#who just has them BLAZING AWAY LIKE A MIDNIGHT SUN and WILL. NOT. turn the high beams off. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thenerdyfanwriter · 1 year

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Damn Your Lies

Pairings: Modern!Bucky Barnes x Rogers!Reader, Implied Bucky x Natasha Romanoff

Word Count: 1,947

Warnings: ANGST. Like lots of angst. Hints at cheating.

Summary: You feel Bucky pulling away from you. When you meet the new neighbor, everything comes to light.

A/N: This is based off the song The Chain by Fleetwood Mac. There is a possibility for a part 2 if enough people want one.

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There was something going on with Bucky. He’s been acting strange for a few weeks now. When I asked him about it he just said he’s been spending more time with “a friend”. A. Friend. Not “my friend”, just “a friend”. I don’t understand why he won’t even tell me who it is. I thought I knew all his friends.

Bucky is currently out with his friend. Just the one friend. And I hate this feeling I have, like I know he’s doing something he shouldn’t. This has become a routine at this point. Bucky tells me he’s leaving, I ask where he's going, he tells me a friends, and I sit on the couch or lay in bed with this sick feeling until he gets back.

It’s almost midnight now. This is the latest Bucky has been. I know I sound super jealous right now, but when you get this feeling, it’s the only thing you can be.

I must have fallen asleep. I feel Bucky laying next to me. I can hear him snoring. I open my eyes and he has his back to me. I can see a sliver of sun peeking through the curtains in the room. Slowly getting out of bed, as to not wake Bucky, I make my way to the kitchen.

I stop in the middle of the hallway. I can hear Bucky saying something, but I can only make out a part of it before I hear snoring again. With softer steps, I continue making my way to the kitchen to start breakfast.

By the time Bucky finally gets up, it’s almost noon. “ Good Morning Buck.I made breakfast and coffee if you want some.”

He grumbles before responding. “ Thanks. Not hungry though.” He grabs a cup of coffee before going back to the bedroom. I follow him. He’s not normally like this in the morning. He normally is happy for some breakfast and engages in conversation.

“Are you ok, Bucky? Is there something wrong?” He’s facing away from me sitting on the edge of the bed. The curtains have been opened and the sun is blazing through them now. I notice Bucky still has last night's clothes on, although they look more messy and wrinkled now.

“I’m fine. Just tired s’all.” Bucky said before sipping some coffee. He’s still facing away from me at this point, so I walk around the bed to sit next to him. Before I make it all the way around, he turns on the bed to face me, and I see it. Dark red lipstick on the collar of his shirt.

I stop before I make it to him. Bucky looks at me and his brows furrow. “I’m going to go clean the bathroom.” I say quickly and exit the room before he can say anything.

I make it to the bathroom and lock the door. I hear footsteps in the hallway. None of them come to the bathroom. It sounds like Bucky’s getting ready for work. I hear his footsteps in the hallway one last time before I hear the front door open and close.

That’s when I break down. My back slides down the door and I pull my knees to my chest and let the tears fall. I should have known better than to not question him farthing about things. I should have pushed harder for the truth.

At some point the tears stopped and I got up, cleaned myself up and continued on with my day. Bucky should be home around 6 pm tonight, which gives me plenty of time to go shopping and cook dinner.

I drove to the grocery store to get some things for dinner. As I was shopping, I noticed our new neighbor. Where Bucky and I live, it’s a very small town where we all know each other. I had heard of her from a few friends, but never got to meet her before now.

I walk up to her and introduce myself. “Hi, I’m Y/n. You must be Natasha.” She had shoulder length, red hair and natural makeup on. I can see why everyone is already fawning over her. She’s beautiful.

“Yeah, I am. It’s nice to meet you.” She seems very anxious. Her eyes keep darting around and she keeps shifting feet.

“Well, why don’t you come over to my house for dinner tonight? It’ll be me and my boyfriend, Bucky.” I asked her. She froze when I said Bucky’s name, which is weird. “You can bring your partner if you’d like as well.”

“Oh, I’m actually not seeing anyone. But I’ll take you up on the dinner offer. It would be nice to make new friends.” Natasha said. She seems a little less fidgety.

I give her a big smile and give her my address. “ See you tonight then.”

“Yeah. See you.” She said before rushing off.

I finish shopping and make it home a couple hours before Bucky is supposed to be home. I start dinner and start setting the dining room up. By time I’m done, there's still a half hour before Bucky gets home, so I go change.

I hear the front door open and heavy steps walking through the house. I look at the clock in the bedroom and realize Bucky is home early. I walk out to the living room where he’s taking his boots off. “ You’re home early, Buck.”

“Yeah. I finished work early.” He said without looking up from where he was unlacing his boots.

“Ok. Well I invited the new neighbor, Natasha, over for dinner. I’m making your favorite roast.” At Natasha’s name his fingers on his boot laces freeze briefly before continuing.

“Ok sweets. Fine with me.” He finishes taking his boots off and goes to the bedroom. I hear the over chime, so I go to the kitchen to finish dinner.

As I’m transferring everything from the kitchen to the dining room, the doorbell rings. I make my way to the door and pull it open. On the other side is Natasha. “ Hi. I’m just finishing setting up dinner. You can go sit at the table if you'd like. Bucky should be out soon.” As if on cue Bucky walks out of the bedroom.

“You must be Natasha. I’m Bucky.” He says as he greets her. I finish moving everything and we all sit down. We engage in conversation for a while before I notice her lipstick.

“That's a beautiful shade of lipstick you have. Almost like a perfect dark red.” I said to her. I feel like I’ve seen that color before, I just can’t place where.

“Oh, thank you. I just love the color of it.” Natasha responds.

We keep conversation for another hour while we finish dinner. Natasha has to leave so we say goodbye and Bucky and I start cleaning up. “She seems nice. What do you think Bucky?”

“Um, yeah. She seems nice enough.” Bucky says. He’s still acting strange but I figure he’s just not feeling well or something.

I go to the kitchen to start on the dishes when I pick up the glass Natasha was drinking from. There’s remnants of her lipstick still on it and I remember where I saw it before. This morning on Bucky’s shirt collar. The glass falls from my hand and Bucky comes running in.

“Are you ok? I heard a crash.” He rushed out.

I smiled and looked at him. “ Yeah I’m fine. The glass slipped from my hand.” I turned back to the sink and continued with the dishes. He seemed fine with my response so he walked out of the kitchen. I could feel my breath getting more shaky as I held tears back.

Bucky was in bed sleeping by the time I was done with the dishes and got ready for bed. I laid with my back to him but couldn’t sleep. At this point I was silently crying, hoping what I’m thinking isn’t what’s happening.

Bucky must have woken up at some point because I feel his arms wrap around me before I hear him start talking. “Baby, are you crying?” He asked. He sounds genuinely concerned.

“No, I’m fine, Buck.” I sniffle and wipe my face before facing him. I know he can tell I’m lying just based on the way his face shifts.

“Don’t lie to me, doll. Tell me what’s wrong.” He says, cupping my face.

I pull away from him and sit up against the headboard. “Why won’t you tell me about your new friend? It seems like you’re always out with them, but you never tell me who they are or what you do.” I say while looking at him. He sits up and takes a minute to find an answer.

“Are you trying to insinuate I’m cheating on you?” He asks as he looks at me like I’m crazy.

“No, I just like to know what’s going on in your life.” I told him. He gets off the bed and starts pacing the room.

“Is that why you invited Natasha over? To try and catch me cheating?” He looks at me. His breathing is heavier.

More tears are springing in my eyes as I connect the dots. The lipstick, freezing when I said her name. “Was that her lipstick on the collar of your shirt last night?” I ask calmly.

He stops pacing and faces me fully. He looks like a deer in headlights. “What lipstick?” He asks almost in a whisper. I get off the bed and go over to the laundry basket where his shirt is. I pull it out and show him the stain. He looks at it closely before responding. “That’s your lipstick.”

“No, it’s not. I don’t wear this color. But Natasha does.” I throw the shirt at him as the tears finally make their way down my face. “Is she your new friend? The one you hangout with all night and refuse to tell me about?”

Bucky’s frozen. He knows now that he’s been caught. After a minute of no response from him, I make my way to the living room to grab my stuff. “Where are you going Y/n?” He chases after me with the shirt still in his hand.

“I’m going to sleep at my brothers tonight. I’ll come back for my stuff in the morning.” My breathing is heavier and I can barely see through the tears coming from my eyes.

“Don’t leave me,please. I love you. I promise nothing happened between me and Natasha.” He seems panicked now, as I collect my bag and coat.

“Bucky you don’t love me if you’re willing to let another girl get lipstick all over you and then lie about it.” I’m standing at the door now.

“I do love you.” He says loudly.

I turn around and face him. I’m tired of this back and forth. “ If you don’t love me now, you’ll never love me again. I know you fell out of love, Bucky. And that's ok.Goodbye Buck.”

Before he can respond, I run out the door. I start walking to Steve’s apartment.

When I get there, I knock on the door. It takes a minute for him to answer, but when he does, I run into his arms and cry hard. “Whoa, what's wrong?” He asks, pulling me into the living room.

“Bucky cheated on me.” Was all I could say before crying again. He looks mad now. I know Him and Bucky were best friends.

“You can stay here, as long as you need to.” He went and got some blankets for me and I laid on the couch before drifting into sleep.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky angst #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #marvel angst

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zikanshusband · 28 days

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It was just a nightmare.

It was just a nightmare. The same one that had been plaguing him from the dawn of his birth to what seemed to stretch on to his inevitable death. The blazing inferno stretched its arms out, its wispy limbs deceivingly loving as it seduced him with its warmth. Fire was what he was born from, and fire was what took his parents away from him.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

His mother practiced the dark arts from what the clergy had told him. His father was a nocturnal being, one that preyed upon the holy people of the village. Their relationship resulted in a bastard son, one that was impure and unclean.

One that was to be cleansed from the Earth.

The church had shown him mercy. They showed mercy to an animal like him. They could have put him down just like a rabid dog, but they had given him a home. Everything his poor mother couldn't provide, they had granted him. All they asked for in return was his strength.

And how could he refuse?

Gazing down at his feet, he could only blankly stare at the flesh of the vampire he had just slaughtered in front of him. All he could hear was the short quickened beats of his heart and his trembling breaths. He himself could feel blood trickling down his forehead, obscuring his vision in his left eye. Acacius’s eyes glazed over to the face of his unsuspecting victim. Desperate. Horrified. A hint of guilt overcame him as he stepped back from the corpse. He kneeled down, his cold and pale fingers shutting the eyelids of the body. Hesitating to pull his hand back, Acacius’s irises found the glowing moon.

She was so beautiful. She was his light, for he has never seen the sun. He has not felt her warm rays hitting his skin, blessing and purifying him. It brought him to tears almost. It was the only way he would ever be able to see the sun’s rays: through the moon’s protection.

Murmuring a small prayer, Acacius crossed himself. He adjusted the veil over his face, the black intricate and blood-stained lace cascading down to cover his features.

In nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti…

Turning towards the empty street, he walked the cobblestone path. The night was quiet, save his footsteps, the groaning of the pebbles underneath his worn black boots, and the whistling of the midnight breeze. No one sane thinks to step foot outside of their home past dusk. They all tell hushed stories of who they call the Gargoyle.

A being, they say, with monstrous strength and speed. A being who feast on the flesh of people who dare to cross their path. They whisper about how he mocks the dead the way he mutters curses towards the body after he ruthlessly murders them in cold blood.

One day, he thought. One day, he will walk among the people. He knew their faces, painted them countlessly on his walls until his fingers were stained with paint, just *hoping* that one day, he could be among them.

But now he walked along the deserted town, with nothing but the moon accompanying him. She was his best friend, but even there were times where she seemed to shrink away from him. There were nights where he fought, not knowing if the moon would watch over him as he took his last dying breaths.

Did she think of him as a monster as well?

His fingertips danced along the rough stone of the buildings he passed by. He memorized these sensations, careful to trace each bump and etched them in his mind. Most were worn and weathered, and he took great care in keeping them as pristine as he could. Acacius pondered for a moment on how he would be able to recreate smaller miniatures of these buildings. Perhaps clay would be of good use.

He pulled his hand with a start when he realized he had stained the rock red with his blood. Rubbing furiously on the smear, he sighed as he realized his effort was futile.

The walk back to the church was an uneventful one. Acacius swore he could sleep walk - that is, if he could sleep- his way back with absolutely no effort. He occupied himself by checking if there were any interesting things he could grind up into paint, or if anything he had looted from the dead body had any use to him. Countless journals filled the small makeshift bookshelf he had made out of loose floorboards as a child. He read about the world outside, about the corruption, the love, the pain of it all. It had inspired him to write as well. He wrote about his pain, his sorrow, all of his melancholy laments. But no matter how different each journal was, every single one of them convinced him more and more to leave his tower and to live his dream.

But he cannot. He was leashed, chained to the gothic twisting cathedral that had lovingly opened its arms to him.

How beautiful was Christ’s grace. How beautiful was the embrace of it all. The mercy that was shown to him. If he were to leave, it would be rejecting the people that had given him a second chance.

How could he ever betray the people who had spared his unholy life?

#vampire #writing #oc writing #vampire oc #oc #original character #vampyr #creative writing

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corellianhounds · 7 months

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In one of my imaginary future seasons of The Book of Boba Fett we get word of a shadowy mercenary who very few know the true name of traveling across the galaxy intent on making landfall somewhere in the Outer Rim. Most folks thought they were either dead or just a legend, so secretive and unknowable that to hear they’d suddenly reappeared meant it heralded some great approaching calamity. Even Boba Fett hadn’t crossed paths with them in person, only hearing whispers between jobs.

However, when Fennec hears that The Jackal has resurfaced, she turns uncharacteristically pale and somehow more stony than usual, and those close to her come to the startling realization that Fennec is absolutely terrified. Their suspicions turn to alarm when Fennec vanishes overnight and goes completely dark, disappearing from Tatooine.

Fett’s not going to chase her. She’s not beholden to him, despite whatever nebulous terms of their deal they’ve come to, and if Fennec doesn’t want to be found it’s not his business to go about finding her. She’s a grown woman and he has enough to deal with as is. Besides, the unnervingly disquiet disposition she’d suddenly garnered at the mercenary’s rumored reappearance makes his skin prickle.

Weeks go by with no news and for a moment things in Mos Espa settle back into a routine, until one night the skylight of the council room shatters and Fennec falls gracelessly down her belay line, narrowly avoiding a sudden stop with the floor.

Mando’s there, Fett arrives shortly after, inhabitants of the palace scurrying about as whispers traverse the hall. Fennec’s barely conscious as Mando carries her to one of the vacant servant’s quarters so Boba can run his assessment of her. She won’t stay awake longer than a minute and she’s barely lucid, clammy and wan— Boba says her circuitry and cybernetics are running hot and ragged, to the point he’s surprised she’s still alive. He says it appears like she’s been under a tremendous amount of strain, as though she’s been pushing herself for days on end without sleep or proper care. For whatever reason, Fennec has been working relentlessly either in dogged pursuit of or— and Mando nor Boba can hardly acknowledge this as an option— away from something.

It makes them uneasy.

—

Their answers come a week and a day later when a lone figure in black and reflective blue approaches the palace from the east, the suns blazing a blinding backdrop to their arrival. Before anyone realizes it they’ve slipped into the palace, and on a day Boba has gathered a court, no less.

There’s a clamoring from above the antechamber, a ruckus as guards and servants attempt to bar the way only to be tossed aside with aplomb. The masked figure in swirling midnight armor descends to the court room, and all eyes turn towards their entrance.

Murmurs break out across the court as half of the room draws blasters, all others clamoring to get out of the way. Mando steps forward from his place in the shadows behind the throne, hand on the stock of his gun, and Boba Fett’s helmet slides to lock on the stranger.

“State your business,” Fett says, unamused.

“I come unarmed,” they say in a voice as smooth as a ripple of water. Their hands raise in a show of good faith.

“Didn’t ask if you were. State your business.”

“Jackal.”

The word is spit with venom from the mouth of Fennec Shand as she braces herself against an archway on the opposite side of the room, clutching her side and glaring daggers at the mercenary. Boba stands, even more alarmed, which makes Mando flick his wrist and activate the whistling birds on reflex.

The mercenary claps their hands together, brightening at Shand’s appearance.

“Fennec!”

The crowd parts like a school of fish around a predator as the stranger approaches the center of the room, and just as they begin to speak again Fennec launches herself at them with the ferocity of a hailstorm.

The room breaks out into a cacophony of noise as the crowd scrambles away, the two lean figures matching each other in a fight with dizzying array of skill. One blow hardly lands before there’s another jab, another strike, another sweeping counterattack meeting the block and parry of their opponent. Neither Mando or Boba can make a move to intervene for how closely they’re locked in combat.

As the fight continues however, Boba realizes Fennec is the only one on the offensive.

The fight, for as ferocious as it is, is short-lived; the mercenary rolls Fennec up and back over their body and launches into an arcing back flip, simultaneously pinning Fennec on her back while at the same time landing astride her waist, one knee pinning Fennec’s right arm to the floor, Fennec’s left arm trapped behind her back as they pin her shoulder down.

“What kind of a welcome is this?” the figure asks. They wedge their hand under the jaw of Fennec’s helmet and pry it off as Fennec struggles in vain. They hold up the helmet with an apparent tsk of disapproval. “And why do you keep this thing? It makes you look like a garbage bin.”

Fennec snarls and thrashes beneath them but it doesn’t do any good. Mando and Boba had both raised their blasters when it became apparent Fennec had lost the upper hand, but to their shock she yelled a vicious “NO! SHE’S MINE!” in their direction with enough venom to halt them in their tracks.

The figure stands up, still opening and closing the face shield on Fennec’s helmet and looking entirely unperturbed. Fennec struggles to her feet and pulls a dagger from her boot, crouched and at the ready. Blood drips down her chin as her double tsks again, waving off Fennec’s death glare. She tosses the helmet back to Fennec and turns to the Mandalorians.

“Forgive my entrance, I’d hoped I was announced,” the second woman says. She removes her own helmet and tucks it under her arm, sweeping some of her dark hair back from her graceful features. Though they don’t realize they share the sentiment, both Mandalorians are grateful for how their own masks in that moment obscure the utter shock on each of their faces. The resemblance is unmistakable.

“Who are you,” Boba asks bluntly. Mando’s gauntlet still hums with energy, his blaster-side hand aloft and steady.

“Saira Shand,” Fennec mutters coldly on the stranger’s behalf.

The mercenary beams, extending her hand in a gesture of good will. Fennec spits blood into the sand and sheathes her dagger.

“My sister.”

#the book of boba Fett #boba Fett #fennec shand #my OCs #din djarin #my writing

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crenshawpostbysalt · 4 months

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Its not what I think, believe it perceive. Cause to me it’s all just bullshit. When it comes down to it. Who’s thoughts are ruthless. Switching shoes much? Hearing you I can’t believe these lies. Seeing you I can’t believe my eyes. Once they almost had us. Till we grew up. Blew up. Went from dumbass to badass. Never stepped on a tantrum. Something in us around us turned us found us. Smiled and frowned us. Far from pretending only wanted to believe in a happy ending. In everything, anything. Probably at the end of the day still our mistake. Stay up all night after the sun fades. As I’m looking in your face. The many places I want to be, need to be Even with the gaze at standstill I remain. You decided to play the game maybe just to stay sane, I get it. I choose to refrain from it but in everyone’s eyes a lame some. I know you ain’t nothing like them, deep down, hand to hand, and am I still talking to a friend? Thinking back to when I was a kid, before I ever did a bid, grew up need no bib. Looking for common ground, the argument loud. Same places, same looks, same tastes, same hooks. Thought it was all peace and quiet all the same SHOOKS! Now all I want is a piece and idea. Trying hard to make it with my head rejecting fear, blazing and fully wired like a crackhead fully inspired. Inspecting ears. Smoked and cleared. Or a base head drowned out but my case fled. Croaked and seared. Fuck that.

I’m whack and drifting slowly with my hands in the air I’m sifting holy. My wings are like angels. My knees steading praying. Reaching out can’t grab a hold of the deal, the feel, the heal I need. Looking in the mirror facing not just you but me. Is this real? I’m asking religiously, eyes blood shot, and a nervous peak when I speak. Everything seems so crazy, hit with the bombshell , the impact of social media. Follow me around the world fans trip like Expedia. Blurs and whispers of what’s her affairs and who’s with her. Is that her man ? Her mista? Oh boy I’m laughing with ya. Sitting here feet sweating no shower for weeks clothes ripped under a mist of piss. Ha ha and it gets better. Mr ahh ha so clever clever . Now you left and I’m out the cheddar. Let me take a breath cause when I step away I’m gonna need some weight shed. The legit barrel you pointed in my face, gage holding my stare with a fuck you embrace.

I’ll just break your dick and never suck it or rub it or midnight touch it. I’ll just clutch it, when I’m needing good reason to find in you the meaning of where and when this all became so deceiving ? No loving for chubs with his rights stored of mine. So I get it it’s all good now. I’ll get mine in due time.

I’m not no game here. You can’t just pump and thump then dump and diss this Dane here. Don’t want the fame now, but fuck it’s my name now. Too cold how? Wrists and hand freezing. You want to believe now. There ain’t no steps go ahead take me down. Get eye level as long as I can still see the shovel there’s no blame now heathen. I swear now with the finger on the trigger has me scheming blowh. I’m no outskirt get to feeding turn around under his wife’s skirt and his too feigning. You don’t care now. Your so bare now. Blare so loud. That will be the last pic, pull me down. Wanted to bend the stare inside me. Took the move now I see the hiding. Was scared back then Mr. confide in. Hammer to the door like shinning. It’s all clear now. I just wanted you to hear me cause I know you still think I couldn’t , shouldn’t, or wouldn’t. It's been years now since I was that little girl looking back at the innocent world doing no good. Now I’m just that girl salty and misunderstood bringing switches to get this maim reaped and sewed.

#THENANDNOW #SALT #LYRICS

#writing #crenshawpost #cresnshawpostbysalt

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throughtheinterstices · 3 years

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for the one who does not wear his heart on his sleeves (feat. oikawa tooru's onee-san)

❝ oikawa tooru does not wear his heart on his sleeves. oikawa toura, his older sister, knows this well. ❞

characters. oikawa toura, tooru’s onee-san; oikawa t. x fem!reader

genre. drama, comedy, slight romance

word count. 4.8k words

warnings. themes of teenage pregnancy

a/n. i wanted to delve a bit into tooru's character and thought, "who else would let us get to know him better than his older sister?" reblogs are appreciated. and as always, i’d be happy to hear your thoughts.

HAIKYUU MASTERLIST • AO3

及川 Oikawa reaching the river

Oikawa Tooru was not one to wear his heart on his sleeves. This didn’t stop girls from clinging on to them, however.

Oikawa Toura contemplated on this every time her younger brother got himself a girlfriend.

She figured that his handsome looks, good grades, athletic talent, and irresistible charm make up for it. (Not that she would ever admit it to her younger brother. Even then, Tooru wouldn’t be able to get all the credit. The Oikawa genes were impeccably attractive, so they all possessed the same assets anyway.)

The girls started to flock him when he was really young. Tooru was a cute and energetic kid. He was always running around with a volleyball that he loved to toss and a unique boyish charm that made him beguiling.

It was no wonder that his first grade classmate in elementary always lent Tooru her princess stickers-filled pencils whenever he “forgot” to bring his own, that Tooru weighed surprisingly heavier one time in elementary school because he always had extra to eat during meal times (courtesy of his third grade seatmate), that Tooru went home blushing one time during pre-school because a cute girl kissed him on the cheek. Toura, herself, was amused by his early puppy-love kind of escapades.

But as leaves changed color and as the siblings experienced more that life had to offer, Oikawa Toura found herself concerned about her brother. Tooru, as a kid, was a fluffy cinnamon roll that everyone wanted to devour. As a teenager, he was something else. He was growing well into the magnetic Oikawa looks, with the towering height, the playful grins, the captivating russet eyes. Partner it with his fastidious methods of fixing up, he was practically teenage royalty.

But as all teenagers were, it was easy for all the attention to get into his head. So Toura took it upon herself to keep him on his toes and to give him a few slaps back to reality.

“Ouch!” Tooru recoiled from his sister’s hand. “What was that for?”

“Stop acting like a superstar!” Toura hissed, her eyes molding into the famous Oikawa glare that she inherited from her mother. She sneaked a glance toward the flock of girls they passed by a second earlier. “You’re not only embarrassing me, you’re also embarrassing yourself!”

Tooru raised his hands in defense. “I was just waving! Is it so bad to be polite?”

“Being courteous and narcissistic are two different things!”

“Me? Narcissistic?” Tooru put a palm to his heart.

“Yeah! I’ve heard a few things about you lately!” Toura accused.

“Ya!” Tooru fished for his phone. “When did Iwa-chan become so talkative?”

Toura swiped his phone away in a flash. “You think Iwa’s the only one who notices your obnoxiousness? A lot of different people come to me just to put you in your place! Do them a favor and turn it down a bit, huh?”

Tooru huffed in disbelief. “You? Just who would do that? Everyone’s scared of you!”

Murder. That was what Toura was going to do. “What did you just say?”

Toura most often gave her brother tough love. It really couldn’t be avoided with a sibling as exasperating as Tooru. It was what his thick head needed. At first, the elder sister was frustrated whenever her brother would brush her off, would be so defensive, would grumble blatantly to the side, and sometimes would even run away at the very sight of his “nagging” sister.

Later on, these younger brother tendencies would put a knowing smile on Toura’s face. Toura thought that she would be forever pulling Tooru by the ear, yapping at him to “be nice” to his juniors or to “treat that girl well.” Apparently, forever was a bit too much. She realized this once during a phone call with her brother’s best friend.

“Iwa!” Toura called into her phone, as she exited her the room of her son, who was finishing his homework.

“Hai, onee-san!” the person on the other line coughed.

“How are you?” she chirped, entering the kitchen. “I heard you’re one of the main players for the team this year! Congratulations!”

Talking to Tooru’s friends was one of the joys of her life. When they first met her, she might have gone overboard with the fierce act and left them terrified. Through the years, they slowly got over it but she was still her mother’s daughter who inherited her temper. Tooru’s friends became witnesses to her losing it a couple of times so she couldn’t really blame them for being careful around her. Toura used their wariness to have fun once in a while.

“Ah, thank you very much,” Iwaizumi answered, brief and respectful.

Toura grinned, whipping out some strawberries from the fridge. “Iwa! You’re so polite, unlike some people I know!”

Iwaizumi hurried to reply. “Don’t worry, onee-san, Oikawa’s on his way home.”

Such loyal friends, Tooru. “Hmm? I didn’t ask for him.”

“But you were going to… right?” Iwaizumi’s hesitation was too adorable.

“Yes, sorry to bother you all the time, Iwa.” Toura tried to keep her tone sweet. “Let me just ask, is there a particular reason as to why this onee-san has to make excuses for her little brother’s lateness?”

If he was bullying the first years again…

“He’s helping the first years with their serves,” Iwaizumi said. “Sometimes with their spikes too.”

Huh. “Really?”

“Hai.”

“And how’s that been going so far?” Toura asked.

“Hmm… I can’t say really…” Iwaizumi said. “A few days of practice won’t really show much results but somehow the first years don’t seem too lost. Though sometimes they do seem irked by Oikawa’s stupid perso—”

The other line went silent.

Toura laughed. How cute.

“It’s okay, Iwa! I have firsthand experience with that stupid personality of his. Totally understandable.”

She could hear his breath of relief.

“Okaa-san!” Takeru’s voice echoed from the hall.

“I have to go, Iwa. I’ll cover for him but tell him he has to wash the dishes for two weeks.”

Toura hung up, shaking her head at the thought of her (not so) agitating brother.

Though Tooru put up a prickly front, deep down inside, Toura knew her brother always listened to the important things she said. With this, Toura was relieved. At the same time, she was concerned. Rivers looked shallow from those who viewed it from afar. A closer look would let people’s eyes see the depth of its waters. What Toura worried about was that people only saw her brother for the things that were skin deep. Worse, that they only loved him for these things.

Tooru was more than those. If only people looked a little closer and deeper.

冬麗 Toura winter, beautiful

Oikawa Tooru was not one to wear his heart on his sleeves. Oikawa Toura felt she was partly to blame.

She was eighteen, just about to enter college. It was the spring of life. New beginnings. New opportunities. Adversities would come her way. That was inevitable. She expected them to come like light rainfall, showering her days with just enough raindrops to make every color vibrant and with just enough trouble for her to appreciate the good and to grow steadily as she went. She was an Oikawa, adept with the woes of the water. She would conquer it just like she did all the other times, with the cutting russet eyes of her father and the fiery disposition of her mother.

At least, she was supposed to.

Spring was the season of new life. She was prepared for all of the changes that were coming, all except for the birth of the new life growing inside of her. Toura was eighteen when she found out she was pregnant with Takeru. Tooru was nine.

The light drizzle she was anticipating was nothing compared to the storms that came.

The strongest downpour surged one night in the kitchen of the Oikawa household. Lights all around the house were dimmed. Windows were shut. Doors were locked. Tooru was tucked impatiently to bed earlier than usual.

All throughout the night until the wee hours of the morning, the usual sanctuary of home-cooked meals and family banter became a cold court of trial. Eyes were bloodshot: Toura’s from crying, her mother’s from exhaustion, her father’s from anger. Hands were shaking: Toura’s from hopelessness, her mother’s from pity, her father’s from disappointment.

Toura had never seen her parents the way they were that night. Her mother was normally the raging one, with all the scathing beration and the matching fiery gaze. That time, it was her father, her typically sarcastic laid back father, who was blazing with fury.

By the early morning, all backs were slumped. All voices were hoarse.

As Toura crawled her way back into her room, she heard the hurried shutting of a door.

Tooru was awake.

At that time, Toura didn’t have the energy to dwell on it. She just dragged herself to bed and hoped to forget, even just for a while.

As much as her parents tried to act ordinarily, Tooru was an intelligent kid. He heard the raised voices at midnight when they thought he was asleep. He heard his sister’s muffled cries as she crawled her way back into her room. He noticed her carefully hidden swollen eyes in the morning. He saw through everyone’s strained smiles the weeks that followed.

Keeping true to his family name, as the river followed the path the soil has carved for it, he followed the flow that his family had created. He never questioned the changes that happened within their home and their family. Yet, he never remained idle either.

The season was spring. However, it had never been more winter for Oikawa Toura. The sun was still high and shining down on the secluded playground near the Oikawa household; even so, Toura had never been so cold. She was donning her favorite sweater and held tightly toward her father’s coat (for comfort or for warmth, she was not sure) but it was to no avail.

Toura was seated on a park bench, with a child blooming inside her womb and the father sitting beside her.

The “father.”

Among the excellent genes of the Oikawas were some not-so-pleasant ones, such as sarcasm or hot tempers (this comes from the mother’s side though). Stupidity was not one of them. Oikawa Toura could take a hint. Hints, to be more accurate.

After dropping the bomb on her boyfriend, after having a long crying session with him, after listening to all his promises of “we’re going to figure this out,” after seeing him off as he shipped himself to Tokyo and she stayed in Miyagi, after weeks of pruned text messages, and after complete utter silence in the end, Oikawa Toura knew that he did not want to be a “father.”

Toura sighed. “Just get to the point.”

She did not even turn to know that he had whirled around to face her. That was how much she knew him. Loved him.

Hell.

“I—can’t.” The crack in his voice broke her. Or maybe it was the meaning of his words. Or maybe, she had been long broken, way back from the moment he first chose to leave.

Well, this time, I’m the one leaving.

“Okay,” Toura whispered. It was the most difficult thing to do, to pull herself up and walk away from him.

“Wait—”

Toura halted. She almost turned back and buried herself in his arms.

If not for the whirling volleyball, the sound of the collision, and the groan.

She did pivot her head a bit, just enough to see her boyf—ex-boyfriend crumpled on the floor, his hands clutching at some very painful goods.

Before she could do anything, her hand was tugged by a familiar grasp and towed away from the scene.

Right there, Oikawa Tooru, with one arm clutching a volleyball tucked and the other on her sister, was walking briskly, a resolute look on his face.

Toura did not exactly know the right response. She had always been a slave to her emotions. She knew, because she was going to become a mother soon, she had to let this go, but to hell with it, there was still time.

“Hey,” she found herself saying. “Nice kill.”

Tooru swiveled in surprise. Just as quickly, irritation morphed in his features. “I was aiming for his head actually.”

“Well then, actually aim for what you hit next time.”

After a long while, Oikawa Toura found herself grinning.

At eighteen, Oikawa Toura had to face the consequences of her actions. She had to endure their relatives’ disappointment and mocking. She had to put up with the whispers around their town. Sendai’s golden girl was ruined. The girls who used to want to befriend her disappeared. The guys who ogled at her never looked at her again.

Spring, summer, and autumn all felt like winter to Toura. How symbolic. She finally lived up to her name.

Oikawa Toura. River. Winter.

What exactly happened to the river during winter? It went cold. Sometimes, it even froze. That was how she survived it all. Oikawa Toura chose to harden herself to everyone’s frigidity, to life’s cold harsh truth.

Tooru was aware of it all. At nine years old, he learned that if he showed vulnerability, he wouldn’t leave the battlefield intact. Especially in their world. If he showed his heart to the wrong people, he was bound to get hurt.

So at nine, Oikawa Tooru buried his heart deep within himself and only allowed a few people in.

徹 Tooru to go through, committing to one thing to the end

Oikawa Tooru was not one to wear his heart on his sleeves. His love was rare.

When it came to love, Tooru was one who used his head. He only gave his love to the people and the things that he knew would be worth it. This was why he revealed his heart only to a few chosen.

To his family: his nonchalant father, his fierce mother, his headstrong sister, his cute nephew.

To his close friends: his reliable Iwa-chan, his bright Makki, his good-natured Mattsun.

And of course, to volleyball.

However, even with all the preventive measures her younger brother had taken, Oikawa Toura knew that it could not protect him from heartbreak.

“I’m going to bed. Already ate.”

Toura watched as Tooru climbed the stairs with heavy feet, sagged shoulders, and defeated eyes.

She gave an inquiring look to their mother. “He got benched today. In their game with Shiratorizawa.”

“Oh,” Toura replied.

She heard her son’s light footsteps running towards the stairs. “Toowu! Toowu! Let’s pway!”

She caught Takeru before he managed to reach the second floor and shushed him. “Tooru-ojisan isn’t feeling well today, Takeru.”

Toura watched her son pout. She mussed his hair and said, “You can play with him tomorrow. Hopefully, he’ll be better by then.”

Toura was frantically scrolling through different contacts on her phone when Tooru came in and announced, “I’ll take Takeru to his volleyball lessons.”

His older sister stared at him, dumbfounded.

“On Monday, right?” Tooru said, rummaging through the fridge.

Toura was confused. “I thought your girlfriend was going to introduce you to her parents on Monday.”

“Nah,” Tooru answered, his fingers shifting back and forth from the banana milk to strawberry milk.

“What do you mean ‘nah?’ I thought you really liked this girl?” Toura said.

“Apparently, I liked volleyball more and she grew tired,” Tooru replied, finally getting his hands on the banana milk.

Toura scoffed. “Well, I never even liked her in the first place.”

“I know.” Tooru drilled his straw through his drink. “Don’t worry about Takeru, nee-san. I’ll take care of him.”

Tooru moved to leave the room. Toura called him back. “Oi. You okay?”

Her younger brother paused for half a second—half a second too long—before turning back. He waved his hand as if to disregard the entire thing. “Of course. Onee-san, I’m Oikawa Tooru.”

Toura rolled her eyes at her grinning brother. It was when Tooru left that his older sister felt more unsettled.

He was Oikawa Tooru. He tried to show everybody that he just brushed off his worries. He had inherited their father’s devil-may-care façade and his tendency to mask his problems by joking about them. But when he’s alone, Toura knew that Tooru took everything hard.

Toura wished she could spare her brother the pain because she knew how cruel life was. She knew she could not.

Oikawa Tooru was not one to wear his heart on his sleeves. Then you came along.

Out of all the girls Tooru had had, you were different. First of all, you weren’t even his girlfriend. You were just a friend. Someone who lashed out on him for punching a vending machine and later on, found your way into his inner circle.

Safe to say, Oikawa Toura was quite alarmed, skeptical, and just a little bit curious.

“So you mean to say that you really didn’t know who he was?” Toura asked you. The two of you were sitting beside the makeshift court on the backyard of the Oikawa household, watching Tooru and his friends play volleyball with Takeru.

You buried your head into your hands. “He told you?”

“Psh.” Matsukawa appeared in front of you. “Mr. I’m-Better-Than-Everyone-Here? Of course not!”

“I told her!” Hanamaki said, taking a swig of the tea you and Toura bought.

Toura held her palm up for a high five. Hanamaki eagerly returned it.

“Ya! My own friends! How could you?” Tooru barked, hurling a volleyball towards them.

Iwaizumi easily dodged it, choosing carefully among the pastries laid out. “How could we not?”

“Aww, was wittle Toowu’s pwide hurt?” Toura teased.

Tooru made a face and turned to his nephew.

“Look Takeru, this is not something you should copy from your mother!”

Toura retaliated, hugging her son close to her. “Takeru, unlike your oji-san, you should stay humble, okay?”

Takeru, used to her mother and uncle’s banter, wiggled free of his mother’s grasp, ignored the two of them, and dug into the pastries you bought.

Toura tried not to be hurt by her son’s actions and diverted her attention to you instead.

Resting her cheek against her palm, she asked, “How did the two of you actually, well, talk to each other then? I mean, YOU DIDN’T KNOW WHO HE WAS.” She added the emphasis just to irk her brother.

Effective. He was staring daggers at her.

Lifting your face from your hands, you answered, “Well, he was out punching vending machines by the gym—"

Toura wheeled towards Tooru’s direction. “You punched a vending machine?”

“I was having a bad day,” Tooru muttered, suddenly preoccupied with snacks.

Briefly, his gaze shifted to you. You looked back at him with sympathetic understanding.

Hmm…

Mornings were hectic in the Oikawa household. Everyone had somewhere they needed to be. Movement filled the house and a string of “ittekimassu” followed. On this particular Monday, the two siblings were the last to go.

As they were putting on their shoes, Toura was intrigued by the two bento boxes Tooru had packed.

“How hungry are you?” Toura remarked.

“The other one’s for the smart girl of the group,” Tooru said, standing up and fixing his hair in front of the mirror. “She’s too engrossed in her books that sometimes, she forgets to eat.”

Clicking her heels in place, Toura asked, “Just who is she to you, Tooru?”

Tooru’s hands froze. “What kind of question is that?”

Toura gave him a pointed look.

“She’s my best friend!”

“I thought Iwa was your best friend.”

“He is!” Tooru exclaimed. “This is different!”

“I’ll say!” Toura turned her back to him. “Ittekimasu!”

“Ya! Onee-san!”

Toura rushed into the halls of her former alma mater. Her steps quickened as she caught sight of the infirmary.

“How’s my brother?” Toura nearly shoved her face into the school nurse’s. “Will he still be able to play?”

This was Tooru’s second knee injury. It would excruciatingly break his heart if his volleyball dreams ended here.

“I can’t say,” the nurse said, breaking the news softly. “He needs to see a doctor first.”

Toura’s breath hitched. “Where is he?”

“In the other room.” The nurse pointed to the door of the adjoining room.

Toura nodded. She turned the knob slowly and quietly, just in case Tooru was asleep.

He wasn’t. Toura heard his muffled sobs before she saw your figure tightly holding on to her younger brother. His shoulders were shaking. It seemed like you were the only thing keeping him together.

“This is the one thing I’m good at!” Tooru cried. “Hard work! And even in this, I failed!”

“Shhh,” you say. “It’s not a failure. It’s a setback.”

“Yeah, right.” He pulled back from your embrace. “What if… What if this is the end for me? What if all those years of proving I’m worth something, of chasing after Ushiwaka, of outrunning Kageyama… What if it all just ends here?”

Toura remained before the door. She waited to hear what you would say. Personally, she didn’t know how to respond. How does one answer to that?

“Then let it end here,” you said. Toura gasped.

Tooru’s eyes bulged.

“Chasing Ushiwaka, beating Kageyama… Let that all end here. Why did you choose to play volleyball?”

Something dawned in Tooru. “I… love to play volleyball… Always have…”

“That’s right. You love volleyball. It sharpens your senses. It makes you feel alive. I’ve seen it. This is why you play volleyball.” Your voice was as unwavering as you gaze.

You softened. “It’s not going to end here, Tooru. No matter what happens, even if it takes millions of therapy sessions, I know and you know that you’re not going to let it end here.”

Toura carefully closed the door, not wanting to intrude in their intimate discussion. Before she did, she saw the change in her younger brother’s previously defeated expression. It was now hopeful.

She did not know what would happen next. Perhaps, hope was what he needed most. Toura felt most grateful for your presence in that moment.

The crowd screamed as one of Tooru’s serves reached Shiratorizawa’s side of the court unreceived. First set won by Aoba Jousai!

Toura joined them with her own set of cheers. “That’s my baby brother right there!”

Takeru pretended as if he wasn’t related to her. You erupted in laughter beside her.

Toura faced you, flashing you a broad smile.

“I think he heard you!” you shout, pointing to the scowl on Tooru’s face, evident even from the stands.

Toura stuck her tongue out at her brother. It was obvious where he got that from.

To add fuel to the fire, Toura gestured to his jersey and tilted her head towards you, as if to say, “So you gave her your jersey, huh?”

Tooru reddened and avoided his gaze, running uncharacteristically towards his teammates.

Toura smirked. Best friend my ass.

“I told him his hard work would pay off,” she heard you whisper. “He sells himself so short sometimes.”

Toura watched as you mumble things to yourself, touched by your affection towards her brother.

Out of all the girls that Tooru had had, you saw him for who he was, not for who he was trying to let everyone see. You weren’t starry-eyed for him. You didn’t let him off the hook from all of his pettiness and faults. Somehow, you inspired him to rise above his inferiorities and become better. Remarkably, you were able to let him break down all the barriers that he put up.

It was safe to say that out of all the girls that Tooru had had, you were the one his older sister liked best.

Oikawa Tooru was not one to wear his heart on his sleeves. Because he knew that love was pain.

“Tadaima,” Tooru called softly.

It was the night before his flight to Argentina. A few minutes ago, the Oikawa household was a boisterous place, filled with Oikawa relatives and Tooru’s teammates and friends. The clamor earlier was the opposite of the silence that echoed as Tooru slipped in.

“I’m here,” Toura called from the backyard.

“What are you doing here?” Tooru asked, taking a seat beside his onee-san.

Toura puckered her lips. “I was waiting for my favorite baby brother.”

“I’m your only brother,” Tooru pointed out. “And will you please stop it with the ‘baby?’ I’m an adult now! I’m even going to Argentina tomorrow.”

“I know.” Toura sighed. “Can’t you be my baby brother a bit longer? It feels like you’re running further and further away.”

Tooru was torn between repulsion and affection. “Who are you and what have you done to my monster onee-san?”

That earned him a smack.

“Just tell me you’re going to miss me,” Tooru said, rubbing the spot that his onee-san hit.

“Tch.” Toura rolled her eyes and diverted her gaze toward the makeshift court the two of them had built back when they were younger. How time flew. Now, he was off to play in bigger courts.

“So…” Toura started.

“So?” Tooru asked.

“I’m guessing, you’re still friends?”

“Hmm?”

“With the girl you walked home earlier, your best friend, the love of your life.” Toura raised her hands in exaggeration.

Tooru had a solemn look on his face. “I’m eighteen, onee-san. I don’t even know what love is.”

Right then and there, she caught a glimpse of the nine year-old fear that had been plaguing his heart. Toura always thought that people can only inherit things from their parents. Apparently, they can inherit things from their siblings too. Just like hand-me-down clothes worn out through time, Tooru had witnessed his elder sister’s experiences and acquired her pain.

Because of this, she knew he was mistaken. He knew too much about love. That love wasn’t just stolen kisses, first dates, holding hands, and smiles. It was pain too. It was the fear of not being enough, of being left behind.

It was true that love was anguish. But after nine years, Toura was able open her eyes to different aspects of love. She found it in her son’s laughter greeting her after a tiresome day. In her father’s jokes during tense moments. In her mother’s complaints about anything and everything. In her brother’s steadfastness especially when she needed it.

She saw it in the way Tooru looked at you.

“I doubt that,” Toura said.

“I doubt a lot of things,” Tooru replied.

“But never anything with her,” his elder sister said softly, looking at him in her periphery.

Tooru shook his head.

“You love her,” she said.

Tooru whispered, defeated. “I do.”

The next day brought a sense of déjà vu to Toura. She felt like she’s lived the scene before. A boy was leaving, off to chase his dreams. A girl was being left behind, to make do of what she had.

She had to remind herself that this was different. It was her brother, always keeping true to his name. He would go through everything life had to offer and he would commit to the things that he loved until the end. He was kind in his core, loyal to the ones he loved. He was not the scumbag who couldn’t make up his mind nine years ago.

It was you, the wisest and most understanding person Toura has ever met. You thought of everything carefully and thought of everyone deeply. You were not the naïve girl who acted impulsively and just hoped for the best.

“Just try and forget me, smart girl. I’ll come for you when you least expect it,” Toura heard her brother say.

Toura always felt the need to guard her brother from the world, especially after all the brutality that she has experienced. No matter how hard she tried, this was something she could never accomplish.

When it was time for Tooru to enter his gate, Tooru looked back, just once, just at you. You returned his gaze and offered an exaggerated smile. Tooru laughed.

This was the last image of himself that he left in the minds of those he loved before he left. You made that happen. Toura wished that you were there to make him laugh all the time, even when it was difficult for him.

So before the world shifted again, while you were still within Toura’s reach, she made a silent plea, an older sister’s prayer for her little brother—

“Oikawa Tooru was not one to wear his heart on his sleeves. But he had given you his heart. Please, keep it safe.”

—this is somehow related to my other oikawa fic HERE

HAIKYUU MASTERLIST • AO3 LINK

#haikyuu #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru x fem!reader #oikawa tooru x y/n #oikawa tooru fic #oikawa fic #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru x you #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa x y/n #oikawa #aoba jousai

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asheslikestardust · 3 years

Text

Dawn

Lucy smiles and its like the sun breaking over the horizon. You'd find her dipping her toes into the frigid sea that lies in the shadow of Cair Paravel before her siblings even stir in their beds; greeting the merfolk and breathing in the salty sea air.

She'd collect pearly seashells as she walks along the stretch of the sandy beach and watches the sky turn from silvery pink to golden blue. Sometimes, Mr. Tumnus would join her and they'd frolic with the merfolk, running and chasing and swimming, both laughing madly.

More often than not, however, Lucy would run down to the beach alone, and listen to the world sleep.

Her bedroom has a bay window that houses an impressive collection of seashells, each gleaming in the stream of sunlight like sparkling gemstones.

She'd dance and twirl in the waves at low tide and watches the sea from afar at high tide and laughs as the salty spray of water drenches her hair and her nightgown.

Sea water clings to her eyelashes like tears, her hair falls in a golden sheet down her back and necklaces of coral and seaweed loop around her throat; colours of the sea resplendent against the pure white of her nightgown - gifts of affection and respect from the merfolk to the Queen who always reciprocated in kind.

By the time the sun rises in the sky and her people awake, Queen Lucy the Valiant would be slipping back into her chambers, with sparkling eyes and a giddy smile, ready to take on the new day.

Midday

Peter was, above all else, a great listener. It was hard not to be, what with being the eldest of four chatterbox siblings.

People would assume Edmund to be the quiet brother of the two of them and they'd be very much mistaken.

Peter was not very comfortable on his throne (and who would be- its all twisted metal and sharply cut gemstones and heats horribly in the summers-) but looking at him you'd never know it.

He doesn't lounge, but doesn't sit stiffly either; his shoulders are relaxed and his hands rest easily on the carved armrests.

His gaze is always warm and inviting and his smile is kind and those who come to him for counsel often forget he wears a crown at all.

Fauns and drayads and centaurs from all corners of Narnia come to pay homage to the High King. They arrive in awe and slight fear of meeting King Peter the Magnificent, High King over all Kings in Narnia, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion; but leave cheerful and contented, with the feeling of being wrapped in a warm hug, having met Peter, the friend, the brother, the mother-hen.

There is a skylight in the war rooms of Cair Paravel that lets the overhead sun bathe maps and other assorted weapons scattered on tables in the circular room in a strong, golden light. In these rooms, Peter's whole stance changes.

The friendly countenance and smiling eyes are no where to be seen and the hardened warrior who fought the White Witch blade-to-wand takes his place.

Peter wields his sword like an extension of his own arm. The red lion on his shield glistens like fresh blood in heat of the afternoon sun and Peter's metal chainmail clinks as he goes round and round and round the training field, fending off opponents from all sides.

Fearsome opponents they are too, for Lucy is swift and sure and Susan is as lethal as she is graceful and when Edmund and Philip team up, it is best to stay far, far away; but Peter did not become Emperor of the Lone Islands with luck alone and he is at his strongest with his sword, Rhindon, in his hand and defeats them all easily.

Their laughter echoes against the warm castle walls, joyful and bright, and Peter's is the loudest of all as he wrestles with his brother and playfully glares at his sisters, courtly manners and graces all but forgotten in the balmy summer air.

Twilight

Edmund was a diplomat. He was as trained in the art of wordcraft as he was in the art of warfare.

Peter insisted that all the griping and complaining Edmund did when they were younger was now helping him deal with whiny nobles from Archenland and Galma who did nothing but gripe and complain. Edmund's response was to flip him the bird.

He was cultured, refined and smooth in the company of ambassadors; deflecting certain questions, answering others with brutal honesty. Susan was so proud of him.

He was honest, honourable and humble in the company of knights. He told amusing tales and sang amusing songs in the light of the campfire, he looked out for his knights and heard their worries.

He shared their joys and their sorrows, he played as many pranks on his fellows-in-arms as they played on him, he fought for them and bled for them and they knew he would die for them as they would for him.

He was beloved, not only by his knights, but also by the people of Lantern Waste, and Peter couldn't be prouder.

He slipped into masks as easily as breathing, from King to Knight to Judge to Friend to Symbol to Myth to Lover to Guardian to Warrior, but his favourite was Brother, when he let go off all his duties at the end of the day and simply - fell into a chair with all the grace of an uncooked pancake.

When he could sit in one of the many balconies of Cair Paravel, curl up with his siblings, and watch the sun set in a blaze of colour.

When he could watch the sky paint the sea and the castle in shades of blue.

When everything was still and peaceful and it felt like everyone is holding their breath - just before the first fireflies emerged from the trees, glowing softly, illuminating Lucy's sleepy face.

When he could just be Ed - not King Edmund the Just, Duke of Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March and who knew what else; Ed, brother and friend and current victim of Peter's latest prank, Ed, beloved by his family - and that was more than enough for him.

And when he resists punching Peter in the face for painting his black curls a startling green? Well. That's when Lucy's proudest of all.

Midnight

Susan was an open book. She was beautiful and charming and graceful and clever and everyone agreed she was a perfect lady with perfect manners and perfect posture, just perfect, perfect, perfect.

Heads would turn as she walked past, hair braided with flowers, silken dress whispering against the carpeted halls, and people would come up to her to sing her praises and she would never refute them, just smile gently and thank them sincerely, from the bottom of her heart.

People from other lands would look at her, Queen Susan the Gentle, in all her beauty and finery, so elegant, so pure next to her calloused and scarred brothers and sister and think her the weakest link of the four, and she would smile, all sharp teeth, and let them continue to think so.

She let them see the porcelin doll of a surface and think that's all there is to her, let them never look beyond into the wild storm of deadly claws and broken glass that lay behind her eyes, the always sharp quiver of arrows that lay in her room, the curved bow that rested strung and polished by her bedside, the jagged edge ivory hairpins that hold up her hair even now.

Let them never guess that even a single petal from one of the flowers wound in her braid could incapacitate a fully grown man if ingested; that the shoes she wore under her dress weren't delicate heels but steel toed boots, that her dress was more of an armory than evening wear, that her brothers and sisters may triumph over their foes under the light of day but she did the same in the cover of night.

She was as lethal as she was beautiful, as vicious as she was charming; level headed, with a good mind for strategy, the only one who could beat her at chess was Edmund and oh so very protective of her family and her people.

Lucy once compared her to a mother bear. Susan, sweet, gentle Susan, who knew exactly how to use her looks and her words, who used the title Alsan has bestowed upon her to stay out of sight and out of mind, who had set up the most comprehensive secret police service Narnia had ever known (take notes, White Witch), grinned wickedly and answered that mother bears should be compared to her.

Susan was brilliant and radiant and careful and cunning. She was the most loving and nurturing person her people ever had the pleasure of knowing.

She was as mysterious as the night, and the Narnians, unlike dignitaries from overseas, knew she wasn't an open book at all. Nor was she a puzzle waiting to be solved.

She was simply Queen Susan, their Protector. Queen Susan, who reigned destruction down on those who threatened the land she loved so dearly.

They did not adore her as they did Queen Lucy, did not swear loyalty to her as they did King Edmund, did not feel overwhelming awe and affection for her as they did King Peter, but they respected her and cherished the pages of the short life she shared with them forevermore.

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hold-my-hand-kuroo · 4 years

Text

hugs + inarizaki

headcanons for the miya twins, ojiro, kita, and suna

a peace offering because i absolutely will not be active for this week and the next uwu ❤️

miya atsumu

Being playful and teasing, Atsumu loves giving you surprise hugs. Whether if it’s behind the back tackles or just picking you up and swinging you around like it’s nothing, nothing gives this man more joy than making you yelp and squeal.

Hugs with Atsumu are lively and almost never a quiet and boring time. Whenever he comes home from a work-out or practice sweating bullets, he’ll find you and scoop you into his arms all while you’re squealing and protesting. He secretly uses this as an excuse to get you in the bath with him after.

“You’re getting your sweat all over me-”

“I guess we both have to shower now. Damn, that sucks.”

On the weekends when Atsumu can sleep in, he likes to keep you in bed with him for a painfully long time. He knows you’re awake, and so is he, but nothing makes him happier than clinging onto your middle as you’re squirming to go to the bathroom.

Sometimes when he notices that you’ve had a bad day, his hands will wander to your sides mid-hug, and he’ll tickle you until your giggles fill the room.

He’ll never end the day without a proper cuddle, though. He likes having you in his arms while he’s watching plays or a TV show with you resting your head on his shoulder or chest. Once in a while, he’ll lean down to give you a few kisses on the cheek, but the moment you return the favor, he’s instantly distracted and turns whatever he’s watching off.

miya osamu

He’ll never express it to you directly, but Osamu’s heart flutters every time you hug him from the back while he’s cooking, especially during slow mornings where neither of you are in a rush to go anywhere. Just slip your arms around his waist while he’s scrambling eggs, and you’ve won his entire being over.

He finds it endearing if you don’t let go as he moves around the kitchen, just waddling behind him and trying to follow. Oftentimes, he’ll feel playful about this and tries to move around quickly to see if you can keep up. His soft chuckle gives him away though.

This works in reverse too if you happen to be the one that’s cooking. He’ll rest his chin on your shoulder to peek at what you’re doing. Humor him by acting confused, so that he’ll reach over and help you. He knows you’re joking, but he’s still more than eager to cook with you, since it’s really the best of two worlds for him.

Unlike his brother, his hugs are very much calm and relaxed. He’s the type to hug just for the sake of hugging and for physical contact rather than teasing you for the most part. When the two of you are in bed together, he likes wrapping his arms around your waist with your back pressed into his chest. There’s something about smelling your hair that’s so calm to him. Plus, it’s easier to whisper into your ear like that.

He knows it’s unhealthy, but Osamu lives for midnight snack sessions with you. There’s something so therapeutic about you feeding him chips in his lap with his arms tightly around your waist. If he he’s having a bad day, this is a sure-fire way to cheer him up.

ojiro aran

Aran’s the type who sees hugs as a type of liberation, but even though he likes giving and receiving them a lot, he’ll always ask for permission first. No matter how long the two of you have been together, he needs the affirmation that you’re comfortable with him touching you before doing anything at all.

He’s also scared that he might come off as too clingy when he’s hugging you for a while, but if you continue stay in his arms even after his grip has loosened, it makes him feel so warm and appreciative of your affection.

He’s not the type of person to enjoy messing around given his exasperation whenever either of the Miya twins open their mouths, so cuddling time is soft and peaceful. He’ll ask you about your day always before talking about his own, but he’s not against complete silence either. He likes listening to you breathe, and if you end up falling asleep, he’s over the moon. Seeing that you can become comfortable and relaxed around him to the point of just dozing off is literally his favorite sight.

Despite enjoying peaceful moments, he’s not entirely opposed to banter, especially if you incorporate things you’ve memorized about him into it. For example, if you end up teasing him about how his favorite food is Ritz Crackers, he’s not focused on your teasing but rather the fact that you bothered to remember his favorite food.

He’s a little bit of a hoarder too, so cuddling sessions are warm and comfy. He has a multitude of blankets and pillows in his home that he should’ve tossed out ages ago, but if you happen to like them, he’ll wash them properly and put them to proper use. He’s comfortable whenever you’re around, but he wants to guarantee that you feel the same way too.

kita shinsuke

Kita is a man of habit and routine; therefore, he’s up at dawn right when the sun rises and back home from work when the sun sets completely. During both these times, he also has a few minutes scheduled in for a ‘good bye’ hug and kiss and a ‘welcome home’ hug and kiss from you. His day doesn’t start until he gets to wrap his arms around you for a brief moment, and his day of work never feels like it has ended until you greet him at the door with your arms open. It’s like clockwork.

He’s always very busy, even during the weekends, but he always keeps a close eye on you to see how you’re holding up. Like Aran, he always asks for permission before hugging you, and during the rare instances where he does have some free time, he likes to indulge a little bit longer in your embrace.

Kita’s ideal type of date night is cooking a hearty meal with you and then having you sit in his arms outside while enjoying the brisk night air. He likes it when you run your fingers through his hair, but he even likes it more when you let him press soft kisses all over your hand and face. He says he does only does what he has to do, but for you, he’s willing to go the extra miles to keep you happy. He’s very much an overachiever when it comes to your affections and you.

He’s not really sure why he finds your hugs and hugging you so addictive. Sometimes, under the blazing heat of the sun, he thinks about how it’d be so much better if the two of you were in each other’s arms inside the house even though he’s sweating bullets, and he finds the idea ridiculously amusing. He thinks it might be because of the hugs his grandma gave him as a child and how he always felt safe and content in her arms. He wants to give you the very best, and in his mind, a safe haven where you can smile and relax completely is the best he can offer.

suna rintarou

Like Atsumu, Rintarou’s very much a tease, but he’s sly and more consistent about it. Rather than being energetic about it, Suna’s all about lazy hugs. Whenever it’s late at night, he’ll casually pull you into his arms and bury his head into your neck, and if he isn’t too tired, he’ll breathe the lightest breaths against your ear just to tickle you.

He enjoys doing the smallest things just to fluster you, so if you feel his hands start to wander very, very slowly, it’s probably him waiting for a reaction from you. He’ll stop and sigh if you don’t give him a reaction, and he’ll probably pout in your arms for a while before thinking of some other way to provoke you.

His signature hug is lazily putting his arms over your shoulders or around your middle with his head resting on the top of your head or on your shoulders. He does this honestly whenever, especially when the two of you are home, and you’re just walking around.

He never expresses it verbally, but this is his way of expressing that he’s feeling a little needy, neglected, or touch-starved. Doing it once or twice briefly is just him trying to make doing laundry a harder time for you, but if he continues to let you drag him around the house, take a quick break to give him kisses. He’ll act as if he never asked for them, but he just likes being spoiled.

That doesn’t mean that he never gives though! He’s a man who empathizes with those who feel exhausted after being annoyed by others, so if you come home all gloomy and depressed, he’ll have you lie down with him either on the couch or on the bed with on arm stroking your head and the other rubbing circles on your back. He’ll proceed to let you vent and will roast whoever gave you a hard time into oblivion.

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naomhie · 2 years

Text

「tangerine blues」

warnings: luthor m. x margarette f. comfort.

luthor mendez has always disliked the heat of summer's sun. it's making him feel all sticky, not to mention the horrid smell of sweat overpowering his cologne. overall, a daunting experience.

maybe if he could just contact mr. vasquez to turn up with his vehicle, air conditioner set on hig—

"would you please hold the umbrella higher! only a few blocks away and we'll reach the venue," her words thrown between tired breaths. "no, don't even think about giving me that look. we are entrusted with this task and so we must carry it out as planned."

ah yes, with her by his side there is definitely no room for doing his way of things.

he pushes on, his steps heavy, with a hint of exhaustion evident on his features. gone is his usually cool demeanor, the esteemed student council vice president appears to look like he had just run a marathon. in the state he is in, said marathon must have been 3k long, located in the blazing sun.

his foot lands on an uneven surface and luthor would have fallen facefirst onto the concrete if it weren't for the girl pulling his tall frame to stay upright.

she sighs.

"let's take a break."

she leads him inside the humble eatery and goes straight toward the counter. luthor gets them a table, and positions himself under the patterned buzzing of the ceiling fan.

clenching on a pair of plastic bags containing orange soda, the chairwoman settles herself across him and hands out the refreshments. luthor willingly accepts it, the skin of his palm now soothed as it presses unto the moisture glistening from the uniquely packaged drink.

he takes a sip, now relieved of the parchedness from the sweltering dog days. and he notices the girl seated across him nibbling on her straw, clearly deep in thought.

"is something the matter, margarette?"

she looks up at him. her reaction 7 seconds too late.

"huh? ah yes, everything is alright! there's nothing to worry about," she assures him, giving luthor a tight-lipped smile.

he stares at her questioningly, not at all convinced by her weak attempt to conceal her fluttering thoughts.

his gaze burns into hers, and so she begrudgingly caves in. tilting her head closer, she lets out a murmur. luthor adjusts himself, lowering his head to better hear her hushed words.

"i'm just nervous about the incoming retreat, what if things don't go as planned? what if the venue doesn't look as good as the pictures on the website?" she heaves a sigh and fixes her attention on the carbonated drink, clutching the plastic with sudden force.

"i, i just want everything to go perfectly as planned. this is our batch retreat, our last bonding. i want all of us to make long-lasting memories that we can reminiscence to, so nothing should go wrong."

it dawns upon him.

their last summer.

she meets his gaze. the rush of gold colliding with grey riverscapes.

"call me sentimental all you want but i'll surely miss everyone."

margarette looks up at him with a sad smile.

"and i'll miss you, luthor."

in a few years, maybe 7 more, whisked away towards who knows where. both of them will give in to the chase. rushing in deadlines. sprinting through midnight study sessions. running after hand-spun dreams.

but he'll always look back to their late-night overtimes. breezy mornings in the execom office. lunch at 2 pm, enveloped by the sunlit silence of the empty cafeteria. afternoon tea sessions at his family's gazebo.

memories built-in through the years.

he wants more. with her.

"don't fret too much about us growing distant, margarette. i'm sure we can make time to have some tea once in a while." there is weight in his gaze, some sort of promise. luthor does not believe in such empty vows, he finds them fickle. but so are their transitory moments. one by one, he picks up the pieces. every fragment. every detail. from knowing glances to lingering smiles. he will hold on to each ephemera.

for margarette is his summer sun, the only warmth he'll ever bask into. and luthor would gladly give his all to witness another solstice.

he extends his arm, fingers wrapped around the plastic. the flavored soda pop, now at room temperature.

"to meeting each other on the other side," he declares.

she mirrors him, bumping her almost empty bag against his. "cheers!"

the pair down the rest of their drinks, liquid beverage popping effervescence into their mouths.

margarette smiles widely, and he is reminded of sunbeams flittering through his car windows in the height of afternoon's glow. only reserved for him. eyes crinkled and cheeks flushed, dry season's heatwave is indeed contagious. the corners of his lips curl up just a tad bit.

they sit there, under the torrid heat of 33°C. tongues tinged with the tangerine fizz, remnants from a sorry excuse of a toast. it still counts as something though, drizzling in a flush of maybes.

with less time on their hands, the both of them soak up the high tide of midsummer blues.

best wishes for another chance with you.

#akosiibarra #projectloki #project loki #naoblurbs #fanfiction #pl fluff #luggie #this was a spur of the moment work #i miss luggie #imagine pl is set in a shoujou type of genre

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army-author · 3 years

Text

namjoon scenario | the early hours

❝ chance encounters are what keep us going ❞ - Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

➝ summary: you love the city when it’s at its most quiet - in the early hours of the morning. you like it for its peaceful mystery. never did you expect that a stranger, spotted in your favourite 24-hour diner, would eventually invade your early morning solitude, and - most surprisingly - you wouldn’t even mind...

➝ pairing: namjoon x reader

➝ genre: fluff

➝ word count: 5.9k

➝ warnings: none

➝ author’s note: this whole fic is just me indulging in fluff! it was a lot of fun to write!

You prefer the night to the day. There’s something magical about the world after the hands of the clock pass the threshold into a new day. You are transported to a new experience – a new universe laid over the old – that will only be witnessed by a small handful of people, those who are still awake at ungodly hours. There’s a strange silence that stretches across the city after midnight. The occasional car sighs past, but the streets are empty. With the pavement bathed in blue moonlight and the sodium orange of streetlights, you could convince yourself that you’re viewing a parallel reality, shimming above the real world.

That’s why, despite your office job demanding that you get up at seven for the commute, you find it difficult to go to bed early. When you lie under the duvet at night, you have the odd feeling of missing out, aware of the city shifting beyond your closed blinds.

Most nights the city draws you out. The streets, that you often find yourself hating in the daylight – saturated with polluting traffic and bustling crowds, laying out a labyrinth of social interaction – are transformed at night, suddenly alluring in their quiet neon glamour. You love the lights. You love the moments of stillness, when the streets clear of taxis. You love the mystery.

That’s why you walk the streets at night. Sometimes you end up at your local convenience store, purchasing the discounted lunch snacks that didn’t sell that day. Other times you walk to a diner that remains open twenty-four seven – offering the best decaf coffee you’ve ever tasted. On occasion, you find yourself walking around the deserted shopping district, staring in the dark windows, haunted by the typical hubbub of the daytime.

This love of the city at night isn’t something you can properly communicate to anyone else. When you try to explain to your friends, they simply shake their heads and tell you that you should get some rest.

But how can you rest when the world is in its most pure, beautiful state? Sometimes, you think you prefer the company of the empty city to the company of people. You value the quiet – a respite from the drain of daily social interactions.

This is how, when the clock slips past midnight, you find yourself slipping out of your apartment. You fill your lungs with the cold air of the early morning, fresher without the fumes of traffic. It’s just stopped raining, and the onyx pavements glisten with dark puddles, reflecting back an alternate world where the street lights shine, distorted by ripples. It smells of wet tarmac. You zip up your coat and hitch your backpack up your back as you beat your feet along the familiar track towards your favourite diner.

As you walk, you pass stores, closed for the night, proffering clothes, make-up, and stationary that won’t be available again until nine in the morning. You pause in front of the bookstore to stare greedily at the hardbacks you can’t afford. You have a bookshelf at home filled with books you haven't yet finished. Still, the new releases stare back, tempting. They hypnotise you with the curve of their spines, their fresh paper, their smooth covers. Your wallet cries out in protest.

Rousing yourself from your thoughts, you push past the store, and walk down the street, turning at a pedestrian crossing. Ahead, you see the neon lights of the diner, pink and blue in the reflective pavement. You smile at the sight, like you would smile at an old friend.

Entering the diner, you find it empty. The sole waitress who works the nightshift glances up as you enter.

You take a seat at your favourite booth, next to the window. The waitress walks over to take your order, and you ask for a decaf coffee – as usual. Always the same order when it’s past midnight.

The waitress nods, and leaves the booth. You unzip your backpack and take out your sketchbook. It’s blue leather cover is soft in your hand. Past midnight is the best time to draw. When you’re enveloped in the cotton-soft murmur of the barely-stirring city, inspiration floats thick in the air around you – easy to pluck and put onto paper.

While you start sketching, the waitress silently sets your coffee and a pitcher of milk in front of you. You like the waitress because she never speaks more than necessary, silent for the vast majority of your interactions. It’s a welcoming, warm silence.

You take a sip of your coffee, black, the flavour washing over your tongue. Its a bitter and smoky taste, with a hint of chocolate. You breathe in the scent, invigorated, and set down the mug to continue drawing.

The door swings open, and despite yourself, you turn your head in the direction of the sound. It’s not often that someone else enters the diner at this hour. It’s too late for those who have clocked off from late shifts and too early for those who work early shifts.

Your gaze settles on the man who enters the diner. He’s tall, well-proportioned, in an umber jacket, with a bag slung over his shoulder. His hair has been dyed a light brown, but you can see black at the roots. He doesn't look like the typical patron at this diner. Then again, neither do you. Your eyes tack him curiously as he walks over to a seat in the corner. The waitress goes over to him, and he tells her his order in a deep, soft voice: “Decaf coffee, please.”

Despite knowing you should stop staring at this stranger, you cannot help but watch as the man takes a book from his bag, and removing a bookmark from the pages, resumes reading. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. You smile. You like that book. A part of you wants to pipe up and tell him it’s a good read. But you never speak to strangers. You aren’t about to break a twenty-five year habit. You’ve got this far by allowing all your friends to do the introductions for you. Thank goodness for extroverts.

The waitress sets a mug of coffee beside the man, with her usual silence, and he murmurs his thanks.

You remain in your seat, sipping your coffee in silent thought, and adding to your sketch book. Before long, you’ve forgotten about the man sitting on the other side of the diner, focusing on the drawing you’re working on – a dragon slinking around the grey bricks of giant skyscrapers. The giant breaths golden fire.

For you, drawing is a way to organise your thoughts, spilling the contents of your head, giving them a concrete image you can identify. For that reason alone, you could never actually show anyone else your drawings. As you continue to sketch, the world slowly melts away into a pleasant white noise that hums around you.

It’s a shock when the quiet waitress walks up, asking if you would like a refill. You tell her you’re okay for now. Checking your phone, you realise it’s slipped past three in the morning, without you even realising. You need to get some sleep. Reluctantly, you stand up, slipping your sketchbook into the front pocket of your backpack. You leave a tip for the waitress, then make your way over to the door. Feeling eyes on you, your gaze falls to the man sitting in the corner. He’s observing you over the pages of The Hitchhiker’s Guide. Upon seeing you seeing him, his eyes quickly drop back to the book. Distracted, you bump against the edge of one of the diner’s tables, stumbling. You correct your footing, and with a blazing blush rampaging on your cheeks, you hurry out of the door.

✽ ✽ ✽

It isn’t until you get back to your apartment that you realise that your sketchbook is missing. You hunt around in your backpack, checking all the pockets, but it’s definitely not there. It must be in the diner. That’s the last place you had it.

You resist the urge to run back tonight. It’s past half three, and you have to work tomorrow. You can always go back to search for it later.

You lie awake in bed, worrying. In losing your sketchbook, you’ve left it open to the possibility of being read - your personal thoughts sketched out for a stranger to digest. It was your own carelessness that resulted in its loss, so you resign yourself to the possibility of never seeing it again, and slink, resisting, into sleep.

✽ ✽ ✽

The next evening after work, you return to the diner. You arrive earlier than you normally would. The sun is still visible – just setting beyond the crowns of tall apartment blocks. You arrive below the familiar neon blue and pink sign and open the door to the smell of chips and coffee. There are more people here than you are used to.

You check the table you normally sit at, which is mercifully empty. However, a quick search reveals no trace of your sketchbook. The quiet waitress who works the night shift isn’t there yet. Hesitant, you speak to the other waitress, explaining that you lost a sketchbook at the diner last night.

“Sorry, don’t know anything about it,” she says, wrinkling her brow.

Resigned, you thank her. You can always come back when the night shift starts and see if the other waitress knows anything about it.

Deciding to hang around the area, rather than return home, you grab some sushi at a nearby restaurant, then take a restless walk around the nearby park, watching pigeons pick at crumbs on the ground, and local college students smoke under the shade of trees. After you grow bored of the park’s trees, you wander around the streets, without direction, taking a long loop around the diner. The sky above darkens from blue to navy to black, and the streets slowly drain of life as people go home for the night. Still you stay outside, checking your phone every so often to keep a track of the time.

When it hits midnight, you return to the diner. The quiet waitress, who you are used to, is a welcome sight. She offers you the same small smile she always gives. You walk up to her. “Excuse me, I think I left a sketchbook here last night. Have you seen it?”

“I’m afraid not,” she says, “But if you think you left it here, feel free to have a look around.”

You frown. That wasn’t what you wanted to hear. You were so sure you had left it in the diner. Where else could it have gone? It was possible it had fallen out of your backpack on the walk home, but if that were the case, it could be anywhere.

Sighing, you tell the waitress not to worry, and order your usual decaf coffee. Sitting down at your favourite seat, with the comforting smoky scent of coffee beans wafting through the air, you wonder what to do next. You pick at the threading of your sweater, sip your coffee, and stare out the window. The sky is especially black tonight, clouds cover the stars and moon. Looking past your own ghostly reflection in the glass, a pool of darkness stares back, swirling with the stirring in your chest.

An hour could have passed, a minute could have passed, it’s unclear to you. Time seems to stand still in that diner, frozen on the brink of tomorrow, stuck between an old night and a new morning.

“Excuse me?”

You look up at the sound of the voice.

A man is standing by your booth – the man you spied in the diner yesterday, tall and slim.

Your gaze trails over his face – his cropped hair falls over his forehead, his crescent eyes capture the neon lights of the diner, soft dimples poke dents in the marble-statue structure of his cheeks.

“Hi,” you say, not sure why he’s speaking to you, but not wanting to be impolite either.

“Hi,” he says back. He searches in his bag, and pulls out a familiar blue sketchbook. “I think you dropped this yesterday.”

A wave of relief crashes over you. “Thank you so much,” you say, as he hands it back to you, “I had given up on ever seeing it again.” The worn leather cover feels comfortable in your hands.

“Is it okay if I sit here?” he points at the seat opposite you in the booth, “It’s my favourite spot.”

“Oh, sure, no problem,” you indicate for him to take a seat.

He sits down opposite you, and raises a hand at the waitress, who nods, and scurries off to fetch a coffee. “I figured the notebook must have been important to you, so I kept it safe,” he says, “It might have been a little presumptuous of me, but I had a feeling I’d see you again, and that I’d be able to return it.”

“Did you...” you trail off. The thought had crossed your mind that whoever found the sketchbook would end up looking through your personal drawings, and the worry had squeezed tight at your throat.

“Look inside the notebook?” The man asks, his waning-moon eyes scrutinising you.

You nod solemnly.

“No,” he says. “I didn’t.”

The second wave of relief hits you, warm like a tropical sea. “Good,” you stroke the soft cover of the sketchbook, “I really appreciate that.”

The man smiles, and his dimples deepen. “I must say, I’m a little curious what would bring someone to sit in a diner with a notebook in the early hours of the morning.”

A blush creeps hot under your skin. “I’m… drawing,” you admit.

The man nods.

You lick your lips which feel oddly dry. “But I suppose I could ask you the same - what would bring you here at these hours?” Curiosity cuts through your introversion.

The man shrugs.“I can’t sleep. I keep getting more and more frustrated, cooped up in my apartment, so I wander around at night, hoping I’ll get tired, and be ready to sleep when I go home. But something about the city at night is so exciting,” he stares out the window, at the darkness beyond, brimming with endless possibilities, “It doesn’t tie me out. It only excites me all the more.”

“I know what you mean,” you say, “I love the city at nighttime. It’s so alluring. I could wander around its abandoned streets for eternity, and never get bored.” Your blush only becomes all the more severe as you realise that you are spilling your heart to a complete stranger. Embarrassed, you shut your mouth, and swallow thickly.

The waitress arrives with a cup of coffee and pitcher or milk for the stranger. He thanks her softly, and without adding any milk, takes a sip of the dark liquid.

Unsure what to do with this stranger sitting across from you, you say, “If you were expecting any company from me, you might be disappointed. I’m not good at conversing with strangers.”

“Neither am I,” the man replies over his coffee cup, “Don’t worry. I was planning on reading anyway.”

Relieved, you take a mouthful of your own coffee.

The man pulls The Hitchhiker’s Guide from his bag, picking up where he had left off.

You scrutinise him for a moment, unsure what to make of this man. Something about his gentle manners, his kind smile, and his love for the city in the early morning resonates deeply with you – an unnameable vibration stirred at the very core of your being when you look at him. Despite your aversion to talking to people you don’t know, you find yourself wanting to make the effort to converse.

Instead, you open your sketchbook and begin drawing again.

Outside, the night flows by, a river of darkness punctuated by the occasional light from a car.

Time passes quickly without you realising. The man stands up to leave. “I should get going.”

“Oh yeah, I suppose it’s late,” you say, “Or is it early…?”

He packs his book back into his bag, and you take the courage to pipe up, “It’s a good read. Douglas Adams, I mean.”

“Oh yeah,” the man looks down at the novel in his hand, “It’s my third time reading it.”

You smile, “There’s this one line from the book that’s always stuck with me.” You pause, making sure you get it right, “‘Isn’t it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?’ I’ve always like that.”

The man grins, his crescent-moon eyes deepening, “I like that too…” He looks as if he is considering his next words carefully. “Listen, I’m sorry if it was strange that I chatted with you today. I just felt compelled to do so. I don’t know why. But it reminds me of a quote from Kafka on the Shore, which is another book I’ve read at least three times - ‘Chance encounters are what keep us going’. I don’t know, I just thought you might like that one.”

“I’ve always meant to read Kafka on the Shore,” you say, “I really like Murakami.”

“You should read it,” the mans says, “It’s fascinating.”

“I will.”

“I’m Namjoon, by the way,” he says, “I don’t believe I gave my name before.”

“Nice to meet you Namjoon,” you smile, giving your own name.

With that, Namjoon exits the diner, leaving you to your own clouded thoughts as the door swings shut behind him. Despite yourself, you hope you’ll see him again.

✽ ✽ ✽

When you get home, you search your bookshelf for your copy of Kafka on the Shore. You never read it, despite is sitting on your shelf for a long time. You snuggle into bed, and start on the first page.

✽ ✽ ✽

The next night, you find yourself wandering the streets again, allured by the glowing neon lights on the city.

It’s a Thursday, and the streets are empty. Your feet lead you towards the diner. A small portion of you is hoping that you’ll see Namjoon again. You taste an oddly bitter disappointment on your tongue when you step inside, only to find the diner empty, apart from the quiet waitress.

Disheartened, you sip your decaf coffee, and read Murakami, while the earth spins by outside.

When you reach the bottom of the coffee cup with no sign of Namjoon, you stand up, resolving to go for a walk, rather than waiting around.

The air outside is cool and refreshing. You breath it in deeply, enjoying the cold sensation in your lungs.

Walking through the city, you wind your way through streets, passing abandoned play parks, empty shops, and silent office blocks. You could almost convince yourself that the whole world has stopped, and that you’re the last remaining human on the planet. Despite this, the earth still rotates, still makes its orbit around the sun, and this thought is comforting. Sitting down on a bench at the edge of a green park, you take out your sketchbook, and begin drawing. You want to capture this feeling permanently.

✽ ✽ ✽

As Friday rolls into Saturday, you avoid going out into the city at night. The city erupts with noise on weekend nights. People flock to the bars and clubs, laughing, joyous and loud, as they swing themselves down the streets. You don’t often go into the city on busy nights.

Instead, you stay inside, making your own decaf coffee from your coffee machine. It’s not as good as the coffee you get from the diner, but it’s good enough in a pinch.

These are the nights when you should sleep early to make up for your lack of sleep during the working week. Yet, as you lie in bed, staring at the dark expanse of your ceiling, your thoughts constantly circle back to Namjoon, hoping you’ll see him again some day.

The thought of connected souls flashes through your sleepy mind as you drift towards dreams. The idea is childish and naive, but it makes you smile.

✽ ✽ ✽

On Monday night – or is it Tuesday morning yet? – you return to the diner. Spotting a familiar figure at your favourite booth, you suppress a smile.

You sit down opposite him. He flashes you a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you say back. With a signal to the waitress, she goes to make you a cup of decaf coffee with a smile. “It’s nice to see you again,” you say, surprised at your own honesty.

The dimples pop onto Namjoon’s cheeks, giving his grin a boyish charm. “It’s nice to see you as well.”

The waitress sets down the coffee on the table. It trails tendrils of aromatic steam. Its bitter taste is a good distraction for your mouth, empty of words. You take a sip, revelling in the chocolate sweet aftertaste.

“I love the decaf coffee they do here,” Namjoon says, as you set down your cup. “I never found a decaf coffee that tastes quite like it.”

You nod in agreement. “I don’t know how they manage it. All the other decaf coffees I’ve had feel like they lack as special… something that regular coffee has. By taking out the caffein, the taste often suffers as a result. But this-” You indicate to the coffee “- This is good.”

“Finally, somebody else gets it,” Namjoon grins, “Although, if we’re talking caffeinated coffee, nothing can beat a cafe down the road from here. it’s called Cloud 9. Have you heard of it?”

“Oh yeah, I pass that coffee shop on the way to work,” you nod, “Never had a chance to go in though.”

“You should,” Namjoon says, “If you like this coffee, you’ll like it there. The beans they use are really rich, like dark chocolate.”

“Sounds good,” you say, leaning back in your seat. You examine Namjoon, sitting across from you. It’s uncommon for you to be so comfortable with a stranger, yet here you are, conversing with him as if he were an old friend. You wonder what about him makes him so different for you. A cursory glance does not show anything out of the ordinary: tall frame, slim figure, the kind of handsome face that doesn’t stand out in a crowd, but gets more handsome the longer you look at it. A few leagues above you. And yet here he is, sitting with you, by his own choice no less.

“What?” Namjoon questions your inquisitive stare.

“Sorry,” you feel your cheeks turning pink with a warm flush, “I was just thinking… it’s not often I can speak so comfortably with someone I barely know.”

“Me neither,” Namjoon admits, “But I felt a certain spark with you, so I thought I’d follow it through, and see where it leads. I hope you don’t mind?”

A warm hand clutches your heart. “I don’t mind at all.”

✽ ✽ ✽

You sit quietly in the diner with Namjoon opposite. You read Kafka on the Shore – he smiles at your choice. He reads The Hitchhiker’s Guide. The world pauses on its axis. You feel a deep-rooted peace, engulfed in the silence of the still night.

When the coffee in your cup has gone, Namjoon closes his book. “Would you like to take a walk?”

You slip the receipt for your coffee into your book, marking the spot where you stopped. “Sure, that sounds nice.”

You exit the diner, and follow Namjoon out into the dark street. He leads you down new paths, paths you had not explored before. The night is full of eager possibility with him by your side.

As you walk, you talk about everything and nothing, the universe flowing from each other’s heads, spilling your minds to one another, and bearing your soles bare in the process.

By the time you pause your walking, realising that you’re standing by an old play park that you recognise from childhood, you feel as if you’ve known Namjoon for an eternity.

You walk to the swing that stands at the centre of the park. It’s the large basket kind of swing – the sort that you would lie down on as a child, and beg for your parents to push.

Now, years later, you lie down again, and Namjoon pushes you gently. The sky is unusually clear above you, starlight shining past the orange glare of the city. The heavens bow down to greet you as you swing upwards, then pull away as you hit the crest of the arc and fall back down to earth. Namjoon pushes you again and the cycle repeats.

At least, Namjoon gets tired of pushing and lies down in the basket beside you. There’s not much space on a swing made for children. Your arm is squished next to his. Namjoon’s warmth seeps through your jumper.

“I’ve enjoyed tonight a lot,” Namjoon says.

“Me too.”

Namjoon turns his head to look at you. You pull your gaze from the starry sky to gaze back at him.

“Would it be okay if we do this again?” he asks.

A glowing fire sparks inside your chest. “Of course. I’d like that.”

Above you, the stars shine down, hazy through the city’s street-light sheen.

Namjoon moves his arm, wrapping it around your shoulders. The action fuels the fire in your chest. You nestle your head into the crook of his neck, and stare up at the vast sky.

✽ ✽ ✽

You spend your nights in this way, enjoying the secrets of the city with Namjoon by your side. You walk through empty parks, visit quiet pubs, wander around empty shopping centres, and as the nights pass, you find yourself enamoured with this stranger whom you can no longer call a stranger. You even find yourself sharing your sketches with him on the odd occasion, unafraid of his judgement.

Namjoon is on your mind, even when you’re apart – wondering if he would enjoy the book you’re currently reading, if he’d like a cafe you visited, if he’s thinking about you the way that you’re thinking about him.

On your lunch break at work, you decide to visit Cloud 9 with a friend from your office – because Namjoon recommended it of course.

“This place is really… quaint,” Taehyung says, twisting his neck to inspect every inch of the coffee shop. He’s right. House plants balance on shelves above wooden tables, and oil paintings hang behind brown leather armchairs, all combining to give the cafe a homey feel – like returning to your grandparents’ house. Your attention is dragged over to the bookshelf in the far corner of the cafe, loaded with lopsided piles of second-hand books. With you and Taehyung both in formal office clothes, you look a little out of place.

When you order your coffees, and sit down at a table by the window, you’re eager to taste the beverage that Namjoon had been praising. You ordered a black americano, because you don’t want the full taste of the coffee to be dulled by milk or syrup. The first taste explodes across your palate with the bitter tang of dark chocolate, that quickly mellows to a blackberry flavour, earthy and sweet.

Across from you, Taehyung gives a hum of approval as he sips his flat white, a moustache of foam forming on his lips, which he licks off.

You stare out of the window at the busy plaza outside. Families duck in and out of shops, office workers scramble to make it to their next meeting, and tourists snap pictures of the fountain in the middle of the square.

“Hey!” You realise that Taehyung’s talking to you. “Are you even listening?”

You focus your gaze on him, his blue office suit contrasting with the brown leather armchair he’s perched in. “Sorry, Taehyung, I’m listening.”

“You seem really spacey today,” he says, frowning, “I mean, normally you’ve got your head in the clouds, I know. But today is especially bad, even for you.”

“Sorry, you’re right.” You train your attention on your friend.

“You seem really tired,” Taehyung continues, “I know you’re a night owl, but I’m starting to worry a little.”

You consider his words. It’s true that you’ve been sleeping later and later each night, enjoying your time with Namjoon. Normally, you’d allow yourself a few nights to recover, and get a full eight hours of sleep, but you’ve been missing out, not wanting to loose any time with Namjoon. As Taehyung surveys you with concern in his eyes, you realise you should be taking better care of yourself.

“You’re right,” you say, “I have been missing more sleep than usual. I’ll sort out my sleep schedule. Don’t fret.”

“Finally, you acknowledge my sage advice,” Taehyung grins, taking another sip of coffee, “Seriously though. I’m rooting for you. Whoever it is that’s keeping you up later than usual, he must be a real catch!”

Heat rises below your skin, red and urgent. Taehyung’s smirk only amplifies as you blush harder.

“So I’m right,” he says, “This is about a guy!”

“It’s not!” Your denial comes too late.

“Nope. I don’t buy it,” Taehyung says, triumphant, “You’ve finally got yourself a boyfriend. After all these years a virgin! I’m so proud.”

“Shut up, Tae,” you laugh, kicking him softly under the table.

His mouth parts in a wide grin that you cannot stay angry at.

“Okay, fine,” you admit, “So maybe there’s a guy. But we’re not actually dating or anything. Not officially. We just enjoy spending time in each other’s company.”

“I hate to break it to you, but that’s what dates are,” Taehyung says.

You struggle to find a rebuttal to this. Your blush deepens.

“I’m really happy for you,” Taehyung leans across the table to give your hand a pat, “But if you could try to arrange some dates for the daytime, for the sake of your sleep, you’d make me even happier.”

“I can’t promise anything, Taehyung. You know what I’m like.”

“All too well.”

✽ ✽ ✽

The next night, you meet Namjoon at the diner as usual. You don’t have butterflies in your stomach. You have a whole flock of birds, flapping around nervously inside you.

Namjoon smiles his dimpled smile in greeting. “Would you like to take a walk tonight? There’s something I’d like you to see.”

“Of course,” you say.

You follow him through the city streets, along empty pedestrian crossings, past silent railway tracks, up a large hill where the pavement slopes, with apartment buildings sticking straight up, like a giant came along and stuck large white logo bricks into the slanting side of the hill. Up and up you climb, conversing with Namjoon all the while – about movies you’ve watched, plans for the holidays, favourite seasons, childhood pets.

When you reach the top of the hill, Namjoon stops. “Look,” he says, so you look.

The city stretches out in front of you, an ocean of winking lights. On the far side of the city, you can see a motorway, the red and white lights of cars whisking strangers to different points of the compass. Apartments and office buildings tower over smaller structures, a forest of artificial light. A faint mist hangs above the city, giving the whole vista an other-wordly quality – a city on a distant planet.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe.

Namjoon turns to face you. You look up to his face. His beauty strikes you once more, strangely contrasted to the beauty of the city. The city is alien. His face is familiar – it’s home.

“Tell me, Namjoon,” you say, “What’s going on between us?”

“What do you mean?”

“These walks we take every night. Would you count them as dates?” You are surprised by your own honesty.

“I suppose they could be considered dates,” Namjoon tilts his head towards you, eyes reflecting the galaxy of city lights.

You swallow, hesitating. Where are you supposed to go from here? You’ve never been on a date before.

“You don’t have to think of them as dates if you don’t want to,” Namjoon responds to your silence. “Although… I like the idea of dating you.”

“I like that idea as well,” you admit quietly. Your voice is barely a whisper.

A smile spreads across Namjoon’s face. His expression catches you off guard, mirroring your own surprised smile – surprised that a man, who was a stranger only a few weeks ago, has enriched your life so much.

“Could I consider you my boyfriend?” you ask.

“I’d like that,” he says. In the dusk, his hands find yours. A halo of light from the city’s bright haze outlines your skin.

You take a step closer to Namjoon, led by his hands, fingers threaded through your own. Your heart vibrates in your chest.

Half of his face is lit up by the city lights below. Slowly, imperceptibly, you lean towards him, while he leans towards you. His eyes ask you a question. You answer back. Your chest rises, pushing out a nervous breath. You close the distance between the two of you.

Your lips connect to his, soft and warm. You slide into the safety of his kiss, a kiss that says: I’m here, I understand you, I want this to last forever too. You sigh against him, a thrill rising inside you. On parting, you find that your legs are unsteady, and your head is spinning from the impact of two mortal bodies colliding.

Standing in the glow of the city, framed by the lights of the other living souls on the streets, Namjoon is more beautiful than ever. There are no words. You can only smile. Namjoon smiles back. He understands.

✽ ✽ ✽

“Namjoon?” He looks at you, eyes gentle as you speak his name. You’re walking with him, down from the hill where you had both confessed, and shared your first kiss.

“Yes?”

“Would it be okay if we had some dates during the day as well?”

He chuckles, “You know, I was going to suggest the same. I love the city at night, but...”

“But my sleep has been suffering,” you finish for him.

He nods, huffing out a laugh. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

His hand finds yours, his fingers cold, but his palm warm against yours. You’re always on the same page with Namjoon – two souls connected. You had thought the idea of soulmates was juvenile. Now, with your life entangling with Namjoon’s, you begin to understand. Two souls, singing in harmony. That’s what you have. A special, chance connection. You won’t let it go.

You squeeze Namjoon’s hand, and he squeezes back, and your souls entangle a little more.

- THE END -

➝ author’s note: i just love writing about this kind of setting - a calm, sleepy city with beautiful lights :’) it’s a shame that most cities aren’t like this in real life. even in my city, which is relatively safe, I wouldn’t feel comfortable walking around at night on my own, like y/n does! but hey, that’s what fics are for - wish fulfilment! i hope everyone is staying safe!

if you enjoyed this fic, feel free to let me know! <3

152 notes · View notes

myrandomfandomramblings · 3 years

Text

The Beach - a The Rookie/Chenford Fanfic

“7-Adam-11, show us responding,” Jackson said over the radio as Lucy leaned back against her headrest defeatedly.

“I didn’t think I’d ever say this but I really don’t want to go to the beach.” “Like ever again,” she added even as she took the first turn towards their destination.

LA was 4 days into a record heat wave and over that time Lucy had learnt a few important things 1) Unsurprisingly, extreme heat causes everyone to flock to the ocean. 2) It also makes people extremely irritable. 3) Lots of irritable people packed together in large groups leads to chaos and 4) wool uniforms are not ideal attire for patrolling beaches in temperatures around 100.

So after 4 days she was over it. She had spent Monday with Jackson getting sworn at, honked at and nearly run over as they directed traffic at the busiest beaches in the city. She spent Tuesday with Tim breaking up beach brawls, confiscating contributing alcohol and watching bikini clad woman flirt with Tim. At least 8 different woman had asked him to rub sunscreen on them or suggested he take off his shirt to cool down. She had rolled her eyes so much she had given herself a headache. Although it may have been the sun. Yesterday, her and Nolan and responded to a report of a missing child who was feared drowned or kidnapped but turned out had followed the music of an ice cream truck four blocks and was found, about 30 minutes after the officers arrived, happily eating a fudgiscle. However, they were kept at the beach for the remainder of their shift by various citizens with complaints ranging from seagulls, wasps and possible sharks to thieves, streakers and possible melanoma.

Now her and Jackson were headed back to a beach where the adjacent shrubbery was currently being consumed by a blazing bush fire, which was in all likelihood human caused and spreading fast. Therefore all hands were on deck as the LAPD worked with the LAFD to keep civilians safe, extinguish the fire and investigate its cause.

The rest of her shift passed in a blur as they interviewed witnesses, cordoned off the area, issued evacuation orders, ensured those who needed it got medical attention, joined a production line passing large buckets of water from the ocean to where the fire was burning and debriefed with their team which included Nolan and Tim, and Lopez and Harper. Luckily in the end, the fire was successfully extinguished, those living nearby were safe and happily back in their homes and the perpetrator, a cigarette butt flicker, was caught. But not until nearly 11pm by which time the entire team was exhausted, scorching and covered in soot and ash. With their job done the team of 6 headed away from the scene back along the beach to where they had parked their shops. They were right on the sand where they left them to create a barrier preventing people from wandering toward the fire and the beach around them was abandoned. Likely due to a combination of the late hour, the fire itself and the fact that the stretch of beach they were on was only accessible by walking about a mile from one of the main beaches on either side or by scrambling down the steep cliff behind them.

“Anybody want a cold one,” Nolan asked when they reached the vehicles, “well a hot one I guess” he amended as he pulled out a six pack he had confiscated earlier in the day from the trunk of his shop. Everybody made a face at the offer of hot beer but since the only light around came from the shops headlights shining in the opposite direction Nolan didn’t see them.

“Screw it, I’ll take one,” Angela said.

“Wesley and Patrice took the baby to meet the extended Evers clan so I have nowhere to be and now that I’m no longer breastfeeding I can have whatever I want. Even if that’s gross beer that’s been sitting in a hot car all day,” she explained.

“If we dig a hole near the water line it will fill with cold seawater and we can make a makeshift beer fridge,” Jackson suggested but Angela had already opened her can and was sipping away.

“I’ll help dig the hole,” Nyla offered. “I’d rather hangout here then go back to the station to do paperwork and Lila’s with her dad so I also have no where I have to be.”

“I’ll call Grey and tell him we’re clocking out and will do the paperwork in the morning,” Tim offered.

“Your staying?” Lucy asked a little too excitedly, “what about Kojo?” she quickly added.

“Tamara called several hours ago and offered to give him dinner, take him for a walk and put him to bed.”“She saw the fire on the news and rightly assumed we’d have our hands full,” he finished.

30 minutes later they all sat in the sand around their makeshift beer fridge. Shoes, socks and button up shirts discarded and pants pulled up to their knees. 3 flashlights were in the middle of the group, pointing skyward, their handles buried in the sand. They laughed as they went around and told stories.

“How is it still this hot?” Lucy asked a while later. It was after midnight and the temperature had yet to even consider dropping below 90.

She pulled her white t-shirt away from her skin fanning, herself.

“I’m going swimming,” she declared ready to stand up.

“Your going swimming? Right Now? In that?” Tim asked gesturing to her cotton tee and woolen pants.

Lucy shook her head. “I was just going to go in my underwear but now that I think about it I don’t really want to have to drive back to the station in soaking wet underwear.”

Tim nodded as if this is what he expected but Lucy didn’t see him and continued.

“I guess I’ll just skinny dip,” she concluded.

Tim managed to both spit out and choke on the sip of beer he had just taken.

Everybody else’s faces were turned towards Tim and wearing amused expressions but they were saved his annoyance due to the limited light and the fact that his attention was still fully on Lucy.

“What?” She asked Tim, “It’s not a big deal. It’s dark. Plus everybody here has already seen me naked.”

“Well except you,” she added, which earned another spit take from Tim.

Lucy rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. She loved seeing Tim flustered, especially when it was her doing.

“What?” He finally managed to ask in a strained voice after a few harsh coughs to clear his throat.

“Everybody here’s seen Lucy naked but you,” Lopez offered, “although that was bound to change sometime soon,” she added.

Lucy and Tim both turned to look at her wide eyed. Nolan and Nyla were both hiding smirks and Jackson wore an expression of mainly panic as he spoke.

“She’s drunk. She has no idea what she’s saying,” Jackson offered before turning to look daggers at Angela and whisper something in her ear.

Lucy thought she heard the words bet, interference and disqualified but she couldn’t be sure.

When he finished Angela addressed them again. “Sorry, apparently my tolerance took a nose dive since pre-pregnancy. I didn’t mean anything by that I got you mixed up with Smitty and what’s her face,” she finished waving her hand disparagingly.

“Hmm,” Lucy said clearly not buying her lame excuse but Tim still had his mind on other things.

“Why has everybody else here seen you naked?” he asked, his tone almost suspicious.

Lucy laughed. “Are you jealous?”

He fixed her with his best TO look. “No.”

Lucy suppressed the urge to roll her eyes yet again and answered.

“Communal showers at work,” she began gesturing to Nyla and Angela. “Best friends and roommates” she added pointing to Jackson. “Life gets crazy. Sometimes closing doors or throwing on clothes just isn’t a priority,” she explained seeing Tim’s confused expression. “Also we had to help each other into and out of the bath after we were injured.” She didn’t have to specify her kidnapping or the beating Jackson took to take down Doug Stanton. This group knew. “It’s kind of ironic that when everything hurts all you want is a warm bath but when everything hurts it’s nearly impossible to get yourself into and out of a bathtub,” she finishes. “Oh and Nolan and I used to date.” She says it as almost an afterthought, super casual. But all the former TOs still look at her with shock.

“You and Nolan?” Nyla asks with a laugh. “Really?” “No offense,” she adds addressing Nolan.

“Ah, none taken?” Nolan replies, clearly confused by her reaction.

“When?” Lopez asks looking between the two P2s.

“For a couple months while we were in the academy. We called it off shortly after we started at Mid-Wilshire,” Nolan supplied.

“Wow, I just can’t picture it,” Angela continued shaking her head.

“Why would you want to picture it?” Tim spat. Then seemed to catch himself and schooled his scowl back into a blank expression.

“Why’d you call it off, anyway?” Angela asked. Half actually curious. Half just trying to do her friend a solid and take the attention off him.

“Bishop warned me that dating a fellow cop would brand me and could ruin my career,” Lucy answered and thought she saw Tim flinch. It was impossible to tell for sure with just the flashlights, nevertheless she added, “Somethings matter more-“ she was staring right at Tim now “-are worth the gossip, the assumptions, the risk.” As she said it she saw his expression change but she couldn’t read it. “But our relationship wasn’t one of those things. We’re better as friends, anyway,” she finished addressing the whole group but looking at Nolan specifically for confirmation.

“Agreed,” Nolan nodded holding up his beer.

“To friends,” Jackson said clicking his to Nolan’s.

“To friends,” everybody joined in clinking their cans together.

“So who’s coming skinny dipping with me?” Lucy asked as she started to make her way back to the vehicles where she could leave her clothes in a place where they’d stay sand free.

“I will,” said Angela, “pregnancy and caring for a baby really makes modesty go out the window. The two beers I’ve had don’t hurt either.” She began to follow Lucy to the cars.

“I’m in,” Jackson offered, “with you two practically glowing in the dark nobody will even notice me.” He teased as he got up to join them, earning a playful shove from Lucy.

“Nobody’s here to see anything anyway.” She retorted.

“Go ahead. I might join you later.” Nolan said and Nyla and Tim nodded in agreement.

10 minutes later. Lucy, Angela and Jackson’s clothes were inside Jackson and Lucy’s shop and they were out in the ocean. It dropped off quickly so they weren’t that far away from the beach even though the water came to just below Lucy’s shoulders. After four days of blazing heat and the fire on top today, the cool water felt like heaven to her. She dipped and dove through the water, relishing the cool and wiped at her face and hands to remove the soot that had coated them earlier. Beside her Angela was trying to show Jackson what her son does when they put him in the water. This led to reminiscing about childhood summers spent at the beach or in backyard and community pools. And before they knew it they were playing old games from those days. John and Nyla had joined them by this time. Claiming some combination of escaping the heat, joining the fun and more beer as the motivation. They were currently having breath holding contests.

“I win!” Jackson exclaimed as he came up for air to find everyone else already up.

“You cheated,” Lucy argued, “I saw you come up while I was still under. I had my eyes open.”

“I did not. Plus it’s pitch black under there you couldn’t possibly have seen anything.”

“Did Jackson come up?” Lucy yelled at Tim who was still sitting on the shore.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t watching,” he replied casually with a slight shrug.

“Yes you were,” Angela argued, “you haven’t taken your eyes off Lucy since she got in here,” then realizing what she said she quickly ducked back under the water.

Everybody still above the surface froze.

Then after a beat. “So did he come up or not. I need to know if I won,” Nyla asked, all business.

“He floated to the surface but didn’t lift his head up. He won,” Tim offered defeatedly.

“Told you!” Jackson bragged.

“Rematch. 3,2,1 go,” shouted Nyla as everybody ducked back under the water. Lucy a split second behind everybody else as her attention was still on Tim.

She came up about 30 seconds later just as a wave was passing by her and managed to swallow a good serving of water. She coughed and sputtered but before she knew it Jackson and Nolan were beside her and she was assuring them she was Ok just needed a bit of time to catch her breath. As she swam towards the shore to rest in the shallows she noticed Tim was just sitting back down and his pants were wet to just above the knee. But she didn’t let herself focus on it.

She swam to just in front of where he sat laying on her stomach on the ocean floor, head just above the water.

“You OK?” He asked shifting his eyes to her for the first time since she swam up.

“Ya fine, just swallowed a little water,” she assured him.

“Looks like you guys are having fun out there,” he nodded indicating the group still farther out.

“Ya the water feels amazing. You can’t honestly tell me that you aren’t hot.” She had meant it literally. He was sitting in above 90 degree weather with wool pants on. But then she realized he had taken off his white shirt and his muscled chest and stomach were currently on full display and the word took on an entirely different meaning. She was thankful for the darkness as it hid her blush but even that couldn’t hide the fact that she was definitely staring.

“The ladies on the beach the other day will be so disappointed they’re missing this,” she teased gesturing to his bare upper half, hoping to give a probable explanation for the staring.

He gave a short laugh. “Not as disappointed as the meat bags who were wolf whistling at you will be that they’re missing that.” As he gestured at her he finally let himself actually take her in. Her hair was still up in its low work bun leaving her entire back exposed. The upper half of which was completely taken up by a tattoo, he had never seen before, although the light was too limited for him to make out the design. The rest of her body was hidden in shadows except her face which was now free of soot and make-up making her look young and vulnerable. Freckles brought out by the last few days of blazing sun were speckled across the bridge of her nose. Her mouth was twisted in thought and her eyes sparkled in the light of the flashlights. She really was beautiful.

While those thoughts flew through Tim’s mind Lucy was thinking about his comment about the wolf whistlers. That had happened at the very start of their shift and lasted no more than two seconds. Lucy wasn’t even sure they had been whistling at her and she had completely forgotten about it until Tim brought it up just now. Funny that he would remember.

They were both pulled out of their thoughts by a sudden commotion further out in the water:

“DID YOU NOT THERE IS NO PIE!”

“DO NOT THERE IS NO DIE!”

“DO OR DO NOT THERE IS NO TRY!”

Were being yelled over each other.

“What are they doing?” Tim asked looking at the group out in the water.

They were in a circle. Jackson had just given Nolan a high five then they were under again.

“I think they are playing the guess what I said under the water game,” Lucy chuckled.

Tim was about to reply but he was cut off by “How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood” being shouted in unison followed by bickering about who said it first.

“I’m going back out to join them. You going to come?” Lucy asked turning her attention from the group back to Tim.

“I don’t need to be a part of that.”

“Come on Tim. You’re hot and dirty.” She still meant it literally. Really. He was covered in soot. Stupid double entendres.

He raised is eyebrows.

“Just get in the water,” Lucy said splashing water at him to vent her frustration with how flustered she was getting.

He wiped the water from his face and a small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. “Fine.”

Lucy beamed back at him as he stood up and walked back to the shop to discard his remaining clothes then turned her attention back to her friends.

“It’s not Angeles Direct, you’ve already guessed that three times,” Nyla was saying to Jackson

“That’s what it sounds like,” he argued “and it’s definitely closer to that than ‘embroidery period.’”

“That was my first guess. I heard wrong,” Nyla shot back.

“Oh ya cuz ‘and was dressed’ and ‘indoors divest’ were so much closer.”

Any further argument was cut-off by Nolan. “I’ve got it: Angela’s the best,” he said confidently.

“Yes and yes,” Angela confirmed.

“Your turn Nyla.”

There was a brief silence as they all went back under the water followed by a flurry of screamed “this is stupid.”

“Happy now?” Came a quieter voice beside her and Lucy nearly jumped out of the water. She had been so wrapped up watching her friends she hadn’t even noticed that Tim had made his way back down the beach and was now sitting beside her in the water.

She smiled and nodded. “Aren’t you?”

He gave a non-committal shrug. “We’ll see after I get roped into whatever’s going on out there,” he offered but there was no bite to it. He was even smiling, although mostly with his eyes, as he looked at their friends.

“Well let’s go find out,” Lucy replied as she led the way into the deeper water.

As they approached the group they watched them go up and down and listened to their guesses.

“And further than game”

“Comforters at game”

“Temperatures endgame”

“Stanford is endgame”

“Checkers is a game.” “At least that’s a real sentence”

“Bradford has game?” “That can’t be right he most definitely doesn’t”

Then just as Tim and Lucy joined the group “Chenford is endgame!” Shouted by Angela who upon realizing Tim and Lucy had joined them turned to Jackson.

“This ones not on me it was your sentence.”

Jackson stood stunned for a second looking desperately between Tim, Lucy and Angela then swiftly closed his eyes and yelled “MARCO.”

There was a brief silence then Nolan yelled “POLO” and everyone was swimming away from Jackson at top speed. Everyone except Tim who was giving Lucy a look that said. “See what you got me into? I told you so.”

But she was busy swimming off with the others, grateful for the distraction. So he rolled his eyes and joined the game. The water did feel amazing although he wasn’t about to admit that to her.

Calls of MARCO POLO and laughter filled the air as everybody took their turn being it: Jackson tagged Nolan who tagged Lucy who tagged Nyla who tagged Jackson who tagged Tim who tagged Nolan who tagged Angela who tagged Jackson who tagged Tim who tagged Lucy. Well he meant to tag Lucy. He reached his arm out and jumped towards her “POLO” but she was closer than he thought and instead of the tips of his finger tagging her shoulder he jumped right into her. He hit her hard and she responded to being knocked off her feet and down into the water instinctively by reaching for the nearest thing to prevent drowning, which happened to be him. So when he opened his eyes her arms were around his neck and her legs around his hips and her face was only about an inch from his own as she coughed up water for the second time that day.

“Are you ok?” He asked moving a piece of hair that had fallen into her face behind her ear.

She nodded but continued to cough as he absentmindedly stroked her back.

“You caught me by surprise,” she breathed “I didn’t know we were playing full contact Marco Polo.”

He let out a relieved laugh, “I’m sorry.”

“A real Tim Bradford apology I never thought I’d see it in person,” Lucy teased earning an eye roll from Tim. This close Lucy could see all the different shades of blue in his eyes even in the dark.

“It was an accident.”

“So it wasn’t some sort of Tim Test to see how I would handle a fight in the water?”

“No. You got your last Tim test a year ago when you stopped being my rookie.”

“I can’t believe it’s been a year already,” she said. “Then again we’ve been through enough for an entire career,” she added as her hand reflexively moved from his neck where it was playing with his hair to the tattoo on her her ribs.

That’s when it dawned on her just how close her and Tim were, pressed together without a shred of clothing between them. She had felt so comfortable and content she hadn’t realized the gravity of the situation and what it could lead to. She was about to put some space between them when his hand covered hers over the tattoo marking her supposed day of death. The day he saved her from being buried alive. Although he would say it marked the first day of the rest of her life. The day she saved herself.

And the desire to move away died in an instant.

“I kept it,” she said quietly, “because of what you said.” “Because it’s a reminder that I’m a survivor. And that my team will always have my back.”

Tim was looking at her with an expression more open than she’d ever seen. “I have one of those,” he replied softly lifting her hand up and moving it to rest on his lower left abdomen. She was confused at first but as she felt the skin beneath her finger tips she realized it was scarred. The scar from when he was shot on her second day and she pulled him out of the line of gunfire.

She smiled and looked directly into his eyes.

“It’s a good thing we have each other in our lives,”

“Sure is,”

She was just about to lean in and close the distance between them when a voice interrupted.

“Hey you two. Keep it PG or get a room. This is a family outing.” It was Nyla.

Lucy laughed as she untangled her self from Tim and in that moment she realized two things. 1) this was most definitely her family and 2) she would very happily come back to the beach. Maybe next time she’d just bring Tim, maybe even as her boyfriend.

#the rookie #chenford #lucy chen #tim bradford #nyla harper #angela lopez #jackson west #john nolan

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chamomileteainabuttercup · 3 years

Text

Dincobb Week Day 4 - AU/Freebie Day (SFW)

Welcome to my Dincobb Week fanfic posts! I've written stories and scenes of varying lengths and tones. For clarity I should say that most of these exist as miniature AUs of their own and have no continuity with each other or with anything else I've written about these characters, so in different pieces they may be described having different physical features, personal possessions, preferences, et cetera. (There are three exceptions which I'll note as such when they come out.) Thanks to @djarining, who helped me a lot with brainstorming and discussing my ideas!

For today I have just one story and it's SFW. It's the second of the three linked stories (SFW, SFW and NSFW in that order - but the two SFWs can stand alone if you prefer not to read the NSFW one).

AU/Freebie Day - I chose Drunken Home Ear Piercing (as a free choice, not an AU)

People have idiosyncrasies when they get drunk. Din’s noticed that, mostly as an onlooker, because his principles for most of his life didn’t allow for social drinking. He’s never been one to drink alone either — given how much he was alone, it seemed like a fast track to pickling himself in alcohol — so he’s mostly just watched, feeling uncomfortable because he can’t participate and people either think he’s a killjoy or that he must have some deep dark personal reason for not drinking, when it’s just the practical fact that you can’t keep your face covered and drink. So when he came to stay with Cobb, broken-hearted and bare-faced, he kind of crashed into drinking far too much too fast, and paid the price with a sunburn that took days to heal and made the whole affected area peel like tattered white lace.

“Passes out in the blazing sun and half cooks himself” was a pretty stupid drunken idiosyncrasy, definitely worse than “decides he can sing” or “wants to get into everyone’s lap” or “starts planning a revolution” or the other quirks he’s observed in the people he’s known over the years. He’s managed not to make a habit of it. With a bit of guidance from Cobb on knowing when to stop, and drinking to enjoy the experience, not to blot out how awful you’re feeling, the tendency that seems to be developing is just “easily talked into things.”

Cobb is generally the one talking him into things, and fortunately so far they haven’t been too troublesome — dancing with him was nice, obviously, and the pancakes eventually peeled off the kitchen ceiling after they tried to make midnight breakfast and he didn’t know his own strength flipping them. Neither of them can really remember what they were hoping to accomplish by digging that pit out the back of the house but there was a very muddled drawing on a scrap of paper on the living room floor labelled, as far as they could make out the next day, AWESOME SWIMMING POOL. The less said about the lawn chair incident the better, but they both walked away from it, somewhat unsteadily.

That’s not Cobb’s idiosyncrasy so much as the effect of the two of them being otherwise sensible and competent men who for some reason get a little bit dumb when they put their heads together. His thing is that, by contrast with the many people who find their calling as a stripper when tipsy, he starts putting things on. He keeps darting into his bedroom and coming back to show Din this great hat, or a big coat he found in a thrift store, or how many sweaters he can put on at once, or the jacket with the fringe which swings out when he goes like this (which coincided with the dancing). This evening it’s his best suit, another second-hand find which probably predates the Empire and features not only fringe but embroidery. He parades around the living room enjoying the attention, since Din is suitably impressed, before dumping himself down on the couch next to him again and taking a long pull on the drink he abandoned to go and get dressed up. As his head tips back Din notices something shining and looks closer. Cobb has an earring, a yellow gold sun in his right earlobe with a rose gold sun hanging from it on a tiny ring.

“Hey, where’d you get that?” he asks, trying to touch it without pulling on it.

“Oh, that? Found it in the jacket pocket when I got changed. I thought I lost it dancing at Tracy Dunerunner’s wedding last winter. Must’ve just dropped in there by luck.”

“It’s so pretty.”

“Why, thank you.” Cobb tilts his head to let him admire it better. “I only really wear it for special occasions. Thought the hole might’ve closed up, but it seems okay.”

“You should wear it more. It looks good on you,” Din says earnestly. “I wish I could wear stuff like that.”

“Why can’t you?”

Din blinks at him, befuddled. “Don’t have pierced ears,” he says.

“Well how the heck do you think ears get pierced, dummy? You gotta pierce ‘em. I’ll help you, I’m good at this.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s easy. C’mon, the best light’s in the kitchen.”

So without quite intending it he’s ended up sitting on a kitchen chair with Cobb wiping his right earlobe with alcohol and then rubbing it with an ice-cube to numb it. That feels really weird and it makes him wriggle around so Cobb sits on his lap facing him to hold him still, which feels weird from a whole different angle.

“Okay,” says Cobb, flourishing a sharp darning needle, “I’m ready to operate. Got you a nice little earring to start off with.” It’s sitting on the table after a dip in a shot glass full of rubbing alcohol, a plain silver stud, like a moon to Cobb’s suns. “I’m gonna need you to hold still for me, okay partner? Real still, because if you pull we might just tear your earlobe, and it’ll heal but who wants to deal with that?” He’s cut a piece of potato for Din to hold just behind his earlobe, so when Cobb sticks the needle through quick and hard the point will go into that instead of the side of his neck.

“I can hold still,” Din says, although his heart is beating fast and his numb earlobe is already starting to feel warm again.

“Okay,” says Cobb. He rubs the ice-cube over his ear again, making it sting and tingle with the cold before it grows number. “On the count of three, one, two,” and he stabs the needle through right then. Din gasps in shock and no small amount of pain, ice or not, but he manages to keep still. “That’s great,” says Cobb, “just a little bit more now, hold on for me, hold on,” and with slippery fingers from ice and blood he pulls the needle free from the potato and then manages to fumble the stud post through the raw new hole and get the back onto it. “Woo!” he cheers, raising his arms in the air. “That looks great!” He grabs the little shaving mirror from the kitchen table and holds it up for Din. “Take a look!”

It’s hard to get a look at his own ear in the small mirror but Din makes it out; there are bloody fingerprints on his neck and ear that make the whole thing look kind of gory but there’s the little silver ball shining in his earlobe, and it really does look great. A big smile breaks out on his face as Cobb wipes and dabs the blood away with a damp cotton ball, and then touches the fresh piercing and the pain is so sharp he yells “Fuck!” right in Cobb’s face. Cobb starts laughing and apologising and laughing more.

“I’m sorry, darlin’, sorry, at least it wasn’t alcohol, right?”

“It was alcohol, that’s the point,” says Din.

Cobb glances back over his shoulder at the unfortunately identical-looking shot glasses of water and rubbing alcohol and says “Whoops. Well, it’s clean.” His voice turns gentle and coaxing. “C’mon, you’re okay, right? A big strong man like you?” He strokes Din’s jawline as he admires his ear, and it’s pretty hard to stay angry. The pain has changed from a stab to a hot throbbing, and when he holds the melting ice to it he feels some instant relief. Cobb’s looking at him with such a lovely smile, and he finds he wants to earn more of that.

“You think you could do the other side too?” he asks.

#dincobweek2021 #dincobweek #dincobb week #fanfic

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imaginealpha · 3 years

Text

I saved this screenshot over three years ago.

Today, at 10:50 PM, I made a document titled "I'm gonna bang this out in an hour and submit it at 11:58pm because that's just how I am" and wrote this for my school's literary magazine. I submitted it at 1:15 AM, because that's also just how I am. It's a little long, but that's okay.

The screech of the train’s brakes cuts through the night air, startling you from your light doze. There aren’t many people in the station, and no one seems to want to get on. Except you, of course, because you want to be anywhere but here.

A man hangs out the window of the car in front of you. “First time?” he says, his eyes crinkling sympathetically.

“I’ve ridden the train before,” you snap back defensively.

“That’s not what I asked.” He gestures to the open door.

You lean against the window, making sure to keep your head off of it before the slight shaking gives you a headache. The buildings whipping by are quickly replaced by a rolling countryside. You suppose this is when you consider your place in the universe, as one does on the midnight train going anywhere, but you are content to just watch.

A voice breaks the fog in your mind. “I need your ticket, dear.”

An older woman stands by your seat, the only other person in the otherwise empty car. Wordlessly, you fish your ticket stub out of your pocket and hand it over.

She clicks her tongue as she punches a series of holes into it. “It’s a lovely view on the way, dear. Make sure to watch. I believe it’s quite a sight for the soul.”

She hands it back. When you turn back to the window, you don’t hear her leave.

You don’t know how long it’s been since you closed your eyes. When you force them open, a dusty brown expanse stretches outside the glass, the surface pockmarked with tiny craters. The sky is pitch black but twinkling with a million points of light, steady companions in an ever-changing eternity. A blue planet covered in faint green landmasses and swirling white clouds hangs above, too big and too small at the same time. For a moment, you feel a little less lonely.

In the distance in front of you, a single building sits, quite literally in the middle of nowhere. A neon sign blazes brightly, but you can’t quite make it out. Thin tendrils of smoke rise from the front, where a small group of young adults are sitting around in folding chairs.

As you watch, one of them throws back their head and laughs, while another one stands, holding an empty bottle to their mouth like a microphone. You can almost hear them. That could be you someday.

There is a young child across the row.

“How did you get here?” you ask, a little dazedly.

They wrinkle their nose. “That’s not a fair question. I rolled the dice, of course.”

“Of course,” you repeat numbly. “Why isn’t it fair?”

“Because everyone rolls the dice, so you’re gonna get the same answer every time.” They shrug simply. “It’s the only way to get on the train, you know. You roll the dice, and if your number is low enough, you can choose to come on the train and roll again. It says so on your ticket.”

You dig out your ticket. It’s punched so full of holes that you can’t make out any of the text anymore.

“I didn’t roll the dice,” you hear yourself say.

The child just stares at you. “Of course you did.”

“Of course,” you say again, for lack of a better answer. “Where are they, then? So I can roll again?”

“That’s not how it works.” The child is rolling their eyes now, and you vaguely wonder if it is socially acceptable to use them as makeshift dice. (It isn’t, obviously.) “Ask me a more interesting question, please.”

“Who are you? Where are you from? And-” you twist around again to glimpse what is now a never-ending ocean rippling below the train, an electrical storm brewing on the horizon. “-where are we? Where are we going?”

“Everywhere. Nowhere. It’s hard to say, really.” They smile at you, something unreadable in their eyes. “I suppose a better answer would be anywhere. It’s up to you.”

“Me?”

Their smile turns sharp. “It really is your first time, isn’t it?”

The waves outside splutter in response. They go on and on and on and on, with no signs of stopping.

You can make out the thin glistening of water pouring softly down the cavern wall from the lights on the outside of the train.

“What’s it like, where you’re from?” the child asks.

“Pretty,” you say noncommittally. “Elegant, in its own way. Normal.”

They hum and swing their legs, gripping the edge of the seat. “And?”

You watch the walls of the cavern narrow in on the train, and a spark of nervousness flares inside you when you think of the train getting stuck. “Trapped. It was a nice place to grow up, but there wasn’t anywhere to go except where everyone told you to go. Sometimes, those places weren’t very special. Not to me, at least.”

“You have anywhere here.”

“I guess so,” you sigh. “The ride has to end eventually, though. I didn’t really think this through, so I have no idea what I’m going to do when we get to the last stop.”

“There’s only one stop,” the child says casually, “but think about what you want to do when you get there. It’ll be a whole new world for you, if you believe in it.”

Watching the tunnel widen again into a room full of gorgeous glowing crystals towering high above you, you think you’re starting to understand.

A lone streetlight stands outside, its harsh yellow light flickering on the ground. Silhouettes of people pass underneath like shadows, fading away into mist at the edges.

“They look like they’re searching for something. What are their lives like, I wonder?”

You square your shoulders bitterly. “They spend decades locked in a miserable cycle of work and expectations and exhaustion, with no real joy or expression left.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what society demands. That’s what people demand.”

The child surveys you curiously. “So they’re looking for emotion? All of them?”

All of them. The confirmation is on the tip of your tongue.

You remember the people outside the desert store. “Maybe not all of them,” you amend. “Some of them had higher dice rolls.”

“They all fade away in the end,” the child observes.

“But they’re brighter.” Happier.

“The dice alone don’t change that,” they remind you.

The streetlight dies.

“Can you rig the dice?”

“No,” the child replies. “But low numbers aren’t always a bad thing. If you add them right, you get a bigger number.”

The chunks of ice speeding past the window start moving backwards.

“Do you wanna play a game?”

You decide to humor the kid, for lack of anything better to do. “Sure. What game?”

“You stomp your feet like this.” They stretch their legs to the floor and pound a steady rhythm on the ground. “When I make this sound” - a series of clicks you can’t for the life of you figure out how to do with your mouth - “you knock against the window.” Another beat, their knuckles rapping gently against the glass. “And I’m gonna do my own sounds, and we’re gonna make a song. But you can’t step in the same place twice, or it’ll get boring.”

It takes you a while to get the hang of it. Before long, you are up and out of your seat, hopping across the car in an effort to avoid landing on the same spot you just stepped. The kid is singing a melody that shoots adrenaline through your veins, lights a giddy fire in your chest, and opens a haunting void in your throat all at the same time. You feel more alive than you have ever been in your entire life.

Here, dancing in the soft white light of the train, with a forest whispering outside and brushing the windows with gentle branches, believing in this seems easier than ever.

The child isn’t there when the sun’s rays spill over the horizon, tingeing the sky a pale pink. The country hills rise around the train again, tiny farms dotting the green. Roused from your deeper slumber, you lazily watch the early morning mist climb over the grass. Distantly, a mass of grey clouds hangs in the sky. If you think about it hard enough, they look like looming mountains. An impossible, majestic journey.

“We’re almost at the stop, dear.” The woman is back, speaking quietly. “I’ll take your ticket stub off your hands for you.”

You pull it out and give it to her. “You were right. The view was incredible.”

Her face softens. “It always is.”

The train finally pulls into the station with another screech. The doors slide open with a hiss, and you step back out onto the platform, breathing in the morning air. You take a moment to turn to the man hanging out the side window.

“Hope to see you again sometime,” he bids you, kind eyes now crinkled in a smile. “Next time, I’ll say ‘Second time?’”

“I look forward to it,” you agree with a small huff of laughter.

The ticketmaster gives you a weird look as you leave the station. “Were you in there all night?” he asks, perplexed. “Did your train even come by? There’s none on the schedule.”

You shrug. “No, it did. It was a round trip.”

You climb the stairs to the ground level and step outside. As you head home, you try to hold on to the feelings you found on the train. Looking for emotion, indeed.

Even when you don’t have an anywhere to go, at least you know there’s always another option. You’ll do what you do best: you don’t stop believing.

What do you think @writing-prompt-s?

#i literally did not edit this #how late can i submit things to my writing teacher before he lets me know i need to set deadlines challenge #i have a whole folder full of prompts from like four years ago that i am steadily working through #but i thought tumblr might appreciate this one more than the others #idk it's 1:34am and i am Tired™#writing #short story #fiction #my writing

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jeonsjiddies · 4 years

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and then came you | pjm (m)

summary - Jimin was having a harder time getting over his unrequited love than he’d like to admit. He was desperate to escape the longing in his chest; he was searching for something to make him feel alive again. Jimin was about to give up hope that he’d ever find anything meaningful to cling to again, and then came you.

rating- explicit 18+

word count- 7551

pairing- jimin x reader

genre- fluff, smut, angst

Warnings - a little angsty/ a little heartbreak at the beginning, some sexual harassment ( from an ex), mentions of cheating, thigh riding, ice play, creampie, multiple orgasms, slight dom!jimin, Oral (female receiving)

a/n - while this story can stand alone, it is based off the 8 letters AU, which can be found here. :) as usual, all the thanks in the world to @sweetnspicy93 for all your help and thank you for urging me to give 8 letters Jimin his own happy ending.

Jimin knew it was a bad idea, but he’d done it anyway. He would’ve done anything for the girl with the soft eyes and the bright smile, the girl who was now Namjoon’s. Jimin thought his crush was small enough that he’d be able to assist in making Namjoon jealous and walk away unscathed. At least she would be happy. That would be enough for Jimin. Or so he thought.

Jimin’s mind wandered back to the way she looked on top of him, grinding her hips into his. His cock stirred at the memory. Of course, it had all been a show, strategically designed to make her roommate and crush jealous. That didn’t stop Jimin’s heart from slipping a beat when her core ground down onto his member. It didn’t stop Jimin from melting when she’d giggled and covered her face to hide it. Jimin knew it wasn’t real, he’d laughed off his boner, but he let himself enjoy the feeling of her skin under his tongue, the soft noises he drew from her which he knew weren’t completely fake.

He felt empty, lost. Maybe he was being dramatic, but Jimin felt like he needed purpose. He’d feigned happiness when he saw her tucked into Namjoon’s loving embrace, congratulating the new couple as pieces of his heart chipped away and fell into the black hole of his chest. It seemed like his desire to do anything had faded away as quickly as his grasp on her. Now, he moped about his apartment, listening to the dull roar of the rain outside. It had been weeks since Namjoon had finally cracked and claimed her as his own, and Jimin was tired of feeling so… tired, dejected, lonely.

Jimin decided he needed a change of scenery. The messy apartment with the dingy walls he had been cooped up in for weeks wasn’t doing anything to help him, he needed a fresh start. He didn’t give himself time to think about it, only packed a bag and scurried out the door, through the pouring rain to his car. He didn’t have a real plan, just decided to hit the open road and let his gut guide him until he found a place to explore. He drove through the rain, letting his excitement seep through his bones as he made random turns and took unplanned exits to get to his unknown adventure.

Jimin drove for a few hours, deciding no matter where he went he wasn’t going to escape the dastardly rain. He took the next exit he saw, something in his chest guiding him towards the small town it led to. Near the exit he saw a sign illuminated promising a hotel room for only $35 a night. Jimin, having nothing to lose, pulled into the parking lot. Entering the building and shaking the rain from his dripping hair, he looked around to find the front lobby devoid of any life.

“Hello?” He called out.

You didn’t hear him enter the building and couldn't see anything past the stack of boxes you were balancing. He didn’t see you coming around the corner. You tripped over a flipped up rug and went tumbling forward, boxes flying out of your hands and landing haphazardly on the tile floor, contents spilling out and rolling in different directions. You would’ve splattered on the floor much like the contents of the boxes had it not been for the beautiful stranger who currently cradled you in his strong arms. Your palms were pressed flat against his chest, and you could feel the toned muscle under your fingertips. Your gaze traveled up his neck and face until your eyes locked with the deep brown pools of his. Though they were a dark color, they shone with the intensity of the sun, bright and vivid, so beautiful it almost hurt to look at. Your mouth hung open in shock for a moment at how gorgeous this man was before you came to your senses, stumbling back and out of his grip.

“I am so so sorry! Are you alright?” You questioned, skimming over his body for any obvious signs of injury. You sighed in relief when you found none.

“I’m fine. Are you okay?” He wondered, eyes searching yours.

“Yes, thanks to you. Thank you. For catching me.” You giggled nervously.

“It’s not every day a beautiful girl throws herself into my arms. Couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” He winked playfully.

You blushed and looked down to hide it and squeaked in surprise, scrambling to collect the contents of the boxes. Jimin leaned down to help you, collecting items and tucking them safely in the box before lifting it and following you to the counter where the both of you set them down.

“Thank you, again.” you smiled, taking your place behind the desk. “Were you looking for a room?”

“Yes, please.” he grinned back at you, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

Your eyes lingered on the action a little longer than was socially acceptable before you shook yourself back to reality and searched the old, worn down computer system for available rooms.

“Okay, I’ve got a double queen and a single king available. Which would you prefer? They’re both non-smoking rooms.” you smiled politely.

“The single king, it’s only me.” Jimin sighed, his sunshine filled eyes dimming a bit.

“Okay!” you tried not to show your concern, but selected the room and input your employee discount.

“How many nights?” you asked, glancing back up at him.

“Ummm…” he trailed off, looking away as he thought carefully. “Let’s go with seven. For now.”

“Okay, a one week stay…” your fingers tapped at the keys, and you rung up his total.

“Okay that will be $187.25. Cash or card?” you smiled sweetly.

“That doesn’t sound right… it’s for 7 nights right? $35 a night?” he confirmed.

“I, um, put my employee discount in for you…” you admitted shyly, avoiding his gaze. “It made it $25 a night, plus tax. We’re allowed to give the employee price to friends and family and I was thankful for your help.”

Jimin watched you for a moment, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he appraised you.

“Thank you. That’s… really sweet. Probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.” his voice lowered at the end, as if that part was a secret.

“Well, you helped me. I helped you.” you shrugged, trying to play it off and hoping he wouldn’t notice the blaze in your cheeks.

Your hands brushed when he handed over his card and you audibly gasped at the shockwave that shot through you when his skin met yours. His mouth parted in shock as well and you both locked eyes for a moment. One heartbeat passed. Two. The only sound in the lobby was both of you sucking in shaky breaths.

You gulped, pulling your hand away and swiping his card through the reader. You handed it and a receipt back to him, careful not to touch him again and smiled the most professional smile you could muster. You reached behind you and pulled the corresponding keycard out of its slot and handed it over as well.

“Room 318. If you need anything, you can call me. The front desk number is 0. I’ll be here until 7am, but if you find that Mina is a little too… blunt?..for your taste, I’m actually right down the hall in 338.” you explained.

You weren’t sure why you told him that, you never offered that information to any other customers. Something about him just pulled you in. You wanted to protect him. You wanted to know what was going on in his mind, what could possibly be dimming those glittering eyes. You were enamoured by him, intrigued, fascinated really.

“Thank you for the heads up…” he trailed off, eyes scanning your shirt for a name badge.

“Y/N. And you?” you offered.

“Jimin.” he beamed at you, causing your heart to skip a beat for probably the 92nd time since you’d laid eyes on him.

“It’s very nice to meet you Jimin. I hope you enjoy your stay.” you told him sincerely.

“I think I will.” he winked, making his way down the hallway towards his room.

*** Jimin couldn’t sleep. He was used to tossing and turning and lying awake until the sun came up, he was no stranger to the way his mind whirled when the silence crept in. He kept himself busy during the day, but when the sun went down, the restlessness set in. Jimin hated the silence. He hated being alone. He glanced at the clock, it was midnight. He sighed and shoved himself out of bed, slipping on his shoes and making his way down to the coffee bar he’d spotted earlier.

He filled two cups, fixing one the way he liked it and leaving the other black, but grabbing a couple of cream and sugar packets to bring with him. He peered around the corner to see if you were busy before he entered the lobby. You were sat on a stool behind the desk, head leaning on your hand as you struggled to stay awake. Jimin smiled, turning the corner and setting the coffee in front of you.

“Looks like you might need this more than I do.” he grinned, taking a sip of his own. “I wasn’t sure how you liked it so I just brought the extras to you.”

“Oh my gosh. My hero.” you cooed, ripping open the sugar and creamers and dumping them in before taking a sip.

Your head lolled back blissfully and you moaned quietly. Jimin’s eyes widened at the unexpected lewd sound rolling off your pink lips and had to discreetly adjust himself before you noticed the way his sweats got a little tighter.

“You saved my life. How can I ever repay you?” you giggled.

“Keep me company? I can’t sleep.” he whined.

“I’m not going anywhere until 7. You’re welcome to hang out with me here.” you offered.

Jimin hopped up on the desk, swinging his legs back and forth as he peered down at you. You rolled your eyes with a smile.

“Where are you from?” you asked him.

“Just a few hours south of here.” he answered. “I couldn’t get far in the rain.”

“Oh, you aren’t to your destination yet? Why did you book seven days then?” you wondered aloud.

“I didn’t really have a destination in mind. I just wanted to leave for a while. I had nothing holding me there anymore, and I thought a change of scenery would be nice. So I just kinda went where I felt like going and ended up here.” he shrugged.

“Your grand adventure led you to our little town?” you laughed.

“It’s got it’s charms.” he smirked.

You bit your lip and looked down, willing the blush on your cheeks to chill out. Jimin chuckled, the vibrations of his body shaking your desk.

“So what do you plan on doing now that you’re here?” you asked.

“I don’t really have a plan. I just felt kind of suffocated and needed to get out of my dingy apartment and that stupid town.” he left off the part about how SHE was everywhere he went when he did venture outside his apartment, and how every time he saw her hand laced with Namjoons bile rose in his throat.

“Well, on behalf of our tiny town, welcome. I hope you find what you’re searching for.” you smiled.

Jimin stayed perched on your desk for hours, until the sun started streaming through the blinds in the lobby, filling the room with a soft glow. In your opinion, though, the light wafting through the space couldn’t dare compare to the light that came from Jimin. When his head was thrown back and his body shook and his smile reached from ear to ear while giggles and chuckles fell from his pillowy lips, Jimin shone brighter than the sun could ever hope to.

You both got more comfortable as the night went on, delving into deeper topics, more personal ones. You told each other stories, shared your hopes for the future, It honestly felt like you’d known him your whole life. The conversation flowed easily, there weren’t any awkward pauses or times when neither of you could fill the silence, unsure of what to say. It was easy with Jimin. Being around him made you feel lighter, less broken. Like the light inside of him was seeping out and filling you with hope too.

You could tell there was something on his mind, something plaguing him. Who else stays up talking to a hotel clerk until the wee hours of the morning? He was running from something when he left without a plan, but he didn’t offer much information on it. Despite the darkness that sometimes threatened to break through his cheery exterior, Jimin was just… bright. It was who he was, a part of him. He was warm, friendly, and welcoming.

Neither of you had realized the time until the front door of the lobby swung open and Mina shuffled through, her ever-present scowl plastered on her weathered face. She glared at Jimin the moment she saw him. His eyes widened in fear and he slipped his bottom off of the desk, backing away from it. You sent him a look that said ‘I told you so.’

“Shifts over. Go.” she grunted, pointing her disappointed gaze at you.

You nodded quietly, gathering your purse and walking over to Jimin, who was almost cowering in the corner. You nodded for him to follow you out of the lobby and only spoke once you were out of earshot.

“See what I mean?” you giggled.

“She’s terrifying.” he whisper-hissed.

“She’s old and everything hurts. I’d probably be mean if I had to work here at her age too.” you shrugged, “but yeah if you need anything come find me. She definitely didn’t like the way you were sitting on the desk.”

Jimin nodded, covering his mouth as he stifled a yawn. You laughed.

“Did I wear you out talking your ear off?” you teased.

“No, that was the most fun I’ve had in a while to be honest.” he chuckled.

“Happy to help.” you smiled shyly, pausing in front of his room with him.

He hovered by the door but made no move to go in. You didn’t make a move to leave either. You both laughed at how ridiculous you were being. You placed your hand on his arm.

“Goodnight Jimin, sleep well.”

Suddenly, Jimin pulled you towards him, his arms wrapping tightly around your frame, head resting in the crook of your neck. You melted into his embrace, allowing your arms to circle around his body as well.

“Thank you for keeping me company.” he quietly spoke, warm breath hitting your ear and making you shiver.

“Any time, Jimin.” you answered back just as quietly.

He pulled back and sent you a smile before he slipped inside his room. You slowly made your way back to yours, every inch of your skin tingling, relishing the way it felt to be held by him, even for just a moment. In the arms of his stranger was the first time you’d ever felt like you were home.

You and Jimin had developed a nightly routine. Each night, he’d show up around midnight and perch himself on your desk, gifting you a cup of coffee (which he tailored to your tastes now.) The two of you would talk and laugh and just enjoy each other’s presence throughout the night. Maybe you should’ve gotten bored spending so much time together but you never ran out of things to talk about.

It felt like he’d always been there and he always would be. Even Mina seemed to get used to seeing Jimin when she arrived. She wasn’t friendly but she’d stopped sending him evil looks, which was quite the compliment from her. You found yourself looking forward to work rather than dreading it. Your favorite part of each day was the time you got to spend with Jimin. On the 4th night of this routine, Jimin wrapped you up in your nightly hug. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t wait all night for this part, longing to be wrapped up in his embrace, however fleeting the moment may be.

That night, Jimin surprised you. When he pulled away from your hug you felt his pillowy soft lips rest upon your cheek in a chaste kiss. The moment was over before you had time to process what was happening and Jimin smiled innocently at you.

“Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams.”

You stood frozen in place, letting your hand come up to touch your cheek where his lips had just been. His lips were so soft, so plush, and you longed to feel them against your own. Your cheek burned in the best way where the lingering heat from his lips stayed. You couldn’t stop the goofy smile from spreading across your face.

That was until you rounded the corner to get to your room and walked face first into the chest of the man you despised more than anything else. Your ex boyfriend, Stuart, loomed over your like a predator stalking it’s prey, using his large body mass to trap you against the wall. He reeked of alcohol and you rolled your eyes at the familiar scent.

“What are you doing here? Get off of me.” You hissed.

“Awww don’t sound so disappointed, Y/N. Don’t you miss me?” He cooed, one finger sliding it’s way up the side of your face.

“No.” You spit. “Get the fuck off of me.”

“Come on baby… don’t you want to have a little fun?” He smirked and your stomach threatened to release your midnight snack all over his button up shirt.

“Let me get one thing through your thick ass skull, I will NEVER touch you again. Do you understand?” You hissed through gritted teeth

“Don’t be like this. Just unlock the door. We can go in your room and play around like we used to. You used to like it when I showed up like this.”

“That was before I found out you were fucking half the town behind my back.” You threw back at him. “If you think I’ll ever get with you again you’re insane.”

“Quit playing hard to get and open the fucking door.” He growled.

“I believe she said no.”

Your gaze snapped to the voice that had just spoken, your eyes landing on Jimin, who was carrying his ice bucket. His eyes were swimming with concern for you but he stood tall and held his ground, refusing to be intimidated by the giant drunk moron who had you pinned to the wall.

“This isn’t any of your business. Fuck off.” Stuart hissed.

“Actually it kind of is. You’re sexually harassing my friend.” Jimin spoke evenly, keeping a calm persona.

“You know this clown?” Stuart asked you.

“Yeah. He’s my friend.” You shrugged.

“You little slut, you’re letting him hit it aren’t you? Bitching at me for having a little fun but you’ll bust it open for anyone huh?” Stuart goaded you.

“Well Stuart, I don’t really think that’s any of your business.” You growled.

“If you’ll put out for him you better put out for me.” He hissed.

Jimin’s fist connected with Stuart’s jaw before you could reply or react. Stuart stumbled back in surprise and Jimin took the opportunity to grab your hand and sprint down the hallway with you in tow. A roar of rage sounded from behind the two of you which only fueled your legs to move faster. Nearing a T in the hallway, you made a split second decision to shove Jimin into the supply closet and shut the door.

Stuart wasn’t smart enough, especially while drunk, to think of that as an option and you strained your ears to listen as his footsteps clomped past the storage closet, pausing before retreating down the hallway. You let out a sigh of relief, looking up to meet Jimin’s gaze. It was then that you realized how close you were. Your noses almost touching, you could feel his ragged breaths against your skin. You told yourself it was from the running.

“Are you okay?” He whispered.

“Yes, thanks to you. You keep rescuing me.” You grinned.

“Well, call me Prince Charming then.” He laughed quietly. “Do you think he’s gone?”

“I’m not sure. We should probably wait it out.” You sighed.

“Why don’t you call the police?” Jimin wondered.

“His dads the sheriff. He won’t do anything.” You huffed.

Jimin shifted, trying to maneuver around you to set down the ice bucket he was holding. He opted to place it on the floor, bending down to set it beside the two of you. He misjudged the space between your bodies as he stood up, stumbling forward a little, his face ended up in your cleavage, his lips brushing against your cloth covered nipple. He froze in shock, unable to peel himself from your breast. His breath circled your nub, damp and warm. You let out a breathy moan at the feeling and your eyes immediately widened in panic.

Jimin straightened his posture, eyes locked on yours and lips parted in amazement. Neither of you spoke or dared to move. You could feel his chest rising and falling rapidly, brushing against your own each time in the cramped space. Jimin could feel his cock stirring to attention in his sweats and decided it was time to check if the coast was clear. He cleared his throat and opened the closet door, slipping his head out and checking both directions.

“I don’t see him anymore.” Jimin told you quietly.

You nodded and followed him towards your room. You paused in front of his, shaking with anxiety when he looked at you in confusion.

“Jimin… I’m scared. Can I… can I stay with you? I’m worried he’s going to come back and I-“ you rambled bit Jimin put you out of your misery.

“Of course, come on.” He unlocked the door and ushered you inside.

You followed him inside, thanking him quietly and following him like a lost puppy to the middle of the room.

“Make yourself comfortable. Do you want me to turn on a movie?” He asked. “Are you hungry or thirsty?”

“I’m okay, but I won’t turn down the movie.” You smiled gratefully.

Jimin flipped on the tv and sat at the opposite side of the bed, careful to give you room and made sure he was under the covers so you couldn’t see his semi. You got under the blankets too, but still shivered in the cold of his room.

“Are you still cold? I don’t think I have a clean sweater…” he thought out loud, wracking his brain for ideas.

“It’s fine! I’ll warm up soon.” You assured him.

Things shifted back to normal for the most part, but there was a lingering tension in the air neither of you were willing to talk about. You fell into easy conversation about the movie, giggling and poking fun at the plot holes together. You continued to shiver despite your best efforts not to show how cold you were. Jimin sighed.

“Come here.” He instructed.

“Hmm?” You questioned.

“Come over here and let me warm you up, you’re making me feel bad.” Jimin motioned for you to join him on his side of the bed.

“Really I’m fine-“ you began but the look on Jimin’s face had you obeying his command in an instant, crawling your way over to him and snuggling up beside him as he wrapped an arm around you and pulled the blanket up to cover you both, trapping the heat of both of your bodies.

The hotel mattress was lumpy and uneven, but you’d never been more comfortable in your life. Jimin’s arm wrapped around your shoulder so it wasn’t sandwiched between the two of you and you molded yourself against his side even closer. Your bodies fit perfectly together and it made your heart beat faster than normal. You only hoped Jimin couldn’t hear it. When the movie ended, Jimin switched off the tv and laid down. You followed suit, pressing your body up against his and resting your head on his shoulder, your hand on his chest.

“Tell me something I don’t already know about you.” you requested, voice soft in an attempt not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere.

“What haven’t I told you yet?” Jimin chuckles to himself.

“What’s the real reason you’re here?” you pondered, bracing yourself for him to close himself off.

Jimin sighed, and you were about to apologize and change the subject when he nodded, glancing over at you.

“Actually, I was kind of running away. I had this friend, and I liked her but she liked her roommate. He likes her too but wasn’t doing anything about it, so we fake dated to make him jealous. I know it’s immature but he needed a push. I wanted her to be happy but didn’t realize how I’d feel seeing them together all the time. It’s actually kind of nice, I haven’t thought about her in days.” Jimin explained.

“I’m sorry Jimin. You’re a wonderful guy and you deserve someone who appreciates you.” You told him, eyes searching his face.

“Thank you.” He scrunched his nose up in that cute way that made your heart clench. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

You wracked your brain for information you hadn’t already provided to Jimin during your nightly talks. You noticed then that Jimin was shifting beside you, growing antsy with the vulnerability of the conversation, you assumed. In an attempt to lighten the mood, you threw out the first thing you could think of.

“Hmmm… I can touch my nose with my tongue.” you lied with the best straight face you could muster.

“No way. Show me.” Jimin laughed, turning to watch you.

You stuck your tongue out and tried your hardest to push it far enough to touch the tip of your nose, but failed miserably. You refused to give up and kept trying, making silly faces while attempting to reach. Jimin couldn’t control the laughter bubbling from deep in his belly at your ridiculous antics.

His smile reached both ears, and Jimin watched you make a fool of yourself, realizing that he hadn’t felt so light and carefree in the longest time, even before the incident with Namjoon and his new girlfriend. Something about being near you just made Jimin turn into a version of himself that he actually liked. Being around you made him feel like it might actually be okay.

The two of you shared hushed whispers for a while, Jimin absentmindedly drawing shapes on the soft flesh of your hand that rest on his chest. The whispers died down and you were left with the quiet humming of the air conditioning kicking on and off periodically and the sound of Jimin’s even breathing. You lifted your head to see if he was asleep and watched his chest move with each inhale. You allowed yourself to study his features up close. You couldn’t help yourself, reaching out and letting your fingers brush against the skin of his jaw, a featherlight touch in the hopes of not waking him.

Jimin stirred slightly and you held your breath, ceasing all body movements. You watched his eyes flutter before stilling. He snuggled farther into the blanket and sighed happily. You waited a few moments before returning to your exploration. Your fingers danced lightly towards his lips, letting yourself marvel at how full and soft they were. Your thumb brushed against the tender flesh, and Jimin’s tongue darted out to wet them. You removed your fingers from his warm, now wet mouth.

His eyelashes fanned across his cheeks delicately, and you gently ran a finger along them, watching them flutter under your touch. You sighed, completely in awe of how beautiful the man next to you truly was. He was painfully attractive, that was a given. But he was also smart, funny, kind, open. You found yourself idly wondering how anyone could pass him up, but you were honestly not upset that she had. It was a stupid daydream, you knew that. There was no way he was into you. But you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining what it might be like to show Jimin the kind of love he’d been missing, the kind he was so clearly desperate to find.

If anyone deserved to feel raw, unconditional love, you had no doubt that Jimin did. He was so sweet and friendly and had so much love to give in return. You wanted to watch those eyes light up, see how brightly he could shine when properly adored. You wanted to be that for him. He shuffled in his sleep, mumbling something under his breath and his arms reached out, seeking your warmth. He brought you flush against him, enveloping you in his warm embrace. You smiled to yourself and carded your fingers through his silky hair.

You let yourself melt into his hold, feeling welcome and needed and wanted. You began fading in and out of consciousness, the comfort and safety of having Jimin so close putting your mind at ease. You fell asleep to the sound of his strong, steady heartbeat, which sounded a lot like your new favorite song.

You woke up before Jimin, the sunlight finding its way through the thin curtain that covered the large window of his hotel room. You blinked a few times and tried to sit up, but Jimin’s arms instinctively wrapped around you tighter, holding you in place against his firm body. You grinned, snuggling back into his embrace and pressing yourself up against him. That’s when you felt something hard pressing against your backside. You experimentally wiggled your hips against Jimin’s, wondering if it was what you thought it was. His sleepy moan and the friction against your bottom proved your suspicions correct.

Your eyes widened and you bit your lip as arousal pooled in between your legs. Jimin’s rock hard cock pressed against your backside made your head spin. You attempted to remove yourself from his grasp but that only made him hug you closer, effectively pressing his erection against you more. You whimpered quietly, torn between not disturbing Jimin and relieving the ache between your thighs. You pushed your bottom farther into him, hoping to gain a little friction. Suddenly, his hand gripped down on your hip, stilling your movements.

“What are you doing?” He questioned, his morning voice raspy and deep.

“I...uh….” you gulped, heat flooding to your cheeks at having been caught grinding against him.

You tried to flee, but Jimin’s firm grip on your hip didn’t lessen, his fingers dug into your skin deliciously.

“It looks like you were grinding your pretty little ass on my cock.” He purred, his hand sliding from your hip to grasp the fleshy globe of your bottom, giving it a rough squeeze.

“Ah, fuck.” You squeaked out at his possessive actions, you leaned into his touch and brought a chuckle from him.

“Hmmmm… you like that?” He chuckled, “you like when I touch you?”

“Yes.” You gasped as his hands traveled farther up to cup your breast, giving it a light squeeze.

“So needy. Why don’t you do something about it?” He prodded.

Your brain was fuzzy, you weren’t even registering his words. You didn’t think about what you were doing, you just let your body take control as you turned around then swung a leg over his lap and straddled him. Jimin’s words died in his throat and his mouth hung open in shock. You didn’t let yourself think or slow down, knowing you’d chicken out if you did. You pressed your lips to his in a needy kiss, which he reciprocated after he processed that it was happening.

His hands found purchase in your hair, tugging gently as his tongue explored your mouth. You moaned into his mouth when his free hand pinched and rolled your nipple between his fingers. You began to grind your hips down onto his, delighting in the way his cock felt dragging up and down your clothed folds. Jimin groaned, letting his head fall back and hit the headboard with a quiet thud before he lifted it and grabbed your hips, holding them still.

“Wait, wait.” he panted.

“What’s wrong?” your hips stilled, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

“It’s uh, been a while, and if you do that I’m going to cum in my pants.” he admitted sheepishly.

You bit your lip to hide your giggle when an idea flashed in your mind. You moved your hips so you were straddling his thigh rather than his crotch. You began to rock your hips again and Jimin’s eyes darkened as he stared at the spot where your sex met his thigh.

“Holy shit, you look so sexy right now…” he hummed thoughtfully, his hands coming to rest on your hips again only to grind you down harder on his toned muscle.

The arousal pooling between your legs was soaking through your clothing, and you were certain Jimin would feel it soaking his flimsy sweats soon. You whimpered at the friction on your clit and when Jimin tensed his thigh it sent a wave of pleasure through you.

His fingers found the edge of your shirt and he glanced at your face to make sure it was okay. When you nodded, he lifted it off of your frame and tossed it aside. He licked his lips as he surveyed your skimpy bra. His lips attached themselves to the tops of your breast while his hands slipped behind you to unclasp the fabric preventing him from seeing all of your upper half. The bra fell off your shoulders and Jimin whisked it away, taking a moment to admire your breasts.

“I think I might have died if I didn’t get a chance to have a proper taste of these.” he hummed, eyes flicking up to yours as a smirk graced his lips.

“Fuck, Jimin.” You whimpered pathetically as electricity shot to your core.

Almost immediately, his lips were on your nipples.His soft, plump lips sucked at your sensitive nub, his teeth gently scraping along the flesh. Your movements on his thigh stuttered, your mind going blank at the shivers coursing through you. His tongue darted out and swirled around your nipple, before he moved his delicious assault to the other breast. This time, he bit down, pulling the nub between his teeth. You yelped, arching your body closer to him as the sinfully pleasurable pain raced through your veins.

Jimin smirked against your skin, biting and soothing it with the flat of his tongue afterwards. He blew cold air against the red marks on your breasts, and you shivered. Your hips picked up speed the closer you got to letting go and Jimin sensed you were near your high. His fingers dipped past the waistband of your pants and panties, and he began rubbing your clit harshly, until you were just about to fly off the edge, then he ripped his hand away and held you still.

“What the fuck?!” you whined.

“You don’t cum until I say you do.” he growled, “you were a very bad girl, rubbing up against me and teasing me, using me for your own pleasure. So fucking sexy.”

You whined, trying to rock your hips against him once more, but Jimin was stronger than you. He grabbed your waist and flipped you over so he was hovering above you. The tips of his fingers teasing at your waistband. Your breath caught in your throat, the palpable tension growing thicker with each passing moment. He quickly discarded his own shirt, giving you the most glorious view of his toned chest and stomach.

You made no attempt to disguise the way you ogled him. You licked your lips seductively as your eyes raked over his body, drinking him in. You reached up to let your hands rake down his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his abs and brushing over his nipples on the way down. His body jerked and you smiled to yourself. Your perusal of his body came to rest at the elastic in his sweats.

“Someone’s eager.” Jimin quipped.

“Someone might not be so eager if she’d been allowed to cum.” you huffed, tugging the sweats and boxers down in one smooth motion.

Jimin laughed, standing up and kicking the clothing off of his body before crawling back onto the bed.

“Mouthy little slut. Don’t you know only good girls get to cum?” he shot back, pressing you flat against the mattress and kissing down your neck.

You squirmed under his touch while he worked his way down your body, stopping just above your aching sex. He placed a soft kiss to your clothed folds, making your body react and arch closer, seeking relief. He chuckled to himself and shed you of any remaining clothing. The contrast of the cool air meeting your aching heat caused a shiver to rip through your body. Something lit up in Jimin’s eyes and he removed himself from the bed and walked over to the mini fridge, opening the freezer compartment. You watched curiously as he returned with the small ice bucket he’d filled before finding you last night.

“Feeling thirsty?” you joked.

Jimin raised an eyebrow, shooting you a half-smile before taking an icecube and running it over your already hard nipple. You cried out, the stark contrast of his warm hands with the freezing cold of the icecube was divine. You watched as it slowly melted, water droplets rolling off your body and falling onto the bed.

“Jimin…” you whimpered.

“Mmm?” he smirked, repeating the action on the other breast.

Your back arched, seeking more from the man above you. He was playing you like an instrument, and he knew all the right notes. You were putty in his hands, and he knew it. It stroked his ego more than you would’ve cared for but at this point you would’ve done anything to get some attention on your sodden pussy.

Jimin popped an icecube in his mouth and moved up to kiss you. It rolled around between your tongues until it melted between your combined heat. Jimin kissed the tip of your nose before moving his face down between your legs. He pressed his tongue flat against your clit, and the coldness from the icecube that he’d just had in his mouth stunned you. He left your clit to tease along your folds, letting his tongue dart experimentally inside your heat.

You groaned,writhing underneath his ministrations. He flicked the tip of his tongue against your clit quickly, building the heat in your belly as he moved. He slipped two fingers inside you, curling them and hitting that delicious spot with every pump. He paused for a moment, and suddenly there was something very cold and very wet pressing against your walls.

You gasped, the ice pressing against you as Jimin moved it in and out with his tongue. The melting liquid joined your slick and spilled out of your hole while Jimin flicked his tongue, and the remaining ice against that spot that drove you wild. Once the ice was gone, and you were panting enough for Jimin’s liking, he doubled down on his efforts, tongue pressing against your walls and fingers working beside it while his other hand worked your clit in small, deliberate circles.

Jimin pulled away abruptly, and you nearly began crying as another orgasm slipped away.You groaned in frustration, reaching down to play with your own clit but Jimin caught your wrists and clicked his tongue.

“Nuh uh, darling. What did I say? You don’t cum unless I tell you to.” he purred, licking a bold stripe along the veins in your wrist, which was strangely erotic. “I want you to beg for it.”

“What?” you hissed.

“Beg me to cum. Beg for my cock.” he smirked.

You sighed audibly, and Jimin just watched you, the smirk still pasted on his stupidly handsome face.

“Please…” you mumbled.

“I’m sorry, what was that darling?” Jimin chuckled. “I can’t hear you.”

“Please fuck me, Jimin. I need to cum. Please!” you whined, all of your pride flying out the window as your pussy clenched around nothing.

“That’s my good girl.” he cooed.

“Please hurry.” you whined.

“Shit. I don’t… I don’t have a condom.” Jimin realized out loud, shoulders slumping.

“I have an IUD and I’m clean.” you panted, fingers wrapping around his neck and bringing him to meet your lips. “Are you?”

“I’m clean,” he assured.

“Then fuck me.” you whispered, nibbling on his ear.

Jimin wasted no time obliging your request. He lined himself up with your entrance and slid in smoothly, aided by your dripping arousal, courtesy of your two denied orgasms and the skills of his tongue. Jimin bottomed out, both of you emitting a low groan. Jimin wasn’t super long, but his girth more than made up for it, as well as his ability to move his hips in the most delectable ways. He filled you up perfectly, hitting spots inside you that you were unaware even existed.

“Jimin.” you moaned, clawing at his back as he thrust in and out of you at a painfully slow pace.

“Say it again.” he whispered, hips picking up speed.

“Jimin.” you repeated.

“Louder.” he growled, snapping his hips in and out of you with vigor.

“Fuck! Jimin!” you cried.

Jimin pounded in and out of you, causing your body to bounce with each movement of his hips. He loved the way your breasts bounced and the way you bit down harshly on your lip, overwhelmed with pleasure. His head fell into your neck as he pistoned his hips against yours, one hand sneaking between your joined bodies to expertly rub at your clit. You could no longer form a coherent sentence,gibberish falling from your lips as the familiar fire built deep inside you.

“Jimin.” you warned, your cunt clenching around him.

“Are you gonna cum for me? Cum all over my cock? Do it, baby. Cum for me.” he coaxed.

His teeth sinking into your neck was the last push you needed before you were careening off the edge. Your body trembled at the most intense orgasm you’d ever experienced in your life. White dots clouded your vision and you screamed so loud your throat felt raw. Jimin came soon after you, working you both through your shared euphoria. His thrusts slowed and he stilled inside you, breathing as heavy as your own.

“Holy shit.” he groaned, and you could feel his muscles shaking just as much as your own.

He pulled out of you, watching in awe as his cum seeped out of your beaten hole. He slid a finger along your folds, gathering his seed and bringing it up to your lips. You obediently opened your mouth, wrapping your tongue around his fingers and sucking them clean, the taste of your own slick combined with his cum coating your tongue. Jimin shivered at the sight.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” he sighed breathlessly.

He stood up, walking into the bathroom to dampen a towel with warm water and bring it back to the bed, gently cleaning you up. You bit your lip, suddenly feeling vulnerable under his gaze. He made his way back into the bed, snuggling up next to you and pulling you into his arms. He watched your expressions and you watched him. You both giggled nervously.

“Do you maybe… want to go out sometime?” he asked, teeth raking over his bottom lip nervously.

“I’d like that.” you giggled, hiding your face in his chest.

You both lay there in comfortable silence, holding each other while your breathing returned to normal. You nodded off, spent from the activities of the morning, and it was Jimin’s turn to watch your peaceful face as you slept. His eyes trailed over your features, adoration and a tinge of something more filling him. True, Jimin had arrived in this small town running away from something. He was searching for something to make him feel anything but the jealousy and pain that had settled deep in his chest. Jimin felt like he was running toward something now, a possibility of the two of you. He knew he wasn’t “fixed”, but he felt good with you, whole with you.

Jimin knew both of you had a lot of learning to do, and a long way to go and a long way to grow, but he couldn’t stop the excitement bubbling in his chest because for the first time in what seemed like forever, Jimin was happy. Truly, unabashedly happy. He’d started this journey of his running. He thought he’d never recover from the darkness that had taken him over. He thought he’d never find joy again. Jimin had gone desperately searching for something to give him hope.

And then came you.

#bts #bts smut #park jimin #park jimin smut #jimin #jimin smut #jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #jimin imagine #jimin one shot #park jimin imagine #park jimin one shot

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agent-cupcake · 3 years

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fluff is good, it’s even fun sometimes. but, you know, i think i’ll always enjoy dark content the most. like, no matter how much i insist i have moved past it, my entire career began because i learned the term yandere and realized i’d found my place in the online sphere. but, really, lust and fear have a complimentary relationship. the emotions and sensations they invoke, both physically and mentally, are equally potent and stem from the same place for me. the fluttery sensation in my stomach dances indiscriminately to the tune of disquiet and arousal, excitement stirs itself up within my chest at the mention of being wanted, uncaring if the intent is sadistic or lustful. its a shared theatrical fantasy of fear, catching thrills from simulated danger as we imagine what it is to be in a situation so dire, so intense and frightening, that we cannot help but to hyperfocus on our discomfort. we practice these emotions and engage in these disastrously unhealthy relationships through emulation and the sanitized vessel of the written word, but without any of the emotional price that would be asked of us if it were real.

it’s not real.

there is nobody lurking behind your window in the gaps between the streetlamps, even if you were to turn off the lights in an attempt to get a better view, but maybe you shouldn’t anyway. there is no face to breathe fog and leave smudged fingerprints on the glass pane while they peer into the internal life you hold sacred, but you should probably keep your blinds shut. there is nobody hiding behind your shower curtain as you stumble half-blind and asleep into the bathroom at two in the morning, but it wouldn’t hurt to check. if you hear a sound, surely you cannot logically attribute it to a malevolent person moving unseen through the secure sanctuary of your home when they assumed you would be in bed, but you should probably take a look at your locks. if you notice that your things are not where you left them, it’s silly to assume that someone has been into your room, rifling through your things and leaving them almost as you left them. to believe that somebody genuinely and truly meant you harm in such a personal way would be to risk the foundational safety that you rely on to live with any measure of peace. and besides, memories are fallible. our senses are imperfect. our overexcited and imaginative minds can betray us. you can be infected by a nightmare you can’t quite remember, only that you woke up shaky and gasping and frightened, squinting in the darkness to make out the figure standing at the foot of your bed that you could have sworn was just there only to be reassured that it was just a bad dream. you can hurry home because you felt certain you were being watched only for the sensation to be ultimately attributed to your own paranoia. yes, the world is dangerous. but maybe not your world. these things, these dramatic scenes cut straight from an episode of the hundreds of crime dramas, don’t happen to people like you.

but

we fantasize about yanderes and dark personalities and the brutal psychological and bodily torture any character of our choice could subject us to, we imagine the most grim of situations in a light that appeals to our own desires, twisting horror to suit us in a controlled manner.

still, it is frightening, isn’t it?

it’s past midnight, maybe one or two in the morning, and you’re sitting within the four walls of your room that you no longer believe to be protection enough from the stalker that has been creeping closer and closer. you’re staring at the familiar surroundings that suddenly feel very alien and contend with the bone crushing frenzy of utter stillness in the face of animal panic, the intense crackling and wavering that you can almost see hovering above your skin and holding up little strands of hair as chills crawl in bug-like hoards across the feverish flush of your flesh. all at once you are overwhelmed and helpless against him as he invades, defiles, and dismantles each aspect of your life. there is nothing you can do, no protection from this stylized predator who who has been perfected by fantasy made real so that he no longer resembles any common stalker. in the dark, you are vulnerable. in this situation, you are isolated. shame fills your chest, sloshing around to the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat, embarrassment at the ridiculousness of your reaction. really, what are a few messages? maybe you’re misinterpreting the signs, there’s not enough evidence to prove anything. you have to use the bathroom, yet you don’t feel safe to enter the dark hallway because there might be a figure standing at the other end, and what would you do then? you want to contact somebody for comfort, but everyone you know is asleep and you don’t want to disturb them over something so trivial. you want to move and run and scream and deal with the problem, but you can’t do anything. just sit. just watch. just wait. minutes tick by, somehow. and somehow, dawn breaks over the horizon. you didn’t sleep, but maybe the sun will provide safety. maybe.

maybe not. there’s a unique kind of horror in the mundane. you don’t think about the sounds of the world around you until you begin to feel uneasy in the sunny open air, until the paranoia kicks in and suddenly it’s all you can hear because you’re hyper-focusing on trying to identify why you no longer feel safe. birds warble and call to one another. the leaves relentlessly rustle as the playful breeze shakes them about. from far away, a dog is barking. the big kind, the one that goes “boof boof,” you’ve just gotten out of your car after being out all day and you’re standing uncertainly in your driveway, looking around to try and pinpoint why you’re so anxious. you realize, with a zipping sort of shock down your spine, that there’s nobody else around. not even any evidence that they existed in the first place and it’s so stupid but you begin to think that maybe you’re the only person who has ever existed because the world around you feels so empty and barren. energy tingles in the air, but it is hollow. a void of something you can’t quite perceive. the dog stops barking. the wind dies down. do you dare go inside? your home, the place that should be your refuge, is not safe. you go inside and look at a kitchen you scarcely recognize as your own, at a bed that might as well belong to somebody else, at decor you once were so proud to put up that now seems arranged by a strangers hand. the one who is preying on you is probably human, but the threat feels supernatural in effect. omnipresent. we fear that which we don’t understand, and how can you possibly understand the motive of someone who has focused on you? dread sinks down deep as you shift from foot to foot and second guess every move you make. it smells like sun-warmed concrete and the wind-blown scent of spring greenery. just like your home itself, the smell is familiar as it is foreign. eventually, you go inside.

it’s so obscene, the way that sweat pools between your shoulder blades and slicks your skin, making you shiver with a distinctly antithetical chill to your blazing temperature. sweat is gross and uncomfortable, it makes your clothes cling to your skin and hair mat to your forehead. it’s so crude, this gouging, pinching discomfort like you need to pee making your thighs tremble as they clench together. your entire body is wound up tight as you crouch in the dark, barely allowing yourself to breathe for fear of being discovered while he looks for you. maybe he takes his time just to mess with you, maybe he doesn’t. maybe he tauntingly calls out to you in a feigned attempt to draw you out of hiding. maybe he means it when he tells you that he loves you. no matter what, there’s no escape, not anymore. it’s a foregone conclusion that you will be found. but you can’t move. fight or flight is out the window, you are frozen. you know the eventuality, yet you cling to hope out of the sheer, stubborn, and half-mad belief that this cannot possibly be real.

its so repulsive, this sickness that gathers in your gut, that invites the swollen weight of nausea to press down heavy and inescapable in your throat, that sits on your paper dry tongue. it tastes like old, rusted metal, the scent that clung to your blistered hands when you were young and tried your luck on the ancient playground monkey bars. the bloody flavor that choked you when you lost the last of your baby teeth, leaving your childhood behind and exchanging imaginary monsters for the real ones. just when the anticipation is on the precipice of killing you, you’re found. you expected it, yet you still scream. it still hurts, it’s still terrifying, you’re still clouded by the vague fog of disbelief that this could be real. you keep thinking that. it can’t be real, this can’t be real. things like this don’t happen to you.

but it is. you can’t stop it. you have no control over your life in that moment and thereafter.

and you think about everything you’ve ever read online about torture. human beings are so capable of hurting each other, it’s a dedicated art form. and you know about stalkers, the real kind, not the fun fictional yandere kind. you know the torture that human bodies are capable of withstanding before dying, the grotesque limits they can endure. limbs removed or hobbled. fingers peeled of nail and skin. teeth pulled, tongue cut out, eyes gouged, skin lashed to tatters, feet spun around so the skin stretched like rubber. not to mention sexual torture. when a human being is granted absolute dominion over another, even the best of them go rotten. do you ever think about that? in these situations, the fear of pain would get to me above all else, i think.

if you don’t immediately disassociate from the fiction, if you force yourself into the scenario as its presented with a degree of reality, the horror is really limitless. and, you may ask, why was this important? because it is six am and i cannot sleep and i’ve had this entire conceptual outline of good horror yandere fiction sitting in my docs for ages that i’ll never actually use to write character x reader so i am giving it to you raw and uncut.

#personal #yandere #uh tw for being a pretentious and sleepy idiot cooming over ye ole classic yandere tropes #sometimes i like to imagine this stuff in clear enough detail that it actually makes me uncomfortable enough to turn on the light #and rethink my life choices #because this aint it #but at the same time #at this point its sunk cost fallacy i've spent too long typing this out to discard it #sorry dear followers #stalking tw

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