spell Yato he's that crazy, even if it was a joke that bitch has issues

Yato wondering why Father is putting ayakashi in humans then thinks of Hiyori jdjj

'You like Yaboku don't you?' now we're confronting the feelings (I wouldn't say they're all the way there yet but she cares for him)

Oh I'm so sad stop bringing up that in centuries Hiyori will be dead and Yato will be alive

IMAGE OF HIYORI WITH HER CHILDREN

'When people die no one can ever see them again' I hate this line stop haunting us

Yato and Yukine guarding Hiyori at school and you can see Yukine's bag floating midair

Love how Hiyori just bodies Yato when she thinks about liking him and he enjoys it

Hiyori wanted to be a doctor when she was little

Hospital attack was such a curveball I was riveted

Yukine's name chips oh it begins I hate this

'You'll lose your future' haaaaaaa she did now she hasn't

Yatobisha team up

I love how Yato looks in this chapter

Bishamon bare handed killing ayakashi she's just that powerful

Tsuguha getting hit and it's just game over basically

'You're going to make Yato take care of it again' several gun emojis I hate this fucker

'However they want to save her it's up to them' with a kiss apparently <3

'Neither of us can do anything but kill stuff' vs most recent chapter has me all sorts of ways

'I don't have to cut anything I'll figure something out' CAN YOU then again her cord is gone nkwnso defacto win if she remembers him

'How can I save Hiyori' kiss <3

'I'm always here to help you'

'I want him to wrap me up in that gentle light and forgive me for everything I've done' IS THAT HOW IT FELT WHEN SHE GOT NAMED HUH

Hiyori half phantom was such a level up

Bite him it's a love language

LET ME BE WITH YOU

MAKE HIYORI A SHINKI

HIYORI WANTS TO BE WITH YOU

Oh the hug I'm so sad Adachitoka you make me so sad

'I can't let you come to this side yet' I'm so sad adachitoka you make me so sad

Oh what are the chances they won't even see each other final chapter lol (I will die)

#noragami aragoto #noragami #hiyori #yato #yukine #goodbyenoragami

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