#i still...have to draw the angst its so sad
Text
helen ; chapter five
be seeing you
Si vis pacem, para bellum.
Or, the choice.
series masterlist | my masterlist
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), john wick AU, hitman!joel, husband!joel, established relationship, artist!reader, love as worship, sacrilege in the name of romance, flashbacks, graphic violence, guns, blood + injuries, tess cameo, childhood/religious trauma, criminal underworld, secrecy/lies, betrayal, ANGST, bamf miller bros, smut, fingering, joel is an emotional munch, shower sex, unprotected PIV, handjob, male whimpering, conflicting emotions, orgasms aplenty, Big Angst and Big Sad but also Big Epiphanies, ambiguous ending, i'm getting emotional writing these tags, it feels so final, the typical alcohol/smoking/profanity, dividers by @/saradika
word count: ~ 9.3k
a/n: hi, friends. i can't believe we're already at the end of the main story, and tbh if i think about it too much i'll probably cry. i want to thank @cavillscurls for beta reading this chapter as always and giving me the guidance and support i need. we'll have an epilogue after this chapter, so there's still more to look forward to, but nonetheless, i hope you enjoy and thank you so so much for reading. xoxo
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Her eyes are so sad, you think, stepping back to take in the full scope of the canvas. It’s doused in paint from corner to corner, still wet to the touch, the woman and her lover intertwined so thoroughly that it’s difficult to tell where they both end. It’s in shades of glum blue and flecks of angry red and brown where his eye watches you. But it’s her eyes that cannot lift to meet yours. It’s her lashes that fan across her cheeks as she casts her gaze toward the bottom edge where the canvas is wrapped taut around the wood.
The sun will soon rise, but you haven’t slept. The contours of the sky are washed in a haze of greys and pale blues and light pink and the air smells warm, heavy—a storm about to roll in. The clouds on the horizon are thick with a blackening rage. You sit in the alcove by the window and put your temple to the cool glass. You yawn. Joel does not come back.
“Do you think it's true,” you asked him one night, your head on his chest, hand on his heart, “that art makes nothing happen?”
Joel, drawing shapes on your back, dozing off in the golden light of the sunrise, frowned. “Someone tell you that?”
“It's something my art teacher used to say,” you told him. “No matter how much it moves people, it doesn't do anything.”
“Your art teacher sounds like a fuckin’ downer.”
You laughed, hiking your thigh up over his hip and playfully biting his jaw. “So it's bullshit?”
“I think,” said Joel, tucking his chin to kiss the top of your head, “that your art makes people feel. It brings ‘em together. It's important because it's yours.”
You propped your head up on his chest and threaded your fingers through his too-long hair, overdue for a trim. A curl draped over his forehead, his beard patchy and soft under the pads of your fingers. “Sometimes I wonder why you chose me,” you said. “I wonder why the universe brought you to me.”
Joel shook his head, guiding his rough, callused fingers up your arm, curling them around your wrist, gently prodding your veins. “Wasn't the universe,” he said quietly. “Wasn’t a choice. I was yours the second I saw you. So, I guess it's your fault.”
You just rolled your eyes and kissed him, mouth to smiling mouth.
Your paintings may be yours, made with life and energy and colour, but when they are finished, they don’t move. They are stagnant as a heavy rock beneath a cliffside, washed over and over again by the cresting waves, its salt stolen for the water, eternal damnation to a fate of non-movement. And sometimes an artist will walk under the cliff, shove their easel into the fleshy ground the way a man erects his country’s flag in the earth he has stolen, and paint the rock. The artist is moved by the breathtaking colours of the shore and the way the wind flutters through the grass. But the rock does not budge. It never will.
Your art will never erupt from the boundaries of the canvas and tell you what it means. The lovers in your painting will not tear open their mouths like the seams holding a wound together. They will not tell you what they want, need, crave. They are you, and that is what you hate—because dimpled flesh and lustful fingers and the press of his mouth to her throat cannot tell you what you’re supposed to do.
You had become complacent in his love for you. You had let him press his worn hands to your body and pull your soul out through his mouth and you had been a wife, while all the time there was a stranger who occupied his heart, a spirit in an abandoned body. All the time, he'd been haunted. And although you had loved him, your love had not been enough to exorcise the guilt and trauma, pecking at him, an eagle at his liver.
Crossing the room and sitting back down in front of the easel, you press your fingers to the corner of the canvas. The paint is cool to the touch, and you leave behind fingerprints where your signature should be. Pulling your hand back, you examine the accumulation of colour, the blues and reds swirling into the deep purple of a bruise, the bodies on a canvas that may only ever mean something to you, and you wonder, Is this all I am? A cautionary tale, a love lost? A fucking footnote at the end of a clause that reads: “See, for example, the one who never loved deeply enough to make it count”?
You bring your hand to your face to wipe away the tears beneath your eyes and blink hard at the sting, realising you’ve smeared paint across your cheekbones.
In the bathroom, you scrub furiously, the cloying scent of it clinging to your throat and your tear ducts, washing away the evidence of their entwined bodies, their love, your pain.
Once, you tried to get Joel to paint. You sat behind him on your bench, your legs bracketing his hips, your paintbrush in his hand.
“I don’t know where to start,” he said.
Your lips brushed the shell of his ear as you spoke. “There’s no rulebook.”
He tried to turn his head and kiss you, but you nipped his ear in reproach. “Remember when you took me out driving at the airstrip because you wanted me to feel the road? Think of this like feeling the canvas. Go on, cowboy. Make nothing happen.”
Joel’s painting still hangs over your shared bed. The intruders never found it, or never cared enough to destroy it. It’s a candle, just a candle, its lines imprecise, the paint unevenly applied in places, the shine of the flame more orange than yellow. But it’s a painting, so the candle always burns. He titled it Love.
The pain still sits low in your chest, pulling down your heart as if tied to it by a string. But Joel is still out there, fighting his way back to you, the way he always has, always will. You look down at your left hand, clutching the edge of the marble vanity, and decide to clean your wedding ring.
“I’m sorry, brother,” says Tommy, turning the gun on Joel.
“What the fuck are you doing?” growls Joel, struggling against his bonds. The clip rattles faintly in his brother’s hand as a tremor courses through him.
“He’s following my orders,” says Cabrera, clapping his hand down on Tommy’s shoulder. “Fascinating what a man will do when he must consider his family’s well-being.”
Joel sucks on his teeth, his eyes not once leaving his brother.
“It's my son,” Tommy says through his teeth. “It's Maria. If I don't do this—”
“Yeah? You gonna kill me, Tommy? Is that why your hand’s shakin’?”
“Shut your goddamn mouth,” his brother snaps. “You think I want to do this? I gotta save my family, Joel. You know what that's like.”
“All I’ve done for you,” says Joel, his hands curling into fists behind his back, “and you put a bullet in my head?”
“Not just your head, Joel,” says Cabrera. “When we're done with you, we’ll take your pretty girl as payment for my son’s life.”
Joel growls like a dog, blood roaring in his ears. “Kill me yourself, you goddamned coward. Kill me yourself and don’t you mention my wife again, or I swear to Christ—”
“You take His name in vain a lot for a nonbeliever,” says Cabrera, pulling his sleeves through his coat and setting his teeth as he looks toward Tommy once more. “Do it.”
“Yeah, brother,” Joel says darkly, “do it.”
Tommy nods once, planting his foot and pivoting. Five distinct sounds of handguns cocking echo throughout the warehouse as Tommy points the barrel between Manuel Cabrera’s eyes.
“Now that I’ve got a gun to your head,” he says evenly, “you can go ahead and pull that contract.”
Joel at last twists his wrists free of the ropes that bind them and shucks down the sleeves of his jacket to rub the raw skin. Not one soul does a goddamn thing to stop him as he rises to his feet. His chest heaves, his open lungs coarse and wet with a brittle rage, his exposed heart throbbing red, transparent as the stained glass windows of the church.
God does not tolerate anger, said the Sisters, again and again, bringing down the whip across his back. Sinew and bone and skin peeling back to lay bare some tender part of him they sought to rot out. Put your energy into His worship.
Slowly, Cabrera lifts his hands, sneering. “Your wife,” he warns, “and your unborn son—”
“Are family,” says Tommy. “Just like my brother. Now tell your guys to put down their guns and I won't kill you where you stand.”
Joel joins Tommy at his side. “Took you long enough,” he says under his breath.
“Got held up,” he says. “Your wife’s a good artist.”
“Yeah, whatever. You bring me a gun?”
“I’m sure you can find one yourself.”
“Jesus, Tommy. I’m too old for this.” Joel turns to Cabrera and glares at the same stubborn arrogance that once gleamed in his son’s eye. “You pull the contract, and I’ll leave for good.”
Cabrera’s laugh weans out in the air like rings of smoke. “You think you can really leave, Joel? You think that there won't be consequences for what you've done to my son?”
“Yeah,” says Joel, “I think I’ll take my chances.”
“And you?” Cabrera’s lip curls up at Tommy, whose gun no longer wavers in his grasp. “I promised your wife and child security. You’re willing to throw that away?”
“My wife and child are safe because I don’t take deals from men like you,” says Tommy. “You trusted a Miller to turn on his own blood, Manuel. That was stupid. Now pull the contract.”
“So this is your great suicide mission.” Cabrera smiles, a man who knows he has lost or a man who still expects not to. “A man who has seen Hell does not willingly descend back into its depths—not unless he likes the taste.”
Joel feels the corner of his mouth twitch, a wound on his cheek reopening. “Maybe I do,” he says plainly. “Maybe it’ll taste even better when I take you down with me.”
The gleam in Cabrera’s eye shifts as his gaze flickers behind Tommy. Night has since descended, and yet the predator’s eye glints in anticipation of the hunt. Joel turns and shoves his brother out of the way—just as the shot rings out.
He hears Tommy’s breath punch out of him as they both hit the concrete hard. Joel tears the handgun from his brother’s grasp and puts a bullet between each of the two men behind them. He rolls behind one of the hulking bodies and holds up his weight as a shield against the incoming bullets. Tommy takes the dead man’s gun and fires at the remaining three assailants. Only one shot misses, but Joel sends his brother a look anyway and finishes the job.
“Rusty,” grunts Tommy, pushing himself to his feet.
Joel grimaces as he accepts his brother’s outstretched hand, his wrists bleeding from the relentless rub of the ropes. “He ran,” he says, grinding his teeth. “Goddamn coward. Just like his son.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome, by the way,” says Tommy, giving Joel the dead man’s gun and snatching back his own. “Saved your ass.”
“And he got away.” Joel kicks his chair, and the clattering echo of metal reverberates like a choir off the cavernous walls. His hands flex, open, closed, open, closed, until they make tight fists and he can see nothing but red and the silver moon mocking him through the broken windows high above.
“Joel…”
For a moment, he hears the young boy his brother once was, whispering across their shared bedroom to him in the middle of the night when they were both meant to be asleep.
Joel… Are we going to be okay?
“I gotta finish it, Tommy,” he says quietly, his hands shaking loose. Parts of him bite and sting, touched by new and old wounds alike, and he wants to come crawling home to you. He wants to curl into your side and wash away the blood in your cleansing pool, daisy and honeysuckle, some faraway field where you are the warden, where he knocks on the door to be let in, to be gathered, covered in white, buried, unearthed.
“Was he right?” asks Tommy. “Do you… enjoy this?”
Joel casts his eyes toward the ground, his trembling hand, the gleaming band on his ring finger, his skin speckled with blood but the metal pristine. “I don’t know,” he says.
This is who you are, Cabrera would tell him. The Sisters: Your place is here, under God, under His word. And God Himself, silent as the air, the ringing in his ears only ever quieted by the soft brush of your knuckle across his cheek, the whisper of My Joel in his ear.
“Think hard on it,” says Tommy, “because you may like it, but you’ve gotta consider if your revenge is worth more than what you’ve already got. And if you choose wrong, Joel, you’re gonna lose no matter what.”
A figure leans stone-still against the wall by the hotel room door, the gleam of a blade in the soft light the only indication that it is not a mere shadow.
“Hey, kid,” says the apparition.
Joel nods in greeting. “Tess. Could get in trouble with that knife out in the open.”
“You expect me to keep your girl safe with just my fists?”
“You make it sound like you couldn’t.” Tess snorts, and Joel places fifteen gold coins in her waiting palm. “I appreciate you doing this.”
Tess peels away from the wall. “You and your brother are paying me good money to babysit a door. I think I can live without the thanks.”
“Still,” he says, “you did us a solid.”
Tess, who itches at the prospect of gratitude as much as any other gun-for-hire, shrugs. “Everyone’s saying you’re coming back. That true?”
“Just visiting,” says Joel. “On my way out soon.”
Tess flips one of the coins and turns it over and over across her knuckles, evidence of a restless energy that’s always made Joel’s eye twitch. “One way or another, huh?” she says.
“One way or another.” He shakes her hand and watches her retreat down the hall, still twirling the godforsaken coin, before he turns toward the door. Joel presses his forehead briefly to the cool wood and turns the key to seek the field that awaits him.
A key rustles in the door and Joel steps through, closing it gently behind him. Judging by the quiet click of the lock, he expects you to be asleep, but you jolt upright from your seat in the alcove and cross the room toward him.
He meets you halfway, his right hand flexing at his side. You inspect him: the gash on his cheek, the bruise on his jaw, the blood splattered on his white shirt. He makes no footfalls as he walks but you can hear every stride like thunder between your ears. You feel his hand at the back of your neck, cool from the night air, rough as the underside of a shark’s belly.
The moment coils taut between you as your hand reaches up to grab the lapel of his jacket, and he smells of iron, cologne, Joel, some paint. Maybe that smell is you, stuck underneath your fingernails, embedded in your blood. Maybe this is a mistake, maybe you could never help but fall, maybe it never mattered anyway, and you’re already snipping the final thread, unwinding the spool, and kissing Joel Miller like it’s the first time.
He let out a small groan, tasting the first drop of water in a drought, steadying you with his arm around your waist, his hand cradling your head. He’s gentle, exploratory, careful not to jostle, to shock you out of it. You feel his heartbeat thud, strong, calm, steady behind his clothing and skin and muscle, and your body caves.
It’s coming home, you realise, your arms snaking around his neck, fingers tousling the messy curls on his head. It's the warm press of his hand to your spine where it begins to curve inward. It's a soft mouth, a plush lower lip, made for slow mornings and black coffee, for the aching release of a thumb pressing deep into a muscle knot, a wound. Old aches soothed in the space where bodies meet, beginning to colour the slate-grey world.
It’s the exchange of gasping breaths when you pull apart, his mouth still vaguely chasing yours, opposite charge.
You hold him tighter, swallowing the lump in your throat, your hands squeezing his shoulders. "Are you…"
Joel inclines his head. "Yeah."
"Did he..."
"Yeah."
Need pulses. Supernova. Bright as the moment of obliteration. "Can you—"
He nods vigorously. "Yeah."
Joel’s kisses are like raindrops: velvet-soft to the touch—his hands bringing the hem of your shirt up over your head, his fingertips scorching, branding, grazing the supple swells of your breasts—before the crescendo roars in your ears and he loses himself to the storm. He always does.
There is nothing reserved about the way he shows his love. Lightning crackles across your skin where he touches you, baring you to him, his lips making a map of you, mouthing at your jaw, your throat. You hear yourself hum at the press of his lips to the spot beneath your ear, detaching from your own body, absconding with the pleasure of being close to him and leaving the fucking world behind.
Joel staggers forward so he can press you to the wall and begins to sink to his knees. Your breath catches as he pulls down your ratty bottoms, your cotton panties, his mouth burning into your hips and your belly and the ring on your finger.
“Joel,” you say brokenly as he clutches your fingers. Tears prickle, pressure building behind your nose, and he shakes his head, unfurling your palm like a bud in bloom and kissing its heel. Wordlessly, you watch him, your eyes shuttering, blood singing.
Don't hurt me again.
He understands even though the words cannot come alive on your tongue. He squeezes your hips, his thumbs dumpling your flesh, his forehead falling to your belly.
“I’m yours,” he says. “I’m whatever you want.”
Your legs haven't forgotten the way they part so easily for him, one thigh on his shoulder, opening the core of you to his waiting mouth. His lips part, his tongue wetting them, glistening, and your stomach tightens at the sight of his eyes so black.
You could easily cower. His hands are stained with blood. His knuckles are split. But your terror has become an arid thing, no kindling to burn, no oil to ignite. Watching him now, as eager to please as he always has been or maybe more so, on his knees like a supplicant, the hairs on your arms do not rise in apprehension. Your body does not squirm in fear. You see a broad horizon, the sun outside spilling its golden blood over the city, and you see all of him in a way you never did before.
He’s Joel, who grew up in darkness, lashed and beaten for not believing in a false god. He’s a man who has lied and killed and yet he is no liar, no killer. He holds you as he always has, your body liquid in his hands, your mouth proclaiming the word he will follow. You're the truth he's always told.
It still unsettles you to see the dark eclipse that warm brown, to watch his desire consume the hypnotic shapes in his irises, and wonder if that cavernous black was the last thing so many men saw before he snuffed out their lives. But there's nothing of the death shudder in the way you guide your fingers through his hair and beg him—
“Please.”
He brings his mouth to your core and parts your folds with his thumbs, slowly gliding his warm, wet tongue through your slit. You die a hundred little deaths in the split-second of that first touch, that first agony.
You sigh, your head thudding against the wall as he licks through you, his hands holding your hips in place, keeping you from writhing. Joel flicks his tongue over the sensitive pearl of your clit, the pleasure searing, and you tug at his curls to push him away even as you cry out, More, please, please. God, I need more.
He obeys you as easily as breathing, though you suspect he can barely hear your pleas, opening his mouth and flattening his hot tongue to your clit. You gasp, your core pulling taut, your eyes locking with his as the muscle undulates over, over, and over again.
“Oh,” you whimper, your hips bucking to meet his face. He groans, his mouth working your clit, closing his lips over it and sucking. You cry out, your leg kicking, the sounds of the world muffled in his stifling closeness. Your thighs begin to ache, tensing and relaxing a hundred times over in the throes of his attention.
And his fingers are gliding across your hip, seeking the warmth between your legs. You gasp his name, your hips flexing, as he collects your wetness on two fingers.
“Let me in, baby,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your puffy clit. It relaxes you enough to welcome the press of his fingers inside you, sinking to the knuckle, curling up against the spot he would know in his sleep.
You whine, your body keening toward him, tugging his face back toward your pussy. He obliges with a quiet moan, and you think he needs this just as badly.
The obscene squelch of his fingers inside you rings in your ears as he licks and sucks at your clit, his free hand grabbing desperately at your ass to keep you fixed to him. You’re crying, “Yesyesyes, Joel, please—fuck, that's it,” the pleasure stuck in the grooves of your brain. Absentmindedly, you reach for his hand and clasp it tight, your engagement ring digging into his palm. He holds you with the same fervour as he coaxes you higher, his face buried in your pussy. He grunts and groans like it's his own pleasure he seeks, his battered knuckles stinging.
“Joel… Joel, oh, I’m…”
He knows, of course, from the telltale squeeze of your thighs around his head, the relentless crushing of his fingers in your own, your body tightening for him, cavitating, unwinding—
You come with a shout, your throat raw, writhing in his grasp as he keeps sucking, keeps licking, rubbing, pressing. You're dizzy by the time your head lolls to the side, your muscles twitching, eyes glazed, and Joel is there, pulling his fingers out just to place them on his tongue and swallow you down.
Your breath rattles through your lungs. Joel presses his lips to your inner thigh, beard soaked in your arousal, moustache glistening. His mouth soothes your sore muscles and your eyes begin to droop.
“You need a shower,” you say, your tongue like lead in your mouth. You gently pass your thumb over a cut on his cheek and frown. “You're all bloody.”
He nuzzles his face against your thigh, inhaling you. “I know.”
“You were gone so long.” Your voice quivers, pressure prickling behind the bridge of your nose. “I thought…”
Joel rises to his feet, his hands cradling your face. “I’m all right,” he says. “I’m here, and I’m safe, and I’m so goddamn sorry.”
You shake your head, pressing your lips together so the sob will not escape. Tracing his face with your fingers, broken in places, healing in others, you see the echo of a boy who didn't know his place in the world. You see the haunt of days gone by. A ghost still occupies the cage of his ribs.
“I think you should tell the little boy that still lives here,” you say, putting your hand on his chest. “Tell him he’s alive. Tell him that he made it.”
Joel lowers his head, watching the way your fingers splay over his heart. He puts his hand on yours and pushes, and you feel the strong thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat.
“He knows.”
You lean forward and put your mouth to his temple. “Shower, Joel,” comes your whisper in his ear.
He nods, wrapping his arm around your waist and guiding you into the bathroom. The water hits you both true, scalding, the drain circled with red. He’s naked, his back to you as he sets his hair and lets his wounds bleed what they need to.
You lift your hands and trail them down his broad shoulders, your forehead dropping between his shoulder blades where your name is inked into his back. Joel’s muscles idly flex, his palm flat against the shower wall. His body shudders when you press your lips to the name on his back.
Wordlessly, you bring your arms around him, caressing his side, careful of the new bruises. Your other hand drops to his steel-hard cock and you begin to slowly stroke him. The noise that wrenches free from his throat is half pleasure, half agony, his hips bucking into your fist. You bump your nose against his back, your years-old sign to Just relax, and Joel hides his face in his bicep as you work your hand over him.
“G—fuck,” he grunts. “Goddamn… honey, I—”
You squeeze him at the base and twist your hand up and down the length of him, the weight warm and heavy, your thumb coaxing out a bead of precum. Your cheek is warm on his back, your arm struggling to reach around the width of him, your chest humming at the sound of his gruff moans.
“Let me…” He cuts himself off as you speed up your strokes, and you can feel his abdomen tense. “Fuck, let me make you feel good. Shit… let me…”
“Joel,” you say, “for once, stop trying to be my hero.”
His head falls back and you press your lips to his throat, nibbling the sensitive spot behind his ear: the old scar, that tiny circle, that hairless patch. He groans your name, and you’re smiling despite yourself, your mouth curling against his warm, tender skin.
“Inside me,” you whisper, the pace of your fingers over his length slowing to a crawl. “Remind me how it feels.”
He turns his head to look into your eyes, his lashes dewy, blinking hard to flick away the water, brow furrowed. His moustache bristles as his lips part in a question he does not (or maybe cannot) articulate, and you’re fractured into pieces by the intricate curve of his nose, the freckles on his jaw, the silver strands in his beard. A rough hand cups the back of your neck and another takes you by the waist, and you’re flattened to the wall, your hand braced on the glass next to you as he kisses you deeply.
Consuming, heady, warm—you give in, your hands avoiding the delicate skin of his wrists where he’s been bound, helpless. Sighing softly into his mouth, you let his kiss humble the part of you that still needs the walls you’ve built from the marrow of your anger. It circles the drain, lead-filled paint, as you remember under his hands how it feels to live.
You reach between your bodies, your leg wrapping around his waist, and slide the head of his cock through your weeping slit. Joel sucks in air through his teeth, the water lashing his back like a whip, and he surges forward, grasping you by the waist and sinking his cock into your tight hole.
You cry out his name, burying your face in his throat and baring your teeth. Your name leaves his mouth in kind, an apparition, sounds you barely recognise anymore. As you take him inside you, the memory of who you were with him pounds at your ribcage, begging to be let out. And you covet them, selfish as you are now for fucking him this way, needy and impatient, your fingers tugging his wet locks.
You see no point in scooping out the marrow; there is still sweetness stuck to the bones of your old life with him. Instead, you coat your teeth in this, the slow drag of his cock, the depths he reaches so easily, so knowingly. His fingers prod the bruised flesh of your hurt and yet you still guide him inside. You still pull his hair and kiss his throat where his Adam’s apple bobs and you still let him hold you close enough to splinter.
He’s grabbing fistfuls of your ass and sucking on your throat, his thrusts sloppy as he tries to hold back, to make you come first, but you tighten, clenching down on him, making his groans pitch up into whines.
“Joel,” you gasp, your needy fingers prickling his scalp where you pull his hair. His teeth graze your throat and you want him to bite, you want him to sink in deep, you want his jaws to latch onto your skin. You want him never to leave again.
He comes hard. His hips buck, pushing so deep he disappears into your body, and you see the blues, browns, reds of your painting as he empties all he has left inside you.
Panting, he drops his head to your breast, his open mouth still scattering weak, worn kisses over your skin. Your lungs expand under his palms, fingers stuck in the grooves between your ribs, his body an offshoot of yours, not the other way around. In the ringing afterlife of your pleasure, you vaguely feel him mouthing words you cannot hear. You run your fingers through his hair and enjoy the battering of the scorching water as it melts you both into one.
Later, in the sticky, humid silence of the bathroom, steam still swirling around your heads, fogging the glass, you trim Joel’s hair.
"Do you ever get scared?" you ask him, the shhhick of the scissors gliding across a chunk of his hair. "Do you ever go out on a job and think to yourself, What if I slip? What if this is it?"
Joel huffs. "It's not so much about myself as making sure the other guy goes down first."
“I think I’d be scared.” You twirl a lock of hair around your finger and let it fall over his forehead. “I don’t think I’d be able to look into someone’s eyes and take their life.”
He casts his eyes to his lap, flicking off some hair from his thigh. “One time, I thought it was over. I wasn’t quite seventeen yet, runnin’ drugs for some gangster. He sent me to El Sauzal to discreetly transport a couple kilos out of the city; someone had snitched and he didn’t want any rival gangs to find his stash. But the people there, they… They didn’t know any better. There were mothers, kids. Innocent people, y’know? Just strays. I decided I’d come back for ‘em.”
Your stomach twists. “What happened?”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “I was too late. By the time I got back, the whole goddamn city was on fire. The people were either dead in the streets or close to it. They didn’t do anythin’ wrong. They didn’t ask for any of it. But they were weaker, slower. I couldn’t walk ten feet without seein’ some kid wrapped up his mother’s arms, burned to a fucking crisp. So, I came back with weapons, marched into the gang’s territory, and I killed ‘em all.”
Days ago, you’d be afraid of the man whose back warms your belly where you stand just behind him. You would hesitate to reach out and put your hand on his shoulder the way you do now. But you curl your fingers over the muscled curve of his arm and his head falls back against you, spidering open, his gooey molten centre bared for you.
Joel. Just Joel.
“Did you see the painting?” you ask him quietly.
“I see everything you do,” he says. “It's beautiful, baby.”
You drop your gaze from his face in the mirror and set down the scissors on the vanity. “I can't pretend to understand what you've been through, Joel, and that makes things even harder. All I've ever wanted is to love you, to take your pain, and all this time there's been so much I never even knew about. And I’m sorry.”
Joel’s hand comes to cover yours, clasping your fingers. They’re warm, rough, but you do not sense the phantom blood. “If I’d told you from the beginning,” he says, “maybe I never would've hurt you in the first place. All those years I thought I was protecting you from myself, I was hurting you—the one thing I swore I would never fuckin’ do.”
“Joel…”
“Baby, don't apologise to me,” he says firmly, putting his lips to your knuckles. “Never apologise to me. And don't you let me off easy.”
“Have I ever?” you say with a halfhearted smile.
“Yeah,” he says, “the day you let me marry you.”
You scoff. “Oh, please. Wedding planning was hell on earth for you.”
“Just because I didn't like the photographer—”
“You didn't not like the photographer, Joel. You wanted to draw and quarter the photographer.”
He huffs like an angry dog, frowning at you in the mirror. “He kept puttin’ his goddamn hands on you.”
You laugh, brushing your thumb over the patch in his beard to indicate you're finished. “He was posing us, cowboy.”
Joel rises to his feet and closes the scissors away inside the drawer. “Posin’ you, sure.”
“He was afraid to touch you. Probably thought you’d take off his hand. And the pictures turned out great.”
“Yeah,” he says, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Way the sunlight caught in your hair, your eyes… I don't know. Beautiful.”
He was so shy the first time you kissed him. Cheeks flushed, eyes cast toward the ground, the wind ruffling his curls where it blew over the water. He was made in an artist’s image, you thought that night, the details pored over like paperwork, the sparkle in his eyes something the painter covets. But the portrait has never wilted in the years you've known him. It's grown older, sure, but it is not old. He's still shy sometimes; he still looks down when he smiles, and he still turns his cheek when you tell him he's beautiful.
“Do you…” He rubs his palms over his thighs, looking up at you through his lashes. “Do you wish you could go back?”
It's your turn to sit. You drop into his chair, your arms curling over the back of the seat, and watch him on his journey to his knees. “I don't know, Joel,” you tell him. “I think about that day and part of me wants the magic of it back. I want the breeze and the sun and the white canopy and I want you sliding this ring on my finger. But knowing what I know now…”
“You wouldn't have married me,” he says like it's the only answer. His eyes are wet and sad and they sparkle so bright in the day.
“I wish I’d known,” you say plainly, bringing his hand to your cheek and resting it over the cool wedding band. “I wish you would have told me everything. I wish you didn't make me question your love, even for a second. I wish you could have spared me all this anger I have—all this pain.”
He’s stone-still, a figure in a portrait, and you brush your fingers across his cheek. “But killing isn't what you are, Joel. It’s what you do. And I’m so tired of being angry.”
You say it fiercely, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth, your throat tightening. You swipe your thumbs under your eyes and meet your husband’s eye. “I love you more than my anger and my hurt have room for. And if I can love you this hard, if I can feel all this pain and still be that same girl who fell for the guy from the restaurant, then I can let myself get hurt all over again.”
Joel shakes his head, cupping your face in his hands as his eyes brim with tears. “Oh, baby…”
“I know it's never been an easy marriage,” you say, your voice breaking, “and I’m always travelling, and I know that I can get snippy and we bicker, but I wouldn't go back to that day, Joel, because I wouldn't change anything. Even if I have to feel all of this again, I wouldn't take it all back.”
His inhale shudders through him and your heart lurches out of your chest. “I don’t deserve that,” he whispers, his thumb stroking your cheek, catching a tear that falls. “I’ve hurt you too much to ever be worthy of what you've given me, sweetheart. I ain't a good man, or even a decent one. But fuck, if I can be good for you, I’ll pray to whatever God they want me to. I’ll scrape my knees and put my hands together and fake it ‘til I’m someone you want. I swear it, baby.”
“Joel.” You gently pry his hands away. “The life you've lived, the things you've been through… I can't change any of it. I can't be what you need all the time, and fuck, I want to be. I do, Joel. But this life is something you have to figure out yourself. Nobody should force you to believe in something that's only ever caused you pain.”
He never told you about the tattoo; you had to find it yourself. Shucking the hem of his shirt up over his head, two weeks separating the last time you’d been able to indulge in his body, you trailed your fingers up his back and paused at the sound of him hissing through his teeth.
“Easy, cowboy,” you cooed. “Are you all right?”
Wordlessly, he turned, taking your hand and lifting it to the reddish skin around the black ink. You gasped, your fingers jolting backward as if struck by a feeler of lightning.
“Joel,” you said tremulously, “please don't tell me you were drunk and this was an impulse decision.”
“Guys in the Marines would get tattoos that meant somethin’ to them. Easier to carry around with you when you're away.” Joel met your gaze again, your tearful eyes, and brought your knuckles to his mouth. “Tell me you want it gone, and it's gone.”
You shook your head, a laugh snaking past the lump in your throat. “Selfishly, I think it’s very sexy.”
He chuckled, kissing the breath from your lungs.
The memory is heavy in your stomach. It's something you'll have to roll around in your mouth a thousand times before the taste begins to dissolve.
“I need time, Joel,” you tell him. “I need to wrap my head around things. I… I can't be the girl you want right now.”
Joel brushes his thumb over your chin. “You have always been the girl I want,” he says. “If you need time, you have it. If you need a warm body, you have it. I’m whoever you want me to be. And if it ain't a husband, then… then that's okay. But I can’t promise you that I won't stop tryin’ to get my wife back. That’s not who I am.”
You sniffle, twirling the ring on his finger. “You’ll get sick of it. The waiting.”
He smiles so softly that you can feel a bud begin to bloom in the core of you, nourished by the way he keeps his hand on your thigh, absently rubbing the sore muscles there. “I waited my whole life for someone like you to come along—someone who could give me the purpose I’d been lookin’ for. I can wait another lifetime. I can wait a thousand.”
“You’ll resent me. You’ll start to hate me.” You don't know why it comes pouring out of you, but the gates are brittle wood and they snapped in the torrent. “I’m an angry drunk. I smell like paint half the time. I travel for work.”
Joel just studies your face, some inexplicable calm etching out the agony. “You take your coffee with milk and sugar and you can't stand it black, but you make it that way for me anyway. You sleep until noon when you're jet lagged and I sit up in bed just to watch you dream. You lie in my arms on the couch at home and ask me about my day even when you're noddin’ off. You dreamed about love when you were a little girl, the way it happens in books. You told me in your wedding vows that you'd found it with me. You think I could resent a girl like that?”
He smiles like it hurts and heals all at once, like it's a foregone conclusion, like you were meant to be loved by him.
“Time doesn't mean a goddamn thing. I know the girl I see in front of me now. Time won't change how much I love her.”
Flipping through the list of potential venues, Joel tucked into your side, you said, “We’ll have an outdoor ceremony. No churches.”
“Baby, I won't burst into flames if I step inside a church.” Joel playfully flicked his tongue over your nipple, obscured by his T-shirt. “Tommy, on the other hand… things he's done…”
You laughed, gently pushing at his head. “No churches,” you said again. “I don't care how much more we’ll have to pay or travel to get around it. You're my husband. You're my comfort, and I want to be what's comfortable for you. Understood?”
He looked up at you, his lips parted as if on the precipice of speech. You beamed, bringing his face to yours and kissing him deeply.
“But if the wind knocks over the gazebo, you're not getting your dick inside me on our wedding night,” you said against his mouth. Joel shook his head, yanking you on top of him and tearing the shirt from your body. Your binder landed with a flutter of loose pages to the floor.
“You didn't kill Cabrera.”
Joel lowers his eyes. “No. He got away.”
“So there's still a contract on your head.”
“For now.”
“So,” you say with a sigh, crossing the room and digging through your bag, “you have to go.”
“I have to go,” he echoes, following you like a shadow. “No matter what… I’m finishing it. Tonight.”
You pull the switchblade from your bag, open Joel’s fist, and place the cool wood hilt in his palm.
“Goddammit, Tommy,” he says under his breath. “He shouldn't have…”
“But he did,” you say. “He said I should be the one to have it. I think it should be yours.”
He curls his fingers over the hilt and flicks open the blade. It's light, but it seems to weigh him down. You rest your hand over his.
“Do what you need to do.”
He drops his forehead to yours and closes his eyes, soaking in this final breath exchanged between your silent bodies, dipping his fingers in the sanctified waters and coming out unscalded.
Bill calls Joel not a moment after he steps onto the street outside the Continental.
“That's a heavy price on your head.”
“Yeah, Bill, I know.” He breathes in the cool air, like cigarette smoke, his nostrils stinging. Trash and a new, fresh breeze carried into the city. Nothing that stays here ever thrives. “Stayed alive so far.”
“So I hear,” grunts the Manager, “and leaving behind a hell of a lot of cleanup.”
“I won't stick you with the check,” says Joel. “It's my business.”
“I don't conduct business inside this hotel,” says Bill, “which is why I won't tell you that a certain helicopter at a certain helipad is refuelling as we speak.”
Joel smirks, flicking out his cuff to check the time. “Any reason why you aren't tellin’ me this?”
“I like you, Joel. Despite myself.”
Silent, he waits for more.
“Besides,” Bill continues, “we live and die by honour. And you've saved my ass more than once.”
Joel snorts. “Which time are you thankin’ me for?”
“Just take my goddamn advice and leave this world. For good this time.”
“I will,” says Joel. “One way or another. Thanks, Bill.”
High above the ground, sitting in the alcove by the window, you watch storm clouds gather over the city, darkening the sky, the sun, and your Joel, so far away, slouching calmly toward whatever end he will choose.
It's raining.
The first time you kissed him, a downpour suddenly swept up the both of you and you'd scrambled underneath a bridge by the water. You both laughed until your ribs were sore, holding hands as you ran, a soaking wet playbill above each of your heads for cover.
“At least the show was good,” you shouted over the roar of the rainfall.
Joel was mesmerised into stillness by the colours of the traffic lights in your eyes, how they shifted over the planes of your face. Starting to think like an artist, you'd tease, and he'd lean into it, a planet circling its sun.
“It was all right,” he said, taking the playbill from your hand. “You could catch a cold. We should get a cab.”
“Always my hero.” You grinned up at him, your eyes scanning his face in that particular way they did, as if ingesting the sight of him to later put the lines to a canvas. “Did you have a good time, Joel? I mean, really. You won't offend me.”
He grimaced. “I, uh… well, see, I’m not the best judge, and… I guess—”
“Joel.”
There was a gleam in your eyes that could have been amusement or could have been hunger. He doesn't remember. He only saw you tilt your chin and lower your eyes to his mouth, to that one place the Sisters always called vulgar, obscene, a place meant only for His word—
“Can I kiss you, Joel Miller, or will you keep being all heroic?”
It was soft, gentle, exploratory. Your mouth opened his like a wound, setting the scorching blade of your lips to the gash, staunching the blood. You healed and burned him, one hand on his back beneath his jacket, the other cupping his face. It reminded him of the statue that lived in the theatre underneath the church where all the boys and girls trained. An angel cast in white marble, cradling the face of Saint Eustace. The statue was chipped where his eye was meant to be.
He remembers the way he shuddered when you touched him like that. He remembers the chill that started in his feet and crept up his spine. Something like coming alive, settling back into his own body—no longer a spirit haunting the shell of a home but a man.
You pulled back, but Joel curled his hand around the back of your neck and kissed you again, deeper, maybe a little too eager, too inexperienced—but you gasped, fingers curling in his hair, your body curving into his. Your noses bumped when you separated, and he remembers laughing.
The rain is nothing like that night. It's the lash of a whip across his face, seeping colour from the world instead of infusing it with light and movement. The water by the docks slaps against the concrete and boats rock and groan against their mooring. The lights of the city are distant now.
Joel steps out of the car.
He marches toward his target, cocking the pistol in his hand, and calls out a name. It gets lost in the roll of thunder across the sky and lodges in his chest.
Cabrera waits on the landing pad, looking wraithlike in a long black coat and a pair of leather gloves. His pilot fuels the helicopter nearby. Neither of them hear Joel’s voice in the air. The rising sun is what gives him away—or maybe the gunshot, as he lifts his arm and pulls the trigger.
It does not pierce flesh. It ricochets off one of the rotor blades. He had aimed slightly to the left.
The pilot scampers off into hiding, but the slash of the bullet through the rainfall is enough to get the attention Joel wants. Cabrera reaches inside the lining of his jacket and fires a single shot. Joel can feel it tear through skin and muscle, but it doesn't hurt.
“Joel,” greets Cabrera.
“Manuel.”
His chest heaves, his jacket soaked through, the cold sinking bone-deep.
“Let's finish this.”
The glimmer in those depthless black eyes is the panther at the hunt, relentless in its hunger, licking its chops at the sight of a challenge. For all the coward’s blood in his veins, it still pulses at the prospect of winning.
“Like men,” says Cabrera, tossing his gun aside at the same time Joel does. “With honour. No more guns.”
And it's laughable: the thought that there is any honour left in a world like this. A world where children are beaten and lashed and trained to hold a weapon too big for their hands. A world that burns villages, butchers families, and still claims that without rules, we live with the animals.
A world as unruly as this cannot be ruled. He never truly considered it until he saw the sad gleam in your eye, felt the empathetic touch of your hand on his face, and began to realise that maybe he should be furious.
But because he already knows he's going to win, Joel lets his opponent land the first blow.
The blood is tangy, near-sweet, as he swipes his forearm over his mouth and smears crimson on his shirtsleeve. It tingles faintly on his lips and crackles, warm as the melt from a late-winter snow. He feels it settle in the grooves of his palms, the hairs of his beard. He’s drowning in it.
Cabrera hits hard, but he’s slow. He’ll take five punches in the time it takes to wind up for one. Joel brings his arm up to block the next and delivers a blow to the sternum with his knee as his opponent’s guard drops. Wide open, Cabrera stumbles a few steps back, choking down the telltale wheeze of being winded. Joel marches forward, relentless in his crusade, grasping him by the scruff of his neck, teeth bared like a mad wild dog, and bears his skull down on the side of the railing. Around them, the wind howls and lashes at his clothes, but he still hears the pained scream as if it were poured into his ears.
Cabrera drops to his knees, and Joel grabs him again, bashing his head repeatedly against the steel bar, the lapel of an Italian leather coat bunching between his fingers, tainted by rainwater and the fist of the man who's come to take his life.
And fuck, Joel wants to make it last.
But there's a knife in his opponent’s hand, conjured from the darkness of his coat pocket, and Joel must release him to avoid the lethal slash of the blade. Blinking blood and lashing rain from his eyes, the man lunges with a snarl, and Joel recovers from his lost victory, stopping him with his fingers curled around his opponent’s wrist. He brings his hand to the crook of Cabrera’s elbow and uses his leverage to snap the bone.
Yowling, Cabrera drops to his haunches, the knife clattering to the ground. Joel, chest heaving, stands over him, flexing his fingers as he readies his fist for the killing blow.
His name leaves Cabrera’s bloodied mouth, accompanied by a mouthful of crimson-tainted saliva spat on the ground at Joel’s feet.
“Joel…” He lifts his head, cradling his broken arm, and sneers. There’s a chilling glow of satisfaction in it. “Did you get your perfect life, Joel? Do you really think you’ve won? It won’t ever stop. Not after you’ve killed me, not after you’ve killed all of them. Is that what you’re going to do? Kill them all?”
He could. He has done far worse. He has spilled blood for gold coins and superficial alliances and someone else's revenge. He has stalked, stolen, lied, killed, and he could finish this now, so easily, with the flick of a blade.
But the song of death does not call to him now.
For so long he had trudged, unmoored, through heavy crimson blood. Like pulling at the seams of velvet, he'd sewn more lives into the sea of red and he never looked behind him to see the souls trying to pull him down at the ankles. He didn't know purpose until he saw the way the candlelight flickered in your eyes, until he tilted his head to the side and realised your smile was a new kind of beautiful from each angle.
The rain sticks to his lashes and he thinks of an old song of prayer the Sisters used to chant. He remembers curling his fingers around one of the rosaries that hung from the large cross in the cathedral and wincing in anticipation. He thought he would burn—that the metal would leave a red stain on his palm. It never did.
Maybe that's why he never believed. Surely, if there was a God, Joel Miller would have burned by now.
He thinks of shopping for furniture and date nights and lazy mornings, tangled in bedsheets. Your mouth, smiling against his, whispering I love you across the breakfast table. Dancing—or swaying, more like—under the kitchen light. Loving easily, never feeling as if he must grab hold of the cross and burn himself upon it just to feel.
Joel turns the switchblade in his hand, lurches forward, and plunges the knife into Cabrera’s chest.
There is no noise but a faint gurgle from his mouth, his hand weakly rising to grasp the hilt. Joel drops to his knees and fishes Cabrera’s cell phone from his pocket.
“The blade is stuck in your aorta,” he says. “If you pull it out, you’ll bleed out and die.” He puts the rain-slick screen in front of Cabrera’s face. “Pull the contract.”
A few feeble taps are all it takes, and Joel Miller is no longer a target. His name glares back at him on the screen, from two million to nothing, not the boogeyman any longer but something akin to a civilian. Joel tosses the phone into the water and turns to leave.
“See you in hell, Joel,” Cabrera chokes, still grasping the shiny wooden hilt of the blade.
He barely hauls himself into the car, which chokes to a rumbling start. There's blood seeping through his shirt where Cabrera shot him, and his fingers shake as they pull away from the wound, the red so bright, so alive. Joel grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut.
If there’s a God, he thinks, I hope you fucking hear me now.
Tell me that we don’t get what we deserve. Because there is nothing I deserve in this world if I cannot keep what I’ve found.
His fingers trembling, smearing blood across the screen, he makes a call.
And your voice on the line, soft, sticky with sleep, whispering his name—just his name: Joel?—is what wrenches the first sob from his throat.
Joel, you say, like it means something, like it's precious. A jewel pressed from dusty black coal. Come back to me. Come home.
So he does.
#fic: helen#kiwisbell's fics#pedro pascal#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#the last of us#the last of us hbo#tlou fic#joel miller angst#joel miller au#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller fic#john wick au
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✶ Striker decides he's running away from home and tells Stolas who ends up wanting to join him ✶
#helluva boss#helluva fanart#stolas#helluva boss striker#art#a#anyways sadly this runaway is cut short and they get into a lot of trouble#i still...have to draw the angst its so sad#but so good
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visiting laventon
#volo#pokemon legends arceus#hoorah angst!#professor laventon i guess?#laventon mentions that volo stopped by to wish him luck on his research after the postgame#and i had been wanting to draw him all day so i made this#deflated his arceus hairdo bc hes disheveled and sad#pla spoilers#i played around with colors a lot! gradient maps are fun#the sunrise was fun to draw#i color picked it from a screenshot from the game#there are like 30+ layers on this bad boy#hes so fun to draw#i miss him a lot i dont like that you cant find him BUT#it also leaves room for interpretation of what happened to him and what he did#i like the hiker theory#also the one where he just. dug out the grand underground out of boredom.#either way i want him to keep the white tips on his hair#i still have a lot of thoughts but i’ll just say them in the tags of my next volo drawing#cuz you know its gonna be soon#pokemon volo
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I think Modern Au Suletta would be a Glass Child
#Eri would probably have a chronic illness that kept most of the Samaya/Mercury family at the hospital#Suletta loves her sister but clearly doesn't realize the neglect she's experiencing#like it got worse when Nadim (?) died and Prospera/Elanor would sometimes guilt trip Suletta whenever Suletta tries to ask for something#Suletta ending up just not asking or speaking up on anything#and feeling lonely and sad makes her guilty cus she has it better than her sister#Eri is still able to do stuff but just very limited activities and she's just always fatigued#i feel like Eri would feel like shes an awful older sister bcs of her condition#They both love each other so much they fill each other's loneliness.#sorry ive been thinking about this so much.. its microwaving in my head and i cannot draw it rn#Eri puts up a more confident but also a chill front because Suletta is usally so anxious#heheheh#im just making up angst#man#i miss g witch#g witch#gundam the witch from mercury#gundam#suletta mercury#ericht samaya#the witch from mercury#elnora samaya#prospera mercury#Nadim samaya#i think#i forgor
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If you see the final word count for my completed fic gently increasing over months and months no you dont
#i have realised that the ‘fast n loose’ method for churning out a fic doesnt work for me actually#i am so sad that so much of that fic was skipped- or told and not shown- or brushed over in favour of me forcing it out quickly#i know i did it for a good reason- that if i took my time with it and it grew bigger and bigger that there was a risk i would have exhausted#myself and not finished it at all which would have been way worse#i think actually taking 3 months to craft 15k chapters with many drafts makes me happier than churning out 4k in a week#that being said im so glad its finished and that- somehow- it did so much better than i would have ever dreamed <33#now i can go back and make it what i want it to be without the pressure of racing against my own stamina#and. if im really honest. i didnt think i would still be into avatar for this long lmao#i thought id lose the brainrot at around month three so i had to finish the fic before then#and yet. month 7 and i draw spider in my sketchbook every day. i think about him every spare minute.#the brainrot is still kicking and im happy#anyway here i go to dive back into that fic and add even more angst and whump and maybe another hug. if spider is lucky#i also want to write a little one shot about Ngaire properly taking care of spider after something bad happens#but idk if people wanna read OC stuff and its certainly not my comfort zone so i might keep it to myself#N E WAY this was the biggest and dumbest ramble to myself about my own fics lmao i should really shut up and just go write :’)
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angsty art because i got bored lol
this was pose/angle practice
i still have no idea what im doing
lets ignore the fact that i have no idea how to draw people holding hands,, lol
#kazuscara#kaedehara kazuha#scaramouche#kunikuzushi#angst#sad#gay#lgbtq+#genshin impact#art#drawing this made me depressed#i had to tho its been in the back of my head for a while#i made the canvas too big and it only let me have 23 layers i could have done so much more#i spent 20 wishes earlier trying to get harbinger of dawn refinements and i felt guilty#i still have 100 wishes tho its probably fine#i only got 1 refinement and nearly threw my phone#what are these tags anymore#i should stop#lol
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in your hands | jason todd
Summary: Jason thinks he's too big to be loved. You show him that that's impossible.
Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader
Word count: 1.1k
Warnings/tags: bathing together, sad jason, brief dissociation, i hc jason to have body dysmorphia and i wanted to explore that, non sexual nudity, washing your partner, bruce angst, hopeful ending.
A/N: as always, if you like this fic, tell me through comments and reblogs :)
the divider
Tonight, Jason comes home far away.
You clock it as soon as he walks in. He’s moving on autopilot: boots by the door, helmet on the shelf, gear in the closet. He washes his hands, hangs up his jacket, and then he stands at the doorway. And waits.
You’re never quite sure what he’s waiting for. But you know that he’ll stay stuck in his head if you don’t step in.
“Hey, baby,” you say, cupping his cheeks. “Hey. You wanna eat or clean up first?”
The change is instant. As soon as you touch him, Jason is there. You’ve never mentioned it to him. It frightens you too much to explore, knowing that you’re his tether. You don’t want to think about what that means, having the power to anchor a man who used to be dead.
He looks at you, meets your gaze head-on.
“Did I disappear?” he whispers.
“Little bit. It’s okay.”
You keep stroking his cheeks, avoiding his shaving cuts and the freshly split lip. There’s a bruise around his eye and on his temple.
“Wanna wash up,” he finally says, but his hands cling to your waist.
You pet the back of his neck. “Want me to go with you?”
“Please?” He glances at the kitchen. “But if you’re in the middle ‘f something, then—”
“No, Jay. C’mon.”
You take him by the hand and lead him to the bathroom. Jason undresses while you draw a bath. Soon the bathroom starts to fog up with steam. You pour in some Epsom salts for his muscle aches—you know he should soak more than he does.
You turn off the faucet. Jason is in his boxers, staring at himself in the mirror. He picks at his autopsy scar, presses the puckered white flesh until it turns red.
“Jay,” you say gently. “C’mere, honey.”
His hands drop to his sides. Jason goes to the bath, pulls off his underwear, and sinks into the water. It’s a generously-sized tub. Jason had gotten his old tub replaced for a larger one after you’d mentioned that you liked baths. Soon enough, you’d introduced him to the wonders of hot baths for his sore muscles.
Even with its size, Jason still has to bend his knees slightly to fit. He pushes himself up easily. A little water sloshes over and dampens the edge of your shirt. Jason curses.
“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head.
“It’s okay, honey. You want me to come in?”
He nods. You pull off your shirt, then your pants and underwear. Jason folds in on himself to make room, but you stop him.
“I’ll just sit between your legs, Jay. No problem.”
You step into the bath. Jason holds your wrist so you can sit down without slipping. He stares at his hand on your arm after you’ve sat.
You reach over for a washcloth and pour a lightly-scented soap. You lather it up first, then rub it over his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. Jason is perfectly still.
“Can you lean over, baby? So I can get your back.”
Jason obediently leans over. You smile at him as he holds himself up with his core. You know Jason’s not just strong, that he’s agile too. He’s very good at wielding his body.
You wash his back. This close, you can see the contours of his muscles, how broad he is.
When you’re done, you wring the soap out of the cloth and cup water in your palms to rinse the suds off of his skin. You catch his gaze in the mirror across the tub. Jason turns his head.
“God, look at me. How are you not afraid every time I come stompin’ around?”
You stop pouring water and rest your hands on Jason’s biceps. “What do you mean?”
He scoffs. “I’m like a huge, fuckin’... monster. Too big, too loud. I’m—” He swallows, bows his head. “How can you look at me?”
“Jay, honey. You’re not a monster.”
“Bruce thinks so,” he whispers, and straightens. “He can barely look at me. Every time he does, ‘s like he doesn’t even recognize me.”
His hand quietly swishes through the water to claw at his autopsy scar.
“This is all I am. Just violence. ‘M too big for anything else.”
You squeeze your eyes shut and pull his head into your chest. Jason hugs you back. His shoulders begin to shake.
“You’re more than your body,” you say. “You’re more than what the Pit made you. What you were.”
He shakes and cries into your neck. “I was small. People loved me when I was small.”
You pick up his head. Jason’s eyes are thick with tears. You lean in and kiss his Cupid’s bow.
“I love you.” You brush away his tears with your lips. “I love you so much, Jay. That’ll never change.”
“Too big for it,” he rasps.
You shake your head. “No, Jaybird. You’re never too big to be loved.”
“I’m s-scary.”
You kiss his temple, rub between his shoulder blades. Jason clings tighter.
“You don’t scare me. You never have.”
He pulls you closer, so you’re chest-to-chest. You straddle his stomach with your legs and hug Jason as tightly as you can.
“I was good when I was small,” he says. “I don’t–I don’t know how to be good anymore. I wanna be good, I do. I don’t want Bruce to think I’m bad. I’m still good.”
You take a deep, shuddering breath. “Oh, Jay. Baby. You are good. You came back to make a change. You’ve always been good. You’ve got a good heart. Nothing’s going to change that. Bruce is stubborn and stuck in his head. But you’ll always be his son. And you’ll always have people who love you.”
“What if I’m not worth it?” he whispers. “What if I’m too lost?”
“Then I’ll go out and find you. And we’ll come home together,” you say. “You’ll always find your way back home.”
He smells like soap and Epsom salts. You kiss his autopsy scar. Jason shakes more.
“Let me wash your hair, baby,” you say.
He nods, tears on his lashes. You wet his hair and pour shampoo. You rest your lips on his cheek as you lather the shampoo, detangling tiny knots with your fingers. Jason bends at the waist so you can rinse off the soap with the faucet.
You tap his hip and Jason sits up. He slips his arms around you again and tucks his chin into your neck.
“Don’t let go,” he says, suddenly desperate. “Don’t–don’t let me go.”
“I won’t, Jay. I’m right here.”
#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#jason todd fanfiction#red hood x you#red hood x reader#red hood fanfiction#jason todd imagine#jason todd angst#fluff#soft jason todd#batman fanfiction#dc fanficton
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Where’s my pen, Lt.?
Summary: You’re PMSing, and Ghost comes to the rescue.
Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader
Word Count: 1,110
Notes:
Angst and fluff
Dedicated to my ✨ anon
Want more?
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How can you be angry, sad, and tired all at the same time? It’s a never-ending cycle. Every month right before your period, you feel like shit. What did your species do to deserve such a cruel and recurring punishment? What a selfish b*tch that Eve was. So much for taking one for the team.
You’re standing in front of a table with a shattered drone resting on its mahogany top. Fortunately, with the right tools, carbon fibre is easy to repair. Unfortunately, this army base doesn’t have the necessary equipment and personnel for the job. It can be a complex task if you don’t have the resources, especially if you lack the energy and strength to do it just by yourself.
Ghost is sitting in the corner of the room, cleaning his handgun. He looks calm—sirene—as if he didn’t just stare death straight in the eyes a few hours ago. How does he do that?
On the contrary, your movements are sluggish, you have terrible back pain, and you lack the motivation to complete even the most basic tasks. But you have to fix that drone for its next mission.
You catch a glimpse of yourself in one of the drone’s camera lenses. You’re unrecognisable. Your hair is acting up again, with unruly strands forming a halo at the crown of your head. Not only that, but your reflection reveals another issue. You take a closer look at your face. Fuck; another pimple. It decided to settle on your chin this time. Great—just great.
“Everything alright?” He asks, interrupting your thoughts.
“Y-yes, ready to start the process.” You answer with false confidence. Can he tell you’re faking it? Probably.
He says nothing but keeps staring at you with an unreadable expression, his silence giving an answer in itself. After what seemed like an eternity, he stands up and walks towards the door, exiting the room and leaving you alone.
You close your eyes and take a deep breath, exhaling in relief. Come on, get a hold of yourself. Focus.
You gather your hair up and fix it with whatever you have available in front of you. Now is not the time to be making stylistic decisions. You’re not here to compete in a pageant, anyway. What you need to do is fix that damn thing and fast.
You roll up your sleeves, grab your notepad, and open it on a new page. You pick up your p-
Where’s your pen?
You begin searching the table for your missing item, picking up drone components and putting them back in an unruly manner.
Maybe it rolled off the table!
You kneel on the floor, furiously searching for your pen as if you’d lost your most treasured asset. Where did it go? It can’t just grow legs and walk away! It must be here, somewhere.
You stumble as you rise to your feet, bumping your head on the table’s corner. Dizzy and frustrated, you stay on all fours, attempting to calm yourself with every ounce of dignity you have left.
Until you ultimately give up. So much for the confidence boost you tried to give yourself a few moments ago. You roll around and sit on the floor, drawing your knees close to your chest and burying your face in them as you let out a long, deep sigh.
“Is that part of the repair process, soldier?” Ghost asks as he re-enters the room, “do you grieve the drone first before you glue it back together?”
Today, of all days, he decided to act like an asshole.
“I misplaced my pen, Lieutenant,” you reply, still seated on the floor.
“You’re crying because you misplaced your pen.” He repeats in a deep, monotonous voice.
“I’m not cr- forget it.” You sigh defeated.
You can’t tell him what’s going on inside you. He’ll never understand. Ghost could take a bullet to the shoulder and still manage to climb a mountain while you’re whining about a minor inconvenience.
“Get up.” He commands, and you follow his orders. You pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and attempt to stand as straight as possible.
He stares at you with those interrogative eyes of his and slides something from across the table. You look down at the purple-wrapped rectangle in front of you.
A chocolate bar.
“I know what’s up,” he says, shrugging as he looks at the chocolate, “you tend to be like that a few days before.”
Your eyes widen in surprise. “How do you know?”
“I keep a log,” he explains. “I might be confident enough setting up an ambush in the middle of the desert, but I don’t push my luck with you.”
You crack a smile and accept the chocolate. “Thank you, Ghost,” you mutter, eyeing the piece of candy. He keeps a log, huh? What a guy.
“About that pen you were looking for,” he continues, “it’s in that patty of yours,” he explains and points at you.
In the what of yours??? You stand perplexed by his last statement until he gestures toward the back of his head. You mimic his actions and chuckle in embarrassment as you realise what he’s referring to. But of course! You used the pen to secure your hair. You exhale in relief and pick the pen off to set it on the notepad.
“You’re a lifesaver, Simon.” You reply.
“Keep your gratitude for the battlefield, soldier,” he adds dismissively. He’s obviously flattered, but he’ll never confess it. “Now tell me, how’s your back doing?” He asks, “still in pain?”
You nod. “Hurts like a motherfucker, sir.”
“Let me see,” he says, and you lift your hair up to expose the back of your neck. He moves in closer to get a better look, and you can feel the heat of his breath against your skin. His fingers are gentle as he works his way down your neck, kneading the soreness and pain away with skill. You wince as you feel his touch, but the pain is nothing compared to what it was before he began to work his magic.
“Oh, and, uh, Lieutenant?” You whisper softly, almost inaudibly, as you feel the tension leaving your body.
“Hm?” He murmurs, his strong hands now carefully massaging your shoulders.
“It’s called a bun,” you say with a smirk, “not a patty.”
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#simon ghost riley x f!reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley#call of duty#modern warfare 2#cod mwii#✨ anon#Simon riley#cod ghost#cod mw2
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THE YULE DRAGON … holiday one - shot ( 17+ )
pairing : poly!dragon!ateez x witch!f!reader
genre : dragon au, fantasy au, holiday au, fluff, angst
word count : 4.3k
warnings : language, mentions of dragon hunters, talks about death, light injury but nothing major, one death threat
suffer tag : @sanjoongie and for anon who asked about any new chapters
note : very excited to write this, so let me know what you think! also here is a link to what y/n's dress at the yule gala looks like!
the winter month draws near and the clan prepares to celebrate the yule dragon festival for the first time in years. knowing this is wooyoung's first one with an actually clan, you want to make sure everything is perfect.
when you woke up in the morning, you noticed how snow had slowly begun to fall and lay on the ground. you also couldn't help but notice how the dragons around you seemed to have been in good moods. smiles on their faces as they walked around and some even greeted you with warm smiles.
when you arrived at the nursery, the hatchlings all immediately greeted you. most of them run up and tackle you to the ground.
"miss y/n! miss y/n! did you see the snow?" one hatchling, jiyu, asked and you couldn't help but laugh as you nodded and pushed some hair out of her face.
"yes, i did. very beautiful isn't it?"
"not as beautiful as you, miss y/n!" another hatchling, minjae, said. the other hatchlings couldn't help but agree with minjae and you couldn't help but laugh at them all.
"prince mingi said that we will be able to celebrate the yule dragon festival this year!"
"the yule dragon festival?" you remember wooyoung telling you about the holiday years ago when you first met. you can't help but feel excited knowing he's going to enjoy a real one this year.
"yeah! it's been years since the clan last held one," seeun says and that quickly catches your attention. years? you thought the holiday was a yearly thing?
"alright, little ones, let's go ahead and get ready for the day," mingi comes in and ushers the hatchlings away from you in order to gather them in a line so they could eat.
you push your curiosity down for later as you go over to help mingi with the hatchlings. you watch the hatchlings with a warm fondness as they eat and talk to each other, and the rest of the day goes by in flash with you and mingi taking care of the young dragons.
"miss y/n, have you ever experienced a yule dragon festival before?" one of the hatchlings asked as they were laying down for a nap. the question of one hatchling seemed to have caught the attention of a few others around you two.
"not a proper one with a true clan, but me and wooyoung used to do a small celebration before we came to the clan," you said as you remembered your time with wooyoung back in your cottage. you can feel your cheeks heat up as you remember the first time you both celebrated the yule dragon together.
"do witches have any special holidays?" another hatchling, siyu, asked.
"we do but they're not like the yule dragon one. we focus more on what we are thankful for and mourning those that have left us," you explain.
"that sounds sad."
"sometimes it is sad, but then you have to remember that even those that left this world are still with us in spirit. watching over and guiding us on the right path of destiny," you say.
"but miss y/n, you don't have to be sad anymore because you have all of us!" one hatchling said with the others immediately agreeing and you couldn't help but smile at all of them.
"okay, okay, everyone," mingi says as he comes in and immediately calming all the hatchlings down. "its time to rest, not get excited."
"but prince mingi," minjae says looking towards the tall prince, "don't you agree that miss y/n doesn't have to be sad anymore, since she has all of us now?"
"of course," mingi says as he bends down to pet minjae's head, "but miss y/n still has a right to miss those that she lost. we all do. now come on, everyone, time to rest!"
you can't help but smile at how some of the hatchlings groan at mingi's words, but nonetheless all lay down in their little nooks. you and mingi go through and make sure each hatchling is comfortable before you leave the nesting room.
you watch as mingi closes the door behind him before he's offering his arm to you. you take his arm with a smile as he escorts the two of you back to the main palace wing.
"i meant what i said though," mingi begins and you look at him with a raised eyebrow, "that you have a right to be sad about those you lost, but also know that hatchlings are right as well and that you have all of us now. the hatchlings, me, wooyoung, yeosang, the others, and even the clan. you have all of us."
"thank you, prince mingi," you say, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek and he smiles at you before quickly pressing his own kiss to your lips. "also," you speak up after you two continue to walk, "what did the little ones mean when they said its been years since you all had a yule dragon festival?"
"well... we haven't had one since hongjoong's parents and brother were killed. hongjoong didn't want to have a large one with the whole clan, so this is the first time in five years that we have celebrated it as such," mingi explains and you nod your head in understanding.
"what caused him to suddenly change his mind?"
"well you and wooyoung of course," you wanted to laugh at mingi's answer. more like just wooyoung, you think. you decide to remain silent as mingi guides you through the palace.
"this will be wooyoung's first yule dragon with an actual clan in years," you note as you notice many dragons setting up and decorating the palace corridors with festive decorations. you can't help but feel excited knowing that wooyoung will be able to experience the real thing after so many years of not having it with an actual clan.
your mind goes back to when you and wooyoung would celebrate together back at the cottage. both of you dressing up, decorating the cottage, and spending the entire night together. wooyoung taught you the dances that he learned. even when you weren't celebrating the dragon holiday, you would find wooyoung and yourself dancing and just enjoying each other's company.
"hey, mingi?" you caught the dragon's attention and he turns towards you as you continue to speak, "is there... a way i can help set up the festival?"
"oh! umm, i think so. seonghwa is usually in charge of things like this, but i volunteered to help him this time, so..."
"do you need help?" you ask, feeling an excitement bubble up in your stomach.
"of course you can help," mingi says, a wide smile on his face and you mirror his smile, beaming up at him. the two of you share a quick hug, mingi lets out a small laugh at your excitement, almost not expecting it.
"thank you," you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek before you are separating yourself from him. you notice the blush that covers his cheeks and ears and you have to stop yourself from pouncing on the tall dragon from how cute he is.
as the next week goes by, you spend your time helping the dragons in the clan to decorate for the yule dragon holiday. at first some of the dragons were reluctant at accepting your help, but slowly and eventually they allowed for you to help with the decorations. sure they didn't trust you with the important stuff, but that was okay.
you only wanted to make sure everything was perfect for wooyoung, he needed to have the best yule dragon after everything he has done for you. you also wanted to make sure the clan had a good one as well, but wooyoung took priority in your heart.
"wow, look at these decorations, darling," yeosang's voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you look down from your spot on the wooden ladder to see your lover looking up at you with a smile. you finish hanging the silver garland before climbing down the ladder and yeosang is quick to press a loving kiss to your lips.
"thank you, me and the hatchlings made them," you say, feeling rather proud from how all the decorations have been turning out. many of the other clan dragons complimenting you on your hard work.
"you've been working so hard, a lot of the clan members are grateful for your help," he says as the two of you begin walking out of the grand hall, where the yule gala will be held tomorrow night. other dragons are busy around you all finishing up last minute details, with most of them stopping to bow at yeosang before scurrying away to finish their task.
"i have something for you, princess," he says once the two of you are out of the grand hall and you give him a confused look which only makes him smile. "it’s custom for everyone to wear special outfits, rather a little too fancy if you ask me, but people really enjoy it," he begins as the two of you continue to walk down the hall.
"and i bet you completely forgot to make sure you are prepared for the gala," yeosang teases and you felt yourself get flustered at his words. "but don't worry because you wonderful mate has taken care of you," he says as you both stop in front of your chamber doors. "i hired a seamstress to make you a dress and thankfully she managed to finish it in time."
"wait, yeosang– you... you didn't, you shouldn't have."
"but i did, and i wanted to. my darling, you have done so much, let me give you this," he says, cupping your cheeks before leaning over and kissing you. you feel yourself melt into the kiss as you press yourself closer to your lover, arms wrapping around his waist. the two of you only separate when you're out of breath and yeosang presses one last kiss to your lips before he's pulling away and opening the door to your bedroom.
when you stepped inside, you were completely shocked at the dress that rested on the mannequin in the center of your room. you had honestly never seen a dress more beautiful in your life and you felt yourself tear up because of it. you felt like you didn't deserve a dress as gorgeous as this.
"it's beautiful, yeosang."
"you look absolutely beautiful, my fire," seonghwa says when he sees you walk into the grand hall.
the gala had been going on for several minutes, hongjoong lighting the ceremonial flame that burned in the center of the clan. you were amazed at the flame and its rather unique color, and mingi explained that this flame could only be lit by the leader of a clan and that it in order to celebrate the first dragon.
you honestly couldn't look away from the flame, almost like it was meant to entrance you.
"thank you, prince seonghwa," you said, bowing slightly to the eldest dragon prince. seonghwa could only smile as he took your hand into his before pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.
"make sure you enjoy yourself," he says, not yet letting go of your hand. "i want a dance before the night is over."
"of course, your highness," you say, a small smirk taking over your lips before seonghwa is nodding and making his leave. he does unfortunately have other people to see and talk to.
your eyes scan around the grand hall, looking for the head of familiar red hair and you feel your heart skip a beat when you finally find him. wooyoung looked absolutely handsome in his outfit and you were glad to see that he matched the other princes. it made your heart flutter knowing that wooyoung was being accepted by the clan.
you made your way over to your first lover, your feet picking up speed when you two made eye contact. you felt like it had been forever since you last seen wooyoung – however it had only been a few hours. you had been so caught up in making sure the festival and gala were perfect for him that you had completely forgot to pay the red-headed dragon attention.
so you immediately wrapped wooyoung in a tight hug once you were close enough. wooyoung was quick to return the hug, holding you close to him as he inhaled your scent before pressing a kiss to your neck.
"my y/n, you look so beautiful," he says as he twirls you around, the white-silver fabric that was decorated with beautiful shimmering stars and moons. wooyoung had seen the dress, yeosang having shown him before you and he knew you would look beautiful in it. but of course, seeing you actually in it he was blown away by your appearance.
"are you having a good time, woo?" you ask, heart beating rapidly waiting for his answer.
"of course i am," he says with a smile, "mingi mentioned how you helped out with this whole thing. any reason why?"
"you, of course," you say, both your hands linking with his. "this is your first yule dragon with an actual clan in a long time. i wanted to make sure it was perfect."
"oh love," he says, gently pulling the two of you off to the side, "you didn't need to do that. it would have perfect no matter what because i'm celebrating it with you. back at the cottage... i saw the two of us as our own little clan. and the yeosang joined," wooyoung says and you can't help but laugh at his last comment. despite mating and bonding with yeosang, wooyoung still couldn't get over the other dragon coming in basically setting up camp in your little cottage.
"you love yeosang, don't try to fool yourself," you tease and wooyoung grumbles a little bit before rolling his eyes.
"whatever."
you were about to say something when the sound of a familiar tune filled the grand hall. you turned to see a lot of the people gathering at the center and began dancing. you noticed mingi pulling yunho behind him to the dance floor with many of the other dragons cheering for the two tall princes. following them, you see yeosang and san dancing and you were a little surprised at seeing the blonde guard dancing and smiling as him and yeosang looked at one another.
"wow, who knew san could smile," wooyoung says and you crack a smile before turning to your lover.
"shall we join them as well?" you ask and wooyoung nods before he's pulling you towards the dance floor and you two quickly fall into a rhythm of the dance. the music easily guided you as you and wooyoung danced, you felt your whole attention center in on your lover and it felt like it was just the two of you.
you got flashbacks to when you and wooyoung would dance in your cottage. how back then it really was just the two of you and no one else, but now you were surrounded by people that even if they all didn't welcome you, they welcomed wooyoung. and even if you didn't feel welcomed at first, you have mingi, yeosang, the hatchlings.
seeing wooyoung smile and laugh and enjoy himself made you feel like you were on cloud nine. even if he wouldn't say it out loud, you knew wooyoung enjoyed being a part of the clan.
you felt the music guide you and your thoughts, as the music began to slow down you found yourself and wooyoung also slowing down. wooyoung pulling you close to him, his arm coming to wrap around your waist to hold you close to him.
"i have you had your ceremony?" wooyoung suddenly asks, snapping you out of your happy daze. you knew immediately what he was talking about.
"not yet, i was waiting till after the gala was over," you say, feeling a lump form in your throat at knowing what you would have to do later.
just like dragons, witches also had their own traditions and such. not as public as the yule dragon, but more intimate to each witch. celebrating those that you left you in this world. wooyoung has been with you during this ceremony like you have been with him for his. you don't know how many nights you have fallen asleep, crying in wooyoung's arms because of all the witches that have died.
"do you want me there with you?" he asks, and it takes you a moment to think about it.
"no, i'll do it alone this time."
"are you sure?" you nod your head, you didn't want to ruin wooyoung's good time here with your own traditions and ceremonies.
when the music changed once again, you pressed a kiss to wooyoung before stepping away, telling him you needed some fresh air.
"let me come with you," he says as he starts to trail after you, but you stop him.
"it’s okay," you say, hand out to stop him, "i'll be right back."
you don't give wooyoung a chance to say anything as you're turning and making your way to one of the many garden doors that lead out into the courtyard.
once the cold air hit your skin, you let out a sigh as you made your way over to one of the stone benches that overlooked most of the courtyard and even down further into the clan. the yule flame burned brightly a short distance away and you couldn't help but walk over to it. the flame reminded you of the flame that you would light for the umbra ceremony.
the flame burned brightly and you almost felt like a moth from how you were being drawn to it.
which is how you found yourself in front of it. the noises from the grand hall behind you is like static as you look at the flame, letting it consume you. you got flashbacks to when you would set up a room of candles for the witches that you lost, the flame from those candles burning brightly into your mind.
"why are you out here," the cold voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you turn to look at hongjoong with wide eyes. the prince looks at you with a stern expression, his cold eyes burning into your body.
"i was just... just getting some air," you tell him, refusing to fully make eye contact with him.
hongjoong lets out a 'tsk' sound before he's coming to stand next to you, looking up at the flame. you're surprised by how close hongjoong, this is probably the closest he has ever gotten to you without trying to kill you.
"mingi told me how you helped decorate for the festival," he said out of nowhere after the two of you stood in silence. "i guess witches can be good for something," he adds and you feel yourself deflate at his harsh words.
"i did it for wooyoung," you said wanting to make it clear that you were only doing it for your first love and no one else. "this is his first yule dragon with an actual clan in years," you add.
"and i'm sure witches are the reason why he had gone for so long without experiencing one with a clan," he says back.
"perhaps," you say as you clench your fist together tightly, "but wooyoung is here now with a clan," you turn your head to look at hongjoong, taking in his form once more. his lavish outfit and vibrant blue hair standing out against the dark night. he was the epitome of what a leader of a dragon clan should be in the fact that he always had that air of authority around him. everyone respected him and if they didn't respect him then they feared him.
you, unfortunately, feared him more than you respected him. the dragon oracles say that you two are mates like you are with the rest of the princes, but you knew hongjoong refused to acknowledge you as his mate. you were a witch, the thing that killed his parents and brother and forced him to take the role of leader too soon. you wondered if you and hongjoong would ever get along.
you notice how the flame reflects against hongjoong's skin and then something hits you.
"please excuse me, prince hongjoong," you say suddenly before you are rushing past him. hongjoong doesn't say anything and you don't know if he watches you leave as you are too caught up in rushing back into the palace.
you run to your room, feeling out of breath as you enter your chambers you share with wooyoung before going over to the large trunk that rested at the foot of the bed. you quickly dig through the trunk and pull out a set of candles. all three a beautiful rose color and it reminds you greatly of your mother.
"what are these for mother?" you asked, looking up at your mother as she handed you the three candles. they were different from the ones you were use to lightly for the umbra ceremony and you wondered why she was giving them to you.
"these are special candles, y/n, i made them myself so you can use them when you need them the most," she explains, her voice seeming ever cryptic.
"when i need them the most?" you echo and she nods, a tight-lipped smile painting her features.
"they are for the one who will need to say goodbye the most."
you gripped the candles tightly as you raced back to the courtyard and was surprised to still see hongjoong standing there. somewhere deep inside wants you to believe he waited for you, but you know that's impossible.
"prince hongjoong," you say as you approach him. "i want to thank you for letting wooyoung into your home. i know that... you despise me and my people, you lost your parents and brother after all. and i know you probably don't care but i want to share something with you."
hongjoong turns to look at you, his face void of emotion as he watches you set the three candles down between the two of you. you crouch down, kneeling front of the candles as hongjoong stands towering above you.
"the umbra witches have their own ceremony, we light candles in order to remember those that have left us and this world. we do this as a way to remind us that while they have left this world physically, they are still here with us spiritually," you pause in order to take a deep breath, licking your lips before continuing.
"my mother made me these candles when she was still alive. she told me that they were for someone who needed to say goodbye, and... i think she made them for you."
"what the hell are you talking about?" hongjoong asks, voice full of surprise and anger. "i don't need any of you stupid umbra witch shit," he adds and you notice his fist clenches with his rage.
"please," you beg, voice straining as you plead with the prince, "take the candles, it will bring you peace, prince hongjoong."
you feel a sudden shock as you are grabbed by the collar of your dress. you're pulled up from your kneeling position, face dangerously close to an enraged hongjoong as he bares his teeth at you. in the moment you are reminded that you are at the mercy of a clan full of dragons whether you liked it or not.
"i will never," he jaw clenched tightly as he speaks, "ever, forgive your damned people for what they did to my family. my people. so don't think so damned candles will change that. you will never be my mate and just know that if it wasn't for yeosang and mingi that i would have burned you at a stake a long fucking time ago."
hongjoong waste no time in throwing you to the ground, your hands skidding across the stone pathway harshly and you flinch at the sudden burn of skin. you turn to see hongjoong's eye burning, like he will kill you if you say anything else to him.
you then watch him destroy two of the candles, his foot coming down harshly on them and you feel like a part of you is being ripped apart as you watch him. he's about to do the same to the last one, but you move and grab the last candle. the last one your mother made.
then without thinking you stand up and run away from the prince. you clearly made a mistake in thinking that you could get hongjoong to open up just a little bit. you felt tears begin to form in your eyes as you ran, clutching the candle close to your chest as you collapsed in the one of the many decorated halls.
you looked down at the candle once more, the image of your mother's smile flashing inside your mind as you caressed it. you knew this candle was for hongjoong. he was the one who needed to say goodbye to those he lost, but it was obvious that now wasn't the time.
"y/n!" the sudden call of your name makes you snap your head up to see yeosang rushing towards you. face full of concern and he drops down to the floor next to you. "y/n, what's wrong, why are you crying?" he brushes the tears away and you open your mouth to say something before a sob escapes instead.
you throw yourself into his arms and he arms them around you protectively. you hold your mother's candle close to you as you allow yourself to cry in yeosang's arms. yeosang doesn't say anything, only letting you cry as a comforting hand runs over your hair.
"it's okay, y/n, i'm here," he says softly, holding you closer to him. "whatever made you sad, don't think about it anymore, okay? cause i'm here to protect you."
and so the night comes to an end as you spend the rest of it in yeosang's arms, allowing him to hold you closely as you mourn for the loss of your mother and the hate hongjoong bares for you.
tag list : @frankenstein852 @watamotee33 @kawennote09 @mixling-blog @marahleiwhen @kpopnightingale @harry-the-pottypus @pyeonghongrie @sanniesbum @marvelahsobx @khjcoo @mysticfire0435 @exfolitae @dementedaly @simeonswhore @moonm1st @nvmbheart @spooo00oky @frgogh @sookacc @seongwin @burnsmepls @ad0rechuu @tunaasan @northerngalxy @silverpixiedust23 @cheesekimchi @confusedmoonchild777 @mjyungi @innieontop @iweirdthingsblog @s0obinluvr @worcesheshestershiresauce @moonlightgrleric @wineyoungie @jeongwangjessmina @lemineso
network : @cultofdionysusnet @cromernet
#dragon from the window.#cultofdionysusnet#kdiarynet#cromernet#ateez imagines#ateez x reader#poly ateez x reader#ateez scenarios#ateez fantasy au#ateez angst#ateez fluff#ateez dragon au#ateez wooyoung x reader#ateez yeosang x reader#ateez mingi x reader#ateez hongjoong x reader
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For kinkmas can you do a Emily Prentiss who has a dick and get R pregnant, but abandons her for some angst, then Emily reconnects with her after a case and meets her kids and all.
YOU’RE BACK, BUT ITS TOO LATE
PAIRINGS: Emily Prentiss x reader
WORD COUNT: 1244
WARNINGS: smut, angst, pregnancy, abandonment, mommy (E), breeding, kids (yes they deserve a warning), arguments, Emily has a dick, think that’s all :)
NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!
Emily’s breath panned against your face, her lips venturing to your neck in a hurry. She teased the skin with her teeth, causing shivers to run down your spine. She leaned back, smirking in glory as you grappled onto her biceps.
“You look so beautiful, baby.” She muttered, her thrusts slowing as she took a moment to admire you. Only when a whine left your lips did she continue, forcing your lip onto her own as you shared a lustful kiss.
“Please, Em,“ You gasped out, squeezing your eyes shut as you felt liquid squirt into you. Her breath was shaggy, her voice trembling as she nodded with you.
“Mhm, going to make you a pretty little Mommy.” She chuckled, drawing long and hard hip movements, allowing you to feel her cock pulsing deep inside of you.
“I’m- I’m going to cum,” She placed each hand on either side of your head, her breasts moving with her body. You leaned forward, taking her sensitive nipple into your mouth. She moaned, tugging you closer by your hair as your legs shook.
“Cum for Mommy, sweetheart.” Your juices covered her cock as she painted your walls white, her grin wide as she admired the new ring on your finger. She had just proposed earlier that night while the stars shined bright against your skin, the ring shimmering as she placed it on your skin. She led it to her mouth, pressing a soft kiss against the material before returning her forehead to the pillows beneath you.
“I’ll never stop loving you, baby.”
“I told you I’d never stop loving you, Y/N.” The woman retorted, smiling through wet tears as she looked down on you, the ring still planted on your finger. It had been nearly a year yet you couldn’t get enough of her, no matter her actions. Only a few days after you found the sticks in the bathroom holding two lines was when she left. You weren’t able to inform her about the pregnancy, and the fact that she was going to be a mother soon.
It all happened so quickly, one moment you were the happiest you’d ever been, then the next you stood over her grave, tears racking out of you uncontrollably. You never expected her to return a year later in front of your doorstep, who would? But her hair had grown slightly, and you noticed the sore cheeks that proved her sadness wasn’t fake. She instantly fell into your arms, but you backed away, fearful of the recurring dream appearing once again. You were finally starting to heal, but now she was back, and you didn’t know what to do.
She heard the soft giggles of your child and froze, a smile threatening to take over her face as she noticed your Mother laughing at the child’s face. She had a hint of black hair on her head, even without seeing the rest of her features she could tell it was her replica.
“Emily, you can’t just barge in here after…after I believed you were dead for a whole fucking year!” You ran your fingers through your hair anxiously, steam nearly coming out of your nose and ears as she stood there; she looked so perfect. How could she stand there and look so perfect, she just tore your heart out only to rip it back out as you tried to fix it.
“I know, my love-“
“Please don’t call me that.” You begged, sniffling as she tried moving closer. Your Mother left after a screaming match was to be had between the two, both of them telling you to bring the baby girl to your room so she didn’t have to witness it. It wasn’t calm, and you were shocked you had zero neighboring complaints.
“Please, I- I didn’t mean to hurt you,”
“But you run off to fucking Paris while your pregnant wife stayed at home? Do you know how difficult those months were for me? Not only was I carrying a child, but I was dealing with the loss of the love of my fucking life! Only to find out she wasn’t even fucking dead!” She buried her head in guilt, and no matter how badly she wanted to look up and see you, she couldn’t bear to meet your tearful eyes.
“I didn’t know you were pregnant-“
“That doesn’t change shit, Emily! You left. You left me, and you left your daughter, you think I can just forget that?”
“No, I don’t expect you to. And, to be honest, I don’t want you to. I don’t want you to forgive me because I can’t even forgive myself and I never, ever will. All I want is to spend the night with you, okay? I- I want to see my daughter experience her first Christmas tomorrow morning, and I want to experience our first Christmas together again…please, I’m begging you, Y/N.” She stood, relief filling her as you allowed your fingers to interlace with hers. She looked so hopeless, you, once again, couldn’t resist her.
“Fine, but we’ll be talking about this tomorrow, don’t think I’ve even thought about forgiving you.”
You promised yourself it wouldn’t happen, that sharing a bed with her wouldn’t bring back tempting emotions, but it did the opposite. And that’s how you found yourself beneath her, your walls accepting her cock desperately, despite your previous restraints. You forced yourself to keep quiet, but it was nearly impossible as she continued to hit against your g-spot with every thrust.
“I’m so sorry, baby- fuck, I love you so much.” She reminded you, wrapping her arms around your body as she dragged you towards her. You were now riding her, your legs around her waist as your hands dug at her back, your breasts pressing against hers as they created a shared rhythm.
“We…we need to be quiet, Emilia i- is fuck! Fuck, she’s- she’s sleeping.” The name came from Emily, you remembered when she told you her dreams of passing her name down to her child, but she also didn’t enjoy her government name. She wanted her daughter to have a beautiful name to match them, and Emilia was what she came up with after years of pondering the thought. Children had always worried her, especially due to her career, but she wanted nothing more than a true, happy family - one she spent her entire trip dreaming of.
“I know, but I want to hear you. God, I- I’ve missed you so much, ‘m never leaving you two again.” Unlike the deeply sexual position you both shared, there was a sense of comfort in her words. She seemed to ease away your fears with only a promise, but you worried she’d break it once again. You couldn’t risk losing her, not again.
“Please don’t leave me, E-Em. I- ah! I need you so fucking bad.” She repositioned the two of you, letting you rest against the pillows as she took a moment to admire your body. It was scarred, your skin holding wounds of pain yet beauty. The stretch marks represented her child - her baby girl, and she couldn’t have loved them more. She kissed the ones in reach, smiling up at you before kissing your lips in a passionate, loving gesture. She waited for you to pull back, but you never did.
“I told you I’d never stop loving you, Y/N.” And she meant it, she meant every word.
#emily prentiss x you#emily prentiss x fem!reader#emily prentiss x y/n#emily prentiss x female reader#emily prentiss x reader smut#emily prentiss fluff#emily prentiss x reader#emily prentiss smut#emily prentiss fanfiction#emily prentiss#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds#kinkmas
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Keeping up with the Bhangs
This is a one shot from the little series. Read it if you would like it’s on my master list :))
Warning: Angst
Pairing: Bangchan x reader
Summary: Being a mum is hard when you have to constantly play good cop, bad cop.
**
"Chan?" She called for her husband. "Chan come look at what your daughter did!" Y/n called again. The sight infront of her was painful. Her little girl was stood in the middle of the room looking so innocent but she had created a huge train wreck around her. She couldn’t believe it.
She tried to keep her cool, she really did but she couldn’t. She heard the quiet footsteps making their way up towards their daughters room. Her anger was being tested and she felt like she was about to blow.
"What is it Y/n? I have a really important-" he paused when he looked up from his phone as he stared at the sight in front of him. "What the hell?" He let out a gasp.
The room was a mess. There was paint everywhere and crayons all over the wall. The collections of toys chan had gotten Soo-min where spread all over the place and her clothers (Soo-min) was covered in dirt, paint and crayons as she stood there looking innocent with the crayon in her hand.
"Chan look what your daughter did!" Y/n raised her voice a little causing Soo-min to jump. She took little steps quickly to hide behind her father who was now standing fully in the room. It had been obvious she was scolded before this because her little hands were shaking and her lips were quivering.
Chans eyes soften as he loosened the tie that wrapped around his neck and unbuttoned his shirt. He was determined to keep his wife calm and fix whatever was going on. If he had time of course.
"Hey, Y/n calm down. Don’t stress out baby. Its okay," He picked up his little girl with one hand trying to remove the paint of her face. Her eyes on the verge of tears as she pouted. "We can just get the cleaners to clean it-"
Chan being calm about the whole situation pissed of Y/n to the fullest because why was he so put together? Why was he such a good calm dad.
"Chan! you dont get it! this is not okay, she constantly disobeys, this is a huge mess! i left her for only a few minutes!" Y/n groaned frustrated as she threw the cups she had collected from the ground into a basket.
"Y/n, its fine. She's a baby-" the glare Y/n gave him instantly made him shut up and look at his little girl that was basically holding onto his shirt for dear life.
"M' sorry," Soo-min chocked on her sobs as tears started to spill and she Sniffed. She didn’t understand why her mum was being so scary. She only wanted to draw to make her happy cause she knew how sad she had been.
Chans heart melted at her little pout.
"Its okay mama, no need to cry. Daddy's got you," Chan wiped the tears from her cheeks and grabbed the crayon and paint brush from her tiny little hands. "Y/n look what you've done, now she's crying."
"Chan you cant honestly think this is okay-" Y/n was buffled. Chan didn't think this was okay, did he?
"she's a kid! kids make mistakes, she's still learning. You don't scold her, you teach her," His voice was now loud aswell. He was getting frustrated. He didnt want his children growing up in a toxic enviroment where they get yelled at or abused. That was his worst nightmare.
“Then fine! You raise them if ur such a good teacher,”
“I don’t have time for this Y/n I have a big meeting coming-“
“Of course you fucking do, why don’t you just move into your office and abandon your kids and pregnant wife!”
Her blood was boiling. It was like she was getting everything off her chest and she needed it.
“Y/n that’s enough. Your acting like a child in front of her!” Chan growled. “You can’t even control this situation without calling and crying for me,” his chest was moving up and down as he was huffing. Trying so hard to control himself but he was stressed and tired and it was like she wanted to pick a fight every chance she got.
"Chan! why do you always have to be good cop. Why cant you see this is wrong? Stop being a bad parent and-'
"Bad parent?" He scoffs and looked up at her buffled, "I'm the bad parent? just cause you were abused when you were younger doesn't mean you have to put your trauma on my children..." His eyes go wide. He didn't mean it. He was just angry. He didn't mean any of it.
The tension in the air wise thick. The shocked gasp that left her mouth was painful. Her head started to spin. Her eyes turning red as her body started to overheat. The emotions she felt were overwhelming. A panic attack was coming on. Her eyes landed on her daughter, the little girl was covering her ears trying to cover her face in her fathers chest. Was she a monster?
"Papa? no fighting," The little girl squealed as she still continued to cover her ears. This made Y/n's heart break. was it true? was she becoming her toxic mother.
"It's okay mama," He comforted her shivering body, "I-Im going to get her changed so i can go back to my meeting. I'll tell the maids to come clean up," he so badly wanted to hold his wife and apologize but with the way she stood in one place he knew he couldn't have the conversation, well not right now.
The door closed behind him as her little girls sniffles slowly faded in the distance. Y/n was in shock. Her brain was taking long to react. Her hands were cold and all of a sudden she couldnt hear anything around her.
Was she the problem? Was she being hard on the kids? she never yelled at any of them unless they did something horrible, she never intended for the father of her kids to call her toxic. To embarrass her like that.
It was too much, she was done playing tough guy. she was tired of the constant fight of depression. She was tired of her husband degrading her as she stayed home while he was out all night partying doing God knows what.
She wanted her life back. she wanted to be fun again. She didnt want to be tired all the time. She was tired of being pregnant.
Her face felt wet. Her hands automatically covering her eyes. Heart wrenching sobs leaving her body as she placed a hand on her belly. The doubt of being a mother was creeping back up. The sudden urge to run away and dissapear haunted her conscious. Truth is she was tired of the fake smiles and the big parties and important business people.
Yes, she loved the big house her husband built for them, she loved the grand cars and the golden credit cards but she wanted to feel again. She wanted to be loved again. By her husband. She wanted to be a teenager again, falling in love and being young and free.
She laid on the called floor. Her arms supporting the heavy bump she was carrying. The tiled sending shivers down her spine. The tears still spilling from her eyes until eventually she grew tired and fell asleep.
#skz imagines#skz comfort#skz x reader#skz angst#skz fluff#skz x y/n#skz x you#skz drabbles#skz stay#stray kids drabbles#bangchan angst#bangchan x reader#bangchan fluff#bang chan angst#bang chan x reader#bangchan#stray kids angst#stray kids as boyfriend material#straykids x reader#stray kids scenarios#stray kids imagines#stray kids x y/n#stray kids fanfic#stray kids fluff#straykids
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Deja Vu | 1 | January Embers
summary: Your best friend died years ago.
He went up in flames until there was nothing left — so why does it feel like you can still see him sometimes?
content: touya todoroki x female reader, childhood friends au, reader has a quirk, time skipping, flashbacks, fluff, heavy angst, bullying, eventual smut, eventual meaning next chapter, soft touya, hurt/comfort, tragedy, mdni
wc: 4.5k | Chapter 2 | m. list | read on ao3
You meet Touya Todoroki when you are four years old.
He was a redhot firecracker that demanded the attention of you and all those around him.
Touya Todoroki was also the first in your class to have his quirk maifest. It was the talk for about a week, everyone expecting nothing less from the son of the flame hero, Endeavor, himself.
You would watch him some days, flaunting his newfound power on the playground in front of others, knowing he would be some great hero one day. Even better than All Might, he would yell to anyone that would listen. It was a decent dream, you believed. Maybe someone could actually be better than All Might.
It didn’t seem like that would be in the cards for you, as it became more apparent as the days went by that you may not have a quirk. The excitement of watching every other child’s quirk manifest began to fill you with a pit of dread.
Quirkless.
It’s something you never thought you would have to think about. The realization hadn’t caught up with the rest of your class yet and you could only thank the stars.
But it was only a matter of time before a group of three noticed.
They cornered you while you tried drawing shapes in the sanded area of the playground.
“Hey,” one kid dragged, horns proudly peeking out of his head. “What’s goin’ on with you?”
You spared him a glance before going back to your sand, gliding the stick you found through the yellow grains. “What do you mean?”
One girl behind him pipes up, curly pigtails bouncing with the tilt of her head, “Where’s your quirk? Aren’t you turning five soon?”
The emphasis on five makes you jolt a little and you try to play it off — offering a little shrug to the trio. “I dunno. Mom says I'm a late bloomer.” you pray they will be satisfied with your answer and leave you alone.
The third kid finally speaks, sporting a new pair of bat-like wings. “No way, I bet you’re gonna be quirkless!”
The other children erupt in a loud laugh that calls the attention of your other classmates — much to your dismay.
“That’s so sad for you!” the girl yelled, grin on her face showing not an ounce of pity.
“Yeah, really!” The first boy laughs, taking a step forward and kicking the sand you were drawing in towards you, effectively ruining your picture and your day.
You go to stand, brushing the sand off of your dress before the girl rushes forward to push you, sending you down to land flat on your bottom. Your bottom lip wobbled as you tried to hold back the tears and humiliation threatening to spill over and out.
The bat-winged boy pointed to you, “Look, guys, she’s gonna cry!” Yelling out to anyone who could hear, only causing you to dip your head in shame, now unable to stop the warm tears from trailing down your cheeks.
And you thought today couldn’t get any worse.
“Hey! Knock it off!” You hear a voice yell, familiar. “Flashfire fist!”
You feel the heat before you see it, hot and swift.
The screams make you look up. Its Touya, red hair and fist aflame, standing in front of you and effectively blocking you from the trio of bullies before.
“Ouch, Touya! You could have really hurt us!” the girl with pigtails cried, holding her own wrist as tears flowed freely down her cheeks.
The boy who kicked sand at you spoke up next, voice wavering on the verge of tears as well, “Yeah, you jerk!”
Touya shrugged, flames dissipating and points a finger at them, “I don't care. Bullies’ feelings dont matter!”
You could only stare with wet lashes as the trio ran off — no doubt to tell the teacher. Touya didn’t seem to mind, as a matter of fact he seemed proud as he turned to you and reached out a hand to help you up. He was all smiles and warm eyes, “Are you alright?”
You take his hand, noting how warm it still was from his previous quirk use and nod, “Mhm, thank you.”
“It’s no problem,” he helped you to your feet before continuing, his smile almost blinding, “I’m Touya Todoroki, the next number one hero.”
You nod and introduce yourself, cheeks warm and smile dancing across your face. His mood is infectious. “Nice to meet you, Touya, next number one hero.”
Later that day you realize Touya does get in trouble for improper quirk use and can’t help but apologize.
“It’s fine!” He returns, not bothered in the slightest. “I’d do it again and again, if I had to.”
After the incident Touya insisted on being by your side the rest of the day. During lunch, arts and crafts and even nap time. He would go where you would go and you couldn’t say you minded. Once school had finished for the day and it was time to break apart Touya insisted you both hang out more.
Even going as far as to introduce himself to your parents as they came to pick you up.
His foot tapped in excitement as he told them about your days and how you should hang out more.
That’s how you both find yourselves in some forest on the weekend, walking together through the fresh snow, because Touya just had to show you this cool training spot.
“But, don't you think we’re going too far, Touya?” You ask, nerves trembling as you look around the forest. You wouldn’t know your way back without him and you’ve never been this far out alone.
“No,” he singsongs, “C’mon– don't be such a baby,”
You puff your cheeks, running to catch up with him, “Don’t call me that, but okay!”
He grabs your hand once you are by his side and it's warm. Touya is always warm.
“We’re almost there, anyway!”
This special place looked the same as any other place in these woods, but you wouldn’t let Touya know. He’s so excited to show you what he came to do.
“My dad and I train here sometimes.” He starts, smiling as he backs away from you to show you a flame in his hand. “He thinks my flames will be hotter than his one day.”
You can’t hide the way your eyes fill with sadness as you look to the ground.
“I don’t think I’m gonna get a quirk, Touya.”
The boy’s smile drops instantly, as he rushes over to you, taking your face in his tiny hands. Still so warm, like always.
“Hey, don’t say that! Maybe you aren't trying the right things.” He dips behind you before you could turn to stop him, “Maybe you can see in the dark!” His hypothesis being tested by covering your eyes.
You bite back a laugh, “No, Touya, I don't think it works like that.”
The boy lets you go and runs to a rather large, fallen log – climbing atop it and looking down to you. “Well, maybe you can fly. Have you tried that?”
You shake your head, unable to hide the worry in your face. Touya was up pretty high. “Hey… you shouldn’t be up that far.”
“What do you mean? It’s fine!” he reassures, continuing his musing while walking along the fallen log. “Besides, it’s not like I'm clumsy or anything—!”
The boy’s words were cut short by his shoe stepping down and slipping on the ice below it, sending him crashing down to the patch of snow and debris below.
In that moment, your hand shoots out before you can think and there’s ringing in your ears. Your eyes squeezed shut as you wait for the impending crash. But it doesn’t come.
You slowly open your eyes and see… Touya. He’s okay. Better than okay because he’s floating above the snowy patch of grass below, debris and everything brushed away. Your hand is still out as you meet Touya's wide eyes.
“Whoa!” You finally pull your hand back and watch his feet gently touch the grass below. “Dude, you have mind powers! So cool!”
You will your breathing to go back to normal as you take in the new information. You do have a quirk. All hope was not lost.
The feeling of warm liquid creeping down your nostril catches your attention. Bringing a finger to your nose, you pull back and see the crimson drop. Blood. The sound of Touya’s steps through the snow breaks your focus.
“Hey, what happened? You're bleeding.” He takes your finger in his hand, red brows furrowed and cerulean eyes filled with worry.
You shrug, taking your hand back and wiping your nose with your sleeve, unaware of the tiny smear of blood you left across your face. “I dunno. I’m not hurt, though.”
At this, Touya smiles, bringing his own hand to your face to wipe the remainder of what you smeared. “You better not be! We’re gonna be heroes together — you and me!”
It’s so infectious, the way he lights up with a smile, you can’t help but return it. “Yeah, we sure will.”
—----------------
The first time you think you see Touya it’s while you are on your way home from the bustling area of downtown.
The shops are crowded with people trying to get their last minute gifts for the holidays and you promised your parents you would be home hours ago. It’s a flash – so quick you almost miss it.
Almost.
Through the crowd there's a glint of white hair and blue eyes. You stop, sending the people behind you nearly barrolling into your backside and profusely apologize, half heartedly hearing their grumbles as you make your way through the flurry of people.
The snow white hair is a little further ahead, but you can see bits and pieces where the sea of heads will naturally move.
Was that…
It couldn’t be. Your heart picks up as you nearly chase your way through, mumbling faint excuse me’s and pardon me’s to those around you as you lock onto the moving person. It's becoming harder to keep up and you break out in a light sprint.
The person takes a sharp left into an alley and you follow behind, only to be met with the emptiness of a damp back alley.
There was no way it could be him. Your mind was playing tricks on you.
You shake your head, hoping you could physically shake those thoughts from your brain and turn to head home. It had been a long day.
There is a battle raging in your mind — one that you are not sure is formed from grief or from anxiety. it is an all consuming inferno of blackened dust in your heart and you cannot stop yourself when you bring it up to Fuyumi.
You both have been sitting in silence for a while, wrapping gifts for the upcoming holidays. She has been in her own little world, humming christmas tunes, while you have been in a fit of inner turmoil.
“Hey, Fuyumi,” you start, instantly catching her attention in the otherwise quiet home.
“Hm?”
Your nerves are eating your confidence and you start to second guess yourself. Only the warmth in her gray eyes gives you the resolve to continue. “Something weird happened at the market the other day.”
She tilts her head, flowing ponytail following the direction, “What’s that?”
“I was walking and,” you stall — unsure if bringing up your friend's dead brother before the holidays would be a good move. “I swear, I thought I saw Touya. It was a flash, but the guy had his white hair and,” unwanted tears are blurring your vision, “and his eyes were so much like Touya’s i don't—” you're choking up, tears fighting their way through your throat, “I thought i was going crazy.”
Surprisingly, Fuyumi takes it well, reaching a hand out to touch your shoulder, a comforting motion you’ve grown to know over the years.
“Hey, it’s okay. That could have been anyone, you know?” She smiles, and it’s bittersweet like the flowers at a funeral, “it’s the holiday season so everyone is out right now.”
You nod, reluctant, but logical. “Yeah, yeah you’re right. It was pretty crowded in that area.” the tears would force their way through your resistance whether you fought them or not, so you give up – letting them flow down your cheeks. “I’m sorry for bringing it up, Fuyumi.”
“No, it's okay! Don't worry about it." She looks to the side. “It’s only been three years since it happened, and the anniversary of his death is coming up too. It's harder around this time of year. For all of us.”
You can only nod as Fuyumi brings you into a tight hug. Your resolve melted away in her arms as you cried, it felt like things would never get easier.
A life without Touya wasn’t a life you could see yourself living happily in.
You wished and prayed for him everyday — unwilling to believe your best friend was really truly gone. It felt so surreal. Like something that happens in movies and not to you.
Fuyumi said nothing as she held you and rubbed soothing circles on your back. She has been a pillar for you in these times and you couldn’t be more grateful. Only wishing you could show your gratuity in a more effective form than just sobbing into her shoulder.
There is an anguish in your heart that will not go away. A part of you died when Touya did, there was no denying that.
Fuyumi pulls away, holding you by the shoulders as her eyes meet yours — she's started crying too and it's enough to make you shake with sobs again.
“Hey, hey,” Fuyumi starts, her voice unwavering despite the tears. You wish you were strong like her. “We’ll get through this, okay? We just have to be strong.”
You give her a pathetic nod, one more for her sake than yours, and try to sit up straighter.
You knew that Touya wouldn’t want to see you like this.
—-------------------
When you are five years old, you notice there is a change in Touya.
You gasp when you see him again, “Touya! Your hair!”
His eyebrows scrunch at your pointing and then widen in realization. “Huh? Oh, don’t worry about that.” Touya huffs, “were you even listening?”
The question startles you and you quickly nod your head, knowing you didn't hear a word he said. “Mhm!”
Touya keeps talking, now bringing a hand to his hair, rubbing a lock between his forefinger and thumb, “Okay, so what’s the deal?”
You can't stop the confused look in your eye as you watch him, cheeks rosy from the cold. It snowed again yesterday, and Touya never seemed bothered by the cold. You were freezing though.
Somehow you let him bring you back to this forest — it’s become your go to hangout. A place where the both of you could practice your quirks in peace.
“Do you like All Might or something?”
You shrug, indifferent to the well known hero. Your parents weren’t heroes and neither was anyone in your family. He seemed more like a comic book character than an actual person.
“Well, it doesn't matter. My dad told me I’m gonna be even better than All Might! So he better watch out.”
You smile, seeing his eyes light up, “Oh, yeah? How are you gonna be better than him, Touya?”
You don’t know why but it makes your heart dance when he gets this way. Stars in his eyes and world in his hand. He’s your hero, you absently wonder if he knows that.
Touya shrugs, scrunching his nose in thought, “I dunno. I haven’t gotten that far yet.” He snaps his fingers and turns to you, “I know! I’ll look it up. It can’t be too hard, right?”
You laugh now. Of course he doesn’t have a plan.
“Don't you think if it were that easy he wouldn't be the number one right now?” You test, and Touya gives you a look, pout strong on his face.
“Hey, whose side are you on, anyway?”
“Yours! So, I don't want you to waste your time on silly stuff.” You offer, looking at the leaves you're making dance in your hand.
He groans, the frustration evident in his voice, “Whatever! I’ll figure something else out.”
In that moment, there’s a great gust of wind — whistling and blowing the leaves in your hand away. It’s chill makes you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering.
“Touya, don’t you get cold?” You ask, arms doing little to warm yourself as you continue to shiver.
The boy looks at you, brows furrowed and eyes confused. “No, do you?”
“Yes!” You shout, “all the time! It’s so c-cold out here. I don’t know how you do it.”
He walks over to you, pondering and examining your face. “Yeah, your nose is all red. Rudolf.”
He takes your face into his hands and closes his eyes, rubbing his nose against yours back and forth. It’s warm and it makes you flush. Your cheeks burn when he pulls away, stunned at the smile on his face and stars in his eyes.
“Better?” He asks, innocent question ringing in your ears and you realize yes, you do feel better, but you also feel warm and fuzzy like there are butterflies dancing around in your belly and you can’t get them out — so, you just nod instead, slow smile creeping on your face and Touya grabs your hand again.
“Good! Now let’s keep going! There’s this cool new move I wanna try.”
And you follow behind him. He was your best friend after all. You feel as though you would even follow him through the icy storms of Antarctica if you needed to.
—-------------------
Christmas with the Todoroki’s has always been interesting. For one, half of them were not present during the dinner. Rei being sent to the facility, endeavor choosing to work on his hero duties and little Shouto desperately trying to eat with all of you without Enji coming home to find him out of his room.
The silence is eerie – other than the sounds of metal clinking against porcelain plates.
You couldn’t help but break the tense air, words sounding loud in the quiet of the room, “Thank you all for inviting me over. The food is really good, Natsuo.”
At this, Natsuo perks up, a smile so wide on his face it makes his eyes squeeze shut. “We love having you around! You’re like the big sis we never had!”
“Hey!” Fuyumi squawks, ready to scold her little brother, “I’m the one who knows where you sleep Natsu, so watch it!”
You can’t help but laugh at the threat, knowing Natsuo has been a victim to many of Fuyumi’s pranks. Shouto only watches on, eating as much as he could before he would inevitably go back to his side of the home. There wasn’t much expression to his face, but he seemed content to watch his older siblings bicker back and forth.
Times like these were nice, you decide. It pulls your mind away from the reality and into the more lively parts of growing up.
After the dinner was done, and the gifts were passed out, there was a somber air growing about you all once more.
Shouto went back to his room and Natsuo found his place in the living room, playing video games and insisting that since he cooked most of the meal, he shouldn’t wash dishes as well.
Much to Fuyumi’s dismay, you agreed with Natuso, but offered to help her with the dishes. It was something to prolong the inevitable walk home.
“What did you get for him this year?” Fuyumi asked, passing you another plate to dry.
You glanced at her, noting how she avoided your gaze, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth instead. “It’s something I’ve been working on for a while. A necklace — with charms and things I think he would like.”
She nods, bringing an arm up to wipe her eyes with her wrist, “Yeah, I’m sure he would love that. He always liked your gifts.”
It’s impossible not to find yourself tearing up.
Once you were done washing dishes with Fuyumi, she went to join Natsuo in the living room, offering unwanted tips on the current game he was playing and receiving groans of irritation in return.
You take that as your cue to leave and make your way to the place you’ve dreaded all night.
Touya’s shrine.
His memoriam stared back at you as you dropped to your knees, lowering your head in prayer and then placing the small decorated box onto the shelf of his shrine.
“Oh, Touya… it’s been three years.” You say to his photo hanging above the shrine. It’s his school photo. You were both in the same class, already talking about what high schools you would be choosing in the upcoming years.
It doesn’t feel like three years. It feels like everyday is the same — you wake up and he’s not there. Like a day you’re doomed to repeat until the reality of it all finally sets in.
What would he look like now, you wonder. Would he have gotten taller? He had always been smaller than the other kids. Would he still have dreams of being a hero? You didn’t know. You wished you knew.
Your fists clinch in your lap and the tears flow freely from your eyes. Even with your head bowed you can’t stop seeing his picture etched into your brain. Those blue eyes staring into your eyes.
A sob escapes your lips and it all comes crashing down after that.
“God, Touya..!” Your words break down, sending your resolve with it. It feels like your heart has been ripped out of your chest and you’ve been openly bleeding out for three years.
You are only sixteen years old and expected to spend the rest of your life without the boy who would put the moon in the sky for you.
Unthinkable.
You’re not sure how much time has passed once you’ve calmed down, but you know it’s late now.
It was time to head home, and you wished Fuyumi and Natsuo well as you hugged them. They wave you off, faces somber and words tight. If they heard you crying, they didn't mention it and you’re thankful.
The trek home would not be not a long one, but you couldn’t stop yourself from taking a detour.
The forest where you and Touya always hung out was nearby and you can't stop your feet when you make a sharp right turn and head that way.
It was getting dark and snow was beginning to fall, but you felt at home.
There's a river you like to walk along. It's such a small little stream that never seems to freeze over, no matter how cold it is outside. It is where you find yourself trailing beside. The water being the only noise breaking through the quiet of the forest.
It kept you company until you reached the familiar open patch of grass, which was currently covered in snow.
Some trees were still charred from the incident, but others were still standing proud. It’s strange how that works — some things can remain the same through adversity while others are damaged beyond repair. You wonder if things could ever grow back from such tragedies.
Maybe the growth of something new could come from the ashes of the old. Like a phoenix.
The snapping of a twig snatches you from your thoughts.
It's a forest, yes, but this area doesn’t have much food for the animals. You stand to your feet, absently wondering when you had taken a seat in the first place, and look around. Maybe it was a trick of the wind, or something falling.
The snow crunches under your feet as you begin to take your leave — you’ve been out long enough.
You make your way through the thick of the trees until something brings you to pause.
Your steps were not the only steps you were hearing.
“Hello?” You call out into what you hoped had been an empty forest, only to be met with silence. It is not a comforting quiet, it was a quiet that crept underneath your skin and gave you goosebumps.
It felt like you were being watched.
“This isn’t funny!” You yell, taking cautious steps backwards, preparing yourself for a sprint in the opposite direction.
You turn, ready to take off when a glimmer of silver catches your eye, the flicker making you halt your movements.
Your heart hammered against your chest.
There was no way.
It was so faint, but you knew the necklace you crafted like the back of your hand.
“Hey! Stop fucking around, whoever you are!” You don’t know where this brave face is coming from, but you aren’t backing down. You could fight if need be.
Against your better judgment, you take a few steps forward, and like you thought, whoever was around took those steps with you. Your breath hitches when you see it.
A flash of white hair.
You break off into a sprint, and the person is already off, having a headstart and leaving you behind.
You couldn’t see as well through the snowfall, but you didn’t need to. White hair and the shimmer of a necklace around the person’s neck has you chasing them deeper into the woods.
“Stop..!” You cry out, reaching a hand forward in an attempt to activate your quirk.
The force of it causes branches to fall from a tree further ahead of the person and he only changes direction.
You follow behind, lungs burning as you struggle to keep up. There was another attempt, bringing an already leaning tree down in front of the running man. It still did not work, he simply jumped over it and continued on.
You were approaching your limit with your quirk and desperate. If you let this slip through your fingers it would drive you mad.
“Wait!” You try again, reaching both hands forward and focusing all you had on the man before you. It was hard to ignore the blood trickling from both nostrils with your quirk use, but you had to, this was your only chance. “Touya..!”
And in that moment, the man stopped — whether it be from your quirk holding him in place or his own will, you weren't sure. All you knew was that the man stopped, and turned.
Your vision began to blur as your head pounded from the overexertion — your quirk was difficult to use on a living being, but it didn’t matter. You would know those eyes even in your darkest hour.
The cerulean blue was the last thing you saw before your world went dark.
And in your final moments, only one thought rang in your mind.
Touya is alive.
#todoroki touya#touya todoroki#todoroki touya x reader#touya x reader#dabi x reader#dabi#touya todoroki x reader#my works#mha x reader#dabi x you#todoroki touya x you
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Wednesday
joel miller x fem!reader
Summary of the fic: For the last 5 years, every Wednesday you watched a handsome man walk by your street with a lilac bouquet in hands. Except he doesn't stroll on your street this Wednesday, he shows up at your grief support group. 🐾
read on AO3 | masterlist | previous chapter
Warnings: No outbreak AU, Grief and its implications, Reader lost her mom, Reader's mom has a name (but no physical description), Group therapy, Grief support group, Parent grief, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Fluff, No use of y/n
Word count of the chapter: 3,7k
A/N: For the longest time I've thought "What if Joel lost Sarah anyway?" and this became the answer to this question. I have no clue about how big this series will be, but I do know I want to explore grief and loss with these two in the most delicate way possible. Hope you enjoy it 🐾
I. LILAC
Coffee. Sketchbook. Balcony. Five years of waking up early on Wednesdays, grabbing a cup of coffee, and sitting near the railings to wait for him. Like a clock, at 8 am sharp he appears by the street corner with a lilac bouquet under his arm.
His strong profile will be the only thing in your vision for a few minutes as he walks by. You drew it so many times that you could do it with your eyes closed. The man will walk by at a steady pace without looking around (brows deeply furrowed in a “don’t fuck with me” kind of sign), focused on his way down the street.
Tall, dark hair and a patchy beard with a square jaw… He is dreamy, but also out of reach. Where is he going? Why the lilacs? Are they for a woman, his wife maybe? Every Wednesday at 8 am, never a minute late, both he and you.
As you took a sip of your coffee, you glanced over the watch marking 7:58 am, he would be here any minute. You prepared the table in expectancy, what outfit would he be wearing today? You hoped for the green shirt, but the blue one wouldn’t be as bad.
7:59 am. His hair is a little overgrown now, but you like the way his curls frame his face. The broadness of his shoulders and how tall he looks next to the other pedestrians. You aren’t sure of the color of his eyes from afar, maybe green or brown.
8:01 am and no signal of him. This is a first. Maybe you mistook the day of the week, check your phone, and… No, Wednesday still. You squirm in your seat, impatiently looking for him. 8:07 am, he never got so late. Should you keep waiting? You don’t even know his name.
At 8:30 am you give up. A wave of melancholy fills the air. Oh god, be for fucking real, are you really sad because a strange man and his stupid lilacs didn’t walk down your street?
“Don’t forget: 9 am at the gate”, you reread your grandpa's text.
You couldn’t be able to forget it, but deep down wish you could avoid it. Cemeteries aren’t your thing, the constant reminder of the death surrounding you. However, they are Grandpa’s way of dealing with it and who are you to judge?
The sketchbook is opened at the last page you drew, with the man staring in front of him fully angered. How did you end up with over 200+ drawings of a man you never met? The doctor said finding a hobby would help and so you did: drawing. “You see what no one else sees”, your mom used to say and you decided to take a test. Too bad your eyes landed on a strange man walking down the street, holding on tightly to a lilac bouquet. Even worse he had been doing the same path for five years right in front of your balcony. The only things in your sketchbook are his face, his hands, and the bouquet. This is your third one since you kept running out of pages.
As you put the sketchbook away, your mind drifted away to your mother’s (possible) commentary. “Don’t be silly, he will come by later, I’m sure something happened” and she, most likely, would be right. She was always right. 8:50 am and with your chest tightened from “talking” to her inside your mind, your feet landed at the cemetery’s gate.
“No flowers? Really? Who raised you, pigs?”, your grandpa said narrowing his eyes at you.
He, of course, was an impeccable mess in his hat, black coat, thin-framed glasses that gave him a Bond villainesque look. In his rugged hands a white rose bouquet, carefully made and held by.
“If I remember right, and I do remember it, we are talking about the same woman who said that flowers are for the living, not the dead.” He rolled his eyes in response but in good fun. “Why the flowers then?”
“My biggest mistake was to raise a woman a little too avant-garde, wasn’t it? C’mon, we don’t have the whole day,” he deep sighed while showing you the way.
You knew the path, but your feet seemed to avoid getting there, that’s why you followed Grandpa’s steps in the hope of not turning around and leave. It was a little ritualistic if you were honest: Grandpa would have some kind of gift in his hands that he would leave at the tombstone, and you would pretend to do not care as you deeply cared about it. She wasn’t there anymore, she hadn’t been for a long time.
Behind his glasses, you could see a lost man driven by grief. His hands shaking as he cleaned her name at the tombstone, the gaze avoiding yours. He would always wear black on cemetery days, as if the time never passed and it was the first visit yet.
“Want to go first?” He asked, you sighed in response. “Don’t know why I still ask.”
“It’s… Fine. You know she was a Buddhist, right? She believed in reincarnation. I feel a little silly talking to her,” you confessed while chewing the lip corners.
“Oh, trust me: I knew her the same amount as you, maybe even more. She was my daughter, for fuck’s sake.” Startled, you looked at him in shock at the rare occasion he would curse. Shit. “I’m not here because of her beliefs or lifestyle. Do you quote her inside your head? Because I do too, I too remember every small detail of her. I’m here because it’s how I tell myself she isn’t fully gone. So sorry if I’m too old-fashioned and feel like talking a few words at my daughter's tombstone with my grandaughter who, honestly? Could show a little more love towards her right now. I want to talk with her like we used to at the kitchen table on Sundays, I want to bring her flowers just like I did on her birthday and there is no Buddha, Allah, or a flying horse that can stop me. Now, can you open your fucking mouth and say something nice to your mom about your week?”
Silence took the space for a second before you simply replied with, “Better?”
“Yes, a lot. Thank you for asking, now go on, please.” He adjusted his hat and cleared his throat. You hummed, getting a little courage to look directly at the tombstone.
“Hum. I got a new couch last week, a velvety green one. A little too sexy, if I might, but you would probably say I need something sexy to attract someone even sexier. Am I rambling?” You asked, raising your eyes from the stone, but he made a motion for you to continue it. “Let me think, oh, the cat hunted a pigeon. It was somewhat disgusting because of the amount of feathers in my apartment…”
“Did the pigeon survive?” He asked, in his eyes with a slight curiosity.
“Yes, but by a thread. It was her cat, a little savage just like her!”
The conversation went on easily after it. Grandpa had found some old notebooks of your mom, including one with a cake recipe he would later send to you. You wouldn’t tell him, it did feel better not because you were speaking to her, but because you could watch him relax in his uptight perpetual state. In the blink of an eye, your mind wandered to the strange man and if he ever relaxed like that.
Grief is a strange thing. It took a little encouragement from your therapist and the need to move on, but you had started to go to weekly meetings of a grief support group at the local church (the only thing that made you enter that space). The first months were awkward, you went but avoided it at the same time. Slowly, it grew on you. Five years of not missing a single Wednesday, even on vacation.
Your grandpa tried once, but it just wasn’t for him. He didn’t want to move on or find a meaning for it, he needed to feel his grief as second skin. You needed it to stop suffocating you, to scream and shout about that weight in the hope of someone taking it from your back.
This Wednesday wasn’t any different. You entered the church's back door with some cookies in hand, even if you were well aware that most people couldn’t eat as they exposed their pain, it was more of a sweet gesture than a necessity. The white walls and the cross in front of you completed the scenario.
“Cookies? You never eat anything,” Henry questioned while taking a bite. His dark eyes staring suspiciously at you.
“My grandpa found an old cookie recipe from my mom. How does it taste?” You replied as you watched him bite. You couldn’t bear to try it first, too anxious about it.
“Your mom was definitely a writer, not a chef. Taste like an old sock.” His face contorted as he spat out the cookie. Well, you tried something new.
“Yeah, no wonder I survived out of Lucky Charms and BTLs.” Henry laughed as you let go of your shoulder’s tension a bit.
The grief support group had grown and shrunk over the years. Sometimes people would feel good enough to leave the support, those were the lucky ones: grief was a period of their life, not an everyday thing. In other cases, they would get too depressed and leave before making some actual change in their being. You, unfortunately, were addicted to bond with the pain part of it.
Well, you and them. Henry was the first you met, totally wrecked after losing his little brother, Sam, to leukemia. He almost left college due to the weight of grief but kept it together, you even went to his graduation a few years back.
Tess came later. First, her kid died and then, in a stroke of bad luck, she found out she had a terminal disease that would, eventually, kill her. She wasn’t there to deal with the death of others, but her own. She was slowly dying and it was scary as shit. Not that you would know it from the outside, she had more strength (both physically and mentally) than most.
Frank was the group leader, conducting the discussion and creating the safe spaces. Everything you had said while hugging him, no matter how bad, never came back to hunt you. Which was odd on its own, but even odder considering his grumpy husband, Bill, was the exact opposite. Everything you did said in Bill’s direction came back to hunt you right after it came out of your mouth.
People come and go, but you stay there. Grabbing your regular place at the circle, putting the name tag on your shirt, and drinking some water just in case you cry. Except today you have someone new seated across you.
His strong nose and patchy beard hint someone you do know. His square jaw tensed up, brows deeply furrowed in a “don’t talk to me, I want to go home” that you could draw with eyes closed. The name tag reads “Joel”. You were right, his eyes are brown.
It feels weird to look at him without a pen and paper in hand, but it feels just right to see his features up close. Tess brings him coffee - black, you noticed - and gives him an eye silently saying “Don’t fuck it up”.
The meeting starts, Frank asks who is there for the first time. Joel and a woman, Hannah, raise their hands.
“It’s tradition to introduce ourselves at our first meeting. You don’t need to tell the details of why you are here or who you are, just simple information that people can distinguish you from the rest of the group.” Frank explains to a tired Joel, who sighs in response while Hannah overshares who she is.
Of course he doesn’t want to be there. Nobody wants to. You wish you could leave every time you cross the door, but know that the moment the meeting starts to develop you will want to continue in that deep state of pouring your heart out.
“I’m Joel, my friend Tess convinced me to come. That’s it.” He simply states, loud and straight. You catch Frank laughing.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to push you a little on it. Why did you accept to come here?” Joel furrows even deeper at the provocation.
“I didn’t. She trapped me.” Tess raises her very blonde eyebrows at him, who snaps. “You did trap me. Call me saying it was an emergency, I go to your house expecting the worst and you lock me inside there until the time to come here after I said I wouldn’t go to a grief support group.”
“See? He is an asshole, he needs this.” She answers Frank, making sure he gets her points. Your mom was right, something had happened to him.
“So, Joel, why are you here still?” Frank subtly asks.
“I beg your pardon?” Joel’s eyes are softer now, getting caught off guard. He doesn’t have any argument for it.
“Yes Joel, why are you still here? I’m not trapping you in this char, nobody is holding you down.” Tess retorts her mouth in his direction, that scoffs and looks around the room. When his eyes look into yours, you smile coyly unable to retain yourself.
“Sir, please continue.” Accepting defeat, Joel crosses his arms around his chest, fully ignoring Tess's triumphant smile.
“You are free to leave at any point, no need to tell us why. But I guarantee that if you stay, you might learn we aren’t that bad.” Frank nods in his direction, gaining a hard sigh. “Let’s start. Before every meeting, we say out loud the names of those who have gone to allow ourselves to think about them without shame, remorse, or guilt. You know the drill, Henry?”
“Sam,” Henry says firmly.
“Abigail,” you speak loudly.
Another silly little gesture, but you do allow yourself to think about her after it. Every single time. It’s almost as if the weight of her, the one that you carry around all day and pretend isn’t there suffocating you, comes to sit by you, not on you.
“Teresa,” Tess points at her.
“Sarah,” Joel almost murmurs looking at the ground. His hands are fidgeting, his mind in another place.
You have been there, you know how strange it is to say it for the first time out loud after a while, sounds forbidden and partly awkward. You aren’t supposed to say it to strangers, it’s sacred just for you, and yet, here you are saying it to whoever wants to share this pain with you.
You wonder if Sarah liked lilac flowers.
Some people speak about how they dealt with grief during the week until Frank asks you how the cemetery visit went. The group knows that meeting your grandpa there gives you a chill up the spine.
“I think I forget that he is allowed to grieve as he needs. I know all these little parts of her, how she lived her life. I’m quick to fight because she isn’t here to defend herself. I’m not even sure she would like for me to defend the memory of who she is… Sorry, was. Of who she was.” You swallow dryly, trying to ignore the miswording. “He bought her flowers. She always said that flowers were for the living, not the dead, and yet, he bought her a bouquet. I got frustrated, felt like he was trying to put her in a box of who he wanted her to be.
“He put me in my place quickly, even said fuck.” Henry makes some noise in surprise, you nod agreeing. “Exactly, it dawned on me: the flowers are for him, not for her. Just like his grief and how he needs to express it is only for himself, not for me to judge. I think he misses her more than he tells me. If I could go back in time, I would have implored him to cremate her and stop this nonsense of going to her grave, checking her tombstone, giving her damn flowers.”
“Maybe the flowers are his way of saying out loud that he cares too. She was his daughter before being your mother.” Joel speaks out loud, getting your full attention. His arms are still crossed, but now his eyes are lost in thought, almost as if he didn’t want you to hear it.
“Maybe. I just wish he allowed himself to stop pretending she is still here. I want to think of her without feeling guilty that she isn’t. He is too busy missing her to notice that I’m missing him.” You answer locking eyes with Joel, who chews the corners of his mouth, once again deep in thought.
“Maybe he doesn’t know how to do it, need help.” His voice soft, just like his eyes.
“Maybe.” You give in, feeling that Joel isn’t speaking about your grandpa. You swallow as you remember the lilacs.
The meeting runs smoothly. The group finishes by drinking coffee before parting ways. Frank is chatting by the corner with Joel, who is running a hand by the nape of his neck. Curiosity gets the best of you and, before you can stop, you question Tess.
“Who is Sarah?”
“A million-dollar question, huh?” She teases as she sips her sugary coffee. Henry looks between you two, waiting for a response. “You both haven’t heard from me, I’ll deny til death that I’ve ever said it. His daughter, she died a few years back. He hasn’t been the same since. That motherfucker goes to her grave every fucking Wednesday.”
“He visits her every Wednesday?” The number of drawings of Joel walking down your street early in the morning with a lilac bouquet makes more sense. His face, his fast speed, how he ignored everyone that walked by, how he never noticed you at your balcony.
“Yes, she died on a Wednesday, he relives that event every week since.”
Frank walks in your direction, Joel right behind him looking everywhere, except your face. If he only knew how much you have looked at his face before.
“I recall you haven’t been a mentor yet, right?” Frank starts and you nod, curious about where he is going. “Amazing! You’ll have your first newbie. Joel, you’re in good hands.”
He leaves before you can say anything, whether yes or no. Fuck. Joel is confused as well, still looking like he would rather leave. You open your mouth and go grab your phone.
“Sooooo… How was your first meeting?” Flipping through your phone until find your own number isn’t a good move to show that you are smart, trustful and worthy but right now you only want to avoid his brown eyes.
“Pass.” You blink at him. “I won’t keep chit-chatting. Cut to the chase.”
“Oh damn, I thought you had softened a little with time.” He fights the urge to roll his eyes and you smirk at him, reading him like a book. “I’ll give you my number in case you need someone to talk to. And yes, you can call me anytime you want to. And no, I won’t get your number. You come to me or I won’t come to you.”
That entertains him a little. It was the first rule of your mentor, she made sure you would look for her and not the other way so you could understand when and what triggered you. Joel just nods as he saves your contact.
“When did you first contact your mentor?” He questions, sounding genuine in his curiosity.
“Diet Coke, couldn’t drink.” The furrowed brows are back, so you continue. “My mom would mostly only drink Diet Coke, after she passed away I would buy canes just to open and hear the sizzling. Couldn’t drink otherwise would vomit from stress. It was really hot and I craved one, made that call and drank it.”
“And you drank the whole thing?” His soft eyes are back and you feel a little foolish for thinking that he could have green eyes, not when the dark brown suits him so much.
“Yes and vomited right away. Still, it was worth the shot.” You smile and for a fraction of time, he smiles too.
He doesn’t call right after and neither shows up at the grief support group. You still draw him, but from memory, the last time you watched as he strolled your street it was three months ago. Something about his grief seems too personal and you feel awkward invading that space, instead, every Wednesday at 8 am you find another thing to do. It isn’t as easy as it sounds, ignoring his handsome profile and the lilacs on his hands, but you allow his privacy.
The only reminder of your favorite habit is the sketchbook at the table and the fresh lilacs decorating your balcony.
Time goes by slowly and too fast, the weight of your mom still at your back as the life surrounding you goes on its course. You almost forget about him until a Wednesday morning, 8 am sharp, your phone chimes and you pick up at the first beep.
“I can’t eat pancakes. I hate pancakes, but she loved it.” He softly says and you stop everything to listen.
“You made from scratch or store-bought?” You phrased it like it is an important question. He hums back on the phone.
“Store-bought, don’t know how to make the batch. She straight up bought only the mix.”
“Would you eat with her, despite not liking it?” Your hand slides the paper, creating his silhouette line after line.
“Yes.” He simply answered, as if it was the most common question in the world.
“What are you waiting for? Take a bite.”
And he does. The chewing sound from the other side fills the phone, your hand keeps drawing him in his overgrown hair, almost as if you could see the scene right before your eyes.
“So, was it worthed?” You ask looking at the draw as he finishes his plate.
“Still taste disgusting.” He soft replies after a second, you snort and he laughs. The sound is the most delicious thing you’ve ever heard.
next chapter
#joel miller#tlou fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller x original character#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x you#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal fanfic#the last of us#the last of us hbo#wednesday series
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OMG NO 😂😂
From what i saw from greys he isnt dereks brother i think ??
Also... Mark slept with dereks sister in the show so i thought it was ok to ask?
Sorry if i didnt make myself clear tho 😂
But she can totally not be dereks sister
Anyway sorry for the confusion
New Beginnings
alex karev x reader
tags : angst, some fluff, uhhh more tags, this is a little everywhere but i hope its okay, not that sad but enough to need a part 2
“Derek? Wha-“
“I need to stay here tonight.” He kept his head down as he shuffled his way through the door, water drops flowing off his hair.
“Is everything okay? Where’s Addison?” The look Derek gave you was almost enough to answer every question that was running through your head. You stood silently as he threw his duffel bag on the couch, his soaked jacket following. He plopped down in the arm chair, palms rubbing his face.
“I’ll get you some hot cocoa to warm up.”
“No don’t I’m fine.”
Your eyebrow raised at his poor attempt in deterring your concern.
“Oh god you look like mom.” Derek chuckled, lighting the heaviness in the room.
“What happened with Addison Derek? Why are you here?”
His face dropped once more almost immediately. The change drawing regret straight out of your core. “I found her sleeping with Sloan.”
“Mark!?” Hearing the most unexpected name come out your stomach churned in a way that made you swear you were about to hurl. The barriers around your emotions all crumbling at once.
“Are we really surprised.” Derek sighed, flattening himself out onto the couch.
“I mean? Yes? No? I don’t.. I mean he’s your best friend?” Surely it wasn’t out of character for Marks sexual.. tendencies to say the least. But still there was a part of you that couldn’t believe he’d sleep with the wife of the man he practically called a brother. Especially after growing so close to him in the past months. You shared everything together and nothing that was said or done could’ve prepared you for this. Your heart ached more then it ever did before, both for Derek but also yourself. Mark was your first, and you had naively convinced yourself he’d be the last. And though you wanted more than anything to curl up in a ball on the floor with Derek and sob your eyes out until the numb feeling that soared through your nerve endings disappeared, Derek didn’t know anything about you and Mark, and you sure as hell weren’t about to have this be the time he finds out. It took more then you thought you had in you to conceal your emotions. Fighting back the familiar sting of tears became a war for the first time, but you stood your ground against it. Sure you and Mark hadn’t taken the time to talk about making things exclusive, but really you didn’t think you needed to. What you felt with Mark was enough to flood your senses full, not able to even consider someone else entering the picture.
And maybe you were stupid to think he felt the same.
It felt futile to hide the burn in your chest, knowing it was evident in your face. But still you tried to mask your feelings, hoping it would be seen as nothing but compassion towards your brother. You’d drag the sun out by your bare hands to bring sunshine after a life of darkness if it meant the best for Derek.
“Yeah well obviously that doesn’t mean much.” The scene of Derek face down on the couch with his arms dangling at weird angles was almost comical enough to bring you out of your anger. In a sad attempt to stifle your laugh, a small giggle escaped your lips. Derek just looked up from his resting spot and gave you the warmest smile you’ve seen from him all night, the picture perfect resemblance of a child.
“Derek I don’t-“ You were cut off mid sentence by the ringing of Dereks phone. He was hesitant to pick it up, most likely praying to himself it wasn’t the two talks of the night.
“Hold that thought I have to take this.” He cleared his throat before answering the phone, his eyebrows stiffening. “Hi Richard, sorry for emailing so late..” Was all you caught as he stepped out of the room.
The anticipation building in you was almost enough to drive you mad. Derek had been on the phone for ten minutes now and you weren’t able to hear any of it. You had began your (what felt like at least) 100th lap around the room, as Derek finally stepped back in. The suspense in the room falling instantly as his demeanor brought nothing but a strange joy.
“Richard Webber from Seattle Grace just called.”
“Okay..?” You sat down on the couch, Derek following.
“He found us both a job, very well pay, I’d be head of neuro, and you’ll be a trauma attending ! It’s perfect! He said he could even throw in a sign on bonus for you for the sudden notice! We start Monday.”
“At Seattle Grace?”
“Well obviously.”
“Derek? Are you insane? Like are you actually going insane because if you are I can understand why.”
“Am I.. Are you going insane? Y/n this is the perfect job opportunity! It’s everything you’ve worked for come on!”
There was a shared silence between the two of you, you each studying the other trying to feel out the mix of emotions you both had been throwing out into the room. Derek looked at you with eyes of an insane man, his lips a curl of typical mischief.
“Derek. This job is in Seattle. Seattle Washington! We live in New York! You can not bring in a life changing job, and move, that I have to do in two days and expect me to jump at it! I know you want to get away from Addison right now but Seattle seriously? Don’t you think that’s taking it a little far?”
“Yes! That’s the point. Come with me or don’t but you’ll sure as hell look idiotic for not.” You let out a sigh at his words, your jaw tensing.
“Derek we’re talking about both of our whole lives right now. Our family is here, our homes, hell our jobs!”
~
“Y/n! welcome to Seattle Grace. I know the offer was a short notice but I appreciate you coming.” Richard Webber, the chief of Seattle Grace, greeted you at the entrance. A great smile plastered across his face as he reached out to shake your hand.
“Of course Richard. Thank you for the offer. I know you wanted me out sooner but like I told Derek, it was insane for me to do the move in two days. So I really do appreciate the exception, it was more than generous of you.” You smiled, accepting the greeting.
“Oh i know it was. But anything for an old friend’s family. And it would be great to have another genius on hand.”
“Old friend?”
“Oh yes, Dr. Shepherd and I have worked on a few cases together in the past. I’ve spent my fair share of time in New York.” Richard spoke as he began to walk through the hospital, his hand reaching behind him to motion for you to follow. “Now I know Derek has been working here for a week now, and could show you around, but I’m going to go ahead and assign you an intern for the day. Someone to show you around and have do all the unnecessary paperwork for you.”
“Oh no Dr. Webber, no need to do that. You’ve already accommodated so much around me. Surely I can find my way around today.”
“Absolutely no need for that Dr. Shepherd. Let me make the day easier for you please.” You smiled at Richard and nodded, fully appreciating the gesture. He nodded and turned around, his finger pointing to a shorter woman across the room at the nurses station.
“Bailey!” The woman whipped her head around, eyebrows raised and an unfazed expression spread on her face. She began walking towards you and Richard, five other doctors following her lead almost immediately. You giggled to yourself as they all looked like a scene of baby ducks following their mom; though these baby ducks did look particularly tired and worn.
“Can you give me one of your children please. I need someone to be with Dr. Shepherd for the day while she settles in. You know like show her around yada yada.”
“Karev go.” Dr. Bailey ordered turning around and beginning to walk back to what she was doing.
“Me? But I’ve got-“ One of the doctors that had been following Bailey began saying, walking backwards to keep up with her in order to plea.
“Karev. GO.”
He stood in the middle of the room, arms up in defeat. You almost felt bad for him until he turned to face you, eyes narrowed and lips pursed as if this was somehow your fault.
“Come on lets get this over with.” He snarled while walking back towards you.
“Hey don’t be pissed at me, I sure as hell didn’t want you to be the one showing me around.” Karev stopped to take a good look at you, almost completely dumbfounded after your response. He scanned your face, either trying to decide who you were to talk to him like that, or the opposite of the spectrum and he was just trying to hide his admiration.
Your grand hospital tour was finally coming to an end after almost two hours. Alex had taken the time to show you each wing, introduce you to each head of department, and even showed you the vending machines that are least likely to scam you. At first he had seemed like a nightmare to be around, almost like a brooding angsty teenager who didn’t like anyone, but after warming up to him (or maybe him warming up to you?) Alex actually seemed more then tolerable. He made you laugh more then you have in awhile. His presence lighting you more than you’ve felt since your first night with Mark, which in all honesty bewildered you more then you imagined. Questioning yourself on how, or why you had become so comfortable around Alex in such little of time.
Honestly he felt like Mark felt. But for some sick reason, that maybe was just a play on your emotions, the man you had just met three hours ago made you feel lighter then Mark had in 20 years. He felt like a flow of fresh rain water after a drought, cleansing you of all toxins and slowly making you new. He was rain and you were the starved flower.
Yet Mark felt like the water saved from the last rain. Still coursing through your veins and settling into your heart and soul. Something that once kept you alive, was once your everything, now something you couldn’t get out of your system without feeling like you were sucked dry, moments away from an inevitable end.
It hadn’t quite struck you how much the Mark situation had hit you before now. Really you hadn’t had time to feel how the situation made you feel. The thought of butterflies returning to you uncovered a deep empty void that was quick to cover your senses.
The sudden wave of emotions hit you hard, but still you tried to remain as unaffected by it as possible. Though you knew you had done quite the shitty job of that after you caught Alex glancing at you with concern from the corner of your eye.
“So,” he coughed, obviously trying to diffuse the odd tension that had began. “What department do you plan to work in after residency?”
“Well actually I’m a trauma attending.”
“Attending? You look younger than me!”
“Well I am 24.” You giggled at the widened eyes of Alex, his jaw practically on the floor.
“24!?”
“Yep! Baby of the family.”
“Baby of the entire hospital! I mean how’d you even get here?”
“Well Dr. Karev that is a long story we could discuss over coffee tomorrow morning.” It was out your mouth before you could even sit to consider it. Alex looked taken aback for a moment, obviously not expecting that just as much as you were.
“Deal.” Alex warmly smiled, his eyes gleaming with something more than before.
okay hii!!! this req is so late im so sorry😭 also this isnt the og post but i cant find that one so I am using this!!! im gonna be honest ive wrote this little by little over the past few months so i really hope its all somewhat cohesive ????? idk atleast readable but im also crossing my fingers that this is okay cause its my first req :)
so without being said i hope you guys enjoyed and i will be making a part two trust 🙏🏻
and listen i know being 24 and being an attending is like damn near impossible but its greys. there was literally a unfazed bazooka in a guys chest.
#mark sloan x reader#mark sloan#alex karev#alex karev x reader#derek shepherd#greys anatomy imagines#greys anatomy#mark sloan angst#alex karev fluff#this is so late
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Hello! Can i request a cassian x f!reader fic where its the night before cassian has to go on a dangerous mission and reader is really scared and anxious for him. they are sleeping at night but reader can sleep and is silently crying all worried for him. cassian wakes up and finds reader in her state and comforts her. lots of angst with comfort
oh this made me so sad, idk how I'd handle being mated to Cassian or Azriel with their dangerous missions🥺💜 but he's sweet and would comfort you
Stay a Little Longer
Cassian x Reader
warnings: mentions of death
You awoke with a start, tears already streaming down your face, soaking your pillow. Silent sobs wracked through you, your body softly shaking as pieces of your nightmare flashed through your mind.
Your heart and stomach lurched, anxiety roiling through you as the image of Cassian, dead in the grass, seared your brain. The agony in your soul must been so strong to have awoken your sleeping mate, Cassian rolling over towards you with a sleepy grumble, his broad arm wrapping around your waist as he pulled you into his warmth.
Your chest shook, unable to steady your breathing as he felt the wet tears against his chest, rousing Cassian from his half-asleep state.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice raspy from sleep as Cassian tilted your head up to his. Your watering eyes and sniffles broke his heart, triggering his instinct to pull you close. You nuzzled into his chest, heartbeat slowing slightly at the comforting pressure of your love’s arms around you.
“What is it, my love?” Cassian whispered, calloused hand stroking through your hair, lips pressing softly against the top of your head. The question resurfaced those images, the horrifying scenario that felt too real - a life without Cassian. You pulled him closer, arms wound tight around his waist as you breathed in his scent.
“I had a dream, about your mission tomorrow,” you whispered, breaking into sobs again the moment the words left your lips. Cassian shushed you, pulling back as he peppered kisses all over your face, wiping away the salty tears as they fell.
Cassian rubbed his hand in soothing motions across your back, his voice softer than ever. “Do you want to talk about-“
“You died, Cassian. You died, and half of my soul went with you. It felt so real, Cassian. I can’t lose you, I can’t, I can’t-“ you tried into his chest until the corners of your eyes stung and you had no more tears left to give. You felt Cassian’s chest take a deep breath, in and out, but he didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt. Merely held you how you needed, remained present as you expressed your fears of his absence.
When you had exhausted yourself completely, Cassian lifted you into his arms, cradling you to his chest as the House produced a glass of water. Handing you the glass, Cassian watched you with adoration in his eyes, still rubbing your back as you drank. He took the glass from your hands, setting it aside where it vanished into thin air, drawing your attention back to the male next to you.
“I will never leave you. I used to be reckless, arrogant when I went into these missions. I thought myself a lowborn bastard whose best value was to die serving others.” He paused, brushing your hair behind your ear as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he rested his face against yours.
“But then I met you, and my world changed. I don’t want to live to die, I want to live to be with you. No matter what happens, I am with you. You are my mate, and I will live with and for you in every lifetime. But I will hold onto you in this one until the Mother herself has to pry me away. You give me purpose greater than that which I have known before. My job is dangerous, but I promise to always come back to you. You will never lose me.”
Cassian spoke with such intensity, it brought you back to his vows from your mating ceremony. The fierceness with which this male would protect you and your life together. You nodded, shifting to straddle his hips as you continued to cling to Cassian.
“I trust you. But hold me, stay with me for as long as you can before you go,” you whispered. Cassian leaned down, gently pulling your hair as he guided you to look at him.
Hazel eyes shone with a fierce, relentless love as he promised, “I am here until the last moment.”
#acotar#acotar fanfiction#acotar imagine#acotar x reader#cassian#a court of thorns and roses#acotar fanfic#acotar fic#cassian x reader#cassian acotar#acotar cassian#cassian angst#cassian fanfic#cassian x you#cassian imagine#cassian x reader angst#cassian x y/n#cassian acotar x you#cassian acotar x reader#acotar series#acotar angst#cassian fic#cassian fluff#cassian x reader fluff#acotar fluff#acotar reader fic#acotar reader imagine
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have we met before?
myoui mina x fem!reader ; fluff, angst
synopsis: you and mina are destined to meet in every universe, it’s fate, it’s inevitable—but that doesn’t mean the circumstances are always ideal for the two of you.
warnings: mentions of food
wc: 5.5k
♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬
a/n: based on those silly little drawings on tiktok that also have my heart screaming and crying bc they're so cute but sad for no reason like stop pls you're just a silly little stick man why am i sobbing
“do you think we know each other in every universe?” you ask in a small voice, almost a whisper.
mina turns her head to face you, you’re still looking up at the ceiling, breathing slowly. “what kind of question is that?” mina responds, laughing lowly from the sudden inquiry.
“i don’t know, I saw it online,” you start, turning to meet her gaze—squishing your cheek against the mattress in the process. “something about people meeting in other lives and universes, it was pretty interesting.” you add sleepily.
mina’s arm moves to settle down on your shoulder while you lay on the bed facing each other. you look at her with a tired, warm gaze through weighted eyelids. mina softly drags her knuckles over your skin, it makes you sigh contentedly.
“so what do you think?” you press again.
mina just smiles at you and uses her fingers to push loose, messy hair away from your face. you hum groggily in response and lean into her touch.
“i’d hope so.” mina murmurs, looking at your drowsy state.
she takes a moment to fully take in your presence, then presses a kiss against your forehead.
“me too.” you agree, resting your hand over her knuckles.
in this universe mina has just moved into the city, relishing the beautiful, new environment as she strolls around the area.
there’s a couple to her right across the street. they hold hands and swing them gently while they laugh and gaze at each other lovingly—mina smiles at the sight.
mina spots a small restaurant from her peripheral vision, something about the plants growing around it catches her eye, as well as the simple design and lights in the front. she walks towards it, fixing her loose, gray shirt.
she watches a woman step out the restaurant, and that woman is remarkably appealing. the woman kneels down to pet the calico cat that sits in front of the calatheas plant, the woman’s thumb rubs the top of its head, earning a pleased purr.
the woman fetches a small can of water, quickly tending to the plants by watering them, and inspecting them a bit after.
mina makes her way over and catches the attention of the waitress in the apron—the same woman who had tended to the plants. She turns and smiles immediately at mina, setting the can down and greeting her.
“hi, can i help you?” she asks. the woman’s voice is enchanting, it’s soft and welcoming.
mina nods then eyes the rest of the restaurant, it’s quite cozy.
“yes, do you serve lunch?” mina asks.
“yes ma’am, come on in, i can find a seat for you. it’s not too busy at the moment.” the woman says, urging mina to follow her, “there’s only our regulars here at the moment, many empty seats for a lovely lady like you.” mina’s lips curve upward from the unexpected compliment.
the woman leads her to a little table near the window, a small pot occupies it and it holds a healthy-looking fern in it. the waitress hands the menu over to her with both hands—which mina accepts gracefully.
“i’m y/n,” you start, “i’ll be your waitress. i’ll be back in a couple of minutes, take your time.”
what a wonderful name.
when you return, mina has picked out what she would like to order. you approach the table with your signature grin—one mina finds very captivating, sweet, and cute. she has trouble keeping her eyes off your lips for a moment.
“ready to order miss?”
“yes. may i have a bowl of the glass noodles?” mina asks. you nod and started to write on the small notepad in your hand.
“yes ma’am, anything else?”
“green tea would be great.”
“alright. by the way, the glass noodles come with a side dish, any protein on the menu-“ you point to the protein options on the menu with your pen, “there.”
mina reads through the options: salmon, tuna, mushrooms, tofu, chicken, beef, shrimp, and pork.
“what would you recommend?” mina questions, making you think to yourself for a bit.
“my favorites are the tofu, it’s seasoned very well. you can never go wrong with tuna or salmon either, but those are just my preferences. all the protein choices are wonderful.”
“i’ll take the tofu then.”
“alright. so, japchae with a side of tofu and some green tea for the pretty lady in the corner.” you say as you charmingly smile at mina, “will that be all?”
mina giggles at your boldness, nodding. “do you always flirt with customers?”
“only the pretty ones that catch my eye—you’re the first to do so.” you admit.
“i’m flattered, y/n.” mina responds. you smile brightly from how she uses your name, and because she’s tolerant of your stupid flirting.
You giggle. “your order will be ready in a bit. i’ll make sure to pull at the chefs strings to have it out as quick as possible.” you say, “anything to satisfy the lovely lady.”
mina laughs at your comment then rests her chin on her palm. “thanks waiter.��
you arrive ten minutes later and snap mina out of her daydreaming, she’s been staring at the window and watching the people of the city pass by. she could get quite comfortable knowing that a lovely waiter is within a one-mile radius.
“your japchae and tofu, as well as your tea.” you beam, setting down her hot tea and meal.
mina smiles and the aroma of the food pleases her senses, so does the waiter’s delightful presence. the food smells wonderful, it looks delicious too. you nod at her before scurrying to help out the group of elderly men at the other side of the restaurant, they pat your shoulder and make you giggle. seems like your presence is something that everyone is fond of.
as you swiftly run a hand through your tousled hair, the lines of your face come into sharper focus, accentuating your features. the black apron around your waist becomes slightly taut as you tighten it, giving mina a glimpse of your punctilious nature. you reach for a soft rag and press it firmly against the worn wooden surface. the tendons in your forearm flex with each wipe, they’re quite toned.
mina's gaze lingers on your arm, drawn to the dainty tattoo adorning your wrist. it’s a subtle flower-like design, its colors blending seamlessly with your skin—mina thinks it’s cute.
but it's not just your appearance that intrigues her. there's something intangible about you, an inexplicable familiarity that fogs up her mind. in the short span of thirty minutes, you’ve managed to create a tranquil atmosphere around her with the help of your dorky charm.
it's as if you have a unique ability to make her feel instantly at home, even though she can't recall ever meeting you before. the way you carry yourself so casually, the kindness and warmth that radiate from you, all contribute to this puzzling connection she feels.
you hand mina the check after she finishes up, the price is not bad at all. you grab her bowl, small plate, and tea cup, balancing them effortlessly on one hand.
“can i pay with cash?”
“of course, let me put these dishes in the back. you can pay up at the register since it’s cash.” you respond, departing temporarily.
mina shuffles through her purse and pulls out a few bills, making sure to tip you generously for your wonderful service and lovely charm. she walks over to the register, you’re behind the counter with a strand of hair falling over your face and tapping at the screen.
“your total is fifteen hundred yen.” you say. mina hands you twenty-five hundred, making you raise your brows in surprise.
“i liked your service.” mina shrugs, bashfully avoiding eye contact. she puts her wallet back into her purse, and explains, “i just moved into the city, i’m really glad i ran into someone as sweet as you on my first day.”
you grin and feel a warmth spread across your cheeks, “is that so? i’m glad. i hope you like it here, i’d love for you to visit again. i wouldn’t complain if a beauty like you were a regular.”
mina’s lips turn, it’s hard for her to make eye contact with you. a small laugh leaves your lips as you take the money she had slid across the counter, carefully handling it then placing fifteen hundred yen in the register, and putting a thousand in the tip jar.
you beam at her again, “thank you, have a great day miss.”
“it’s mina.” she corrects politely, “my name is mina.”
“pretty name. fits you.” you respond, ears growing pink. mina laughs and waves at you with a gummy smile—it’s adorable and you want to see it again and again. butterflies flutter in your stomach from the sight of it. the elegant woman with the cute beauty marks walks towards the door, and as you sense this fleeting moment, your eyes search frantically for something that’ll have mina trudging back in the future.
spotting a pen and napkin nearby, you swiftly reach out, snatching them up in your trembling hand and scribbling a string of numbers on it.
mina steps outside and takes in the scenery of the restaurant, it fits the lovely, calm neighborhood that it occupies.
“wait! mina!” a voice calls out. she turns and spots you, rushing out the door and settling yourself in front of her.
you hand her the napkin you scribbled on. “this is my number, i’d love to get to know you more.” you say timidly as mina takes the dainty piece of paper.
“you’re cute.” mina boldly states, laughing softly, “this place isn’t far from my apartment, and the food is good. there might be a new regular here soon.”
“perfect.” you hum.
“thank you for the food, i’ll see you again.”
“see you, mina.”
a tender silence envelops both of you as you exchange a knowing glance, the unspoken connection blooming with a newfound sweetness. something about mina seems oddly familiar, weirdly comforting—you’re not one to flirt so easily, but the words had just spewed out your mouth every time you talked to her.
you wonder: maybe you know her in another universe, you remember hearing about that theory from one of the elderly customers. maybe you’re good friends someplace else—maybe more.
in another universe, a complex web of fate had merged your brother, jun, with mina—a princess from a kingdom that held tensions with your own. their marriage seemed to hold the promise of easing the strained relations between the two kingdoms.
jun, the epitome of the stereotypical prince, perfectly fit into the mold. women swooned over him and he possessed the necessary “princely” skills, he seemed to have it all. however, beneath his "charming” exterior lay a massive ego, pissy attitude, and a small, smooth, and pathetic brain. he carried himself as superior to you, despite his cowardice and controversial morals.
as for yourself, in this royal universe, you were less recognized compared to your stingy brother, but still held a significant position. while you may have lacked certain attributes expected from a princess, it honestly mattered very little since you weren’t in line to inherit the throne (you didn’t like the thought of all that work anyway, so you were relieved.)
a generous freedom was granted to you, which allowed you to develop an intellect that your brother desperately needed, and a great personality compared to the prick of a prince. admittedly, you possessed a prominent physical beauty, attracting numerous suitors, but they often drew back after realizing you weren’t just a stupid, submissive woman who they could boss and fuck around with.
you had first seen mina at the altar while she was getting married to your brother—a fate so cruel it makes you want to object, especially only hearing that she’s a soft-spoken, kind soul—according to your father.
something about her seemed oddly familiar, even as you watched from afar. she turned towards you only once, and you made eye contact in that brief moment. your brows creased when your heart recognized her, yearning for an odd reason. she turned back to face jun and you ignored the sensation in your chest, figuring that the feeling in your heart might’ve been the sorrow you had for this newlywed: princess mina.
you never have dinner at the same time as your brother, so you’ve never had dinner with the new addition to your kingdom. though this changes when jun is sent away for the night (for whatever “princely” reason, you don’t know, and neither do you care.)
you’re seated across from your brother’s wife, and this is the first time you’ve seen her up close and in person. she’s beautiful.
you find yourself captivated by mina's ethereal beauty, unable to tear your eyes away from her radiant presence. every curve and line of her face is a testament to perfection, leaving you marveling in awe.
mina’s features are more than attractive, they’re perfect—no painter could ever capture the full glow of her visuals. her lips look so soft, the way her silky, dark hair effortlessly flows down her shoulders makes you yearn to run your fingers through them, losing yourself in their silky texture. as she gracefully picks up a piece of salmon, the way she chews it delicately, you can't help but be captivated by her composure and grace—damn, you think, she even eats elegantly.
when mina’s eyes meet yours, you shyly look away at the strangely flustering eye contact, feeling nervous for whatever reason.
most women would feel a bit insecure, self-conscious, and maybe even intimidated in your situation. however, all you feel is an unspeakable attraction from your brother’s wife, which has got to be messy.
It gets messier when mina looks at you while you avoid eye contact, and you quickly pretend to be busy by gracefully picking up a piece of salmon and chewing it like a princess should (because mina is right in front of you).
mina observes you, her eyes filled with a deep curiosity while she tries to sneak subtle glances. it's evident that she recognizes the resemblance between you and your brother, but you’re definitely the better-looking sibling. her gaze lingers on the white ribbon holding half your hair up, rendering you even more fascinating in her eyes. stray strands of hair gently frame your face, and as you tuck them behind your ear, her eyes follow the movement with a mixture of awe and allure.
though you and mina have never engaged in conversation, the inscrutable (homosexual) tension between you two is undeniable, as if you were destined to meet.
“is there something on my face?” mina asks, voice soft and wow, even her voice is beautiful. she tilts her head when she catches you stealing a glance.
“oh, no, sorry.” you respond politely, “i just, um, noticed your beauty marks. they’re pretty.”
(you don’t know why you chose to compliment her now and here when you’re alone in this dining room and the tension is prominent—are you trying to embarrass yourself?)
“thank you, y/n was it?” the sound of your name being articulated by that delicate voice of hers is enough to have your cheeks burning.
“yeah, y/n.”
“you’re quite pretty too.”
you smile and poke at your salmon, “thank you.”
two weeks from that dinner, you find yourself meeting with her and spending more time with the lovely princess since her own joke of a husband can’t do so. mina was never fond of jun anyway, he boasted too much, and you were much more pleasing to the eye—and her heart.
you lead mina around the castle, holding her hand and dragging her to the large library in the east wing. you ramble about the books you’ve read, cheeks flushing lightly when you go on a tangent about romance novels. when you stop gushing about books out of fear of boring her, she urges you to go on, giving you that signature grin that makes your heart leap.
a few weeks after that moment in the library, mina finds herself situated in your own bedroom. it’s a large room, fit for a princess like you. the room smells like peaches and is tidy for the most part, though books clutter some spaces and it honestly feeds mina’s growing interest in you.
the ribbon in your hair is worked at with your slim fingers and your locks are let down with a swift motion of the fabric. you run a hand through your hair and lead mina to your bed, grabbing her hand and urging her to sit down next to you.
mina sits down and you hum, softly while you lean against the headboard of the bed.
“are you tired?” mina asks, and you shake your head.
“not really.”
“it’s quite late.”
“perhaps.” you say, turning over to face her. “you know, speaking of sleep. i’ve been having dreams about you.”
mina raises her brows and giggles, “really now?”
you hum, “yeah, it’s a flash of different scenes, different lives.”
“sounds interesting.”
“mhm.” you sigh, looking from the mole on mina’s nose to her lips. “we always end up meeting. do you think we know each other in every life? like, maybe there’s other universes where we’re… maybe we’re best friends in another kingdom, or maybe we’re commoners.”
“that’s a possibility. you read a lot of books, maybe they’re creating that fantasy world up in that brain of yours.” mina teases, subconsciously scooting closer to you.
your gaze stills on her face, you stay silent for a moment and mina grows flustered as you travel across her features with your look. your hand moves over to brush a strand of hair away from her face, and your thumb rubs against her soft, delicate skin—just below her left eye.
“an eyelash was there.” you say, and her cheek grows noticeably warm from the contact of your thumb on her skin.
“i had this one dream, you know…” you start, moving your thumb along her cheek and tracing the side of her face with your pointer. you lean a bit closer, and mina does too, she stares at your plump, soft, peachy lips. “we were really close, like this.” you practically whisper, voice lowering as you mumble.
“yeah?” mina asks, leaning closer. now both of you are staring at each other’s lips, bodies reeling in closer as if there were a string of desire pulling your hearts closer to each other.
mina tilts her head and her eyelids start to shut, you mirror her action and do the same. her cold fingers find your cheek and softly caress your skin, pulling you in closer for a kiss.
her lips are as soft as they look, warm against your own despite the chill of her fingers on your face—though they seem to burn into you the deeper the kiss grows. the locking of lips is dangerous, especially with mina seeing as she’s married to your brother and all. the two of you know everything will have to be behind closed doors, love can be difficult.
mina pulls away with lidded eyes and you whine in response.
“did we do that in your dream?”
“yeah, a few times.”
“déjà vu i guess,” mina murmurs against your lips, “i’ve had the same dreams,” she admits before sliding her hand down to your neck, gently gripping your hair and twirling it around her finger. she kisses you again, your lips recognize the feeling.
in this universe you’re on the way back to the ice rink. you’ve forgotten your bag filled with your shoulder pads and gloves.
you check the locker room and there’s nothing, but you do spot momo’s unlocked locker. knowing the clumsy, forgetful teammate, she had probably rushed out after getting a call from that sana girl she’s been talking to. the swooning lesbian had most likely left the building in a second, you’re using that against her for sure.
“where is it…” you grumble, wandering around the locker room and shuffling through every corner.
a sigh leaves your lips and you head out to the rink, it has to be there if it’s not in the locker rooms; otherwise, you’re completely fucked and your wallet might come to life just to kill you if you don’t find that dumb bag.
you step into the rink area, your face getting hit with the cold air of the room. the issue at hand is completely disregarded when your gaze lands on a figure gracefully gliding across the ice, her presence seemingly ethereal. her movements are an intricate dance on the frozen surface beneath, each glide harmoniously transitioning into the next. you’re captivated to say the least.
her body glides effortlessly, proof of her unquestionable talent. with every spiraling twirl and soaring leap, she effortlessly keeps your attention on her, you’re enamored. her skate blades etch intricate patterns into the ice, similar to the way yours hack at the ice when you speed through players to score a point during your scrimmages.
the woman stops and her eyes meet yours, making you redirect your attention elsewhere, reminding you of the reason why you’re even back here past practice hours.
she skates towards the gate that leads out the rink and you quickly walk away, scanning the seats for your blue bag. it has to be here somewhere; you prayit’s there.
your prayers were answered—a blue bag is spotted on one of the benches with the same shoulder pads you had used earlier, you let out a sigh of relief.
when you make your way back towards the door back to the lobby, you’re face-to-face with the same woman who had been skating—she had been the only other person here besides you at this hour, further emphasizing her devotion to her art.
she examines you carefully. your hair is still disheveled and your nose is also pink from the practice you had earlier. you’re wearing a comfy-looking navy hoodie, as well as matching, baggy sweatpants—though maybe a slightly darker shade. the blue bag is held over your shoulder, sitting along your back while you carry it.
mina swears she recognizes you, the messy hair that falls over your face and that dorky, awkward smile you shoot her is strangely familiar. maybe she’s met you at this rink before, that’s probably the case.
“sorry, did i interrupt you?” you pry, scared to have disrupted her elegant performance.
“no, not at all.” she responds. you look her up and down, eyeing the full black outfit she wears briefly before meeting her soft eyes and appealing features. you pause for a brief moment when you see the two recognizable beauty marks: one above her top lip and the other on her nose.
“have we met before?” you ask, curious as to why there’s a weird understanding from her.
“i don’t know, maybe we have.”
“you seem very familiar, i can’t put my finger on it.” you mumble, brows furrowing lightly.
“i- i thought that too.”
you put out a hand, “i’m y/n.”
mina reciprocates the gesture and puts her hand in yours—a strangely perfect fit, as if her hand has been there before.
“mina.” she says, staring at your hands making contact.
“do you always practice at this rink?” you question, interested as to how you’ve missed someone as eye-catching as her.
mina nods. “i usually practice later or in the early mornings.”
“that’s why i haven’t seen you around.” you hum, “i practice during late afternoons.”
“are you a hockey player?”
“yup.” you respond proudly, shooting a grin that makes the figure skaters own lips turn. you shove your hand in your pocket and find your phone, checking the time. “i’ll leave you to your practice, you skate beautifully by the way.”
mina smiles and you contemplate whether you should pry and find out more of her schedule just from seeing the curve of her pretty lips. “i’ll see you y/n, hope we run into each other again.”
“likewise. have a great night mina.”
“you too.”
you’re a lucky woman, very, very lucky.
you run into the beautiful figure skater two days later, and then two days after that, and somehow you’re running to her after every other practice.
quick conversation and small talk is exchanged between the short periods of time that you see each other, a friendship blossoms quickly.
mina, with her quiet demeanor, has always been reserved, even around her own coach and most people she interacts with. however, something about your presence makes her feel instantly at ease—as if you’ve known each other for years. your charm effortlessly melts her tension away, creating a comfortable atmosphere where she’s no longer limited to her usual three-word responses.
beyond her enchanting beauty on the ice, mina's personality shines in its own unique way. her lovely features are undeniably captivating, but it's the tenderness in her remarks and descriptions of her day that truly warms your heart. each word she utters, spoken in her soft and honeyed voice, forms an urge to know more about mina.
not even a month later, the two of you find yourselves in a small diner sitting across from each other.
your cheek is in your palm while you listen to mina go on about her recent fixations and interests—one being the legos that she had finally bought after eyeing for two months. you find yourself laughing at the way she talks about the plastic building pieces with such passion and excitement, your smile growing wider with each remark from the divine woman in front of you.
mina goes on about her dream of being a professional figure skater, that it’s been her dream since she was a litte girl. she even admits that she’d love to travel to other countries to train and learn more, she’s fond of foreign training programs. the success she craves inspires you, and soon after you exchange your own dreams of being in one of the big league hockey teams. you give mina a little background on yourself, explaining that you lived in canada for half your life, which also happens to be the same place where you started becoming infatuated with hockey. mina nods in awe, listening with intent.
the two of you ramble and laugh and smile and blush—it makes the two of you so amazingly giddy.
the date is cliché, something out of a movie: dinner with a beautiful woman, paying for her meal, and then driving her home—before she leaves, you kiss her cheek—she blushes and kisses you on the lips, leaving you in the car with a flushed face and a dangerously quick heart rate.
most of your relationships in the past—if not all, have been quite rocky after a couple of months, but that’s not the case with mina.
there’s a simple understanding between you two, as if you already know each other’s likes and dislikes by heart. you’re accustomed to mina’s mood swings and troubles, always being there if she needed a shoulder to lean on. there was a silent understanding, and mina was glad that she had you. mina is understanding when you explain your past and the difficulties of pursuing a hockey career, and once you’re done shedding a few tears you exchange your first “i love you’s.”
it's safe to say that being with mina has been the best time of your life, not even a year has passed by and she’s had you swooning more than momo had been when she first got with sana. you’re hooked, you’re in love.
there’s nothing that could break you and mina up, not with the wonderful communication and understanding of boundaries. you two were perfect for each other, there was no way anything could hinder the relationship.
“can we talk?” you and mina say together, surprised that you said it at the same time with the same uneasy tone.
“you go first.” you urge, mina shakes her head.
“no, you go.” she responds. you laugh to calm your nerves, to ease your worries, to stop the tears that start to well in your eyes, it works temporarily—but mina can sense the tension in the air, and it’s frightening.
you inhale, then exhale slowly.
“i was scouted, they want me in one of the best training facilities and teams in canada.” you croak out, a lump forming in your throat after you speak. mina purses her lip and you can tell she tries to stop herself from crying, closing her eyes and turning her head downwards.
“y/n,” she says, voice shaky, “they… they want me training in korea.”
you blink and tears spill, rolling down your face.
“i think you should take it, mina.” you say heartbreakingly, “you’re very talented, i know it would get you far. it’s your dream, i know how much you liked the training over in korea.”
“i think you should take,“ mina cuts herself off with a sniffle, “you should go to canada.”
the two of you aren’t lying, wanting the others to achieve their own dream, but the inevitable product is the two of you parting. that’s the last thing you want.
if you had known that you would’ve met mina earlier, she would’ve been your dream, you’d give up everything for her and mina would do the same for you. however, these offers are something that the two of you have been longing for, and even if your hearts may shatter by taking up these opportunities, the two of you know it has to be your choices.
you pull mina into your arms, a bittersweet embrace. her tears stain your t-shirt, yours seem to stain hers as well.
“i’m sorry.” mina cries.
“don’t,” you sob, “it’s okay, we’ll be okay.” you add, though you’re unsure yourself.
the distance is impossible, and it’s already difficult to spend more than three hours a day with each other now, so thinking of how it would be while you’re thousands of kilometers apart has you holding onto mina tighter, knowing that you’ll have to let her go.
your flight leaves in less than two hours, and you still have to go through baggage as well as security.
a tear slips down your cheek as you hold onto mina, you don’t want to let go, you can’t, but you have to.
you two had a long talk filled with tears and runny noses about how this would go down, and you decided to spend the last few days together, savoring and cherishing the last moments of each other’s presence. sure, the two of you could see each other now and then, but it would be too hard to keep a long-distance relationship going when your schedules are full and your bodies are tired. the time difference doesn’t help either. it just won’t work out, no matter what obstacle you tried to work around, it was evident that this wasn’t going to cut it with the new circumstances.
so you two decided to do what was necessary: break up.
mina pulls away with tears spilling down her face, she’s wearing the sweater you gifted her on her birthday. it makes you sniffle.
“i’m going to miss you.” you say in between tears, “too much.”
“me too.” she says. her nose is red, eyes pink, and her bottom lip quivers.
“i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, i wish we could-“
“y/n, i love you. i want you to achieve this dream.” mina cuts you off, “i’m willing to let you go for it to happen.”
“i’ll love you forever.” you cry, “whatever happens, there’s always a space in my heart for you. when you make it to the big screen, i’ll cheer for you. promise”
mina closes her eyes and wipes her tears, “and I’ll do the same. god, y/n… i love you so much.”
“don’t say that, please my nose is getting stuffy,” you say, trying to lighten the mood. your voice cracks, it’s shaky. “i promise in another universe or something like that, everything will work out, and we won’t have distance keeping us apart. in every life i swear mina, i swear i’ll find you, we’ll meet and we don’t have to part like this and- fuck, god i can’t do this.”
mina laughs, it’s not out of amusement. she’s going to miss your dorky little rambling. “you’ve been watching too many marvel movies.”
“stop that,” you sigh, smiling in between tears. “but I swear, I will.”
“is that a promise?”
“yes mina, yes.”
mina smiles again before tip-toeing to kiss you, you get the faint taste of her salty tears. the kiss is quite long, both of you not wanting to pull away, not wanting to part.
your hand lingers on mina’s cheek, it’s soft on her skin, she melts into your touch one last time.
“i love you always.” mina says, using her own thumb to wipe away your damp, pink cheek.
“me too.” you rasp, “always and forever.”
#twice x reader#kpop x reader#twice imagines#twice mina#kpop fluff#twice angst#myoui mina#myoui mina x reader#mina x reader#mina imagines
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