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myelocin · 4 years

Text

Cradle | Sakusa Kiyoomi, Iwaizumi Hajime

Synopsis: First is love; in the forms over the years you come to know. Then second is grief and loss; and how the struggle that comes with it defines and reshapes you. And finally third is acceptance, where you realize that the awakening to love and life’s questions have always just been in the palm of your hand.

This story is for those who shielded themselves from love before it could even hit them.

Characters/Pairings: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Reader x Iwaizumi Hajime | Seijoh 3rd years (friendship)

Genre/Tags/Warnings: Slice of Life, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Slow burn, Seijoh4!Friendship, Cellist!Sakusa, Musician!Reader, Hajime lmao, Mutual Pining, Love Triangle, Happy Ending!!, Character death, mentions of spiraling

WC: 17.5k

a/n: a month long wip! this one is all for you, mom. i broke my heart writing down these memories, but i hope you read this on the other side. + big thank you to @introvertedfangirlpower for the cello facts! really helped me :)

playlist: Message to Myself - Roo Panes

ko-fi | commissions

For you, love began in the unknown.

You say unknown because you don’t remember much of your childhood other than the flashes of residual warmth that came with the memory of your mother. For as long as you can remember, she always felt like that: warm and familiar—like home.

Her presence like the warmth that stays on your coffee mug long after you’ve consumed your drink. Warmth like sitting in front of a fireplace as you watch the last bits of firewood extinguish in the flames.

And your fondest memory perhaps—warm like the hands that cup your face and kiss your forehead every morning before you left for school.

The early years in your life meant days spent in planted gardens outside of a kitchen window where the pink and yellow flowers bloom in the spring, and jumping in the fallen leaves raked in a pile centered in the backyard in the late autumn.

Then in the winters, when it became too cold to lay in blankets in the backyard stargazing for constellations—you’d spend the Christmas nights listening to bedtime stories about her time traveling the world you have yet to explore. “You’ll fall in love with seeing what’s out there,” you recall her saying as she tucks you in bed with the green blanket she knitted for you when you were a baby.

Though you suppose even if you loved the winter months with her the best—you could never go wrong with sipping the iced tea she’d leave for you on the porch in the afternoons you spent outside in the summers. The iced tea she made was always the best: never too sweet, and never too bland either.

And for the most part of your childhood, your father was absent. You didn’t really care; his absent never lingered. So even when the bratty kid from the classroom next to yours would brag about the brand new jacket her papa bought her from a trip overseas—you didn’t care. The jacket you wore was still the same one from last year, and the scarf wrapped around you was the one she knitted two winters ago, but the way she wrapped you up and kissed your nose made the taunting escape your mind.

Your mother would tell you stories about the times when you were a baby and of how she’d tuck you in nice and snug in your blanket whenever she felt the room was too cold and then fan you out when the temperature rose. Apparently, when you were a baby you never cried too much so she was left to guess whether you felt comfortable enough with the room’s temperature or not. She always finished the story by saying you smiled at her either way so she supposes she guessed right every time.

You don’t question it because she guesses right every time.

During father daughter dances that were annually held in your school, your mother always made sure to take the day off of work early so the two of you would have dinner some place nice instead. Her jokes were better than the ones your dad halfheartedly chucked your way when he did come to visit anyway, so you didn’t mind.

Your father ringing you up three hours before the dance with the last minute classic excuse of “sudden meeting today, I’m sorry.” didn’t bother you as much as you think it should have when your mom was right next to you ready to tell you another story from her younger days.

Her “younger days” as she liked to call it was always a favorite topic of hers that she always returned to from time to time. At eight years old, it felt like there was so much of the world still to explore and despite her telling you to live your childhood to the fullest, you didn’t ask what it meant and requested to hear an encore of the story she just finished telling.

She’d smile and you’d hear her tell you that no, and that you should have listened, but you know during the “father daughter” dinners shared between the two of you, she was extra soft and that it would take nothing more than pleading eyes and one more “please” before she’d relent and tell the story again.

She was always enough; every second with her felt just right—and if there’s something you never regret during your childhood, it’s those times where you’d ignore the teasing of having “no dad to dance with” from your childhood bullies because you were more than content with the superwoman who raised you anyway.

If there was someone in your childhood other than your mom who never hesitated to hold your hands—it was the boy who lived right down the street: Iwaizumi Hajime.

“He looks a little scruffy,” your mom used to tell you and you’d shrug at her words because to ten year old you, she did have a point. Boys were icky.

His family didn’t move in your street until you turned ten years old, but according to the Oikawa family who lived next door—the Iwaizumi family had already been one of their long term friends. Tooru, the pretty boy who was your next door neighbor and often brought you the Christmas cookies you’ve come to love every December didn’t hesitate to knock on your door and ask your mom for permission to bring you out and play.

Tooru was okay, you thought; he had nice hair and a pretty smile even though he wore alien t-shirts every chance he could get. But, he was always kind enough to remember that you preferred almonds in your cookies instead of the cashews the recipe called for. So when your mother looked at you for your answer, you nodded shyly before running to your room to grab the jacket and scarf she reminded you to wear. The chill from autumn’s air has been settling in the region lately, so you let her wrap the scarf around you tightly before you left.

She did the same for both Tooru and his mystery friend, and you could only nod proudly when Tooru introduced his friend to your mother with, “This is (l/n)-san, she’s the nicest auntie here!”

You don’t notice the boy who walks quietly beside Tooru until the three of you reach the park. When you do finally notice him, you subconsciously find yourself moving a little closer to Tooru, your puffy cheeks hidden in the layers your scarf buried you in.

“Oh!” Tooru suddenly exclaims like he just had an epiphany.

“(Y/n),” he says as he turns to you and grabs the sleeve of your jacket, “—this is Iwa-chan. My bestest friend!”

Iwa-chan, the boy introduced to you peeks at you from Tooru’s left side and puffs his cheeks, “My name is Iwaizumi Hajime, nice to meet you.”

“Hello, I’m (y/n),” you reply and tentatively hold your hand out as an offer for him to shake, “nice to meet you Iwaizumi-san.”

His cheeks turn red at your words and you fight the urge to laugh at how silly it looks with his pout when he says, “You can call me Hajime. Nice to meet you too.”

Beside you, Tooru must have thought that his friend was taking too long to respond because he sighs loudly and grabs Hajime’s hand and clasps it on yours. “Iwa-chan, you’re supposed to shake her hand! Not stare.”

The red tinting his cheeks turn into a couple shades darker as he shakes your hand and turns his head to the side after muttering something along the lines of, “Baka-kawa.”

You smile at him when he faces you, and then smile even wider when the blush on his cheeks turn even redder. Maybe it’s just the cold air, you think, but none the less it suited him.

His hair was a little scruffy and he liked to wear Godzilla t-shirts under his jackets, but his cheeks blushed a pretty shade of red when you smiled at him so when your mom asks how your day with Tooru and the new neighbor went, you smile at her and say, “Mama I made a new friend!”

Hajime seemed nice, you suppose.

And you’re right because Hajime was always kind; he smiled in a way that had you smiling along with him in mere seconds. Though he was a little rougher with Tooru, Hajime always made it his mission to make sure he held your hand—if you needed it—when you needed to jump down a big step; the ever present blush on his cheeks when you’d beam at him stayed regardless of whatever season so you suppose you can’t blame it on the cold air anymore.

During your summer breaks, the three of you would spend the afternoons in your mother’s backyard sipping iced tea and catching cicadas. Tooru, along with you, would whine about how gross bugs were but you’d sooner relent than him when a pout began to form on Hajime’s face.

“You don’t have to,” Hajime says and takes a seat next to you on the swing next to the rosebushes. Tooru, from a far would yell triumphantly before tossing the volleyball he’d brought with him from home again. You, on the other hand could never have it in you to see Hajime upset so you’d pick up one of the three nets he’d brought with him and nod towards the garden.

“It’s okay!” you say and offer him a sweet smile when he’d look up, “as long as you keep the worms away from me then it’s okay!”

“I’ll keep them away,” he replies suddenly looking excited. Hajime jumps from the swings to grab another net and tugs at your hand to run towards the garden; he chooses to ignore the look on Tooru’s face when the latter shoots him a knowing smirk.

Bugs were never your thing and there was also never a day where you thought you’d be out in the garden running hand in hand with a boy trying to catch cicadas on a summer afternoon—when you’d much prefer to be sitting in a picnic blanket with the family dog who always nudged your hand for belly rubs. But then again, when you see Hajime, the kind boy with the infectious smile who always held your hand when you crossed the street or jumped from big steps, beam at you with his laughs ringing in the air—you conclude that it can’t be so bad after all.

When the sun would set and the three of you would let go of all the cicadas you caught, your mom would sit the three of you down for dinner and talk about your days.

“Ah, youth,” your mother would comment and you’d nod along, smiling because if this is what she meant by the beauty of youth—then you don’t ever want to let this go. If youth meant summer afternoons spent catching cicadas, festivals in the autumn, hot cocoas in winter, and picnics in the spring with Hajime and Tooru then you decided you really don’t want to let it go.

You think that especially when you look at the table across you as you smile at Tooru shoveling his dinner down and smiling at your mom because she was the bestest cook ever and laugh when Hajime’s always the one offering to pass the salt or the dish your mother asked for.

“Haji is really smart, mama,” you say looking up at the woman seated next to you and Tooru would whole heartedly agree then mutter something about “Iwa-chan” being really good at arm wrestling. Hajime would flush with the familiar shade of red you’ve grown accustomed to at Tooru’s comment but tell your mother a polite thank you when she’d clap her hands together and agree with Tooru’s compliment.

That night when your mother tucked you in for the night and moved to turn off the lights in the bedroom, she tells you that Hajime and Tooru are nice boys and that she’s glad you befriended the both of them.

You tell her goodnight and smile into your covers, feeling warm at the thought of your mother’s words, Tooru’s laughter, and Hajime’s kind smile.

High school was a strange time for the three of you.

Strange, in the sense that even though the three of you maintained the closeness of the friendship you’ve shared since childhood—certain things factored in the evident shift in some relationships.

Tooru was one example.

You would give up an arm for him in a heartbeat if it meant it would save his life, but at the same time, there are some moments where you wouldn’t hesitate to rip off his arm just to get him to shut up.

He’s always been perceptive, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise when he came to your house one day, plopped himself on the beanbag he claimed to be “his spot” at the corner of your desk, look you dead in the eye, and declare, “You have the hots for Iwa-chan don’t you?”

Internally, you wince at the statement but outwardly maintain the air of nonchalance you’ve mastered over the years. Tapping your pen on Tooru’s forehead, you click your tongue, “If you don’t finish your essay by today, I’m not gonna edit it for you.”

“You’re changing the topic, (y/n),” Tooru quips and if the conversation was about something different, you’d smile at the sing-song tone he was using.

“Changing what?” You ask.

“(Y/n),” Tooru replies, dragging out the last syllable of your name, “—you’re so obvious, even Makki and Mattsun could tell.”

“Could tell what?” comes Hajime’s voice from the doorway.

You let out a sigh because in a way you’re thankful for Hajime’s impeccable timing in entering your room. You turn your head and glance at him from your desk, offering him a lazy wave as a greeting.

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru exclaims and scrambles on the beanbag to sit up properly. “How much have you heard?”

“Were you talking about something important?” Hajime asks with a flat tone as he sits on your bed and pulls out his laptop.

“Your mom asked me and Oikawa to stay for dinner tonight, by the way. That cool with you?” he asks.

You look at him, the expression on your face quizzical, “Haji, you guys always stay for dinner. Mama and I love having you two around.”

From your peripheral vision, you could see Tooru look between you and Hajime back and forth and for once you’re glad he chose to stay silent.

But then when a familiar tinge of red falls on Hajime’s cheeks and you smile fondly at him, Tooru suddenly hollers, “(Y/n), that’s what I mean. You totally have the hots for Iwa-chan!”

Hajime’s eyes widen as you slap a hand over your face.

Today was one of the days where you decide you want to rip Tooru’s arm off.

Dinner later that night was, to put it bluntly, awkward.

You figured your mom must have already read the atmosphere by now but as of the moment all you could really do was shoot glares towards Tooru from across the table. Usually, the seating arrangement would be like this: you sat next to your mom, Tooru right across you, and Hajime diagonal from you.

Tonight, Tooru decided that it was time to “switch things up” and traded seats with Hajime.

“Ahh, this feels nice,” he says as he sits in the chair inches away from the chair where he sat for years.

“Boys,” your mother begins, “I heard you both got into the volleyball team.”

Tooru beams at her through a mouthful of pasta. “Yeth!” he chimes and Hajime elbows him on the side reminding him to eat properly before responding. You, along with your mother give a soft laugh at their interaction.

“How are you three liking high school so far? I expect the two of you to get rid of any boys who have bad intentions towards (y/n),” your mother says as she sips on her wine. Internally, you groan, because this was a conversation you would much prefer to not have. Especially in front of Tooru, you decide when he grins with an undertone of something you could only guess was anything but good. You shoot him a warning look; Tooru decides it’s a good day to ignore you.

Over the years, you made your appreciation known towards Hajime’s amazing timing. It was like he had a sixth sense when it came to either you, Tooru, or the both of you simultaneously. He had always managed to round the corner right as the passing university boys would spot you alone by the convenience store, catch Tooru before he did anything too drastic whenever he blamed himself a little too harshly for a loss from a particularly bad game, or like earlier that night—walk into a room interrupting a conversation you would rather avoid altogether.

This current situation was not one of those times.

Hajime took a bite. Your eyes were still locked on Tooru who did everything but look in your direction.

“I don’t think that’s a problem, (L/n)-san,” he said and leaned forward. Your mother next to you raised an eyebrow in question and muttered an, “oh?”

Hajime took another bite, still oblivious to the current conversation. You still looked at Tooru who smiled at you in a way that had you gripping the fork in your hand a little tighter.

“No scary boys around (y/n), at all! Isn’t that right, Iwa-chan?” Tooru exclaims and looks at his best friend next to him who was still engrossed in his plate of food. You hold your breath looking at Hajime as you wait for his response.

“Huh? Yeah. Anyway, this new recipe is really good (l/n)-san,” he finally says and nods towards your mother. Tooru clasps his hands together, smiling.

“Personally,” Tooru begins, “I think Iwa-chan and (y/n) would be the most perfect couple!”

You run your hands over your face, already feeling the heat crawling up your neck. Feeling your mother’s stare you let out a sigh and face her. “Mom-“

“Hajime! That’s great! I was wondering when the two of you would get together, it’s literally been years.”

You stare at her. Hajime stares at her; pasta sauce is smeared on the corner of his lips.

“I know, imagine being the third wheel this whole time!” Tooru comments.

“Hajime’s a nice boy,” your mother tells you as you join her in the living room after Tooru and Hajime returned home.

“We’re not, a thing, mom,” you say despite her laughing at your tone.

“I didn’t say you two were a thing.”

You open your mouth, but eventually close it when you come short of a response. She had a point.

“Mom,” you groan, “Haji is nice. Tooru is nice. Both of them are nice.”

“I know that, (y/n), you’re just being defensive now,” she laughs and you can’t find a retort so you huff in response.

When the room is dips into silence, you grab the familiar green blanket folded on the corner of the couch and take a seat next to her. She looks at you when you lean against her shoulder and drape the blanket over the two of you.

“(Y/n),” your mother says softly.

“Yeah?” you respond, looking up to catch her gaze—the kind where it’s steady and soft.

“Never lose yourself if you decide to give your heart to someone. I raised you well enough and no boy should ever make you feel like you’re taking two steps back,” you know she doesn’t say it to spite Hajime, but the message and advice in her words reach you anyway.

“Never in a million years.”

You know your mother means well because everything she’s done so far was because it was for your sake. Her credit of being a good mom was well deserved: a full time nurse and a full time mother wasn’t an easy feat but she did it—and not a day goes by where you felt like you had to fight for her time.

And because of that, you knew in your heart that Hajime knew the both of you enough to understand the dynamic you had with her; for that, you were always thankful.

True to Tooru’s words, it only took the both of you six more months of back and forth bickering in your room before you eventually built up enough courage to stand in front of Hajime with your confession written neatly in jet black ink on paper tucked inside the pink envelope Tooru had demanded you to use.

He was quiet, and staring at you long enough for your cheeks to turn as pink as the envelope you were holding that it had you beginning to wrack your brain for excuses to turn and walk in the opposite direction. Only, when you looked up, cheeks flushed and the “Sorry I think I have to be home early to put my fish to sleep,” at the tip of your tongue—you stop because Hajime’s looking at anywhere but you and because his entire face is red.

You still have the envelope awkwardly stretched out towards him so when you move in attempt to retract it, his hands are suddenly clasped over your wrists and he’s looking at you, red face and all, saying, “W-wait—“

The both of you must have been quite the spectacle for the way you’re staring at each other, red faced, and waiting for the other to begin speaking because you could definitely make out Takahiro and Issei’s snorting from some feet away.

“—shit,” Hajime continues and the way he’s still staying silent and going back to avoiding your gaze has you tugging your wrists out of his hold and sheepishly telling him, “Sorry, this is a little awkward isn’t it?”

You’re standing in front of Hajime with your hands holding the letter behind your back and an awkward smile on your face.

“(Y/n), this is really weird—“ he begins and you’re shaking your head automatically at his attempt to soften the blow by waving your arms—and the letter—in front of him saying, “Haji! No! It’s okay you don’t have to say anything, this was a really bad idea—“

“No, I mean—“ he cuts you off then pauses as he’s sifting through the contents of his bag and pulling out a slightly crumpled envelope, the color a disturbingly identical to your own.

You look at Hajime. Hajime looks at you, at his envelope, then towards yours that paused with your hand midair. Issei and Takahiro’s laughter can be heard even louder from the background when Hajime runs his hands over his face and exclaims,

“Oikawa you son of a bitch.”

Two years and some months ago, Oikawa Tooru—the self-proclaimed “love guru” between you and Hajime had declared to have pulled off his “greatest plan.”

Apparently, the original plan called for only you to confess to Hajime via the classic love letter—but Issei and Takahiro had thought that the shits and giggles were worth to have both of you confess to each other at the same time instead.

Tooru always retells the story in the fashion where he leaves out Issei and Hiro’s names out of the credits. On the contrary, you and Hajime don’t have in in you to react much.

In the beginning, Hajime the friend held your hand through many of your highs and lows.

From age ten, he’d always make sure to hold your hand when you’re jumping from steps a little too far for your liking. At twelve, he’s holding your hand as he leads you away from the worms that found its way near the picnic blanket. At fifteen, when the two of you accidentally confessed to each other thanks to your friends’ schemes, he held your hand as he pulled you in the direction opposite of Tooru yelling, “Iwa-chan, don’t forget I’m the best wingman!”

Hajime, the boyfriend, had continued to hold your hand as well as share a multitude of your first throughout the years.

Your first date where he’d always let you walk on the correct side of the sidewalk, and make sure to squeeze your hand whenever the two of you would pass by a group of boys who let their stare linger. Your first kiss—a quick peck after a game where he’d rushed to you, lifting you up and planting a kiss on your lips before either of you could even process what was happening.

A reassuring hand on your back in the train ride during rush hour, kisses on your knuckles when he thought no one was around in quiet libraries, and your favorite: the feel of his thumbs tracing idle circles on the back of your hand when you’re watching him review the game you recorded earlier.

You were each other’s first “I love you,” when you’re seventeen, which was said in the hours between the day and night on your walk home down a quiet street you’ve skipped, ran, and biked across countless of times. You heard it break the silence before you said it with your own lips, because the way Hajime said it was like he was just talking about the weather that day.

When the two of you stop in front of your house and Hajime’s facing you, he’s smiling in the way that has you blushing instead of him this time and he’s looping your scarf even snugger around your neck after muttering some comment about how cold it was that day.

“Haji, did you just tell me you love me?” you ask him when he’s zipped up your jacket and you’re peeking at him under the various layers of the scarf he secured around you.

“Yeah, of course, I love you.”

“This is the first time you’re telling me that,” you say with an almost bashful expression and your eyes are cast down so you don’t end up seeing Hajime’s eyes widen at the realization dawning on him.

“(Y/n), shit—“

“I love you too, Haji,” you cut him off and even if the expression in his face is still a little apologetic at the lack of climax of your first exchange of I love yous, he’s holding your hands and pulling you flush against him in an embrace, his proclamation of more “I love yous” fluttering against your ear in warm breaths.

You think about it sometime later when you’re clearing up the plates on the table from dinner and you ask your mom, “how do you know when it’s right to tell someone I love you?” and she looks at you with an expression that says she knows exactly what you’re talking about but humors your attempt at nonchalance as she replies with, “It just slips out as if you’re talking about the weather.”

And the way she says it has the second thoughts just automatically leaving your head. You tell her “I love you,” in the mornings before she leaves for work and you don’t really think about it—not because it’s a passing comment, but because you just simply love her.

The feeling’s there because what you feel in the moment is as genuine as it can get, so when you think about Hajime from seven years ago who blushed red when you shook his hand and the Hajime seven hours ago who told you he loved you like he was talking about the weather—everything dawns on you in the way that feels right. No second thoughts, deep analysis, or euphoric moment.

>> to hajibug:

>> 23:50: i love you

In college you decided to pursue music as a career choice. Music was one of the many things you and your mother had bonded over but watching you play in first chair always gave you the best view of her beaming from the audience.

Whenever somebody asked you why you decided to pursue a career in the field as vague and competitive as music—for a long time you fumbled with your words as you struggled to piece together a coherent enough sentence that would make it seem like you were chasing something for a “deeper” reason. Though, the truth is—you just happen to enjoy it.

The way the shoulder rest snapped perfectly in place with the violin, the weight of the bow in your hand, the smell of rosin during practice, the tuning before the concert started before hearing the eventual mess mold together into one harmony—you loved every second of it.

On the final concert of your first year in college, a week before Hajime’s move to California you stood in the orchestra room reading a text from your mother saying that she couldn’t make it this time because of a doctor’s appointment running later than usual.

You still sat in the first chair of the first violins section and even though you would have loved nothing more than to see her smile at you from the crowd—it was in the coda of the final song where your eye finally catches Hajime watching you from her seat. When the violins put their instruments down in the measures of rests, you glance over to look at Hajime while your toe continued to tap the counts remaining until you’d play again.

You bite back a smile because he looked a little uncomfortable from the high collar of the suit he put on. Tooru’s probably the mastermind, your thoughts chime in as you smile and tuck the violin back in between your chin and shoulder, your rosin covered bow hovering over the E string.

And when the final count of the rests came and went, you could only smile as you see Hajime physically hold his breath as the violins amplified the crescendo of the climax.

It was later that night when you finally made it home that you realize that perhaps your favorite part of the song was when you felt the emphasis of the dynamics in the pieces you played.

The moment of absolute silence as the conductor draws everyone’s attention to the tip of the baton.

“(Y/n),” your mother starts and your eyes lock on the slight tremble in her hands.

The seemingly collective sharp breath everyone takes when the tip of the baton begins to signal the final counts until the start. Your fingers pressed on the first note as your bow hovers over the string.

“What’s wrong?” you ask but you let your fingers only ghost on her hands when she holds her silence, refusing to meet your eyes.

Sometimes it begins with a quiet note—and you smile at those because it sounds like a whisper despite it ringing in the auditorium.

“I’m sick,” she says and what she says doesn’t register in your head.

Other times, the first note comes in forte and leaves everyone in a resonating silence while the following notes interlace and begin to tell the story.

“I have cancer, (y/n),” she tells you again, louder this time and her sobs echo so loud in the silence of the house that it suddenly makes you want to throw your hands over your ears.

The conductor is waving the baton; you’re closing your eyes as you mold yourself with the music and focus on nothing but your fingers flying across the fingerboard and making sure the timing of your bow matches the tap of the rhythm set.

“Mom, you’ll be fine right?” comes your assurance in question and she’s not answering because she’s crying harder.

First position to third, then fourth, then something else you don’t quite remember as the pressure from your bow presses harder and harder on the strings to climb with the crescendo the orchestra is rising to.

She looks at you, glassy eyes and trembling lips, then holds your face in between warm hands as she presses her forehead against yours.

Then as the baton drops and the crescendo overflows—the air around the room instantly changes. The shoulders relax and the movement of the bow shift from staccato to legato as the music continues to flow.

“I’m scared to leave you alone,” she finally admits and you finally break down and cry with her because you realize you have no one but each other.

You cry because she’s crying at the thought of leaving you alone when she never cried at all the times your father chose another family over her.

And as the music decrescendos into the whispers of pianissimo, you close your eyes as the gentle sway eventually lulls to a stop.

It’s half past ten and you’re still in your formal wear, but your mom’s fast asleep on the couch. The air from the AC brings you to a light shiver so you shuffle closer and pull the blankets tighter around her frame.

The last note drops and resonates in an almost infinite echo. Your eyes snap back open you feel yourself exhale.

For a moment the auditorium is in silence.

You sit on the floor next to her and listen to the sounds of steady breathing. You could pretend it was just another movie night where she fell asleep on the couch, but the telltale tracks of tears are on her cheeks and you hear her sniffling from time to time so you sigh instead.

Then, the audience erupts in an applause.

In your room, you put your palm over your mouth and begin to cry again.

“I love you so much,” is what Hajime said two years down the road when he decided to move to California to finish his studies.

First, he’d made a stop at your home and sat with your mother over breakfast as she wished him well on his new adventure. By the time he was at the door, it was the first time you saw Hajime cry for and with her when she wraps him in a scarf she knitted just for him. You watch softly, as he wraps her in a hug and parts with a promise to always take care of you despite the distance and wishes for her healing.

You’re standing at the border of the gate only Hajime can cross where he’s wrapped you in a hug with his chin resting on your head.

“I love you so much,” he says and you nod your head against his chest. He’s saying it as naturally as he always has and your reply is as immediate and natural when you say, “I love you too, Haji. So much.”

“(Y/n),” he starts when he pulls away from you and looks you in the eye; he’s suddenly serious and you’re afraid.

“If you ever feel like you don’t want to keep doing this, then we can take a break.”

Your brows pinch together as you reply, “Why would I want to break up with you?”

“I’m not saying we will, I just don’t want you to shoulder too much because I know how much you’re hurting right now,” Hajime explains, and his eyes are as genuine as the tone of his voice.

“Haji—“

“I believe in you, though, just—“ he pauses and his eyes soften before he continues, “take things one day at a time and remember that I’m here loving you every day, okay?”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” he finishes and you only nod at his words because the fact that you’re going to miss him really begins to hit you. Hajime’s looking at you in the tender way where you know he knows you’re about to cry because he pulls you in another embrace before kissing the top of your head as he murmurs his parting I love you in the quiet tone only you can hear.

When Hajime crosses the gate and turns the corner, you can’t help but bite your lip to keep from crying. Only a couple more years. You could take it.

It’s in the next eight months where you realize that while Iwaizumi Hajime shared your first love—he was also your first heartbreak.

They always said that long distance was difficult and the fact that you and Hajime were even trying was commendable enough. But that was the problem—commendable sounded like you were in the relationship for the sake of a prize. Like you were suffering through the now for a prize. Like the good part was only a one-time thing reserved at the end.

It felt wrong, and looking back at it now—perhaps that’s where the downfall began.

As time passed, your mom’s illness worsened. Cancer was ugly and it let itself be known in as many ways as it could. Time and time again, you’d watch her hair fall in strands, then clumps, until she eventually decided to shave it off for good. She smiled at you and you don’t hear her tell you, “It’s okay,” over the buzz of the razor. You don’t think you have the heart to listen to the quiver of her voice that you know is present with her words, so you suppose the loud buzz worked out in the end.

What broke your heart the most was seeing her excitement when her hair grew back after a pause in her treatment—only for her to sit down and tell you that she’s “okay” when you’re shaving off sections of her hair again.

You didn’t let her see you cry because you wanted to be as strong as she was in this; because you knew the both of you broke down within enclosed walls away from each other. Though every time you were face to face—the front was always back up. And the front was flawless; like the edges of a chipped sword finally smoothened back into a blade. But at the same time, flawed; because like the sword—the sharpness always kills.

It was unconventional, but it worked. The momentary sigh of relief was still moments of relief at the end of the day.

Hajime, on the other hand thought differently though. The second you’d answer his call request on particularly off days, he’d tell you to cry. And you would; fat drops of tears rolling down almost as soon as he finished his sentence.

Then only a year of loving each other through a computer screen passed before you realized he became your pillar at the same time you began hardening.

“Never lose yourself in the pursuit of someone or something,” are the words from your mother you consciously make an effort to tell yourself everyday even as you sit in with your phone in hand waiting for the call Hajime promised you early this morning.

And you’re well aware you’ve developed an unhealthy habit as you’re lying in bed, fighting sleep with the time on the clock nearing 4am still waiting for Hajime’s call. It wasn’t the first time he missed a promised phone call—and you weren’t mad because you understand that he has as much of a schedule as you do and that time difference was a wedge the two of you needed to work with.

But still, you think, then sigh when you put your arm over your eyes as the clock clicks to 04:07AM beside you, this fucking sucks.

You know Hajime will text you an apology when it’s seven am for you and late at night for him, but you put your phone’s ringer on silent to convince yourself that you’re fine and you’re not dependent on his presence at all. That you’re handling yourself just fine and that the anxiety you have every time your mother comes back home from a checkup is something you can deal with by yourself.

You shut your eyes when the dull ache in your chest begins to grow sharper as your thoughts shift from school, to your mom’s illness, to Hajime, and to the fact that you want to cry at the heaviness of everything.

And the frustration is eating you alive because you hate feeling this helpless. Not when your mother taught you nothing but how to be strong your whole life. Not when all you should know is how to stand on your own two feet despite whatever the situation life throws at you.

So when the morning comes and you wake up to a plethora of Hajime’s missed calls and frantic texts asking if you’re okay—you text him an assurance that you’re fine and that he shouldn’t worry about it.

You face the day with everything you feel pushed to the back of your mind. You face the mirror and tell yourself that you’re fine.

Hanamaki’s a good friend, and a lot smarter than you give him credit for.

It didn’t fly past him when you left for phone on silent or chose to spend your break with him or Mattsun when you usually would utilize that time for Hajime. But at the same time, he noticed you spacing out in conversations a little more than usual, reject any plans they invited you in, and his least favorite—see you break down in the practice room when you thought no one was around.

Neither he nor Issei chose to tell Hajime or you about it; he could never understand what you were going through—but he understood that the way someone heals differs from person to person.

It took about a few more months of Hajime’s schedule piling up and your silent breakdowns for the both of you to finally snap and confront one another.

It started with Hajime telling you a round of an apology, “I’m sorry, I promise I’ll call you on time—I just,”

“—shit everything’s just crazy. I’m sorry, babe.”

Then you nod and absent mindedly twirl one strand of your hand as you force his apology in one ear and out the other. You were fine. You’re handling things well. You didn’t need Hajime as a support system, so you reply, “It’s fine. I got this.”

And you like to think it was going well, but he asks, “How’s your mom doing?” and your hands are suddenly gripping the edge of the table (where you know he can’t see) tight. You didn’t tell him that she cried from the results when she came home earlier and waved you off when you stood up to help her balance herself. That thirty minutes ago you could hear her yell at your father over the phone about something she didn’t tell you about and that at the moment, you’re thankful for the way your fingers were digging into your skin because it’s helping you re shift your focus into anything but what was going on.

Hajime’s not looking at you because he’s looking at the report he was typing on his laptop instead. So first, you hype yourself up by thinking about how you don’t need anyone to push you through things and that how you’re handling yourself and the situation was more than fine, then, you answer,

“She’s okay, too.”

You try to ignore how gritty it sounded; Hajime doesn’t seem to notice either.

You’re quiet after that and Hajime must have thought it was odd because he pauses his work to look at you and ask, “Are you okay?”

And he says it with such a gentle tone that you suddenly want to crumble and tell him about the heaviness that hasn’t left you since the day your mom began slipping. But a knock from Hajime’s door and a distant call of his name snaps you out of those thoughts. Hajime, on the other hand, ignores them and asks you the question again, which you wave off this time with a quick, “It’s okay you can call me when you’re done.”

He’s hesitant when he leaves and he shoots you a text seconds after his face leaves the screen but you don’t reply; you spend the rest of the night with your face pressed against the pillow while you will yourself to believe that you, alone, have everything under control.

And, really, you should have left it to end like that.

But you don’t; because when morning comes and you wake up feeling heavy, you’re left in a haze where everything feels muddled. And the feeling of screaming hits you so fast and so hard that the dam just breaks.

It’s seven am and you’re crying for reasons you can’t find a starting point to. The kind of cry where every heave hurts and makes you ball your fists because of an unsourced anger. It’s disorienting and frustrating because you’re not mad at specifically anything—but at the same time, everything feels like its swallowing you whole again. You wish you could blank out like the time she told you she was sick—even if it meant moving through your day hyper aware of your movements. But you can’t, because it’s one of those days where the heaviness just sits on your chest and forces you to face the fact that it hurts.

And you always say “it” because you don’t know where to begin. Because you never began; never sat down and looked at your reflection in the eye and asked yourself, “what was wrong?”

Because you’re fine.

Everything’s fine.

It’s still fine because when your phone is ringing, you answer with a fresh face and a smooth, hello.

Hajime greets you like usual, but then settles into a background that isn’t.

You don’t really care.

He asks you how you’ve slept, and you nod once as a reply. He’s chuckling and says something about you looking cute cuddled up in bed, still half asleep so you nod again to go along with his story. Underneath the sheets, you’re fisting the blankets as you count each breath you’ve inhaled and exhaled as Hajime begins to talk about his day.

Then someone, who you can’t recall you know, sits next to him with an arm casually draped over his shoulder and pushes her face near his as she waves a hello. Usually, you’re not much of the jealous type so something like that shouldn’t even be a red flag for you. Hajime was a friendly person all around, and time and time again he’s explained how different the American culture was from home.

Given that fact, on a normal situation it would have been fine. Understandable, even.

But before you could even begin smooth your thoughts back to rationality, you explode. Hajime’s facing away from you in a conversation where he can’t see, so you suppose that could have been a good thing.

Then, your anger comes out.

First, it trickles; you stay silent and opt to stare at him, seething when he finally begins a conversation. Hajime’s eyebrows shoot up just like that and he bids his friend a quick goodbye before rushing into an empty room.

Second, it pools. You tell him a series of things you don’t even think makes sense, but from the way his face morphs into a grimace—it wouldn’t take much to conclude that what you said was something ugly.

Third, you’re wading in waist deep. You’re sitting up and pointing at him, bringing up a photo you saw of him with his arms hung over someone’s shoulder. A classmate, you concluded last week; a lover, you accuse him of having in the moment.

Fourth, Hajime rushes to keep you from going in further. He doesn’t feed into your anger and instead tells you to take a deep breath before talking to him. And for a second, you relent and listen. He explains that she’s a classmate from his biology class and that you’re just overreacting over something that shouldn’t even be an issue.

Fifth, comes the struggle. Your anger flares at his words and everything you’ve felt and pushed underwater suddenly bobs to the surface. Hajime wasn’t at fault, and you know that, but he’s huffing in a way that tells you he’s inches past exhausted and it does nothing to quell your outburst.

“Maybe what you should do is listen to yourself and calm the fuck down,” is what he tells you as you flinch at his tone.

“Well, I’m sorry, for just wanting to talk to you Hajime,” is what you say as retaliation. Hajime’s hand that instantly flies up to soothe his temple doesn’t fly past you.

“We are talking, (y/n). Why are you trying to make me apologize for something I didn’t even do?”

“Why can’t you understand my point? This is exhausting, Hajime.”

“I told you from the beginning. If you didn’t want to keep doing this then we stop,” he retorts, anger steadily rising.

“You’re making it sound like you’re the one wanting to stop this,” you bite back.

“I don’t. But it’s like every time we talk nowadays it’s like you’re being too much, this doesn’t seem like you anymore,” Hajime finishes.

And as the silence settles, everything clicks. You’ve been too dependent, and he feels the same way. He’s right, this isn’t you at all. You shouldn’t need to cling to him to for crumbs of healing; because you’re more than fine.

Have been more than fine, really; so you blank and reply, “You’re right, sorry about that.”

He looks at you, confused, before the silence envelops the two of you again. You allow it to stay this time.

“Maybe we should take a break, (y/n). Just some time to cool off; I feel like we’re just too overloaded right now.”

“We should,” you reply, expression unfazed as you cut the call.

The sixth, is where you allow the anger to stay instead of recede. Your mother asks you how you’re feeling and you’re quick to answer that you’re okay.

Hajime doesn’t text you until an hour later, wanting to talk. You set your phone to silent.

“What made you decide to not get back together with dad?” you ask her when she’s quiet in front of you. Your mother looks at you for a while before she pieces the red eyes and silent phone together, then tells you, “I loved myself more.”

You nod, conflicted. Her eyes were as red as yours and you heard her weeping his name just the night before and she knows you’re aware. Your phone vibrates on the table again and you miss the way her eyes flicker to the device momentarily before focusing them back at you.

Both of you know, but neither of you ask.

“Never lose yourself, right?” you say quietly and she gives you a solid nod as she pours you a cup of coffee.

You never really liked coffee; then again, you never really liked the reality either.

But you take the mug and gulp in the bitterness anyway.

Then finally, the seventh is where you succumb under its waves. Hajime calls you later that night and you answer, expression honed into an almost natural state of indifference. He looks a little worse than you, but you ignore that.

“Is this it?” he asks and you nod curtly once, your fingernails already digging into your palms under the table.

“Are we going to hate each other?” Hajime asks you again and you sigh.

“I don’t have it in me to ever hate you, Haji,” you answer, truthfully and he gives you a halfhearted smile.

“I love you,” he says like he’s just talking about the weather, and stays on the line for a few seconds more before he eventually takes your silence as a response.

“I love you, too,” is what almost comes out of your mouth like second nature, but you bite your tongue anyway.

He can’t hurt you first this way.

Sakusa Kiyoomi didn’t really root himself in your life until nine months after your break up with Hajime. Graduation came and went like the unfurling of a leaf, and before you knew it, you’re suddenly in the real world.

Before that, you only knew him as the first chair cellist who you always accidentally locked eyes with in every concert you managed to snag the first chair spot in the first violin’s section.

Bumping into him during morning practice first led to string quartets, then duets during concerts, shared practice rooms—until eventually, he asked you out on a date.

He inserted the question in the conversation so naturally, too. After putting away the music stands, then shoving (in contrast to him neatly arranging) the sheet music into your folder—you were halfway done with loosening your bow when he asked, “Do you wanna get dinner later?” out of the blue.

To others who may have listened in to the conversation, it sounded like a natural invitation between friends, and Kiyoomi must have realized that because he was quick to face you after zipping up the case of his cello, and add, “—I meant dinner with me.”

You were still holding your bow and staring at him stare at you, so he filled the silence with, “Like a date. I’m asking you out on a date, (y/n).”

The two of you never really initiated anything outside the relationship between music partners, and the occasional friendly outing—but it had always been with others. Looking at him, you admit Sakusa Kiyoomi was a man who mastered hygiene. Which was always a bonus in your book. But you think back to Hajime for a second, then click your tongue quietly because you realize you shouldn’t be thinking about him when someone else was asking you out.

But you sigh and still offer him a smile when you reply, “Sorry I gotta watch my mom tonight. She’s not feeling well.”

Kiyoomi nods, and his eyebrows shoot up like he remembered something. “I heard your mom was sick? I’m sorry if I’m prying.”

You nod sharply once before internally groaning then thinking about how to steer the conversation away from the oncoming “I’m sorrys”, “It must be so tough,” or any sympathetic comments of the like.

But Kiyoomi only nods in understanding, briefly turning back to loop his arms through the case, then looking back at you again saying, “Ah. Understandable. My grandmother had cancer and my mom made her this soup that helped with the aching; I can give you the recipe for it.”

Your eyes shoot up at his response and the rehearsed response of, “I have no choice but to be tough for her. It’s okay, though,” dies in your mouth so you close it again and only nod a yes.

Kiyoomi turns to open the door once you had your own violin set inside and stands by the opening of the door to let you out first. You smile; he was mostly reserved, but still a gentleman.

“(Y/n),” he begins when the two of you walk side by side in the quiet morning hallway. “I know you don’t want to hear the pity comments, but I just wanna put it out there that you’re doing well.”

Your steps halt with his when you reach the end of the hallway where the flooring splits into two different directions but you face him, the thrumming of your heart feeling making you a little more choked up than you expected and tell him an honest thank you.

He lifts his right hand as a goodbye while he shoves the other in his pocket after he settles his mask in place, then turns to walk on the opposite direction.

“Sakusa-san!” you call out and he stops a few meters in front of you to turn back in your direction again.

“Dinner!” you call out again, “this weekend!”

You know your cheeks are a little more red than you would have liked and you’re more than aware of how white your knuckles must be from grasping the straps of your case, but you ignore that and add anyway, “As a date.”

The mask covering the lower half of his face obscures the expression he has but you notice the miniscule crinkle on the corner of his eyes when he laughs and replies, “Can you say that a little louder? I can’t hear.”

You huff and action to turn around because the heat on your face was getting a little too uncomfortable, but you hear him say, “It’s a date!” so you nod awkwardly in confirmation before turning your back and walking the opposite way.

You can imagine the look he has on his face and just how much amusement he’s gotten from the interaction but before you walk too far you hear, “Just call me Kiyoomi,” from him behind you.

You smile and feel as if you’re flipping into the first page of a new chapter.

In contrast to the push and pull energy you felt with Hajime, after almost being in a relationship with Kiyoomi for a year, things felt easy.

Communication between the two of you didn’t feel like unraveling codes; plus, being in the same department also meant your schedules mostly linked up. Though, personally, your favorite part was that he was never too pushy with the things you wanted to deal with alone.

He knew not to pry when you walked in the practice hall with bags under your eyes holding a cup of coffee you swore to heaven and back you detested drinking; you always saw a parcel of your comfort snack with a note laid beside your violin case in the locker room, though.

And when he ate dinner at your house, he also kept his comments to himself and never let his eyes wander to the amount of pills you had to help your mother count out when the little alarm in your phone rang. Then again, you never needed to question his intentions when he showed up the next day with a thermos filled with the soup your mom said she enjoyed once as a passing comment.

He’s always been one to remember the smaller details.

Along with preferring to stay in his personal space, Kiyoomi wasn’t one to smile too bashfully, but you can’t help but notice that when she laid her hands on his as a thank you and asked him to take care of you—the smile that graced his face looked warm.

She said that Kiyoomi seemed like a nice boy, and you agreed instantly—because he is.

He never pushed past the boundary you kept around yourself despite entering into a new relationship. There was a mutual air of respect—and neither of you expressed the desire to breech it.

Being with Kiyoomi felt as natural and in order to the flow as it does when your hands move to automatically loosen your bow when it came to packing up, or beginning with the A string when the conductor motioned for you to begin tuning.

You liked to think you fit quite well together. Like the duet that an audience listens to and clap at as if they were the whole orchestra. Like the blend of the high and low notes written on a score that collides in perfect harmony.

And it feels like it too.

Every time you’re seated across each other on the stage and you’re staring straight at one another to climb with the crescendo then descend into silence—you know that your heart, along with his, are beating in the same rhythm, with the same frequency. You’ve always found that break from the real world when you picked up an instrument and you’re glad that Kiyoomi’s the one you’re entering into that dimension with.

The ten minutes on stage feels timeless. The rush from the music still resonates in an infinite echo—your fingers twitching, craving, to fly across the notes in an encore. You’re smiling because when you stare at him—he’s smiling too. Unabashed and sparkling where you have no doubt in your mind that even without the stage lights he’d gleam the same.

And even as the crowd’s still cheering as you stand hand in hand and bow next to each other, you don’t hear anything. When reality begins to trickle into your senses and the rush of intoxication wears off, you let your smile mellow into a soft curve. You face the front row and look at the seat that’s a little towards the left and try not to notice your mother’s absence. You know she was admitted to the hospital three weeks ago and she hasn’t been doing too well. Kiyoomi squeezes your hand and whispers a, “you did well,” which you nod at.

He’s still smiling even as you exit the stage and pack up your instruments so you decide not to tell him that the boy sitting in that specific seat reminded you of Hajime.

Hajime, on the other hand became the contact on your inbox that got pushed down further and further when the holidays passed. You meant it when you said that you could never hate him—because you know you never really could.

He still showed up on your Instagram feed posting photos about his weekend road trips to Malibu or the spontaneous trips to Vegas his new friends looped him into—and you were happy to see him glowing. More times than not, your finger would hover over the like or send button to the comment you always end up deleting and you know it shouldn’t be that way. But reality reminds you that it is.

Your reality reminds you that Iwaizumi Hajime is someone who was witness to your growth and decline and that he was someone you chose to leave in the past.

But at the same time, his passing hellos were never left unheard. Kiyoomi knew, and like always, respected that. You would think this is the part where he should be reacting a little more aggressively, but you knew him to be above petty actions. He was secure, and he let that security be known in the grip of his hand that remained steady against yours when either Hanamaki’s or Issei’s eyes would stare a bit too long. They too, let their hesitations be known when you first introduced Kiyoomi to the both of them.

Issei opened his mouth with what looked to be the beginnings of a retaliation, but Hanamaki cut him off swiftly with a resounding, “We’re happy for you,” that promptly ended the conversation at that.

Then again, it didn’t change the fact that it was after that night where Hajime’s texts to you eventually dwindled to the seasonal greetings.

You tell yourself you don’t mind.

Because you don’t.

Because you’re fine.

Your mother isn’t fine.

Even though she’s been hospitalized for the past four weeks now, the past week has been specifically the most difficult. In and out of consciousness where different tubes were stuck and different needles prodded at her skin every day. It killed you because the second you heard her cry from when she thought you were still asleep rang in your ears over and over again throughout the day that resulted in you missing rehearsals for that entire week.

Kiyoomi drops by after school along with Hanamaki and Issei to check up on the both of you, but eventually leave when visiting hours end.

Kiyoomi usually stays a while longer, though; sitting outside the hospital parking lot and talking over a cup of coffee became a temporary permanent for the both of you during those weeks.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, then scoots closer to you on the bench when you exhale a sigh and lean forward. When your elbows settle into a rest on your thighs, you turn to him, offering a smile. It looked more like a sad quirk of the lip but Kiyoomi must have appreciated it more than he let on because his posture relaxes with you as he exhales.

“It’s weird, Omi,” you begin. “I mean she’s been at the hospital for treatments and checkups before but this is weird.”

Beside you, he stays quiet, and despite the distant noise of traffic in the background your voice sounds a little more amplified than you would have liked. None the less, you continued, “I’ve always known she hasn’t been fine but the past week just happened so fast.”

Puffing out another breath, you watch as it leaves you in a cloud before bringing the rim of the coffee cup to your lips. You don’t take a sip. Coffee was never your favorite anyway.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks you and turns his body completely to face you.

You think about it, then sigh. You don’t; at least, not yet.

“It’s okay, she’s strong,” you tell him and raise your cup as you shoot him another smile.

“So are you,” he offers as a reply, then knocks his cup against yours softly, chuckling when your face grimaces at the taste.

“Why do you always order coffee when you hate it?” he asks as he watches you take another sip.

You laugh, then scoot closer to lean your head on his shoulder. “It’s just practical,” you answer. “It helps me stay up so even if I’d rather get the peach tea, I know that one will knock me out within an hour from all the sugar.”

Kiyoomi laughs at your reply before looping his arm through yours and threading your fingers together.

“You can loosen up time to time, you know,” he tells you and you smile a smile that strains both the muscles on your face and feeling in your chest.

“I wish I could,” you answer.

“Are you happy?” your mother asks you later that night.

The question catches you off guard and you take a seat on her bed next to her. You don’t look at each other and instead look at the wall that’s in front of you, so, tentatively, you reply, “Of course I am.”

And she’s quiet after that so you return her silence and continue to sit next to her.

The clock hanging above the door of her hospital room ticks slowly and for a while you’re comfortable. At this point you aren’t sure whether you wanted time to move faster or slower—because you knew the moments you spend with her are granted through borrowed time.

Time that’s borrowed from the prayers you kneel and voice out every night, the needles and tubes that poke and prod at her skin every day, and from the pills you help count out every time your alarm rings.

She began slipping the minute she told you she was sick—and along the years you knew she let herself slide along the current more carelessly every time she told you she was tired.

You’re looking at her when she touches your hand and you try not to flinch at how cold her skin’s gotten. She’s smiling when you face her and it makes you inhale in a way that hurts because the look on her face practically just tells you she’s tired.

But like the two of you had always done: you stay silent and mirror your smiles instead.

“I’m proud of you,” she says and your heart breaks as you will yourself to not cry. It occurs to you that she isn’t crying when she says it because her voice is resolute as it is soft. You want to ask her why she’s proud of you but you don’t because you realize when this becomes a memory you just want to leave it at that.

You want to leave it as a moment where a mother is telling a child that she’s proud of her.

So instead, you ask her, “Are you coming to see the concert with me and Kiyoomi in a few weeks?” just to make sure. That she’s still there; that she will still be there.

Her silence is your answer before she’s reaching out between the two of you and squeezing your hands instead.

On a Tuesday morning the next week she passes away at 3:08 PM with her eyes closed and face serene. The nurses tell you she opened her eyes to look at the world once more before she closed them and exhaled her last breath.

She was probably looking for you, they mean to say, but you bow your head in thanks when the medical staff offer their heartfelt condolence. You aren’t sure if you wanted to see her close her eyes for her last breath, but at the same time—you wonder if that thought was too selfish on your part.

When you’re in the car in the parking lot of the hospital grounds, you smell her perfume—lilac, so you close your eyes and tell her soul rest easy and I love you.

You text Kiyoomi to meet you in the practice room to go over the score once more after you gave yourself a few more moments to pull yourself together.

He texts you back with an, “are you sure?” so you sigh because he must have already realized what happened. Your fingers hover over the keypad of your phone as you think of an excuse to cancel plans last minute but Kiyoomi’s contact photo on your phone interrupts your thoughts in a call.

Despite your hesitation, your finger press the green to answer the call almost immediately.

“(Y/n?)”

“Hey,” you respond.

“Want me to come get you?” Kiyoomi asks and you notice how much softer his tone is.

“I can still drive, it’s okay—“

“—Are you okay?” he cuts you off and you nod your head frantically. It felt too automatic, and that thought didn’t fly by you, so you sigh.

Kiyoomi notices your silence over the line but he stays and for that you’re grateful. He isn’t really pushing you and you feel a sense of gratitude again because you don’t exactly know what to say either.

Before you could reassure him that you’re in a sense, “okay,” his voice breaks the silence over the line again.

“No one else is here, so I’ll wait for you if you’re coming.”

The smile that breaks on your face is one of relief, or at least you think it is, because your eyes are stinging and you hear yourself sniffle when you tell him a quiet okay, and thank you.

“I love you,” is what you think you hear Kiyoomi say as you cut the call and put the car in reverse.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi present here?” you call out with a slight chuckle as you push open the door and peek in the room.

His head snaps towards you immediately so you offer him a sheepish smile at best when you finally arrive in front of him. Kiyoomi’s eyes are softening in the way that has your heart constricting automatically so you cast your gaze down and immediately fidget with the zipper on your violin case. The steps he takes are heavy and audible in the wooden flooring so your heart hammers even more when you hear him cross the distance between the two of you.

“(Y/n),” he starts and you look up when his hands are on your shoulder. They feel warm, you think, much like the look you see in his eyes when he steadies his gaze towards you.

Kiyoomi joins you in your silence when you choose to remain in it and respond to him by only stitching on another smile. The palm of his hand is still warm on your shoulder but you try to focus on anything but the waves of his sympathy and presence because you know the second you step back in reality, you’ll break—again.

So when his hand squeezes your shoulder and he parts his lips to say the condolence you don’t know when you’re ever going to be ready for, you cut him off.

“Please don’t,” you tell him, and it’s said with a tone that’s clipped tight and with lips pulled into a straight smile—the kind where you can already feel the edges crack with every second that passes.

Kiyoomi sighs and stares at you, but backs down when he feels your body tense.

“I’m right here,” he reassures, as you cast your gaze to the side when you feel the sting in your eyes threaten to overpower you.

“I know,” you reply and with that he turns and takes his seat again.

The two of you are facing each other when you have your fingers on your respective positions and bow hovered over the string. The metronome in the background ticks and you close your eyes desperate to slip out and slip in to focus. The disconnection almost happens automatically because as soon as you hear yourself verbally count to start, your hand with the bow twitches and—

“(Y/n),” Kiyoomi cuts off and your movements automatically halt. The tone of his voice is solid and just like that you feel yourself begin to crumble; still, you try to harden, anyway.

“What’s up?” you say and open your eyes to look at him. The cello you thought was resting between his legs is set down next to his chair and his bow is on the music stand; he looks at you—intention transparent at this point.

“I love you,” he says. “Please talk to me—“he pleads, but you cut him off.

“Omi,” you begin. “I know what you want to tell me and I know you mean well, because you always do. But please—“you pause and look at him with as much intensity as you could muster before continuing, “—let me pretend like today is just a day where we’re practicing for the concert she could have finally gone to.”

Across you, his body leans forward before eventually halting at the sight of you tightening your grip on your bow.

“Just let me pretend this is a normal practice and I’ll be home later with someone still waiting inside the house,” you continue, volume rising but resolve shaking.

“Please,” you finish before tucking the violin back between your chin and shoulder and raising your bow to signal the start. Kiyoomi relents with a sigh and picks up his cello and bow before looking at you.

“Ready?” he asks when his bow is positioned above the string.

“Always am,” you reply and close your eyes as you slip back in focus and feel the bow glide into the first note.

The first note is an A, so you place your fourth finger on the D string and slip into your empty realm with a vibrato.

A memory flashes; you’re in the sixth grade again. It’s September, and you finally make it home with your new violin case in hand. Your mom comes home from work and smiles at you as you point at the strings and name them in the order your orchestra teacher had you memorize earlier.

“This one’s the A string,” you say and you see her smile like she’s proud of you.

The next note makes you climb to the third position, and you could recall that the dynamic changes around this measure, so along with Kiyoomi you’re pressing a little harder.

“We learned the third position today!” you hear your own voice say. It’s your second year playing and you’ve made it to the honors orchestra. Your mom sits in the living room, watching you with a twinkle in her eye that tells you she’s more than proud as you show her the arpeggio practice you learned earlier that day.

The next few notes fly across the fingerboard as the familiar crescendo builds. The depth of Kiyoomi’s strings blends with the octave you’re playing at as you feel yourself being swallowed and wading in your thoughts deeper and deeper until—

You stop.

Because with your eyes still closed, you suddenly see her from the night before. Your mother with the glimmering eyes and fragile hands, wearing the red beanie she said was her favorite ever since her hair fell out. And your eyes are still closed when you hear her tell you that she’s proud of you, her voice bringing you back to that night where you wanted to do nothing more but let your defenses down.

So involuntarily you do; your eyes are still closed when you begin to weep, but you can hear movement from the background before you eventually hear Kiyoomi call, “(Y/n),”

“I’m sorry,” you say and frantically wipe away at the tears and cough out the cries threatening to overflow and spill.

“(Y/n),” Kiyoomi says again and you look up.

His chair is turned so that he sits facing away from you. Your forehead scrunches with the peculiarity.

“Kiyo-“

“Just let it out,” he says then picks up his cello and continues playing from the measure you stopped at.

Then you do.

Like a thread snapping, a cry rips its way out of your throat as you finally, finally allow yourself to feel the heaviness that’s long settled in your chest. Your violin along with your bow set on the floor as you crouch down and press the heels of your palms against your eyes.

It hurts, you realize, when every time you close your eyes you still see her. You still hear her tell you her goodnight stories, affirmations, and reassurances.

It hurts, because you’re tired. Tired of living in the world trying to be the adult you know you aren’t just yet. You’re tired of going home and smiling with her when you could tell the reason why she has tear tracks on her cheeks was because of the call with your father you overheard from the night before.

Because you’re angry, you think. You’re angry at her illness. At your father for leaving and giving the weight of being a parent and provider at the same time. At the fact that neither of you were ever vulnerable enough to even cry in front of each other, and angry at yourself for never having the courage to tell her that it’s okay.

Because all this time you’re been struggling. Struggling to try to always be an adult when you never closed the chapter of your childhood. That you’ve always struggled to push past every affirmation that you’re okay and every single one of those moments were just bouts of false confidence. And it’s exhausting to put up a front to your own reflection.

Even when nothing has really been okay. You’re hurting even more when you realize that so you clutch your chest and cry harder.

This must be the consequence of pride, is the thought that comes to your head. You could build the strongest walls and wrap yourself in the most intricate barriers just to act tough but in time, you will break.

Like now; you’re sobbing into your palms for the years’ worth of pain you let pride push away while Kiyoomi is climbing even higher than the strongest dynamic you know the piece calls for.

You know he wants to let you know that it’s okay, and that you’re safe. His message resonates in pure clarity as he pushes on the strings harder and harder to swallow the sounds of your cries.

His back remains turned as you look at him, still crying, while your thanks bubbles out as incoherent as your cries.

It hurts, because you the only person you’ve cradled in your hands to heavens far higher than the ones you’ve known is gone.

You’re still crying and the pain in your chest is still stinging much like the pain from a reopened wound does, but you let him come to you as he lets you come to him in an embrace.

“Let it out,” he murmurs in your hair as you wrap your hands around his middle and cry into the fabric of his shirt. He’s probably a little uncomfortable at you sniffling right into his shirt, but the way his hands are rubbing circles on your back reassures you otherwise.

“You’re okay,” Kiyoomi says again and you cry harder because you want to believe him.

Five missed calls and seven texts messages all coming from Hajime lays unopened on your phone at 6:17PM.

“She asked me if I was happy,” is what you tell Kiyoomi as the two of you stand side by side peering over her casket some days later.

“Are you?” he asks and you smile at him in a way that tells him that at the moment you’re not.

“Will you be happy?” comes the question after that and you shrug.

The lines on her face are like always, and the mole between her brows look the same. Your mother lays still in the casket, cheeks pink from the blush they put on her and lips red. You think your mother’s friends told the funeral workers to paint them her usual color, so you’re thankful for that. She looks like she’s just asleep—and you don’t know how to feel.

You want to reach out and hold her hand but you know the skin will be stiff and cold; you don’t want to remember her touch like that.

To you, she’s still alive.

She always will be alive.

Kiyoomi’s hand grasps yours in a way that’s as gentle as his presence has always been. When you look up then right to meet his eyes: looking like warmth despite the depth that it has words rolling out of your lips before you could comprehend the situation.

“I will be.”

Kiyoomi smiles and you look back down without bothering to further explain your answer.

You know he always believes you. The sentiment is one you appreciate, but at the same time, you’re not sure if you even believe yourself at the moment. You have to be strong, you think.

And just like that your defenses climb back up.

Takahiro along with Issei make it to the funeral along with Tooru and Hajime skyping in from overseas. It wasn’t as awkward like you expected it to be, and you’re glad.

Tooru’s crying along with Hajime and the rest of you as you watch her return to the opened earth.

You’ve dried your tears by the time you face Tooru and Hajime on the laptop screen, the grief on their faces similar to the one on yours.

“(Y/n),” Hajime starts, and you nod, waiting for him to continue. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay,” you respond, gaze focused to the left side of the screen—Tooru’s side.

Even though all you could see was Tooru’s expression on the screen tearing up with yours, you ignore the telltale scrunch of Hajime’s forehead where you know confirms his disbelief over your words.

“I’m coming home next week. Got a job offer there,” Hajime’s voice cuts again and before you could respond Tooru’s voice thrums over the speaker as you feel Kiyoomi’s hand settle on your shoulder.

“You okay?” he asks you when you look up at him. Nodding your head, you shoot him a smile before turning back to the screen, one hand resting on top of Kiyoomi’s.

“This is Kiyoomi,” you introduce and feel yourself unintentionally holding in a breath as you sit and watch for Hajime’s reaction. He’s quiet; eyes steeled over and form rigid. Probably just a trick of the camera, you tell yourself, so you open your mouth hoping to find an excuse and end the call early but Tooru’s voice overlaps yours for the second time that day.

“Ahh! The boyfriend?” He asks and you smile as you see him leaning closer to his laptop’s camera. You had to hand it to him; you know that look. Tooru was someone who could craft a mask and uphold it for as long as he needs and every time it was flawless.

Which was why when Kiyoomi bows his head in a greeting and greets, “It’s nice to meet you,” in the tone he used with your mother, you know he hadn’t caught on to the fact that he was facing a façade.

“Likewise,” Hajime’s voice cuts through and you try to not shiver at the intensity of it.

“Let’s catch up when I get home?” he says again; this time, softer and you nod before you could think of a response.

“Take care,” is the last thing you hear from him before the camera on his side of the screen blinks back to black and Tooru’s face magnified and centered.

“He’s finally coming home, (y/n)-chan,” Tooru smiles and at the sincerity of his voice you smile along with him.

“He finally is.”

Hajime had always been, and always will be your first love. You found yourself choked up the second you see him wave at you from the arrival’s gate and you swore in that moment hugging him felt like coming home.

Which was because of nostalgia, you told yourself. There had been so many firsts and memories shared with him that you know just because you moved forward with your life—that didn’t mean you’d buried what you had with him in the past.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi?” he asks when you’ve settled in the grass next to your mother’s tombstone with him across you.

“Yeah, he actually played for Itachiyama back in high school,” you say.

“Volleyball player turned classical musician?” he asks and you nod with a resonating yup, your hand trailing down to the grass to pick on the blades aimlessly.

“He made it to nationals too,” you comment.

“Are you trying to just rub it in?” he asks and tosses some ripped grass your way. You move to the side and stick your tongue out at him which he laughs at. Hajime’s laugh reminds you of the summer afternoons in your childhood home where you’d chase cicadas and write memories in polaroids and you’re suddenly feeling nostalgic.

“Nah,” you say and smile as you look up at him. He’s facing his right and letting his eyes glaze over the gold paint of your mother’s name on the cement.

“I miss her,” Hajime whispers and you nod, your heart squeezing.

“I do too,” you reply and when he looks at you and meets your eyes, you catch yourself smiling because he has tears threatening to spill over the waterline too. “Every day,” you continue.

“You’re making me cry,” Hajime huffs and leans back facing the front after he wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Your fault for still being soft,” you laugh. Unlike you, he’s always been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” Hajime begins after the moments of recollection passes. You look at him and smile, not really sure whether you even have the desire to push through with the conversation or not. “Why are you even sorry?” is what you want to ask him, but you hear yourself say, “it’s okay, Haji,” instead.

“We could have made it,” he says again, his voice cracking as he looks at you.

“Could have,” you repeat and offer him a halfhearted smile at best.

“Do you regret us?” Hajime asks and he seems hesitant with his answer; like he doesn’t want to know your answer. You shake your head no as soon as you meet his eyes and reach your hands out in the space between you.

“Never,” you say and squeeze his hands when he takes yours into his own.

“You’re going to make me cry, again. Shit,” he laughs and this time, you laugh along with him.

The afternoon, despite the September air feels warm. Almost like the summer afternoons back home. So when you close your eyes, you let your defenses down as you imagine sitting in the garden: the one with the yellow and pink flowers, shouting promises in the air with Hajime and Tooru as the three of you let the wonder of childhood guide your idea of reality.

You decide that for just a while longer, you’ll keep those same defenses down as you feel Hajime pull you to stand up with him and face the open field behind the cross of her name.

“Wanna see if we can find cicadas?” he grins and you laugh, replying, “What are we, twelve?” as you follow him and break out into a run anyway.

It was in that afternoon that you realize, Hajime’s always felt like home. His presence always meant that your thoughts jumped back to the days where you watched his hair spike and grow like flowers from a garden blooming and wilting. To the days where talks of the future were shared over a dinner rolls and laughter. To the days where telling someone “I love you,” felt as natural as if you were just talking about the weather.

Hajime reminded you of losing yourself in the kind of love that felt unabashed and boundless. Like running on fields where the sun remained in the golden hour indefinitely. He was the first love you’ve cradled with a heart that was still a stranger to the ways of the reality.

“Are you happy?” he asks you when the sun above breathes the beginnings of a goodbye. You recognize the question your mother asked you before she passed and in that moment you close your eyes and envision yourself in a different year.

“I am,” you whisper back earnestly and your heart flutters with every corner of the wall that crumbles down as you stare back at him.

He looks at you like he wants to ask a question but the thought of Kiyoomi flashes in your mind. Your eyes scan the flecks of emerald in Hajime’s as you close your eyes and feel yourself retreat along with the setting sun. The warmth in your chest remains as you think of Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi who told you to let it out and let it go. Kiyoomi with the midnight eyes who spoke of the answers to the questions you have yet to discover.

“I have to be happy,” is what you tell Hajime again and the smile he gives you is soft. Like he wants to dive down your thoughts more but instead chooses to remain anchored outside your walls.

But you still lean into his embrace as he pats your shoulder when you tell your mother goodbye.

She must be happy, you think to yourself. Because today was an afternoon spent in the sun like she was alive again.

A text from Kiyoomi to you and one from Issei to his brings you back to the present. You wave goodbye to the photograph of her on the tombstone while Hajime leaves a yellow flower he picked under the sun by her name.

He smiles and you hear him say he’ll walk you home.

Your heart thrums; it’s almost like he never left.

Hajime won’t leave.

Despite your intention for him to not show up to your house being extremely blunt in your text message, he shows up thirty minutes after Kiyoomi’s parked into your driveway.

“Hajime,” he grins, introducing himself with a hand stretched out in greeting as Kiyoomi looks at it in contemplation. You watch the two of them, three feet away and anxious at their first time face to face interaction.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” your boyfriend says and reaches out to shake his hand. You could practically feel yourself sigh in relief.

“Haji, you didn’t have to come,” you say and shoot him a tight lipped smile. “Omi and I can handle the boxes, plus there’s not much left to pack up anyway.”

“So,” Hajime begins, turning around and blatantly ignoring what you just said. “Makki says there’s some heavier stuff in the attic? I can help you with that.”

Kiyoomi looks at you as you eventually sigh and nod at him to follow Hajime up into the attic.

For the rest of the day it went on like that. At every hint you dropped in regards to the lack of necessity for Hajime’s presence—he’s suddenly tuning out and changing the topic. It was like he couldn’t hear. You huff when Kiyoomi shoots you a look that hints his amusement towards your predicament.

Hajime’s time in California surely must have rubbed off on him.

“You two shared a lot of memories,” Kiyoomi comments after he sees Hajime point at a trinket and recall a story.

“We grew up together,” you reply and Hajime nods along with you, smiling.

“I knew she was gonna be a real one when she didn’t chicken out from catching cicadas with me,” Hajime laughs across you.

“You used to catch cicadas?” Kiyoomi questions, eyebrow quirking up. You had to fight the urge to smile at the way his two moles scrunched together.

“Used to,” you answer and grip the photo album in your hand before placing it into the box. It was one of your favorites, you remember. You spent your summer nights pasting stickers and writing captions into the photos your mom took of you, Hajime, Tooru and your dog. There were probably a few in there that were with her, but you decide you can put off the nostalgic trip for later as you shut the book and tuck it into a corner of the box.

“Sakusa,” Hajime initiates when the three of you stand back up, stretching then facing each other: Kiyoomi to your left and Hajime across the two of you. “Take care of her will you?”

“I plan to,” Kiyoomi replies beside you and you reach to squeeze his hand as you watch him offer Hajime a sincere smile.

“Can you give us a moment?” you ask Kiyoomi and he’s quick to nod.

“Thanks,” you say and lean into his kiss on your forehead before watching him grab the remaining box and make his way out the door.

Hajime stands in front of you with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“He’s a good guy,” he tells you and you smile gently, head nodding in agreement to his words.

“One of the best,” you reply, smiling.

“You’re happy right?” Hajime says more than asks, but before you could answer, he speaks again.

“I’m here for you, always,” he confesses quietly and you swallow thickly because you could already decipher the meaning behind his words.

“Who’s going to pull your scarf to remind you that it’s cold?” Hajime declares softly and you knit your eyebrows together as you tell him that you can do it yourself.

“I know you can,” he laughs and walks closer to you as he tugs off his own scarf and wraps it around your neck.

“I just like doing it for you.”

“Earlier,” Kiyoomi begins after he’s settled in the couch of your new apartment’s living room. You turn to face him, attention in focus then wait for him to continue.

“When we were upstairs Iwaizumi-san asked where you were moving.”

“Oh yeah? I forgot I didn’t tell him my new address, thanks for remi—“

“He asked again if we were going to be moving in together and I didn’t answer,” he swiftly cuts you off. You stare back at him, confused, then nod your head urging him to continue.

“I didn’t answer him at first because I wanted to see how he’d react.”

“Omi—“

“(Y/n),” he sighs. You blink back, confused.

“He still loves you.”

Kiyoomi says this like he’s just talking about the weather and because of that you’re suddenly aware of fast the room dipped into the newfound silence. Your heart hammers in your chest while you feel your hands curl into a familiar fist; fingernails automatically moving to dig into the flesh of your palms.

“Of course he does, I do too—“you reason, but his expression shifting has you revising your choice of words.

“I will always love him, Omi. Haji was my friend before he became anyone else,” you explain, softly, and reach out to take his hand in yours. He smiles at you and you mirror it, appreciating the way he didn’t pull out of your touch.

“Is that it?” he asks before you look at him, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

“What else is there?” you laugh and shift your focus to his hand on yours.

“Are you really happy?”

“With this?” he questions again and sits up, taking both of your hands in his. Kiyoomi stares with baited breath, so when the silence buzzes in your ear even louder, you nod.

“With us?” Kiyoomi whispers and the echo it delivers rings loud. You hear his question ricochet from the walls to your ears over and over again while you stare straight into the plethora of questions he chooses not to vocalize manifesting themselves in his eyes.

Then, almost slowly, you nod. Because you are happy, though more so thankful. But that’s still happiness, the voice in your head reasons, so you relent and cup his face.

“You’re my blessing, Kiyoomi,” is the truth that’s spoken from your lips as you watch something living unfold in his.

“I love you,” is what he says and you nod, speechless, as he presses his forehead against yours because you feel everything in his words.

“Are you happy?” he asks again when you part and you smile, remembering your mother and Hajime’s words. The sentiment in his question is one of honesty, that in that moment, it suddenly fills you with newfound warmth.

“She asked me the same thing,” you answer, vulnerable. Kiyoomi always had a way that made it okay to feel vulnerable.

“Because I think she knows your answer,” he tells you quietly and what he says makes you think of his words.

“I’ll get there,” is what you planned to answer but before you could get the words out you’re suddenly widening your eyes as you see Kiyoomi shift and bend down on one knee in front of you, a ring in his hand.

Three years later | Italics in flashback

For the first time in your life everything felt connected.

From the pin that held your veil together, to the yellow and pink roses that bloomed along an aisle of white.

Everything felt like it was finally in place as Tooru took one look at you from behind the doors and teared up.

“Please don’t make me cry,” you tell him and smile as you loop your arm through his.

“This is payback for making me cry when you asked if I could give you away,” he laughed before dabbing at the corners of his eyes.

“Thank you, Tooru,” you whisper as he gives you one final look. The browns of his eyes reminded you that you are loved.

“Your mom would be so happy now,” is his reply as the doors open.

She would be happy, you think as you take one, two, then four steps forward as you grip your bouquet tighter. The pendant with her photo is surrounded in gold plating, and you find yourself thinking that nothing suited her better than gold.

To and for you, she had always been golden.

You feel Tooru part with you midway as he lets you walk the final stretch alone. It was supposed to be the other way around, Issei commented before, but Takahiro was quick to side with you and say it was fitting. Even if Tooru stood in your parent’s place to symbolize giving you away, a parent’s job is really just to walk with you to the halfway mark in life and let you walk the rest of the way alone.

You find yourself smiling at the memory.

The engagement ring on your left finger catches the light from the photographer’s flash as the first notes of a cello play.

“I would ask you to marry me but I know you’re going to tell me no,” Kiyoomi tells you.

“I don’t know you, yet, (y/n). But I know you just enough to know there’s some things you are choosing to not let go of.”

You watch him stare at you, eyes soft and understanding you’re suddenly overcome with the urge to cry again.

From the aisle, your eyes catch Kiyoomi’s as he stares back at you, beautiful and iridescent in the light. He’s always looked the most beautiful when he felt connected with music, you think. Much like now, as he presses harder on the strings and close his eyes to slip into the element.

“It’s okay,” Kiyoomi soothes, and reaches forward to wipe the tear sliding down your cheek.

“I don’t think I got to know you, just yet. I only saw bits of who you were under that exterior and neither of us know if we could work as well then if we lay ourselves bare now,” he continues and you nod, understanding his point.

“I love how resilient you are, (y/n),” Kiyoomi whispers and you smile because his voice isn’t cracking. He’s okay with this, and somehow, that lifts the heaviness in your chest. “I love how you never break despite the situation, but I’ve only known that side of you so far.”

“You deserve someone who’s seen you from the start. I can stay and we can work this out, but I don’t know if I’ll love you then. Iwaizumi loved you then and now, and I think you still do too. I could never take you away from that.”

“I don’t want to ask you who you are yet,” he says and you nod telling him you’re still getting to know yourself too.

“She’ll be proud of you regardless,” Kiyoomi finishes and with that you sob.

Kiyoomi opens his eyes and looks at you with a smile while he continues to play. Thank you, you mouth telling him, and he smiles as he plays harder.

“For what it’s worth,” you begin. “I know,” Kiyoomi finishes and the smile on his face is as sincere as his words. “Our time will always be a part in history that will be ours.”

You inhale, smile, and then cup his face in your hands. “It will always be priceless,” you add.

This was a piece you recognized from years ago, you recall with a smile. If you had your violin with you, it wouldn’t take much for you to remember the score and slip into a duet with him. The dynamics, you recognized too—and the way Kiyoomi’s playing only tells you he’s playing even louder.

Three years ago he played the same piece you would have played for the concert your mom would have finally made it to. The same day she died you sat in a practice room with Kiyoomi, crying your heart out as the he plays the same melody you’re walking to now.

Let it out, is what he told you and you did just that.

Let it go, is what he also wants you to know and you did that too.

All your life you’ve thought of love and thought it was lost when you lost her. Kiyoomi, you realize, is the love you were just beginning to learn. The love you’ve parted with before you tangled yourself in too deep; and perhaps in another lifetime you could chase each other bare bones and all, but in this life you know Hajime is the love you thought you closed the door to despite leaving it ajar.

One last look at Kiyoomi lets you see that he closes his eyes as you turn away and face forward.

And when you do, you see colors.

Green from his eyes, like the leaves on your bouquet and the grass outside your childhood home. A yellow flower pinned on his breast pocket; the color from the petals of a flower your mother loved to grow the most. Pink; like the color his cheeks turned into when you first shook his hand.

Then when he smiles at you—you feel a sense of home. When you see him begin to cry, you feel a sense of love that washes over you like the soft waves of the shallow end.

Steady, constant, and safe.

Love, like the words your mother wrote to you in a letter you discovered in an old journal. Where she wrote that even if she never had your father to love, she found her love in you. To be cradled in you so that was enough for her.

That she knew she was strong, but even more so because her strength was drawn from being with you.

Love, like the words from a friend as you remember Kiyoomi’s reminder that it’s okay to take that hand that just wants to pull you out of the deep end.

Love, like the awakening from the depth and seeing that Hajime is the hand that’s been there all along and you have yet to take.

Love, you remember like your mother’s voice.

Love, like the one that has been with you since the beginning. Because you were loved from the very start.

And Hajime—whose name spoke of beginnings.

for my mother whose love cradled me from the beginning. may you rest where the flowers bloom the most beautiful. i love you.

1K notes · View notes

nxrthmizu · 3 years

Text

love in bubble wraps.

fandom | haikyuu!!

pairing | kuroo tetsurou x reader

genre | fluff

w.c | 1.9k

author's note | based on a real life experience... :)

Love, you think, comes in many forms. Sometimes love is a warm, home-cooked meal that is now cooked at least once a week because you told your mother you liked it. Other times, love is laughing and crying alongside the friends you’ve known since pre-school because everyone passed their highschool finals with flying colours. Throughout our lives, we gradually come to meet the different forms of love, because it comes in all shapes, colours, and sizes.

First, we learn that love is a roof that you can always turn to when a storm blows in. Then, we learn that love is knowing that there are people who will drop everything to help you when your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. Lastly, we learn to interlock our fingers with the one we wish to walk to the end of time with.

Then again, love varies from person to person— Just like how the goddess of love, Aphrodite, looks different to every soul that sets its sights on her; Beauty truly lies in the eye of the beholder. For some, love comes in the form of a warm body to cuddle next to on a rainy day. For others, love comes in the form of a jewelled ring. For you, love comes in the form of a 6’2 man who still doesn’t know how to tame his bedhead.

Tetsurou is often too busy for his own good, always running around here and there to secure contracts, ensuring that Japan can make a name for itself during the Olympics. He books train tickets to opposite ends of Japan at least once a month, leaving before the sun rises and returning after it sets. The sun never dictates his work day, because while his coworkers work from nine to five, Tetsurou works until he finishes his tasks.

Okay, so your husband is a bit of a workaholic. And maybe not just a bit.

“L/N-san,” Your colleague asks one day out of sheer curiosity. A group of women are gathered around the snack station, sipping on cheap, machine-produced instant coffee as they gossip about their marital lives instead of working. “Now that I think about it… I’ve never met your husband, have I?”

“Ah,” You sweat-drop nervously at this. Wonderful— Your parents are already pressuring you about how Kuroo rarely visits with you— And now your coworkers, too? “He’s quite busy. He works very hard to make sure that we’ll be well-off in the future.” You respond, knowing that your reply is just a thinly-veiled way of saying ‘He’s rarely home,’.

“Oh, that’s awful,” Wherever you go, there’s always a middle-aged lady who has nothing better to do than to prey on the weak spots of your life, “It must feel lonely. You must feel so sad when you see my husband pick me up from work.” A smirk dances up her lips as she waits for you to walk into her trap, smiling as widely as a spider watching its incoming meal.

“Not really,” A practiced smile counters hers as you take a sip of your coffee. “I know Tetsurou loves me— There’s an unbreakable trust between us. He might not be home often, but I know that he’s working hard so that we can have a better tomorrow… And that’s sort of comforting, in a sense. Knowing that Tetsurou wishes for a future where we’re financially stable, where we can just spend a whole day doing nothing in each other’s presence…”

A chorus of ‘awws’ makes you blush. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the middle-aged coworker huff in failure. You mentally fist-pump the air at your victory.

“Anyway, I heard that you got engaged last weekend, Shiho-san,” Changing the topic quickly, you smile when the attention of all the ladies instantly redirects to the said woman, who blushes fiercely as they all coo at her ring. “Congratulations!”

“Oh my! He bought you such a beautiful ring… Ah, Shiho-san, you’re so lucky!”

“My husband also bought me a new bag last week,” The middle-aged woman chips in proudly, cocking her head towards her cubicle, where the leather handbag sits atop a tower of documents. “It’s very expensive.”

“That’s nice of him! It’s been forever since my husband bought me something.” Sighs another lady. Most of the group hums in agreement, sharing sympathetic looks with those that share the same fate.

“At the beginning, when we were still dating, Hayato used to buy me so many things, now…” The coworker that brings homemade cookies every New Years’ party says, looking dejected. “It’s like once we’re married, they don’t have to worry about making us happy anymore…”

“Ah, what about you, L/N-san? Does your husband buy you things often?”

You groan internally when the attention shifts to you once more. Honestly, you’re just there to listen and enjoy your coffee— Must you keep getting dragged into the conversation? “Well, personally I don’t really need my husband to buy me things to keep me happy, but… He does bring back trinkets whenever he travels.” You think about it for a while, then brighten when you remember the latest thing Tetsurou brought back for you.

“What is it?” Your change in expression isn’t missed by your coworkers, who preen with curiosity, excited to know what made you brighten up.

“Ah, it’s nothing… I promise, you’ll be disappointed if I tell you.” You chuckle.

“Come on!” “Be a good sport, L/N-san!” “We’re curious now, you can’t not tell us!”

“Oh, fine.” You sigh, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

[ Three days ago, Saturday ]

You were on the couch, binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy with the Netflix subscription Tetsurou got for you to occupy yourself with while he was out of town. Your cat, Kazume (nicknamed after your husband’s best friend) lazed on your lap, yawning once in a while and swatting at the stray threads from your sweater.

Somewhere in between your fifteenth and seventeenth episode, the front door chirped with the sound of someone inserting a key into the lock. You perked up at the noise, Kazume yelping in protest as he almost slipped off.

“Oh, sorry Kazu.” You said quickly, a smile widening your lips as the front door opened.

“I’m ho—” Before your husband could finish his sentence, you were already at his side. Kazume meowed loudly from the couch, complaining about you abandoning him for another man. Tetsurou’s eyes softened, the edges of his hazel irises worn down by exhaustion. You took his laptop bag from him, as well as the folders he has in hand, balancing them like how you would balance your three grocery bags when Tetsurou wasn’t around to help. “I missed you too, but are you sure you can carry all of my files with one hand?”

“Yes!” You replied confidently, showcasing your balance as you wobbled through the living room with all of your husband’s stuff. Tetsurou’s laugh echoed through the apartment as he followed you, his reflexes coming into play as he dived for a falling file. “Oops.” You giggled, helping him up after he practically hurled himself at the floor.

Tetsurou shook his head, sighing fondly while he hugged you from the back, taking comfort in the familiar smell of your hair shampoo. “I missed you.” He mumbled.

“Me too.” You hummed, reaching back to stroke your hands through his still-untamed bedhead.

“Oh, before I forget,” Tetsurou leapt up suddenly, chucking his backpack onto the ground. “I brought back something for you!”

“I already have like, twenty-five keychains from Hyogo,” You reminded him, “Please tell me it’s not a…” Your voice trailed off when Tetsurou proudly whipped his gift from his backpack, hazel eyes shining for your reaction.

“... So?” Tetsurou grinned widely, like a five-year-old child holding up his drawing for his mother to critique.

“Oh my god, I love you.” You declared in your 80 sq ft kitchen, grabbing the gift from him. “I’ll clean up your stuff, go take a bath and we can have dinner while watching the…'' You pursed your lips as you try to recall the information that kept evading you like an annoying fly. “... 15th? 16th episode of Grey’s.”

“You started that without me? I said I wanted to watch that.” Tetsurou pouted petulantly like a child.

“I finished all the other stuff I wanted to watch,” You told him unapologetically. “And Kazume wanted to watch it too. Now hurry and take a bath or I’m starting without you.”

Twenty minutes later, you were cuddled up to your husband, who did not bother to comb his hair (“It’ll just be messy later anyway,” His reasoning was). Every few seconds, he would scoop some cold mash potato out of the giant bowl (The two of you were too impatient to heat it with the microwave) and feed you. All throughout the episode, there was the constant pop-pop-pop of you working your way through the giant piece of bubble wrap Tetsurou had brought home for you.

“You know, I was thinking,” You hummed as Tetsurou pressed ‘Next Episode’. “If It were any other woman, they might have slapped you for bringing just bubble wrap home after a whole week away.”

“Well, then I’m lucky that you aren’t ‘any other woman’, am I?” Your husband smiled, pressing a gentle kiss onto your lips before picking up the mash potato bowl again. “Are we just going to have mashed potatoes for dinner?”

“I bought spicy instant noodles yesterday, we can have that later if you want.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

[ Present, Tuesday ]

“That’s actually so sweet of him!” Your colleague coos as you finish your story. “Wish I had a husband like that…'' Even the middle-aged lady begrudgingly nods in agreement. For a moment, you feel a surge of pride— It was your husband they were talking about— Your sweet, hardworking, dork of a 6’2 bedhead.

“You wouldn’t be able to survive.” Another lady snorts. “That guy is away for weeks at a time.”

You hum. “Well, at least he calls back every night, regardless of how tired he is.” In the corner of your mind, you remember that he makes sure to call his grandmother every weekend, and that he sends his parents (and grandparents) money every month, that he visits your parents the first Sunday after he’s back from his trips— Not to mention that he always brings a gift of wellness products (The most recent one was a box of abalone).

The group of women swoon once more.

“Well, I guess we should get back to work,” You dispose of your paper cup in the trash, brushing your hands off. “See you ladies later.”

The moment you’re back at your desk, you take out your phone to text your husband, who is, no doubt, going to be very, very confused.

[ y/n ] 2.37pm

— we have a problem

[ tetsu <3 ] 2.39pm

— what’s wrong???

[ y/n ] 2.38pm

— i may have accidentally caused 20 women in my office to fall in love with you

[ tetsu <3 ] 2.38pm

— what ???

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

you know it's love when your dad comes home with this giant piece of bubble wrap and your mom literally squeals and snatches it to immediately start popping it on the couch while browsing facebook on her ipad

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader fluff #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsurou x y/n #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x you #kuroo tetsurou fluff #[ris writes]—✧

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tiedyemillenialbullshit · 3 years

Text

Hope is a Heartache

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky are a series of missed opportunities, but will that stop you both from being happy?

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, sexual situations, swearing, angst, LOTS of angst, fluff

A/N: I’m not sure when I became the kween of angst, but here we are. I think if I wrote smut, I’d die so maybe someday I’ll try that. For now here we are.

Written listening to: Hope is a Heartache by LEON

“How would I ever tell her that? What, that I think she’s the most stunning, hilarious, powerful, brave, most amazing woman I’ve ever met? She’d freak out, I’m like her best friend on the team, Steve.”

“I don’t know pal, but I can’t keep looking at you like this. Every time she walks by you stop breathing.”

Bucky never felt so sick to his stomach as he did when he thought about you and whatshisface. You had been on the team about as long as he had. You were both “freshmen” as Sam loved to joke, together. At first, you annoyed the shit out of him. Always going on about how he needed to try harder at this or move faster at that. Buck always confided in Steve about how much you pissed him off until finally one day Steve snapped. “DUDE. YOU. LOVE. Y/N. If you won’t admit it to me, at least admit it to yourself.”

Bucky remembers telling him exactly where he can shove it before stomping out of the Captain’s office to the gym. He had walked in on you taking some sort of frustration out on a punching bag. You didn’t hear him come in, so he stood in the shadow of the doorway and watched you. You stopped after a few moments to rip your gloves off, fix your ponytail, huff out a swear or four and decide to start punching again sans gloves.

Bucky knew in that instant he didn’t want a different partner on missions. He didn’t want you to want to go on morning runs with anyone else. He didn’t want to trust anyone else besides you.

You remember that day too. You were pissed at him, convinced he was trying to make you look bad because in Steve’s eyes, he could do no wrong. So who cares right? Oh you just wanted to hit him. That’s why you had elected to not place your boxing gloves back on and instead just rely on the tape wrapping your knuckles to not break your skin open.

You heard something behind you, and when you spun around you saw him watching you. At first, this wasn’t startling, the asshole had a serious staring problem, but he wasn’t mad. He was just watching you move. Nothing about his demeanor was menacing like it usually was. It was like Frosty had melted and standing before you was this man.

You decided then that you didn’t anyone else sparing with you in the gym, you didn’t want anyone else giving you a hard time because you couldn’t chug a beer as fast as Thor, and you didn’t want him to want anyone else as his partner.

It was like something clicked into place that day, a thread between the two of you pulled taught. You couldn’t place the feeling, you never had it before.

“Earth to Bucky. *white noise* Paging James Buchanan Barnes *white noise* Will the tin man please join us in this debriefing-“ Bucky finally recognized Sam was talking to him.

“Sorry, what?” Buck knew he was red in the face, but honestly didn’t care. Not after the sleepless night he had after witnessing you kiss your new boyfriend goodnight.

“We were discussing Wednesday’s mission, Bucky. You good?” Steve had a concerned look on his face for his best friend.

You were staring right back at Bucky as he sternly answered “I’m fine. Couldn’t sleep last night. Kept having a nightmare about some prick invading my space.”

The team exchanged glances, but that just confirmed to you that he did see you kiss Nick. You thought you heard someone shuffling inside quickly after giving your new boyfriend a lingering kiss goodnight. What was his fucking problem?

“I hate it when that happens. Maybe you should just try minding your own business in real life, then you wouldn’t have nightmares about it at night.” You shot back not breaking eye contact.

Bucky stood and left. The team knew better than to try and reason with a pissed off super soldier, so they let him leave the meeting early.

You practically ran out of the meeting as soon as it was concluded.

“What the fuck was that about?” Nat asked as she was following you uninvited into your room. Besides Bucky, she was your closest friend. Your closest friend, and your nosiest friend.

“Bucky saw me kissing Nick last night and took that as a signed permission slip to act like a fucking asshole, I don’t know. He never likes any of the guys I bring around. Honestly, that’s probably why they don’t last.” You really liked Nick, and you weren’t going to let Bucky scare this one off. Which would be a feat, seeing as your best friend was the former Winter Soldier.

“Y/N, do you think he ‘scares’ all of them off because he wishes he was them?” Nat looked at you without giving away too much of her thought process.

“What, like he wants to be my boyfriend? Come ON Nat, this is Bucky. It’s BUCKY. Even if he did have feelings for me, he’d never tell me. Because he’s BUCKY.” You weren’t sure why you were secretly hoping she argued with you about that. You always liked Bucky. But you were a professional, those feelings got pushed down a long, long time ago.

“I don’t know, Steve said-“

“OH. So now Bucky and I are the topic of your pillow talk, Nat? Great! Look, just because it worked out for you and Steve that way doesn’t mean it’ll work out for me and Buck like that.” You shot back.

“WOAH. I was going to say that Steve said he had been off lately, it probably doesn’t have anything to do with you, Y/N.”

“Oh, well, I mean, I knew that. Whatever, okay?” You stumbled. “It’s not going to happen. I’m with Nick and I’m happy for once. Whatever his issue is, he can talk to his therapist about it, I’m done being that too.”

One year later

“Y/N. Hi. Uh, I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Bucky stammers to you as he’s holding the hand of some innocent enough looking blonde.

“You mean in my own kitchen? Funny how that works out. I was just leaving.” You say to him. The thought crosses your mind to introduce yourself to his new play-thing, but that will just make it seem so much more permanent. You hope your self-dismissal makes her feel awkward enough to leave but you know that won’t happen.

After the disaster that was your relationship with Nick ended after 9 months, you swore off men, including Bucky. He had eventually apologized for his behavior during that debriefing and things seemed to go back to normal. You now realize “normal” is just your funny way of saying “compartmentalizing.” Things were okay between you two because you never talked about Nick and he never asked.

After it ended between you two, he didn’t even ask. You chucked it up to him giving you your space. But that was a few months ago, and now you see why he wasn’t asking you about it.

“Night, Y/N.” Bucky calls after you.

“At least one of us seems like we’ll have a goodnight,” you yell back at him as you retreat into the hallway.

You think you hear him mumble something to his date and then you hear footsteps behind you, so you slow your pace a bit.

“What’s your fucking problem? Amanda doesn’t deserve your wrath the first time she comes over.” Bucky hush yells at you.

“The first time?! Buck, our rooms are right next to each other or did you forget that?” You actually yell at him.

“Oh trust me, how could I forget? With all the sex you had for 9 fucking months straight, the sound of you moaning is literally engrained into my mind forever and you KNOW how hard that is to do.” Bucky is screaming at you now.

“FUCK YOU JAMES.” You yell as you turn and walk towards the stairs.

“DON’T FUCKING CALL ME THAT,” he screams.

Good. Now no sex for him.

You wait until you get to the stairwell to let loose the tears threatening to spill over. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of winning the fight. You two had fought so many times in your friendship. The other Avengers knew to just leave two be when you got into these kind of moods.

You and Nick didn’t work out for a lot of reasons, but the biggest one was your relationship with Bucky. He was so protective over you, and a few months ago when that stopped you realized you didn’t miss his protection, you missed how he looked at you. You missed the possibility that there was something there between the two of you. It was clear he had given up, and you hated that. He felt cold and distant. Shortly after that, Nick stopped coming around and you didn’t care.

Just as you sit down to let yourself unleash in between the second and third floors, you hear the first story doors open. You go completely quiet as to not want to alert anyone you were sitting on the stairs crying like a teenager experiencing their first heartbreak.

You think you hear whimpering or what could be shushed crying. You lean over the railing to look down at who it is. Sitting there with his head in his hands is Bucky. You don’t make a noise.

“Fucking collect yourself Barnes, she’s just being a bitch. Deal with her tomorrow.”

You didn’t realize you had that much of an impact on him, you only wanted to ruin his desire to have sex with her.

Satisfied and feeling slightly guilty, you walk back to your room for the night, not caring if he hears you.

Two months later

“Is this seat taken?” You turn to the side and look up to see Bucky looking down at you sheepishly.

“Where’s your hot date? I saved two seats for you and Amanda,” you say back to Bucky, genuinely interested in where his date was. After that awful night, you decided to put forth an effort to make things better with him. No one is kidding themselves that when you have personal stuff going on behind the scenes of work partners, it makes work in the field that much harder.

“Uh, she’s not going to make it,” he says with sad eyes.

“Oh, is she okay?”

“Uh yeah, we’re just not. We broke up this morning. Thanks for saving two seats though, that was nice of you Y/N.” Bucky sits down next to you and you wrap an arm around the back of his chair.

“I’m sorry Buck, I really did like her. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I am now,” he looks at you with a slight smile to his face. You hold his gaze for a few seconds longer than normal before ruffling his hair as the DJ comes over the music.

“Ladiesssss and gentlemeeennnn please welcome to the stage…”

“I can’t believe Sam dragged us all to a strip club for his birthday,” you whisper in Bucky’s ear as the music gets louder.

“I know, look at Steve I think he’s about to have a stroke.” You and Bucky share a laugh and for a second, it’s like you’re back in your early days on the team when it seemed like all you two had was each other.

Once the girls found out the Avengers were in their midst, it was game over. If Sam’s goal was to black out tonight, he accomplished that almost immediately. Liquor was free, dances were free, and unsurprisingly the team was having an amazing time. Besides the waitresses and a few dancers, no one came into your circle, and it ended up being a really fun night. You and Bucky were having so much fun, you couldn’t remember the last time you laughed as hard as you were.

You even noticed Bucky turning down a dance or two, redirecting the girl’s attention to Thor, or the much more enthused, Sam. You expected a newly single Buck to want the attention, but he was not having it.

As the night went on, you caught Bucky staring at you, and more and more you held his stare with a curve to your lips that was reserved just for him.

“Coincidentally” the strip club was next to Sam’s favorite bar. The team decided that was the logical next destination, but you were exhausted and it must’ve been showing on your face.

“Hey doll, why don’t you say we Irish exist these assholes and head home? I’m exhausted.”

“Fuck. Yes. PLEASE let’s go!” You exclaimed as if Bucky was reading your mind. You didn’t want to be the one to suggest it, but you were so happy he did.

You both stand in line with the team but disappear behind everyone as they all head in. Bucky throws an arm around your shoulders as you walk down the street.

“You know, I’m kind of glad it’s just us the rest of the night, that was too much togetherness for me,” Bucky says. You’re blushing and you know he means he’s happy to have a friend, but you find your stomach buzzing with the hope he means something else.

“Same here,” you laugh, “what do you want to do? Grab a cab and head home? Movie? Are you spent?”

“For you? Not at all.” He’s got that dumb grin on your face that makes you want to either kiss him or smack him so he stops distracting you.

“What’re you staring at sweetheart?” You realize it’s getting harder to hide your emotions. He just broke up with Amanda, and maybe it’s the alcohol or the atmosphere, but you can’t stop the word vomit.

You stop him on the sidewalk under the streetlight. There’s no one really out on this street.

“Are we ever going to get it right?” Ope, there it is.

“Get what right?” Bucky is looking at you confused and you’re hoping you can somehow telepathically tell him you mean the two of you. Together. Finally.

“Us.”

Bucky just keeps staring at you like he did that day at the gym. Neither of you say anything, he’s got a hand on your upper arm, resting there.

The regret starts to set in. Things were just getting back to a good place between the two of you, and you just ruined it.

“You know, Amanda and I didn’t work out for a few reasons, but the main one being... ugh, shit, the main reason is that she isn’t you, Y/N.” Bucky just spoke the words you’ve wanted to hear the most but it doesn’t register at first.

He must see that either on your face or through your lack of response. You feel him pulling you in, and right before he moves his lips over yours, it hits you like a train. You love him. Your stubborn, angry, beautiful, amazing Bucky.

You kiss him back with an intensity you didn’t know was in you. You break the kiss and start giggling against his mouth.

“What! I’m not that bad of a kisser!” He’s laughing now with you.

“Sorry, sorry, I just can’t believe this is finally happening. And on a secluded street, under a street lamp. Write a romance novel already, Barnes.”

Your lips to God’s ears, a group of people start walking your way. Bucky looks around and pulls you into a small walkway between two apartment buildings.

“Come here, I wasn’t done with you.” He’s kissing you up against the brick wall like a man starved and you don’t care if anyone sees you, you’ve never felt this happy in your life.

“Let’s just do this, you and me. I’m sick of pretending like you aren’t my person,” you say against his lips.

“Y/N, I want nothing else, ever.”

#bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #marvel fanfiction #bucky angst

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mrswhozeewhatsis · 3 years

Text

Soft

A/N: This is for both the @spnfanficpond's S14 Weekly Episode Challenge, week 20, and also this month's Alpha Reader Program with @deanwinchesterswitch! Kym is a great Alpha reader, putting up with so much babbling of ideas with me!!

Summary: Chuck is depowered, Jack de-poofed Eileen and Y/N, and they all rescued Cas from the Empty. (The finale never happened fight me.) Now, with no more Big Bads on the horizon, Dean needs to figure out what his happily ever after looks like. Once he does, then he needs to go get it.

Pairing: Destiel x reader

Warnings: Pining. Idjits in love. Canon-divergent after 15x19. Fluff.

Word count: 4311 words

Prompt: "I'll stop talking." "Probably a good idea."

Dean watches her throw her arms around Cas’s waist and really snuggle into his embrace. It’s done. Chuck is depowered, Jack is in charge, Y/N is back, and now Cas is back. Everything is as it should be. Dean pats Cas on the shoulder, meeting his gaze with a smile he can feel is strained, locks eyes for a second with Y/N, and heads towards his room via the drink trolley. A little time resting in the only soft thing he’s ever been allowed to keep is definitely in order.

Sitting on his bed, back propped against the headboard and whiskey bottle in hand, he forces himself to consider everything he’s been trying not to think about for far too long. Cas will want to talk at some point, and Dean knows he can’t get it wrong. Well, no, he actually could get it all very disastrously wrong, but this time, he doesn’t want to.

And he has so very much to think about if he wants any chance to get this right. First, he needs to decide what “right” looks like.

If you’d asked him a few years ago what a good life looked like, he would have denied Cas’s place in it. There were just so many reasons why Cas couldn’t be a part of any picture he’d have painted back then. That was before, though. Before Cas told him, unequivocally, that he loved Dean in a way he thought he couldn’t have.

Maybe a year ago, if Cas had said those same words, Dean would have jumped into his arms and kissed the hell out of him. At that point, he’d finally admitted to himself that Cas was more to him. That Cas meant more than Dean’s fear of someone thinking he liked dick. Cas meant more than his hang-ups about how sex worked with a dude. Cas was more than a guy, and not simply because he wasn’t human. Angel or not, Cas was Dean’s person.

That was before, though. Before Mary died. Before Chuck had his little hissy fit. Before Dean acted like an ass… again. Before Y/N.

Now, Dean sits on his bed, not drinking the whiskey in his hand because he knows it won’t help. He needs to think clearly. He needs to decide how he feels. He’s loved Cas for years. But he’s beginning to think that maybe he loves her, too.

She appeared with the army of hunters that had arrived when Chuck opened Hell. She was relatively new to hunting, so when her partner died early on, she needed an experienced partner. With Dean barely speaking to him, Cas needed something to focus on, and he took her under his wing, so to speak. Which meant Dean barely spoke to her, either, outside of barking orders.

He was just so angry at the time, and it spilled onto her. Dean didn’t want Cas around him, but then he didn’t want Cas focusing on her, either. Or giving her that squinty head tilt. Hugging her while she grieved her partner. Talking to her about lore and weapons and sigils.

With Jack and Rowena dead, Y/N filled the fourth seat in the Impala just a little too quickly for Dean’s liking. And it had nothing to do with how fondly Cas looked at her when she fell asleep on his shoulder. Yeah, he understood that she needed training and experience, but there were a million other hunters fighting ghosts and zombies with them that she could have joined.

Dean was so mad, Cas left. And she went with him. And no, Dean did not spend several sleepless nights wondering about the sexual orientation of angels.

She and Cas were hunting partners for a while, but then Cas went to Heaven, so she moved into the bunker and never left. Dean tried not to dump his shit on her, knowing that it was his shit and not hers and he was being a dick, but she was everywhere—cooking in the kitchen, beating up the heavy bag in the gym, shooting curse words into the paper targets in the range. Dean didn’t want to laugh when she slapped one on his chest that read “DICK” as she walked out the door. He also didn’t want to deck Fancypants Dean from the other world when he asked her to go with them to Rio and then kissed her, dipped her like a 50’s heroine and everything, right in front of him!

And he definitely didn’t want to miss her when she left again with Cas. They were gone, again. Alone. Soon, he realized that he missed the smell of her cooking. He stared at the taped-over hole she left in the heavy bag when she tried attacking it while wearing heels. He tried to forget how lethal she was in the gun range. He failed to stop wondering how many beds were in the motel room they were sharing each night.

He got better about not being a dick to her when they returned. He even shared his pie. The first time she gave him one of her hundred-watt smiles, he nearly melted. She offered to help wash Baby, and he accepted. Not being a dick got easier as they became friends.

Then Chuck killed her. Just poofed her into nothing. A finger snap and Dean felt like he was back on the rack, a knife slicing into his heart. Why? Watching Cas mourn her was almost as hard as admitting that he felt the same way. He shouldn’t feel this way. They were friends. But the pain and grief in Cas’s eyes were mirrored in his chest. Not that he could say that to anyone. She was Cas’s… something.

Yet, before the Shadow swallowed him and Billie whole, Cas still said that his moment of complete happiness was loving Dean.

After Cas was gone, Dean sat on the floor in the dungeon and wondered at the complete lack of black goo anywhere. It had seemed to be everywhere but had left no trace. His mind bounced against the image of Cas getting swallowed whole and ricocheted into the image of Y/N poofing into thin air. Sam’s face when he picked up Eileen’s car keys, phone, and wallet. Jack’s face burning brightly when Chuck killed him in the graveyard. Mom’s face when he wrapped a shroud around the body that wasn’t hers. Charlie’s face as she lay in that awful motel bathtub. Bobby’s face as he called them idjits one last time. Dad’s face when the doctors tried to revive him, but he was already long gone.

Dean went on autopilot. He got up from the floor, drove to Sam and Jack, and then, he … did what needed to be done. On the drive away from Chuck’s defeat, Dean tried to imagine the life ahead of him without Chuck’s influence. Just him and Sam and Jack. He pictured them in the bunker, all in black and white like the old photos of the Men of Letters in the archives. Nothing big to fight, only little hunts. Maybe there would be the occasional trip to Hell to visit Rowena. Maybe Rowena could use a hand down there? Hell sounded nice, this time of year. You know, when everyone else is dead….

Dean didn’t let himself complete that thought. He still had Sam.

Then Jack brought back Y/N and Eileen. Color returned to Dean’s world. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than Heaven or Hell. With Y/N in his arms, all he could think about was Cas. Dean needed Cas back, even if it meant watching them ride off into the sunset together. When Jack said he couldn’t get Cas as easily as he’d gotten Y/N and Eileen, she ended up crying in Dean’s arms, letting him comfort her. She comforted him. They comforted each other.

Before the big rescue, Dean decided that if Cas and Y/N chose to go off and live a happy life together, he’d wish them well, even if it meant drowning himself in whiskey.

But now they’re both here. When their departure was hypothetical, it was easy to convince himself that he could be supportive. Now that he was up against the reality of it, he could barely breathe. Yes, the two of them alive and happy together without him is better than the two of them dead, but….

Dean puts down the whiskey and grabs an open bottle of what is probably very stale water off his desk. He drinks it down and then stares at the whiskey bottle. He tries to breathe through the pain in his chest caused by the prospect of visiting Cas and Y/N in their little country cottage with the white picket fence and beehives in the backyard. Oh, how he wants to drink something stronger than water and make this pain stop.

No. He needs to say this to himself completely sober.

“I want them,” he announces to the room, quietly enough that no one outside could hear, but the words still echo in his ears. “No, I don’t just want them. I want a bacon double cheeseburger with extra onions and a slice of apple pie with a scoop of ice cream on top. I need them. I need Cas, and I need her, and I need to stop acting like I don’t.”

Picturing the little country cottage once more, he shakes his head. “I have to try. Cas said he loved me. Y/N at least doesn’t think I’m a dick. I can’t do nothing, anymore. I have to try. I have to tell them both and at least ask them to give me a chance.”

Dean pulls at his hair and sighs. “But that’s not how the world works. I can’t have them both. I need to decide who to talk to first. I need to choose.”

The angel that literally saved him from Hell but wears a vessel Dean doesn’t know how to handle, or the woman who would be the complete package if he weren’t already in love with Cas.

“How do I choose?”

And that’s all assuming that either of them even (still) wants him. Cas may have changed his mind after Dean stood there stupidly and said freaking nothing while the Empty swallowed him whole. And she’s never really indicated that she wanted anyone but Cas. And Cas has always seemed perfectly happy to indulge her attentions. Hell, maybe they will go off together to that cottage in the country and leave him alone. After the way he’s acted, it’s the least he deserves.

“If I even have a choice, I can’t choose.”

Pacing the room, he kneads the problem in his mind like a baker would knead dough. After only a couple of minutes, he tires of rolling around a thousand “what ifs” in his head and stops in front of his bedroom door, hand almost grabbing the knob to turn it.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” he asks himself, trying to give himself the courage to move. “They both say they don’t want me, they only want each other, and I’m left alone, like I’ve always been. Nothing changes for me.”

Swallowing down the blast of grief that idea causes, he takes a deep breath and watches from outside of his body as he turns the doorknob and walks down the hallway.

He hears her voice coming from her room long before he reaches it, but he’s almost in the doorway before he can make out the words she’s saying. She’s chattering in that way she does when she’s excited or nervous about something, and his heart clenches as he wonders what’s got her so jittery.

“It’s just that there’s so much to consider and so many possibilities and I’ve been waiting until now to think about it and oh god now I’m rambling and we really need to come up with a better phrase for that now that Chuck’s not in power andfuckinghellIthinkI’llstoptalking.”

Dean watches her put a hand over her mouth to stop the flow of words and can’t stop his smile. She’s adorable.

Cas sees Dean in the doorway, gives her a gentle smile, and says, “That’s probably a good idea.” He nods his head towards Dean, and she turns to look at him. They’re both sitting on the side of the bed, one of her hands is encased in both of his, and Dean feels his heart wrench at what that might mean.

He tries to read their expressions, get a feel for what’s happening in the room, but his own feelings are overwhelming him. They’re both right here, staring at him, while he’s staring at them, and no one is saying anything!

“Uh,” he starts —oh, you’re doing great there, Dean, so eloquent— before clearing his throat and taking a steadying breath, “I don’t want to interrupt you guys?”

Cas smiles, but Y/N gulps and shakes her head.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says in that way that always makes Dean feel warm inside. “It’s okay. What do you need?”

Dean tries again to read their expressions, but all he can feel is tension. Is it coming from him? “I, uh, need you,” he says to both of them, bouncing his gaze back and forth between them.

Cas stands up, letting go of Y/N’s hands, and pats her on the shoulder. “I’ll let you guys have some time alone. We can finish this later, right?”

Y/N nods, but Dean stops Cas from leaving the room with a hand on his arm. “No, Cas, I mean both of you.” Wishing that he could simply snap his fingers and have both of them automatically understand, he stares into Cas’s eyes like he’s done so many times before, trying to will his jumble of thoughts into the angel’s head.

Cas must only get static, though, because he smiles his same old fond smile, puts his hand on Dean’s left shoulder like he always does, and replies, “Of course, Dean. I’m always here when you need me. How can I help?”

Dean groans, wiping down his face with his hand while his shoulders droop. “Fuck, this is hard,” he mutters, then leads Cas back to where he’d been sitting on the bed, drags over the desk chair, and sits facing them both. “Look, I don’t do chick flick stuff, and you guys both know that, so bear with me, okay?”

Cas and Y/N both nod, and Dean wishes he had the whiskey bottle with him. Maybe a little in vino veritas would help him get through this. Staring at the two of them, he doesn’t even know where to start. He looks back and forth at each of them again, noting that they’re holding hands once more, and focuses on that.

“Look, guys, I know you two are,” he waves a hand around trying to indicate what he means, “together? Involved? Whatever you want to call it since we’re not in high school and we’ve all worked to derail an apocalypse or two. And I don’t want to mess with that. Well, not exactly. Wait, that’s not what I meant.” He takes a steadying breath and mutters, “Fuck, this is hard,” yet again.

He looks up and finally notices that both Cas and Y/N are now considerably less relaxed than they were a minute ago. Both sit stiff-backed, trying to look at anything but each other, and their hands are no longer linked.

“Wait, you guys are together, right?” Dean asks, suddenly questioning every moment he’s ever seen between them.

Y/N clears her throat and replies, “Well, that’s kind of what I was trying to talk to Cas about when you came in.” Her eyes bounce between Cas and Dean nervously and she shifts her position on the bed a little so she’s facing towards Cas a little more. “Cas, part of what I was trying to say is that I have, you know, feelings for you, that are, well, more than friendship.” Her words rush faster and faster until she gets to the end. “I held it in for so long, and then I was dead, and you were dead, and it was all awful, but now we’re back, and we’re here, and I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel what I feel.” She ends with a small gasp of much-needed air and then stares fearfully at the angel while she carefully exhales.

Cas tilts his head and squints, and Y/N slowly deflates a little bit more with every moment Cas takes to reply. Dean had no idea what he was walking into but somehow feels a little better knowing he’s not the only one feeling the need to put things on the table. The only concern now is that he might be watching the two people he wants so very much get together right in front of him, without him. Well, I’ll always have Sammy and visits to Rowena in Hell, he thinks.

“Cas? Please say something,” Y/N pleads, the panic becoming clear to Dean as her breathing quickens and her hands fumble in her lap.

“I thought you were in love with Dean?” Cas blurts out, leaving all three of them exchanging looks between them.

Dean sits up straighter and glances between Cas and Y/N, but focuses more on Y/N. “Really?” He can’t stop the word from leaving his mouth. He’s too excited by the possibility. Doing the math in his head, his heart starts to race happily. Half a chance Cas really loves him like he said, half a chance Y/N loves him like Cas said, that equals a whole chance he might actually get at least half of what he wants.

Completely ignorant to the social graces surrounding admitting other people’s feelings for other people to those other people, Cas just keeps going, turning to Dean. “Yes. I’ve noticed her engaging in some of the social actions that usually indicate romantic affection towards you. I assumed that meant she had feelings for you.”

Dean looks at Cas, then throws his hands up in the air. “Well, I’ve been watching the two of you cuddle up together all the time like two peas in a damn pod, so I knew she had feelings for you! And you’ve been cuddling right back, so I figured that meant the two of you were a thing, no matter what you said!”

Face glowing a bright red, Y/N interrupted the staring contest between the two men. “Well, I’ve been watching all the eye-fucking between you two since day one, so I thought you two were a thing! I mean, seriously, you two need to kiss or fuck or something so the rest of us can breathe clear air, again!”

Both Dean and Cas turn to stare at Y/N.

“What? You two had no problem talking about my feelings! Turnabout’s fair play!”

Cas takes hold of Y/N’s hand to ground her and says, “So, you have romantic feelings for both of us, then?”

Fear washes over her face as she nods, nervously glancing between the two of them.

Cas smiles. “And I have romantic feelings for both of you,” he states. The two of them smile at each other for a moment and then turn to Dean in unison. Their hands are clutched together, knuckles white with tension.

With two pairs of striking eyes staring at him, Dean squirms.

“Dean, we would very much appreciate you telling us what you’re thinking and feeling, right now,” Cas said, using his calmest and most caring voice. “I believe the phrase is, ‘this is a safe space.’”

Dean takes a steadying breath, looks at each of them individually, and decides there’s no use running now. He’s here. He knows there will be a soft landing when he jumps. He’s jumped into worse with less and come out winning. He can do this.

Dean takes Y/N’s free hand in one of his and squeezes it while he decides what words to use. She relaxes, her shoulders dropping, but Dean notices Cas stiffen out of the corner of his eye. Dean stiffens right along with him, bringing his eyes up just in time to see the flash of disappointment in Cas’s eyes before it disappears.

Fuck, he’s screwing this all up, already.

Words are still foreign things he can’t seem to grasp, so he decides to act instead. Still holding Y/N’s hand, he reaches with his other hand to grasp Cas’s neck and pull him in.

The kiss is awkward as hell. Cas’s eyes are wide open when Dean closes his, and then teeth clash, and Cas stays frozen while Dean tries to gently kiss some life into him. Right before Dean is about to pull away and question all his life choices, Cas melts. Cas’s hand is suddenly in Dean’s hair, pulling Dean closer as the kiss turns into the warmest, loveliest kiss Dean’s ever experienced. Cas’s lips are as soft as Dean ever imagined, the little bit of rough stubble a new but not awful feeling, and Dean’s pretty sure he could do this for hours and never come up for air. Maybe it would kill him, but he’d be okay dying this way.

Eventually, the kiss turns to little nibbles, and then they simply sit there for a moment, foreheads together and eyes closed, feeling the warmth of each other.

“I didn’t think you could feel what I feel,” Dean whispered. “And then you said you could, and you did, and then you were gone, and it was too late.” He shifts only enough to press his lips to Cas’s again one more time. “You can have everything you want, angel,” he says, pulling back enough to look Cas in the eyes.

Cas’s smile is as wide and happy as Dean’s ever seen it. They stare at each other for another one of those long moments where Dean swears Cas must be able to freeze time. Cas’s eyes shift away from Dean, and he’s reminded that he’s staring at only half of his happiness.

The other half is still holding his hand, watching him and Cas with wide eyes and a shy smile. With nothing left to lose, Dean leans in and feels the rest of his world click into place as his lips settle perfectly on hers. The kiss with her is different, and yet also the same in how right it feels. She opens her mouth a little, and their tongues slide together like they’ve done this a hundred times before. When they finally break apart, he doesn’t know what to say, so he just lets his smile loose. She smiles back, and he knows she understands.

Everything in him wants to keep going back and forth, kissing them both, but there’s always that little voice inside his head —which sounds a bit like Chuck, these days— that tells him that this isn’t real. It makes him slow down a bit, lean back in his chair, and enjoy looking at the two people in front of him. He watches the two of them kiss and is surprised when his gut doesn’t churn with jealousy this time.

Each time he had imagined what they did behind closed doors, he was miserable. Yet, here he is, watching them kiss, feeling happy. The part of him that was jealous and hurt now knows that they both want him, too. He’s not on the outside looking in, anymore.

The little voice that sounds like Chuck gets a little louder. ‘What is this, a three-way roll in the hay like with the Doublemint twins back before Hell, or those triplets with Lee? Yeah, this isn’t how real life works, pal.’

Cas and Y/N finally pull away from each other but continue to stare into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Now, Dean knows how other people have felt while he’s stared at Cas in the past. Part of him wants to laugh at that, but that evil little voice has convinced him that this is temporary. They’re all holding hands, now, like some kind of hippie prayer circle or Zen meditation thing, grinning like idiots at each other, and it can’t last.

Dean’s smile falters, and he looks down at their hands, trying to memorize this moment before it all comes crashing down. Before he has to choose. Before they have to choose. Before he loses everything.

Cas lets go of his hand and uses it to lift Dean’s chin so he sees Cas’s face again. “You can have this, Dean. We can have this, exactly like this. We don’t have to choose. It won’t be easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is, right?” Cas’s hand drops down and grasps his hand, again. “Polyamory is not unheard of and is accepted in many cultures.”

Dean looks back and forth between Cas and Y/N, gauging their feelings about this from their expressions.

Y/N giggles and shrugs when Dean looks at her, questions in his eyes. “I’m game to try if you are. I’m guessing it’s going to involve a lot of honesty and talking, but I could never choose between you.”

Dean’s shoulders relax and he takes what feels like the first deep breath of his life. He’s fallen, hard and fast, expecting the pain of a crash landing, but found a safety net instead. It’s thrilling, it’s scary, and his heart wants to burst out of his chest, but it’s all good.

Squeezing both of their hands, he grins. “Let’s do this, then.”

Later, when he and Y/N are curled into Cas in bed, who’s reading a book because he doesn’t sleep, Dean squeezes her hand on the broad chest between them and smiles when she squeezes back. When he’s asleep and dreaming about hunts and fights and beating the Devil, for the first time, when he falls, he lands softly.

#pond s14 weekly challenge #alpha reader program #mrswhozeewhatsis writes #incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis #destiel x reader #dean x reader #destiel fluff #dean fluff

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sourwolf-sterek32 · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the End

Summary: Y/N Winchester was a hunter like her brothers, following in their fathers footsteps. Saving people, hunting things, the family business.

During a case in Georgia, you meet the Dixon brothers and after saving Daryl’s life against a Chupacabra, the two of you become close. But, when the zombie apocalypse starts, life as you know it changes forever.

Basically a Supernatural/The Walking Dead crossover fic where Chuck starts the zombie apocalypse in S14E20 ‘Welcome to The End’

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Winchester!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Language, minor descriptions of blood

Chapter 2-

Then...

"So, tell me again. What's this case?" You asked, leaning forward in the backseat as you rested your arms on top of the front seat between your brother's while Dean drove the impala.

"A young boy was found in the woods this morning dead, from blood loss. His entire body was drained of blood and reports say that he had three puncture wounds on his neck." Sam explained, scrolling through the various reports and articles on his phone.

"So, we're hunting a vampire?" Dean questioned because that's what it sounded like, but why would a vamp leave the body out in the middle of the woods? And since when did they leave three puncture marks? That didn't make any sense, vampires were smart and always covered their tracks.

It took over 14 hours of driving and too many games of 'I spy' for three adults to be considered normal, but you finally reached the small town in Georgia where the incident occurred.

The town seemed like one of those shitty redneck towns that everyone just drove through and never stopped at, but you guys stopped.

The family had been living at the local trailer park that sat right on the outskirts of the woods, so you started there first. While Sam and Dean went over to the families trailer, you made your way across the park knocking on other trailer doors to ask a few questions and to tell people to stay out the woods. Because if this really was a vampire then going into the woods was just suicide.

You walked up to the last trailer taking note of the pickup truck and motorcycle parked out the front as you knocked on the front door.

"Who are ya?" A man questioned opening the door a moment later as he stared at you in confusion.

He was wearing a sleeveless flannel shirt and a black leather vest over the top. You stared at him for a moment, taking in his piercing blue eyes before you realised you should probably say something.

"Agent Cooper, FBI. I need to ask you a few questions." You explained.

The man just roll his eyes not believing a word you just said which was fair enough because you were literally just wearing a flannel and jeans, most cops would be in uniform or some fancy suit.

"Who's at the door?" A male voice questioned from further inside the trailer and within a second another guy appeared in the doorway.

He was about 10 years older than the first guy, but there was no mistaking their resemblance. They were definitely brother's. Hell, they were both wearing the same leather vest too.

"Hey there sugartits, what can we do for ya?" The older brother asked his eyes flashing up and down your body as he got a good look at you.

You rolled your eyes, not letting the redneck intimidate you as you crossed your arms over your chest and raised your eyebrow at him. The younger brother elbowed him in the side, silently letting him to shut up as you tried not to smile.

You sighed, pulling out your fake badge from your pocket and flipped it open, holding it towards them. In an instant both their expressions quickly sobered up when they realised that you weren't lying. Well, technically you were, but they didn't need to know that.

"Like I said before, Agent Cooper, FBI. Now, I need to ask you guys some questions." You repeated, tucking your badge into the back pocket of your jeans.

"This about that guy who died in the woods? The cops were here all morning, don't see why the FBI are needed, didn't he just get attacked by a wild animal or something?" The older brother questioned and you sighed, running your fingers through your hair.

Yes, that's what the police had told the public because if they said that the body had been completely drained of blood with no idea how it happened, the town would turn to chaos.

"Yes, but I still need to ask you fellas a couple questions. Have you seen or heard anything strange lately? Anything that was out of the ordinary or anything like that? I don't care how stupid or crazy it sounds, any little thing helps." You insisted, glancing between the two brothers who both seemed to actually think about the question as your eyes caught a glimpse of what looked to be a crossbow leaning up against the table in their trailer behind them. So, these guys were probably the other kind of hunters, they must go out in the woods a fair bit then.

"What about those tracks ya saw the other day, little brother? Ya said those weren't normal." The older guy suggested, looking over at his brother who shook his head, almost seeming embarrassed that his brother had bought the topic up.

"What tracks? Like deer tracks for hunting?" You asked, which seemed to catch both their attention as their eyes snapped over at you, trying to figure out how you knew they were hunters. "Can see your crossbow from here. Figured you were either hunters or liked archery. Now, what tracks?"

"S'nothin', was just out huntin' a few days ago 'n came across some tracks. Ain't ever seen tracks like that before, looked like a wolf track, but ten times the size. Didn't make any sense." The younger man muttered.

You didn't say anything for a while as you thought back to the other people you had questioned who all said that had been hearing loud howling for the past couple of nights, which you just figured were wolves, but now you weren't so sure.

"That actually helps me a lot. Is there anything else you have seen or heard? Any howling during the night or something?" You asked, but they both shook their heads.

"Nah, I sleep like a log, don't hear nothing during the night." The older one answered causing brother to snort, shaking his head.

"That’s 'cause ya can't hear nothin' over ya snorin'." He muttered causing the older brother shove him into the doorframe with a mumbled 'do not' causing you to smile slightly watching the two brothers.

"Thank you for your time. If you think of anything else or see anything else, don't hesitate to give me a call." You responded, pulling a small card from your pocket as you handed it to the younger guy. "Just stay out of the woods until this thing is sorted out, it's not safe out there." You warned and they both nodded before you walked away.

"Well, this is cosy." You commented, throwing your duffle bag over your shoulder as you followed your brothers into the motel room that they booked while you were still at the trailer park talking to the locals.

It was a small room, two beds to one side with a cracked television on the wall on the other side. There was a couple chairs, a small table and one door at the far end of the room which you figured was the bathroom. As far as motels go in small towns, this probably wasn't half bad.

"We've had worse." Dean shrugged, throwing his bag onto the first bed as you closed the door behind yourself to find Sam standing in the middle of the room, slightly hesitant about taking the other bed.

"Take it, Sammy. You guys know I don't need much sleep. I slept for a couple hours on the drive here and that's all I need." You stated, dropping your bag onto one of the chairs as you sat down on the table. Being part Angel had it benefits, your body didn't need much sleep. You could easily run on a few hours for a week, unlike Cas who didn't need to sleep at all.

"So, tomorrow we head to the hospital, check out the body and go from there. We still think it's a vampire despite those tracks one of the locals saw? Large wolf tracks seem odd, but this has vampires all over it." Dean spoke up and you looked over at him to find him now lying on his back with his arms under his head as he looked between you and Sam.

"Let's just see what those puncture marks on his neck look like first. I'm gonna take a shower, who's turn is it to shout dinner?" Sam asked over his shoulder as he pulled out fresh clothes from his bag.

"Deans." You immediately responded, causing him to glare at you as you stuck your tongue out at him with a grin. "Sam and I bought last month on that ghost case. Your turn big bro, grab a six-pack while you're out too." You added with a smirk and a second later Dean threw his pillow at you which you caught easily.

"You're never getting that pillow back." Sam chuckled as he made his way towards the bathroom and Dean quickly looked over at you with a questioning look.

You just hugged the pillow to your chest to show that you had no intention of giving it back causing him to flip you off before he grabbed his wallet and keys.

You ended up sitting on one of the chairs, resting your legs up on the table while you sat back and watched some shitty cartoon while your brothers snored softly from the beds. The crack through the middle of the screen was frustrating, but after a few hours, you didn't even notice it.

By the time the late-night cartoons finished and the bullshit morning shows and news started, your brothers finally woke up and you already had two coffees from the café down the road sitting by their bedside tables waiting for them.

"Y/N, you're amazing." Sam commented, his voice muffled slightly from his coffee cup that was pressed to his lips.

You laughed shaking your head at him as Dean sat on the edge of his own bed, drinking his cup as well.

"I know." You replied, but before you could say anything else your phone began to ring causing you to frown because who the hell calls you at seven in the morning?

"Hello? Who's this?" You answered, picking up the phone when you didn't recognise the number as you held it to your ear.

"It's Merle Dixon. I need ya help." A male voice responded, causing you to frown even more because who the hell was Merle Dixon? "This is Agent Cooper, right? Ya gave us your card yesterday, said to call ya if anything else outta the ordinary happened." The man explained and suddenly it clicked. The brothers from the trailer park.

"What happened?" You asked, sitting up straighter in your chair which seemed to catch Sam's attention as he looked over at you, but Dean was too focused on his coffee to notice anything at the moment.

"It's my brother. He went out huntin' last night, never came home." Merle explained.

Now...

Taking a deep breath, you hit the call button and leant back in your chair. You held the phone to your ear while it rang and just as you were about to hang up, he picked up on the last ring.

"Hello?" Daryl answered and you sighed with relief at his gruff, but familiar voice.

"Daryl." Was all you could say as you took a deep breath, trying to force the tears to stay away.

How were you meant to tell him that something was going to happen? That you had lost Jack? That you had killed Chuck? That your powers weren't working? How were you meant to tell him what happened?

"Y/N? Ya never call, ya always just appear outta nowhere. What's goin' on?" He asked, trying to keep his voice calm, but even you could sense the slight worry in his tone.

You and Daryl rarely talked over the phone. If he needed you, he'd pray and you'd hear him and be at his place within the second. Or if you ever needed him you'd just go to his place and he'd always be there, but you couldn't exactly do that now. Not with how your powers were acting up.

"W-we lost Jack... We lost the kid." You said, unable to stop the tears from falling down your cheeks and you wished like hell that you could just go to Daryl's right now and let him hug you.

"Shit." Daryl sighed as he tried to process what you just said.

He'd never met Jack before. You refused to let Daryl anywhere near the bunker or your family because you couldn't put him in danger like that. Every single relationship Sam and Dean have had ended terribly and you couldn't risk putting Daryl in danger. Whenever you weren't on a hunt with your brothers you were usually at the trailer park in Georgia with him, the two of you made it work.

"Come over. I'm at home with, Merle. But, I can get him to leave if ya want, he's probably 'bout to go to the bar anyway. Just come over here, ya shouldn't be alone right now." Daryl said a few seconds later and you covered your face with your hands wishing like hell that you could.

"I-I can't. My powers, there's something wrong. They're not working properly." You tried to explain, wiping the tears from your eyes.

"What do you mean they ain't working? Y/N, what happened?" Daryl asked, his voice slightly less calm and you knew he was really starting to worry.

"I told you last month that Jack lost his soul?" You asked and Daryl hummed letting you know he had heard you before you continued. "It got bad, it got really bad. Shit happened and I killed Chuck, but he killed Jack and now..." You trailed off, not really sure how to tell him about what Chuck did because you didn't even know what he did.

"Wait, ya killed God?" He questioned in disbelief and you just nodded before you realised that he couldn't see you.

"Yeah. He made a gun that could kill anything in hope that one of us used it to kill Jack because the kid was getting out of control... But, we couldn't and then Chuck started to kill Jack, so I grabbed the gun and shot him, but it was too late. Jack was already dead." You explained, hating the silent tears that were trickling down your cheeks. "Look, before Chuck died he said that 'the story was over' and said 'welcome to the end.' We don't know what it means, but something is going to happen and it's going to be big. Chuck did something to my powers, but there's more to come."

"What's gonna happen?" Daryl asked, although by the tone of his voice it was clear that he didn't want to know the answer. "If ya can't come here, I'll drive to ya. It's less than a days drive-"

"No, it's too dangerous. We don't know what's gonna happen, but whatever it is... it's gonna be bad, Dixon. Stay with your brother and keep your phone on. I'll call you if I hear anything else, but I gotta go. Just... just please be careful, Daryl. I can't lose you too." You said, your voice wavering slightly as you closed your eyes and tried to calm yourself.

"I will. Whatever happens just take care of yourself 'n your brothers. I love ya, Angel. M'sorry 'bout Jack." Daryl replied softly and you couldn't help the small smile forming on your lips.

"I love you too, Dixon. I'll talk to you later." You said before hanging up the phone as you dropped it onto the table and wiped your teary eyes.

You missed him. You hadn't seen him in person since the whole thing with Lucifer and Jack started. You didn't want to risk putting him in danger, but right now all you wanted to do was see him, but you couldn't.

"You did the right thing. He'll be safer away from us Winchesters until we figure out what's happening." Dean's voice said and you glanced over your shoulder to find him leaning against the doorway behind you with a sad smile and you nodded. He was right, but it didn't help you feel any better.

"I tried to call Rick, but he didn't answer. So, I called the station and apparently he's on sick leave or something. Deputy Walsh was very vague about where Rick was, so we couldn't get hold of him, but we called everyone else." Dean explained and you nodded again, relieved that they all knew that something was going to happen.

But, why was Rick on sick leave? Even if he was sick, he'd always answer his phone if one of you guys called.

Rick Grimes was a Deputy at King County Sheriff's Department who knew about the supernatural. He kept in contact with you and your brothers, sending you any possible supernatural incidents that he came across. His town got invaded by group vampires a while ago and you had to tell him about the Supernatural to stop him from arresting you for cutting off a person's head.

At first he thought the three of you had completely lost your minds, but he quickly realised that you weren't crazy and helped you take down the vamp nest. It had been a while since you last saw him, but it's been a while since you and your brothers had needed to drive down to King County which was a good thing because it meant nothing bad was happening down there.

"How's your shoulder?" Cas asked, appearing behind Dean as he walked into the room.

He looked over at you with a sympathetic expression and you knew he had heard your conversation with Daryl, Cas had stronger hearing than most, even you.

"I'll live. But, what are we meant to do? Just sit here and wait to see what happens?" You asked in frustration turning back around in your chair as Dean and Cas walked into the room and sat down around the table.

"We don't really have another choice." Dean sighed.

MASTERLIST

Next Chapter

Tag Lists- I will reblog with my tag lists, so if you wanted to be added to just let me know.

A/N- Another chapter is up! Thank you all so much for your support on the first chapter, all your comments and love mean the absolute world to me and help me keep writing, so thank you.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and until next time, stay safe everyone and have a great day xx

#Daryl Dixon #The Walking Dead #Daryl Dixon x Reader #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #castiel #supernatural fanfiction #Destiel

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lunaslethifold · 4 years

Text

A Summer in Ottery St. Catchpole: Part 1 (George Weasley x Potter!Reader)

Pairing: George Weasley x Female!Potter!Reader

Series Synopsis: Y/N Potter used to have a huge crush on George Weasley. She could hardly even function around him. Now fresh out of a long relationship, she can say with confidence that those feelings she harbored for years are gone. George, on the other hand, had barely even acknowledged her existence. But now that Y/N is more comfortable around him, he starts to see the real her. George starts to see her in a new light. Boy, is that bad news for him.

Warnings: none

Word Count: ~2.4k

Find the other works in this series in my masterlist (pinned and linked in my bio :))

A/N: Here’s the second part of the series, shorter than the last part as promised. Reminder that this series takes place the summer after Goblet of Fire and before Order of the Phoenix, and it doesn’t follow canon completely. I made the headquarters of the OOTP the Burrow instead of Sirius’ house, mostly because I wanted to write this in the Burrow setting. The beginning of this sort of sets up everything that is to come. Also, thank you so much for all of the support on the prologue! I honestly was hoping for like, 5 notes, so tysm! Sorry for any grammar mistakes.

Harry was sat on his bed, watching his older sister pacing in front of him. Slight annoyance started to creep up on him at her incessant movement. The Dursleys had left not long ago to get help for Dudley. The house was quiet. Too quiet.

“Y/N, would you stop that?” Harry finally said, irritated.

“Expelled, Harry. Expelled! I can’t believe it. They can’t do that. It’s not right,” Y/N replied, completely ignoring what he just said. Harry almost rolled his eyes at her. “I mean, you were protecting him! Not to mention that he already knows about magic. Goodness, I should’ve been there-”

“Y/N, shh!”

“Don’t tell me to shh, Harry. I’m older than y-” This time, Harry did roll his eyes and placed a hand over her mouth, stopping her from continuing. Y/N attempted to pry his arm off.

“Did you hear that?” he said, lowering his hand.

“Hear what?” Y/N said, glaring at him. She opened her mouth to speak but stopped short when she heard it too. There were shuffling noises coming from downstairs.

“The Dursleys?” she mouthed at Harry. He gave her a confused look. “The. Dursleys.” She tried mouthing it again, this time slower.

“What?” he mouthed back, raising his eyebrows.

“The Dursleys,” she whispered to him. Harry still looked lost. “The! Dursleys!” Y/N whisper-shouted, exasperated. This time he understood.

“What about them?” he whispered back.

“Are they back? Is their car here?” she said, gesturing at the window that Harry was standing next to. It seemed to click in his mind and he searched for a sign of their presence outside. Nothing. He turned back to his sister and shook his head. They both pulled their wands out. The noise seemed to get closer and Y/N stepped in front of Harry.

The door to their room burst open and multiple figures could be spotted in the doorway. “Lumos,” a voice said, and the previously dark room was illuminated with light. The source of the light was a wand that was held by a woman with colored hair. She smiled goofily at Y/N and she almost smiled back. Almost. But she was still in protective sister mode and raised her wand a little bit.

While Y/N was looking at the woman, Harry seemed to have noticed a figure behind her.

“Professor Moody?”

Suddenly the Potter siblings were mounted on brooms and zooming through the sky. Y/N wasn’t nearly as good as Harry was on a broom, but she could hold her own. Although she was a little bit distracted with the whole being-rescued thing, she realized that the route they were taking was familiar to her.

“Oi!” she called to the woman who had smiled at her earlier. “Er… Tonks!” This caught her attention and she turned to her. “Are we going to the Weasley’s?” Y/N yelled. The wind whipped against her face and she squinted.

Tonks nodded. “Yeah, headquarters.” She also sent Y/N the same goofy smile as before. Y/N was a bit confused, but she smiled back this time. She could tell that she already liked her.

Soon the group approached the Burrow. Or, where the Burrow was supposed to be. It seemed to have vanished into thin air. When they landed, Y/N exchanged glances with Harry. He shrugged in response. It seemed that every year they were learning something new about the wizarding world. Moody lifted his staff and the charming house that they’d spent their summers at seemed to be growing before them. They all entered the house and a different noise than the usual hustle and bustle made its way to their ears. In fact, it seemed that there was arguing going on. And not the usual sibling back and forth, but actual heated conversation.

Y/N and Harry approached the dining room table, where all the commotion seemed to be. There, they caught sight of some of their favorite people.

“Remus!” Y/N said, reacting first.

“Sirius!” Harry said from beside her. They were all wearing matching grins. As they tried to step forward, Mrs. Weasley blocked them.

“Now, now, we can say our hellos later. Upstairs you two, and we’ll call you for dinner in just a bit,” she smiled at them. Molly wrapped them in a quick hug and ushered them towards the stairs. Y/N glanced back before reluctantly walking up with Harry in tow.

When she reached the top, she was immediately pulled into a hug by Ginny. Harry greeted her before heading off to find Ron and Hermione.

“Y/N! It feels like it’s been forever. I missed you,” she said, leading Y/N to her room.

“I missed you too. What’s with all the secrecy?” Y/N replied.

“They’re having a meeting. Mum says we’re not old enough to be allowed,” Ginny said, shrugging and fiddling with the books on her desk.

“A meeting for what, exactly? No one can give me a straight answer,” she replied, plopping herself onto the bed.

“The Order of the Phoenix, of course.”

“The Order of the Phoenix, of course,” Y/N mocked, making her voice much higher than usual. She picked up a pillow and chucked it at Ginny. She threw it back at her and rolled her eyes. “Hey, where’s Fred?”

“Oh, and here I thought you were excited to see me,” Ginny replied, smiling.

Y/N groaned. “You know that is not what I meant.”

“Dad sent him and George to town to get some things for dinner.”

“Ah, okay. So, tell me more about this Order of the Phoenix,” Y/N said, turning to Ginny.

“Why tell when we can listen?” Ginny said with a mischievous glint in her eye as wide grins made their way to their faces.

That was how Ginny and Y/N found themselves in the situation they were currently in. Harry, Ron, and Hermione seemed to have the same idea and took the prime spot outside near the window.

"I think I've got an idea," Y/N said. The plan was simple, really. Ginny would throw an old book she had lying around her room to the ground floor. Then, when Mrs. Weasley went to go investigate - she was the only one who had a view of the hallway from where she was standing - the two girls would duck into the coat closet that was near the door to the dining room. It was foolproof. Okay, maybe not so much. But Y/N really wanted to hear what was going on and there was no time to think of a brilliant plan.

The moment had come. Y/N sat at the top of the stairs, waiting for the sound of the book hitting the ground. When she heard it, she dashed down and before turning the corner, she peaked just to make sure that Mrs. Weasley was gone. She wasn’t. Y/N stopped herself from running forward. That was a close one, she thought. Just when she thought she was in the clear, Ginny came barreling down the stairs and smacked right into her. Y/N, clad in socks, slipped on the wood floor and fell down, taking Ginny with her. A loud thump sounded, and Mrs. Weasley’s head snapped in their direction mid sentence. She didn’t even hesitate before closing the door with her wand.

Fred and George were walking up the hill towards the house, bags of groceries in hand. “Do you reckon Y/N and Harry are here yet?” Fred asked George.

“Well, let’s find out, shall we?” George replied, watching the house reveal itself. They stepped into the hallway and their eyes landed on a peculiar sight. Well, peculiar for George at least.

“She didn’t hear! She didn’t get up from her spot,” Y/N said. Her and Ginny were sprawled in a pile on the floor and they were too busy conversing to notice them.

“How is that my fault?” Ginny replied, trying to fix her disheveled appearance.

“I didn’t say it was-” Y/N began, but she was cut off when a pillow smacked her in the face. Ginny had reached behind her and grabbed it from the stack of laundry behind her. Time seemed to stop for a moment as a shocked and slightly offended expression settled onto Y/N’s face. She wasn’t genuinely offended, but George didn’t know that.

She recovered quickly and let out a shriek of, “Ginny Weasley! You’ll regret that!” Soon a storm of pillows and blankets were being thrown around the room as the sound of giggles filled the air.

After a minute of this Fred set his bags on the floor and blocked a pillow that was headed straight for the side of Y/N’s head. “Oi! Stop trying to pummel my friend, will you?” Fred said, with a big smile on his face. Y/N turned towards him with an equally large smile on her face.

“Fred!” she said, pulling him in for a hug. She reached up to touch the ends of his hair. “I like your haircut.”

“Your friend? She was my friend first, actually,” Ginny laughed, tugging Y/N to her side by her arm.

Fred opened his mouth to reply, but Y/N spoke first. “Actually,” she started, looking around the room for something. Her eyes landed on George. “George is my favorite Weasley,” she said, moving to stand next to them. She gently placed her hand on his arm, looked at him, and gave him a silly smile. “Hi, George.”

George was taken aback when he felt a jolt where her hand was. Fred and Ginny seemed to be protesting her statement, but he didn’t quite register what they were saying. Her hand felt nice there and it seemed to spread warmth throughout his arm. She was still looking at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but his breath hitched in his throat. Her smile was contagious though, so he managed to return it with a grin of his own. To George, it seemed like the girl next to him was looking at him for an eternity, but in reality it was only a few seconds. Something else caught her attention and she turned away, removing her hand from its spot on his arm. He felt himself almost… missing it. He tried to shake the feeling away.

What was going on?

The next day George woke up a little bit later than usual. Fred had already disappeared from their shared room. After he got ready he went downstairs in search of his twin. He tried looking everywhere, but he couldn’t seem to find him. George felt like he ran into everyone but who he was looking for. Ron, his parents, Ginny, and even Hermione. He was starting to get exasperated as he headed to the last place he thought Fred would be.

George went out the backdoor and headed to the big old tree where the treehouse that he and his siblings spent countless summer days sat. As he approached he heard laughter and chatter coming from it. He ascended the latter and found Fred and Y/N lounging lazily there. They looked like they were in their own world. As usual, George thought, laughing to himself.

“Stealing my best friend, are we?” George said when he was fully in. Fred and Y/N’s heads snapped up.

“Yeah, Fred, stop stealing his best friend,” Y/N said, sending her and his twin into hysterics. George was caught by surprise, but couldn’t help but join in too. He was a little bit confused, though. Y/N has grown less shy around him over the past couple of months, but she seemed to be letting loose more. This interaction had just confirmed what he thought when he arrived at the Burrow last night.

Y/N Potter had changed in George’s eyes.

George found himself conversing with Y/N more often than he supposed he had in his life during the next couple of days. She was suddenly more talkative around him. Not that he minded, though. In fact, George was quite enjoying her company; he hung onto every word she said. Whether they were talking about a prank Fred was planning or the upcoming school year, he couldn’t quite seem to get enough. But still, Y/N spent most of her time with Fred and Ginny. George was used to it by now, but for some reason this year he felt a bit… disappointed. He didn’t let it bother him, though, because he’s usually around Fred anyways.

George took notice of other things about Y/N besides who she spent time with, too. It first happened one evening when everyone was in the yard, save for Y/N and Ginny, who were meant to be doing the dishes. Keyword, meant.

George had run out of pumpkin juice after a particularly long match of quidditch with his brothers, so he ran into the house to get a refill. He made it to the doorway into the kitchen and paused to take in the scene in front of him. And pause he did.

The sun was setting and gave the Burrow a warm glow. The sound of a muggle song that George hadn’t heard before echoed through the kitchen. He wasn’t listening to the song, though. His attention was on the girl who was dancing with his sister. They were throwing their arms about wildy and jumping around like no one was watching them. Well, no one was supposed to be watching. Their laughs filled the air as they took turns singing the lyrics. Ginny grabbed Y/N’s arm and twirled her.

George was absolutely captivated. He felt like he had never seen someone look so effortlessly… well, beautiful. It was the only word he could think to describe her in that moment. The permanent smile that adorned her face, the comfortable clothes she was wearing, it all seemed like he had caught her in a perfect little moment. A grin made its way to his face and he gently leaned against the door frame. The song ended way too soon for his liking and the girls stopped to catch their breath.

Y/N turned around and noticed him standing there. She smiled sheepishly and waved at him. “What’s up, George?” she said, giggling slightly. When she said his name butterflies erupted in his stomach and he couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face.

This is completely fine, he thought. I’m fine. Sure, George.

Again, thank you guys so much for all your likes, reblogs, and comments on the prologue! I truly appreciate it. Let me know what you guys thought of this part. Also, what do you think of the length? Do you like them longer like the prologue, or shorter like this part? Thank you so much for reading!

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house-of-cakes · 3 years

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Jamais Vu

Masterlist || Series Masterlist

Prev || Next

Chapter 17: Gimme! Gimme! Gimme

Jungkook x Reader: enemy to lovers AU

Word count: 2164

Warnings: Swearing and mentions of slight bullying

Premise: “There’s an opposite to déjà vu. They call it jamais vu. It’s when you meet the same people or visit places, again and again, but each time is the first. Everybody is always a stranger… Nothing is ever familiar” – Chuck Palahniuk, Choke

AKA Jungkook goes in search of the girl who got him expelled.

I feel so bad posting late that I wrote a bonus chapter 😅 the extra chapter will be out this weekend.

If you would like to give feedback or be tagged in this story please send me an ask/message 😊

Tagged list: @inspinkyring @betysotelo18 @kardia-apo-marmelada @casspirit0705 @preciouschimine @therealsugababe @lucedelsole97 @deolly @lexy9716 @thesweetest-peas @sannsia

Bright flashing lights…catchy retro theme songs…the loud cheers of victory from teenage boys and girls defeating their opponents – these were the ingredients that made up Y/N’s favourite place in the world. While Namjoon found comfort on the stage, she felt most at home under the glowing neon lights of Reload.

A few years ago, Y/N had found the arcade a by chance after she had “run away” from home. She had just had an argument with her mother about her appearance and after countless moments of nagging and insults she had finally snapped and left home without permission…it was her first act of rebellion.

Y/N’s mother was fixated on looks and how a “lady” should behave and present themselves. She always claimed that Y/N she be focusing on her physical imagine instead of having her face hidden behind a computer screen. It killed her mother that her youngest child spent all of her free time working in a place she deemed to be so juvenile. Y/N knew this for a fact and if she was being honest it only added to the appeal of working there. The job didn’t pay much nonetheless she loved it just as much as she did the Magic Shop.

A young boy runs through the arcade and finds Y/N sat on top of an air hockey table (a privilege that only she was allowed). Her attention is focused on her phone, trying to keep tabs on her best friends who are working a job without her. It was not very often that she could not attend an appointment however her elderly boss had caught a cold and there was no one else to cover the busy Friday night shift.

“Noona.” The soft whimper of the young boy catches her attention. “What’s wrong, buddy?” She jumps off the table and kneels so that she is eye level with the child “A-an older-r b-boy…” his words are choppy as his small body shakes with sobs “Stole my game.” “That wasn’t very nice of him. Can you point him out so Noona can have a chat with him.” The little boy continues to whimper but with some comforting words of reassurance and 5 free game tokens, she is able to convince him to point in the direction of the most popular first-person shooter game towards the back of the arcade.

“Thank buddy, that was very brave of you. I promise you in 10 minutes the game will be free for you to play.” She wipes the last of his tears and ruffles his hair for good measure “Come find me soon, ok?” The boy sniffling boy nods as Y/N quickly makes her way to the other side of the room.

At the game Y/N stands off to the side of the machine and pauses to analyse the teenage boy and his skill. The teen would get easily flustered each time a surge of villains would rush after his character and he would frequently let out a string of cuss words whenever he missed his mark, he was an amateur and it showed.

Suddenly his life bar at the top right of he screen started flashing, indicating that his game would soon end if he was not careful with his energy. This must have been enough motivation for him to focus better because his kill streak went from 3 to 9 in almost an instance. A wicked plan formed in Y/N’s head as she he went in for the last shot of the level.

“Hey!” she called out to him causing him to flinch and miss his target. This caused a fatal error as the enemy on screen took the opportunity to shoot his character right in the face. The teen let out a sound of frustration as the screen read ‘Game Over’ in giant letters and request more tokens to continue. Y/N waited for him to insert the coins before making her presence known in front of him.

“You stupid bitch! You made me lose my game.” He grumbled and lift his gun to continue playing. Y/N reached over to the power point behind the game and switched it off.

“Get the fuck out of my arcade.” She spat and point towards the exit “Reload has a strict no bullying policy so don’t think for a second you’re getting a refund on those tokens.” The teen didn’t bother arguing, he has realised his mistake when he figured out who she was and walked away looking rather embarrassed he had been called out in front of everyone on a busy Friday night. He was sure his class mates would all be talking about it come Monday morning.

The screen of the machine flickered back to life as Y/N switched the power back on, she waited to make sure that the unexpected reboot did not affect the game. The download bar reached the end of the bar and loaded the high score screen. She read over the listed and frowned when she got to a name that had been annoying her lately – Nochu.

This Nochu person had climb two positions high on the leader board since the last time she had checked this game and the achievement displeased her. That name was popping up on the leader boards of many games recently and while she did not feel her abilities were being threatened, she was annoyed that she could not put a face to this person.

Hours later back at the Kim residence, the two cousins enjoy the cooling weather on their porch as Jin attempts to tune his guitar by ear.

“The Basement wasn’t closed tonight.” Jungkook states when he scrolls through his Instagram feed and comes across a new post by the club “I never said it was.” Jin pays no attention to his cousin, instead he fiddles with the knobs at the head of guitar and plucks at a string once he believes he’s tightened the key enough. The sound rings out and the pitch is too high. “So why did we go to Reload instead?” Jin repeats the process with the chord again, the pitch is closer to where its supposed to be however the sound is still off. “None of the guys had a battle or a performance tonight.” He explained as he plucked at the string again and again, trying to pin point why it sounded wrong “And Y/N had to work, so we decided to hang with her instead.” “So we went for Y/N?” Jungkook tone was accusatory “No one forced you to tag along.” Jin fired back, he had stopped trying to tune the guitar to face him “She’s always supports the guys at the Basement, sometimes we repay the favour by making an appearance there to help drum up business.” Jungkook scoffed “You told me Reload was popular because she attracts people with her skills…if that’s the case why would she need you guys?” “She doesn’t need us at all.” Jin moved his guitar from his lap and lent it against his seat. He was frustrated with it and this conversation was adding to the stress. “That’s the thing about having a good relationship with people…you do things to support them, even when they don’t ask.” “Oh yeah? If she’s so good why is she only ranked second on all the high scores.” Jin rolled his eyes at his cousin, he was being petty again and completely missed the point he was trying to make. “Mr S.K?” Jungkook nodded in confirmation.

Jungkook was becoming a regular at Reload and it was evident to him that Mr S.K was clearly the real champion of the joint. The guy had dominated every game of the arcade by holding highest score and while Y/N’s name always sat below his, her score was always miles away from meeting his. To Jungkook this was clearly another instance of Y/N receiving praise and adoration where it was not merited… it was Mr S.K who deserved to celebrated and yet it was Y/N who stole his popularity. If he had to come up with an explanation as to how this occurred, he would bet all his money it was because Y/N was considered to be “beautiful”.

“Mr S.K has held the top for as long as anyone can remember. There’s no mystery to who he is…He’s obviously the owner of the arcade.” Jin windshield wiper boomed out and filled the stillness of the night as his cousin’s face fell.

Jungkook pondered on the last few weeks, there was so much background information he didn’t know and for some reason his brain chose to fill in the gaps by somehow hating on Y/N.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car blaring loud music as it sped up and down the street.

“What the fuck is going?!” Jungkook exclaimed as he stood from his seat and made his way to the top of the porch stairs to get a better look at car. “Ah my Angel is home!” Jin jumped up and went to stand next to Jungkook. “Does she always carry on like this? She drives like a dipshit.” “Nah, that’s not even her driving. You see a while back she got caught at the illegal races, her parents made her sell her car as punishment... She must have gotten into a fight with her mother, this is how she always gets back her.”

The car finally stopped doing laps down the street and pulled up into Y/N’s drive away. The pair watched as Y/N jumped out of the passenger side of the car and wave to the driver as they pulled away from the house. She was still unaware that she was being watched by them

“Hey Brat!” Jin called out, capturing her attention “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not take rides from strangers?”

Jungkook’s breathe hitched at the thought of Y/N allowing herself to be in a car with a stranger, especially someone who drove like a lunatic. He didn’t catch a glimpse of the driver but surely, she wasn’t reckless enough to put herself in such a dangerous situation…was she?

“She did, that’s what make’s it all the better.” Y/N bantered on smugly, Jungkook couldn’t figure out if she was joking or not. “Well it’s past your bed time young lady, you march right on inside and get right to bed.” Y/N let out a sound of fake indignation and clutch her hand to her check overdramatically. “To think I raced all the way here with a surprise and this is how you treat me? You really are such a punk!” “A surprise?!” Jin’s eyebrows shot up in excitement, the façade dropped immediately. Everyone knew she gave the best surprises. “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” he demanded and waved her over to them. Y/N laughed at his eagerness and rummaged through her bag as she closed the distance between them.

“Sorry I didn’t have time to wrap it.” She purposely handed him a grey game cartridge face down so there was some kind of element of surprise to the gift. His eyes widen comically when he turned it over and read the title of the game. “Y/N…is this…??” For the first time in Jungkook’s life he had seen his loud mouth cousin speechless. “Yah! Don’t make a big deal of it.” She tried to brush it off “Consider it an extremely late birthday gift.” “Not a big deal? This is the original Super Mario Bros 3! I played this game every day as a kid then this idiot blew it up somehow.” He nodded his head in Jungkook’s direction who rolled his eyes in response.

The incident happened years ago and he still hadn’t heard the end of it, he pretended like it didn’t bother him but deep down he felt so bad for accidentally destroying something his cousin held so dear to him.

“I’ve been trying to find it ever since! This must have cost you a fortune.” “Like I said…it’s no big deal. I was cleaning out storage at work and found it packed away, we never got round to fixing game console for it so the boss-man was nice enough to let me have it.”

That was a bold-faced lie.

Y/N had known about the sentimental significance this game had to Jin and went in search for it many months before his birthday. She only managed to get the game after she traded a set of mint condition baseball cards, she had acquired as collateral when a client fell through their end of a deal.

“Y/NIEEE this is why you’re my angel! Thank you so much.” He pulled her towards him and wrapped her up in a big bear hug. Jungkook felt out of place as he watched Y/N shriek and attempt to struggle out of his grip as he showered her with love…he could help but feel jealous of the fact that she could fix a mistake that he had made so long ago.

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shesawriter39049 · 3 years

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|UNWRAP ME| M|

Pairing : Jimin X Reader (Ft a lil Tae)

“There’s a bow on my panties because my ass is a present!”

About- Honestly, you were just trying to prep gift bags for your company’s holiday party! But Jimins stressed, and needs a little brain reset sooo….I guess we’re prepping gift bags later!

Or- The company has quite a few deadlines to hit before you guys close for the holiday! Jimin’s in charge of talent and everybody’s fucking up…but in your line of work it’s a domino affect! So if his crew falls behind ultimately everybody’s behind! Hints Jimin’s stress and frustration....

WC: Sneak peek (1k)

WARNINGS: (FULL THING): Teasing, light edging, dirty talk, top/bottom OC, top/power bottom Jimin, hand restraints, unprotected sex, over stimulation, fingering (F receiving), biting/marking kink, VERY light degration kink (he playfully calls her a “little bitch/slut” once) light come play, light spanking

FINAL NOTE: This is a stand alone smut drabble within my OT7 poly universe called “7 DEEP”. Short AU SUMMARY: Your husband Namjoon and yourself run a successful Adult Film Entertainment Company called “Onyx” with your 5 best friends from college who you also happen to be in an open relationship with! P.S. If you’re new here Kookie joins the party a little later….

*Pierced Jimin/Red haired “Dope” Era Jimin meets 2020 Jimin!?

*Also it should go without being said but Jimin, IS Westernized, he’s from LA in this ffs!

*In true Rocki fashion I decided to do holidy prompts late af & did not finish in time for the main Holiday but w/e! Note, there is some backstory here bc this was set to be the 1st of 3 holiday prompts!** ___________________________________________________

Sunday, December 14TH, 4PM

“Alright, so you wanna hear some bullshit?!”

K, well that’s apparently Jimin, musing around a mouth full of fries! I love how no one even bothers to knock, give notice they just show the fuck up! Whenever...

Cute.

I swear it sounds like your running a damn liquor store because there’s an obnoxious amount of bells and mistletoe hanging above the door almost acting as a doorbell at this point. Just casually Fa-la-laing together, echoing throughout your entire apartment every damn time the door opens! Honestly, your slowly regretting giving Jin and Tae free reign with decorations because that shits annoying as all hell!

Gaze still focused on your original task, not even looking in his direction “Don’t trip over the-“ There's a loud thud, followed by an obscene groan, accompanied by an even louder “Fuckkk!” Which solidified he did in fact trip over the ....

“....Box with Jin’s other Christmas tree in it ...” The words kinda died off your tongue at this point because well, clearly the warning did not fare well! “If anything’s broken I’m totally snitching just so we’re clear” Sassing over a half empty glass of spiked eggnog.

Now that you’ve finally looked at him, you find yourself hiding a smirk behind your cocktail as well! The boy is fine, you’d give him that! Looking like a model off duty, in his low cut white v, neck hidden beneath a distressed leather jacket! Topping off the look with a pair of chunky combats and disrespectfully tight dark wash denim jeans! I swear they damn near looked painted on, aviators resting on the bridge of his nose! Gucci backpack slung over his shoulder, Starbucks in one hand, and some brown bag full of grease in the other! Jimin recently went back red, looking dangerously close to the same 18 year old you met, at UCLA almost years ago now! Just a boujier version, it’s like this Jimin’s from Calabasas instead of the Bay! Though your down for both options if we’re being real!

Not that Jimin’s not equally as good of company as well, you were honestly just expecting Tae! The two of you were starting to put together the gift bags for next week's holiday party! Hints the hot ass mess all over the floor of your living room, it’s a disgusting pile of shopping bags and boxes! Everything from Amazon to Saks Fifth, at this point you aren’t even sure where the fuck your floor starts or ends! One thing you do know for damn sure is Hobi’s going to have an aneurysm If he sees it! Sooo, hopefully Tae shows up sooner than later...

It’s become a tradition, or at least since the companies been profitable enough to do so! First off, you’re love language has always been a combination of “Gifts” and “Acts of service, so shit like this is essentially second nature!

However, quality time has slowly slipped its way into the mix over the past couple of years as well! Especially considering it’s almost a luxury for the seven of you at this point but you try not to complain! I mean Namjoon and yourself just did an interview last week for Forbes 30 under 30 for fucks sake! But anyway, like I was originally saying this little party is your way of trying to give your staff a combination of all 3 said love languages!

Above everything else you all work your asses off well, aware this is far from a 9-5, yet they give you their best constantly! Yeah, it was built on the backs of you and your boys but it wouldn’t be were it is now without everyone else! So, with that being said the schedule is as follows!

1.Bust ass and hit all of your year end deadlines by December 22nd.

2.The holiday party is on the 23rd...

3. Thennnnnn....after that the companies closed until the 2nd of January!

Well kinda, if we’re being real the 7 of you never fully stop working, but you damn sure plan to try! I guess it’s the beauty and the curse of having damn near everything accessible on your phone! I swear this morning Joon was washing your back whilst you read him the latest profit/loss update from Jin soooo......that’s that!

Everyone else however....off duty with pay!

Which brings us back to the original task at hand before Jimin showed up,prepping the gift bags that get handed out at said holiday party! The invite list is pretty exclusive honestly,outside of your staff, and there plus one, the other guests are typically the immediate crew/ talent used throughout the year on various productions! Oh, there’s also special little packages mailed out to a couple of the company's sponsors as well! So all together were looking at at least 100 gift bags give or take! Of course at this stage you guys go all out but that’s not what it’s about! It’s legitimately the thought that counts!

Little gestures like this just remind people that you care,that they’re on your mind even if they aren’t currently doing you a favor! That’s what sets Onyx apart, all the little things you do without even thinking about it! Coffee, donuts, catering on set for long shoots,or even the little kits Jimin brings with him to set for the models! Fully stocked with soothing cream, heating pads, the full nine! It’s actually sad how much of a rarity it is in your line of work!

Obviously, it goes without saying that those types of gestures aren’t feasible for everyone....However there’s companies worth more than you that do amples less!

But anyway back to Jimin and Tae! As I mentioned when the door originally opened you were expecting a mop of silver locks as opposed to red! Baby boy ran out to pick up the custom gift bags from this Indie vendor in WeHo. Hint’s why you were expecting Tae instead, now, why Jimins here I have no damn idea! Clearly we’re about to find out and apparently it’s “Some Bullshit!”

Honestly outside of checking his OOTD you didn't truly look at him. Far too busy propped on top of your oversized dining room table sorting through a manusery of “Thank you” cards!

Eyes flicking to the left ever so slightly as you hear him shuffle closer “I-yeah sure what bullsh-wait are you eating my DoorDash?!”

It’s the way you constantly have to remind yourself that jail will not be like Orange is in the new black! Because I swear you damn near chucked this martini glass at that fire engine red dome of his!

Jimin just shrugs, a little nonchalant and unenthusiastic, almost as if he’s inconvenienced actually...

“Mmm, depends on perspective” He deadass just stuffed two more fires in his mouth! You're literally going to strangle him! It’s borderline painful how hard your jaw tick, eyes narrowed in his direction!

Brows arched so damn high your gonna end up needing Botox from the permanent crease embedding within your skin. “Perspect-your literally eating-“

Holding a solitary finger in your direction “Tae just text me and said look at your phone and text him back...with like, a million pouty faces. Also, different note, who changed the decorations I placed on the mantle?! “

Jimin’s hand is now resting on his hip, legitimately angry about these damn decorations! I think his neck even did a couple rolls in the process, and I’m willing to bet,before he leaves they will be swapped out again!

A frustrated groan attempts to leave your throat though it goes unacknowledged as your lacking any ounce or bite! Far too fond of both of your boys to truly be agitated at the moment! Actually that’s a lie, you high key wanna punch Jimin but it’s fine ....

“That, would be Jin, he said they clashed with the table decor” Pointing to all of the gold, and maroon colored decorations donning the marble coffee table “So, if your pissed go curse him out because I could give less than a damn! Now where the fuck is my phoneeee”

Hopping off the table causing your oversized UCLA Alum hoodie to hike over your ass. Said ass is covered or barely covered considering your cheeky, red, ruffle little panties are in fact assless! A cute little bow perched right on top of your tailbone, as if to direct the eye where to go….

Jimin is now choking on stolen fires and yeah there’s a smirk on your face as you grab your phone!

Mmmmhmmmm...and to think, maybe if he wasn’t being such a brat you’d let him unwrap one of his gifts a little early!

“Baby now he’s calling meeee” Anddddd he’s whining, wiggling his phone like it’s on fire! Ya know, moments like these in fact remind you that Tae and Jimin are the youngest!

“Oh for fucks sake!” Huffing in his direction snatching the phone and bag of Five Guys away in the process!

“Yes baby?” It’s actually terrifying how quickly your tone, and entire demeanor just switched! Somewhat reminiscent to how you’d see a mom scold one child then baby talk another all in the same breath!

Jimin without a doubt noticed too, lip jutting out in a pout and no matter how many times you roll your eyes you still find yourself leaning forward kissing it right off! He moans into it and you Instantly taste the tangy seasoning from your fries, especially once he tries to swipe his tongue past the seam of your lips. The feeling of that tiny piece of metal playing in his mouth almost distracted you, but alas...the notion immediately reminds you why you were irked to begin with! Without even thinking you lean back into nipping at his bottom lip, though...this is Jimin we’re dealing with here! So whatever you thought you’d achieve is now dead, because a needy little whine just rustled in the back of his throat

Speaking of love languages,there’s another called “Physical Touch” which has the words Jimin Park written all over it. So with that being said you really should’ve already been prepared for whatever’s about to unfold.

It’s subconscious at this point, head dropping down to the crook of your neck, nosing up a vein like a neglected puppy! Squeezing your waist hard enough to damn near engrave his thumb print in against your hip bones! Well, clearly he doesn’t want you going anywhere anytime soon!

So what do you do instead? Place the bag of food on the bar, hold the phone in one hand and bring the other up to play in his freshly dyed locks! I swear this man is a second away from purring so maybe he’s not a puppy after all. Suddenly his ring clanned fingers trickle down your spine heading south, flexing his palm to squeeze down around the swell of your ass! Shifting you forward so your chest to chest...

So, here you are trying to cater to both of your boys at once...lord help you!

“No, of course I wasn’t ignoring you, I was just busy-yes Tae. You wanna put what in a what,Now?”

~~~~~

Hiii, as I mentioned above this was kinda last minute, I wrote out prompts on the 21st, then adult life kicked in. I actually had my own little office Christmas party to plan (Nothing on this scale obviously because well, we know the way the real world is rn) However because of that I couldn’t truly work on this until the 24th. However it’s been a long time since I wrote/wanted to write so I opted to just post it anyway! Hopefully the full thing will be up by the 28th at the latest.

I have also attached the overall masterlist for this AU!

7 DEEP

#jimin #jimin smut #jimin x reader #jimin x you #park jimin #park jimin smut #park jimin x reader #bts #bts smut #bts x reader #bts au #kpop #kpop smut #bts poly #bts poly au

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twomanyideas · 3 years

Text

Through the Spyglass

A collaboration by @mdelpin and @oryu404

Gratsu Weekend 2021 Prompt: Secret Pairing(s): Gray x Natsu, Sting x Rogue For @walkinginfiction

AO3 | Next: Ch 2 Summary:

“You little pervert!” Sting teased, “You’ve been watching him, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t!”

“Bullshit! How else would you have known that?”

“I -,” Natsu tried to think of any other way he could have discovered that little fact, but came up empty. “It’s only been a few times, I swear! I was just trying to find an excuse to approach him.” He hid his face in his hands, embarrassed at being found out.

“Well, lucky for you, I’ve got just the thing!

Chapter 1

“Nghh, that’s soooo good!”

It mattered little to Natsu whether his housemate Sting was fucking his new boyfriend Rogue or just eating. He’d already discovered the hard way that it was impossible to tell the difference from their sounds. Each one a reminder that while Sting was feasting, Natsu was very much in the middle of a famine.

“You like that?”

Natsu scowled in response. Did they have to be so fucking loud? He turned his stereo on, determined to drown out the noises that were coming from the room next door. It helped a little, but not enough to distract him from what may or may not be happening. And it was late enough there’d be nowhere for him to go.

Where were those comic books he’d been meaning to catch up on? A quick glance around his room was enough to let him know there was no way in hell he was finding anything. Clothes, both clean and dirty, littered the floor and just about every other available surface except his closet. Sealed boxes lined up the walls, waiting for him to get his shit together and finally unpack.

Fiine.

He grabbed as many clothes as he could carry and made his way to their laundry room, also known as the bathroom.

Lalala I can’t hear you, he thought as he walked past Sting’s closed door, although of course he could, and now Rogue was joining in, expressing his approval at what must arguably be the most delicious ice cream sundae ever fucking made.

Why had he agreed to room with Sting again?

Open the washer door, chuck clothes inside, pour detergent in the dispenser and hit start. Great, ten points for adulting. Covering his ears with his hands, he hurried back to his room, grabbed the nearest box and sat down, using his pocketknife to open it up. Might as well get started on some of those now that he could walk around his room again.

That was his intent, but in the end he couldn’t help but examine the items one by one, fascinated by what he found among them. To be fair, even he would admit most of it was junk. He had no recollection of how he’d ended up with most of it, but that’s what made them so fascinating.

Score!

Finding a container of spicy jalapeño cotton candy, age unknown, he shoved some into his mouth. It was a little stale, but perfectly edible.

He placed the textbooks on the floor without a second look, having already seen more of them than he ever wanted to. There were some more clothes, the exercise ones he’d been searching for, for quite some time.

He scratched his head, wondering who the hell had packed this box. A set of three sex dice, a gag gift from Loke, were next. Maybe he should give them to Sting. He’d certainly get more use out of them.

Knit Your Own Boyfriend, another gag gift from Sting this time, joined the textbooks on the floor. Porn for Women, a book which had pictures of guys doing household chores and shit, almost joined it until Natsu realized some models in it were pretty hot. He’d keep that one.

101 Ways to Annoy Your Roommate

He glared at the wall between their rooms. Yep, keeping that one too.

Next came decision dice with messages like Fuck it, Fuck that and Fuck If I Know, followed by a nose flute, a bottle of Maybe You Touched Your Genitals hand sanitizer, a tube of bacon lip balm, and a bar of Uranus soap. Every item he pulled out was more entertaining than the last.

He positioned the flute over his nose and mouth and breathed out, having a great time attempting to play along to the music while he continued unpacking, bursting into giggles and some rather interesting sounds when he realized how terrible he sounded.

It was only when he took out the last item, a pair of binoculars Igneel had gifted him when he’d been a boy scout many, many years ago, that he realized all he’d done was clutter the floor again by spreading out the box's contents.

In no mood to do even more cleaning up, he examined the binoculars carefully, worried they might have broken in the move. He should probably test them out.

Picking a random subject- the dragon poster hanging above his bed, he aimed the binoculars on it and looked through them. They seemed in great condition, outside of some smudges and dust on the lenses. He grabbed a microfiber cloth off his desk and used it to wipe the lenses clean.

With nothing better to do, he pulled his curtains back and held the binoculars up to his eyes, searching for anything that might hold his interest for a few minutes. He’d settle for a trash-digging raccoon at this point.

What he found, however, was much more interesting. The house across from theirs, which had sported a For Rent sign for as long as he could remember, had a moving van in front of it, and the lights inside the house were on. He was a little curious why someone would move in this late at night, but that thought ceased to have any importance as soon as he got a good look at his future husband- uhm, new neighbor.

The guy had dark hair that stood up in unruly spikes. His skin gleamed in the moonlight, so much so Natsu wondered if he might be glittering like a certain gay vampire. He can absolutely bite me! Yum! And if that wasn't the sexiest fucking glower he’d ever seen in his life, Natsu didn't know what was.

He couldn’t make out the guy’s eyes, but he was almost willing to bet they were blue. This was all great, but it was his chest that Natsu kept staring at because for once in his life God had been merciful and the guy was shirtless, giving him the opportunity to ogle every one of his taut muscles.

“What are you doing?”

Natsu jumped at the sound of Sting yelling behind him, almost losing his grip on the binoculars. His hand moved to his heart as the nose flute squeaked loudly from his rapid breaths. He removed it, tossing it on his bed, and glaring at his roommate who stood laughing at him. “Jesus Fucking Christ, Sting!”

“What? I tried calling out to you, but your music was too loud.” Sting tiptoed his way around the mess on the floor to get to the stereo, lowering the volume so they could speak without having to shout at each other.

“Well, if you and Rogue hadn’t been having a food orgy next door, I wouldn’t have had to play it so loud.”

“Yeah, nice deflect. Wait, are those your scout binoculars? What were you looking at?”

“N-nothing, yep nothing at all.” “Ah, so you like listening in and spying on people, huh?” Rogue stood in the doorway, still licking what Natsu only hoped would be sundae off his fingers.

“I do not!” Natsu spluttered, “You guys are loud enough the new neighbor probably heard you!”

Fuck.

“There’s a new neighbor?!” Sting jumped over the box, grabbing the binoculars, which were still hanging around Natsu’s neck, and pulling them up to his eyes. “Oh, I see what you were looking at, alright,” he snorted.

“You’re cho-king me,” Natsu gasped out. “Whoops, sorry about that-” Sting pulled the string over Natsu’s head and continued to observe the scene across the street. “You should go over there and offer to help him out.”

“Hell no.” “Why not? He’s cute.”

“Because it’s like 11 o’clock and he’ll think I’m a weirdo.”

“It’s not that late. If we were still at the dorm, you wouldn’t think twice about it,” Sting pointed out. “You could take your shirt off too.”

“Yeah, cause that’s normal,” Natsu didn’t like the way Sting’s eyes seemed to twinkle. Not one bit.

“Man up, Dragneel,” Rogue dared, joining them at the window to get a look at the guy they were talking about.

“Look, I get you guys would like nothing more than to get me out of the house, but I’m broke and I’m not about to go make a fool of myself just so you can get it on. Besides, newsflash, not everyone is gay.” “Your point? Not everyone’s straight, either,” Rogue countered, crossing his arms. “Yeah, and I hate to break it to you, but we’re gonna get it on regardless,” Sting snickered, earning himself an eye roll from Rogue when he used the binoculars to zoom in on him.

“Right, well, don’t let me keep you,” Natsu said, grabbing the binoculars from Sting before he shoved both of them away from the window and closed the curtain.

“Ooh, sex dice!”

“You want them? Here, take them,” Natsu said, offering the dice to Sting and then throwing them out the door as hard as he could.

“Hey!”

“You don’t really expect him to chase after them, do you?” Rogue chuckled, unconvinced, but his laughter died abruptly when Sting hurdled over all the crap on the floor like some kind of Olympic athlete. “Suck, toes, 50 seconds!” “You were saying?” Natsu’s grin was smug as he shooed Rogue out of his room, locking the door behind him and collapsing in a tired heap on the floor. Those two were fucking exhausting.

A few moments later he realized he was wasting precious time and dragged himself back to the window, hoping to find his new neighbor still out there lifting boxes out of the van. Sadly for him, he was not. Although the lights were still on, the doors to the moving van were closed and despite his best efforts, Natsu wasn’t able to see him anywhere inside the house either.

He had to admit that Rogue was right. It was stupid not to even try just because he was afraid of a negative outcome. That had never exactly been the Dragneel way of doing things, although of course that might also be why he crashed and burned much more than he scored.

His cheering squad, however, was about as dangerous as a firing one, so if he was going to make a move he’d have to keep it a secret from them for as long as he could manage it.

He’d just have to watch a little longer, at least until he found an opportunity to introduce himself. Satisfied with this plan, he set his music on a timer and climbed into bed, already looking forward to learning more about his neighbor in the coming days.

0-0

“He’s so not straight,” Rogue called from the bottom of the stairs, closing the front door behind him and announcing his arrival a moment before coming up.

“Yay, you’re back,” Natsu muttered, not even bothering to look up from the magazine he’d been reading.

“Who’s not straight?” Sting came out from the kitchen, holding a bowl of chips and plopping on their living room couch.

“Your new neighbor,” Rogue said, looking incredibly pleased with himself as he took off his shoes and jacket.

Natsu flipped the page, refusing to take the bait even though he was itching to know more. “Fascinating, and how would you know that exactly? Did he show you his membership card?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Well, that caught his interest. Natsu waited for him to say more but the sonofabitch knew he had him and now he was going to force him to ask. Sadistic asshole.

He stayed strong, willing Sting to ask for him, but the bastard just kept shoving chips into his mouth and watching the two of them with interest.

Natsu turned the page of his magazine slowly, attempting to wait Rogue out.

“I saw him arrive when I got here, so I thought I should introduce myself,” Rogue explained, keeping Natsu waiting while he joined Sting on the couch, greeting him with a kiss.

“You talked to him?!” Natsu threw his magazine on their coffee table, dropping all pretense of disinterest. “What did he say?!”

“He said his name’s Gray Fullbuster, and that he moved in a few days ago. So then I said, yeah, I know, we watched you through a pair of binoculars.” Natsu could feel all color vanishing from his face, while Sting almost choked on his chips. “Kidding,” Rogue snorted, smacking his boyfriend on the back a few times. “I asked him where he’s from since he has a bit of an accent. Turns out he’s from Isvan.” “He’s got an accent?” Natsu groaned. He was so screwed.

“What’s the matter with him?”

“Natsu has a thing for accents, always has.” “And you have a thing for assholes!” Natsu retorted, tossing a pillow at Sting’s face, hoping he’d stop laughing. “I mean, don’t we all?” Sting caught the pillow and put it behind his head. “Oh, speaking of which, how do you know he isn’t straight?” “It wasn’t hard,” Rogue shrugged, shoving his hair back away from his face, “His backpack had a bi flag pin on it. Oh, and he asked me if there was an art supplies store downtown, so I figure he’s an artist.”

“Yeah, he is.” Natsu blurted out, recalling the night he’d spent an hour watching Gray sketching a cat, fascinated by how lifelike he’d made it seem. The sudden look that passed between his friends made him realize his mistake.

“You little pervert!” Sting teased, “You’ve been watching him, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t!”

“Bullshit! How else would you have known that?”

“Well, lucky for you, I’ve got just the thing!”

Natsu peered at Rogue from between his fingers, not sure he liked the way he’d said that, especially when he looked like a cat who had just swallowed a canary whole.

“What did you do?”

Almost as if by magic, several envelopes materialized in Rogue’s hand.

“I may have liberated some of his mail.”

“Are you out of your mind?! You can’t just take someone’s mail, Rogue. That’s illegal!” “Says the stalker. Besides, it’s only illegal if you get caught,” Rogue smirked, examining the envelopes in his hand before setting them on the coffee table. “These were just delivered to the wrong mailbox, that’s all. They look important, though. You should make sure he gets them back. We wouldn’t want him to get in trouble.”

Sting had the decency to look shocked, but that only lasted for about a minute, replaced by what Natsu could only interpret as admiration. “That’s perfect!” And next thing he knew, they were in full scheming mode, mumbling to each other as if he wasn’t even there. “He should open up a few buttons, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. Maybe fluff up his hair?”

"On it!"

“Oh, no. I want no part of whatever it is you two are thinking!” Natsu made a show of grabbing his magazine and opening it back up, but Sting had already gone off to his bedroom. The ominous sounds of him rummaging through closets and drawers traveled through the walls, and soon he returned holding a bunch of items. A comb, a tube of hair gel, some fancy-looking body spray, one of his infamous crop tops, and… was that Natsu's bacon lip balm?

"Did you just steal that lip balm from my room?"

"It's not stealing if I'm using it on you, dumbass. Now be still."

“Get away from me with that crap!” Natsu stood up from his chair, ready to bolt and lock himself in his bedroom.

“You wound me,” Sting sighed. "I even grabbed you my best one-" he held up the top and pouted at it.

“I am not putting on one of your stupid shirts.”

"His shirt's fine," Rogue sided with Natsu for once, “it just needs some re-adjustments.” He straightened the collar of Natsu’s button-up, pulled down the sleeves so he could roll them up neatly again, and opened up the two top buttons.

“Pucker up!” Sting made kissy faces as he approached him with the lip balm, and although Natsu refused to purse his lips, that did nothing to dissuade him. He still managed to apply a generous amount of it on the general area of his mouth.

“Ugh, that tastes awful!” Natsu complained, wiping the excess off with his hand.

“It’s bacon, man. All dudes love bacon, am I right?” “On my plate, yes. But on your face?” Rogue looked like someone spit in his socks.

Sting didn’t let Rogue’s response get him down, cheerfully moving on to the next item in his arsenal. A bottle of body spray that had little bits of something floating in it. Was that-

“Glitter?! No way, no how. I’m going to look ridiculous.”

“You’re going to look and smell awesome.”

“It’s glitter.”

“Which of us has a boyfriend?”

Okay, Sting had him there, but did he really need to be primped up like some schoolgirl about to go to Prom just to say hi to the guy? It was humiliating. If he went through with this ridiculous ploy, and that was still a big if, he wanted to at least make a good impression.

“It smells nice, and Gray’s an artist. Maybe he’d appreciate the glitter,” Rogue said, grabbing some chips from the bowl and moving over by Sting.

“He doesn’t make kids art projects. He draws beautiful, realistic looking pictures.”

“Oh, sorry,” Rogue fake apologized, holding up one hand next to his head while feeding Sting chips with the other.

Sting took advantage of Natsu’s distraction, spraying him before he could protest further.

“Hey, watch the face!”

Natsu had to admit the spray smelled nice, but in his rush to do a sneak attack, Sting had sprayed very liberally, covering not only Natsu but the coffee table, which had Gray’s mail on it.

“Oh, great. How am I supposed to explain that?”

“Will you chill? By the time I’m done with you, Gray won’t care about some stupid glitter on his mail,” Sting promised as he set the spray down and opened the tube of hair gel, squeezing some into his hand and moving to pluck at Natsu's hair.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Natsu grumbled.

“Oh, come on, have I ever steered you wrong before?” Sting grinned, brimming with confidence, only to wince as he paused to think. “Okay, maybe don’t answer that.”

Natsu chuckled, thinking back to some of Sting’s more hare-brained suggestions over the years. He had this habit of getting carried away, but Natsu had never regretted going along. Even when things went sideways, they always had fun, and he knew his friend’s affection for him was genuine. So why was he fighting him so much now, when he was only trying to help?

“Fine, fine, do your worst.”

"Pftt, please. I perform nothing but miracles."

Rogue grabbed a stool from their kitchen island and brought it into the living room, gesturing for Natsu to sit so Sting could get started.

He let Sting fuss over his hair for the next ten minutes, his fingers sculpting it into well-defined spikes away from his face.

“Done!”

“Not bad,” Rogue said after giving him a once over. He grabbed the mail from the table and handed it over. “Now get going.”

“What, now?”

“No, next week. Yes, now!”

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” Natsu hedged.

“On that note,” Sting stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out an object that he placed on the coffee table. “Roll.”

Natsu recognized the decision dice he’d left on his desk. "Seriously?! What are you two, kleptos?"

“Just roll.”

“Okay, but if it says no, we’re done here, right?”

Natsu picked up the dice and studied them, unsure of what he wanted the outcome to be. He shook them lightly in his hands and tossed them on the coffee table.

“Fuck in’ a?” “Fuckin’ A!” Sting cheered and raced to his room again for more digging through drawers, and this time he returned with only two foil packaged items that fitted between his fingers. Both things Natsu easily recognized but had no intention of using during his first meeting with Gray. “Oh my God!” he backed away, “I’m just gonna go return his mail and introduce myself!”

“You were a Scout, weren’t you?” Sting grinned, extending his hand to offer the packets. “Didn’t they teach you to always be prepared?”

“I’m just gonna go drop these off,” Natsu rushed out of the room and down the stairs, hearing Sting and Rogue’s laughter and a warning to not be back soon.

@fuckyeahgratsu

#gratsu #gratsuweekend2021 #stingue #fairy tail #Gratsu Weekend 2021 #media #gray x natsu #sting x rogue #prompt: secret #other #fics

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xaphrin · 4 years

Text

“You’re not wearing that… are you?”

Raven looked down at herself in confusion. She was wearing what she always did for a Saturday night, leggings and an oversized Gotham University sweatshirt she got at some welcome event freshman year. Her lips twisted in annoyance and she lifted an eyebrow, knowing where Donna was going to take this conversation. “Is there something wrong?”

“You’re going on a date!” Donna slammed the heel of her hand into her forehead and groaned, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “A date. With Damian Wayne, the richest college student in the entire country, and you’re wearing a free sweatshirt, three year-old leggings, and boots you’ve repaired with Gorilla Glue. You cannot be serious.”

Raven rolled her eyes and began hunting through their living room to find her purse. She wasn’t sure why Donna cared so much, it’s not like Damian actually liked Raven. He tolerated her at best, and despised her at worst. “I highly doubt he’s going to give a fuck about what I’m wearing. He doesn’t even like me, remember? The only reason he’s taking me on this stupid date is because of contractual obligation. In fact he’s probably going to stop and get fast food and then kick my ass out two blocks away from our house so he doesn’t have to deal with the shame of being seen with me.”

Outside a car door slammed and Karen offered a low whistle as she stood by the front window. “Uh… Rae?”

Raven picked up her head, feeling a pen slide out of her messy bun and clatter to the floor. “What?”

“You… might want to rethink your clothing choices because… hoo boy.”

Raven walked to the window and pulled the curtain back. Her heart fell into her stomach and she was pretty sure she stopped breathing. Eyes fluttering, she took a long few seconds to admire the man walking up the pathway to their house. Damian Wayne was coming to get her for their date, and he looked like he had stepped straight out of a magazine and onto her sidewalk. He was wearing gray trousers and black button-down, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the muscles in his forearm bulged as he walked - how was that possible? She knew he was built, but damn… she didn’t realize she could find forearms sexy.

His impossibly verdant eyes flicked up to the window and locked gazes with her, his lips pulling down into a frown. Raven stumbled back from the window, the curtain falling over the glass. Panic flooding her system, she turned to Donna and stumbled through a series of confused noises, before she managed to finally speak.

“Dress. I need a dress.”

“On it.” Donna grabbed her hand and led her up the stairs to her room. “Bee, keep Lover Boy busy while I fix…” She looked Raven up and down for a moment before shaking her head. “... this.”

Karen gave her a salute, a bright grin filling her face. “You got it, chief.”

Raven didn’t even have the energy to be insulted at Donna’s choice of words. All she could think about was how Damian Wayne was standing on her front porch, looking like a fashion model with the full intention of taking her out on a date. She stumbled along the upstairs hallway until Donna pulled her into her room, setting Raven on the bed.

“We’ve got about seven minutes to get you looking like you are going on a real date.”

Downstairs Raven could hear the door open and Karen invited Damian inside. Their voices were muffled, but Karen was obviously talking about the business ethics class they had together. Raven’s heart leapt into her throat and she stared at Donna as she pulled a dress out of the back of her closet, setting it on the bed with a pair of low-heeled shoes.

“Why is he dressed like that? Why?” She pitched forward and buried her head in her hands, groaning. “This was supposed to be a stupid joke. He wasn’t supposed to actually take me out on a date… and dress up for it.”

“Maybe…” Donna said with a sigh as she grabbed her make-up bag from her vanity. “And hear me out on this, Rae. Maybe he likes you.” She patted a little cover up under Raven’s eyes, trying to hide the evidence of her late-night study sessions. “Maybe he’s liked you for years, but you two are so dimwitted and emotionally constipated that you can’t even admit that you like each other, so you’ve got this ridiculous, over-the-top rivalry going on when what you should really be doing is just fucking each other senseless.” Donna swiped mascara on Raven’s eyes, grimacing. “Just maybe.”

“First of all.” Raven glared at her, her lips pulling down in a frown. “He doesn’t like me. He tolerates me, and just barely.” She pulled off her sweatshirt and leggings, reaching for the dress Donna had pulled out. “Secondly, I am not emotionally constipated.”

Donna wrinkled her nose and stared down at her. “Are those the underwear you’re wearing?”

Raven looked down at her plain, faded cotton underwear with a hole near the waistband. She wrinkled her nose. “Yes. They’re my favorite. And if I have to sit through the most uncomfortable dinner of my life, then at least my crotch is going to be comfortable.”

“I can’t believe I have to tell you how wrong it is that you’re wearing that underwear.” Donna’s face fell into her hand and she went to her dresser, handing her something black and lacy. “I have a new pair I just bought. Never been worn.”

“It’s not like he’s going to see my underwear, Donna.” Raven rolled her eyes and pushed the underwear away. “I’m not wearing those.”

“Raven.” Donna pitched her voice dangerously low and bent down to stare into her eyes, a darkness swirling there. “You are going to wear the damn underwear, or so help me god, I will throw you down on this bed and change you like a baby.” She shoved the lacy underwear into Raven’s hands. “Now shut up and wear the fucking panties.”

Raven flushed and quickly changed her underwear before pulling the dress on over her head. She shoved her feet into Donna’s shoes, noting they were a size too big. Oh well. She had no choice to make it work, it wasn’t like Raven had any kind of dress clothing of her own. The last time she wore something even remotely formal was to her induction into the English department’s honor society two years ago.

Donna pinned back her hair into a fancy messy bun, and stepped back to look at her. Her lips twitched and she tugged at the loose fabric around Raven’s breasts. “Mm… I can’t believe you don’t have a push-up bra.”

Raven gave her a flat stare, trying not to be jealous of her best friend’s curves. “Shut up.”

She glanced down at her small cleavage, barely filling out Donna’s dress. Suddenly she felt weird, like she wasn’t quite herself in a borrowed outfit and borrowed make up. Part of her wished she had just stayed in her leggings and sweatshirt, but she didn’t want to embarrass herself either. Damian would never let her live it down if she went out on a date with him looking like she did when she crawled out of bed and went to class on a Monday morning.

With a defeated sigh, she stared at herself in the full-length mirror. “I look… fine. Better than before, so… it’s something.”

“Mm.” Donna eyes her carefully for a moment before going to her vanity and handing Raven a tinted lip balm and a few condoms. “Here. Tuck these in your purse.”

“Donna! I am not sleeping with Damian Wayne.” Raven glared at her, taking the lip balm, but ignoring the condoms. “I would rather choke at dinner.”

“Your wandering eyes at the auction say otherwise. It wasn’t exactly like he was able to hide the massive python between his legs, and I definitely noticed some appreciation there.” Donna shoved the condoms into her hand and walked to the door, motioning Raven out. “But what do I know? I’ve just been your friend for the past four years.” She gave a one-shouldered shrug as Raven walked past, smirking. “And if your date goes horribly awry, then you can use them as water balloons and chuck them at his pristine, foreign car.”

Raven snorted, a small smile pulling at her lips. Whatever tension had been growing between them dissolved and Raven took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. What had she been thinking? Agreeing to a date with Damian Wayne? It would have been easier to sign her own death warrant.

Donna nudged her shoulder and gave her a small, teasing smile. “It’s gonna be fine. If it goes sideways, call me and Karen and I will be there in seconds to pick you up.”

That was comforting. At least she always had her friends to back her up. Raven nodded slowly and walked downstairs. Damian turned and looked at her, and for one brief moment he said nothing. His eyes roamed her face before glancing down the rest of her body. With a low hum, he leaned back on his heels and shoved his hands in his pockets. For a moment he looked like he was going to say something snide, and Raven was already hunting for a quick comeback. She refused to let him have the upper hand in any of their conversations.

“I have to stop at the animal shelter before they close to drop off the money we raised.” He kept his voice surprisingly even, but there was a tension at the corner of his mouth. He was obviously just as annoyed as she was at having to take her out on a date.

“Okay.” She nodded, trying to ignore Donna sneaking behind Damian and stuffing more condoms in her purse. Just how much sex did Donna think Raven was going to have? And none of it was going to be with Damian.

“And then I made reservations for us at that new Italian place by the bay.”

Raven blinked, her eyebrows knitting together. “I thought they were booked up for three months?”

Damian lifted an eyebrow, and suddenly felt very silly. “Ah. Right. Wayne. I’m sure your clout could get you into Fort Knox on a moment’s notice.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm her nerves. She felt oddly jittery, like she was about to sizzle under the weight and heat of Damian’s unyielding stare. His lips twitched and his stare darted down her again. Raven pushed her feelings into the pit of her stomach and took a step forward. “Let’s get this over with.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Don’t sound so enthused. You’re the one that paid a thousand dollars for this.”

“I didn’t pay a thousand dollars for you.” Yes she did, she just didn’t want to admit it. “I did it to save the kittens.”

“Of course you did. And I’m sure making my life a living hell for one evening is just a nice, extra bonus.” He grabbed her hand and headed for the door, looking back over his shoulder as he dragged her along. “We’ll be back by eleven.”

“Or until I kill him.” Raven snorted. “Whichever is sooner.”

Donna just crossed her arms over her chest and smirked. “Don’t forget your purse.”

Raven glared and snatched it off a nearby chair. Oh she was going to use the condoms tonight, to pelt Damian’s car with water balloons like he deserved.

#damirae #demonbirds #college au #I PROMISE I'm working on requests and other things #I just... gotta get this out of my system first #I GOTTA #I'M SORRY

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xpeachesncream · 3 years

Text

off the grid | four

summary: it was as simple as swapping places with a stranger from across the world to get away from everything back home. that is - until you meet Jimin. things become more complicated as he unfolds a new chapter in your life that you were initially trying to avoid.

pairing: reader x pjm

genre: post-college au, christmas/holiday au | angst, fluff, smut (to come)

words: 3.0k

chapter warnings: slight cussing, possible inaccurate depiction of transportation, events and whereabouts in South Korea since i only did my research thru the internet, flirty, sweet jiminie so pls tell your heart to be still

> series masterlist <

"Y/N." Jimin whined. "Just stay still for 2 more seconds, please." Jimin laughed at how much you were fidgeting as he rose his polaroid camera. He quickly snapped a photo of you sitting on the ground, in the middle of the white birch tree lane.

"I'm so happy I'm here!" You squealed as you stood up and dusted yourself off. Jimin had taken you to Nami Island for the day, being that you had talked all night about the infamous gingko trees and how beautiful they looked in pictures. Unfortunately, since it was winter, the trees barely had any leaves left, but you didn't mind. You were just happy to be there.

"Okay, come on. There's still so much more to see." He led the way with you following behind him. You continued to walk through the remaining tree lanes before heading over to the gardens and the petit french village.

"Wait, this is so pretty." You gasped, instantly posing in front of one of the colorful replica houses. Jimin snapped his picture before you decided to capture some footage for your instagram and snapchat stories.

"I'm really glad you're enjoying this."

"I hope you are too."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you've probably been here thousands of times. You must be tired of it." He shook his head and pouted.

"Nope." He chuckled. "Absolutely not."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Huh." You scratched your head. "Like Disneyland is a huge staple of LA but I'm tired of it." He shrugged.

"I don't know, this is probably a little different. We're not really waiting hours in line for rides in a super packed amusement park. Plus, waiting under the scorching hot sun? No thanks."

"Very true."

"I just enjoy being out and exploring, even if that means doing it over and over again with you. I don't mind." You smiled. The feeling you felt being around Jimin, the butterflies - you couldn't explain. It felt new, yet unreal, almost like you had to pinch yourself to remember this was actually reality. You were living it right at this moment. How could he exist as the pure, wholesome angel he was? You had no idea, and it caught you off guard every single time.

But you were scared, because when this is all over, what happens? You and Jimin go back to living life before you even knew the other existed? That'll suck.

Fuck that. You weren't trying to think of that now.

"I really do appreciate you taking me around."

"It's nothing." He flashes his pearly whites. Majority of the time, you're running to pose for the camera, already feeling completely comfortable in Jimin's presence. He took you through the village and through the gardens, where you strolled slowly side by side. His arm brushed against yours a couple of times, and you couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to experience a super affectionate and flirty Jimin. The thought kind of intrigued you. What if you were reading too deeply into this? What if he was just really nice and didn't have feelings for you like that? What if—"Y/N." You heard him call your name as he looked down at you and laughed. "Did I lose you?"

"No, sorry, I'm just taking it all in." You chuckled.

"No, that's okay. I was just saying that Jungkook fell into the bushes over there." He pointed at the shrubs.

"Wait, what?"

"He tripped and couldn't catch himself in time so he fell in there. It left an indent." He laughed.

"Are you guys always chaotic when you go out?"

"What, us? Never." He smirked. "Seriously, we aren't. But we do have our moments." His smile instantly fell when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. "Speaking of—" He quickly flashes you his phone, showing Taehyung's name on the screen. "Mind if I pick this up really quickly? Just in case the boys need me to bail them out."

"No, go for it." He smiled toothlessly before picking up the call. You both continued to walk slowly while he spoke to Taehyung on the phone. He began to laugh, his cheeks tinted with a rosy color. He rose his voice and groaned playfully, which was followed by a ton of 'okays,' 'shut ups,' and 'ughs' before finally telling Taehyung he had to go and that he would see them later. "Is everything okay?" You giggled.

"Yeah, they're just being a pain in the ass." He cleared his throat. Little did you know that Taehyung and Seokjin just spent the last couple of minutes teasing the hell out of him about you. "So, the guys wanna head to the ice skating rink tonight and told me to bring you along. Only if you wanna go, of course. No pressure."

"That sounds fun! I'll come. But, I have to warn you. I'm not very good at ice skating."

"It's okay, I'll be there. Taehyung isn't either, nor is Hoseok. I've had to hold them a couple of times." You laughed. "I'd definitely rather hold onto you than them." He quickly looked at you, realizing he let that slip out without catching himself. He felt his cheeks get hot due to the embarrassment that overcame him, but instantly felt relieved when he saw you smile and laugh at the statement. He definitely meant it though.

"I'll be sure to not be a piece of work tonight."

"Ah, you'll be okay. I believe." The rest of the time at Nami Island was spent walking through the the rest of the garden and going through the Gapyeong Rail Park on a two-seater bike. The view was spectacular and you honestly couldn't picture doing this with anybody else. At the end of the ride, Jimin took you to get some hotteok, which was just the snack you needed after the activities and walking you had done on the island. Before leaving, you saw a musician singing at the entrance while playing his guitar. There was quite a crowd, so you gently pulled Jimin to your side to stand and watch with you.

"He's really good." You clapped quietly to yourself as he wrapped up a song. "You should go sing up there!"

"I don't sing, though."

"Really? So all those times I've heard you, you weren't singing?"

"Mmm, nope. Don't know what you're talking about."

"Please?" You pouted and clasped your hands together. Your pouty face was becoming a huge weakness for him, making it incredibly difficult to say no to you.

"Y/N, I-I don't even know if he's--" You rose your hand and dragged him to the front. You signaled to the musician that Jimin wanted to sing. Jimin politely asked if he could sing a song, which the musician happily stood aside to let him take over the mic. Jimin showed him a song on his phone and asked if he could somehow strum along to the tune. He began to sing We Don't Talk Anymore - Charlie Puth x Selena Gomez, which had your heart skipping a few beats. His voice was the most angelic thing you have ever heard and he looked so fucking good singing. At the end, he smiled sheepishly and thanked the crowd and musician before waddling back over to you. "I hope you feel special."

"Me?!"

"I obviously don't like to put my singing voice out there, but I knew it'd make you happy."

"Why not? You have such an amazing voice."

"I don't know, it's just a fun past time for me. Nothing serious."

"Well, I really like it and I wanna hear more of it." He chuckled and nodded.

"I'll see what I can do."

"Jimin." You whined.

"No promises, princess." He shrugged. "Race you to the car?" He flipped the switch and began to run off before you could even respond. You ran as much as you could because running definitely wasn't your thing, but eventually you made your way to the car, where Jimin was catching his breath.

"See, look at you. All tired from that unnecessary effort." You laugh.

"Good race." He high-fived you before unlocking the car. The ride back would be about 2 hours, so you both would be making it just in time to meet his friends at the ice skating rink. You had fallen asleep without realizing, with Jimin smiling and silently laughing to himself as he glanced over. He made sure the car was warm and comfortable enough for you, before taking one more glance at you. He didn't know how someone could be so effortlessly cute, and it's crazy, because before you came around, he was fine minding his own business. He wasn't looking for love. His last relationship ended a year ago, and he had just been taking it day by day with the boys. No negativity on his end, no bad blood, nothing.

Then, you came along. You came along and changed things for him. Quick, too. He couldn't even explain it, even if he tried. He just knew he had become undeniably attracted to everything about you and he didn't give a fuck about anyone or anything else.

"Y/N." Jimin gave you a gentle squeeze on the arm. "We're here. Are you still okay to ice skate?" You opened your eyes and fixed your position in the passenger's seat, catching his concerned facial expression.

"Yeah, I'm okay." You gave off a good stretch just to fully wake yourself up. "Shoot, I didn't even realize I fell asleep."

"That race to the car really did it to you." He laughed, making you playfully hit him on the arm. Getting out of the car, you both had to walk quite a bit before finally seeing the ice rink in view. The first person you spotted was Taehyung, but he was speaking to another tall gentleman, who was dressed in a plain white tee, light denim jacket, black distressed jeans and black chucks. He had on a black hat, where the brim covered his face pretty well.

"Jimin-ah!" The unknown gentleman yelled as he held his arms out, in which Jimin openly accepted. They hugged each other and patted each other on the back before Jimin turned to playfully smack Taehyung on the arm as his greeting.

"Hey Y/N! I'm glad you came along." Taehyung engulfed you into a hug.

"I can't miss out on ice skating!" You chuckled.

"Y/N, this is my Jin-hyung." Jimin stepped aside as Jin also held his arms out to hug you.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N." He caressed your back as you pulled away. "I'm surprised you're not sick of him yet." He tilted his head towards Jimin.

"Eh, he's not too bad." You joked, watching Jimin shake his head and bite onto his bottom lip. "Where's Jungkook?"

"Buying a snack with Hoseok." Jin replied as he dug his hands into his pockets. "Which reminds me, did you want to eat now or later Y/N?"

"It doesn't matter to me, whenever you guys want."

"Are you okay to hold off until after ice-skating?"

"Yeah!"

"Hey, why don't you ask us?" Taehyung nudged him, making him shake his head.

"It's simple. You guys don't matter. Only Y/N does." Jin winked at you.

"Stop flirting, hyung. It'll make Jimin ma--" Jimin grabbed Tae by the shirt and pushed him against the wall, pretending to beat him up. You bit your lip to prevent yourself from laughing and smiling too big, but you heard that for damn sure. As the two stopped playing and made their way back to you and Jin, Jungkook finally made it back with another gentleman dressed in a black beanie, black and white track pants, a black fitted hoodie, brown coat and sneakers. How in the hell were Jimin and all his friends so damn good looking?! You couldn't understand it for the life of you, but you sure as hell weren't complaining.

"Y/N! Jimin-ssi!" Jungkook yelled as he waddled over to you and hugged you before making his way to Jimin.

"He always calls me like that." Jimin murmured as Jungkook swung him around. Jin laughed and pointed at how ridiculous the two looked on the side.

"Y/N, Hoseok." Jin took the initiative to introduce you while Jungkook and Jimin continued to play around.

"Hi!" Hoseok waved and smiled sweetly. "You can call me Hobi."

"Nice to meet you." You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

"How was Nami Island?" Hoseok walked by your side as you followed the group to get your tickets and skate rentals.

"Fun! It's beautiful."

"Isn't it? I'm glad you were able to go with Jimin. It's definitely a must."

"Yeah, he's been taking me to a couple of places already. I appreciate him enough." Hoseok smirked.

"You two are cute."

"Need any help?" Before you could respond, Jimin interrupted as he walked over, already on his skates. You bent over to slip the skates on, doing your best to tighten the laces as you tied them.

"I think so." You tried to get up, but instantly stumbled on your own two feet, causing Jimin to hold your wrist.

"Woah there." He laughed and held your hands to help stabilize you as you tried to stand. "Good?"

"Yeah, I got this, no biggie." You chuckled nervously. You held onto his arm as he walked you into the rink, where Taehyung slowly took his time to try and get used to the feeling and Jungkook was already skating freely. Jin was accompanying Hobi on the side, giving him words of encouragement to get him to let go of the wall.

"Okay, take it slow and hold onto the wall until you get a feel for it." Jimin stayed by your side as you tried to get your two feet to work properly in the skates. It didn't feel too bad, but every time you got a little too excited, you squealed and clung onto the wall due to your skates betraying you. Jimin laughed and held out his hand. "Come on, you can do this Y/N." You grabbed his hand, your legs stiffening without the support of the wall.

"Ah, Jimin!" You yelped. "Please don't go too fast!"

"We're going a whopping 3 miles per hour. Maybe even less."

"I am not that slow!"

"Highly debatable." He laughed. "But it's cool because you'll become a pro in no time." He reassured you and pointed. "See! We're getting faster. Progress." You started to get the hang of it, releasing the stiffness as Jimin continued to coach you through alternating the movement with your legs. Sooner or later, you were feeling a little more comfortable as you held onto his hand and kept a solid, slow and steady pace.

"I got it!"

"Wanna try to go alone?" At this moment, Jungkook appeared in front of you, holding his hands out, signaling for you try and skate to him alone. He nodded and reassured you, watching as Jimin slowly released his hand from yours. You stood there in a slightly bent position, afraid to move an inch.

"Y/N, I promise you'll be okay! Come to me." Jungkook said. You practiced the movements you had just done not too long ago and quickly grabbed his hands as soon as it was in reach. Because of the abrupt movement to rush over, Kook had to hold onto you to make sure you wouldn't fall, making Jimin laugh.

"So cute." Jimin said as he bent over to grab his stomach while laughing. "Y/N you don't need to rush, we aren't going to leave you."

"I'm just scared!"

"You're doing great! Look at Hobi, he hasn't even left the wall. The kids are skating around him." You laughed as you began to slowly skate on your own, eyeing Hoseok and how frightened he looked while hugging the sides and damn near doing the splits trying to move from point A to point B. Jin had obviously given up on reassuring the guy, leaving him to do whatever he pleased to do at this point. You had gained more confidence as time went on, skating on your own with Jimin popping by your side every now and then. It made the hour and a half go by rather quickly, but you all were starving by the end of it.

The group decided to walk down the street to a nearby boba cafe that apparently also had really good rice bowls and snacks. The walk wasn't too bad, but your jacket wasn't thick enough to mask the cold. Jimin had taken notice of you shivering, peeling off his coat without hesitation to put on your shoulders.

"Here." He says as you grab the coat to wrap it around you tightly.

"Aren't you cold?"

"I have this cardigan on, I'll survive. I'm used to this." He smiled down at you. Entering the cafe, you all had ordered your food and drinks and sat on the barstools near the wall. Jimin stood in front of you, while Jungkook and Hoseok sat on the remaining stools next to you. Jin and Taehyung pulled up some chairs from a nearby table, and you all had faced each other to talk about the day and everyone's whereabouts. Not to mention, there was a whole Hoseok roasting session due to his performance on the ice today. Jin had discussed his plans for his late birthday celebration coming up and demanded ever so politely that you grace him with your presence.

Getting home later that night, you felt exhausted to the bone. But, you had a ton of fun and really enjoyed spending more time with Jimin and his friends. The loft was quiet, only bringing in sounds from the cars out on the nearby streets. You revisited your photos and videos from the day, smiling to yourself at the memories you were able to capture, especially of Jimin enjoying himself and having fun with you.

[Y/N] 11:38: I know I say this time and time again, but I really do appreciate everything you've been doing for me, Jimin.

[Jimin] 11:39pm: You're welcome, cutiepie. Glad you're enjoying yourself. Get a good night's rest for me. I'll see you tomorrow.

undefined

youtube

Alexa, play: Good Company x Mahalia

#bts #bts fanfiction #jimin fanfiction #jimin #park jimin #pjm series #pjm x reader #off the grid #otg #writing #jimin x reader #jimin fluff

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heavenunderthemoon · 3 years

Text

Growing Pains- Spencer Reid x Reader {Chapter Two}

Prologue, Chapter one

The newly acquired I.D. badge battered her hip as y/n entered the bullpen, the heavy glass door shutting with a 'click' behind her.

It was as hectic as it normally was on a Wednesday on the Behavioral Analysis Unit's floor. Clerical agents walked to and fro amongst the sea of desks and strangely enough, rather than being overwhelmed by the vast amount of bustle before her, the newly entered female's lips quirked a bit at the corners at the constant foot traffic.

She hadn't heard him, Spencer thought with reassurance. Of course she hadn't heard him. A whisper, your name dancing across his tongue in a moment of surprise as you had entered, lost into the wind, floating into the abyss that was the sixth floor of the federal building, only heard to the small group surrounding him.

But not to you. Not to the woman whose eyes had sharp swept the room, passing over him with ease. A small part of him was struck with a small horrific thought: Was he forgettable? Forgettable enough that you had forgotten him entirely, all those years of whispered secrets, tree climbing, and treasure burying? All the years that you had knocked on his front door, bidding his mother a hello regardless of the mood she was in, strutting into his room until you flopped onto his floor (even if he was okay with pinky promises, slow dances, and arms thrown over his shoulder he never could allow you to sit on his bed and you were okay with that). Had you erased him from your memory?

And then another terrible, stomach-twisting, nausea-inducing thought struck next: Did you recognize him and simply steel yourself to appear ad if you hadn't? Did you not want to recognize him? The fizzling of your friendship had been neutral, he could remember that clearly. His mind wouldn't allow anything different. His mind had been haunting him all morning and it taunted him once more, sucking him into the last conversation he could recall the two of you sharing.

"Hold on, Spencer," Your father's gruff voice asked the boy, and the Reid boy nodded despite the man not being able to see him. Your father always had that affect on him. The hard stares, narrowed eyes, stiff posture; It all told the Reid boy that the man lived in a cloud of suspicion around his relationship with you. Friendship, Spencer corrected himself mentally, cheeks heating up at the mere thought of anything more.

There was shuffling on the other end of the phone, your father yelling for you to hurry up and the sound of your loud footsteps. He could close his eyes, imagining precisely what your movements would be. He could see you clamoring down the stairs, jumping halfway down the staircase because you were a bit too impatient to actually walk down them all the way. He could see you rounding the corner, the way your hand would use the bannister as a device to twist yourself around the corner, coming into the eye line of your father. He could see all the forgotten work boots and soccer cleats that lay discarded near your kitchen door (your brothers were awful at putting them away and your father hardly cared enough to tell them not to. Even you had a pair of sneakers propped against the baseboards.).

"It's Spencer." Your father said in that tone he used with the boy, saying his name similar to how Spencer might have said he had found a bug on his shoe- petulant and irritated- and suddenly he was opening his eyes back up, grateful to be in that stuffy phonebooth, the hot sun beating through the tempered glass window panes.

"Sherlock?" Your voice sounded different, he decided immediately. Deeper, but not by too much. He wondered if you had grown in the time between your last sighting of eachother (a full year, at this point). He wondered if your hair was longer- before he left, you had convinced yourself that cutting your own hair was a good idea. You had been obsessed with the Bangles and Susanna's bangs were the peak of your hyper-fixation. He had tried to talk you out of it, but, you were, well, you. You were a 'do first, think second 'person. You always had been. You had been when you broke your arm in the fifth grade deciding to make the leap from your roof to your father's truck bed (It was much farther than you had estimated). You had been when you kept the fish you had won from a carnival (Pickles the Fish had not lasted very long in the Y/L/N household, his bowl a bit too close to the cat's resting place). And you were when you had stood in your bathroom, Spencer sitting on the bathtub's ledge as he covered his eyes, his green orbs peaking out from open fingers, watching as you chopped your hair with kitchen scissors.

"Watson." The nickname, one he hadn't spoken in what seemed like ages flowed freely from his lips. He remembered when he had first introduced you to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. how you had leant against him underneath the shade of that old Willow tree at the end of the block. Your head on his leg, his own propped up on the trunk of that tree. Your initials were carved onto it- Spencer's idea, surprisingly, and it showed by the sloppiness of that carving because his mother hardly ever let him near knives. And under the shade of that tree, the wind whistling through the barren branches he had read, hardly stumbling over the large words before him and even if you didn't quite understand everything he was saying you listened because this was one of the few times he didn't stutter- not once.

"You were supposed to call last night." You said sullenly. It was true. You had scheduled your call times for at least once a month on the third Wednesday of each month. It was the only days you got out of school early, early enough to catch him when he wasn't in lecture or seminars or library study sessions.

The boy's eyes flickered down to his shoes. Sneakers- you would be proud. He had never worn Converse before. He was lucky if his mother remembered to buy groceries, let alone new shoes and the boy found himself grabbing the cheapest pair at Salvation army's and Thrift Stores. He had seen the chucks on you often enough, how free you looked when you ran across the desert roads, shoes against pavement. And now, away from home he had splurged and gotten a pair, a small piece of you, a small piece of home.

"I know, I'm sorry. I got caught up in my book-"

You sighed and Spencer could tell you were wishing he had a better excuse. A better excuse than getting lost in the pages of something he could've read later. Something he could have set aside for time spent talking to you. But, because it was you, he knew you wouldn't say that. You wouldn't express your feelings because you had never really been good at that unless it was also followed with a swift punch to the gut.

"I'm sorry." He settled, and just like that you were telling him about the current events in his hometown, how his mother was, how the boys that had once chased him through the halls were finding themselves after graduating, but he could tell a shift in your tone, a loss of trust, and a pang of hurt.

"Spencer. Spencer." JJ's voice made the Reid man glance up from where he had been staring at you- or where you had been? A quick glance around the room had him planting his eyes on your moving figure. Your boots made swift, definite steps across the bullpen, eyes focused solely on Hotch's door until you reached it.

"You know her?" JJ asked and, apparently, it was just a repeated question because Spencer could tell that the agents surrounding him were staring at him intently, analyzing the way his cheeks had flushed, skin paling, eyes widening at just the mere appearance of the woman that was now entering the Unit Chief's office.

Spencer tried to think of what to say. 'You know her?'

Did he?

Did he know you? Or had he known you? The two were very different. He had known you before. before those promises set in stone by pinkies were broken and before he had outgrown that necklace you had given him all those years ago. He had known you when you had told him your 'happy place' was the beach and when Spencer had very expertly questioned how that could possibly be as you had never even been to a beach before, you had glared at him until he took it back.

And you had known him. You had known him when he was forced to ride on your bike's handlebars whenever he wanted to go the library (Your bike had a basket that he could fit all of his books on and his did not). You knew him when he broke that snow globe in the cornerstone that one holiday season, how his face had morphed into one of horror at the idea of getting into trouble. You knew how you had taken the fault for that incident, hating how the boy's hands had started shaking when the storeowner had asked who had done it.

You had known each other, sure. but did he know you?

His eyes watched your hand go out to shake Hotch's, the smile on your lips enough to make him want to faint, the mere weight of his memories pulling at his brain.

"Kid? Kid, you really don't look good." Morgan was expressing his concerns and Spencer had half a mind to tell him that the reason he might not look so good was because he was, in fact, not good. He was not good because this was one of the few times in his life that his past caught up to the present. When he was forced to relive those memories from so long ago, from a time that he tried to keep very, very separate from the now. A time that he had all but run from, packing his belongings in that teeny-tiny duffel bag (you had helped him pick it out, he realized with a frown) and boarded that bus to Cal-Tech.

"I'm-" Fine? Spencer didn't have a clue what he would say, which, he would suppose would be a first, but the embarrassment that would have caused was halted because the Unit Chief's door was opening and Aaron Hotchner was extending a hand to you, as if showing you off and the team was standing, like a crowd waiting to see the newest performer.

And there you were, your front finally facing him. Your eyes were that same, chocolate-y brown color that he could feel himself getting lost in. They held that same sharpness, that fierceness in your eyes that Spencer had seen directed always at those who tried to mess him and never at he, himself. A fierceness that had hardly needed the support of your quick tongue and curled fists but received it anyways. A watch on your wrist glinted, the leather worn and sun-soaked. Even from where he sat, his vision minority blocked from Derek's muscular body standing in the way, Spencer could see the familiar material, the government-issued time-piece recognized by the team of agents immediately.

Had you served time in the military? Spencer would've guessed so, if not for the go-bag in your hand displaying the military insignia, but the way your shoulders were poised back, pin straight and at attention. Or the way your eyes swept the floor, checking doors, windows, standard procedure. Where had you been? Spencer asked himself. What had you seen? What had you done? Without him, he tacked on as an afterthought, because maybe if he had kept on top of the friendship, stoked those withering flames of your relationship, things might've turned out differently. He wouldn't be sinking into his chair as Hotch pointed out to the floor, introducing each member.

"...And you can meet everybody. Everybody, this is Y/N L/N. Y/n, this is Jennifer Jareau, Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, David Rossi, Penelope Garcia, and Spencer Reid."

And just like that, the fierceness was gone. The rigidity, the stoic-like confidence, the intimidating stance, and Spencer could just about see the girl who had cut her hair with those kitchen scissors, the shock on your face and locks on the floor. It was all gone and your eyes were searching the crowd of agents just introduced to you and when they landed on the one you had been searching for, that lanky figure that looked so much like the one you had thought you would never see again, your lips parted in shock.

"Spencer?"

#spencer reid x reader #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #Criminal Minds #jennifer jareau x reader #emily prentiss x reader

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sunflowerdigs · 3 years

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So, I did a little sarcastic-y review from the salt mines for RNM 3x09. Warnings for excessive sodium content, Maribel mourning, a desire to recycle cardboard, and, of course, Malex opinions. Without further ado:

- Every time Michael smiles I forget for like 5 whole seconds how much I hate that Malex keeps me shackled to this show. Too cute that he brought Alex lunch (and probably hoped he could sneak a glimpse of him) and they're going on their first date (omg omg omg).❤❤❤❤❤

- Kyle should yell at people more. Starting with his garbage friends who left him in a barn without proper triage or jello cups while he was in a coma (why didn't they just keep him at DS if he's having appointments there anyway? Nevermind... ). Alas, he's starting his understandable rage tour with Uncle Edgelord, who, naturally, makes a dramatic statement and tries to leave. I am so glad Kyle called him on that.

- Delmanes would be cute if Greg didn't have the personality of cardboard. They've created a character who is actually only here to remind us of how special and amazing Maria is. Turns out that's not super interesting. And it's so painfully obvious that it's a pair-your-spares situation. I really wish they'd just give her Kyle, he has the patience of a saint. Anyway, Isobel's pigtails are cute af (rip my Isobel/Maria/Kyle heart - I would have taken Isobel interrupting Delmanes and Heather's post with pigtails today as signs if not for genetics).

- Anatsa and Isobel's development seems to have taken place completely off-screen, like everything else gay on this show, so I'm guessing it's gonna stick. Honestly...I guess this is controversial but Isobel and Maria have really good chemistry and a history. I know their bond is supposed to read "sibling" but it doesn't for me. And rather than waste time watching them flirt with these one-note (ah, Greg chimes in right on time with a convenient line any rando could have delivered) LIs, I'd much rather see them get closer. The whole related thing has thrown a wrench into it for me. That said, it's nice to watch a woman be encouraged to go after another woman. 🎉

- Alex the sci-fi/fantasy nerd figuring out immediately that the hallucination is his own subconscious is 100% legit. Much like Kyle not letting his uncle pull a classic tall-dark-and-broody exit, I appreciate Alex's 4th-wall break moment.

- Not Max and Liz proving that discussions about s2 drama can occur on Roswell New Mexico?! What? Must be a straight thing. Lucky them.

- Isobel is actually acting a lot like Sherlock Holmes when he's on a case, from the wardrobe to the focus, and it's hot. Also, totally believable that Isobel would be able to pull up that pod from under the ice because we know she's been training even if it didn't happen onscreen. Because she told us. Just a suggestion.

- I love the idea of Jim Valenti as a double-agent, but I don't see how Eduardo thought he could keep Kyle safe by never knowing him. It feels like there's a lot more here Eduardo isn't saying.

- It wasn't a sister-fight that Maria and Isobel had, but whatever (no one got physically shoved or brought up a horrifying memory from 100000 years ago to shove in someone's face in public - doesn't count).

- Also, why would you waste a glass by throwing it into the fireplace? Wouldn't it just explode back in your face? Man, the show is trying so hard with Maria and Greg, I want to give them some kind of romance-novel award for effort (but not success).

- Not Liz and Max showing us that it's possible to move forward by discussing your past mistakes like adults instead of pretending they didn't happen!? What? Must be a straight thing. Lucky them.

- Draw a line on the bottle? No way, Valenti, he obviously wants you to chuck that whole thing straight into the fire in a fit of passion to prove that his words had an emotional impact.

- Also, Kyle wins the prize for this episode for that speech to Uncle Edgelord. Everyone go home. When do I get a Kyle and Alex spin-off where they travel the world, defying sci-fi tropes and seducing beautiful men and women?

- Not Liz and Max talking loudly about aliens while breaking and entering! This one is actually very believable, I take it back.

- It was idiotic of Liz to trust Heath. And Echo keep having this same fight because MAX IS RIGHT BUT THE SHOW WON'T LET HIM BE. Which is so obnoxious. I would forgive Liz for almost any sin (like, idk, getting a better romantic storyline because she's straight) because she's gorgeous and smart and tough and I wanna go live with her and her mad scientist energy on a deserted island somewhere. But she's being real dumb rn.

- I love the t-shirt and if Vlambase doesn't sell one I will. But he couldn't have held up a radio and blasted some Barry White? I feel like that would have cleared everyone but Alex put of the building real fast. Also, what is time on Roswell NM? Was Alex just setting the alarm every so often for kicks? Does Eduardo really not check in on staff who are working with dangerous technology for days on end? Also, why is this entire plot happening over a single goddamn episode instead of two or more so that we can really feel Alex wasting away under the machine's influence? The reason this twist is at all surprising is also the entire plot's undoing - Alex's demeanor wasn't exactly one of a man obsessed (or an addict, tbh) in his last scene.

- Anyway, back to Rizzoli and Isles. I definitely am always super excited to hear the details of my sister's sex life. All the time. That is totally a sister thing except where it's really not. Do any of these writers actually have a sister? I feel like they must because the Michael/Max/Isobel sibling chemistry is always bang on but Maribel is just...flirty lady city. Oh, and look, the beard just showed up with coffee to cockblock - it really is R&I!

- Back to Alex's plot line, which, much like Isobel's coffee, is Express To-Go. He's become haggard and worn in the time it's taken Michael's mom to find a cute sweater in the void. Seriously, we wasted like 3 whole episodes where Alex was presumably sitting in DS twiddling his thumbs and now he's being worn down by the machine in a single episode? Why didn't this plot start back in episode 3 or 4? Like...look, I don't come on here to be an asshole. But I just really hope they're taking note of what worked this season and what didn't because HOLY PACING FIASCO BATMAN. Just because you're giving us Malex doesn't mean everything else can just be hot garbage (not the acting, Taylor's doing his best to sell this). Also, when did Alex put his leg back on? I have so many questions but they aren't the good kind, so Michael better ride in soon and save this mess.

- Regarding what Nora is saying, it's fine, it makes sense but the zero build up makes it completely ineffective. Alex is afraid he doesn't love enough - it would have been nice to see that over several episodes instead of just being told in a burst of sudden exposition but, you know. Nice straight things we can't have, I guess.

- If Michael and Alex want their relationship to "purr" they could, idk, talk through their past misunderstandings like people in relationships do. Or the show could keep throwing exposition bombs at them, idek.

- Are those empty toilet paper rolls inside the machine? I knew the CW was budget but come on...

- And we finally get the Heath connection and it's to our brand new trope-y character, Wise Old Black Man Dallas. It's surprising but only because the 4th alien didn't exist before this episode. So, good job.

Overall, not the worst episode of RNM ever. I only wondered why I watch this show maybe 3 times this episode. And Michael's enthusiasm for Alex was adorable.

#malex #roswell new mexico #review #rnm spoilers #3x09

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hongism · 4 years

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mists of celeste ➻ 10.5

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 3.3k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒

mists of celeste act one ➻ part 10.5

“Watch your step,” Seonghwa says as you follow him through tall double doors. Despite his warning, you still manage to catch your foot on the edge of the threshold. You don’t fall to the ground – a miracle honestly – but the embarrassment still causes heat to rise in your cheeks. Seonghwa doesn’t make matters any better by turning to smirk at your clumsy actions out the corner of his eye. “I said watch your step.”

“And I said no,” you bite back through the embarrassment. Seonghwa laughs through his nose, waiting for you to pass him before tapping away at the keypad beside the door. It slides shut, and you glare down at the offending piece of threshold that caused you to stumble.

“Are you gonna shoot it for offending you, princess?”

“Might shoot you for the hell of it, pretty boy.” You shift your glare to the tall Lieutenant, who maintains the cheeky grin on his lips even as you bore daggers into his head with your eyes. “Where are we anyway?”

“This is our training room. Shooting range, punching bags, sparring court.” Seonghwa motions around the room, pointing to each thing as he mentions them, and you follow the line of his fingers.

“And we’re here because…?”

“You’re so impatient, princess. At least let a man finish before you interrupt.”

“Your mouth wasn’t even open,” you retort through a scoff.

“I was thinking about what to say.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Well be quiet so I can explain.”

You purse your lips, tongue darting out to run over the front of your teeth. Seonghwa seems pleased by your silence though, and a satisfied smile covers his lips before he continues to speak.

“We’re here to spar.”

“Oh, is that your definition of a good time?”

“If we were going by my definition of a good time, we’d be in my room.”

“I-I – we-well. Right. Yea. R-Right.” His less than wholesome remark comes out of left field, and you certainly weren’t expecting it in the slightest. You can’t stop yourself from getting flustered. Seonghwa chuckles again, letting his tongue toy at the corner of his lips before he speaks again.

“Sparring, because you need to work on your strength if you wanna use that pretty little trigger arm again. Yunho said physical therapy. Have you been doing it?”

“I’ve been doing stretches and stuff…” You trail off. You avoid Seonghwa’s gaze, but it betrays the fact that you have not actually been doing much to strengthen your arm. For which you blame no one but yourself, because, in all honesty, you would have gone to Yunho sooner if not for the lingering awkwardness of your slight argument not too long ago. Which no one knows about as far as you know, but you certainly aren’t planning on making it table talk.

“Right, mhm, stretches – or lack thereof – aren’t going to cut it.” Seonghwa moves away from you and prompts you to follow him, which you do albeit with no shortage of hesitance. He guides you over to one of the walls, opening a small cabinet to pull out a small roll of white gauze. “Wrap your palms and wrists. We’ll start on the punching bags before I kick your ass.”

“Kick my ass? Those are fighting words, Lieutenant.”

“I guess you’ll just have to prove me wrong then, no?” He tosses the roll of gauze over to you, one brow raised high. You catch it with ease but keep your glare on the man as you wrap the material around your palms and wrists. “have you ever done anything like this?”

“Of course I have. You think they just teach us to shoot in the military?”

“You never know. I was looking forward to teaching you a thing or two though. Damn, maybe we can do that if we ever get to try out my definition of a good time. I’m sure I can teach you a lot of things there.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to beat the shit out of you.” You yank the material tight around your wrist, securing it in place before chucking the spool of wrap back at Seonghwa. He catches it with one hand then motions towards where the punching bags hang off to the side with the same hand.

“Quit talking big and go over there.”

You sigh but do as told, and Seonghwa follows behind you. You can hear the tear of the gauze; he must be wrapping his wrists as well, but that’s putting a lot of confidence in your arm being okay enough to spar in the first place. As dramatic as Hongjoong initially made it seem, you haven’t felt too much a difference. Your hand does tremble when holding a pistol in front of you, but close distance isn’t an issue. It’s moreso long-distance that presents an issue, and only with pistols. You aren’t completely sure whether strengthening the muscle will fix that, but it wouldn’t hurt to try anyway. Seonghwa wraps around you, tossing the roll of gauze off to the side, and places a hand on the side of the tattered brown punching bag.

“Just give it a few swings and stuff to warm up. If you’re feeling okay afterward, we can try sparring one on one. Okay?”

“Understood,” you mutter back. Seonghwa clicks his tongue against the roof then steps away from the bag. You wait for him to get out of the way, finding his own bag. He starts to lay into it with jabs and punches. For a moment you just stand there and watch him hit the bag, but he hesitates when he doesn’t hear any sound coming from your side of the room. You whip your head back to the bag in front of you, settling into a stance you remember well from your time in the military.

This was always the most simple lesson for new recruits, and it was all based around strength. You were quite honestly a runt when you first became a recruit, however, and you had little to no strength. Sure, part of that could be blamed upon how you grew up and where, but it put you at a major disadvantage compared to your fellow recruits. That did make you the target of your generals for a time, and you were forced to go through extra training to just be on par with the other members of your unit, but the second they put a sniper in your hands, the balance shifted in your favor.

You still remember your old lessons quite well; although that’s a bit surprising since it’s been so many years since you first took them. The punching bag is rough under your knuckles as you knock against it. There isn’t much strain on your right arm, but the longer you use it, the more it burns. Not necessarily in a painful type of way, but rather just a tired ache in your muscles – a surefire sign that your muscles did indeed take a bigger hit than you initially thought they did.

Several minutes pass just like that; you and Seonghwa on opposite sides of the room, each hitting your own punching bag with force and dexterity. He’s the first one to pull back, sweat beading his hairline and causing the dark strands of hair to stick against his forehead. His chest heaves as he walks over to your side, hands pressed against his hips, and you notice that he’s pushed his sleeves up over his shoulders and revealed toned muscles that could definitely beat your ass handily.

You stop your movements as he gets closer and steady the bag with your left hand to look him in the eye.

“Yes?” You inquire when he doesn’t say anything right away.

“How’s your arm feeling?”

“No pain,” you answer with a small shrug of your shoulders. “Muscles are just a bit underused and tired.”

“You should be fine for some sparring then?”

It takes a second for you to process the statement as a question, and when it finally does, you nod with haste.

“Let’s do it, pretty boy.”

Seonghwa throws his head back as a laugh tears through his chest. He brings a hand to his hair, combing through the damp locks, and you follow him onto a thick mat. You backtrack immediately though to slip your shoes off and leave them at the edge of the mat, whereas Seonghwa just kicks his off on the mat and moves them with his hands. The two of you face each other in silence.

The gleam in Seonghwa’s eyes remains playful even as he secures the sleeves of his shirt further on his shoulders. You mimic the action and fold the sleeves of your basic white tee up like his.

“Two of three. Whoever gets knocked on their ass twice loses. Has to stay down for five seconds for it to count. How does that sound?”

“Easy enough,” you answer, smile stretching but you hide your teeth behind the line of your lips.

“I’ll go easy on you since you’re at a disadvantage, princess.” Seonghwa slides his feet apart slightly and falls into an offensive stance. You mirror his movements but step into a more defensive one. The second lesson they taught you in the military was to watch your enemy for patterns or nuances that would indicate weaknesses. Seonghwa is leaning all his weight on his front foot – the left one – which means he’s going to go for an attack first, then pull that weight back onto his right one. You push back on your right foot, shifting the weight back to be opposite his stance.

“I can handle you, pretty boy,” you taunt, tongue darting out to drag over your top lip.

Seonghwa’s left foot slides in, and you flit your gaze up to his face as he moves. The attack is easy to dodge, his movements readable and basic. You make a jab for the inside of his ribcage, he snaps his hand down against yours and catches your wrist with the same amount of ease. You twist your hand in his grip, slipping loose before he can toss you to the ground. Your gaze pulls off his feet to watch the shifts of his arms instead. As he moves left, you move right, and thus the two of you engage in a small dance.

He attacks next, staying on the offensive side of things. Feet skid across the mat as he lunges forward, but he turns at the last second and secures a hand at your hip. He fights to grab your leg, but you greet him with a sharp elbow to the shoulder. He stumbles back and lets your hip loose. You shuffle back a few steps. Eventually, you’ll have to shift over to the offensive side but Seonghwa won’t let up. He hits you with two consecutive attacks – one jab for your right shoulder, and as you are leaning away from him, he brings his right leg up to hook around your left knee. You don’t even have time to blink before he sends you down to the mat, hitting with enough force to take all the air out of your lungs. Seonghwa comes down with you, knee pressed against the inside of your hip to keep you to the ground. What follows is the longest five seconds of your life, and even as you try to tug out of his grasp, his weight proves too much for you to fight against.

“Five seconds, princess,” Seonghwa taunts as he pulls himself back to his feet once the time elapses. “One point to me then.”

He extends a hand to you, and you take it begrudgingly. He tugs you to your feet. The two of you fall back into your stances without missing a beat. Seonghwa’s eyes dance with playful exuberance as his stance falls to a defensive one. It seems that he wants you to be on the offensive side first this time, but you don’t take the allowance as a compliment. You’re certain that he could flip things back to the offensive side without much effort, so you opt not to go into an attacking stance quite yet. You keep your weight shifting from foot to foot.

You and Seonghwa resume your aggressive dance, exchanging blow after blow but not managing to send each other down quite yet. Whilst you manage to deliver several hits and they land nicely, it’s not enough to cast Seonghwa off his balance. However, now that you know a few of his tricks from the first round and watching his steps, you manage to dart around his attacks with haste. You are lighter on your feet than he is, although he’s still quite nimble and that surprises you for a man of his height.

An opening arises when he leans forward with his left foot. His right comes off the ground for a split second but it’s an opening nonetheless and you slip your foot under his before he brings it back to the ground. The surprise of hitting your foot rather than the mat causes Seonghwa to jerk upwards again. As his leg lifts you use all your force to ram your left shoulder into his chest. He stumbles back, balance quickly diminishing, and you sweep your leg in a circle to catch his and fully bring him to the ground.

His eyes go wide as he falls to the ground, and he almost seems to move in slow motion. You smirk as he hits the mat, an ‘oof’ escaping him, and you press one knee to the middle of his chest.

“Checkmate.” You know he’s more than strong enough to overpower you and flip the position with ease, but Seonghwa just lies back and smiles up at you with fire in his eyes.

“Good move, princess. That’s five seconds.”

“You practically gave that one to me,” you huff as you stand back up straight. You extend an arm to Seonghwa the way he did to you, and he lets you pull him up.

“Then I’ll make sure not to go easy on you this time.” Seonghwa chuckles to himself as he falls back into a fighting stance. You match him this time, knowing that you don’t have any room for error now that the score is one to one. Neither of you are directly offensive or defensive this time. Seonghwa’s posture is relaxed and confident, he doesn’t bend as low this time, and the gleam in his eyes reads arrogance. He’s certain that he will win this round as well, but you’re determined to at least give him hell before he takes you down.

You attack first this time, a swift jab to his outer hip, and Seonghwa closes your hand against his side by slamming his arm down on top of yours. He traps your wrist between his hip and forearm. You push your weight up against him, head connecting with his shoulder. This time, Seonghwa manages to keep you pinned though. He slips a leg between yours, hooking his foot around your ankle. The action nearly sends you spiraling to the ground but you spring your wrist loose at the last second and roll out of the way before he can pin you down.

You exhale a huff of laughter as you look up at Seonghwa. One of his sleeves has fallen back to its original place, but the other maintains its spot rather well. His hair remains pressed flat again his forehead, even more damp than before, and his chest heaves from the further exertion. You’re sure you look to be in a similar state of disarray but you don’t have time to think about it before Seonghwa is attacking you again. The sudden combination of attacks are rough and hard-hitting; he doesn’t even wait for you to get back up to your feet to hit you. You defend yourself as best you can, blocking around half of the attacks comfortably. One of his kicks hits your forearm awkwardly, and you release a small shout of pain at the contact.

Seonghwa ceases his attacks immediately. Freezes up actually and kneels beside you with eyes suddenly full of concern. In all honesty, it didn’t hurt that bad and you don’t even feel a dull throb coming from where he hit you. You’ve never been a fair player though, and you rub at the skin while hissing through your teeth.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Which arm is it? Let me see,” Seonghwa rants, hands coming to rest atop yours. His balance shifts, and in that moment, you swing forward and flip him onto his back. You pin his wrists on either side of his head, a cocky grin overtaking your lips.

“Still going easy on me?” You taunt. Seonghwa blinks up at you, still a step behind, and when he realizes how you tricked him, his expression settles into a bitter one.

“That’s a cheap trick, princess.”

“It still worked on you, didn’t–”

You don’t have time to respond. Seonghwa somehow tugged his wrists out of your grasp while speaking. He swings a leg around your waist and pushes off the ground to alter your positions. All of a sudden, you’re the one laying flat on your back with your wrists pinned to the ground. Seonghwa keeps both of your hands on the mat with only one of his, and you’d be lying if you didn’t admit that the show of strength is mildly impressive. He lifts his other hand to glance down at his wristband. It’s his turn to wear a cocky grin.

“Five seconds, princess.”

“That was cheap.”

“You only had me down for four.” Seonghwa pokes the edge of his mouth with his tongue, eyes taunting you with their playful gleam. “I win. Two of three. Although you put up a better fight than I thought you would.”

“Oh, what a compliment.” You writhe against Seonghwa’s grip. The awkwardness of the position is beginning to settle in a little, with his legs pressed on either side of your hips and his hand pinning yours above your head. He doesn’t let up though, eyes ever-playful as he stares down at you.

“It was cute when you tried to pin me down.” Seonghwa’s eyes scan your expression. Your face is hot but moreso from embarrassment rather than the physical exertion. Seonghwa’s cheeks are a little flushed, small beads of sweat travel down his temple, and you follow the movement with your eyes. “I wonder…” He trails off without finishing the train of thought then pulls off of you a moment later.

It gives you a chance to exhale a shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“How does your arm feel?”

“Like it’s gonna be sore tomorrow,” you grumble as you pull yourself into a sitting position. “But it doesn’t hurt.”

“Good. Maybe next time you can actually try to beat me.” Seonghwa stands up and tugs at the bands around his arms. He unwinds them while smirking down at you. You glare back.

“Next time?”

“You think I’m going to let you off the hook? That arm isn’t going to fix itself with some ‘stretches’. I’ll put you on your ass every day if I have to.”

“Yea, well, something tells me you’d like to do that regardless.”

Seonghwa quirks a brow at your muttered comment. You don’t miss the way his eyes trail over your body, moving head to toe, then he tilts his head side to side.

“Can’t deny that.”

“Ugh, you’re despicable.” You stand up and head for the double doors, intent on leaving the training room before he gets you even more flustered.

“Four o’clock tomorrow, Y/N!” Seonghwa calls out after you, a laugh in his tone.

“Yea, yea, whatever, pretty boy.”

✧✧✧ a/n: ohohohohoho i smell some sexual tension 👃👃👃👃 JKDFJ this idea came to mind, and some people on the survey were asking about sparring sessions or just daily lives of the crew along with y/n so i decided to break up some of our juicy tension with mORE JUICY TENSION wow at least im consistent sodifjofij i hope you all enjoy this part! it’s quite early in terms of me writing stuff but i couldn’t get this idea out of my head

this is a repost because i deleted the wrong one im sorry just ignore this and me slkdfjljiojo

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @2504-life @lil7bluedragon @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @yayhei @haotheheckk @noonawriter

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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sourwolf-sterek32 · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the End

Summary: Y/N Winchester was a hunter like her brothers, following in their fathers footsteps. Saving people, hunting things, the family business.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Winchester!Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Language, minor descriptions of blood

Chapter 3-

The next week went by eerily quieter than usual. Nothing happened. Literally nothing happened.

There weren't any mysterious cases popping up like there usually was, not even a simple salt and burn or anything. It was like all the supernatural creatures had just disappeared off the face of the earth and you hated how neither you or Cas could access angel radio anymore.

However, a few days later, that's when it all started.

It began with a few reports coming from Australia about people turning cannibal and attacking other people. At first you didn't think much of it, but then it started happening in other counties and eventually it hit the states.

Everyone had been told to stay indoors until this whole thing blew over, but the four of you knew that it wouldn't blow over. You all hit the books in the bunkers library searching for anything that you could find that might help, but there was nothing.

Three days later, electricity and phone service was cut. Luckily, the bunker had a backup generator that could last for a few months, so you were fine for now. But, the world outside wasn't.

The dead were walking.

The government, all law enforcement, businesses, everything was gone and there was no way of contacting your friends to see if they were safe or not. You had no idea if Daryl was safe.

You all stayed inside the bunker, going over every single book and artefact in the library, but after a whole month of just searching for a cure to this thing, it was clear that there wasn't. This is what Chuck meant. This was the end.

Eventually the food and water in the bunker began to run out and the four of you started to scavenge the nearby town for supplies.

You very quickly learnt that the zombies only went down with a headshot and although they may seem slow and stupid in small numbers, if you came across a large group of them, you were screwed.

Noise and blood attracted them, if you got bitten or scratched then you'd become one of them. Although, you weren't sure if Cas could heal a zombie bite or not, or if you could either, but your powers were screwed anyway, and you didn't feel like going through that pain to try. You weren't even sure if the zombies could turn you or Cas, but they could turn humans and you weren't going to let your brothers become one of them.

You, Cas and your brothers stayed together. If one of you wanted to go out and scavenge, then you all went. You have come across a few other survivors over the months, most of them just wanting to rob you, which never ended well for them.

The wound on your shoulder had healed up eventually, leaving a dark circular scar in its place. The generator in the bunker ran out of fuel a few weeks ago and although you had scavenged a lot of gas cans worth of fuel, you saved them mostly for the Impala in case you needed to make a quick getaway. You had torches, lanterns and candles set up inside the bunker, so you could see inside because it wasn't like you just crack a window in the bunker to let light in.

It was hard not to use your powers though. Since you found out that you were a Nephilim, you had used your powers probably every day ever since, so it was hard to kick the habit. Even if it was to just move a bottle of beer closer to you, you'd just do it automatically without thinking and pay the price not a second later when pain seared through your head. Chuck was probably laughing at you from wherever he got sent to after he died. Asshole.

Since the dead started to walk, you hadn't seen or heard about any other supernatural creatures running around outside. You were starting to get the feeling that it was because Chuck had killed all the other supernatural creatures, leaving just humans and the zombies. The ultimate zombie apocalypse. But, why keep you and Cas alive? Probably just so you could live and see the world end, fucking Chuck.

The four of you lived in the bunker for over a year, scavenging nearby towns and staying low to survive.

Dean and Cas had been at each others throats everyday. Dean still hadn’t forgiven him for what happened to Mary even though it wasn’t the angels fault, but Dean was still angry with him despite what you and Sam kept saying.

You all knew that you couldn’t stay inside the bunker forever and you wanted to go try and find the others, find Jody, Donna, Rick and Daryl. You really wanted to just pack up the Impala and go find him. Hell, you didn't even know if Daryl was alive. He better be alive, he had to be.

Then...

You walked through the woods for nearly 10 minutes trying to find Daryl Dixon.

His brother had called you and told you that he never returned from his hunting trip last night. Why he even went out hunting to begin with was beyond you because if you remembered correctly, you specifically told him to stay out the woods.

Suddenly, your super hearing picked up the sound of twigs snapping in the distance, indicating that someone or something was nearby. Without a second thought you took off running in the direction of the noise, mentally taking note of the very obvious large wolf tracks on the ground, but wolves did not have paws that big. What the hell made those tracks?

You quickly stopped when you spotted a panicked Daryl hiding behind a large tree. His crossbow in his hands as he struggled to catch his breath, but by the way his back was pressed against the tree, it was clear he was hiding from something.

"Dixon." You called out, walking over to him causing his eyes to snap in your direction, his crossbow aimed at you as you raised your hands. "Easy tiger. I'm here to help you, but if you pull that trigger, I might rethink that." You said nodding towards the crossbow and Daryl lowered the weapon with a sigh.

"There's somethin' out here. It's been trackin' me all night, we gotta get outta here." Daryl quickly said, panic evident in his tone.

His eyes scanned his surroundings like he was just waiting for something to jump out and attack, but that's not how vampires worked. But, vampires sure as hell wouldn't waste time tracking some random dude through the woods in the middle of the night, so what was going on?

"You head back. I'll deal with it." You answered, turning around as you began to walk in the direction that Daryl kept looking towards, indicating that was where he thought the suspect was.

"I ain't leavin' ya out here." He responded and you glanced over your shoulder realising that he had started to follow you further into the woods. Well, the man had guts, you will give him that.

"Did you get a good look at this thing?" You asked, turning back around as you continued walking.

"Ya wouldn't believe me if I told ya." He muttered, jogging the remaining distance until he was walking beside you, his crossbow still in his hands.

"Try me." You responded, before your phone began to ring from your pocket and you quickly pulled it out, reading Dean's number as you answered. "What's up?" You asked, and you didn't miss the look of disbelief on Daryl's face at how causal you answered the phone when you were literally walking through the woods with a stranger trying to find a supernatural creature.

"We're looking at the body. It wasn't a vampire. There's three puncture marks on the man's neck, but they aren't from vampire fangs, they're like canine teeth-" Dean began to explain before Daryl suddenly grabbed your shoulder snapping you away from the phone conversation as you looked over at the guy to find him staring wide eyed at something in the distance.

You quickly followed his line of sight and your whole body froze as you took in a creature that you had only ever seen in the history books.

The creature was the size of a small bear, but looked like some kind of wild dog on drugs. It was hairless with giant spikes sticking out of its back along it is spine. Your eyes flashed down to its sharp claws before you looked back up to its head noticing the three canines sticking out its top jaw. Well, shit.

"It's not a vampire. We think it's a Chupacabra." Dean's voice said through the phone that was still pressed to your ear, but you didn't take your eyes off the monster that was standing 20 metres in front you.

"It's definitely a Chupacabra." You answered, watching as the animal began to take a few steps in your direction.

"What? How do you know-"

"I gotta go. Meet me back at the trailer park." You quickly said, hanging up the phone before Dean had a chance to answer as you pulled your angel blade out that was tucked in the side of your boot.

"Ya gonna try stab it?" Daryl suddenly questioned and you just shrugged your shoulders.

You honestly you had no idea how to kill this thing. Until a few moments ago, you didn't even know they existed and that was saying something.

You stabbed it, nothing happened.

You shot it with your handgun, nothing happened.

You threw Daryl your backpack and told him to make a Molotov cocktail and he gave you a weird look, but found the supplies in the bag to do it. He threw it at the monster, but nothing happened.

You tried to cut its head off, but that only resulted in pissing it off and you ended up getting your stomach scratched by its claws.

Eventually, you pulled out a silver bullet and shot it right between the eyes and to your relief the Chupacabra finally dropped motionless and you sighed with relief. Should have started with the damn silver bullets.

You turned back towards Daryl to find him holding your backpack in one hand and his crossbow in the other as he stared at you in absolute shock. But, he managed to snap out of it and pointed towards the blood that had seeped through your flannel shirt with panicked eyes.

"I'm fine, it's already healed." You said, lifting up your shirt to show him the clear skin causing his eyes to widen further if that was even possible as he stared at where the claw marks used to be.

"That ain't possible." He muttered, shaking his head in disbelief causing you to chuckle as you pointed towards the dead monster behind you.

"You just saw this thing try and kill us, and you're having trouble wrapping your head around my fast healing?" You asked, raising your eyebrows at the man.

Daryl didn't say anything as his eye's flashed between you and the monster as he tried to process everything that had just happened, but he was struggling. It was a lot to take in. You were shocked the guy was still standing beside you instead of running in the opposite direction.

"Look, the supernatural is real. All the things that go bump in the night are real. Werewolves, vampires, demons, ghosts, you name it, my brothers and I have probably killed it. Also, I'm not a cop." You explained.

"No shit." Daryl muttered.

"I'm a Nephilim. Part angel, part human. But, my brothers are human and we're hunters. Not the same kind as you and your brother. We hunt supernatural creates, not many people know this stuff exists and we'd like to keep it that way. Most people can't handle it, knowing this shit is real." You continued to explain causing Daryl to chuckle, almost hysterically.

"Ya think I can?" He questioned and you just shrugged your shoulders.

"Well, you haven't run away or passed out yet, so I'm leaning towards, yes." You answered, before an all too familiar growl filled the air. Of course, there had to be more than one.

You quickly turned around, raising your handgun to take out the other one, but there were more than one. There was a whole damn pack of them. Well, shit just got interesting.

"Do I run now?" Daryl hesitantly asked and you glanced over at him to find him still standing beside you, his grip tightening on his crossbow.

You smiled softly at the mans courage as he stared at the pack of Chupacabra's in front of you and it was like his voice ticked them off because they all suddenly sprinted towards you. Fangs and claws out as they charged and you quickly raised your hands, sending telekinetic shock waves towards the monsters stopping them in a split second.

You heard Daryl gasp from beside you as you used your powers. You lifted your hands higher, raising the pack of monsters in the air before you squeezed your hands into a fists and watched as the Chupacabra's all exploded, killing them instantly.

"Ya could do that the whole time?! Why didn't ya do that to the first one?" Daryl's voice questioned in a mixture of shock, panic and confusion as you turned around to find him still standing behind you.

"I needed to find out how to kill these things without my powers. We honestly didn't know they existed, let alone how to kill one." You tried to explain, but Daryl was still staring at you like you were speaking a different language. "If my brothers or any other hunter comes across these things, they'll know how to kill them now. Silver bullet to the head." You explained and Daryl nodded ever so slightly before he looked back towards the dead Chupacabra and the guts of the exploded ones on the ground in front of you.

Neither of you said anything for a few minutes and you let Daryl have a moment to process everything he had just seen because for someone who didn't know about the supernatural yesterday, it was a lot to take in.

"You okay? I know, it's a lot to take in." You said, your tone gentle as you looked over at the guy who nodded as he slung his crossbow over his shoulder. "I hate to say this, but can you not tell anyone about what you saw today? Like I said before, if people knew this was real-"

"I won't tell anyone. My brother wouldn't even believe me if I tried." He chuckled and you couldn't help but smile watching the man laugh.

It looked good on him. He looked good. No. Don't even go there, don't even try and look at those muscular arms and broad shoulders, or those crystal blue eyes or... No, shut up brain. There was no point fantasising about this man, nothing could happen between the two of you, even if you wanted it to. Your life was too dangerous and anyone who got romantically involved with a Winchester was just destined to die and you weren't going to let that happen to anyone, especially this guy.

"We should probably head back. Your brother seemed pretty worried this morning when you didn't come home and if I don't get back soon then my brothers will start to worry and that's not good for anyone." You quickly said, snapping yourself out of your thoughts as you scanned your surroundings trying to figure out which way was back to town. You could always just teleport back to town, but Daryl would probably rather walk.

"This way." Daryl instructed nodding over his shoulder as he began to walk off and you quickly followed.

"So, what now?" Daryl asked as the two of finally reached the edge of the tree line and could now see the back of the trailer park where your brothers and Merle Dixon where waiting by the fence.

You stopped walking and turned towards Daryl who stopped as well, staring at you curiously.

"Now, you go back to living your life as normal. But, if anything ever happens that's... well, supernatural. Just call this number." You said, pulling out your fake FBI business card from your pocket and held it towards him.

"No offence, but I hope I never have to." Daryl replied honestly as he took the card and tucked it into the pocket inside his vest.

"You can give that number a call anytime. It doesn't just have to be for that reason." You added, glancing over at Daryl who's eyes widened in surprise causing you to smile before you both continued walking back to your brothers.

Now...

"We can't just keep living like this. There has to be something out there that can cure this. Maybe we can find Rowena and she can use some spell." Sam spoke up, breaking the silence between the four of you.

You were all hanging out in the main room of the bunker.

Sam and Cas were sitting at the war table while Dean leant against the pillar. You were leaning against the wall opposite him as the two of you bounced a tennis ball to each other because you were that fucking board.

"If all supernatural creatures are dead, Rowena probably is too." Cas responded as you bounced the tennis ball back to Dean who shook his head.

"No fucking shit.” Dean muttered, glaring at Cas as you ditched the ball at your brother in a silent warning to go easy on the angel. “Well, you two are still here. Maybe Rowena is too." Dean added, pointing towards you and Cas with the tennis ball before he bounced it back to you.

"I vote we have a little road trip, try find Rowena and see if any of our other friends are still alive. I need to find Daryl and I know going on a road trip in this new world is risky, but I need to find him and I know you guys want to find the others too." You said as you caught the ball and Dean just chuckled causing you to raise your eyebrows at him.

"You and Daryl have managed to keep your long-distance relationship working for years, I doubt the apocalypse would change anything. C'mon, let's start packing. We'll head out at first light." Dean declared.

By the time the sun was up, the four of you all piled into the impala, Dean driving, Sam shotgun while you and Cas chilled in the back with all your bags.

You only packed food, water and weapons, as well as a couple gas cans of fuel, because you it wasn’t like you had much room in the Impala with four adults inside.

Dean drove until sundown, taking a few detours when the main roads were blocked or when you spotted any herds in the distance. You all took turns driving as much to Deans disgust, but he couldn't drive all the time, so you all took turns and switched off to sleep.

You couldn't stop yourself from thinking about Daryl though. You were going to Rowena's place first and then you were going to the trailer park to find Daryl... But, what would you find at the trailer park? Was he still alive? Would he even still be in Georgia? What if you find him as a zombie inside his trailer... No, you couldn't let your mind go down that path, he was alive. Daryl Dixon was too stubborn to die anyway.

A week of driving and sleeping in the back of the impala, Dean finally pulled the car over by some gas station, so you all could recharge. To your surprise the gas station actually looked half decent as you scouted the area and realised that it had hardly been touched and was still stocked with food.

There were a few zombies stumbling around inside that clearly used to worked there if their uniform was any indication, but the four of you easily took them down with your knives before you set up camp inside for the night.

It was a nice change from the inside of the impala and you had a lot more space which you happily took.

"I vote we stay here one more night, before we keep heading East and hope Rowena is at her safehouse in North Carolina." Sam said, walking back into the building..

"I second that vote." You said, holding up your bottle of water like it was beer causing your brothers to roll their eyes before they all raised their bottles of water too and nodded in agreement.

You and Cas ended up taking the first watch while your brothers slept using their backpacks as pillows.

You sat on the edge of the open window sill looking out at the dark night for any signs of danger, but you knew you'd be able to hear any threats before you even saw them. But, it was nice just sitting there and looking out at the stars shining in the sky. For a short moment, it made you forget about everything that was going on.

"Hey." Cas' voice whispered and you glanced over your shoulder to find him walking towards you.

"Hey." You whispered back not wanting to wake your brothers who were fast asleep on the other side of the store.

"How's your shoulder?" He asked worriedly once he reached your side.

"It's fine. Almost completely healed, but my powers... Cas I'm practically useless." You sighed, looking back out the window.

"You're not useless, Y/N. You're one of the best hunters I know, with or without your powers." He said, trying to make you feel better and you appreciated him trying, but it didn't work.

"Maybe. But, that doesn't help this." You said motioning towards everything around you. "I can't fix what Chuck has done. He's destroyed the world... Jack might have been able to fix this, but I can't and if we can't find Rowena... Cas, how do we live like this? We can't and I... I don't even know if my boyfriend is alive." You whispered, hating the fact that you could feel tears starting to rise in your eyes.

Cas didn't say anything for a moment before he took another step towards you and rested his hand on your shoulder.

"I know." He sighed, taking a deep breath as a silent tear trickled down your cheek. "We will find a way to fix this... I don't know how, but we will find a way." Cas insisted and you nodded softly.

"I hope you're right."

"Me too." Cas responded, squeezing your shoulder gently before he started to walk away.

"Hey, Cas." You called out softly, looking back over at him as he turned back towards you. "You know that Dean doesn't hate you, right? He's angry and upset about everything that's happened and he's been taking his anger out on you. It doesn't make it right, but he doesn't hate you."

"You should tell him that." Cas responded, glancing over at the brothers who were still asleep.

"My brother... he's different. He expresses his emotions differently and I know it might not seem like it right now, but he cares about you. And I know you care about him too... Cas, I see the way you look at him." You said with a soft smile, but Cas shook his head.

"Y/N, trust me. You don't know-" He began to say before you cut him off.

"You love him, don't you?" You asked causing Cas' eyes to widen.

You smiled knowing what you had been thinking for years was actually true. Cas was in love with your brother and you knew your idiot brother loved him as well, but they were both just too oblivious to realise it.

"How did you know?" Cas asked in pure shock, quickly looking back over at Dean to make sure he was still asleep.

"I know my brother better than anyone and I know you. We've all been together for over 10 years... I see things, I know things... Dean will never be the one to say it first though, you know that right? He thinks he doesn't deserve love, that he doesn't deserve you... you should just tell him how you feel." You suggested, but Cas instantly shook his head.

"No. I can't risk that. I won't risk losing Dean all together, not after everything that's happened and everything that's happening, I can’t do that." He insisted and you just rolled your eyes.

"I'm not saying you have to, but you both deserve to be happy." You responded sincerely.

"Since when do we get what we deserve?" Cas asked quietly with a sad smile.

"Well, it's about time one of us gets what we deserve. Just think about it, please?" You asked softly, watching as Cas glanced back at Dean before he nodded.

MASTERLIST

Next Chapter

-Gifs used are not mine. Credit to rightful owners.

Tag Lists- I will reblog with my tag lists, so if you wanted to be added to just let me know.

#Daryl Dixon #Daryl Dixon x Reader #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd #The Walking Dead #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #Destiel #SPN #supernatural fanfiction #Sam Winchester

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