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alpacaparkaseok · 3 years

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Lost & Found - 16

Pairing: Park Jimin x soulmate (oc)

Warnings: fluff, me feeling sad because THIS IS THE EEEEND

Word Count: 3.9k

a/n: there will be an epilogue coming out on Friday, (FROM CHRISTINA’S POV!!) however other than that, this is the end of Lost & Found everyone! I just wanted to say THANK YOU to all of you that have been so involved with this story. I feel like I’ve gotten to see so much of you guys interacting with this story and loving it just as much as I do. I’ve loved your theories and seeing your reactions (lol, some of them were hilarious). This story is...I don’t even know how to explain it. I put a little bit of myself into every story I write, but this is one of those that really made me do some digging. It still is. It was hard to write most of the time. But it was so, so worth it.

I would LOVE (as always) to hear from you about your thoughts. Who your fav characters were, favorite parts, thoughts on the ending, thoughts on side ships (lol Christina and Tae!) and of course, I’m more than happy to answer any questions! Thank you again for reading, and enjoy!

Chapter 16. I’m Proud of You

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The sound of rain battering on the roof of the shop creates a false sense of security. The ambience created by the repeated sound against the tin out in the alleyway lulls me into a dreamlike state.

Jimin appears to be in a similar mindset, leaning against the worktable and watching with glazed eyes as I knead the dough to a rhythm I pick out in the rainfall.

“What’s the next question?”

Jimin inhales deeply, eyes drifting to the appear hanging loosely in his hands. “Um…how do you plan on coping with a life in the spotlight?”

Jimin and I have been at the sweet-bread shop for the past couple of hours, trying to make up for all the days I missed from work. Yuri allowed for us to come in today much later than normal due to Jimin’s schedule in the morning.

Last night I’d glanced through the lengthy list of questions with Jimin and Chung-hei. I’d nearly cried from relief when I found out that she would also be joining in on the interview. Apparently Bighit thought that selling the idea of two close friends at the soulmates for two of their idols might prove to be comforting for the fans.

“I plan on baking a lot of bread,” I respond with a smirk, spreading the dough in a pan and heading toward the large oven on the far side of the room. On the way I prop the back door open just a crack, allowing a bit of air in now that the back will be heating up with baking bread. The sound of rain grows louder, the strong smell flooding the kitchen.

Jimin chuckles, nodding along. “And texting your friend Jaemin?”

“Obviously.” Once everything looks good to go, I set a timer and check the time. It’s pushing eight in the evening, and the rain has yet to let up at all. “Ok, that’ll bake for thirty minutes.” I go to join Jimin beside the worktable, beginning to wipe it down.

“Next…something that’s surprised you so far?”

The thread now extends nearly twenty feet, which the soulmate specialist we met with last night predicted would happen. “At this rate,” he’d said, “Everything should be back to normal within five days or so.”

Normal.

What does that even mean anymore?

“You.” I keep my eyes on the table, trying to scoop up as much flour as I can. “You’ve been the biggest surprise so far.”

Jimin lowers the paper, watching my movements as I dispose of the flour before spraying some disinfectant and continuing to clean.

“Explain that, please.” Jimin effortlessly assumes the role of interviewer. I chew on my cheek, grinning when Jimin takes up a spot on the opposite side of the table and motions for the cloth.

I slide it toward him, watching as he begins to clean the other side. “Well… I think we’re becoming friends. Good friends.” My absentminded smile grows as I recall the events of last night.

By the time we’d finished the meeting with Bang PD, we’d barely had enough time to breathe before launching ourselves into another flurry of meetings. All designed to prepare me for the possible pitfalls of this sudden interview.

When we’d finally made it back to the house, Elle was cranky at not seeing either of us all day and I was bordering on a mental breakdown.

In the quiet of the living room, Jimin had sat on the edge of my couch-turned-bed and tucked me in.

“Take your pick,” he’d whispered, unfolding the blanket. “Burrito or lasagna.”

My startled laugh sounded loud in the quiet house. “What’s the difference?”

With some sort of reverenced adoration, I listened to my soulmate explain the lasagna method (piling several layers of blankets on top of the victim/person), versus the burrito method (one blanket, snugly tucked in).

Laid there on the couch, gazing up at Jimin, I understood why I hadn’t fought against the interview.

I cared. It was a devastatingly simple and perhaps a little lackluster revelation, but I cared about him.

Jimin looks up at me now from the opposite end of the worktable with a crooked smile. “Are you friend-zoning me?”

My eyes fall to that smile, wondering what it might feel like to reach out and trace the little divots it creates in his cheeks.

“…no.”

After his marvelous explanation of the difference in the lasagna and burrito methods, I’d chosen burrito.

Jimin had leapt up off the couch and draped the blanket over my body. I laughed when it covered my face, and Jimin chuckled nervously when he pulled it down.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “This is a hazardous line of work at times.”

Beginning at my toes and working his way up, Jimin had meticulously tucked me in. I’d stifled a laugh when he brushed up against my sides, a knowing smile gracing his lips before he quietly instructed, “Arms up.”

Rather than finishing the job quickly, Jimin took his time. Gently straightening the hem of the blanket and taking my hands in his before guiding them to rest atop the blanket.

He took a moment to study me, the only source of light coming from the kitchen. A little light had been left on above the stove, but I didn’t mind; not when it illuminated the way he was looking at me.

Resting on the edge of the couch, Jimin looked like an ordinary man.

His black t-shirt looked a little wrinkled, and his eyes were tired. He ran a hand through his hair, looking at the other couch.

“I’m proud of you.”

Despite the utter silence in the room, I wondered if I heard him correctly. “Hm?”

His lips turned down in a frown of concentration as Jimin swam in his thoughts. “I think you deserve to hear it.”

I stared at him like he had suddenly transformed into a werewolf. “I…I don’t think…”

At my tone of doubt, Jimin returned his focus on me, surprised to see that I didn’t believe him.

Maybe you aren’t proud of yourself,” he whispered quietly, as though sharing a secret. “But for now, I hope that this is enough.” He reached out to wipe a stray tear from my cheek, quickly followed by another. “You’ve been so brave, and I’m so proud of you.”

For unknown minutes after, all was silent. Jimin stayed, fingers caressing my cheeks as the tears continued to flow. I had clung to his wrist, unable to verbally convey what was caught in my throat as he continued to look at me with so much pride.

I don’t deserve you.

But I will do my best to love you in the way you deserve.

✂

The rain lets up not long after the bread comes out of the oven, although Jimin is nowhere near the end of the questions. He continues asking them as he and Jolie head out to the car waiting for them, Sunmi greeting them with a cheery wave.

He watches with a forgotten smile as his soulmate interacts with her friend. Jolie laughs at something Sunmi says, her eyes alight with some sort bittersweet emotion. Jimin is beginning to understand what that look means.

Last night, he’d seen the way she was doubting herself. If he was honest, he’d been doubting himself, as well. This interview was going to be high pressure. He didn’t want to admit it, but this interview would largely decide how people viewed his soulmate.

Yet, Jolie didn’t complain. She didn’t say a single thing expressing her doubt or worry. Instead, he watched on with amazement and admiration as she powered through the meetings. Steeling herself against the worst.

There had been a moment, as Jimin tucked his soulmate in after explaining the different methods (he’d come up with the lasagna method on the spot, but she didn’t need to know that), that he realized why he’d been feeling so odd all day. Like something about Jolie was so familiar, allowing him to fall into an easy rhythm with someone who should have been one of the last he would trust so readily.

She reminded him of, well…himself.

Jolie was cut from the same cloth that he was. That younger Jimin of the trainee days, trying so hard to be brave but still quick to make rash decisions that he later came to regret with his whole being. Quick to doubt, quick to love.

Somehow, that’s who Jimin saw as he sat perched on the edge of the couch. And after a moment of reflection, he felt like he knew what he had needed to hear back in those early days. What Jolie needed to hear as she embarked on this new adventure.

“I’m proud of you.”

It was true. It still is, less than a day later as Jolie sits beside Jimin in the backseat and chatters freely with Sunmi. Explaining some of the silly answers she came up with to the possible interview questions, making a bet on some random phrase that Chung-hei will probably say at some point.

That pride bubbles up until it has Jimin reaching across the seat to grab Jolie’s hand in his, lovingly running his thumb over her knuckles. He grins at the way she stumbles mid-sentence, eyes flashing to him.

He sees the way she looks doubtful for a moment, and he knows that she’s internally rejecting the notion that he cares as deeply for her as his actions say he does. He just squeezes her hand a little tighter and silently promises to prove it to her.

Again and again, if need be.

“You’ll do great,” Sunmi is reassuring as she pulls into a familiar neighborhood. They’ve arrived back to the apartment at last. “I’ll be watching.”

“That sounds a little creepy,” Jolie teases, glancing over at Jimin as she opens up the door and slides out. “Thanks, Sunmi.”

Sunmi nods, smiling in the rear view. “I’ll see you guys in the morning!”

Once they’ve said their goodbyes, Jimin and Jolie head up to the apartment. They can already hear some of the people inside, and Jolie can’t hide her smile as she hears Christina’s voice.

“Kim Seokjin, I already told you that I’m in charge of the zucchini, now leave it alone.”

Jolie wiggles her eyebrows at Jimin. “Don’t tell me she’s moved on to Jin.”

“Oh, no. Her and Tae and are pining over each other every chance they get,” he quietly confirms. The way Jolie snorts has him smiling at her fondly. “She’s probably just trying to make him jealous by hanging out with Jin.”

The two of them head inside, stepping into a warzone. People are scattered everywhere, jumping to and fro in an effort to prepare a suitable dinner for all those present. It’s a rare sight to see in the house, it’s not often that they cook at home. Due to their busy schedules, they either cook for themselves or eat out.

“What’s going on?” Jolie asks with a hint of amusement as she glances at Taehyung. He’s the only stationary being in the entire house, leaning up against the doorway to the kitchen and staring at Christina with furrowed brows. Almost like he’s confused, but he doesn’t quite understand why.

Jimin comes up behind him, clapping him on the shoulder. “How’s it going?”

Taehyung shrugs, a little lost in thought. “Oh, fine. Fine.”

Winking at Jolie, Jimin attempts to sidle into the kitchen. “Anybody need help in here?” There’s a round of applause from Jin, who begs Jimin to come and help him with something. Taking up a station beside his oldest hyung, Jimin gets to work to prepare family dinner.

✂

“So,” I drawl, posting up on the opposite end of the doorframe from Taehyung. “Whatcha thinking about?”

Taehyung’s frown deepens, his eyes flitting over to mine before sloping back to where Christina chops vegetables at the counter. “Dinner.”

“Mhmm.”

Again, his eyes flash over to me, an accusing look on his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shrug, enjoying the role reversal. To think, it wasn’t that long ago before I was quaking before Taehyung at work. “You just look a little distracted, that’s all.”

Taehyung chews on his bottom lip, and I don’t miss the way his eyes flit back and forth between Christina, her severed thread, and his own thread which leads out the door and beyond. Connecting him to his soulmate, wherever they may be.

“I feel a little…strange.” He admits quietly enough for no one else to hear.

“In a good way, or…?”

He shrugs, watching as Christina picks her way across the kitchen to where Seokjin clears a space for her to slip the cut vegetables into a steaming pot. “Sometimes good, sometimes bad.”

“And do you…plan to do anything about these strange feelings?”

Christina steps out of the room, and the second she disappears from sight it’s like Taehyung woke up from a long dream. He blinks, looking around for a second before looking back at me. “I think it’s more of a question of if I should do something about it. If that’s even plausible.” Again, his eyes drift to his thread, and I mull over this odd situation.

In the end, it only leads to heartbreak. It just depends on who it will be that gets their heart broken.

Before I can respond, Yoongi is calling everyone to come to dinner. It takes a few minutes for us to all gather around, and I can’t help but notice the way that Taehyung doesn’t even think twice before settling down next to Christina. The moment he notices what he’s done, however, that same tormented expression from earlier reappears. I offer him a bolstering smile from down the table, which he hastily returns.

We all dig into the food, everyone expressing appreciation for different dishes and sharing all around. Jimin blows on his bulgogi before extending it to me with a grin, which I quickly take.

Toward the end of the meal, Hoseok holds up a glass and a hush falls over the table. “I’d like to propose a toast!”

Jungkook whispers something to Jin, who tries and fails to hide his laughter. A glare from Hobi has the two shutting up in an instant.

“To more family dinners like this,” he says with a smile. “And to all our new additions.” He pauses, thinking for a moment longer. “Some of you arrived in more…unconventional ways than others. But I will say this: you make my friends happy, and that’s all I want for them. Please continue to make them smile as often as you can.”

I can toast to that.

✂

These lights are making me sweat, but then again, that could also be from the way the interviewer is staring me down with a hawk-like glare.

There’s no studio audience, no this is something to be broadcasted in about a month from now. For now, I sit beside Chung-hei and try not to fidget in my seat.

At first, there were plenty of generic questions. A few directed toward Chung-hei or I that were easy enough to tackle; questions like: “What’s your line of work?” or “How does it feel to be in an interview?”

Now, though, we’re reaching the end and the interviewer seems to sense this. They begin to lean into the more difficult questions. Anything to keep ratings going, I suppose.

“Jolie, I have one final question for you,” they grab their card before crossing their legs and smiling at me. There’s no kindness in that smile, but I try to pretend like there is. “If you could go back in time to before you met Jimin, what would you tell yourself?”

I blink. Everyone looks to me expectantly, and I find that I’m suddenly sweating much more than before.

This wasn’t in the list of questions.

Refraining from chewing on my lip, I glance at Chung-hei. My friend smiles encouragingly at me, and I allow myself to go back to a previous time I saw that same smile.

I’m standing beside Chung-hei, grinning wide enough that my cheeks hurt as the intro music begins to play.

“They’re about to come out!” Hei screams despite standing right by me. I laugh at her excitement, even though I know I look just as crazed as she does.

The entire arena floods with music, the bass making my very bones vibrate. All around me people lift up their army bombs and cheer. Smoke floods the stage, creating a mysterious aura before the lights drop and everything is plunged into darkness.

And then, light. Two huge spotlights illuminate seven figures who seemingly appeared from thin air in the middle of the stage. Less than a second later, the already deafening arena picks up in sound.

In a burst of energy, the seven boys begin their routine. I find that I am absolutely mesmerized as my eyes fall on one person in particular.

Park Jimin glides across the stage as though he owns it; which, with some quick negotiating and a bit of cash, he probably could. His flowy white shirt makes me understand why he’s so often referred to as an angel. However, it’s when he smiles that I find myself adopting the nickname to use for future reference.

For a moment, I am blissfully ignorant to all that awaits me. To all that awaits us, as I still have yet to notice the way my thread shifts whenever Jimin moves across the stage.

What would I tell myself in that moment?

The answer comes surprisingly quickly. “If I could go back…I think I’d just tell her that I’m proud of her.” I smile softly at the interviewer, who listens to my every word as though waiting for some sort of slip up to cling to. “For all that she’s gone through, I’m proud. And that there’s light up ahead.”

Right on cue, the producer signals to wrap it up from behind the camera. I spy Jimin’s smile, making me smile in return.

The interview is wrapped up within the next couple of minutes, and before I know it we’re being herded backstage before slipping into our different cars to head to the Bighit building.

Jimin and I sit in the back seat as Sunmi drives, listening to her rant about how well we did. I just shrug, explaining that it’s too soon to congratulate us. The real challenge will come when the broadcast airs.

“You did well,” Jimin quietly affirms. He takes my hand in his like he did yesterday, and it’s a feeling that I can certainly tell I’ll be more than happy with for the rest of my life. “How are you feeling?”

I shrug. “Alright, I think. Just nervous for what comes next.”

Once we make it to the Bighit building, Jimin pulls me aside before entering the doors. Once he’s ascertained that there isn’t anyone eavesdropping, he pulls me in close to his embrace.

I nearly melt in his arms, instantly relaxing as I take in the citrusy scent of his shampoo. It’s the same that I’ve been using over the past couple of days.

“Let me tell you what comes next,” he whispers before pulling back to see my face. “First off, you quit trying to friend-zone me.”

I laugh, trying to shove him away but failing as he keeps a tight grip around me. “I’m not! You’re just being overdramatic!”

He feigns offense, gasping loudly. “I can’t believe you’d attack me like this. It hurts, jagiya. It really does.”

“Yah, just get on with it.”

“Ok, ok. You’re so impatient.” His easy smile proves that he doesn’t mean me any harm. “ Secondly, I have a question for you.”

“And what’s that?”

Releasing his grip around my waist just long enough to push some of his hair back, he raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to date me?”

I blink, unsure of whether to laugh or question his health. “I- yeah. Of course I do.”

“Ah, so you want to date me.” Jimin smirks, and suddenly I realize that I may have just gotten myself into a lot of trouble. “Alright, I guess I’ll allow it. But I do have some conditions for you if you want to be my girlfriend.”

I scoff. “Woah, technically you’re the one that asked-”

“And you answered that yes, you want to date me. Will you hear out my conditions?” I nod impatiently. “Good. First, you must allow me to tuck you in burrito style whenever you sleep over.” I chuckle, nodding along vigorously while trying to memorize the way he’s looking at me right now. “Second, you quit texting that Jaemin guy. I’m the jealous type, and he seems sketchy.”

Now I can’t hold back my shoulder-shaking laughter. “You realize how contradictory that is, right?”

Completely ignoring my call on his judgement, Jimin continues. “You let me send you chocolates without complaining about getting fat. I get joint custody of Elle. You teach me how to bake bread, your mother’s recipe.”

His soft tone makes me smile softly. “And?”

He holds up his left hand, the red thread shining in the afternoon sun. “When this thing starts working properly again, you don’t run away from me. Let me- let me be your best friend.”

There’s a lump in my throat now as Jimin’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. “And?” I whisper.

“And when the rest of the world is pressing in on you, let me remind you how much you are loved.”

His grip tightens just a cinch as I let out a shaky breath before mumbling out, “How do you plan to do that?”

Jimin’s eyes slowly drop to my lips, head tilting to the side as he smiles softly. “I have something of an idea.”

The sound of the gate opening to let another car in – surely one of the other boys – alerts me to our ending privacy. Before Jimin can change his mind, I throw my arms around his neck and pull him in close.

The first clash of our lips is a bit sloppy, but soon Jimin is leaning in impossibly closer to better capture my lips. It’s unknown and hurried, and full of promise for the future. The only thing on my mind is the feeling of Jimin’s hands digging into my waist before finding themselves at the small of my back, making me stumble forward a step. He catches me, lips parting in a crooked grin a single second before a black SUV pulls up.

Jimin’s cheeks are dusted light pink in the afternoon sun, but soon I’m going cross eyed as he leans in and delivers Eskimo kisses. “I knew it was a good idea.”

“Oi! Don’t tell me you two were just making out in broad daylight,” Jin groans as he exits the SUV followed by a disgusted looking Namjoon.

“I- no, we were…uh, I…” Jimin sputters, looking to me for help. I laugh, saying nothing as I head for the doors.

“Namjoon, you can’t even act like you’re disgusted!” Jimin protests, hurrying after me to avoid a collision with the door like he has in previous experiences. “Don’t pretend like I haven’t seen you and Chung-hei making out like teenagers on the couch-”

All three boys trail after me as I stride down the hallway toward the elevator. They don’t stop their bickering as we enter the elevator and Jin pushes the fifth floor button, red in the face as he scolds the other two for their behavior.

Leaning up against the wall, I close my eyes and smile, listening to the accusations flying around the small elevator.

It’s good to be home.

Previous - Epilogue

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ghostiesblog · 3 years

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CONGRATULATIONS!! YOU ARE SUPER TALENTED AND DESERVE ALL THE ATTENTIONS!!!!! and um, would ya mind doing a flarrie panic attack ficlet? and please dw about this if it’s in any way triggering to you, i would never want to make you write something actually hurtful for you /srs.

asddhsahsgf thank you anon! <3 Sorry this took a bit longer and thank you for being so nice, that genuinely means a lot! I have to say, this was very cathartic to write. Here you go:

Sitting still with a brain on fire

Pariring: Flarrie | Warnings: Detailed description of a panic attack

a/n: This is heavily influenced and modelled after how I feel during my quite frequent panic attacks. However, keep in mind that everyone's experience is different! Stay safe <3

Carrie can’t breathe.

She’s slipping, falling, scrambling for purchase but finding no way of holding on.

And the day had started out so well.

When Carrie had woken up, the kitchen and living room had been empty, much like the past few days, her father probably still in deep sleep. Carrie doesn’t mind the empty kitchen. She loves having the time to herself in the morning so her first reaction wasn’t worry, wasn’t unease, no, instead she revelled in the quiet while drinking her morning coffee and eating a peanut butter jelly sandwich.

On the way to school she had felt calm, steady, prepared for the day, prepared to take on anything that could face her.

If only she’d known…

That calm steady feeling was it that motivated her to smile at Flynn in the hallway, complimenting her outfit. Flynn had smiled back and for a moment Carrie felt on top of the world.

In the end, that only means her fall is so much deeper, when everything crumbles after third period.

She is working on a group assignment, huddled together at one table with Nick, Julie and Flynn when there’s a knock on the door and Ms. Brown, the school’s young secretary tiptoes in a polite but pained smile on her face.

“Carrie Wilson?” she says and immediately, Carrie knows that something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

“I need you to come to the office for a moment”

Carrie nods, numbly, getting up out of her seat. Julie looks slightly panicked, Flynn confused, while Nick reaches out to squeeze her arm comfortingly.

On the way through the hallway, Carrie almost drags her feet. “What’s going on?” she finally thinks to ask but Ms Brown just shakes her head.

“Principal Lessa is going to explain everything.”

Carrie fiddles with the nails of her thumb and index finger. She doesn’t want to know how bad this is if the principal is involved.

Once they get through the doors into Lessa’s office, Carrie almost suffocates on the pity that’s hanging in the air.

“Carrie”, the principal says, standing up to walk around her desk. “There’s no easy way to say this but there’s no use in beating around the bush here.”

Carrie clenches her fist tightly when Principal Lessa takes a deep breath and looks straight at her.

“Your father was checked into a psychiatric hospital earlier today after a mental breakdown.”

No.

“I’m sorry. They said he was experiencing worrying levels of hallucinations.”

No. This can’t be happening. Not again.

“They will help him get better, I promise. We just have to make sure you’re taken care of in the- Carrie!”

Carrie has stumbled back. She can’t listen to this any longer.

Her chest feels unbearably tight and something is stuck in her throat. She tries to swallow, opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

She takes another step back, slams into a chair. Something falls with a bang but Carrie can’t see it, the edges of her vision are too blurry.

With effort she finds the door handle, yanks it open and bursts out of the room. She needs to get out, that’s all she can think of right now.

She crashes into the front doors of the school, then remembers to pull them, tries to breathe in the fresh air that hits her face, fails.

Her vision tilts, she slips, holds herself on the wall and then the floor. Her hands sting and somehow, it’s a welcome sensation, something else apart from the dizzying devastation that fills up her lungs.

She keeps falling and falling. Skin crawling, eyes burning, stomach turning. The outside world seems miles away now. Everything is dark.

Then, faintly, she feels a movement next to her, and a soft voice.

“Hey”

It takes effort to listen.

“It’s Flynn. I’m here.”

Carrie’s body reacts on his own, her hand reaching out to where the voice is coming from, finding the upturned palm offered to her automatically. Their fingers link together and Carrie holds on tight. She is relieved when she can feel Flynn squeeze back just as tightly.

She still can’t breathe, can’t see, but there’s something to hold onto now.

Luckily Flynn still knows her well enough to not move, not say a word, or god forbid try one of those goddamn breathing exercises.

Her father loves those, counts his own breaths out loud sometimes but Carrie, who feels every sound like a dagger piercing her skin, crawling behind her eyes, making her want to tear her skin off, can’t take someone talking to her, let alone trying to dictate when and how she has to breathe.

One time a teacher had frantically tried to get her to mirror his own deep breaths and in her panic and desperation, Carrie had instinctively punched him clean in the face.

After that incident, Carrie had sat down with her then best friends and told them about the panic, the fear, the burning sensation that fills her body sometimes. And she’s told them what not to do, and what she thinks might help.

Flynn clearly remembers that still, because now she’s here, solid and real and holding onto her hand like an anchor.

It’s enough that Carrie can at least formulate thoughts again.

“It’s fine, you’re fine, you’re okay, you’re safe”, she thinks, like a mantra, over and over, just like she’s practiced in therapy. “You’re okay, you’re okay.”

A squeeze of her hand and she adds: “You’re not alone. You’ll be fine, you’re not alone.”

Slowly, the world filters back in. It’s a bit much, bright and grating, but that’s okay.

Flynn is still holding onto her hand and when Carrie finally manages to take a full breath again and immediately starts sobbing, Flynn is there to catch her, rubbing her back soothingly while Carrie cries into her shoulder.

Eventually, the sobs lessen as well, the agony Carrie has been in slowly but surely leaving her body.

Shakily, she draws back, only to drop her head on Flynn’s shoulder. Now that the panic is gone, she has no power left to hold herself up anymore.

“Nick is inside dealing with Lessa and Julie is getting someone to pick us up”, Flynn says and her voice is calm and even, like she didn’t just see Carrie absolutely falling apart.

“We’ll get through this. I promise.”

Carrie nods, trying to get her voice to work again.

“Thank you”, she whispers finally.

“No need to thank me”, Flynn says, like it’s a well known fact. “You’re not alone” and it echoes around Carries head like the most comforting sound she’s ever heard.

You’re not alone. You’re okay, you’re not alone.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #flarrie #flynn jatp #carrie wilson #angst #prompt #writing #fic

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buck-nialled · 4 years

Note

Can you write a imagine were Y/N is willies friend and comes to quarantine at his and Niall’s. Niall ends up liking her and willie encourages him to speak to her or something xx

NOTE: so sorry this took so long to post anon its been the course of weeks i have attempted at writing and rewriting this multiple times and i am still a bit unsure about it so if you or any readers would like to give feedback that would be vv appreciated! Also put a lil thing in here for the anon who thought it’d be cool to incorporate my blog name in an imagine so here is to that reader of mine also, enjoy!

Sad Song Addict - N. Horan Imagine

It had been three weeks since you took up the offer of staying with Willie’s flat with him and Niall. At first, you were hesitant, wondering how Willie’s roommate would feel about your unanticipated stay that could last upwards of eighteen months from predictions of the news. The morning you woke up to the news of airlines shutting down and flights being canceled, you began frantically packing up your things in the hotel room you had booked for the week. But your hope and energy were drained by the end of it due to the current situation and the fact that you gained nearly three hours of tossing and turning on the lumpy mattress you “slept” on last night.

Luckily, Willie lived only minutes from the hotel and was calling you with the proposal of a living situation before you could even zip your suitcase closed. You wanted to decline and kept shaking your head in refusal at each argument Willie came up with: which were very logical and irrefutable. You were stable on your feet financially, but not confident enough to book your stay at a hotel for a year. Additionally, most items you packed to keep you “nourished” were a few granola bars and bottled waters.

It was thirty seconds into Willie’s desperate pleas over the phone for you to come to stay with him when you finally caved. It made you feel lucky, almost, to have a person so close (literally and metaphorically) who cares for you enough to offer their living space and all that is offered to you for as long as necessary.

Now, three weeks of the same guest room, same-colored walls, same sheets, and comforter, the same atmosphere; you had your first breakdown. It was minor and could have been much worse had you not opted for a good cry in the shower and rather tear up your temporary living space. Your breathing was shattered, heartbeat erratic and you’re pretty sure more tears leaked from your eyes than they did from the showerhead above you. You were grateful Willie had left for a quick run to the store for food and whatever cleaning supplies could be scavenged, otherwise you knew he would have heard you.

The beating streams of water trickling down your red face was refreshing, but also a bittersweet method to open up your thoughts. You never realized how much one could take for granted. Specifically, those you saw every day or even every month. You missed being able to walk outside and do the simple tasks you once thought to be mundane: like checking the mail or turning on the sprinklers.

Towards the end of your revelations, you did not hide your smallest whimpers, nor the large sobs which all but heaved out of you. You let them slip because it was the closest you’ve achieved to screaming in a while.

Willie may have been out of the house during this point in the night, but his roommate was not. Niall’s room happened to be right beside the bathroom where your unbridled collapse of emotions had taken place. While he twiddled with the pen and blank pages of a journal, something more peculiar had caught his interest. The sounds of your crying only a room over physically pained Niall to listen to. He yearned to block the noises out, even thought about putting on a pair of headphones to keep your privacy, but the guilt inside of him overrode it.

Labeling your relationship with Niall as “friends” would be a stretch. You would call yourselves acquaintances at most. Ironically, Willie was like a brother to you. But whenever you and Niall visited London concurrently, there were two different parties you would both attend too. Out of the two, Willie was your only mutual friend. Therefore, you and Niall exchanged very few words with one another in past gatherings, maybe shared a pint at the same table. But other than that, you never did cross paths with one another.

Despite you living with him now, it seemed as though nothing had changed. Niall helped you bring your bags to the guest room, gave a less than detailed tour of the home, and accepted they would have to cook for three now. As far as Niall knew, Willie was thrilled to be having another friend to stay with him. While Niall did not seem to mind your figure bustling through his house with suitcases, it was much more pleasant than he let on.

Niall learned to be discreet about his emotions over the years and follow a rule to put it all in the notebook for only his eyes. Secretly, he has always been infatuated with you and would be lying if he said a few certain songs on his previous album were not about you.

You would think that having you here in front of him every day would make this upcoming album an easy write. At least the mushy-gushy songs, Niall thought. But the moment you stumbled through the front door, any idea Niall might have had was pushed to the back of his mind. You were all he could think about, but it seemed impossible to put that in the right string of words since the two of you had become closer.

In a physical sense, that is. Though Niall enjoyed the idea of finally having an intimate conversation with you about whatever, and Willie had persuaded him many times to do so, he lacked the courage. If you were interested you would have come up to him first. At least, that was Niall’s logic. That thought then led him down a rabbit hole of unnecessary thoughts of if you ever thought of him as a friend. What was he going to do if you admitted the likeness was not reciprocated. How was he going to get you to admit it?

The unmistakable sound of the bathroom door creaking open has Niall’s ears perking up. Though he was afraid to know if you felt the same about him, he would feel worse to stand idly by and know you were not your happiest. With a content sigh and a disappointed glance at the still-blank pages before him, Niall heaved himself off of his desk chair and emerged from his bedroom.

Traversing down the hallway until he is facing the guest room door, he begins to regret leaving his own. While his mind was screaming to go back and just ignore whatever urge drove him to stand up in the first place, his knuckles beat him and celebrated with a few steady laps to the door.

“Come in.” Your voice was muffled, but Niall could hear your voice, shaky, and congested from the sadness and snot you tried your best to contain upon exiting the shower. Niall entered the room slowly, as though the floors were lined with fragile antiques he best not knock over. As he glanced up, his eyes drank in the sight of your cheeks, puffy and red as you swiped away below your eyes, trying to rid of any evidence of your earlier emotions.

“Hey,” Niall greeted. He gently waltzed over to your figure, sat with your legs crossed on the bed. “May I?” You gave a small nod to Niall, seconds later having him sitting beside you.

“So…watcha doin’?” Niall tries a lighthearted tone of voice but fails miserably. You had suspicions, as if your blazing cheeks were not obvious enough, that Niall knew very well what you were suffering moments before. But now that he had just confirmed it, your cheeks felt that much warmer.

“You heard me, didn’t you?” There was no point in trying to avoid what both of you knew. After this awkward conversation (wherever it would lead) he would probably go tell Willie, who would sit you down and counsel you without your consent.

“Uh, yeah…I just wanted to check up on ya.” His expression was unchanging with its concern. A few moments of silence passed between you two before a small whisper passed you.

“Yeah.” You nod, meeting his eyes. “Just got a little…homesick. Started thinking. Maybe a little too hard.” You laugh a little. “Listening to sad songs in the shower probably didn’t help, either.” Niall hums in agreement, sparing a smile at you.

“You like sad music?” You scoff at this.

“If there was an AA for sad songs, I’d be their biggest supporter.” Your comment made Niall snort through his remark.

“I’d probably be the president.” His challenging statement earned a light raise of your eyebrows.

“Is that so?” Your hand moves over to retrieve your phone. Upon unlocking it and opening your music library, you offer it to Niall with an outstretched arm. “Take a look.”

He scrolled through your library, eyes widening at some songs or artists he assumed you would never know existed. “Wow…you weren’t kidding.” Niall chuckled, recognizing many of the titles listed on your phone screen. After a few more moments it was handed back to you, who had an accomplished smile gracing her face.

“So, what have you been doing?” Niall shifted slightly on the bed, clearing his throat.

“Writing. Or, I should say trying to.” He rolls his eyes, lips twitching downward to a small frown.

“Having a block?” Niall gives an upsetting shake of his head.

“But from what Willie told me, there’s another songwriter under this roof.” He gives you a sly flick of his blue eyes, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his head. It was obvious as to what he was hinting, and with how taken you were for the man, “no” was the last answer he would be getting.

“I am. Were you in need of some of my expertise?”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt…” Niall shrugs, making you giggle lightly.

“Okay, well—”

“Neither would a date.” He cuts in. It takes a few moments for you to digest the words, and you sat in awe.

“A—I’m sorry, I thought you said—”

“A date? Because I did.” The smirk is climbing up on Niall’s face once again, along with a hopeful gleam overtaking his pair of blues.

“I….”

“Will you go out with me?” Lost for words, the only motion you could perform was a frantic nod. Quickly, you reach over to the bedside table and grab your planner, untouched for the last few weeks in exception to the hour you dedicated to canceling plans and rescheduling other activities for the upcoming months.

“Yeah, what day did you have in mi—” Before you could complete your inquiry, a thin piece of paper fell from the current page in your planner. It was not thin enough to be a plain sheet of paper, nor thick enough to be considered a cardstock or a poster. Niall snatched the object to discern it and flipped it over to reveal a photo.

The polaroid you secretly asked Willie to give you nearly a year ago displayed both you and Niall sat beside each other, laughing over something your awful (and very hazy) memory could not remember. Just when you thought your cheeks were remedied by the flowing conversation between you and Niall, you felt the vicious fire rising to taint them once again.

“This was…that was the night we met, wasn’t it?” Niall questions, baring a bit of tooth at your abashed expression, flailing for any excuse to leave this topic of conversation. Quickly, your hand reached out to snatch the polaroid from his grasp, tucking it safely away in your planner.

“Irrelevant.”

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diyunho · 4 years

Text

The Joker x Reader -”What Death Tastes Like” Part 4

Scarecrow’s daughter might be only 22, yet the terminal lung cancer she was diagnosed with six months ago didn’t discriminate against her age; the young woman didn’t show worrisome symptoms until it was too late. Y/N always had a fascination for the much older King of Gotham and despite the consequences, maybe it’s finally time to do something about it.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

Your Birthday

“Look at him, parading like a rooster!” Emma elbows you, huffing.

The Joker is on the terrace, nosing inside the coolers to find his favorite grape juice brand since he knows it should be in there somewhere. He’s sporting very dark purple pants and a much lighter shade purple shirt, fitted on his body to perfection plus two gold chains around his neck which makes one wonder why he didn’t add more giving his sense of fashion.

You pile up some fruits on your plate, gazing The Clown’s way with a smirk:

“Those trousers make his butt stand out.”

“That’s probably the reason for wearing them,” Emma sighs and you both burst up laughing, amused at the truth she admitted aloud.

“I feel this lustful desire of spanking him,” you blur out. “I bet your dad only unbuttoned half of his shirt because he obviously wants me to unbutton the other half: that sexy rooster can frizzle my feathers anytime he wishes,” you tease and she covers your mouth in a hurry.

“Y/N, can you not?!”

“Sssttt, you’ll wake up the baby,” the muffled sentence distracts Emma and she lets go, apologizing to the five weeks old:

“Oh, sorry angel,” she lingers over the baby basket placed on the empty table next to the self-serve buffet: Frost’s son is napping under the umbrella while his parents mingle for a little bit with the guests that already arrived at your birthday party. How did Jonny end up here? The crazy motive: his employer is to blame for the mess he created one hour ago, already fixed due to your sense of urgency.

The Joker showed up in time at 3pm for his “date” like you instructed; you opened the door and he immediately handed you a car sit containing the tiny human.

“Happy Birthday, Y/N!”

“Ummm…thank you,” the hesitant Y/N invited him inside.

“I got you a present,” he widely grinned, confident nobody else came up with a better gift idea.

“… Whose baby is this?!...” you followed him, carefully walking with the adorable bundle in the living room; the sleeping treasure fussed for a few seconds and went back to dreaming, unaware he was away from his parents.

“Frost’s,” J answered and you turned towards the entrance, baffled.

“I’ll go open the door for him then.”

“That’s not necessary; he didn’t come with me.”

“What do you mean?!”

“He’s off today. I just went to his house to drop up some ammo, then sneaked in the nursery and took the baby.”

“And his parents were ok with that?!” you crinkled your nose, more and more suspicious regarding his behavior.

“They don’t know,” The King of Gotham calmly informed.

“You kidnapped Frost’s son?!”

“I didn’t kidnap him,” J rolled his eyes, offended at your accusation. “I took him.”

“Without his parents’ consent. So you kidnapped him!” you gasped at the insane revelation.

“I’m in charge,” The Joker logic surfaced instantly. “I don’t require consent! Why are you staring at me like this?”

“I keep on hoping you’re bluffing,” you cringed at his argument. “Give me your phone!” you ordered and the item was shortly in your possession, although you had to witness a lot of grievance from his part as you searched for Frost’s digits.

Praise heavens you did since his wife was absolutely hysterical when you called: their offspring was missing from the cradle and Jonny might not be the type of person that panics, yet he had a total nervous breakdown.

They were fast to come and pick up Evan, so yeah… that’s how The Frosts ended up at your birthday bash… Full credit goes to their amazing boss!

*************

After one hour

“Do me a favor,” your father continues his conversation with J. “I want you to check with your contacts and try to find more Cromyxillium for me; I’m in desperate need.”

“Don’t you have enough for Y/N?” The Joker growls at the view of Bane’s son entertaining himself with you and Emma.

“For now. Tomorrow I’m starting her on full therapy; I found a new formula to bind the molecules together, this way her system won’t reject the medicine like it did last week. It will make her sick but I’ll be here to supervise the entire process.”

“Aren’t you afraid it will kill her?” J’s sensitive personality comes to full bloom in the best of moments.

Jonathan Crane is silent, then articulates painful facts he can’t avoid sharing:

“I am… I don’t have any other options on such a short amount of time…My daughter is fading… her lungs are finished…” and he gulps, straining to regain composure. “If this experimental drug can restore damaged tissue, it can aid with her cancer… She agreed to the test because I’m a super smart dad,” he grumbles. “That’s what she said…that I’m a super smart… I might be… I don’t even know if my remedy will work or if it will speed up her demise.”

“Fine, I’ll inquire on the product,” The Joker agrees. “What’s in for me?”

Your father takes a deep breath, exasperated.

“What do you want?”

“Excuse me,” The King of Gotham interrupts. “I think my pride’s at stake: somebody’s attempting to steal my date!” he inflates his chest and finds it imperative to notify the puzzled parent. “Y/N’s my date, didn’t she tell you? I was strictly forbidden to bring Mara so I had to maintain my reputation somehow.”

“What reputation??!!! She mentioned it and I thought the whole idea meant only you being obnoxious!” Jonathan huffs.

“I am obnoxious!” The Joker sourly admits and crushes the large group forming due to Sam’s entertaining abilities.

“Hey Y/N, where’s the grape juice?” he finds a random pretext to get your attention as you gesture towards the end of the terrace.

“There’s a bunch on ice,” you giggle at Sam’s story and J lies:

“I couldn’t find any.”

“Maybe someone moved it,” you detach from the gathering and stroll with him in the area you saw what he’s asking for.

“Who gave you that pendant?” The Clown Prince of Crime investigates since you definitely didn’t have the jewelry earlier.

“Sam,” you touch the delicate diamond heart attached to the platinum chain. “It’s so pretty, I love it.”

“He scored major points with the birthday girl, huh?” J mocks.

“Well, apparently some people are aware of my preferences and some give me presents I can’t keep,” you hint and The Joker comprehends what you aim at.

“My gift was brilliant! You said that if we would have gotten married we would have had a bunch of kids, thus it means you adore them. That’s why I brought Evan.”

“Yeah, and his parents already took him home, leading to the reasonable conclusion we can assess from the fiasco: you actually don’t have a present for me. Oh, would you look at this: grape juice!” you sarcastically show him the huge pile of containers exactly where it’s supposed to be.

“How did I miss this?” J pretends to be shocked and sneers when he notices Bane’s son coming near you two. “Dance with me!” he unexpectedly sweeps you in his arms. “It’s a slow song, just move your feet,” he encourages. “What do you want for your birthday then?” Emma’s dad distracts the astonished Y/N furthermore.

“Hmmm… I can settle for a kiss?” you unconsciously caress the short hair on the back of his head while he quickly pecks your cheek. “Um… if I wanted a jellyfish sting I could have went to the aquarium,” you sassily react and The Joker rolls his eyes. “I want a proper kiss, unless you have those reserved for Mara.”

“Why are we talking about my girlfriend?”

“On and off girlfriend,” you emphasize. “A huge indicator you don’t care that much about her. You need a woman that genuinely loves you; she’s a catalyst fueling your tendencies, you don’t need that! You don’t fight fire with fire, OK?” you almost shout and ironically enough he decides to engage in your speech.

“What do you fight it with then?”

“Dynamite!” you proudly state. “Blow up everything, wipe the slot clean and start fresh!”

“A-ah…A-ha…”, he mischievously agrees. “I assume you’re the dynamite in this scenario?” the silver grimace spreads across his face.

“Perhaps.”

“Why is Bane’s son here?” The Joker changes the subject. “He keeps lurking around and it annoys me.”

“Don’t be jealous,” you mislead him on purpose. “Sam was my boyfriend in high school,” you brief your so called partner. “I’m fond of him.”

“Why would I be jealous?!” The King’s mood switches and you realize yours is also: the sole detail he’s interested in is to emphasize zero attraction for his daughter’s friend.

“Yeah…why would you be jealous?...” you sadly smile and let go before the song ends. “Listen, I have to return to my guests, alright? You don’t have to stay; you should go back to your fire because you certainly don’t know what to do with dynamite,” the meaningful reply leaves him intrigued again: no cocky response to your clever twist in words since he already lost the passive-aggressive altercation.

************

9:49pm

You gaze at the starry sky, cozy on the inflatable mattress; the mesh on top of the tent is so thin you can hardly tell it’s there. Very quiet in the garden… you should have went to the river with the others, yet you felt the urge to be alone and rest before you reprise your treatment tomorrow.

“Y/N, are you in here?” The Joker’s voice is heard.

“No!” you grouchily snarl.

He unzips the tent and squeezes inside, obeying to your protest:

“Close it! I don’t want bugs in here!”

“I’m hiding from Crane, he made me do a bunch of stuff in preparation for your Cromyxillium therapy!” J complains to indifferent ears.

“I thought you bailed hours ago,” you coldly articulate.

“I was held prisoner in the underground lab! You should be thankful for my services.”

“You don’t do anything for free and I’m sure you’re over exaggerating anyway!”

“Whatever!” The Joker drops on the mattress next to you, deeply exhaling. “I’m beat; I’ll rest for a bit before I drive.”

You rest your fingers on your tummy, struggling to remain calm.

“I missed hanging out with my cuddling buddy,” J nozzles in your shoulder and you give him an insolent glare.

“We’re not cuddling buddies!”

“That’s too bad; I precisely came to deliver your birthday present. I resent the notion of a man unjustly accused of being cheap.”

“What birthday present?” you furrow your eyebrows.

“The kiss you demanded Y/N!”

“I’m good,” you disregard his offer and he hovers over you, captivated.

“I thought you have the hots for me, I even wore these hoochie pants to please you. I mean, I endured your affection and harassment for the past three years. I’m here now with an invisible olive branch so I think you should reconsider your answer.”

“Did you just say hoochie pants?!” you snicker at his distorted apology although you’re mad at him. “You didn’t wear them for me; you wanted to show off your assets!”

“It’s not my fault I’m handsome!” The Joker defends his wardrobe choice.

“I seriously want to be alone,” you indirectly imply he should disappear. “I’m tired of playing games. I won’t flirt with you anymore, I promise. Deal?” you lift your pinky up and there’s something strange concealed behind your abrupt vow.

“Why not?”

“First of all, I won’t have the energy: my father warned of serious consequences during the treatment. Second, it might kill me: we don’t know how my physique will endure; I have terminal cancer, remember?”

“Are you scared?” J whispers and you nod a yes, upset. “Then you should accept your gift in case you won’t have another occasion,” his rationale pushes you to reconsider your alternatives.

You pull him closer and wait, explaining your hesitation.

“It’s my birthday, you should be the one kissing me.”

The Joker doesn’t defy your logic and complies, unable to suppress an arrogant grin when you moan:

“God, your lips are so soft; I could kiss them all day.”

“Don’t get into it, I have to vacate the premises soon. I don’t want Crane to catch me in your tent and presume the worst.”

“My dad will be in the lab until morning time; you can stay if you want to,” you trace his jaw line, momentarily forgetting your grudge.

“Didn’t you preach about wishing to be alone?”

“Why are you making out with another woman besides your girlfriend?” you evaluate the waters with a question.

It doesn’t seem he’ll bother to justify his behavior thus you utter:

“I can be alone…with you. I’m 23, literally a consenting adult,” the important information is added for the heck of it.

“Consenting to what?” The Joker mumbles as you softly bite his lower lip.

“I hate you,” you pout and snuggle to him while he grabs a pillow, irritated at his involuntary reaction. J stuffs it in between the bodies and you swiftly toss it away.

“Are you trying to get me in trouble Y/N?”

“You’re always in trouble,” you begin unbuttoning his shirt. “Let’s go with the flow, shall we? No strings attached, no commitments. You know why?” you pause and continue. “I might not survive the Cromyxillium and I want to make love to the old guy I have a major crush on.”

“Old?!” The Clown prince of Crime scoffs.

“You’re basically twice my age,” you roughly estimate without proof and kiss him again. The Joker slides his hands under your t-shirt, opting to dismiss your affirmation with a different kind of truth.

“Do you recall when you asked me if I ever tasted death?”

“Yes…”, you bury your face in his neck, wondering if he’ll say something mean that will ruin the night.

“You don’t taste like death,” J forces you to look at him. “You really don’t.”

“… … … … … … … You think so?” the emotional Y/N sniffles, categorically surprised at the confession.

“Yeah. You actually taste like dynamite,” he winks and doesn’t mind the sudden meltdown: The Joker is not big at comforting people, but the girl in his arms feels relieved nevertheless.

She might not compare to the fire he’s used to, yet Y/N’s eagerness to blow up everything, wipe the slot clean and start fresh is unfamiliar territory that’s worth exploring.

Also read: MASTERLIST

#the joker x reader #the joker fanfiction #the joker imagine #the joker jared leto #the joker suicide squad #the joker #joker #joker fanfiction #joker imagines #joker leto #joker suicide squad #Mistah J #mister j #dcu #dc

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hookedonapirate · 5 years

Photo

A Helping Hand

Summary: My girlfriend just dumped me and I’ve gotten piss drunk and somehow managed to get into your apartment instead of my own. I’m trying to masturbate my feelings away and boy were you surprised. Based on a Tumblr prompt that spiraled out of control.

A/N: Here it is, the last chapter before the epilogue! I'm so sad to finish this story and still completely baffled by the reception this story has had, but I am so grateful. Thank you all so much!

A huge thank you goes to @ilovemesomekillianjones for not only beta reading so quickly, but for putting up with all my typos. She is truly the best! Thank you for @onceuponaprincessworld because without her I probably would not have finished this fic. I also want to thank the Anon who had sent me this prompt in the first place; without her, this fic would not exist. And thank you for the lovely pm you sent me a while back to let me know who you are so I could thank you properly! This was supposed to be a one-shot and turned into so much more than either of us had ever imagined. I would also like to thank @daeneryskairipa for the gorgeous gif set she made for this story as my 2017 CS Secret Santa. If you haven’t seen it, check out the link below!

AHH Graphic

Rated: Mature for sex and salty language.

Also available: AO3 I FF.N

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10 Ch 11 Ch 12 Ch 13 Ch 14 Ch 15 Ch 16 Ch 17 Ch 18 Ch 19

Chapter 20: Happy Beginnings

After breakfast, the group split up for the day. Emma and Mary Margaret had planned for the ladies to spend the day along the Royal Mile, the heart of Edinburgh, for Elsa’s bachelor party. The bridesmaids gave her a sash that said Mrs. Captain Jones on the front, and she giggled when she saw it, and put it on before they left. They began at an extinct volcano and continued down a slope that was formed by the retreat of an ice age millions of years ago and was now the main street of the adjoining burghs of Edinburgh and Canongate. They visited a few of the significant landmarks, including the Edinburgh Castle, a world-famous attraction, and the Scottish Parliament for a tour of the building and its art collection, and to see parliament in debate. They had lunch in one of the restaurants down the Royal Mile and visited a few museums and shops, all while enjoying beautiful views across the city to the Firth of Forth, the estuary of several Scottish rivers.

Meanwhile, the men, including Leo, spent the afternoon competing in mini highland games. The group reconvened at the Lighthouse Hotel for the rehearsal dinner and afterward, Liam and Elsa said their goodbyes for the night with parting kisses, both of them giddy with excitement for the big day tomorrow. The ladies threw Elsa a small party in the hotel suite where the bridesmaids were wearing matching royal blue robes with their title for the wedding in pink letters on the back, and they drank wine and showered the bride with gifts and played some silly games.

The wedding day finally dawned, bringing a pandemonium of excitement through the hotel, and also a few minor hiccups along the way. But it was nothing a cool-headed bride, an over-exuberant wedding planner and eager to please groom could not handle, even if he were a bit of groomzilla. The soon to be married couple complemented each other, and usually, Elsa was the one talking Liam down or putting him in his place. He was the worry wart and she was the levelheaded of the two, the one who always had a way of calming him down to a normal, human level. However, even Elsa had a breaking point.

Emma ran frantically through the hall in her high heels and royal blue maid of honor dress, holding up the fabric so it didn't drag along the floor as she headed for the groom's suite, bursting through the door with one hand covering her eyes. She scrambled into the room shouting, “Where’s Mary Margaret?” while trying to catch her breath.

Liam and his groomsmen were startled, grumbling in complaint from the female intrusion. “Bloody hell, Emma, don’t you know how to knock?” Liam asked curtly.

Emma scoffed. “You're one to talk. You wouldn’t know how to knock if there was a sign on the door that had instructions on how to knock.” When she thought it was safe to do so, she peeked through a narrow slit between her fingers to see that everyone was decent - Liam was buttoning up his shirt and David tying the bow of Leo’s tux—and removed her hand.

“Aunt Em Em!” Leo shouted and ran over to Emma jumping into her arms as she scooped him up. “Hey, kiddo.” She gave her nephew a small smile and a peck on the cheek, but she knew she still looked anxious; she was afraid her friend would have a nervous breakdown before the wedding.

Killian was buttoning up his vest as he approached her, and of course, he looked adorable and handsome as always, with his black tux and blue vest that matched his mesmerizing eyes, his hair a bit untidy from running his hand through it over and over. And of course he was not opposed to her presence in the dressing room, but his smile fell when he saw the frantic look on her face. “What’s wrong, love?”

“There’s a wedding dress emergency,” Emma replied, setting Leo down. He was growing like a weed and getting heavy; soon he’d be too big for Emma to carry. “The zipper broke, so Elsa can’t zip up her dress at all, and she’s freaking out, afraid she’s going to have to walk down the aisle with her butt hanging out.” As she looked around the room, she could see the little smirk on Liam’s face; he was not opposed to the idea. “We need Mary Margaret, she will know what to do.”

“I’m not sure where she is, did you check our room?” David asked her.

"Yes, but she's not there." Emma let out an exasperated sigh. “Great, the wedding dress is defective, the bride’s a wreck and the wedding planner’s missing, what else could possibly go wrong? Not even her own sister can calm her down.” Emma placed her fingertips to her temple, rubbing them slowly to ease the headache blooming over her.

“Hey,” Killian murmured in a soothing tone as he came behind her and kissed the tip of her ear, massaging her shoulder with his one good hand, switching from one side to the other. Emma melted into his touch, able to calm down a bit. “Relax, we’ll find Mary Margaret, I’m sure she has a sewing kit.”

Emma shot David a questioning glance.

“Knowing my wife, she’s fully prepared for situations like this.” He extended his hand to his son. “Come on, Leo, let’s find your mother.” Leo took his hand and they headed for the door.

“Thank you,” Emma said appreciatively.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find her.” He flashed her a reassuring smile, somehow easing her nerves a bit, and left the room.

Emma's back slumped into Killian's chest as he wrapped his arms around her, reveling in the warmth he offered. Killian always knew how to calm her down, and right now the whole atmosphere of the wedding needed calmness.

“Come on, Killian, you can help me calm the bride down.” She took his hand and headed for the door.

“Oi, what about me?” Liam asked with a frown. “I am the groom.”

“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” Emma told him and pulled Killian out of the room.

“But, love, if her own sister can’t calm her then what makes you think I can?” Killian asked in confusion.

Emma paused and turned around, cupping one of his cheeks in the hand which was not entwined with his. “Because, baby, you may only have one hand, but it works wonders.”

Killian didn’t bother to argue any further as he flashed a smug grin and allowed Emma to lead him to the bridal suite.

When they rushed through the door, Elsa was still in panic mode as she sat in her chair while Anna’s arm was around her sister’s shoulder as she planted a kiss to her temple, trying to calm her as Ruby applied Elsa’s makeup. Although, neither Ruby's nor Anna’s attempts were working very well. Elsa could not sit still and was squirming in her seat as Ruby sighed in frustration trying to hold her chin where she needed it in order to not fuck up her makeup.

Elsa moved her head away, her makeup only partly done as she looked at Killian and Emma. “Did you find Mary Margaret?”

“No, David went to look for her, but in the meantime, I brought the Best Man to help you relax.”

Elsa arched a brow, not in the mood to smile. “As much as I like you, Killian, I don't like you that much.”

Killian chuckled. “She didn’t mean it like that.” He went around and started massaging her shoulders.

Elsa’s tense body seemed to melt at Killian’s touch. His hand was magic like that. “Oooh, that is very relaxing,” she murmured and closed her eyes. Elsa was able to relax enough to allow Ruby to continue with applying her makeup. She added some final touches before handing the bride a hand mirror so she could study her reflection.

Elsa frowned, panic washing over her features. She had blood red lips and her face looked even paler than her normal complexion. “What did you do?"

Ruby frowned in confusion. "What do you mean? I made you look like a Queen, just like you wanted."

Elsa's eyes widened at her. "I said Ice Queen, not the White Queen!"

Ruby’s face flashed with apology. “Oh, sorry, I just thought the dark lips was what you wanted.”

“No, I wanted cool tones for my eyes and lips, like pale pinks and blues, not warm colors!” Elsa closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Alright, alright, I’ll redo it, it will be fine.” Ruby cleaned off Elsa’s makeup and retrieved some lighter colors from her cosmetic case.

Elsa kept looking into the mirror to make sure Ruby was doing her makeup to her satisfaction, critiquing every step and blurting out comments like, “Too much blush," “Not enough eyeshadow," and "Why are you using that color? It's too dark."

Ruby sighed and rolled her eyes. "Keep telling me how to do my job and I’ll make you look like a drag queen,” she warned with a sweet smile.

“Did someone ask for a sewing kit?” Mary Margaret's voice pulled their attention as the cheerful Nolan woman entered the room with a bright smile.

Elsa’s eyes widened when she saw the kit in her hands. “You have one?”

“Well of course. What kind of Wedding Planner would I be if I didn’t have a sewing kit handy?”

Elsa sighed in relief. “Thank you, you're a lifesaver.”

Killian stepped away, letting Mary Margaret stand behind the bride as she stood up, allowing Mary Margaret to assess the damage as she pursed her lips together. She tinkered with the zipper a little before concluding, “Well the bad news is there’s nothing I can do about the zipper…”

“And the good news?” Elsa asked impatiently in a panicked tone.

“The good news is I can sew the dress together but it won’t be very easy to get out of. You’ll have to cut the thread to get the dress off.”

Elsa sighed. “Fine, do what you need to do to so my ass isn’t hanging out of my dress when I walk down the aisle,” Elsa bit out in frustration.

Emma took her friend's hand to soothe her. “Don’t worry, MM knows what she’s doing, just relax," she said in a calming tone as her hand soothed Elsa’s.

Ruby snickered and everyone glanced at her, wondering what was so funny. "I’m sure getting out of the dress will be no problem for Elsa, Liam could just rip the dress off himself. He has strong hands."

That remark earned a scowl from Elsa. "Talk about my groom's hands again and you won't have any,” she shot back.

Ruby frowned. “At least spare one of my hands, I can still work with that.” She shot Killian a mischievous smirk. “Lord knows Killian has learned to work with what he’s got.”

“Alright, enough of the offhanded comments,” Mary Margaret interjected, and the other women snickered.

Killian groaned. “That's enough hand jokes, aye?” Then his frown turned into a smirk as he pulled Emma into his arms and kissed her cheek. “Besides, I don’t have to try very hard, do I, sweetheart?”

Emma shook her head and blushed as a small laugh tumbled from her lips. “No, you don’t.”

Ruby returned to her task of working on a grumpy Elsa’s makeup. “Just relax, Elsa, I don’t feel like losing my hands today. Besides, if I had no hands then who would do your makeup? Believe me, with your attitude, you're going to have a hard time finding anyone else.”

Elsa closed her eyes in regret. ”I’m sorry, I’m just very tense, and normally Liam knows how to calm me down.”

“Why don’t I get him for you, lass?” Killian offered.

Elsa's eyes flipped open in surprise. “Yes, please,” she sighed in relief. “Thank you.”

“No!” the other women all shouted at once.

“It’s bad luck-”

“Then cover his eyes with a blindfold, I don’t care, just bring him to me!” Elsa shouted, and no one bothered to argue with her. Very seldom, Elsa raised her voice. So when she did, everyone knew not to mess with her.

“I’ll get him,” Emma offered and left the room in a flash to fetch the groom. She dashed into the men’s dressing room as Liam flashed her a questioning look. “Were you able to find Mary Margaret?”

“Yeah, she’s going to sew Elsa into the dress.”

Liam sighed in relief, and without any preamble, Emma undid his tie and started wrapping it around his head. He stepped back, putting his hands up in a defensive pose. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you doing lass?”

“Elsa asked for you,” Emma replied without any further explanation.

Still, he allowed her to tie the fabric around his eyes. “I always knew you were kinky.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “You have no idea,” she mumbled.

“What?” he asked, dragging the blindfold from his eyes.

She laughed. “The blindfold is supposed to affect your vision, not your hearing. It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

“Well, can I at least see on the way to the bridal suite?”

Emma sighed and grabbed his hand, pulling him out of the room. “Fine, but before we reach the door, it goes back on.”

“Such a demanding thing, aren’t you?”

Emma scoffed at that. “Again, the pot calling the kettle black,” she teased and rushed him to the Bridal Suite.

Emma opened the door and peeked her head through. “The groom’s here, can you turn Elsa around, please?” She pulled the blindfold over Liam’s eyes and pulled him into the room when Elsa was facing away from them. Ruby pulled the train of Elsa’s dress to the side so Mary Margaret could have room to work on the back opening of the gown without worrying about stepping on the gorgeous skirts of Elsa’s dress.

“Liam?” Elsa called to her groom.

“I’m here, darling,” he said in a soothing tone as Emma led him to her.

“Can someone hold the dress together?” Mary Margaret asked.

“I’ll do it,” Liam replied quickly and Emma guided his hands to the material, and he held the opening of her dress closed while Mary Margaret sewed. With his finger and thumb securing the fabric together, he raised his other hand to Elsa’s lace covered shoulder and offered soft endearments to her. Elsa instantly relaxed and placed her hand on top of his.

“Everything’s going to be alright, love,” he assured her, taking her hand in his. We are going to be married by the end of the day, and none of this is going to matter.”

The women swooned as he continued to ease Elsa’s worries with his soft, encouraging words, and in no time Mary Margaret was finished with the dress.

“There, all done.”

Elsa visibly sighed in relief, as though a huge weight was lifted from her shoulders. “Thank you.”

Mary Margaret moved out of the way with her supplies, and Liam wrapped his arms around his bride, planting a kiss to her shoulder blade.

“I love you, Elsa.”

“I love you, too.”

It was a beautiful sight to behold as he held his bride in his arms, melting all of her fears and worries away.

“Oh hell, let them see each other before the wedding,” Mary Margaret said. “We’ll give you two some privacy.” Emma agreed, and the bride and groom did not appear to be opposed, so Emma removed the blindfold.

His eyes widened, a big smile taking over his lips as Elsa turned around, also flashing him a grin. She took his breath away as his eyes scanned her beautiful form. The dress was not the traditional white and instead was a pale blue, but she looked no less gorgeous in it.

The others left to give them some privacy, and Mary Margaret went off to check on the current status of things, making sure everything was in order for the wedding.

Killian pulled Emma in his arms once they were left alone. “Finally, we have a quiet moment,” he said with a smirk. Emma blushed and smiled as he kissed her lips, reveling in her taste. “Have I told you how exquisite you look in that dress?”

She ran her hands down the lapels of his tuxedo jacket with devilry in her eyes. “No, but maybe you could show me later?” she offered with a lascivious grin.

Killian arched a brow, intrigued by her proposal. “I can’t wait, love.” He pulled her to him and buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, peppering soft kisses to her neck. Emma laughed, his trimmed beard tickling her skin.

Ten minutes later, the women were back in the room when the minister knocked on the door to announce the ceremony was about to begin. The bridesmaids and maid of honor gathered around the bride, hugging her and wiping the tears from their eyes.

Soon, Anna and Elsa’s Aunt Ingrid entered the room. She gathered her nieces into a hug before cupping the bride’s cheeks in her hands, a look of pride in her eyes. “So beautiful, just like your mother,” she commented, her eyes welling up with tears. “Are you ready to be walked down the aisle?”

Elsa had a smile on her face and nodded without hesitation, finally ready to walk down the aisle; there was nothing that could bring her down now. And since Elsa’s parents passed away long ago, Ingrid had always been more like a parent than an aunt, so they only saw it fitting for Ingrid to walk Elsa down the aisle.

~*~

“Are you ready, brother?” Killian asked an anxious Liam, patting him on the shoulder.

Liam inhaled deeply, his shoulders rising as he adjusted his tie. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He turned and looked at his brother. “How do I look?”

Killian rested his hands on Liam’s shoulders. “Relax, you look fine, Liam.”

Liam frowned. “Just fine?”

“You look like you’re ready to get on with this shindig,” Killian clarified with a laugh. “And also handsome,” he smirked and added, “but not as devilishly handsome as me.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “How did I know you were going to say that?” He took another deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. “I can’t wait for this day to be over with. Does that make me a bad groom?”

Killian shook his head, another chuckle leaving his lips. “No, it just means you can’t wait for your’s and Elsa’s lives to begin.”

Liam grinned from ear to ear at the idea, his blue eyes lighting up. “Exactly.” He drew Killian into a bear hug. “Thank you, brother, for being here with me every step of the way… even if I have been a royal pain in the arse.”

Another laugh tore through Killian’s throat as the two men patted each other on the back. “I’d take my royal pain in the arse brother over no brother at all,” he murmured sincerely. “I love you, Liam”

“I love you too, brother.”

They broke apart, and soon it was time for them to enter the ceremony from the side and join the minister at the altar as Liam waited for his bride in heightened anticipation.

The ceremony was an enchanting affair for an enchanting couple, beginning with the bridal party walking down the aisle in pairs. The chairs were square, each one adorned with a silver cover and royal blue ribbon which wrapped around and tied in the back with silver and light blue roses. There was an archway made of silver leaves and a mixture of light blue and royal blue flowers. Bouquets of royal blue and light blue accented with crystals, stephanotis and blue Picasso Calla Lilies were set out on the ends of each aisle in long, tall vases made from real crystal, and there was a pianist in the corner playing live music.

Emma entered the room, carrying her bouquet as she walked down the aisle alone, following behind Anna and Kristoff with a brilliant smile that showed off those pearly white teeth as she made eye contact with Killian.

Gods, she looked gorgeous, he thought to himself, and even more so when he winked at her, making her cheeks flush with an adorable shade of pink.

She never tore her eyes away from him though, only smirked when she reached the other side of the altar. Leo wandered down the aisle with a ring bearer pillow holding the rings and then the flower girl, who was a second cousin of Elsa and Anna’s threw one blue petal at a time, and everyone laughed as she dumped the rest of the petals at the end of the aisle. The bridal party stood in their positions, the bridesmaids holding their bouquets. The bridal chorus cued and all the guests stood and turned to watch as Elsa entered with her Aunt Ingrid. Killian glanced at Liam, and the look on his face was priceless. Even though Liam had seen her prewedding, he was still blown away and waited for his bride with bated breath. When Liam had seen her before the wedding, Elsa was a nervous wreck, but now… now she had a giddy, carefree smile on her face as she locked eyes with her groom. The spark between them was undeniable, and Killian’s heart warmed knowing his brother had picked the most perfect woman to spend the rest of his life with. She was stunning, and looked like an exquisite ice queen.

Elsa kissed Ingrid's cheek and joined her groom at the altar still donning a bright smile as they exchanged the vows they had written for each other, telling everyone how they had met and how they had fallen in love, not leaving a dry eye in the place by the time they said their I do’s .

Through a watery gaze, Killian looked over at Emma, who was wiping tears from her eyes, and he could hear the sniffles of the guests throughout the room. When the rings were exchanged and the minister announced them, husband and wife, Liam kissed his bride as everyone cheered, and off the happy couple went down the aisle.

The day was bright and clear when the bridal party made it outside for photos, and even though it was a little chilly, it was nothing to deter them from having the photos taken out on the edge of the cliff with the beautiful mountains as their backdrop as well as at the top of the lighthouse.

The reception was held in the banquet hall with an open bar, raided by the guests before they sat at their assigned tables. The bridal party sat at the Head Table and Killian took the microphone and stood to give his speech.

"For those of you who don’t know me, I am the more devilishly handsome and wittier Jones brother,” he quipped, and immediately received a playful eye roll from Liam. “What can I say about Liam?" he asked and then held up a finger as though an idea struck him suddenly. "Ah, yes…" He reached inside his suit jacket and retrieved a folded piece of paper, which was blank, but he pretended to read from it. “Liam Jones is a great man, he is selfless, he's kind... he’s honorable." Killian paused and looked at Liam pointing at the piece of paper. "Liam, you spelled handsome wrong," he spoke loudly, “you forgot the d,” and everyone laughed, including Liam who shook his head. Killian returned his attention to the guests. "And apparently he can't spell correctly, even when writing about himself."

"Haha, very funny," Liam teased with a bashful grin.

Killian cleared his throat as he tucked the paper away and looked at his brother, lifting his hand to his shoulder. "No, but seriously, Mum would have been so proud of you if she were alive today,” he said sincerely and looked toward the audience again. “Ever since we were kids, Liam has always been there for me… when we lost our mum, when our dad walked out on us, when we were in the navy together, when I lost my hand, and even when we weren't on such great terms." He looked at Emma and smiled. "There was a time, believe it or not when I did not have great taste in women, unlike my brother here." Killian gestured to Emma, "I’m clearly not speaking of my lovely girlfriend, Emma."

Emma smiled and blushed, and Liam nodded, not willing to argue with him there.

"He warned me about this other lass, who shall remain nameless. Tried to tell me she wasn't good enough for me, and I should've listened… but alas, I was a stubborn arse, just like my brother here, and so I got my heart stomped on by said woman. To make matters worse, I was an alcoholic at the time, so I tried to drink my sorrows away, and then one day I decided to get out of bed and pick my pride up off the floor to call Liam. After I told him what had happened, he could’ve said he’d told me so or he could've just hung up on me, but he didn’t. Instead, he told me to pack my bloody things, get my arse on a plane and fly as far away from that devil of a woman as I possibly could. And I said to him, where am I gonna go? You're all I've got, brother. And that's when I knew those were the magic words to Liam's heart, because after he so lovingly told me to go to hell," Killian paused, allowing the guests to laugh before continuing, “he said, you're staying with me, whether you like it or not. So that's exactly what I did. I got on a plane and literally stumbled through my brother's door. I dropped my luggage off before stumbling over to a bar and then, later on, I stumbled into my neighbor’s apartment and one of the occupants came home,” he added with a smirk, “boy was she surprised." He winked at Emma while the audience laughed.

“I ended up making said occupant my girlfriend, but that's a story for a different time. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, when I was at my worst," Killian held up his prosthetic hand, "and yes, it was worse than getting my hand blown off in the Navy…" he joked, prompting another spur of laughs from the crowd, "Liam offered me his home, got me a job and helped me get on my feet again. He has always taken care of me, despite how angry we were with each other or how much more handsome I’ve always been than him" he said, emphasizing the d, "and how much I beat him at arm wrestling, even with one hand."

Liam rolled his eyes but was smiling at the same time.

"And Elsa, well… I don't think it needs to be said, but I'll say it anyway… Elsa, I am so glad Liam found someone to put the royal pain in the butt in his place. I could not have chosen a better sister-in-law if I had picked her myself." Killian went over to Elsa and they exchanged chaste kisses on the cheek.

"Thank you, Killian," she smiled.

"Liam… Elsa…” Liam took the microphone, holding it up for Killian so he could raise his glass. “To a lifetime of love and happiness.”

"Thank you, brother," Liam said appreciatively, patting his brother on the back.

Everyone drank to the toast, and Liam passed the microphone to Emma as she stood up.

“Hi, I am Emma, the Maid of Honor and also one of Elsa’s best friends. So, the story of how I met Elsa is pretty ordinary,” Emma began. “Elsa was looking for a place to live, I was looking for a roommate and the rest is history. But little did I know at the time, our friendship would be so much more than ordinary. I can’t tell you how many days we have known each other, but I can tell you, there was never a day when Elsa wasn't there for me. She is like the sister I never had and while we were roommates, we borrowed each other’s things without asking, we got after each other for borrowing each other’s things, I would break into her boyfriend’s apartment to borrow things from him—you know the typical sisterly stuff," she quipped before adding, "but then I didn't have to break in because I started dating his brother." She looked at Elsa and Liam who were both laughing and offered a sweet smile. "But before that, I had the advantage of witnessing these two fall in love. I remember how Elsa would come home with a great big smile on her face after running into our British neighbor who had moved in across the hall, and I remember how he came to me one day to ask for advice about how to ask Elsa out. If it were any other guy, I probably would've told Elsa to run away and never come back," Emma laughed, "but I knew Liam was different and I'm so glad I trusted my instincts. It was such a privilege to be there for them every step of the way while they slowly fell in love with one another.” Emma’s eyes welled up with tears as Liam took Elsa’s hand, and she could tell they were also on the verge of tears.

“And now they're both moving out and getting a place of their own. But I'm not worried because there is no distance that could keep us apart." She looked over at Elsa who was smiling back at her. "You will always be like a sister to me," Emma said sincerely and turned her attention to the audience. "And if there is one thing I have learned about my good friend, Elsa… it's to never keep a secret from her because you’ll regret it. Elsa will never judge you, she is warm and kind and forgiving… and no, she did not tell me to say these things,” she joked with a small smile. “She is really perfect for Liam because for those of you who don’t know him very well, I will be the first to say it—he is an OCD control freak.” Emma paused as everyone burst into laughter. “Elsa is the only one on God’s green earth who can sweeten his bitter ways. That's why he takes his coffee black and why we never hear him complain about Elsa hogging the blankets, even though we know she does… it's because she's sweeter than any creamer and she's warmer than any blanket he would need. He's the whiskey to our glass and she's the Coke with the cherry garnish. He's the peanut butter to our bread and she's the strawberry jam. Alone they can be a bit overbearing—well Liam can be at least," she corrected with a smirk, and Liam scowled playfully, "but together they are the perfect combination. In fact, being friends with these two is like going skydiving… only instead of jumping off the plane when you’re ready, Liam throws you the parachute and pushes you off when you refuse to jump.” Everyone cracked up, and Emma continued when the laughter died down. “And Elsa is the parachute that softens the landing.”

The audience cheered and clapped as Elsa looked up at Emma with tears in her eyes.

“I love you both, and it is with great honor that I raise my glass to you...” Emma lifted her glass to Elsa and then to Liam, “to you...” before raising her glass higher to both of them, “to your happy beginning… and to happily ever after.” They clinked their glasses and drank, and Emma handed off the microphone to the announcer as Elsa stood to hug her.

“Thank you, Emma, that was very sweet.”

“It was only the truth,” Emma assured her.

Liam took his turn and drew Emma into a hug, kissing her cheek as Killian looked over at her with pride in his eyes. “Great speech, Emma.”

“Aye, you nailed it, love,” Killian added

Emma smirked and kissed her boyfriend's cheek. “I know.”

After they all had their turn at the buffet, it was time for the cake, which looked way too good to eat. It had three tiers and royal blue frosting, decorated with silver sugar pearls to make it look like it was frosted with snow. Liam and Elsa cut the cake before shoving it in each other’s faces. They had their first dance as husband and wife before everyone else joined in. The group took turns dancing with each other in pairs, and Leo got to dance with Aunt Em Em, and finally, Emma got a chance to dance with her boyfriend. He spun her around and dipped her, spurring on a gale of giggles. The reception was a blast, and soon, it was time for Elsa to toss the bouquet, which Emma caught. Killian made sure to snag the garter belt after Liam flung it in the air, and he promptly slid it up Emma’s leg.

They sent the bride and groom off in a decorated limousine. And from there, the newly married couple would head to the airport and leave for their honeymoon in Bali. Emma and Killian went back to their hotel in Glasgow that night, and were so exhausted they went straight to bed and fell asleep in each other’s arms. While the rest of the group had to get back to the States, Emma and Killian spent a few more days in Scotland before they headed home. Luckily they had a different flight attendant who didn't hit on Emma’s boyfriend.

~*~

The next couple of months flew by, probably because they were very eventful, with Elsa and Liam moving into their new home, Killian and Emma moving his things into her place, both couples buying new furniture and of course the holidays they all spent together. Because Elsa and Liam were still in the process of unpacking at the time, the group spent Christmas at the Nolan’s, and then Liam and Elsa hopped on a plane to visit Anna and Kristoff for New Years, while Emma and Killian spent the days leading up to it painting their bedroom, which had been Emma’s when she had lived with Elsa, but they both decided pink wasn’t the best color, just like the pink, fluffy pillows and pink furniture needed to go as well.

They both wanted to make their new home theirs. And since they moved Emma’s bed into Elsa’s old room, and since Killian’s bed frame was so old they literally broke the bed, they were waiting to get a new frame once they were done painting their room (although they started playing around when Killian told her she missed a spot on the wall and they ended up getting more paint on themselves than they did on the wall that day and cleaned off together in the shower). They spent New Year’s Eve in Times Square watching the ball drop since Killian had never experienced anything like it before. As fun as it was, the weather was bitter cold and they spent a lot of time waiting for the ball to drop since they had to arrive very early to retain their spot, they agreed to spend the next New Year's Eve at home.

Superbowl Sunday was at Liam and Elsa’s house, and the couple was more than happy to host their first party after they had made the desired changes and redecorated the home to their liking. Liam, of course, wasted no time to make sure the house was picture perfect. Although it was nowhere near finished, for he planned on fixing up the basement and garage and planned on building a backyard deck in the spring.

The next day, Emma had to drag herself out of bed; she felt like crap even though she and Killian had no alcohol. She had explained to the gang she was refraining from alcohol to support Killian’s sobriety, but what she didn't tell them was the other reason she hadn’t drank…

Emma sat on the toilet seat, waiting in anticipation as she stared at the white stick in her hand, not able to peel her eyes away, as though the pregnancy test would catch on fire if she looked away. She couldn’t believe she forgot her birth control pills while she was in Scotland. She never forgot to take them and didn’t even realize she hadn’t until after she and Killian had arrived home. She didn't think she could get pregnant from going a few days without them until she ended up vomiting yesterday morning. And it couldn't have been the food she ate the night prior when she was babysitting Leo considering he didn't get sick, although he was recovering from the flu.

When only one line remained, Emma breathed a sigh of relief. She and Killian had talked about having kids someday, but she knew they weren’t ready yet. They’d only been dating for eight months, she loved their life and didn’t want anything to change just yet. But a tiny part of her—okay maybe an even larger part of her—ached in disappointed at the fact that she was not pregnant. It turned out she'd gotten the flu from Leo.

~*~

One week later

“Okay, I can’t take it anymore, what’s the surprise?” Emma asked as Killian took her hand and led her through their apartment. “And why am I wearing my bathrobe for such a surprise?” Only moments ago, she was wearing a black dress and heels for her birthday dinner that she had carefully chosen when Killian told her he was taking her out to a nice dinner and dancing. Now she was in her bra and panties and a bathrobe per Killian’s request. She was also wearing a blindfold as he took her to his desired destination.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, love.”

Emma sighed, but allowed him to lead the way, and soon she felt the cold, tiled floor under her feet, which meant they were in the kitchen, because why would they be in the….

Killian lifted the blindfold, and to her utter confusion, they were in their bathroom, and it was currently lit by scented candles which covered the bathroom countertop.

Emma raised a brow as she looked at Killian, who was also in nothing but his bathrobe. “Why is this such a surprise?”

Killian smirked at her with those smoldering blue eyes that told her he was up to no good, and he pulled at the belt of his robe, untying it. He let the cotton fabric fall to the floor and got into the tub naked. It wasn't even filled with water.

“What are you doing?” Emma was even more perplexed

Killian reclined back, leaning his head against the tiled wall as he waved his hand around him. “Doesn’t this look familiar to you?”

Emma planted her hands on her hips and pursed her lips, thinking about his question for a moment. Killian was lying in the tub naked, which of course was how she had found him nine months ago. “This is how we met... sort of.” She crossed her arms and smirked. “Only you were jerking off if I do recall.”

Killian nodded, blush coloring his cheeks as he gave a small smile. “I was, but that was a different time in my life. Milah had just broken up with me, and my brother and I were not on speaking terms. But you, my love, you found me in this exact spot.” His features grew serious as he continued. “I was a shattered mess... and you accepted me even when I was at my worst.”

Emma smiled, her eyes pricking with tears. She climbed into the tub and straddled him in the cramped space. Killian sat up and wrapped his arms around her back as she cupped his cheeks in her hands.

“You were adorable,” she laughed.

“I was a hot mess,” he tried to correct her, his eyes clouding with regret and embarrassment as he lowered his eyes.

“An adorable hot mess,” she added with a small smirk and lifted his face so she could gaze into those bright blue eyes she had swooned over even during their first encounter. “I can’t say I would have pictured us getting together at the time, you did throw up in my hair,” she reminded him.

Killian blushed deeper, and his expression was still full of regret, but at least she got a small smile out of him. “Sorry, love, it wasn’t exactly my finest hour, was it?”

Emma shook her head. “Nope.”

Killian’s smile widened a bit. “And yet, you're still here with me.”

She smiled brightly. “That's true, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Me neither.” Killian bit his bottom, and he looked nervous about something, although she didn’t know why. “In fact, I always want you here with me, love, no matter what.”

Emma arched a brow. “Here in the bathtub?”

Killian chuckled and shook his head. “No, in my life.” He glanced above Emma, and she lifted her head to see what he was looking at. “Could you hand me that, love?”

Her eyebrow only seemed to rise higher toward her hairline. “You mean the loofah?”

“Aye.”

“Okaaay,” she answered skittishly, studying him cautiously. “But if you plan on taking a bath, you kind of need water and soap to do that.” Emma grabbed the loop of the loofah and removed it from the hook it was hanging on. Glancing at it, she noticed something silver and shiny sitting at the bottom of the loop. Her mouth fell open as she stared at the large diamond.

“No, I plan on asking you to marry me.”

Emma was too stunned to speak as she gaped at the ring with wide eyes.

Killian took the loofah from her hands and removed the engagement ring, holding it up for her. “Will you marry me, Emma?”

She gazed at him in shock, seeing the glint in his eyes as he awaited her answer.

“Love?” His face fell slightly in concern, and she knew what her answer was, she just didn't have the strength to say it at first.

Finally, a smile blossomed over her lips and she blurted her answer out in a choked sob. “Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I will marry you,” she laughed, a tear streaming down her cheek.

Killian sighed in relief, a big smile spreading across his lips. His eyes were buzzing with excitement as he drew her in for a kiss, his hand sliding through her hair as he breathed her in. “Love, you scared me for a moment,” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers.

“Sorry, I was just surprised.” She stuck out her hand, and he slipped the ring on her finger. “I love you, Killian, of course, my answer is yes.” She giggled and cupped his cheeks in her hands.

“I love you, too, Emma.”

Pure bliss took over them as she crushed his lips with hers and they kissed with everything they felt for each other. She would never grow tired of kissing this man’s lips, she never grew tired of how he smelled or how he tasted, how he bit her bottom lip and groaned in her mouth when she slipped her tongue against his. The kiss ignited a fiery spark between them and quickly intensified, similar to how a flame reacted to gasoline. Emma removed her robe, tossing it to the floor, along with her bra and panties, and they made love in the tub, both of them finding blissful release in each others’ arms before collapsing. Killian laid on his back, resting his head on the edge of the tub and Emma laid her head on his chest, their limbs entangled as they struggled to catch their breaths.

It took a few minutes of calming her heart rate before she was able to speak again. “Can I ask you something?” she asked, running her fingers through his chest hair and taking his naval charms in her hand to admire them as she often enjoyed doing.

“Of course, love.”

She looked up at him, gazing warmly into his eyes. “You still don't remember anything from that night, do you?”

Killian took a long breath as he thought about her question. “I remember being at the bar, but that’s it.”

Emma nodded and bit her bottom lip. “It’s really strange because I was only gone for not even ten minutes. I left my apartment and headed downstairs. It’s amazing we didn’t see each other before I found you in the tub.”

“You were only gone for ten minutes?”

“Yeah, I was in a tank top and a pair of grey shorts, you know the shorts I always wear when I don’t plan on going out in public.”

Killian grinned salaciously and ran his tongue over his lips as he skimmed his fingers up her arm. "Are you kidding? How could I forget those shorts? I'm just surprised I don't at least remember you wearing them that night."

Emma nodded. "There are many little mysteries from that night I wonder about."

"Like what, love?

“Like why you decided to jerk off in the tub," Emma laughed.

Killian shrugged. "Not sure, but if I had to guess, I'd say I took the elevator up to our floor and got a peek of you in those shorts as you took the stairs down to the laundry room without noticing me, and I decided to take matters into my own hand once I got home. This bathroom is where my bedroom was in Liam's apartment so I probably mistook the tub for my bed. Once I realized it was indeed not my bed, I was probably too trashed to care,” he mused with a solemn expression and a weak smile. “So, I thought of you in those lovely shorts to avoid thinking about my bleedin' heart."

Emma nodded and smirked at the idea. "That sounds like a reasonable explanation. If only it were true."

"I guess we'll never know."

Emma shrugged. "Guess not."

They were silent after that, and eventually, they moved to the bedroom and he scooped her in his arms under the covers with only the light of the moon aiding their vision.

Her mind was frazzled with thoughts, and she decided to tell him about how she had thought she was pregnant a week ago, and how she didn’t tell him then because she didn’t want to get his hopes up before she knew for sure. Killian was shocked, but told her he’d love any baby they have. Emma agreed.

“I have to say I was a little disappointed when I found out the test was negative,” she confessed.

“Don’t worry, love, we’ll have babies when the time is right,” he assured with a small smile as he stroked her cheek.

A thought occurred to her suddenly and she laughed as her face heated up with blush. "Just think, when we do have children someday we'll have to tell them the story of how we met, you know when they're old enough."

"I suppose you're right," he chuckled.

She looked at him to see him also blushing. "You wouldn't be too embarrassed to tell them?"

"Perhaps a little, but, as long as I get to tell it with you, I’d be a very happy man.”

Emma looked up at her sentimental fiance—wow, she'd have to get used to calling him that—with pride. She was so grateful she had met him, even if they did meet under less than ordinary circumstances. Now, nine months later, they lay in each other's arms, engaged to be married. Another unbidden thought occurred to Emma and she snorted out loud, clapping her hand over her mouth.

Killian peered down at her with a raised brow. “Love? Care to share what's so funny?”

Emma shook her head, her face beet red. “Sorry, I was thinking… we’ll have to tell our friends how you proposed bare ass naked. Liam will make fun of you, for sure.”

Killian blushed profusely and scratched behind his ear. “Aye, I guess when I came up with such a brilliant idea, I clearly didn’t think it over thoroughly."

Emma shook her head and laughed as she cupped his cheeks in her hands. “No, you didn’t. That’s okay, I love you anyway,” she teased with a wink.

"I love you too, Emma, and I'd take endless joking and teasing from my brother than a lifetime without you," he professed sincerely, carressing her cheek. Emma's heart fluttered at his words, and she smiled, her eyes shining with tears. "As I've told you many times before… I never wanted just part of you, I want the whole thing. So if that means we have to tell our children how we met and our friends how I proposed, so be it.”

Her smile broadened as she remembered fondly the first time he had told her that, when he had refused to take advantage of her for one night of passion. It still melted her heart, to this day. Emma nuzzled his nose softly with hers, whispering to him gently, “You'll always have the whole thing with me... I promise." She sealed her promise with a kiss.

@acaptainswaneternity @basful-Killian @deathbycaptainswan @dragon-princess @onceuponaprincessworld @artistic-writer @resident-of-storybrooke@wordsmith-storyweaver @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @andnothinghurts @slimacwrites @onceuponaswanscastle @piratesbooty63fan @idristardis @ladyciaramiggles @truefangirl97 @t-tamm- @wellhellotragic @takhisismb @winterbaby89 @julesep3026 @jennjenn615 @swanjonescaptain @cynmoon @mayquita @kday426 @jennjenn615 @shady-swan-jones @teamhook @andiirivera @ultraluckycatnd @hooked2kill @truefangirl97 @its-about-bloody-time-cs @fleurreads @roterteufel11 @hey-it-is-jess @hookslovelyswan @coliferoncer @m98h @hungrywhovianpotterheadfrom221b @all3ofthatcrap @kgchambe @olliemarch @dmitriy30 @fhel09-blog @missclois86 @greys-shepherdland @animatedshorts @pinkbonesforeverblog @buckybarnex @captainswan-shipper88 @iminwinnipegthatsincanada @killylovesemma @myideaaofperfect @julieta-tas @roterteufel11 @rere105 @bethacaciakay @unmotivated-trashcan @aeinhorn12 @wanderlust1990 @121101chara @swanderful1 @thesavior-and-thepirate @densi-captainswan @myprincess-myemma-mypirate @lostprincessofatlantica @troiansbeautynz @trishnelle84 @micharah @captainvintage-and-cupcakes

#cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan #frozen jewel wedding #a helping hand #my fic

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hazza-bear-care · 5 years

Text

Babie Crue (3/?)

A/N: This will be the second time I’m writing this because it accidentally got deleted when I went to add tags. I hope this one is more acceptable than the first draft, because guess who didn’t save the first draft.... ME!! I’m so sorry for not only leaving you guys waiting for the third part of this series, but also deleting it on accident. I FINALLY have a new laptop, so hopefully I’ll be able to update everything as soon as possible. Love ya!

Pairings: The Dirt! Motley Crue X OC, Eventual MGK! Tommy Lee X OC, Possible Douglas Booth! Nikki Sixx X OC

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of drug use, smoking, and alcohol. Wowee I’m so pissed at myself for deleting this.

Description: I don’ t remember exactly what happened, but Tommy somehow convinced Doc to let Cam join the Ozzy Osbourne/ Motley Crue tour.

~~~~~~~

“Hey, Doc! This is Cam! She’s a friend of mine from high school!” Tommy screamed over the music blaring through the small apartment.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Cam!” Doc responded holding his hand out for Cam to shake.

“I actually have a question regarding Cam, Doc. I was actually wondering if she and her daughter could join us on tour.” Tommy questioned, ignoring the looks people were throwing in his direction.

“You have a kid?!” Zutaut and Vince yelled, shocked at the revelation.

“Tommy are you serious, man? Look around you! This is not the proper world to bring up a baby in!” Mick yelled. Tommy waved everyone off, staring at Doc and waiting for his reaction. The drummer could see the gears in the manager’s head grinding as he thought.

“Tommy, Gracie and I are fine here. I have a steady job and your parents are angels. I agree with Mick on this,” Cam argued, suddenly feeling small under everyone’s scrutinous gaze.

“I’m sure Doc could give you a job. Hell, he could probably even pay you better than that shitty restaurant ever could! So, Doc, what do you say?” Tommy defended. The manager turned his attention to Cam, the 20 year old mother gnawing on her lip as her nerves began to get the best of her.

“So you work at a restaurant. How old is your daughter?” Doc asked.

“Grace is almost six months old, Doc.” Cam answered, a slight smile on her face as she thought about her daughter.

“She’s so great, Doc. As low maintenance as babies get, Gracie’s probably the lowest of the low. She’s the cutest little bundle. You’re going to love her, Doc,” Tommy gushed. Cam smiled and furrowed her eyebrows, looking at the other Motley Crue guys in confusion. Nikki and Mick beamed, genuinely surprised with the words coming out of Tommy’s mouth while Vince mimicked vomiting behind Doc’s back.

“I don’t know what I can offer you job wise, but I can very clearly see how much you and Grace mean to Tommy and the rest of the guys. So, pack up your clothes and every diaper you own because you’re coming on tour!” Tommy whooped and wrapped Cam in a hug, spinning the girl around as the other guys joined, a group hug ensuing.

~~~~~~~

Tour life was great so far. Having a baby around actually kept the band in check, much to the surprise of Doc and Tom. The raucous after parties halted past 2 am, Cam’s hotel rooms or bunks on the bus were put on lockdown, and late night booze runs had a few additions: diapers and formula.

In terms of parties, Mick was the most considerate when thinking of Grace. The guitarist would usually opt for a bottle or two of vodka, take his pain meds for his back problems, and then pass out in his room.

Tommy was a close second: the drummer would get buzzed enough to be annoying, add a few bumps of coke to keep his high going for a few hours, and he was done. He usually ended up passed out face down, ass up anywhere he lands when his buzz wears off. Cam found him after he broke his protocol one night, face planted in a pool of his own vomit. Trying not to puke herself, Cam got Tommy cleaned up and back on the bus all while he muttered about how sorry he was and if he woke up Grace at any point in the night.

Nikki and Vince, on the other hand, were intolerable when it came to the parties. There were nights where Vince kept the mother and daughter awake with the screaming coming from his room due to the countless groupies he fucked. Nikki sometimes roped Tommy and Vince into trashing the hotel floors that were rented out for the entire band, banging on walls and doors, screaming “wake up assholes!” as the entire hotel was awoken from their slumber.

There were other times where Nikki and Vince used Grace before and after the shows to rope in their chicks for the evening because according to Vince, “there’s nothing drunk chicks like more than a dude who can handle a baby”, to which Cam rolled her eyes and ripped the baby away from them.

The one thing Cam was cautious about was Ozzy fucking Osbourne. Motley Crue had their sober moments, especially around Grace, but Ozzy could never be sober even if his liver and kidneys depended on it. She knew that Ozzy had children of his own, but she didn’t know how exactly he acted around his children. Cameo always made sure that if Ozzy was around, she or a trusted member of Motley Crue always had an eye on the baby, especially when the older rockstar somehow snatched Grace away from whoever she was with.

Mick and Tommy bounced between watching Cam and Grace, because if at any point Ozzy’ s actions bothered Cam, they would swoop in and take Grace from the drunk singer, making up a bullshit excuse like she needed to be fed or changed. Cam knew she would be eternally grateful for the band and everything they had done for her and Grace, knowing 100% that there would be no way to ever repay them.

~~~~~~~

“Tommy! Get your ass back in this chair!” Ruby, the hair stylist, yelled at Tommy’s retreating back. “Can anyone go get him? Cameo? Mick?” Ruby turned her attention back to Vince as Cam stood and handed Grace and her bottle off to Mick, the vampiric man adapting his demeanor instantly.

Cam left the greenroom, heading in the direction she hoped Tommy had travelled down as well. As she ran down the hall, Tom greeted her.

“Hey, Zutaut! Have you seen Tommy? He ran out before Ruby could do his hair.” Cam ran a hand through her hair, trying to regulate her breathing as she waited for an answer.

“Yeah, actually. Keep going down the hall and head towards the stage. He said he wanted to ‘survey the crowd’. Hey, do you want to go do something with me later? I’m sure the guys wouldn’t mind watching Grace.” Cam rolled her eyes, holding her hand up to Tom’s mouth, ultimately shutting up the spineless record label rep.

“Zutaut, have you ever wondered why I call you buy your last name? Or why I never let you hold my daughter? It’s because I don’t fucking like you. So, kindly stay away from my daughter and I and do your fucking job!” With that, Cam turned and ran towards the stage, leaving Tom stunned in the hall.

Tommy was staring out from behind the curtain, the crowd growing anxious. Cam silently shuffled up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder, causing the drummer to jump.

“You good?” Cam asked, silently chuckling at Tommy’s reaction.

“Yeah. Fucking fantastic, Cam.” Tommy mumbled, brushing past her and sitting himself on a sound equipment trunk. Cam joined him and rubbed his back, trying to prevent a mental breakdown from happening.

“What’s wrong, Tommy? You’ve never acted like this before a show.”

“This isn’t just another gig at Whisky, Cam. This is a fucking stadium full of people! What if they hate us? What if we fuck up this show, which will ultimately fuck up our career, and end up breaking up the fucking band?” Tommy muttered, scratching the back of his neck and holding his head in his hands.

“Well, don’t fuck up,” Cam responded, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’m serious, Cameo! This isn’t a fucking joke!” Tommy whisper-yelled.

“So am I, Tommy! Look, this is what, your tenth show on this tour? Did you ever stop to consider that if Motley Crue was as shitty as you say, you wouldn’t still be here? Obviously you guys are doing something right, and you’re pretty amazing at it, so just give yourself a little break, okay? Now, come on back to the greenroom so Ruby can do your hair.” Cam stood and took Tommy’s hand, attempting to tug the man into a standing position. When the drummer didn’t move, Cam sighed and quickly sat down again.

“Cam, I’m not too sure I can do this.” Cam kissed Tommy’s shoulder and laid her head on it, quite a scandalous idea popping into her head.

“Hey Tommy? If you come back to the greenroom and patiently let Ruby finish your hair and makeup, I’ll flash you after the show.” With this promise, the drummer perked up and grabbed Cam’s hand, running back to the greenroom as quickly as he had run out of it.

~~~~~~~

“Before we end our show tonight, we’d like to try something new. A couple months ago, a gorgeous friend of Tommy’s popped up with a beautiful baby in her arms. She is now responsible for rounding us up when we get crazy and fucked up, so we would like to end this show with a special song dedicated to our friend Cameo and her daughter Grace!” Vince came to where Cam was standing backstage and dragged her out into public view, the unforgettable chords of Elton John’s “Your Song” beginning to play in the background.

Vince held her close as the band serenaded Cam, the mother a blubbering and sobbing mess. When the song ended, Cam hugged the singer, thanking him silently.

“Don’t thank me sweetheart; thank Tommy. It was his idea.” Nodding, Vince escorted the young mother backstage as roadies began to disassemble what remained of Motley Crue’s set. They all ran to the greenroom, the party beginning instantly.

“Thank you guys so much! It really meant a lot to me,” Cam whined happily, hugging each of them, spending a little extra time in her embrace with Tommy.

“You’re very welcome, sweets. Now, don’t forget about what you promised me earlier, Cameo.” Tommy whispered seductively in Cam’s ear, causing a shiver to roll down her spine. This was going to be a long night.

~~~~~~~

A/N: Again, guys, I am so sorry that this part got deleted. I tried to piece as much of it back together as I could, and I’ m actually happier with this one than the original. I hope you enjoyed it!

Taglist:

@kellysimagines

#motley crue imagine #tommy lee x oc #tommy lee blurb #nikki sixx x oc #tommy lee imagine #motley crue series #vince neil #mick mars #tommy lee #nikki sixx

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caiuscassiuss · 6 years

Text

Jaded (Jungwoo Mafia! AU)

Description: In your dark, dark, world there was a spot of light who came in the form of your mission partner, Jungwoo.

Genre: angst WC: 1.4k Warnings: swearing, actual murder, death, some sexual situations, basically pretty graphic

masterlist | requests | updates

_______________________________________________________________________

(A/N: this is for the anon request so I really hope you liked the way it turned ou bc I wrote it really quickly lol)

Click.

You quickly loaded the magazine of your prized revolver as multiple people ran around you doing… whatever they were doing. You really didn’t care, like you did about most things. In record time, you had packed up for your hit job. Some pimp decided he could swindle the mafia out of the money he owed them, and escaped like a rat in the night before they could send out a man to blackmail him. Rats were notoriously hard to catch; however, when one was experienced, they were ridiculously easy to… exterminate.

Your contacts informed your boss, Taeyong, the rat was hiding out in some motel in the middle of nowhere, Illinois. Quite a way away from New York, where the HQ for your organization stood, but you’ve traveled further and waited longer than to be bothered by this.

Normally, you wouldn’t bother with a simple job like this and leave it to the newly inducted to carry out. But this pimp, surprisingly, was half-way intelligent. He had planted his men around the town he was staying in, each one trained in covert surveillance and ready to strike at a moment’s notice. So that’s why you brought along your partner for backup because you were not going to face what could be up to 20 people alone.

A car was stalling at the curb of the building the HQ was at. It was a regular red Toyota Corolla, something very normal and not very flashy. Perfect for your cover.

You loaded your luggage in the trunk of the car and climbed into the passenger seat. In the driver’s seat sat your partner, Jungwoo.

Jungwoo has been in the organization for a while, inducted in as soon as you entered. You both rose through ranks at relatively the same speed, and he was just as good of an assassin as you were. What differed greatly, however, were your attitudes.

You were not afraid to to say you had a chip on your shoulder. Orphaned and kicked out onto the rough streets of Brooklyn at the age of 15 and left to fend for yourself ensured a whole fucking anchor placed on your shoulder. You learned very quickly not to trust and to place yourself first; those skills earned you a place at your organization.

Jungwoo, on the other hand, was the posterboy of an innocent bystander who got in far too deep. Sometimes, his light-heartedness and cheerful attitude made you question if he was a psycho or whether he put on a facade to deal with the guilt of his terrible deeds.

“Hey y/n! How are you?”

“I’m doing well” You smiled slightly at him as you strapped yourself in.

“You ready for the job?”

“When am I not?” you smirked.

_______________________________________________________________________

The town you were entering was really fucking small. Very different from the hustle and bustle of the streets of New York. Some crappy gas station near the exit, a diner that had a flickering sign, and some dilapidated, abandoned structures scattered willy-nilly around the area. Well, at least the squalid and crappy conditions were found in both places. You stopped at the gas station, and both you and Jungwoo stepped out of the car to get into the place.

Unsurprisingly, there was no one there except a man behind the cash register smoking and typing on his phone.

“Um sir? Do you know where the nearest hotel is?” you asked.

The man looked up from his phone. The gruff set to his mouth indicated he was not amused with the interruption to his activity (playing poker?).

“Don’t you kids have phones for that kind of shit nowadays?”

“Uh, sorry sir, but my girlfriend and I promised to leave our phones back in the dorms so we could concentrate on each other! Unfortunately, the map we’ve been using hasn’t been updated recently,” Jungwoo jumped in.

Your cover was a pair of NYU college students who wanted to go on a road trip to to California. Your name was Jenny, and his was Dean, and both of you were supposedly head over heels for each other.

“Hmph. Just head straight down that road and you’ll see it on the left, if you’re not too busy staring at each other,” the man snarked.

Rude asshole.

“Thank you for the help sir!” you chirped artificially as you slipped your hand into Jungwoo’s. Truthfully, there was nothing you’d like more to do than bash his head into the chipped counter, but there was no telling if he was one of the planted men.

You got out of the station and drove to the motel the pimp was most likely staying at. It was just as crappy as the gas station and diner, and looked like a strong gust of wind would knock it over.

You guys checked in and quickly got settled in the motel room that reeked of smoke and sex. Something both of you were versed quite well in, but didn’t want to be reminded of.

“Jungwoo, I’m gonna go to the pool and swim a bit to smoke out this dude. It said on his dossier that he liked chicks who were fit, so I plan on showcasing me to my fullest extent.

Jungwoo looked up from the tea he was brewing and frowned.

“Okay, but be careful. I’ll be in his room, kay?” he smiled his signature healing smile.

You rolled your eyes. You were always careful. It was what you did for a living.

_______________________________________________________________________

You giggled and dragged a finger down the pimp’s chest. After seeing you in the pool, he had “lured” you into his room, him not knowing you knew full damn well what he was doing.

“Eager to cheat, eh? I love whores like you, ready to fuck and chuck,” the pimp laughed as he ran his sweaty hands down your back and cupped your ass roughly.

The name he gave to you was Kihyun, which didn’t really matter cause he was about to die.

You slowly slipped a hand towards your swimming shorts, making it look like you were about to take it off. Instead, you slipped out a serrated knife that expanded and quickly pushed it into his chest. He went slack for moment, and his hands slipped down from your waist as your furrowed your eyebrows and dug deeper. Kihyun’s eyes lost it’s lecherous gleam and he slumped down onto the floor. The blood splattered a bit onto your pink swimsuit and you pushed the dead weight off of you.

You looked down in disgust. Too much mess. This is why you preferred cyanide in someone’s drink instead.

_______________________________________________________________________

You drove back to New York after stealthily escaping the town. Jungwoo dumped the body somewhere and you quickly cleaned up the hotel room, because you usually liked clean getaways. The traffic was really bad in the afternoon, so both of you were doomed to sit in here in near stand still for the next 2 hours. It was silent for a while until Jungwoo broke the silence.

“Y/n, are you… alright?”

You gave him a funny look. “Yeah, of course I am?”

“No, not like that. Like, are you okay?”

You quickly grew uncomfortable and stared out the window. You didn’t want to have a heart to heart with Jungwoo of all people, who was too fucking happy and would never understand.

“Everyday I see you get more and more detached. I’m really worried about you!”

“Jungwoo, it’s fine. I’ve been like this for a long time,” you sighed, feeling a bit shaken. The concern in his voice was something you hadn’t heard in a long time. His concern made you want to run far, far away from him and his feelings. But most importantly you felt something pulling at your chest. Oh nononono. I haven’t felt this… thing… in forever. No. It can’t comeback, it can’t. It can’t!

You felt a tug on your hands as he pulled you to look at him.

“Y/n. Can you truly look me into the eye and say you’re A-okay?” Jungwoo asked and he gripped your hands. His usually relaxed countenance wasn’t there, and his puppy eyes were intense.

The feeling in your chest came to a climax as you choked out, “N-no. Not at all.”

He pulled you into his chest as you sobbed, your face in the crook of his neck.

“I saw- he- don’t know-” you stuttered out..

“Shhh, it’ll be alright,” he murmured as he stroked your head.

After calming down from your breakdown, you too fell silent once again, reveling in the comfort you two brought each other.

“Y/n, you know you can always talk to me, yeah?”

You nodded against his chest.

“We may live in a world that requires us to kill, but it doesn’t mean you have to cut yourself off.”

“Jungwoo, we kill for a living!”

“Yeah, but you had nowhere to go. You can’t continue to punish yourself for things out of your control!”

You sniffed and Jungwoo sighed then pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“One day, we’ll get out of this together. One day, we’ll get out of this darkness.”

#nct #nct u #nct imagine #jungwoo imagine #nct jungwoo #jungwoo scenario #nct angst #nct mafia #nct mafia au #jungwoo mafia

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forever-more-never-again · 6 years

Text

Burning (Scene Eight/?)

*I do not own the Avengers or MCU*GIF not mine*

Its the next chapter of Burning! yay! This one is going to lead up to the big climax. Be prepared to be shooketh!

Pairing: Slow Burn Natasha Romanoff X (Enhanced!Mutant!) Reader

Word Count: 1280

Warnings: PTSD, Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Rape, Swearing

a/n: This is not going to follow the MCU timeline exactly

Prologue / Scene One / Scene Two / Scene Three / Scene Four / Scene Five /Scene Six / Scene Seven / Scene Eight / Scene Nine / Scene Ten

Masterlist

*Readers POV*

I was itching to get back to hunting down the Hydra scum of the earth. But being put in a building with a bunch of ex-spies, assassins and super soldiers didn’t leave many chances for a jailbreak. And that’s what I called this tower, a jail. Sure, it was prettier and everyone was nicer than the one I had been kept in most of my life, but I was still under watch. There was someone tracking my movement all hours of the day and even within the privacy of my room, I had the feeling of eyes on me.

So I had been heading out to the workout room to work off some of the caged aggression I had been building when I ran into Natasha about to knock on my door.

“Oh. Hi. Natasha.” I knew I sounded stilted. I had been avoiding her since that initial breakdown I had when I was shown my room. I wasn’t use to affection. Much less someone touching my wings in a nice way...in a loving way. I had to lock my heart away. I couldn’t afford emotions.

“[Y/n]! I, Uhh, I just wanted to see how you were doing. It’s been a few weeks now and I haven’t seen you interacting with the team.” I watched, slightly amused, at the slight flush that crept up the Black Widow’s cheeks.

I walked past her, letting her get a glimpse of me in my workout shorts and sports bra. My wings trailing down my back. “I may be forced to become part of the team, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to be part of one. I explained that on my first day. Remember?” I shot a look at her over my shoulder. She had walked with me to the workout gym area.

Natasha shrugged a shoulder, green eyes tracking my movements as I wrapped my hands and started stretching, “True, But what if some of us wanted to get to know you? I know you were doing something out there in Siberia at that Hydra base. I want to help, but I can’t if you don’t let any of us in.”

I tensed at her mention of Hydra. My wings twitched and I struggled to keep them contained when they wanted to fly out of the confrontation.

I took a deep breath trying to calm the inner tidal wave of emotions, “Never mention that again.” I surprised myself with how venomous my voice sounded. Natasha seemed shocked as well as her eyes grew wide and her concerned look turned into a cold hard mask of an assassin.

“Fine. I’ll leave you to self-destruct then.” And with that, she stalked out of the room leaving me by myself.

I swallowed down the urge to chase after her. Turning to face the punching bag, I let my wings unfurl behind me in the empty space. Reveling in the feeling of them being free. I started punching. With each punch and thud my mind worked overtime. Hydra. Screaming. Begging. Needles. But most of all i thought of all the ways that I would Kill Operating Commander of the Russian branch of Hydra. Commander Misha Petrov. The sick bastard who killed my parents in front of me. Who tortured me for years. Who injected the serum that gave me my pyrokinesis.

I didn’t realize how much my thoughts were affecting me until I heard a scream of rage and the sound of the punching bag flying across the room. I stood, shocked, panting. I had managed to use so much force that the bag had come unhinged from the ceiling and broke, spilling its sand in a path to where it lay feet away from me.

“Haven’t seen that happen since I recruited Cap for the Avengers Initiative.”

I let my wings fold back against my body as I turned to face Nick Fury. He wore his leather trench coat, sitting on a chair by the wall.

As I started unwrapping my hands, wiping the sweat from my face, without looking at him I asked, “So Cap has anger issues?”

Fury chuckled, kicking his legs out as he crossed his arms across his chest, “You could say that. Being frozen for seventy years wrecks havoc on a person’s state of mind.”

I shrugged my shoulders, still not looking at the man. “Phoenix,”

At that name I spun around, my wings alight with fire, “Is that my new ‘Avengers’ Name!? Why must you call me that?”

Fury didn’t so much as move a muscle at my show of aggression, “As a matter of fact, I believe it suits you perfectly. [Y/n]...I am simply a man, who is concerned for the team. I saw Natasha stalk out of her in such a way I haven’t seen since Budapest.”

I sighed and let my fire go out, but kept my wings ready for any sudden moves. I grabbed my duffel and tried to walk past Fury. But he stuck an arm out, preventing me from exiting the gym. I turned and stared into his eye. “What old man?”

Fury gave me a knowing look, “You use that cold exterior, but it’s just a ruse. I know who else was kept in that base with you. Confirm a theory for me, if you would, and I’ll let you go.”

The mention of Hydra once again put me on edge. But I had a feeling ignoring Fury and demanding he drop it wouldn’t work the way it had with Natasha. “Okay, Shoot old man.”

I swung my duffel over my shoulder, careful of my wings. I watched as Fury stood up and pulled out a picture from one of his pockets. He held it out towards me and I warily took it.

It was a grainy security image photo. Of Siberia. I gasped and dropped it, backing away fast. “Is he here? Does he know where I am?”

Fury listened to my distressed questions.

The man on the picture, though distorted and grainy was one that haunted my dreams right alongside Misha Petrov. It was the asset they were going to allow to rape me. The one that was acting out the night I escaped from that prison.

Fury bent and picked up the picture, giving it a pursuing glance before putting it back in his pocket. “So you confirm that you know this person and that they were kept with you?”

I glared as he stayed calm. No emotion crossing his face, “Yes.” I bit out, my wings trembling, “Why are you interested now? I’ve been here for weeks.”

Fury started walking to the door, “I’m just an old man who wants to see this team become great. So I’ll say this once, Phoenix.” He turned and looked at me with his eye, “Either you come clean to the team, or I do.”

As he shut the door, my pent up distress and anger broke. I screamed, throwing my duffel at the door that was now closed on the man’s receding figure.

How dare he! I gave them my stipulations on the first day! And he had the nerve to blackmail me into discussing the past I specifically said not to look into! Agh!

I let the rage inside turn into fire that ran down the length of my arms and wings. I started pacing. Trying to think rationally. Fury didn’t know all the details. But he knew something about the asset. Something that made them important.

As I stood still in the middle of the gym staring into nothing, one thought ran through my mind...How did Nick Fury know about the Winter Soldier?

TAGLIST:(Strike through means I could not tag you)

@bamthespark @professionalunicorn400 @morbid-gaymer @altenais @honeybadgerwhodoesntcare @sxph-t

#avengers #avengers x you #avengers x reader #avengers fanfiction #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #hydra #winter soldier #phoenix #burning #please give feedback #please give credit #send me asks #tag list

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georgiabread · 7 years

Text

i’m not in the swing of things (yet)

summary: Sometimes Dan hates university and sometimes any reason to visit Phil is a good one.

word count: 2.6k

trigger warnings: a mild panic attack

a/n: dan’s laundromat story probably wasn’t as angsty as this but

The first thing that hits him when he plods into the laundromat is the smell. God, the smell. It’s artificial lime, pungent socks and sweat all blended into one odor to assault his nostrils. It almost activates his fight-or-flight response. But Wash, Dry, Fold, Repeat is the only laundry place within a 2-mile radius of his university, and the skinny jeans and cowl-neck cardigan he’s wearing are all that’s left clean. So, while the taste buds on his tongue squirm at the soapy smell of detergent, Dan finds a place in line behind some bored 20-year-old and waits. And waits. And ignores the anxious thundercloud roiling in his stomach.

He shifts his basket of filthy clothes with his knee – the handles are burning into his palms, and that bitter fragrance of underwear has become a little too much for his nose. He’ll be standing here for an hour, at most. There’s at least ten people in this queue, and dozens more slouched upon bench chairs as their clothes tumble about in dryers. And they’re all students. Their buzz of conversation is white noise in his ears, making his fingers twitch and his eyes quiver. They’re intimidating as hell, because Dan only moved into his dorm a week ago and he’s barely 19. Yesterday he had his first proper conversation with one of his housemates – his first social interaction on campus.

Meet people, comes the nasal voice of his mother, banging around his brain. University is so much easier when you have someone to share it with.

And, yeah – that’s probably true. But with one glance at the students crammed into this shitty laundromat, Dan can’t spot any potential friends. He doesn’t feel the urge to strike up a pleasant chat. All he feels is the urge to throw up, really.

He’s a bit pissed. This is a laundromat, of all places, and those irritating fingers of anxiety still crawl into his stomach and churn his last meal like butter. The queue shortens, and with every step, Dan’s chest tightens. And then it hits him – he doesn’t even know how to use laundry machines. The ones back home were simple; his mum even taught him how to work the buttons. But these are modern and unfamiliar, and how could he know which setting to choose and where to pour the detergent and how long he’d have to wait and–?

Dan closes his eyes, drags a stumbling breath through his nose, exhales. It’s okay, he tells himself. You might screw up a million times and keep everyone waiting, but it’s okay. (It isn’t).

He can find a poster with instructions or something. He can ignore everyone else in the room, and their piercing eyes that probably aren’t judging him but definitely could be. It’s fine.

Dan takes another slow breath. The laundromat is loud, stirring the butterflies behind his ribcage, but he tries to drown it out. Two people leave the line; he’s getting closer. His heart staggers in his chest. Why is this such a dramatic affair? He’s just washing his clothes. This is normal. This is routine. Dan pulls his eyes across the other students again. They gaze blankly at their phones, flip the pages of a textbook they’re reading, laugh and talk in small groups. They are normal. So why isn’t he?

Suddenly there’s violent movement in the corner of his eye, and a guy with a black parka and a tattoo on his neck is yanking on the door of a dryer and – and taking out someone else’s clothes? Dan’s mouth hangs open as the prat shoves his own things inside, nicking the time for himself without paying, and an innocent person’s clothes are left in a pitiful heap on the floor.

When another creep wanders past and steals a single sock from the pile, Dan decides he’s had enough. He’s not leaving his belongings here like they’re free to browse, and he’s finding it hard to breathe and he has to get out.

Lugging his basket on his hip, Dan slips out of the queue and pretty much bolts from the laundromat, his stomach still a raging storm.

Outside isn’t any better. Manchester University’s ancient brickwork looms above him, a scornful reminder of his prison home for the next three years. Dan blinks, and remembers his first lecture – a room with a thousand pairs of eyes and a droning professor, and the seats at the back, mocking him. Like they knew that’s where he would always be. Far away. Hidden. Alone.

Unwanted tears sting his eyes. He’s waging wars with cotton balls in his throat. Hunched on a stretch of pavement, clutching a laundry basket as blood drains from his knuckles, on the verge of a sudden breakdown…Dan can’t fucking do this.

But he still needs somewhere to wash his clothes.

With an ugly snivel, Dan finds his phone in his back pocket and flicks to his messages.

TO: phill ^.^

i’m coming over to do my laundry

The moment the text is delivered, Dan feels stupid. Then guilt tugs his lips into a deep frown. What kind of adult has to go to his boyfriend’s house to do laundry? The house in question is, like, on the other side of the city. Phil must be having a great afternoon in his apartment, and now Dan’s gonna ruin it with his bucket of dirty washing and his incessant whining about the pressures of public services.

But he can’t think of anything better, so he calls a taxi and watches it trundle over to the laundromat 10 minutes later. The driver throws him a questioning look when Dan hops in, beady eyes stuck to him as if waiting for an explanation to crawl out of Dan’s pile of clothes. It doesn’t.

As the city passes by the window in a blur, Dan lets the guilt set in. He revels in it. Takes satisfaction in the way he abuses himself (You’re such a shitty boyfriend. So annoying. You can’t do the simplest of things without panicking. Everyone else can use a laundromat, you’re just a freak).

The taxi halts outside Phil’s apartment building a while later, and Dan steps out bruised and tattered – emotionally. He hasn’t checked his phone since he last sent that message. He can’t read what Phil has to say, probably disappointed that Dan is so reliant on him despite being in university. God.

Then there’s a fiddly entrance, an empty elevator and he’s facing off with the front door of Phil’s apartment. He wonders if he should walk away. Maybe Phil isn’t at home? Maybe Phil doesn’t want to see him? But logic reminds him of the two weeks they’ve been apart; he sniffles, blinks away stranded tears and knocks gently on the wood.

Phil is waiting with a grin behind the door. “So, you only keep me around for my household appliances, huh?” is the first thing he says, crinkles forming around his eyes.

“Sorry,” Dan says heavily, a pathetic attempt at laughter fizzling out. “It’s just – there was a laundromat. But I couldn’t be there. I can use your washing machine, right?”

Phil shuffles back to let him in, raising his eyebrows. “Uh, no you can’t. Not until my worth is measured by something more.”

Dan’s fingers stiffen around his basket, throat thick. “…Well, I-I can leave if you don’t–” His words fracture.

That’s when Phil catches on, jokey expression fading as he leans in and pecks Dan on the cheek. “I’m only joking, you numpty. Go sit down, I’ll put these on for you.”

Dan protests as Phil steals the washing basket from his hands, and stands defeated in the hall when his boyfriend prances off towards the laundry. “You’re making me feel bad,” he cries after him.

“You don’t need to!”

“Well…I do anyway.”

Dan wipes at the mess around his nose. Wandering towards the lounge, he hides in his hands in his pockets and takes a deep breath. It doesn’t tremble. His anxieties linger on his shoulders, taunting him, but he now that he’s with Phil, some tumble off and land with a smack on the floor. This is more of a home than uni could ever be.

He flops into the creases of Phil’s couch, eyes landing on Final Fantasy paused on the TV. He notes everything sprawled across the coffee table: an empty mug, a crumb-scattered plate, a few uninteresting documents (bills, maybe). And Phil’s York University hoodie crumpled on the corner.

Dan stares at the green piece of fabric. He narrows his eyes. He scrutinizes it. Then he shrugs it on, only because all his jumpers are in the wash, he’s cold and – okay, he hasn’t seen Phil in ages and he misses him and his smell and his everything, so he wears the goddamn hoodie.

“I made you some tea,” Phil says when he returns, nudging a warm mug into Dan’s hands. The washing machine is background noise to quiet affection.

Careful not to spill the drink (a drop of milk and three teaspoons of sugar, just how he likes it) Dan pushes his face in Phil’s shoulder and clings to his shirt with his free hand. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

Phil noses at his hair and hides a kiss amongst the curls, an unspoken you’re welcome. “Also, green looks good on you.”

“That’s a lie.” Dan’s cheeks are dyed pink. “Your clothes just smell nice.”

This is the first time Dan addresses the taboo subject of sharing clothes. He hesitates. His eyes focus on a stray thread, dangling from Phil’s sleeve. He squeezes it between his thumb and forefinger and tears it off. He feels like he’s broken a promise of some sort.

But Phil just giggles, leaning into him despite the zero space left between their bodies. “I guess you’ll have to keep washing yours here so they can pick up my scent.”

“Shut up. I don’t wanna keep bothering you with my laundry, anyway.”

“You’re not a bother.”

“Uh, yeah I am. What kind of adult can’t wash his clothes? And has to drive all the way to his boyfriend’s house to do it as some kind of security blanket?”

“Dan, if you feel more comfortable here, that’s…you know that’s fine. Besides, you pretty much live here.”

Dan knows Phil is staring at him, waiting for a sign that it’s all okay. It’s not, but Dan still meets his eyes, watches them soften ever so slightly. “Whatever you say.”

“Dan, I’m being serious.” And crap, he’s got him worried. “We’re bloody dating, of course I want you around.”

Dan digs his teeth into his bottom lip, glancing away. Phil sighs and tries a different tactic. “Okay, what happened before? You said something about a laundromat…”

“Yeah, um,” – Dan rubs his eyes, scuffs a bit of fringe out of his face – “It was horrific. Someone stole another person’s clothes. And then, like, there were people there and it smelt disgusting and I had to wait an hour in line. I just – didn’t want to be there. And I know it’s fucking stupid, having a panic attack in a laundromat, but–”

“Dan.” Phil’s fingers brush over the back of his hand. “You could’ve called me.”

There’s a shrug. “Yeah. It wasn’t, you know, dramatic or anything. I just had to leave.”

“Well, I’m glad you came here.” Phil presses his lips against his temple. “What about the whole week? Was uni good so far?”

And Dan snorts, even though this probably isn’t something he should laugh at. “Oh my God, Phil. It sucked. I hid in my room the whole time to avoid my housemates, and showed up late to my first lecture so of course I had one thousand fucking people looking at me as I went all the way to the back of the room. And my professors must be in love with piling intense pressure on their students on the first day. Seriously, I’m so fucking stupid. The workload is massive; I’ll never get it done.”

Phil blinks. “What are you talking about? You’re one of the most intelligent people I know.”

“Not when it comes to fucking law.” Dan whines in the back of his throat, throwing his head against the couch. “Already a week in and I’m regretting everything.”

“It’s gonna get better, Dan. Everyone has a tough first week.”

“Do they? I don’t think everyone has a breakdown in the middle of a supermarket when they’re supposed to be buying cheese. Wait – fuck, I wasn’t gonna tell you that.” Dan trails off. He glares at the lukewarm contents of his mug until his eyes water. He grimaces at the aftertaste of his words, wide open and vulnerable.

He can hear the pity in Phil’s breath. Hands reach down to remove the tea and place it on the table before the boy hugs him and shelters him. Dan curls into Phil’s side.

“You should’ve called me,” Phil says. “I don’t care what I’m doing, I just want to be there when you’re sad. I hate it when you’re sad.”

Dan closes his eyes. Fuck, Phil. Then he opens them. “I tried calling my grandma, but she didn’t pick up.”

“Dan. Promise me, if no one else is available, that you’ll call me when you’re feeling shitty.”

“But I always feel guilty. What if you get sick of my problems?”

“Never. You have to promise.”

“I despise you.” Dan burrows into Phil’s chest. His next words he sews into the fibres of Phil’s shirt. “I promise.”

Phil kisses his hair and holds him like he’s porcelain. “Good. And yeah, uni sucks sometimes. I actually burst into tears in Tesco while I was buying tea towels. And during my first lecture, I tripped over trying to find a seat and half my stuff fell down a few rows. Everyone gasped. But it’s mostly really fun and as long as don’t procrastinate and take notes, assignments will be easy.”

“How do you even manage that on your first week? And you know procrastination is a chronic illness for me.”

“You’ll just have to come over to study and I’ll motivate you.”

A small disgruntled sound leaves Dan’s lips. “Why are you so nice to me? Idiot.”

“I prefer to call it supporting and caring for my boyfriend whom I love so much.”

“And the medal for the soppiest lad out there goes to Phil Lester, everybody.”

“I’ll wear it proudly.”

“In that case, I can’t be seen anywhere near you.”

Satisfied with Dan’s return to okay-ness, Phil giggles and seizes his controller. “Mind if we cuddle and I play Final Fantasy?”

“Nope.” Dan pops the p, tugging his sleeves over his hands and wriggling under Phil’s arm. “You suck at battles, though.”

“Hey. Not as hard as your mum sucked last night.”

“What the fuck.”

And Phil begins to shake with laughter, a boisterous thing that puts stars in his eyes and makes Dan feel a bit dizzy. A smile wriggles onto his face when the boy tips towards him, sprinkling I’m sorries through his giggles.

“I hate you,” Dan says.

Phil turns to him, gives him a look. Dan’s gaze trickles down his face until he gives in and touches their lips together, chaste and warm-scented. “But I also love you.”

“See? You can’t fool me, Howell.”

Phil resumes Final Fantasy and entwines their legs on the couch. A grin glued to his face, the tempest of anxiety dribbling away, Dan nestles into the quiet and comfort that is his boyfriend and dozes off to Sending a Dream into the Universe. Somewhere in the apartment, there is an ambience of clothes tumbling about in the washing machine, constant and calm and always there.

phanfics

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #dan and phil #phan fluff #phan angst #2010!dan #university #laundromats #lmao #i feel insecure about this one because other fic writers have posted laundromat fics which are far better but oh well

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