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anystalker707 · 1 year

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Him with an s/o who works out (Zoro / Sanji / Ace)

Pairings: Roronoa Zoro x [gender neutral] Reader Vinsmoke Sanji x [gender neutral] Reader Portgas D. Ace x [gender neutral] Reader Summary: Headcanons for how he acts about you working out cuz you wanna be strong too !! Tags: Zoro is a cool gym bro / Squeezing Zoro's tit / Sanji is a simp ! / Sanji knows nothing but he's excited / Ace is lazy af / Take care of Ace / Really tiny bits of suggestive content, nothing clear or relevant

A/N: as a gym rat, i couldn't help but write this

MASTERLIST

࿐ Roronoa Zoro

• Working out with Zoro goes two ways, basically with it shifting between who's going to lead the session since you two like to train together, but not always have the same routine—it can be both entertaining or torturing

• With Zoro, he’ll focus more on training his upper body despite not neglecting leg day (thankfully), so expect calloused hands plus barely being able to use your arms right after you finish working out—Zoro uses it as an excuse for not fucking showering, but you’re not letting that happen, not under your watch

• Being weak from tiredness also has Sanji offering to feed you since you can’t overload yourself, but he will stop as soon as Zoro says he either leaves or feeds him as well, so Sanji doesn’t risk

• Probably a lot of mobility exercises as well, and it has both of you quietly counting in unison as you stretch/practice in sync, which once had Chopper hypnotized in the corner as he watched the two of you count together to ten before changing positions and repeating it

• He will always be adding more weight because he knows you can handle it and, in the back of his mind, he doesn’t want to feel guilty if something happens to you because he couldn’t help you become strong enough. So, even if he’s really careful about you, he’ll always be sneaking on an extra plate if you don’t pay attention

• “Zoro, I saw what you did...” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Zoro...” “You’re going crazy.”

• Very good spotter. Has fast reflexes, hence if the bar threatens to slip during benching, he’ll hold it straight away, but not without complaining about you being more careful (you’ll either start bickering or you’ll send him a glare that’ll make him shut up immediately

• Will want you to sit on his back so he can do push ups, and it’s amazing how he does it as if you weren’t there. Simple thing, but very bonding, honestly

“I’m not gonna handle it! Not yet!” You furrowed your eyebrows, watching upside down-Zoro raise an eyebrow at you as he held some plates in hand that, by your math, would result in more weight added to the bar than you’d asked for.

“Yes, you are!” Zoro nodded with a hum. “Your performance is perfect already and you can go up to 12 reps, that means you’re ready for more weight.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “That’s not— Just... no.”

Zoro rolled his eyes with a sigh and stepped back. “Okay, fine, fine.”

Shaking your head, you pretended not to notice the soft clinking of the plates that he did add to the bar. Yes, he was right, but you felt like waiting a little longer until you could actually progress, but it wouldn’t hurt to try, even more with him spotting. The new weight was evident when you raised the bar off the rack after a couple of minutes determining whether your hands were in symmetric positions or not, and he carefully let you hold it by yourself. Nonetheless, you could manage to finish 8 reps

“Atta (girl/boy)!” He grinned while helping you rerack the bar. You shot him a look, which he of course pretended not to notice.

The second series wasn’t as fine since your muscles were already complaining by the end. Maybe it still left you enough energy for one more. Or not. By the middle of the third series, the weight had your muscles locked for a couple of seconds before you pushed the bar, and Zoro’s hands immediately showed up besides yours, only hovering over the metal.

“C’mon, only four to go! Four, three...”

A hiss escaped your lips at how your muscles threatened to give up, though only losing balance considerably because Zoro’s desperation startled you and dispersed your focus. “Zoro!” You groaned, lifting the bar to rerack it so you could sit up and glare at him. “I already told you I’m not dropping the bar just because I took a little longer to lift it!”

“Better safe than sorry, dumbass!” He clicked his tongue, crossing his arms—stubborn asshole.

“‘Wouldn’t be so difficult if someone hadn’t racked some extra pounds.” Your eyes narrowed at him, able to catch on how he widened his eyes and tensed his shoulders despite trying to hide it. “I’m going to add 100 extra pounds to your leg press tomorrow and we’re doing ten extra minutes of cardio!” His mouth opened and closed a couple of times as he tried to argue, only to fall silent with a big pout at the way you looked at him, despite still scowling.

• As much as you may not like it as well, you usually have cardio days when you’re the responsible one for the day

• “We don’t need cardio. It won’t make you stronger.” “You literally need it a lot, Zoro. We are always running around. Remember back in Skypiea when Enel—” “...Okay, okay, I understand.”

• You’ll be just as rigorous with him when it comes to spotting or checking his performance

• A few squeezes on his ass can help him when he’s struggling a little too much with his squats, even if he complains a little and insists that his face is red because of working out and not because you’re groping him

• “...(Y/n).” “Mind to muscle connection is important, I’m touching the muscle to show you what you’re working.” “You’re straight up just groping my tit.” “Shut the fuck up?? I’m just doing my job??”

• He does like it tho—he’ll feel like something is missing and complain that you aren’t paying proper attention to him when you’re not following every movement of his and touching him the whole time

• Bonus for slapping his ass in the “good job, bro” way in the end of the sessions

• “My quads hurt.” “Mine don’t.” “You didn’t train hard enough, that’s why.” "Shut up, Marimo!”

• “My ass hurts, but not in the way I want it to.” “...I can... um, change that?” Zoro says matter-of-factly.

• Careful with what your sparring sessions can turn into. It can be either very good or very bad.

• Also, challenges as in “can you bench/deadlift/pushup each other?” and sometimes he’ll carry you by having you sit on his shoulder and— fuck, what a man, really

“Last one, Zoro! Go low!” You cheered once he took a pause a few seconds longer than usual, extra carefully following his squat while you stood right behind him with your hands hovering under the bar, right next to his hands. “C’mon, strong boy!” He went down, but wouldn’t come up; grumbling escaped through his gritted teeth, something among the lines of ‘if it were so easy...’, but you didn’t even bother catching on to all of it. “I said c’mon!” Your hands met his ass with strength enough to have him standing up real fast.

“(Y/n)!” Zoro shouted, messily dropping the bar as fast as he could to turn back and glare at you; it wasn’t that effective, not like he wished, with that red flustered face.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

࿐ Vinsmoke Sanji

• Waking up early in the morning along with Sanji so you can work out !! He’ll be happy to prepare you a breakfast that’ll give you all the energy you need to start your day the right way

• Can and will come to watch you train at the crow’s nest if he has time, just the biggest simp that’ll have nosebleeds every five seconds and observe you as if you were some sort of deity

• At first complained on ‘why do you have to train with stupid Marimo’, but got pretty pleased when he saw you are able to kick Zoro’s ass during a sparring match, so from now on he is all giddy and proud of it, no matter what you say

• Will prepare your meals to make sure they have all the protein you need and remind you to eat before and after working out <3 taking care of the love of his life gives him so much serotonin

• Something. There’s something about watching you lift weights that has Sanji all flustered and melting and simping real hard. Knowing his s/o is strong—strong enough to carry him, even—has him all mushy and soft. Sometimes he’ll be lying down on the ground for a little too long so you can lift him and he can act like he’s the best person in the world for having you carrying him like that

• Also when you throw him over your shoulder. He’ll scream

• He’d also be very proud his s/o is able to defend themself <3 you can give him a punch in the face anytime and he’d just thank you. kick him, too. please. you wouldn’t have the courage to, tho. maybe just slap his ass sometimes to keep him humble and happy because he needs it

• Don’t. Don’t ask him to spot you or check your performance.

• “Was my performance okay?” “Uhhh, yeah....” (Sanji just stared at your ass or your chest the whole time </3 better ask Zoro next time

• If you wanna break him, ask him to feel the muscle you’re working during chest or thigh series

• Do ask him to help you stretch, by the way. Sanji will be very happy to push your back so you can touch your feet. Not to mention that he will join you on stretching sometimes !! Also will train with you on leg day now and then

• After arm day, though, when your arms are too weak to even take a proper shower, count on him for help. Will do everything he is able to in order to help you. Sometimes he will let you struggle if you complain too much then come back with the worst cynical expression you’ve ever seen. Little fucker

• If you have long hair, he will come back to find you with messy hair after a shower. First time it happened, he asked what happened and put himself into helping as soon as you explained your arms felt way too tired to brush your hair—he’ll do it himself, all happy to be taking care of his s/o

• When you’re in good form, do pamper him by helping him lift the big boxes of food for the ship’s storage, though. You’re strong, yes, and he may not want you to waste your energy with stuff he can do, but that doesn’t mean he won’t be swooning or following you with heart eyes and clasped hands if he sees you helping him around like this

• Lots of compliments in general <3

• “You’re doing so great, l’amour de ma vie! Simply perfect! You look just like a powerful deity!”

• Expect massages at night if you’re hurting

“Hey, Sanji, pretty boy,” you breathed as you poked your head into the kitchen, still with sweat coating your skin despite the towel around your neck. “Are you free?”

“I’m always free for you, mon amour!” He crossed his arms with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes a little—you knew he would be answering ‘in a second, mon amour!’ instead if he were otherwise busy, no way he’d let any little bit of food go to waste. “Okay, well, can you come up to the crow’s nest real quick? Zoro is using all the weights again.” Sometimes it wasn’t true, you just liked having him there while you trained. Sanji would complain about it, cursing ‘stupid Marimo’, but he was actually happy it granted him more time with you.

Back in the crow’s nest with Sanji, you went over to where you left your water and other stuff, where you wouldn’t bother Zoro, and cleaned the sweat away as best as you could before lowering to the ground. You did a few experimental push ups then glanced back at Sanji; he sat on your back with crossed legs. In the first times, he would shift around a little until he found a comfortable position, something that didn’t even happen anymore.

Of course Sanji had one of his silly little recipe books with him, busying himself with reading it while you used him as the perfect weight for your push ups. He would be muttering under his breath as he read, sometimes in French, and you couldn’t make out every word under the sound of you and Zoro counting out of sync, but you still loved hearing it. Sometimes, someone would go up to the crows nest looking for any of you three, and Sanji would always make sure to be noticed.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

࿐ Portgas D. Ace

• Either works out with you religiously or is very lazy to do it. Like, will drag you or be the one being dragged, also won’t care about a lot about following a diet and lets you plan your workout

• If Ace isn’t working out with you, he’ll be there to keep company and cheer for you, wipe the sweat away from your forehead or grab you some more water. Very sweet, he loves seeing you taking care of yourself and growing stronger, be sure he is very proud <3

• Ace certainly needs your help most of the time because his performance would probably not be the best, so he’d often hear “straighten your back,” “go slower,” “are you even counting?” “what fucking exercise is that, where did you learn that shit? I don’t want you injured!”

• Probably will do it wrong on purpose sometimes because he likes the attention. Just a silly little boy who likes having you holding his arms while you guide him through the sitting shoulder press. Literally the meme ‘kicking my feet in the air because they wished me a good day at the gym <3’

• He is flexible. Just by the way he crouches down, you can notice he has a lot of mobility, which sometimes leaves you jealous of how well and deep he can squat with a heavy bar on his back for someone who cares so little about it—Ace works out mostly so he will not fall out of shape because he mainly gets stronger from his offensive close-range combat. Either way, he is not entirely flexible, but will complain a lot about stretching

• Actually doesn’t need to train cardio, and you know better than to insist

• Sometimes, Ace is too anxious and shifty, so you’ll just ask him to come train with you because it always manages to knock him off right away when you’re finished, also helping him release the stress

• You’re the one taking care of him after you two workout because he’ll probably just pass out, sleep at the same moment he finishes the last exercise or even at the moment your eyes drive away from him

• “Ace, you still got two series of benching. ...Ace? Are you even awake?”

• Sometimes he’ll be like “I’ll work out everyday this week with you, don’t worry,” then actually do it only ONE single day and never again that week. He’ll show up in the middle of your workout sessions eating something, and immediately pause when you notice his presence, starting to walk backwards quietly—even Marco tried to convince him to get more compromised with it at least to keep you company, but just give up. Some weeks, it’s easier to find Ace passed out, snoring with his face in a plate of food rather than at least lifting a dumbbell

“Six... Seven...” You huff out each number whenever your body comes up just to go down again for another pushup; the edges of a heavy plate dig into your back to make your exercise count for something.

While still muttering the numbers, you hear footsteps approaching. It’s Ace, of course. He’s about to come closer with a sandwich stuffed half into his mouth, walking as if he didn’t make promises he wouldn’t keep. At the moment his eyes meet yours, he stops and his mood falls, sweat-dropping whilst he starts to walk backwards without the cheerfulness he had when approaching.

Later, Ace sits beside you when you’re sitting in the kitchen, waiting for your snack after having just taken a shower. “I’m sorry, my love!” He whines with a hug, pouting dramatically.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, sure,” you tease because it’s so fucking funny when he’s overreacting over minimal irrelevant things like this.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

#one piece #roronoa zoro #sanji vinsmoke #portgas d ace #portgaz d ace #x reader #x male reader #x female reader #gender neutral #imagine #oneshot #one piece x reader #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #ace x reader #fan fic #fan fiction

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writertitan · 3 years

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One Day

pairing: levi x reader

word count: 4414

themes: light angst, heavilymedicated!levi, hurt/comfort, vulnerable!levi, role reversal where it’s levi’s turn to have someone dote on him

requested by anon

(a/n: i hope it’s okay that i pulled two requests together! they just mesh so well together and they came together like this!)

He’s fine, he is fine.

The same words drift in and out of your head, day in and day out, as you wait for Levi and his squad to come back from their expedition. He was always fine, always, so this one can’t be any different from the rest. It doesn’t make sense that you’re worrying about this one so much. Just because you can’t be there.

You think back to the morning of his expedition, a quick breakfast, an even quicker goodbye, and then he was off with his squad. You still weren’t cleared to get back to your regular duties due to a very unfortunate injury during what should have been a basic training exercise. Just a concussion, and a minor stab wound, but apparently your medic didn’t agree with your assessment of feeling okay to join Levi on his expedition. A real pity that it had happened right before Levi’s expedition. Levi’s expedition and yours. You’re supposed to be out there with him and your comrades.

But he’s fine. He’s fine.

It’s twilight now and your body is jumpy and unable to stand still, because Levi was supposed to be back by dusk. The pale light of impending night isn’t as comforting as usual. You’re staring out the window of your shared quarters, trying to calm yourself by focusing on the dark silhouettes of the still-bare trees against the pale blue evening light. Your candle’s flame flickers and the reflection against the window is a warm and stark contrast to how cold the fastly approaching night looks.

You don’t even notice you’ve been tapping your fingers against the windowsill until a knock comes at your door and makes you completely freeze.

It’s not Levi, because he wouldn’t knock. This is where he lives too. So, the disappointment is already heavy on your chest as you slowly turn away from the window and walk to the door, steps heavy and slow, and you’re surprised to see Erwin on the other side.

And then the surprise knots into panic, so quick that it leaves you a little breathless and dizzy.

“Commander,” you manage to breathe out, heart fluttering and raging in your chest. There can only be one reason the commander himself came to you and didn’t send a fellow soldier.

Something happened.

Something happened to your comrades.

Something happened to -

“Levi’s squad just returned,” he informs you, eyes completely unreadable. That has to be on purpose.

Your legs feel unstable. They’re turning into jelly and you have to hold the door frame in an effort to make sure you won’t collapse. It feels like all the blood has left your head and is pooling at your feet.

“What happened?” you manage to ask.

Erwin finally shows emotion. His entire face is grim. His eyes are dark as he stares down at you, jaw set as he finally says the words.

“There were a lot of injuries, a lot of casualties-”

The door frame can’t hold you up anymore. It feels like everything is in slow motion as you wobble and start sinking down to your knees, but Erwin catches you, his strong arms like metal against your jelly frame.

“Levi,” is all you can manage to say while Erwin helps you into the closest chair available, his eyes still dark, but softer now.

“He’s going to be okay,” he starts, “but he was injured earlier today. A hoard of abnormal titans got in their way while they were trekking back.”

“Can I see him?” you ask, voice desperate. Your eyes are filling with tears and Erwin is blurry, but you can see him nod gently.

It doesn’t matter that your commander is watching you fall apart.

He’s not fine.

The new, unfamiliar, strange sentence is blaring like a horn in your mind.

He’s not fine, but he’s not dead.

He’s not dead.

There’s little comfort in those new words, but it’s enough to stop yourself from falling apart completely. You’re trying so hard not to burst into sobs, but there are still tears streaming down your face, and your throat is closed up so it helps you keep quiet. But your breath is still stuttering in your lungs and in your throat. Commander Erwin rests a hand on your knee.

“Take your time,” he assures you. “I’ll take you to him when you’re ready.”

Every cell in your body is aching to go to Levi, but you know you need to take this minute to yourself to get it together. For Levi.

You count to 60 in your head and then nod to Erwin, wiping the last of your tears with the backs of your hands.

“Where is he?”

-----

It’s hard seeing Levi in the medic’s ward. You hate it here for plenty of reasons. It smells strongly of sickness and blood, though they try their best to keep it sanitary. Each face inside is somber. But the reason you hate it most of all right now is because Levi is laying on his uncomfortable cot and gritting his teeth against the sheer pain of getting sewn back together. One arm is in a sling and, through his torn shirt, you can see dark bruises blooming over his skin. The urge to cry is strong and stinging at your eyes, but you keep it all at bay.

Levi hasn’t noticed you yet. How could he, when he’s in so much pain?

You stand timidly at the door and ponder whether or not to wait until his physician is done or mostly done, but when Levi hisses at a particularly brutal stitch, you go rushing to his side and let your hands flutter indecisively over his body until you settle for holding the hand that’s not currently in a sling.

Levi’s eyes flutter open in surprise, face momentarily absent of pain when his gaze lands on you, and he whispers your name softly before a new surge of pain overtakes him.

“It’s going to be okay,” you whisper in his ear, and the certainty in your voice helps the two of you.

While the physician works on Levi’s sutures, you let your lover squeeze your hand as you brush his hair back, your nose brushing against your temple as you whisper sweet nothings to him to distract him. Maybe it’s working, maybe it’s not, but Levi’s head is turned towards you, and he’s leaning into the little wisps of kisses you’re giving his forehead, and he’s not screaming in agony, so you feel okay with letting this doctor see so much intimacy.

“You’re going to be in some pain for a while,” the physician speaks up as he finishes the stitches on Levi’s abdomen. His eyes don’t meet yours or Levi’s as he speaks, voice clipped and professional as he continues. “That branch we pulled out of your side right here left quite a deep laceration. These stitches will take longer to heal as opposed to your others for the shallower cuts. I’ll come pay a visit to check on your arm tomorrow. I’m glad we were able to set it in time.”

He goes to retrieve a small bottle, gaze finally meeting yours as he hands you the bottle. You check the label, a small wave of relief coursing through you as you realize what it is. The physician seems aware of your realization, but speaks up anyway with instructions.

“That’s for the pain. Two drops in his tea every morning, afternoon, and evening should help. Captain Levi is the tea fan, correct?”

You nod, and then find your voice.

“Yes, he’s the tea drinker around here.”

Levi barely seems coherent but he’s trying his best to be.

“I’m right here,” he slurs out, but his eyes are glassy and his brows are furrowed in pain. He can’t quite concentrate on anything that’s going on.

The physician addresses him properly, a hand gently laying on Levi’s shoulder.

“You can stay here, of course, but I’m fine with you going back to your quarters to rest and heal. I’ve found that it speeds up the healing process when one is home,” he says, and his eyes flicker to you momentarily before turning away.

Levi tugs you a little closer and you lean in, a hand caressing his cheek as he opens his mouth, clearly wanting to say something. The idea of being able to get out of here has made him a little more lucid, but his eyes are still closed.

“Get me...the hell out of here,” he croaks out in a faint voice, and you don’t need to be told twice.

You’re about to ask the doctor to fetch some help in getting Levi back to your quarters, but Levi’s already groaning and sitting up, his uninjured arm holding his stitched up torso.

“Whoa!” you gasp, hands trying to still him, but Levi’s still stronger than you even when he’s messed up like this. “Levi, don’t move too much....”

“I’m fine,” he grunts out, but it’s clear that he’s not when his legs give out and you have to scramble to catch him. His sturdy frame knocks the wind out of you a little bit, but you manage to keep him upright.

One look into Levi’s eyes and you can see that he’s determined to make it there without much help, save for you. So, you make the decision to go along with it despite the physician’s slightly disapproving gaze, and shift yours and Levi’s stances so that his good arm is slung around your shoulders and he’s able to lean into you more heavily.

“Scouts,” you hear the physician mutter as you guide Levi out.

It’s a relief to you when it dawns on you that Levi’s allowing most of his weight to settle on you, his feet shuffling slowly as you guide him back to your shared room. What keeps you going is the steady breaths that leave him, and his steady heartbeat that you faintly feel against your ribcage.

He’ll be fine.

-----

The fact that Levi’s fresh stitches didn’t rip is a miracle in itself, and you don’t push your luck. He’s in your shared bed as quick as you can get him there, and you immediately order him not to move.

After you get him into clean clothes to sleep in, you become less bossy and lean down to smile at him, tears once again fighting to push onto your lash line. You win out against them, swallowing back your panic and sadness and relief so that you can smile down at Levi gently and help him get comfortable in bed.

“I’m gonna make you some tea now,” you whisper to him, gentle as you rearrange the pillows around him. “I’ll be back soon.”

Levi is quiet but he nods, not able to meet your eyes, and you have a sneaking suspicion as to why, but you don’t bring it up now. Instead, you swipe the medicine bottle and stuff it into your pocket, heading for the door, but the call of your name stops you.

“I don’t want that shit in my tea,” he protests, and now instead of fighting tears, you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

“You’re in pain, Levi, don’t be stubborn,” you reply over your shoulder. “You won’t even taste it in your tea. I’ll make sure of it.”

Another miracle that happens is Levi actually relenting to something. Usually, he puts up more of a fight. This is just a testament to how much pain he’s in, and it makes your heart ache.

As you wander off to the kitchen and begin a pot of tea, you finally let yourself release a few whirlwind emotions. You promised yourself you wouldn’t let Levi see you cry and so far you’ve done a good job. But now, in solitude, you let those tears escape, you let a sorry little whimper reverberate through your throat - you let yourself feel the sorrow and the relief and the crippling fear that have been pumping through you ever since Erwin came knocking at your door.

Even Captain Levi Ackerman gets hurt. You have to remind yourself of that. But that’s not what makes you sad. He’s not Captain Levi for you anymore. He’s just Levi. He’s the greatest love you’ve ever had, the love of your life, and he’s in so much pain and he’s battered up and you weren’t there to help him.

Then the guilt crashes into you, more domineering than all those other previous emotions, and it makes you tremble as you prepare Levi’s tea just the way he likes it, plus a couple of drops of something else that will help take some of his pain away.

You’re back in your room only minutes later, and Levi is right where you left him, only now his eyes are up at the ceiling and he looks absolutely spent and haunted. You can only imagine what he saw out there, what he lost out there.

“Here you go,” you murmur, setting down the tray so you can help him sit up slowly so as to not agitate all his sutures. He still winces in pain and you wince just at the sight of that, but quickly recover so you can set the tray next to his lap.

Levi lifts the teacup to his lips with his good hand and takes a sip, the smallest sigh leaving him, and you feel yourself relaxing when his face melts from troubled to semi-calm.

There are so many things you want to say to him, so many things you want to ask, but you know it’s best to just swallow it all down for now and focus on one thing: getting Levi better.

And though Levi looks slightly calmer than before, he’s still tense, rigid against your soft palm as you rest it against his shoulder. You slide your palm up to cup his neck, massage the back of it lightly, and then sigh as you lean in to peck his shoulder through his shirt. Levi leans into your touch, like he did when the physician was stitching him up, and it makes your heart swell.

As he finishes his tea, you can noticeably see the effects of his medication kicking in. Levi gradually loosens up and his eyes droop. Maybe, for once, he can actually get a decent night of sleep.

You take his cup from him and set it back on the tray, and then set that aside so you can crawl into your side of the bed. Though you’re dying to crush him to your side and feel him next to you, you know you should be careful and opt for placing your hand on his chest, directly above his heart. It’s beating as steadily as ever. It’s telling you that he’s alive and right here. He’s safe. And he’ll be okay.

Levi is drowsier, and he’s lying back down. His eyes are closed but you know he’s still awake.

“Get some sleep,” you whisper in his ear, your hand reluctantly moving from his chest to his mussed hair. You comb it back from his forehead, feeling his temperature with the back of your hand while you’re at it, and then nudge your nose to his cheek affectionately. “Let me take care of you.”

You know the ask is big. Levi isn’t used to being taken care of; it makes him uncomfortable. He doesn’t know how to handle the attention on him. Even now, being with him as long as you have, he still tenses up and doesn’t know how to react when you try to care for him.

That being said, he doesn’t not want it. Especially with the medication coursing through him, it’s almost as if you’re seeing a whole new side to Levi. Right now, teetering on the edge of consciousness and dreams, he looks so frail and innocent.

When Levi’s breathing slows to signal that he’s sleeping, and when his face relaxes into a more peaceful expression, he looks so much younger. You watch him instead of getting any rest yourself, just like Levi has done to you countless times before. You should be sleeping, because of your own head injury from training, but you don’t. It’s not as important as making Levi feel safe.

-----

Admittedly, you do drift off as the night drags on. You’re constantly fluttering between a dream and reality, the only constant between the two being Levi.

Levi, fortunately (and surprisingly), has been sleeping and hasn’t really moved an inch. The bags under his eyes appear less noticeable, though you’re thinking that that’s just your imagination. But it makes you feel good to know that he’s finally resting.

When he starts breaking out into a sweat, your body jerks back to being fully awake, and you sit up to inspect him. His brows are slightly furrowed and there’s the faintest frown on his face, and you immediately worry.

As quietly as you can, you slip off the bed and go to fetch a small bowl of cool water and a rag. It doesn’t take you any more than a couple of minutes, but when you return, you’re met with a borderline panicked Levi, who is now sitting up and looking around the room frantically. You’ve never seen him in such a state. When he sees you return, he relaxes a little, but his eyes are still a little wild.

“What happened?” you ask as you move to sit by the bed next to him, but you don’t get any other words out before Levi has you in his arms in a strong hug. You’re afraid that this is hurting him, so you try to be gentle, but it only makes Levi hug you harder. “Levi, what’s wrong? Be careful not to hurt yourself like this…”

“Had a bad dream. Thought you were…” He doesn’t need to say anything else. You know what he’s trying to convey. Levi has dreams like this often, and though he’s still getting used to showing more emotion, more affection, he always pulls you a little closer when those dreams hit him.

“Lie back down,” you murmur in his ear, but he’s having none of it.

This is a different Levi.

Not different in a bad way. Just… different. He’s never held you this way before, he’s never ached so much for your touch. Though part of you is thrilled and a little moved, the other part of you is hurting, because you know that he must have gone through something awful to get like this.

It’s not until you look into his eyes that you realize it’s probably also the medication in full force, especially since he’s awake and not sleeping it off.

He’s your Levi but he’s also another version of your Levi that you haven’t uncovered yet.

“Had a dream you’d gone out there with me,” he admits, eyes glossy as you help him lie back down. His gaze never leaves you and, even though he’s clearly out of it, his gaze is intense. “I’m so glad you didn’t go.”

It was the exact opposite of what you’d been thinking this entire time. You’d wished and wished to have been there, to have protected him, but you know deep down that he would have been protecting you. And you probably would have died.

Now, more than ever, you feel so protective over Levi. He is, of course, the strongest person anyone knows. You know how much it weighs on him. It’s been your mission since day one of your relationship to try and give back a fraction of what he gives you.

“I’m right here, always,” you promise him quietly, wetting the rag and twisting some excess water out before dabbing it across his forehead. Your free hand finds his, the one not in a sling, and you swallow thickly when his fingers intertwine with yours. He’s still looking at you, but you make a point to watch what you’re doing. You’re afraid that you’ll crumble if you meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a minute of silence.

Your eyes widen as you finally find his gaze, which is still on you, and his grip on your hands tightens imperceptibly.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” you remind him, but Levi shakes his head.

“I worried you, I know I did,” he starts, “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

At that, you soften and set the rag down on the bedside table, cupping his cheek affectionately as you stare at each other. He doesn’t seem to mind that your hand is still slightly damp, and you don’t care either.

“Let me take care of you,” is all you tell him, a repeat of your request from earlier. And again, Levi doesn’t protest like he normally would.

You press the most gentle kiss to his lips, which he immediately deepens by letting go of your hand to cup the back of your neck. He doesn’t pull away until you’re both breathless.

“Stop treating me like I’m made of glass,” he says against your lips, which is fair. You’ve been extra careful, extra gentle, and Levi definitely doesn’t like that.

“I’m sorry.” Now it’s your turn to apologize, and Levi shakes his head softly, refusing to hear it.

“Nothing to apologize for,” he assures you, before pulling you into another kiss. This time, you’re not as careful, and let yourself get lost in it before breaking away again.

It’s what helps you relax and finally loosen up the tension radiating through your body since finding Levi in the medic ward. It feels like you’re finally able to sigh out all the weight that’s been on your shoulders.

“Hey.” He grabs your attention again and you focus on Levi again, your hand moving from his cheek to grab at the one at your neck.

“What?”

“...You know that I love you, right?”

He looks so embarrassed suddenly, and you don’t miss the flush of color at his cheeks. It makes you finally smile, just a small one, and you give him a nod.

“Of course. And I love you, and you know that, I’m sure,” you respond.

“I know that,” he confirms.

It’s quiet again and you’re about to reach for the rag again, but then Levi’s hand squeezes yours and he pulls it up and presses a kiss to the back of it. His eyes close momentarily, and you relish in the feeling of his warm lips on your skin.

“One day,” he murmurs against your skin, sighing a little. You tilt your head in confusion.

“One day what?”

Levi’s eyes are open again, the silvery hues boring into you once more as he rests your hand on his chest so you can feel his heart again.

“One day, I’ll get to marry you.”

He doesn’t blush as much this time, but he clears his throat uncomfortably, as if you’ll recoil away, but all his words do is make you lean in, surprised, as you search his face for a hint of a lie or a joke.

Neither of you have ever mentioned a future together, frankly because it seems almost impossible right now.

And then you’re smiling warmly, a soft curve of one that’s not too big or wide, but just loving enough to make Levi relax.

“Oh yeah?” you prod, hunching over to press your ear to his chest, close to where your hand is. His heart is beating faster. “I like the sound of that.” You’re referring to both his words and his heartbeat, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I want all of this to be over,” Levi says into your hair, nose nuzzled into your scalp. “I want to give you everything I can. We deserve to be happy.”

It’s easier for him to say what’s on his mind when you’re not making eye contact, you realize. So you stay as you are, head on his chest, even though it’s slightly uncomfortable. You don’t know when you’ll hear this again. You don’t know if Levi will show this side of himself again, without the help of his apparently potent medicine.

“We could have a house,” you say, so quiet that the words barely even hit the air. But Levi hears, like he always does, and he rubs your arm affectionately.

“We could,” he agrees, just as quiet. “I’d like it to be away from everyone else. What do you think?”

“I agree,” you chuckle, closing your eyes as you smile again. “I can’t wait.”

His heart beats even faster.

“It’s going to happen,” he says, so firmly that it feels as though his wish has already been granted. He’s just cemented your future. “We’ll be married, and we’ll have a house on the edge of town, and this will all be over.”

The idea of a future like that is being dangled in front of you and you tear up a little when you realize it’s just out of your reach right now. There’s no house, there’s no real chance at a real marriage yet, there’s no end in sight for the war you’re fighting. And either of you could die at any moment. The universe has shown you that with Levi; even the strongest are vulnerable to fate.

“Let’s pretend it’s like that,” you whisper, swallowing back your tears. “Just for a little while.”

Neither of you say another word, both of you succumbing to the frail little fantasy of being the only two people in the world, with everything you want, with no pain or sacrifice. Everything falls away and, with your eyes closed and your head on Levi’s chest, you can almost feel yourself cozied up in this make-believe home you’ve talked about, with this nightmare being nothing but a blurry past memory.

When Levi’s heartbeat slows and his breath evens out once again, you sit up and take a look at him. He’s peaceful looking again.

After pressing a kiss to his forehead, satisfied that he has no fever and he’s not sweating bullets, you get comfortable in a chair that you move to the side of the bed, steeling yourself for a night of wakefulness. But, watching Levi, it’s worth it. You’d do this for him a million times over, because you love him, and he loves you, and you’re doing it to ensure the future he sees with you.

Your hand stays on his chest to feel his heartbeat.

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi x you #levi ackerman oneshot #levi one shot #levi ackerman fic #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi fanfiction #levi fic #levi #levi ackerman #aot fanfiction #aot oneshots #aot #snk fanfiction #snk

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demonslayedher · 3 years

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Buriko-Senpai! This is such a wonderful blog to read, and I love your art so much! It's so nice to see other traditional artists out there! What's your thoughts on the demon slayer marks and their affects after Muzan's defeat? Do you think they're a purely physical effect, or a supernatural curse like Ubuyashiki's? It seems like in the latter case it would be lifted? In Tanjiro's status report, he mentions wanting everyone to be happy "when he's gone", and hints of preparation for the future...

Thank you for the kind words on my art! (≧◡≦) Glad to know people like the style, I like the feel of trad art both for the final product and how the pen feels in my hand, haha~. I love all the additional possibilities in digital art, but will leave that to the people who are good at it. Glad you find my blog a good read too, because we’ve got another lengthy read ahead.

As for the mark and whether it works in a purely physical sense or a curse sense, I'm ok thinking of it in either way, depending on its purposes in post-canon fanwork (but of course, you can do whatever you want in fanwork totally inventing the mark or completely ignoring it too). As Gotouge never states exactly what becomes of Tanjiro, Giyuu, and Sanemi, I don’t feel we can declare it working one way or another. We'll consider it from both angles, but in general, I think canon evidence leans toward an avoidable physical impact. Even that, however, leaves room for interpretation on strict "25" might be or not.

If we approach the curse direction first, the worldbuilding surrounding the Ubuyashiki curse gives a lot of framework for the mark being a curse. The second fanbook even gives us more circumstance and age-related perimeters that seem very arbitrary, like how only one male will survive each generation and how the daughters will also die young by sudden illness or accident if they don’t marry out. As the curse is tied to Muzan’s/demons existence, it is completely lifted once Muzan is eradicated, but Kiriya still anticipates dying in his 20’s and does not feel relieved that it’s gone until he’s in his 30’s. This would put Giyuu and Sanemi in their 50’s if they’re still around, and with their own curses effectively gone, they’d probably have spent the past couple decades insisting to Kiriya that he can relax.

If the rebound of the mark is a supernatural curse, there are a couple other things that make sense about this to me, in the light of cosmic justice at play in this universe. First, it’s a general rule in a lot of philosophies and other works of fiction that to gain something powerful, you must pay the price and sacrifice something. Second, the Ubuyashiki family is cursed to carry the sins of one of its members until they can stop that demon member. While Demon Slayers may not necessarily be carrying the sins of demons, we see demon marks at play in this series first, though its effects are not clear until we see how Nezuko is stronger when her vines appear. A Demon Slayer also gaining extra strength like this is, perhaps, taboo.

As for the mark being a purely physical effect, I think the emphasis on physical effects of the mark (especially how in Chapter 129 Muichiro analyzes its effects on body temperature and the heart), and how throughout the manga it is continually stressed that the Demon Slayers are mere humans even if Breath helps them push the natural limits of human ability, lend to a more physical interpretation that in order to push so far past normal limits, it has to borrow against the natural human lifespan. This is how the characters in-universe also interpret its effects. If we look more into what Muichiro says:

Muichiro: The anger was too strong for me to have any handle on my emotions. I believe that in that moment, my heartrate exceeded 200 beats, and my body felt as hot as though it was burning. My temperature would had measured at least 39 degrees or more. Shinobu: !? Could you move like that? That would be life-threatening. Muichiro: Right. That’s why I think it’s a matter of falling into one category or another. Whether you die or survive that moment is what determines whether a mark will appear or not. Amane: A heartrate of over 200, and why a temperature of 39 degrees? Muichiro: That’s because when I was received treatment at Kocho-san’s place I was running a fever. When my temperature was taken, the thermometer read 39 degrees. At the time I would have been said to have a mark appear, my body was just as feverish.

(For reference, according to searching with the same terms used in the original text, your top heartrate is 220 minus your age, making Muichiro's 206 beats per minute. The average for someone in their 20's is 120~140, somewhat hard exercise would put it at 150, and hard exercise puts it at 170, according to the Borg scale. Normal body temperature in Celsius is 37 degrees; while 39 C = 102.2 F.)

If we look back at when Tanjiro is first facing off against Daki, he considers how he gets more power out of Hinokami Kagura than from Water Breathing because it suits his body better, but he is not yet physically capable of the switch between them. As he psyches himself out in Chapter 77, we see that he has physically been trying to prepare himself for this, and he’s shouting at himself to set his heart ablaze. Clearly, Tanjiro is leaning into that advice from Rengoku-san, and if he’s on his way to getting the mark, he’s been taking that advice somewhat literally.

In Chapter 78, as he purposely raises his own temperature to fight the side effects of switching to Hinokami Kagura, we get a flashback that Kiyo-chan was very worried that Tanjiro was running a temperature of 38 degrees (100.4 F) for three days, but Tanjiro begged her not to tell Shinobu yet because he felt fine in that sustained feverish state, and was able to put more power into Hinokami Kagura that way. (This may also be part of why the mark seems to have a different effect on Sun Breath users, as their body draws from this power in a more sustained way.)

We can probably think of most of the other Breath Users who attained the mark as having gotten it in a similar way to Muichiro. In a fit of high emotion and desperate battle, their body pulled from its natural reserves, and similar to a human and/or demon being exposed to lots of Muzan’s cells all at once and either dying or quickly adapting, they attained a mark and relied on that temporary extra burst of strength. While it either happens or doesn’t happen for the others (Muichiro plainly states he was unaware of a mark’s appearance) based on being the flow of tense battle, Himejima seemed to have gained enough ability that he could choose when he wanted to tap into that power. When we’re first left not knowing what else Amane told the Pillars, Himejima openly wonders what would happen in his case (seeing as he is over the age of 25). In the third light novel, we get a brief scene of Himejima pulling Muichiro aside after that meeting to ask if he’s alright with this, since he’s just found out that he has no chance already of living a long life. Muichiro is fine and wonders about Himejima, who is also fine with this. They both are willing to do whatever it takes to fight Upper Moons and know their survival has never been assured. Himejima goes on to say similar things to Kokushibo in Chapters 169 and 170, when we the readers are finally told about the limited life expectancy. The two of them both sort of expect Himejima to drop dead that night because of his limited stores to draw from. Himejima would had preferred to not raise his temperature so much until facing Muzan (seeing as he knows he’ll be racing against time), but knows he has no choice but to start while facing Kokushibo. Kokushibo is somewhat impressed with his control of getting a mark and his preparation to die, and he finds it a waste of Himejima’s ability and likewise is like, “why not preserve your flesh as a demon” because, as we find out in Kokushibo’s flashbacks in Chapter 178, this was part of what motivated him to accept Muzan’s blood. He couldn’t handle the frustration of his polished techniques being wiped out by a short life span, especially since it would mean he was soon out of time to match or best Yoriichi. If we go back to that conversation between Himejima and Kokushibo, Kokushibo loses his cool (hahaha, that feels like a bit of a pun here) the moment Himejima is like, “there was one exception to the rule though, wasn’t there?” I suspect that Yoriichi was the exception partly due to Sun Breathing being a more perfected, sustained form of pushing the limits of human capability, and Yoriichi being born naturally perfect at it, so his body didn’t need to scramble looking for extras sources of power like hastily (or slowly) borrowing against his lifespan. What’s very interesting about Kokushibo is that he also regularly sustained his mark, so perhaps it’s possible he could had lived past 25? Here's what really key: We also don’t know about these early marked users. Did they regularly sustain their marks, or did they only show up regularly when they battled demons, repeatedly borrowing against their future lifespan? Or was it a one-off thing for each of them, like it was for Giyuu and Sanemi? It’s possible that even if Giyuu and Sanemi are doomed to shorter lives, since they both only had the marks for relatively short periods of time on a single night, they might well exceed 25 years. The fact that Gotouge gave them descendants (as opposed to only implied reincarnations), and because they are both characters generally written as dense in the ways of love and close personal relationships, that sort of implies they needed some time before leaving behind offspring, and I hear a lot of voices in the fandom displeased with the idea of them leaving children behind when they know they won't be around to raise them. Since we don't know any canon details on this, let's cut the boys some slack and say they took a chance on being happy. After all, all their time in the Corp already teaches them tomorrow is never assured.

Side note while we’re on the Sanemi topic, he attains his mark right after Himejima brings his own forth (because Himejima is a badass who can just be like, “ok, now”). While he comments to Himejima what a good idea it was to do Pillar Training so he could attain that powerful state, it’s also possible that being in the presence of someone who already had one was part of what triggered Sanemi’s body to access that state as well. The nature of the mark’s spread from person to person is another tick in the “supernatural curse” box if people like that interpretation more.

Let’s take a look back at Tanjiro, though.

Tanjiro, our special Hinokami Kagura boy, was already a special case for his own knowledge of Sun Breathing (however imperfect), and his own sustained mark (though as Genya notes in Chapter 134, it tends to transform slowly, and as Tanjiro remarks in response to Shinjuro’s comments in Chapter 81, his mark was not something he was born with like the original Sun Breath user was, it was but a childhood injury which took on a different shape when he was injured at the Final Selection). While Amane cites him as the one who started the trickle of marks appearing again, we know in the Pleasure Quarter arc than Tanjiro was been unknowingly training himself to make the mark appear, like the Pillars later tried to do in training.

Tanjiro also, however, has the very unique experience of undergoing repeated cruel and unusual suffering in battle against Muzan, basically dying, turning into a demon with more of Muzan’s cells than any other demon in history, and turning human again with man-made medicine all in the span of about two hours.

We can’t really compare Tanjiro’s case to Giyuu’s and Sanemi’s very easily. Besides the slightly different nature of his mark (which Muzan says will still kill him anyway if he becomes human again, but whether he says that based on a cosmic rule or historical precident, we don't know), we simply don’t know all the details of how Tanjiro's flesh has been affected by everything that happened to him in that two hour period. It seems safe to say that becoming a demon is what saved his life since it rebuilt his flesh and supercharged life back into him, but since he wasn’t a demon long enough to have fully integrated those new cells, the entirely reconstructed parts of him (his left arm and right eye) are essentially lifeless. However, there may still be some amount of reclaiming that his body did during his demon minutes, for the whole right side of his face should be paralyzed (yet he can still use it expressively), and there was probably internal damage throughout his entire body and other various injuries (like stabbing himself) which were repaired enough for him to survive. Had he been a demon longer (long enough that his body with Muzan’s memories likely would had broken down the medicine Kanao gave him), my guess is that he would had fully integrated these body parts, like how Nezuko gets to keep her legs despite all the times they were blown or chopped off.

But we also know that Tanjiro had to take a few months to recover (his visitors looked like they waited the whole three months before getting permission to see him), and that his condition allows him to live and work, but he generally is in a weakened state. Again, rather than only having borrowed (on multiple occasions) against his own lifespan, we don't know the extent of the damage and repair he's undergone.

While he’s got 25 as a historical benchmark to anticipate, and as you mention, he does seem to fully anticipate that early demise, his case is so unique that it could go in any direction. Tanjiro might live longer than 25, as this would give him time to pass on Hinokami Kagura to at least his eldest son, but like Tanjuro, he’d probably have a pretty weak constitution for the rest of his dwindling life. But also worth noting, the phrase is that they die by at least age 25. That means some of the Warring States era swordsmen probably died before that age. (｡•́︿•̀｡) I don't feel this is likely for Tanjiro, Giyuu, and Sanemi, but it is worth noting as a possibility.

#kny fandom theories and meta #kamado tanjirou #kamado tanjiro #tomioka giyuu #tomioka giyu #shinazugawa sanemi #himejima gyomei #himejima gyoumei #tokitou muichirou #tokito muichiro #tsugikuni yoriichi #kokushibo #kokushibou #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer

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octopustophat · 3 years

Text

Tamaki Amajiki X FTM Reader

It’s your first day as an official sidekick at the Fat Gum agency, and you can’t breathe, and you don’t think it’s from your binder. You take in the entrance to the building with awe

This is it! You’re really a hero now!

Bounding into the building with all the excitement of a 5 year old in a candy store, you make your way to the receptionist. As soon as she acknowledges you, you say, “Hi! I’m Connor! my hero name is Magpie. I’m Fat Gum’s new sidekick!” “Oh! Fat Gum told me to expect you today!” She said. With a few quick keystrokes, she checks you in, and directs you to the elevator across the lobby. “Head right on in there, and go to the 9th floor. He should be in his office. I’ll let him know you’re heading up!” Smiling and thanking her, you head to the elevators, and make your way up. You bounce on the balls of your feet in nervousness. Although, you have of course met Fat Gum before and even worked with him, this is your first official day as his sidekick, and the pressure is starting to get to you. Before you can think about that more though, the elevator doors open, and you’re greeted by the double doors of his office. Walking up, you hear the voice of your new boss followed by a much quieter, almost nervous voice. You give a polite knock at the door, and you hear the voice of Fat Gum welcoming you in.

Peaking your head in before the rest of your body follows, You see the huge smiling face of Fat Gum of course, but you look to the side to see the face (or well, the cowering hood of) what could only be the pro-hero Suneater. You’re a huge fan of him. He graduated 2 years before you, but you know how incredible of a pro-hero he is from the work he has already accomplished as a sidekick only 2 years into his pro-hero career. You immediately begin staring at your shoes to avoid any possible eye contact, and Fat Gum speaks up. “HEY MAGPIE! It’s a pleasure to see you again! Are you ready for your first day of real hero work?” You immediately look up smiling, and your excitement is back. “Absolutely sir! I am beyond excited and honored for the opportunity to work alongside you and the amazing Suneater” You bend into a respectful bow, so you don’t get to see the bright red blush spread across Suneater’s face. “A-Amazing?!” he says before stepping a little behind where Fat Gum is sitting to shield himself from you.

Raising up from your bow, sheepishly glance up and say “of course… I’ve seen you on TV working with Fat Gum. You may have only been a hero for 2 years, but you definitely shine out there on the field!” Your compliment makes Tamaki inch his way entirely behind Fat Gum’s form.

Fat Gum chuckles and introduces the 2 sidekicks “Suneater, this is Magpie. His quirk allows him to seek out helpful objects and seal them away in a pocket dimension he calls his “nest” that he can pull from later on. While those objects are in the nest, they are frozen in time, so they do not alter or decay. He does have to make physical contact with the object though to seal it away. And Magpie, this is Suneater, and by the sounds of it you already know what his quirk is”

“Yes I do sir! I must say, manifest is one of the coolest quirks I’ve ever seen!” Your compliment once again strikes Amajiki right in his quivering heart. In a brief moment of courage though, he squeaks out “Not as cool as your quirk though. I’m sure it’s loads more helpful in battle than mine is.”

To quickly stop Amajiki from degrading himself further, Fat Gum steps in and says “You both are very powerful heroes, and you have your own strengths. This is why I will be partnering you two together! Suneater here will show you the ropes, give you the tour, and you will be going out with me on patrol starting in an hour.” Because he is hiding behind Fat Gum. You don’t have the pleasure of seeing Amajiki’s brief panic about having to be around you. Not because of anything you’ve done, but solely because of how attractive and cool you look. Amajiki is startled from his thoughts though by Fat Gum saying “Suneater, do you mind if Magpie and I have a moment to speak before you guys start the tour?” Amajiki immediately nods his head and rushes out of the room. With a slight chuckle, he turns his attention to you.

“Now Connor, I am aware of your… condition, but I want you to know that you will have nothing to worry about here. Our locker rooms have stalls in which you can change and shower comfortably, and of course you will be allowed to use the men’s locker room. As for who else will know about your status, that is entirely up to you. It is not my information to share and it is frankly no one else’s business whether or not you tell anyone. I don’t want you to be ashamed though. This is a safe place for you, and I will make sure you are welcomed by everyone, or they will have to answer to me. Understood?”

With Fat Gum’s speech, you are moved near tears. Being trans was something you seriously worried about when starting your hero career, and to see Fat Gum so supportive, it feels like a weight is off your chest.

“Th-Thank you so much sir. I’d really like to keep it a secret. At least for now. I’ve spent so long trying to pass. I’m just not sure I’m ready to deal with ignorant people again”

Fat Gum nods his head in acknowledgement, and says “alrighty then. So long as you know you’re safe here, I will support you in whatever decision you make.”

“Thank you sir”

“Of course! Now get outta here. Go meet up with Suneater, he’ll show you around, and then meet me down out front for our patrol in an hour”

With a new found pep in your step, you make your way out to a waiting Amajiki.

“Hi Suneater. Shall we get started?” “Y-Yeah. Let’s go”

After a mostly silent tour, except for Suneater quietly saying the names of each room you go into, you make your way out the front of the building to begin your first patrol as a sidekick!

~ <3 ~ After an uneventful patrol, and some necessary paperwork, you make your way to the locker rooms to shower and change. Luckily, because of the odd time, there was no one in there, so you didn’t even have to worry about anyone else bothering you. You grab your change of clothes, and make your way to a shower stall.

You work your way out of your hero costume, and the specialty binder attached to it. It was made specifically so you could exercise in it, and it's fitted into the suit itself, so it isn’t suspicious. It really makes you feel like your chest is really as flat as you want it. You quickly shower and start to put on fresh clothes only to find that your regular binder isn’t there. You search around for it, but nope, you definitely left it in your bag. You carefully listen in to the rest of the locker room, and after double checking to make sure you don’t hear anyone and even calling out “hello?” into the locker room and no one answering, you decide to make a mad dash for your bag not wanting to put your dirty hero costume back on after showering.

You make a stealthy speed walk out of the shower stall, round the corner to your locker, only to come face to face with a half naked Amajiki. You both scream simultaneously out of shock and mortification, and you grab your bag and run back to the shower stall, but there’s no denying that you watched him glance at your obvious chest before he looked away.

Mortified, you sink to the slightly wet floor and you begin to hyperventilate

Oh my god He saw He knows He’s gonna hate me What if he tells everyone? What if they hate me?! I can’t believe I actually thought I could be stealth here and have it work out.

Your thoughts start to spiral darker and darker as tears begin to make their way down your cheeks, and you hate yourself more and more.

Tamaki is standing still in a daze when he hears you crying in the showers. This snaps him out of his stupor, and he has a thought process of his own.

Why is he crying? Was I really that gross to look at? Wait Did he have breasts? Why would he have breasts? OH MY GOD I JUST LOOKED AT HIS BREASTS Is he… trans? Oh my god I’ve messed up. I have to fix this.

Gathering what shred of courage he has, he makes his way to the showers. Knocking on the door, he whispers out “Connor?” After hearing the cries muffle into sniffles he continues “Are you trans?”. With this the cries start back up again. Amajiki panics and begins to ramble “I-If you are trans that’s totally ok! Th-That’s your b-business! But y-you should know th-that I don’t think any less of you!! You’re still more of a m-man than I’ll ever be!!!”

With that, the cries are back down to little sniffles, and a broken “what?” comes from behind the stall door. Amajiki hears shuffling from behind the door, and the sound of the lock clicking. The door creaks open, and he sees a disheveled Connor peeking from the crack in the door “you can’t possibly mean that. I don’t even have a man’s body” Amajiki’s eyes widen and he gets a look of determination on his face. “Of course! You’re more of a man than I’ll ever be! You’re more handsome, stronger, more quick witted, and manlier than I could ever be!”

More tears begin to stream down Connor’s face, and he crashes into Amajiki, wrapping his arms around him. Amajki freezes for a moment before carefully wrapping his arms around him. The two stay like that for a moment before Connor says “Don’t you EVER put yourself down like that. You don’t deserve it. You are so much stronger than you believe and a better person than most, so don’t you ever believe otherwise!” A quiet “I’ll try” comes from Amajiki before the two separate from their hug. Amajiki lowers his eyes, and Connor quietly asks, “Do you really think I’m handsome?” Amajiki looks up in surprise and says “O-Of course! H-How could anyone n-not believe that?!” Connor with a blush on his face says “Well you’re incredibly handsome too. You should know that.” With a bashful silence falling over the room, Connor is the first to speak up.

“H-Hey Suneater-” “Amajiki” he interrupts “call me Amajiki… please” With a smile on his face, Connor continues “Well A-Amajiki, would you like to come get dinner with me? I know an amazing ramen restaurant not far from here.” Amajiki’s eyes widen, and a blushing grin covers his face “I’d like that very much, but only i-if you’re sure about that! I-I’d hate to bother you.” “You could never bother me Amajiki. So it’s a date?” you offer shyly. Amajiki looks down “a-a date… I’d like that.” So after finishing packing away your respective things, you guys begin to make your way to the ramen restaurant, side by side, and excited for what’s to come.

You think this might be the best first day at work you could have had.

#x ftm reader #x reader #x male reader #tamaki amajiki #ftm #trans reader #tamaki amajiki x reader #tamaki x reader #amajiki x reader

102 notes · View notes

ichorai · 4 years

Text

cellmates ; one ; j.wy

pairing ; jung wooyoung x reader

summary ; stuck in jail after stealing a necklace off the princess, what happens when your new cellmate with an impossible escape plan comes along?

words ; 3.1k

warnings / includes ; medieval au, blood and grime and death and everything in between rip, wooyoung being handsome despite being in a filthy cell djkdfj, wooyoung being a smartass, reader being petrified half the time lol, future suggestive / mature content, cellmates to (future) lovers !!

a/n ; i’ve been meaning to write a medieval au for the longest time bcs im an absolute sucker for them and i finally got around to writing part one !!! pls be patient for part two !! i hope yall enjoy :3

cellmates masterlist.

The jail cell was cold. You shivered violently, breath misting in front of you as you blew out a tired sigh. They had stripped you of all your clothes except a thin beige tank top (that had actually once been white), and ripped tights. Dried blood matted your hair to your forehead, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care at the moment. It was too damn cold.

You found yourself wishing that you hadn’t stolen that necklace off of the innocent little princess. The silver glinting against her pale collarbones were just too enticing, the angry grumble of your stomach far too loud. That much silver would’ve cost a fortune; you wouldn’t have had to worry about food for years. Unfortunately, the guard caught you before you had time to make your escape, by effectively knocking a heavy baton over your head.

And the result of your desperate endeavor? A small, icy jail cell in the farthest and darkest corner of the dungeons. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen the sun.

A life sentence for attempting to ‘harm’ the princess. Oh please, all you really wanted was to go to bed without your belly twisting painfully in hunger. At least they weren’t barbaric enough to hang you for that.

The thought had tremors running up your spine. Or perhaps it was the cold.

A dim amber light appeared from the corner of your eyes, echoing footsteps gradually getting louder with each thump. Was it dinner time already? You hadn’t even eaten yesterday’s yet.

The same guard you’d seen just about a thousand times by now appeared in front of the frigid metal bars, melting candle in hand. Grizzly beard blanketing his chin and jaw, faint scar mark running over his left cheekbone, and slanted eyes the color of the princess’ silver necklace. A daily reminder of your worst mistake, it would seem.

He muttered something unintelligible before shoving a tray through the narrow slot, wintry water sloshing about in the small wooden cup with the same chunk of stale bread on the side that always tasted like metal.

How delicious. The cold had numbed you to the point where hunger was the least of your problems.

You remembered when you had first gotten here, croaking out a wispy ‘thank you’ to the guard whenever he had given you your food, hoping that he’d take sympathy and give you a bit more, or maybe even get you a blanket. You were foolish back then, you thought solemnly, curling up tighter and burying your face in between your knees.

Perhaps one of the worst things possible about being in jail was that you had absolutely nothing to do. Sometimes you would try to exercise to keep your blood running through your body and make sure your muscles hadn’t frozen over, but exhaustion constantly hung above you like a stormy cloud. More oftenly, you would make up fantastical stories including dragons and elves and faeries. But after hundreds (or maybe it was just around twenty, but who was counting?) of different stories, your creativity would run short and you would find yourself pausing mid-story, trailing off into a disappointing end of ‘and they lived till they died’.

Turns out you weren’t going to be bored alone, at least.

You had been in a fitful slumber when you heard the footsteps approach. That was strange, usually there’d only be the one guard to deliver your measly dinner.

Curious eyes grew wide when you took sight of two guards holding up an unconscious man, the toes of his worn leather boots dragging against the damp stones of the dungeon ground.

What you wouldn’t give for a nice pair of leather boots. Your toes twitched in your worn socks at the thought.

They began stripping him of his clothes, much like they had done to you in the beginning, grunts of exertion leaving them in misty huffs. They left shortly after, grumbling about being ‘fuckin’ cold’. As if they had any right to complain.

In the dim light of the candles, you could barely make out what the new prisoner looked like. He was slumped up against one of the icy stone walls, dark hair tied into a short ponytail. A low groan escaped the man, foot twitching as he slowly aroused from unconsciousness.

“Fuck,” His voice came out hoarse and raspy. He pushed against the floor to prop himself up at a better angle. More curses left his lips in a rapid flurry. You watched in timid fascination as he raised a pale hand to dab against his forehead, hissing when he pulled away with crimson staining his skin.

Looking upwards, he finally caught your curious gaze.

The two of you stared at one another for a second before he huffed, reaching up to his head once more. This time, his fingers didn’t only pull away with blood, but with a thin hair pin that glinted against the candle’s small flame.

You hadn’t noticed that your mouth was hanging slightly open when he struggled to his feet, limbs shaking with effort and cold.

And he started picking the lock, stopping every minute or so to blow his breath onto his quickly numbing fingers.

After less than ten minutes, the frozen bars swung open with a rusty creak.

At that point, you yourself had gotten up, eyes widening. You shuffled closer to your own locked bars. It was as if the man had forgotten you were there, flinching when he turned and saw you pressed up against your cell.

“Don’t leave me here,” You whispered, starting to feel the familiar feeling of desperation clawing at your throat.

For a second, he looked conflicted. A hard, determined film passed over his eyes and he tore his gaze away.

“Sorry,” Was all he said.

And he left, just as quickly as he had come.

Strings of foul curses left his mouth once he was dragged back. And this time, he was far bloodier than before. He barely looked like the same person.

You had to hold in a breath as they threw his limp body back into the cell, one of them spitting at his feet. Grimacing, you looked away and scowled.

Perhaps if he had let you out as well, the both of you would’ve been able to escape.

Ten minutes after the guards had left, the man across from you reached behind his back to pull something out. He didn’t have another hair pin, did he? Would he let you out this time?

Probably not, you thought bitterly.

The object he pulled out was small and round, a shiny red ball that seemed to glisten beneath the candlelight.

It made a resonating thud against the stone of the cell, echoing down the halls.

And he did it again. And again. And three, four, ten times more.

“Please stop,” You found yourself saying, a headache brewing behind your temple. But your voice was too soft, drowned out by the incessant bouncing of his rubber ball.

Downing what was left in the damp wooden, you mustered the courage to croakily shriek, “Stop! Please, stop!”

Startled by your sudden noise, he hadn’t been able to catch the ball’s last bounce, and crimson streaked past as it hit the wall behind him, ricocheting past the jail bars and out into the hallway. You watched silently as it rolled away, until it was far out of your sight.

“Bitch,” You heard him mutter under his breath.

You felt the hairs on the back of your neck rise as you sneered at him, “You’re a fool, you know. Thinking you could escape a place like this.”

“Oh, yeah?” His eyebrows raised while he shuffled closer, pressing his pale face against the cold bars. Now that he was out of the shadows, you managed to get a proper look of his face. He was all bone and skin, dark hair grown a little too long, hazel eyes glinting along with the dim flames. “At least I managed to get out of my cell. That’s probably more than you’ve ever done.”

If he was trying to pick a fight with you, it wouldn’t work.

“What’s the point, anyways? There’s only so much out there for people like us.”

“People like us… ?”

Your eyes darted to him, and you immediately averted your gaze. It’d been a long time since anyone had properly looked at you. Perhaps under all the blood and grime, he’d actually be quite handsome.

“Commoners, peasants. We grow up stupid, work until our fingers bleed, and then die from a disease because we don’t have the money for a healer.”

A low rumble that could pass as a laugh worked its way out of him, “You’re telling me you would rather stay locked up in here than back outside? You don’t want to feel the sun on your face, the taste of sweet fruits, the warmth of another human being?”

“Of course I do,” You retorted. “I’m just saying that it’s pointless.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, “How long have you been here?”

“Too long to keep track.”

At this point, you couldn’t really tell whether it was refreshing to talk to someone after so long, or just plain annoying. He stayed silent for a moment, before speaking up once more.

“What got you here?”

You huffed. There was no harm in telling him, right?

“I ripped a priceless necklace off of the princess because I was hungry.”

It was as if his volume tripled when he yelped, “You’re Y/N L/N?!”

How he had that much energy after getting beaten up twice, was still a mystery to you.

“The one and only.” You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself. It seemed that you were quite famous in the outside world.

“That’s amazing,” He breathed out, eyes wide as he leaned further into the bars. “My name’s Wooyoung. I’m your new cellmate.”

Your eyes flickered to his once more. If you were going to be stuck here with him, might as well get to know him a little better.

“I’m not your cellmate,” You deadpanned, despite Wooyoung’s disappointed pout. “You’d need to be in the same cell as me to be my cellmate.”

One of his shoulders lifted in a half-shrug.

“So why are you here?” Part of you was afraid of what he was going to say. He didn’t really seem to strike you as someone who’d do anything seriously terrible… right?

“I… I just threw one or two punches at the crown prince, is all. And maybe a kick to the groin. And gave him a couple broken ribs.” He laughed a little at that last part, as if the memory amused him.

“You what?”

Scoffing, Wooyoung flicked his hair out of his eyes, “I think you heard me perfectly clear, sweetheart.”

A strange feeling blossomed in your stomach. You shuffled a bit closer to your own bars, until the light hit your face.

“Was it worth it?”

Wooyoung paused at the unexpected question.

“Yeah, I would do it again. A million times over.” It was the first time he looked away, a distant glaze over his eyes. “He was touching a servant girl and she was begging him to stop. But he didn’t. So I intervened.”

A palpable silence laid over the two of you, thick and heavy.

“Good,” Was all you said. “I’m going to sleep.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s morning.”

You ignored him. Time didn’t matter anymore, not to you. Soon enough, he’d stop caring as well.

Hours and days melted into weeks and months, along with the frost on the bars and the icicles hanging off the ceilings.

At least it wasn’t cold anymore. Everything was wet.

“Okay… would you rather live knowing how you die or live forever?” Wooyoung asked in queer tone, laying down on the ground with his bare back pressed against the damp stone.

You bit into a chunk of stale bread, pausing to chew around the hard crust before swallowing, “No one wants to live forever.”

“Rich people do,” He murmured, flipping over onto his stomach to do some push-ups.

You averted your eyes. He was right; if you were rich, you would’ve probably chosen the latter option too.

“I’ll choose to live forever when I get out of this goddamn cell. But for now, we’re sticking with knowing how I die,” The raven-haired man huffed out through each strenuous push-up. He’s been getting weaker and weaker by the day, living off of nothing but crispy bread and metallic water and the occasional measly slice of dry apple.

“You’re not getting out,” You scoffed. “We’re not getting out. Why do you keep saying that we will?”

Wooyoung falls flat onto his stomach, blowing his hair away from his eyes in frustration, “And why do you keep saying that we won’t? Do you really think we’re going to die here?”

Throwing your hands up into the air, mouth full and bread crumbs rimming your lips, you nodded vehemently, “Yes! Look around us, Wooyoung. How on Earth would you plan on getting out? I’ve been trying for forever before you came around. I’m still here.”

“Yeah, but that was back when I wasn’t here. Now I am.”

“That’s absolutely great, genius. But guess what? We’re still stuck here!”

Wooyoung scowled at your salty remark. He crawled closer to the bars looking down the hallway to make sure no guards were near.

Glancing back to you, he whisper-yelled, “I have a plan.”

“That’s a stupid plan,” You sneered, deadpanning.

The man across from you rolled his eyes, “It’s the only one we’ve got.”

“You do know they’ll find out eventually, right? We can’t just go back to our normal lives.”

“Then let’s run away.” His gaze bore into you as you felt yourself flush heavily. “You and me. We can sneak our way onto a fishing boat, sail off to someplace… not here.”

A shiver ran up your arms, gooseflesh prickling your skin, “Stop.” You mumbled. “Don’t get my hopes up.”

Wooyoung grasped the bars tightly, knuckles turning white, “Y/N, listen to me. We can do it. I swear, I’ll get you out of here.”

It was stupid, you knew it was. But you couldn’t help the small spark of hope flare in the middle of your chest, heart pumping just a tad quicker at his words. Hope was an intoxicating drug; you either get sucked into some sort of deluded fantasy, or live without the illusions of false happiness.

However, The words left you before you even had a chance to hesitate. “You promise?”

“I swear on my next slice of dried apple.” He said, eyes twinkling with excitement behind the shaggy, overgrown hair.

“Okay.” You breathed out, somewhat satisfied. The dull ache in your spine was ignored as you slumped against the stone wall, closing your eyes and imagining what outside was like. All you could recall about outside was how terrible it was. Of course, not as bad as being in here, but not much to look forward to.

Cracking an eye open, you glanced to Wooyoung, who had curled up into himself in the corner of his cell, slightly obscured by the shadows.

Life outside seemed better when you imagined yourself with Wooyoung.

“Remember the plan?”

Wooyoung snorted, rolling his eyes, “How many times have you asked me that now?”

You scowled, “Just making sure you won’t mess anything up. Can you really guarantee you’re strong enough to knock him out?”

Biting down on his lip, he shrugged in a nonchalant manner, “I’ll try my best. And if that’s not enough, well… it was nice meeting you.”

The two of you waited in tense silence for a couple minutes, the expected thudding of boots coming down to give the two of you your meals for the day. The familiar grey eyes of the guard swept over the two of you, bending down your cell first to shove the tray through the narrow slot like he had hundreds of times before.

Then, he turned to Wooyoung.

“What’s on the menu today, sir?”

Stormy eyes narrowed, the guard’s nose wrinkled in distaste, “Th’ same shit you eat every day.” His gravelly voice rumbled, clearly not used to prisoners being able to talk, much less form coherent sentences. “It’s what criminals like you deserve.”

A gasp of mock-offense left Wooyoung in the most dramatic manner possible, “Why, if stopping a rapist from raping is worse than being a killer and killing, then I must be the worst criminal alive.”

“You better shut your mouth before I get half the mind to carve your tongue out for you.” The guard spat, nearing closer towards the bars menacingly, one hand on the hilt of his sword. He wasn’t below leaving a prisoner bleeding and tongueless.

Wooyoung did nothing but raise an eyebrow, “Oh, come now! I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of kills. Especially when you swore an oath to protect a murderous king!”

Your eyes widened slightly; you had no idea he would go as far as to claim treason.

The guard, however, cackled the ugliest laugh you’d ever heard. “You seem really not to like your tongue, boy. Only, for that comment, they’ll be taking your head along with it.”

It all happened so quickly, you wouldn’t even have the time to scream if you wanted to.

Just as the guard leaned closer tauntingly, nose almost brushing against the rusty metal bars, Wooyoung grabbed the front of the guard’s steel collar, yanking him forward into the metal columns with all of his might.

A sickening crack echoed across the stone.

It happened again, and again, and three more times after that. Wooyoung was panting, eyes wild.

“Is he dead?” You craned your neck to try to get a good look, but it was too dark to make out much of anything.

“No. He’ll wake up with a nasty concussion in a couple hours, give or take.”

“Where’d you learn how to do that?” You asked, heart pounding far too loudly in your ribcage. The faint sound of jingling almost had you bursting into tears of joy. He had the keys.

A small, non-committal hum emitted from Wooyoung’s cell. “You learn from dreaming about all the different ways you could’ve done that to the crown prince. And thankfully, I got the chance.” Suddenly, Wooyoung appeared in front of your cell, a ring of small keys hanging from his pointer finger, the widest grin spread across his face. “Told you I’d get you out, didn’t I?”

245 notes · View notes

literaltrashforeverything · 3 years

Text

m. osamu | good enough

》 miya osamu x fem!reader

↠ warnings: smut, oral (male receiving), soft sex, mentions of insecurity, slight blood warning

↠ word count: 6,519

↠ a/n: Putting some of my works from Ao3 onto Tumblr so if you see this on Archive don’t be alarmed lmao. This is one of my personal favorite things I’ve written so I really hope it gets some attention :)

“They’d make such a perfect couple.”

“They’re both in love with volleyball and athletics, how could they not be in love?”

“He’d be perfect for her.”

“They’re like a match made in heaven.”

Osamu almost agreed to every word the people around him spoke. He listened with a forced smile as they babbled on about how perfect of a couple they’d make. He wasn’t really a part of the conversation, but they spoke so loudly that he could hear every word.

He wished he could suddenly go deaf the more and more they babbled on.

“What about the other one?”

“You mean his twin? Oh, no, that’d never work out.”

“Why not?”

“Well. . . he just opened that restaurant and that’s just not the type of guy that would be good for her.”

Osamu clenched his fists. They must not know he’s here, or at least that he’s able to hear them. Their families had always gossiped, even when they were three young children barely able to walk.

Why wasn’t he good enough for you? What made him any worse than Atsumu?

He didn’t really want an answer, but he still got one.

“You know. . . she needs to stay fit for volleyball. Besides, it’ll look better for her career if she’s with another volleyball player.”

“Osamu is pretty fit. He used to play volleyball.”

“I know but he’s just. . . well, with that new restaurant opened it’s only a matter of time before he’ll start gaining weight. Don’t you know how much that boy eats? He can’t keep all that weight away now that he’s out of volleyball.”

“I guess that’s true. . .”

Their words played on repeat in his head over and over every time he found himself in the gym, lifting weights. He panted, arms trembling a bit as he worked on bench presses. He was determined, and he refused to let himself gain the weight they said he would.

Atsumu stared down at his counterpart, one brow raised. He was spotting for him, but Osamu looked angry and he was paranoid it was his fault.

“What’s with that look, ‘Samu?” he asked.

“Nothin’. I don’t have a look,” snapped Osamu.

He knew it wasn’t fair to take it out on his brother. Atsumu never made any moves on you, not anything beyond the realm of being best friends. Atsumu was an idiot, sure, but he knew when his brother was in love with someone. He never mentioned it to Osamu, but they both knew. You were off limits to ‘Tsumu, and neither of them were sure if ‘Samu was ever going to gather the courage to make a move on the girl he’d loved since childhood.

Osamu’s biceps flexed as he pushed the weight up again. Atsumu was quick to recognize the signs of exhaustion. Osamu had been at it for a while, pushing himself more than he usually did.

Atsumu grabbed the weight from him and set it on the holder. Osamu’s grey eyes snapped up to him.

“What the hell, ‘Tsumu?!” he sat up and glared at his twin.

“One more press and you’d have dropped it on yer head,” Atsumu scoffed, “what the hell is yer problem?”

Osamu clenched his fists. He got up and grabbed his towel and water bottle. To his annoyance, his brother followed him. He completely disregarded his question and wiped some of the sweat from his face. He took a glance down at his stomach, then flexed a little to check his arms.

“Someone call ya fat or somethin’?” Atsumu questioned.

“Shut up,” Osamu grumbled, “I’m not fat.”

Atsumu didn’t like how quickly his brother defended himself. He crossed his arms over his chest, watching Osamu move to another machine. He trailed after his twin and continued pushing.

“Seriously, tell me what yer problem is—”

“You’re my problem, Atsumu!” Osamu snapped.

Instantly, Atsumu stopped pressing it. They hardly ever called each other by their actual names unless it was something serious. Clearly, his brother was really, genuinely upset.

“Me? What the hell did I do?”

“Yer just so friggin’ perfect! Mister fuckin’ perfect over here can get any girl he wants! What the hell to you got that I don’t?! We look exactly the same! I exercise! I ain’t fat and I don’t overeat jus’ cause I opened my own goddamn restaurant! Why the hell am I the ‘other twin’?! Why is it Atsumu an’ the other one? Why ain’t it just Atsumu and Osamu?! What the hell do I got that makes me inferior to ya?!”

Osamu panted as he finished his rant, grey eyes glaring daggers into his shocked blond counterpart. Atsumu didn’t know what to say. Had people really been convincing his brother that he wasn’t good enough? That Atsumu was the better twin?

Atsumu made plenty of jokes about being better, but he never actually believed them. To him, Osamu was the better of the two. Osamu knew it too. He knew that if Atsumu had actually heard what people said, then he’d be the first one to stand up for him. Atsumu would beat the hell outta someone talking shit about his twin brother, and Osamu knew it.

And he still snapped it him. . .

“Who told ya all that shit?” Atsumu muttered.

“Doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” Osamu got up, shoving past his brother and heading to the locker room. He could barely stand the sight of Atsumu.

“You know that shit isn’t true!” Atsumu grabbed the back of Osamu’s black t-shirt.

Osamu instantly recoiled. He shoved Atsumu off him with as much strength as he could muster up, which, frankly, was a lot. He glared at his twin and adjusted his shirt. Atsumu glared back with the same amount of anger and his fists clenched.

“Guys? What happened?”

Both boys whirled around to face you. You stood not far from them, dressed in shorts and a tank top. Osamu couldn’t help but stare. No matter how many times he saw you, even after all these years, you were still so beautiful to him.

“’Samu’s being a fuckin’ prick is what happened,” Atsumu scoffed. “Said somethin’ about—”

Osamu has never punched his brother so hard in his life. It was an impulse move, a bad one. It wasn’t even the type of thing Atsumu would do, which made the dark-haired twin feel absolutely ashamed.

He flicked his wrist, heaving as he stared at Atsumu who was on the ground covering his face. You were kneeled beside him, panicking. Other people in the gym noticed the commotion and came running over. Osamu clenched his fists, then stormed to the locker room without glancing back.

He felt like the scum of the earth.

He’d never changed so fast in his life. He didn’t even bother to shower. Osamu just grabbed his things and left. He fumbled with his keys, grumbling under his breath. He unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Only for a hand to slam it closed.

Osamu looked at you, who stood beside him looking furious. He gulped a little.

“(Y/n)—”

“What the hell was that, Osamu!?”

Uh oh. No nickname. He really was in trouble, and he deserved it, he knows he does. You didn’t wait for an answer before you were continuing. He just watched you pace.

“You almost broke ‘Tsumu’s nose! What the hell was your fight about that you punched him out of the blue like that and in public! You and him have an image to uphold, ‘Samu! Not only that, but you’ve been acting so weird lately! It’s like you’re distancing yourself! You’re always at the gym working out, you barely eat anymore, and now you’re beating Atsumu up in the middle of a gym! And I don’t want any excuses! I want the truth, Osamu! Did something happen when we went back to Hyogo last week to see our families? Don’t lie to me!”

You were breathless when you finished talking, and staring up at his face with narrowed eyes.

You knew the Miya twins better than anyone. You’d been with them since the three of you were kids. You were their next door neighbor, and when your mother and theirs had become friends, so did you and the two boys.

You were by their side through it all. From the day they fell in love with volleyball (thus dragging you into it), to when you three attended Inarizaki, up to now with you and Atsumu being pro volleyball players and Osamu owning his own restaurant.

You were so proud of them both, and it was obvious that Osamu wasn’t proud of himself.

Now that you called him out on all his bullshit, Osamu was completely embarrassed. Luckily for him, he was really good at hiding his embarrassment. Still, he felt stupid. He didn’t think you’d notice. You were busy with volleyball, just like Atsumu, so he never expected you to see that part of him.

“You noticed all that?” he asked, gulping.

“Of course I did, you idiot!” you smacked him on the side of the head.

Osamu rubbed the side of his head, sighing. He leaned back against his car and crossed his arms over his chest. You stared at him, waiting for an answer. He had to hold himself back from laughing, both at himself and you.

You were probably the only person who had the guts to yell at him and his brother. It’s not like girls commonly yelled at two 6’3 and very muscular guys.

“I just. . .” Osamu sighed. “Well. . . yer mom said some things.”

“My mom? What the hell did she say?”

Osamu felt stupider with every word he said. He was walking a fine line. He was on a tightrope of whether or not to confess his long-time feelings for you. It would be easier to lie and say your mom thought volleyball was better than the food business. Besides, you’d see right through it. He’s not a good liar, he knows it, and he especially can’t lie to you when all you’d asked for was his honesty.

Osamu averted his eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well, uh, she said I wasn’t good enough for ya. She said you and ‘Tsumu would be better because ya both play volleyball,” he confessed.

It pissed him off just to say it out loud. It made that insecurity bubble up again in his chest.

“’Tsumu and I would be. . . better? For what?”

Osamu sometimes hated how clueless you could be.

“She’s been wantin’ you and him to get together fer a long time, (Y/n),” he sighed, “she doesn’t want a guy like me steppin’ between you and my brother getting in a relationship.”

Before he knew it, he was babbling.

“Can’t even blame her. Who’d want to date a guy like me? Yer a volleyball player, yer athletic, ya need to stay healthy. I’m not even playin’ sports anymore. All I do is cook food and stuff my mouth full. I just. . . I didn’t wanna get fat like she said. I didn’t wanna embarrass ya just in case I—”

He stopped and shut his mouth. You stepped forward, placing your hand on his arm.

“. . . in case you what, ‘Samu?”

Osamu turned to look at you. You were close to him now, looking like the prettiest damn thing he’s ever laid eyes on. You have always been so pretty to him and he’s so in love with every aspect of you that it hurts.

He mustered up his courage and swallowed the lump of nervousness that’d built up in his throat. He reached up to cup your cheek.

“In case I ever got the courage to tell ya I’m in love with ya. . .” he muttered.

Osamu loved the way your breath hitched. He wanted to kiss you, he wanted to pull you against his body and taste you. He wanted to do all the things he’d been afraid of doing, the things he was still afraid of doing.

“’Samu, I-“

“HEY DIPSHIT!”

Osamu lurched his whole body away from yours. He looked up to see his twin brother running at him. He choked on air, turning to dodge but ‘Tsumu was faster. His foot collided with the back of his head and sent Osamu down to the ground. He groaned loudly, gripping his head.

“Fuuuck.”

“That’s fer bein’ a fuckin’ asshole and almost breaking my nose!” Atsumu kicked him in the rib, and for once, Osamu took it because he knew he deserved it. “Next time I’ll break YOUR nose, ya fat prick!”

“I am not fat!” Osamu snapped, glaring at Atsumu.

No kidding about his nose. It was bruised and he had two bloody wads of paper stuffed up in his nostrils. His eyes were red and he was obviously in pain. Osamu felt extremely guilty. Atsumu gave him another solid kick to the ribs, before stubbornly holding out his hand for his twin. He hesitantly accepted and let the blond pull him to his feet.

You watched them, tiredly rubbing your temple. It’s hard to believe that these two are actual adults.

“Are you two done making each other ugly?” you asked, rubbing your temple.

Atsumu scoffed. He threw an arm around your neck and ruffled your hair. You whined, punching his stomach to force him to let go.

“Knock it off, ‘Tsumu!”

“Not until a admit we’re not ugly.”

“Never!”

“Admit it, brat!”

Osamu ran a hand through his tangled, dark hair. He watched you and Atsumu, jealousy tugging at him to the core. Like he always did, he put on a fake smile and leaned on his car.

“I should go,” he said.

You and Atsumu turned to him.

“Wait, ‘Samu—”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’ll see ya later, (Y/n). And uh. . . ‘Tsumu,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m sorry.”

Osamu didn’t wait for an answer before he got into his car and left. You and Atsumu watched him go. The blond released you with a long, annoyed sigh. He ran a hand through his hair.

“What’a scrub. I can’t believe he thinks he’s not good enough. . .” he muttered.

You looked down at your feet, fists clenched at your sides. Osamu looked sad, distant. He looked like he wasn’t content with his life and now you knew why. He felt like he was inferior to his twin. You felt like you should have recognized it, but you always loved him for just being. . . Osamu. You didn’t compare him to Atsumu, not ever. To you they were separate. They weren’t just the twins. They were Atsumu and Osamu, separate. Because of your own view on them, you didn’t even recognize Osamu’s insecurity.

You wondered how long it’d been there.

“Atsumu. . . he. . . Osamu said he loves me,” you muttered to your best friend, “and I love him back but he doesn’t think he’s good enough for me.”

“Wait, he finally told ya?”

You looked up at him. “W-What do you mean ‘finally’? How long has he felt like that?”

Like a vice, Atsumu zipped his trap. He raised his hand in mock surrender and turned away to make his way back to the gym. You went after him. You grabbed the back of his t-shirt and tugged.

“’Tsumu, tell me!”

“Just go ask ‘im yerself!” he protested, dragging you along as he continued walking.

“What if he won’t answer me!?”

Atsumu stopped. He turned around and looked you dead in the eyes.

“He will. He won’t lie to you.”

Osamu sighed as he entered his apartment. It was down the block from his restaurant and honestly, he was wishing he went there instead. It felt more like home sometimes. He tossed his keys lazily on the coffee table, then kicked off his shoes and made his way to the bathroom for a shower.

He couldn’t believe he actually told you he loved you then left you there with the guy who’d been his competition for his whole life. What if you liked ‘Tsumu? What if you were like your mom and you thought the same way?

He grumbled, standing beneath the hot water of the shower as his thoughts ran rampant. He felt like a lovesick idiot. He was a grown ass adult and here he was acting like a lovesick teenager.

Osamu got out of the shower and got dressed. He didn’t even bother to dry his hair. He just glanced at it in the mirror, remembering back to a time when he used to dye it grey. Now it’d grown out to it’s natural dark brown color.

With a sigh, he headed to the kitchen to get started on his dinner. He’d barely pulled out the ingredients before he heard loud knocking at the door.

“I swear, if it’s Tsumu. . .” he grumbled, wiping his hands on his pants, before going to answer.

He was not expecting to see you standing on the other side of the door when he opened it. You jumped forward, practically leaping onto him and wrapping your arms around his neck. He quickly caught you in his arms, stumbling back a little.

“W-What the hell are ya doin’ here?” he sputtered.

You clung onto him like a koala, legs wrapping around his waist while your hands clung onto the back of his Onigiri Miya t-shirt. He kicked the door shut and brought you to his couch. You didn’t let go of him until he sat down with you planted right on his lap.

Your arms released him in favor of cupping both his chubby, red cheeks. He stared at you with confused grey eyes.

“How long?” you asked.

His face went blank. “Huh?”

“How long have you been in love with me? ‘Tsumu said you ‘finally confessed’ like you’ve known for a while.” you explained.

Osamu decided that the next time he saw his twin, he really was going to break his nose. That damn bastard can never keep his mouth shut. . . He cleared his throat and awkwardly averted his gaze.

“Ya seriously came all the way to my place to ask me how long I’ve been in love with ya?”

“Well. . . yes. . .”

He sighed and chuckled a little. “Wow.”

“Shut up and tell me.”

Osamu knew there was no getting out of this one. He laid his arms over the back of the couch and looked at you. You looked. . . hopeful? Excited? He wasn’t even sure what emotion could be used to describe the expression on your face.

“Probably since middle school,” he confessed.

He sounded a lot more relaxed than he really felt. Finally saying it out loud made his heart hammer in his ears, but it also lifted a weight off his shoulders that he didn’t even realize was there. He didn’t realize the impact of hiding his feelings for all these years and regretted not saying something sooner.

“M-Middle school?” your eyes were wide. “’Samu, why didn’t you—”

“Say something?” he sighed. “Because you and ‘Tsumu would have made a better couple.”

Your eyes widened even more. Osamu ran a hand through his hair.

“Ya guys both love volleyball way more than me. Plus yer both just. . . well, fuckin’ perfect. I never fit in that equation so I kept my trap shut.”

Osamu winced when your hands slapped both of his cheeks. He grabbed your wrists lightly.

“Hey, would ya quit slappin’ me?”

“No, because you’re an idiot!” you snapped.

“. . . huh. . .?”

“You’re perfect, Osamu! You’re amazing and you’re perfect to me!” you stared him dead in the eyes as you ranted. “You’re not inferior to Atsumu. Just because you didn’t stick with volleyball doesn’t make you less than us! You love making food, you love it! We would never blame you for doing what you love to do!”

Osamu was stunned, watching tears pool in your eyes as you continued. Your arms went slack in his hands where he was holding your wrists. You hunched forward, laying your head on his chest.

“I’m in love with you too, ‘Samu. You’re amazing in every way and you’re so handsome. . . I love you—I’ve loved you for years. . .”

You fell a silent, letting your words hang in the air for him to process. He could barely breathe. His heart was hammering and he felt like he was floating. You. . . love him? You’ve been in love with him for years?

Osamu let go of your wrists and grabbed your jaw, making you look at him. He was acting entirely on impulse as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. You were stunned for a moment, before returning the kiss. His lips were warm and made your head spin as they moved against yours with a passion.

One arm wrapped around his neck to bring him closer against you. He caught your other hand with his and entwined your fingers. His hand was big in yours and you were reminded how much bigger and stronger Osamu was, and yet he still managed to be the softest person you knew.

His tongue swept across your bottom lip, begging for entrance. He wanted to taste all of you. He didn’t want this to end.

You parted your lips. His hand squeezed yours as your tongues danced in a fight for dominance. Naturally, he won, and took his prize by pulling you closer against him. You could feel his growing bulge press against your crotch. A small moan left your lips. You grinded against him, throwing your head back and exposing your neck to his hungry eyes. Instantly, he was on you, lips attacking the soft skin of your neck. He was soft with each kiss he placed on your flesh. He didn’t leave any marks, no matter how much he wanted to.

“S-Samu,” you moaned, tangling your fingers in his dark hair and tugging lightly.

He’d be lying if he said he never imagined hearing you moan his name. Hearing it now sent his heart soaring.

Osamu grabbed you, holding you under your thighs as he stood up and began making his way to his bedroom. You clung to his broad shoulders, peppering kisses along his neck as he walked.

He laid you back on his bed. You reached to him to pull him back to you. He slipped off his shirt, before joining you in bed. You let your hands trail down his chest and stomach. He was muscular, built from years of volleyball and now from constant exercise. You loved the way he looked, but you felt bad that he’d been pushing himself so far just because he was worried he wasn’t good enough for you. . .

The pads of your fingers brushed over the dark patch of hair that trailed into his pants. Your cheeks instantly flushed and you pulled your hand back like he’d burned you.

Osamu just chuckled a little. He crawled over you, pressing his lips against yours and holding his weight up on his arms. You held his cheeks, savoring the taste of him while he all but stole the air from your lungs.

His lips parted from yours and began peppering kisses down your neck. You tangled your fingers in his dark hair. It’s so soft compared to the dyed version back in high school. He left soft kisses over your clothes chest all the way down to your waist where his hands slipped beneath the fabric of your shirt. You lifted your back off the bed as he began slipping it off your body.

It’s funny. . . you can’t remember the last time you were embarrassed in front of Osamu. But now, with him staring down at your body, you could feel embarrassment seeping in. It’s hard to believe someone as attractive as him, best friend or not, would ever be in love with you. He didn’t even know how amazing he was.

“Fuck. . .” he muttered, running his hands over your sides. “Yer so damn pretty.”

You sat up, pressing your lips to his. You didn’t let the embarrassment set in, and before you knew it, you were pulling off your bra. Osamu watched your breasts spill from the undergarment, his eyes shining.

He felt like a virgin all over again when his hands snapped up to cup them. You were on another level, so perfect and pretty and all for him. A possessive side he didn’t know he had kicked in and he imagined being the last man on earth to see this. He wanted to be with you forever.

Osamu groaned when he felt your hand brush over his bulge. He was grateful when you unzipped his pants. He helped you shimmy them off his long legs, kicking them aside somewhere with the rest of your clothing. He wasn’t satisfied. He wanted you naked. He wanted to see all of you. He wanted it all and for once he was content with being greedy like his brother.

His hands fervently tugged the shorts off your legs and threw them aside with more strength than he intended. He ran his hands along your soft legs, admiring them. He had plenty of chances to admire them when you were in shorts on the court, and he couldn’t help but get a little possessive.

“Osamu,” you murmured, snapping him from his daze.

You held his jaw and turned his head toward you. It felt like a dream when your lips were against his again. He savored the way your hands ran over his chest. You pushed him down on his back and shifted yourself so you were straddling him.

His big hands naturally found themselves on your hips. He gulped, watching you pepper kisses down his chest and abs. You looked anxious as your fingers delicately hooked on the waistband of his boxers. He lifted his hips off the bed as you tugged them off his legs. He squeezed your lips and let out a small sigh of relief, no longer feeling constricted.

Still, he was embarrassed to have you seeing him so exposed.

You cautiously wrapped your hand around the base of his cock. His fingers dug into your skin as you pumped his length. He couldn’t help but smirk a little because he could tell you were nervous. At least he wasn’t self-conscious about that department.

“(Y/n),” he spoke. “Don’t feel pressured.”

You could practically melt at the sound of his voice in that moment. It was deepy, raspy. It was beautiful, just like everything about him. You wanted to do this. You wanted to prove that he was good enough for you. Too good for you, even.

Instead of answering, you leaned down. You peppered soft kisses along his shaft. His breath hitched. He watched your lips wrap around his tip. You bobbed your head slowly, savoring the taste and weight of him in your mouth. Osamu groaned with each pump, throwing his head back into the pillows. Even so, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. You were so goddamn pretty. So fucking perfect and he was on top of the world.

And, for the first time in almost his whole life, he felt worthy.

You were so soft. Everything about you was soft. Your lips, your words, your skin, your mind. He wanted to take it all for himself and never share it with anyone. He wanted to be the last guy in your life because he wanted you with him forever.

He sucked in a breath as he watched you go down on him. Just watching you made it difficult for him to hold himself back. He would come too soon if you kept on, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Osamu sat up, wrapping an arm around you and tugging you off him. You looked at him with flushed cheeks. He swiped his thumb over your bottom lip, brushing away the saliva. You were breathtaking, even now, and Osamu Miya was so entirely in love.

He pushed you back on the bed, resisting the urge to kiss you so he could pull off your last article of clothing. Even such a small piece made all the difference to him. He couldn’t believe this was you. This was the same girl he’d known since his childhood. The same one who used to bathe with him and Atsumu when they were almost too young to remember.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “yer the prettiest goddamn thing.”

Warmth swelled in your chest. You couldn’t resist reaching up to wrap your arms around him. Your lips were against his in a haste, moving and tongues entwining. His hands roamed the expanse of your thighs, pushing them apart enough for his hips to fit between them.

He brushed his hand over your folds, swiping a finger through them to gather up your fluid. You moaned into his open mouth, and he drank it in like you were the last drop of water in a desert. The sounds you made were equally as pretty as you are. He slipped a finger into you, pumping slowly. Your back arched off the bed from the minor stretch. You threw your head back and bit your swollen bottom lip.

“’Samu,” you moaned.

Fuck, if he wasn’t in love with the sound of his name on your lips.

“Say my name,” he mumbled, leaning down to press kisses into your jawline, “say it.”

He needed to hear it. He wanted to hear it. If he had a choice, he’d want you to be the only person who ever got to say his name from this moment forward.

“Osamu, please,” you begged. “I need you.”

He pulled his hand away. You breathed heavily, chest heaving as his hips fit easily between your open thighs. He fit perfectly, like a puzzle piece you always needed. He lined the tip of his cock with your soaked entrance, gathering up your essence, before beginning to press in.

You back arched off the bed as he stretched you. He groaned deeply, lips crashing onto yours while his hands shot down to hold onto yours. He pressed them into the mattress at either side of your head, fingers entwining with yours and you’ve never felt so safe. Osamu was the definition of safe, you had no doubt.

You kissed him sloppily as his hips finally pressed against yours and he was fully inside you. He was warm, big. He felt so perfect. To him, you were perfect. You took him so well and he could feel the way his chest swelled with pride.

“Osamu, more,” you begged, squeezing his hands.

He pulled his hips back, before bringing them back to yours. Every thrust was slow, but hard. He loved the way you sang his name. Normally, he was quiet during sex but for you he supposed he could sing a little. It was hard not to.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groaned, “yer so fucking perfect. I’m so in love with ya. I want more, I want all of ya.”

“Y-Yours, ‘Samu! I’m yours!” you cried for him, clinging onto his every move.

He wanted to kiss you so bad but he wanted to hear your sounds more. He wanted to keep admiring the beautiful faces you made for him as you moaned his name and let him fuck you like a man driven wild by love.

“Yer my pretty girl—fuck—I’m so fuckin’ lucky. How’d I get so goddamn lucky?” he panted.

One of his hands released yours and moved to hold your jaw. The temptation became too much. His lips were pressed into yours while his hips snapped into yours. He kept the same pace, wanting to drag this moment out for as long as possible because part of him was terrified it would never happen again. Part of him still wasn’t sure if this was a dream or reality.

He’d savor it no matter what.

Osamu groaned at the feeling of your nails scraping down his back. His hips snapped forward harshly, resulting in a squeak from you that he quickly swallowed as he pulled you into another kiss. His other hand released yours to move down between your legs and rub your clit. You were screaming for him, begging for more and he wasn’t the type of man to ignore what you want.

He picked up his pace, breathing heavily. You were close, he could feel it with the way your walls squeezed around his cock. He was close too.

“Shit, shit, shit!” he panted.

“Fuck! ‘Samu, I’m so close!” your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging rather harshly that resulted in another harsh snap of his hips.

“Come on, fucking let go for me, baby girl,” he groaned.

Your whole body trembled when he brought you over the edge. He hissed a little, continuing to snap his hips at a faster pace than before. He was chasing his own high as you screamed in euphoria for Osamu.

The arms holding up his weight flexed and wobbled as he finally reached his high. Your legs were tight around his hips, not letting him slip out as he came. He breathed heavily, giving slow thrusts as he came down. You whimpered a little with oversensitivity. He stopped, now just staring down at your face.

You and him just stared at one another, breathing heavily. A droplet of sweat slid down the bridge of his nose and dropped down onto your collarbone. You reached up, arms wobbly, and pushed his dark hair from his face. You could feel his own arms wobbling as he struggled to hold up his weight. He was exhausted, both from the gym and from this.

“It’s okay, ‘Samu,” you murmured.

He let out a long breath, before falling on top of you. You giggled a little despite his weight crushing you a bit. He rolled over before he could suffocate you. You rolled over, resting your head on his bicep as his fingers played with your hair. You ran your hands over his chest, still breathless but this time it was because of how totally in love with Osamu Miya you are.

“I love you,” he spoke first.

You smiled, looking at his face. “I love you too.”

A soft silence settled in the room. You shut your eyes, cuddling up against Osamu’s side. No official question was asked, even though it was itching at the tip of his tongue, but you both knew who you belonged to. He took pride in being yours, but had even more pride in the fact that you were his.

“Are ya hungry?” he blurted suddenly, feeling a weird need to make sure you were fed and hydrated.

You yawned a little. “Yeah, I’m pretty hungry and your cooking is always the best, Samu.”

He chuckled a little. He reluctantly dragged himself out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. He came back with a washcloth and got you and himself cleaned up. He lazily tossed it aside into the far corner of his room. You grumbled and got out of his bed. With wobbly legs, you slipped on your panties along with the Onigiri Miya shirt he’d been wearing earlier. He threw on some sweats and a different t-shirt.

Once dressed, the two of you walked to the kitchen hand-in-hand.

“Hey. Have fun?”

You and Osamu froze in the doorway, staring at the obnoxious blond twink who was sitting on Osamu’s counter eating his cereal straight from the box. Atsumu’s eyes narrowed. He had bandages over his nose now and honestly looked like a whole mess. His blond hair stuck up in every direction and he didn’t even bother to change out of his bloodied t-shirt from earlier.

Osamu’s brow twitched. Embarrassment and anger flowed through him. He wanted nothing more than to punch Atsumu’s lights out but he’d already done that earlier so he decided against it—

“I expected to come over and find ya guys wholesomely cooking food together,” Atsumu huffed. “Naturally, I had to come steal some but instead I hear ya dipshits goin’ at it like rabbits and now I have’ta eat ceral for dinner.”

“WHY DON’T YOU EAT YER OWN DAMN FOOD, ‘TSUMU!?” Osamu threw the nearest object at his brother, which happened to be a magnet from the fridge.

“Because ya owe me for breakin’ my fucking nose!”

“Can I not have some fuckin’ privacy!?” Osamu hissed.

You sighed, rubbing your temple tiredly. You walked to Osamu’s fridge and dug through for something simple to make some food while the twins continued arguing. Eventually Osamu got Atsumu out of the kitchen by bribing him with a clean, non-bloodied shirt. Now a shirtless Osamu was making you and him sandwiches.

You leaned your front against his broad back, wrapping your arms around his middle and watching him make the sandwiches.

Atsumu peeked his head around the doorway, eyes narrowing a little.

“Ya dumbasses are finally official, right?” he asked.

Osamu’s brow twitched. You grabbed his hand to keep him from throwing the butter knife at his brother.

“Yeah, we are,” you answered.

“Fuckin’ about time. I was getting real sick of watchin’ ya fawn over each other for years,” he waved his hand then left the apartment.

You and Osamu stood there in silent embarrassment for a few minutes. Atsumu’s words sank in.

“This whole time. . .” you trailed off.

“He knew it the whole time and didn’t say a word. . .” Osamu let out a long sigh. “I hate him.”

You laughed. You and Osamu sat at the dining table. He tugged you onto his lap while the two of you happily enjoyed your sandwiches. He was content, more content than he’d ever been in his whole life. He kept an arm wrapped loosely around your waist just to keep himself grounded because this wasn’t a dream.

This wasn’t a dream. You were here. You were with him, his girlfriend, and you were just as in love with him as he was with you. He was good enough all along and he felt stupid for never seeing it.

. . .

“What will yer mom say when she finds out?” he asked.

“She can suck my dick,” you huffed, “I love you and that won’t change.”

“Hm. . . Well, ya know, my mom will be happy that yer finally dating one of us. She’s been begging us to marry ya since middle school.”

“Seriously?” you turned to him with a stunned expression. “What did you say?”

Even more surprising was the fact that Osamu was grinning. He propped his elbow up on the table and rested his chin in his open palm. He stared at you with all the love in the world.

“I told ‘er I was gonna be the one to marry ya.”

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ab1tofsp1ce · 3 years

Text

A Warmer Refuge

Chapter 8: Counting on it

Masterlist HERE

A/N: I feel like I’m spamming but oh well, here’s another (short) part!

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Words: 1.7K

Warnings: Insinuations of violence

Description: You planned on waiting patiently until Din returned, but apparently there’s someone else on this planet with a different plan.

I sat in the apartment for two, then four, then six hours, pacing around, looking out the window, exploring every inch of the two rooms available to me. But, in a way that I hadn’t been on that equally suffocating ship, I was inconsolably restless. I needed to do something, anything, and although I had Din’s advice echoing in my head, there was only so long I could follow it for. Finally, I felt myself crack. Well, he was almost certain to use his whole 24 hours, and if he didn’t then I’d leave him a note. Scribbling on the back of a scrap I wrote that I had gone out to get supplies and inquire about work. I left it on my bed, grabbed what I needed, and locked the door behind me.

When I first climbed the stuffy staircase up to this apartment, Din’s secure presence had distracted me from my surroundings. But now that I was alone, I was aware of just how helpless I felt. As I stepped out into the shared landing space in front of the stairs, I could hear strange banging from my left-side neighbor’s apartment and could smell something smoky leaking from under the door. I tried my best to block it out, beginning my descent down to the alley outside.

It was late afternoon now, although you could barely tell. The sky was so grey it gave no indication of where the sun hung – for all I knew, this planet could have more than one and I would be none the wiser. On Yak’ish Temeen the sky had always been blue, except for the thunderstorms that came in the wet season. It was a strange sight for me, to look up and only see grey, and I hoped it wasn’t too common of an occurrence.

The alley was much quieter than some of the others we had walked to get here. In a doorway across from mine, two children in cloaks played a strange board game whilst their grandmother sat weaving a basket behind them. I looked down the alley to my left and saw an Elomin, of which I had seen many of on Yak’ish Temeen. She was sitting on a crate, leaning against the wall and eyeing me shamelessly, so I darted my eyes to my right and determined that as my path of choice.

I had always had a reasonably good sense of navigation, a miracle considering I spent my entire childhood in one small carousel. My grandfather used to say I got it from my grandmother. She wasn’t Grat’anarian, and had grown up as a mechanic’s daughter on an outpost near where the Solstice Festival was held annually. During this time, all the carousels of the nation would meet for two weeks of celebrations, matchmaking, and trade. They had met there when they were fourteen, and my grandmother had been traveling with her older sister to sell spare parts to the visiting Grat’anarians. At the time my grandfather was, of course, far too young to marry, but every year until he was, they spent those whole two weeks together. My grandfather laughed shamelessly when he told my brother and I about how he skipped out on every religious ceremony and feast to sneak away over the dunes with my grandmother and watch the stars all night long. My grandmother, in typical fashion, would swipe my grandfather over the head and remind him not to incite us to skip out on rites as he had, and my brother and I would laugh at his expense. But he would always tell me how much I reminded him of my grandmother when she was my age, and would tell me I was destined for great things. I never believed him, of course, and I never thought that my navigational skills would come in use for anything beyond the weekly trip to Yemi’natar’s marketplace. And yet, here I was, trekking the streets of a foreign planet countless parsecs away.

I kept my focus on the landmarks I passed; certain stalls, how many turns I took, the buildings that flanked my path, so as to ensure I could find my way back – the last thing I needed was to get lost.

I finally returned to the main streets, where the crowds thickened and jostled me slightly as a made my way to the marketplace. The food here was foreign to me, and I assumed it was because I was used to the traditional Grat’anarian cuisine. But, I tried my best to figure out what I would like based on my sense of smell, and picked up enough supplies to last a couple of days. At this point, I had become far more aware of the biting wind on this planet, as I had on Utaran. I browsed through clothing stores, picking a couple of outfits that I liked – comfortable and practical for both the weather and my profession – and the owner let me change in the small booth at the back.

Profession; that reminded me.

“Is there anywhere I can find a ship mechanic around here,” I asked the owner after briefly explaining my situation.

“Head down to the docks,” he said. “They might have some odd jobs but there’s not much work around here. Unless you wanna work for the New Republic.”

Ha. Not likely. I thanked him as I paid, but I ducked out back into the street I felt cold water drops on my face. Fantastic, I thought. What great timing. I paused for a moment, considering whether I should check out the docks or if it was a task for another day. But something nagged at the corner of my heart, the reminder that, despite the fact it was unlikely, Din could be back in my apartment right now, waiting for me. I really didn’t stand a chance after I thought that, and my mind was made up as soon as the thought came into my head, so I began to make my way back the way I had come.

I wasn’t sure at what point I realized I was being followed. In truth, maybe I had felt it the whole time since I had left the apartment but had dismissed it as my general nerves. It was around now, though, that I really began to notice it. Something, or should I say, someone kept catching my peripheral vision, but every time I turned back there was nothing out of the ordinary. I tried to quell my beating heart and not get ahead of myself, but I subconsciously begin to walk faster. For the first time in a week, I was truly alone. It was now that it hit me how vulnerable I was. I didn’t even have that stupid dagger Din had given me on Utaran; I was pretty sure I left it in Raggard’s arm when I stabbed him.

When I left the main streets and found myself in the claustrophobic and quiet back alleys I realized how much danger I was in. My walk quickened, and before I knew it I was almost jogging. I spared a look over my shoulder and saw a man and another creature, walking calmly about 20 feet behind me. I looked ahead. I was so close to home, and once I got inside, I could shut myself in safely – I hoped.

I spun the corner onto my alley, which was completely empty, except for two silhouettes at the end. They weren’t walking towards me, but even though I couldn’t make out their faces I knew they were staring at me. I kept walking, sweat dripping down my forehead (or maybe it was rain). And then, unable to take it anymore, I broke out into a run, trying not to slip on the muddy ground. Finally, at my apartment building, I swung myself through the doorway and sprinted up the stairs as fast as I could. I wasn’t sure if they were still behind me, but I didn’t take the time to look – I just focused on my feet. I barrelled up the last flight of stairs, reaching the top and looking up, only to be greeted by the Elomin from before, who was leaning against my door and twirling a small knife in her hands bemusedly. She looked up at me and smiled slyly, as if she had been expecting me. I backed up, heart pounding, and turned around. But it was too late. The man and the creature who had followed me from behind were at the bottom of the flight, standing guard. I turned shakily back to the Elomin.

“What – what do you want?”

“Not even a hello? Or an invite in for some spotchka? You gave my friends some good exercise, running like that.” I didn’t respond, my voice caught in my throat. She raised an eyebrow calmly, seemingly finding my fear entertaining.

“Well, that is fair enough… we haven’t even introduced ourselves! My name is Ostalo.” She extended her hand, but I did not take it, to which she shrugged and retracted it. “Tell me, what’s your name, my dear?”

“You – you haven’t told me what you want. I have – I have credits, but I don’t – I don’t have anything else.”

She chuckled under her breath, turning to look down at the knife in her hand that she was playing with. “You’re right,” she said, a disturbing softness in her tone. “You don’t. But he does.”

My stomach dropped, but I played dumb. “Who?”

“That Mandalorian warrior you were with before… really such a shame he had to leave you behind… you wouldn’t happen to know if he’ll be back again?”

I gulped. “Of course he will be! In fact, he’ll be here any minute… and if you –” I felt the two burly men behind me, closing in. I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince, her or myself. “If you take me, he’ll track you down… he’ll find me!”

She chuckled slightly, sheathing the blade and slipping it back into her pocket, before flashing me a grin with shining white teeth and pointed eyes.

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”

#the mandalorian #star wars #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fic #din djarin fanfic #din djarin reader insert #din djarin x ofc #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin imagine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fic #din djarin fic

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7wanderingpaws · 4 years

Text

The Art of Shakiness

Pairing: Baekhyun x reader

Genre: collegue AU, doctor AU, wee bit of angst, romance, fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 5.3K

A/N: I saw the pretty moodboard and asked dear Marie @iloveagain if I could attempt to write this for her! I hope so much you will like it, sorry it took me so long! I would appreacite any kind of feedback! I enjoyed this! ❤😭 and omg I apologise for the terrible name of the oneshot, I am very bad at names :(((

“Miss, your hand is trembling too much,” scolded the professor as he walked to your lab table where the dead frog was lying, his white belly cut open. He stood in front of you, tsk tsking at you as he shook his head disapprovingly. “How do you want to take out his spleen if your hand is trembling so much? It is a small organ surrounded with even smaller ones. You know a surgeon needs a steady hand.”

Pressing your lips together, sucking them in you didn't meet the eye of your professor, too ashamed to look at him and see the disappointment.

You have always been struggling with shaky hands, whether you were stressed or not. If you were stressed and held a thin piece of paper, you could be rest assured you wouldn't even be able to read from it, the paper shaking violently in your weak fingers. It was something you have been extremely self-conscious about, and you learned early on how to mask the discomfort on your face whenever you caught people staring at your shakiness. Of course, just like all the elementary school kids, you were no exception to jokes or teasing, but you could deal with that. Accepting the truth and being able to make fun of it was a mature treat of yours when you were young and unknown to the cruel human nature.

“Just look at the gentleman next to you,” pointed out the professor, his hand gesturing to no other than Byun Baekhyun himself. “Steady hands, precise clean cut, causing as little damage to the body as possible. Maybe you should learn from him.” He didn't even look at you as he continued his way down the path of lab tables, all filled with surgical equipment and focused (or rather stressed) students. “Just continue working, miss.”

Gritting your teeth, you tried hard not to give ANY attention to the male next to you. He was chuckling, while working through the intestines of the little animal. His hands were swift, steady and just like the professor described, precise. Although you would never admit it out loud, having steady hands on a male was something that could turn you on and have you stare at the steadiness of the hands for way too long. Plus point would always be, if those hands were handsome too.

But back to your main point.

You hated the male next to you. He was you working partner, sitting partner and there was not much you could do about it. He was a playful charmer, always getting the best (or worst?) out of you, driving you up the wall. He was the number one student in almost all practical seminars besides… well, general medicine. In that one class, you were the number one.

“It's cause all you have to do is memorizing,” he would retort.

Sure.

Of course.

You weren't aiming to be the number one student at all. No. He was competing with nonexistent competition.

Or was he?

Because maybe the utmost, infuriating fact about him was that he didn't have to as much as sit down and thoroughly study. No. He was the one, who could read the text once or twice and he would recite it backwards.

So, in the words of students and friends that you shared, he was a scarily intelligent genius.

And you had to agree, and you hated him for that. He was everything you weren't. He was relaxed, you were stressed. You were trembling, he was steady. You were angry, he was cheerful. You had different personalities because of which your exchange of opinions clashed. And as much as everyone adored him, you couldn't.

It was the presentation day.

Your stack of diligently prepared papers was lying on your table, ready to be presented to the audience consisting of your classmates and your professor, who definitely didn't listen to information about the consistency of DNA before at all (sarcasm). Heck, he was your professor. If there was anyone that knew his thing better about this subject, it was exactly him. So you researched and studied hard, went to various lengths to give a good impression. But there was one thing that was holding you back, a scar that was threatening to bust open once you stood in front of the big auditorium, your well-structured ppt screened on the vast wall behind you.

As you were holding the single piece of paper, ready to start, was when you noticed your stress had got the better out of you again. It was shaking, violently, and despite you being confident in your presentation skills, this threw you off guard.

The silence in the huge space was literally deafening, and you struggled to get your heart to beat in a regular pace again. You didn't want to show this side of you. For once, you wanted people to be awed at how good you were at this…

But it didn't work. No matter the determination, the desire and mental will power to control the paper and the shakiness, it did not stop. If anything, it would tremble even more.

Screaming inside, you just decided you wouldn't look at the paper, hoping your memory of the text you were supposed to present was still well engraved in your memory.

Taking a deep breath, you were about to start when someone cleared their throat and stood up. Someone. It was him. He was walking down the steps that led from his seat to the podium you were on, and you professor raised a questioning eyebrow at the slim figure that was now almost in front of you. Not even giving him a chance, you frowned, whispering: “What are you doing?”

Without a word, he handed you something. It was a clipboard. “Just take it. Use it,” was what he said, giving you an encouraging smile.

Staring at the clipboard, you saw his hand - the steady one, that was now trying to help you by easing your anxiety. “Stop staring and take it. You have an audience to impress,” he murmured but he was playful. Grabbing your hand, he pressed it into your sweaty palm. Before he let go of you, you felt his hand squeezing yours gently, causing your heart to jump painfully.

Winking, he turned around swiftly, and on his way back he spoke out loud to the class: “Our colleague forgot her support.”

Your professor chuckled and motioned for you to start. By hearing him chuckle, and then facing an encouraging face of Baekhyun who was now staring at you like a puppy with perked ears and a wiggly tail, you finally managed to have a peace of heart. Your hand got a bit steadier as you put the paper on the clipboard, and with no trace of shakiness haunting you, you presented.

He was always there to support you, yet you never gave it a thought. You never questioned his fond smile when he looked at you struggling with scalpel or when the memorizing of the muscles in latin wouldn't work well with your brain. You never even thanked him when he told you the easier ways to remember the difficult terms and you almost cut him open with your own scalpel when he helped you at autopsies.

Patiently, he would lean over the lab table you shared, his elbows on the surface as he clasped his handsome hands together. Wait. Did you just say handsome? N-no, you meant steady and good-look-NO! Just. Steady.

“And now grab the left side,” he murmured, his attention fully on the work at hand. His hot breath fanned the skin on your hand and the goosebumps caused a wave of shakiness overtaking your limbs.

“Woah,” he grabbed your hand gently before it would stab another organ. “Relax. We can't ruin-”

“I know,” you snapped, stepping away from the table and focusing your gaze upwards to ease the tension from focusing for too long. “I can't scratch the other organs, it needs to be precise, and I should take out the stomach, not the guts… I know it all, Baekhyun. You aren't the only knowledgeable person here.” You were still staring elsewhere, rolling your eyes to exercise the muscles.

Baekhyun frowned, not showing the hurt you caused with your snappy attitude. “I know you know,” he tried, straightening up to his full height, his lab coat in a funny angle around his broad shoulders. “I'm just trying to help. You only need to pass this one exam and then you don't have to do more autopsies, or surgeries.”

“No,” you replied resolutely. He went silent. “This isn't the only time. I want to be a surgeon, just like my father. I want to be as good as him.”

“You can do it,” he stated. He waited until you turn and finally look at him, but you didn't. It was making him sad to see you suffering and if it meant spending all his free time to help you, then so be it. “I know you can.”

“I can't! The professor will kick me out of this course at the exam!”

“Just trust yourself a little bit!” he insisted now, his voice louder as he took a hold of your shoulder, needing to see your eyes. He wanted you to see his, so that maybe you could understand.

Once you finally locked eyes with him, he spotted your teary eyes and he gasped softly, hating the view. He never saw you cry before.

“What?” you whispered, afraid to speak louder in case your voice would fail you. You already hated he was witnessing this side of you.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you suddenly shook your head in dismissal, shaking his hand off of your shoulder. “No, don't talk. Don't. I can't stand you right now.”

And you left.

Pff, that idiot kept being annoying even more after that day in the labs. He wouldn't stop pestering you, always doing silly stuff to try to tick you off and it would end up in him laughing at you. Yeah. You always knew he was no good news.

It was next week when you had the last autopsy seminar at 7am before the final exam. You came in earlier, your thoughts still sleepy but soon to be woken by your determined self to pass the course and prove the world that even people with the worst shakiness in their hands could become amazing surgeons.

Baekhyun was already there, preparing the equipment and checking his notes when he heard you enter the silent room. The smell of disinfectant hit your nose once again, and you suppressed the disgust and negative emotions that were tied to the smell.

“Good morning,” he smiled at you and let his gaze rest on you until you reached the table on the other side. When you didn't respond, only letting out a grunt, he frowned. “That isn't your seat.”

“Well, now it is.”

Once again, he tried not to show the hurt he felt at your actions. He always had you next to him; throughout all the labs he could keep a secret eye on your work and amend issues quickly when you weren't looking. But now, sitting too far away from him and the exam literally around the corner, you couldn't afford to make a mistake.

“You should get tissues from the toilets then,” he said, feigning ignorance as he focused his attention back on his doodles of corgi dogs that he was scribbling until you interrupted his diligent work - the one you mistook for him studying his notes. “The table's dirty and I saw a piece of a finger not far away.”

Hearing his monotone voice, you didn't know what scared you more - the information he was providing you and made you flinch away from the table, or his sudden cold attitude. He was never cold with you.

“Sure,” you replied, turning to leave, giving him one last glance before exiting.

Baekhyun, hearing your absence, quickly stood up and took his water bottle, successfully pouring it on the chair made of light wood. Good, he thought to himself smuggly. Thanks to the light colour, it would be difficult to spot the puddle and plus, it wasn't like people usually paid attention to the chairs they were about to sit on, right?

You returned with some toilet papers, and quickly cleaned the table up, although it wasn't as messy as Baekhyun told you it was. Getting rid of the dirty papers, you finally sat down, wanting to just move on and start preparing when you felt it.

Wet coldness made itself inside through the textile of your jeans, all the way to your underwear. Letting out a yelp, you jumped up, turning around to see that, indeed, there was a puddle on the chair that you failed to notice.

Chuckles coming from the side couldn't be stopped, more so when you locked eyes with Baekhyun's laughing ones, his eyes half-moons turned downwards as he couldn't keep it in anymore and he started to laugh out loud, his mouth wide open.

“You-” you let out, seething from anger. “You did this?!” you shouted, your face growing hot, as angry tears made their way to your eyes. Disbelief in his actions was an understatement. How could he do this to you? “Are you freaking nuts? BYUN BAEKHYUN!!!” you screeched, letting out a loud, high-pitched scream as you closed your eyes and kept screaming.

Stopping abruptly, you opened your eyes, huge tears falling out of them. Taking your bag, you made three quick, big steps towards his laughing figure only for him to stop, surprised at the sight of your tear-stained face. “You,” you leaned in, so, so close that his eyes widened at the proximity, his heart jumping fast. “I,” you re-started, breathing heavily as you pointed your finger at him, poking it into his shoulder. “I. Hate. You. And if I see you anywhere near me, I will end you.”

You didn't fail that exam. But your professor didn't forget to mention the difficulties you would have once proceeding on with your field of study - an orthopaedic surgeon.

It left you so utterly devastated, disappointed and just overall bitter about your whole studies that you ended up locked in your room for days, crying.

You made sure, whenever you had to go to school and attend exams, you would make great effort in ignoring Baekhyun, who was so shocked at your cold attitude. You not even batting an eyelash at him, and he, just like you, ended up being bitter. He missed you, missed your presence. Despite you being grumpy with him, he never wanted to lose you. He admitted he might have gone too far with the wet chair thingy… He thought…

What did he think?

Well, now he could see it didn't bring you back to him. It officially made you hate him and he was hopeless. Trying to start conversations with you was completely fruitless. Surprising you with bouquets of flowers on your table didn't work at all. It had only one plus: he could see you genuinely smile until you recognized him hiding behind the wall, watching your reaction and you would realize the gift was from him. As much as you were touched, and it may have made your heart flutter, you couldn't stop the frown. You would stand up, leaving the bouquet there for Baekhyun to sadly walk over and retrieve it, watching your leaving figure.

The next semester he never saw you in the classes again. Did you give up? Or did you take a semester off? No, you couldn't have given up! You came too far for you to give up!

Contacting you was not working; apparently you changed your phone number.

Why other friends knew this, but he didn't?

Did you really hate him so much?

And what was this pain he was feeling? The darkness that was surrounding him, caused by your absence… it was hurting too much. He missed you.

He was, in fact, the entire time, hopelessly in love with you.

And you...

You hated him.

5 years later

You were just walking down the corridor at your department, hands deep inside your pockets when you heard your name being called out. Turning, you saw your colleague Hana running down after you. “I have a huuuuuge favour to ask of you,” she sighed once she stopped in front of you, clutching her hip for support.

“What favour?” you asked, worried you might have to stay longer in the hospital again. Even though your department wasn't the one where overnight shifts were common (actually, extremely rare) but staying longer than 5-6pm was always tiring. “I have covered your ass way too many times, don't you think?”

Finally her breath evened out and she straightened up, giving you puppy eyes.

“No!” you pointed your finger at her. “Don't you dare do this to me!”

“Please!” she wailed, locking her hands together in a plea. “I swear this is the last time. Then you can order me around as much as you want.”

You sighed, pressing your index and middle finger to your temple, trying to ease the stress of the day. “You know I don't like ordering people around…”

“Whatever, you will have me at your mercy. But Sehun managed to get a reservation at this fancy restaurant-”

You heaved out another sigh, her words now completely draining you out. These people. Dating, meeting up, being romantic, intimate… everything that you barely ever experienced, and now as a working person, you swore you could say bye to finding any kind of love in your life. You work was your life. But you didn't love work. Did that mean you didn't love your life then...?

You waited until she finished and you gave her a grunt. “What do you want me to do? I can do the exercises with your patients if that's what you want.”

She smiled nervously, but shook her head slowly, obviously wary and suddenly hasty.

“What is it?” you frowned. “You are acting like I bite.”

She scratched the back of her neck, avoiding your gaze. “Well, it is a bit of an annoying work, that is why I am not the happiest about asking you…”

“You don't seem like it,” you scoffed.

She ignored you and went on: “Anyway. Remember there was this huge accident few weeks ago? With two parents and two kids... “

You nodded, already dreading what was coming. It was an absolutely horrendous car crash that had two parents falling out through the front window, leaving them in a terrible state, meanwhile the kids didn't get as much as a scratch. News reporters were flooding the hospital and there was a huge interest regarding the two parents who were now lying on the intensive care after going through lengthy, difficult and complex surgery.

“So both parents have trouble with walking as you know. They are now at the orthopedic department after getting another surgery few days ago.”

“Oh, I wasn't aware they moved them.”

“Well, yeah, because of the naggings from the TV stations it is being kept a secret. But anyhow… The boss put me under the recovery supervision. They require basic exercises to support muscle activity. Do you think you could go to the orthopedics department and do it for me?”

You were hesitant. Not because you didn't want to do it. Actually, you would gladly help that poor family that went through such tragedy. But there was something else holding you back.

After few seconds of tense contemplating, you finally nodded. “Okay. Alright. I will do it. Do you have the necessary documents?”

“Thank you so much!” she squealed, hugging you. “I prepared the docs, they are in the common room on my table.”

When you arrived at the orthopedics department, it was quiet given the time of the day you visited. Kindly asking for directions from the nurses, you finally found the patients in question. A doctor was turned with his back towards the entrance, tending to the patients and making small talk. You hesitated only for a second before entering, the doctor not familiar to you.

“You will soon fly, miss, forget about walking,” he joked as he laughed breathily and that was what made you freeze. That voice was familiar…

The patient's eyes fell on you, and that was what probably made Baekhyun turn in his spot, wanting to check who was behind him. His eyes locked with yours and you saw that his manly features that were now in a friendly smile froze as he took you in.

How many seconds have passed with both of you staring at each other? Why was this so painful?

You knew it.

You. Knew. It.

That he would be there.

But you still came to his department. Of course, if there was any department closer to orthopedics, it was yours - physiotherapy. You and your colleagues were the ones who put into practice what the surgeons in orthopedics pieced together. The two departments were so vital to each other, they would be almost inseparable.

“The nurse arrived,” chimed in a friendly voice of the father. “Welcome!”

“Our doctor is already bewitched, we see,” chuckled the mum as she exchanged looks with her husband lying on the bed next to her.

You cleared your throat, heat rushing into your cheeks, matching your pink lipstick that complimented your face, and your personality. Baekhyun would agree, without hesitation. Sweet. Smart. Pretty. And real. Right now. In front of him.

“I came to tend to the patients, following the post-surgery recovery.” You said, still staring at Baekhyun wide-eyed. “If you could brief me in on the details, I would appreciate that.”

You weren't sure what, but something was so different about him. It had been too long. Comparing him to the Baekhyun you saw last many years ago, he was now more chubby in cheeks, seemed very healthy yet buffed up in a way. Sporting a clean haircut with brownish hair, you could now see how his face stood out. Sparkly eyes were still the same. Lips, that were now slightly parted at the unexpected sight of you, still so, so honest when he finally let out: “Well, damn.”

He was their main surgeon. The youngest in the department. The youngest ever to accomplish such an outstanding surgery. And as you learned while you were doing exercises with his patients, he was also “very, very kind and even more funny.”

You chuckled, feeling warm inside. Yes. Just like you remembered him, even though at the time you never acknowledged him that way.

“You know, all the nurses are swooning,” whispered excitedly the wife as you gently took her leg and pushed it towards her chest slowly before straightening it back up. “But the way he went silent when he saw you - wow. Dr Byun never goes silent on people.”

“Trust me,” added the husband, winking at you from the other bed. “We have been here for a while to know.”

“Yes, you have been here way too long,” you heard the voice from the doors and you felt your heart skip a beat. He was leaning against the doorframe, amusedly listening. The husband and wife chuckled, while you calmly continued working. “You are finishing up now, right?” he asked, the question now directed at you.

You looked at him from behind your shoulder. “Yes. We will finish in a few minutes.”

He nodded, looking at the exercises for a bit before he cleared his throat again and straightened up. “Could you please see me in the office before you leave?”

Humming an approval, he left.

And so, when finished and parted ways with the kind patients, you found yourself in his office, sitting on a chair opposite him.

“You wanted to see me…” you mumbled, not sure what to make of him constantly gawking at you.

He shook his head slowly. “Ah, sorry. I wasn't… I never knew you are working in this hospital,” he started.

“Well, I am,” you smiled at him.

“You knew I was here,” he stated. “Yet you not once came to visit me. And, and… all those years ago you disappeared…” he trailed off, slight hurt still present in his features.

Sure, first loves always hurt. It wasn't a shame for him to admit he never really loved before he met you, as much as it was difficult to believe it.

“Yes, I changed my university and my major, too,” you replied. “So I graduated later than you. I never knew you worked here until recently when you became the youngest surgeon to be successful at such a difficult surgery.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked, curiosity eating him away. He always wanted answers and he thought he would never get them. But finally, finally you were here. He could reach out and touch you, if he as much as wished so. “I thought we were friends.”

“Baekhyun,” you sighed before coughing. You knew he was asking about the past. “I mean, Dr Byun. It was a difficult stage in my life. I don't want to talk about it. I'm happy to know and witness you are doing well though. You became something I could never become.”

“You would have made it,” he replied passionately, speaking your name with such intensity it made you lock eyes with him immediately. “I had you all covered. I wouldn't have let you leave if you only talked to me!”

You were speechless as he slightly raised his voice, but not in a bad way. There was something bothering him, and you gently smiled at the hunch you were getting. “You always made fun of me, did you forget? You were my rival. I couldn't just be friends with you when you were the one having everything I ever wanted.”

Baekhyun went silent, heaving out a breath after your confession. “I never saw you as a rival.” Not even once.

“That doesn't matt-”

“I missed you,” he cut in, not letting his stare falter, and also sick and tired of keeping his emotions at bay when he had you in front of him. “You disappeared on me. Now you are the one who is doing the post-production of my work. Yet, you aren't even on the papers for the patients.”

“Yes, my colleague asked me to come in for her,” you replied, but your mind was racing at his previously uttered words. He missed you. It was true then. You knew it all along, and he confirmed it now. He liked you back then. Did he still like you now? “But I won't be coming back, don't worry. It was only for today.”

Baekhyun's eyes dropped on the paper in front of him. “I would like you to be the physiotherapist for my patients.”

You frowned and followed his gaze. “You want to change my colleague?”

“Yes,” he replied, his gaze carefully analyzing your reaction. “You belong to one of the best from your sort. So I want you with me. Would you accept it?”

You were seeing him everyday, just like back in university days. He was very busy, many times you caught him studying books and sometimes he came to check up on the exercises and the way you were practicing. He wanted to learn from you, so he asked you many questions, which always made the two patients chuckle. His funny remarks and entertaining commentaries made you laugh so much it hurt your belly and soon enough, he would ask you to come to his office where you would chat a bit longer.

Finally, you saw him in a different light. No enemy. No one to steal your place. Because he was complementing your work and you his. Drinking coffee or tea, you finally told him everything that was happening in your life and why you made the decisions that you made and you carefully explained him the way you saw him at the time.

Annoying.

Stupidly funny, which basically equalled annoying.

Handsome, which basically equalled ugly and disgusting.

Steady handed genius, which basically equalled handsome idiot…

Caring, which meant your rival.

But now, you could read it all backwards, and you would get the results that you saw now, but back then couldn't, blinded by your competitiveness. Funny, steady handed genius, caring, friendly, handsome and manly, and now in his attire, the title of the surgeon he worked so hard for, sexy.

He dared to make the first joke about your shaky hands after many years, and you laughed with him and showed him, that indeed, you were still just as shaky as before. But now you were shaking because of the butterflies he gave you. Oh yeah, shaky all for him. He would kiss away your tremblings whenever he got a glimpse of them... And you just trembled even more.

Seeing things now from a different perspective, you felt ashamed and embarrassed about how you used to behave around him back at university while he liked you.

It was almost two months after you first met at the hospital when he pulled you back into his office as you opened the door and were almost out. He closed it once he had you pressed against the wall next to it and his only approval of his doings was your bright, happy smile when he slowly leaned in and gave you a longing kiss. Smirking, he wanted to pull away, not having other intentions when you grabbed him by his cheeks and brought him back, wanting more than just a peck.

He was frozen for a heartbeat, but once back to his senses, he grabbed you by your hips bringing your bodies closer as he opened your mouth and explored more.

“I might have had a dream about you last night,” you whispered to him, chuckling again and he couldn't help but follow your chuckles because, goodness, this was actually happening. Once again, your sweet lipstick that tasted like strawberries, matched the colour of your cheeks and the stars in your eyes when you looked at him made him want to squeal from happiness. Because he had been dreaming about you all along.

Secretly dating in a hospital full of gossiping nurses was a bit challenging for almost one year. But it became so unbearable and his secret visits at your department went almost unnoticed except the fact that a doctor like HIM had no business at YOUR department. It was always the physiotherapist that came to the surgeon.

“Baekhyun,” you giggled when he once again stepped into the common room of the physiotherapy department. You were just fetching yourself some tea for the short break before heading back to your work. Your colleagues gave you quizzical looks tinted with suspicion, but they had it all confirmed in a way; you two being a thing. It was all over your faces.

“Excuse me, I will have to steal her for a moment. Need to discuss a patient,” he exclaimed shamelessly before waiting for you patiently at the doors as you made your way to him with your cup of tea. Once out in the corridor, he looked around before taking the hot cup out of your hand, putting it on the floor quickly and grabbing you by your waist to give you a huge, loud kiss. You should have fought with him but you were past that stage. Let everyone see.

The college sweethearts, was what you heard in the gossips after you talked to Hana, telling her how you and Baekhyun first met.

Looking up at Baekhyun as he was smiling at you affectionately before leaning in for another kiss, you could confirm that it was true. College sweethearts. And now, lovers.

“I love you,” he whispered into your mouth.

Hugging him, you meant it when you closed your eyes and your lips brushed his ear: “And I love you, my dear.”

Him, the best orthopedic surgeon.

You, the best physiotherapist.

The iconic duo of the hospital.

❤

hope you liked it!

CuriousCat Ask box is also open! Or comments!💕

#baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun au #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun romance #exo au #exo fic #exo fanfiction #exo ima #baekhyun oneshot #exo oneshot #kpop oneshot #kpop au

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fallenrepublick · 4 years

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HELL-O HERE'S A CRAZY FOR THRAWN. Let's see, my idea of fic is this: the reader is a stormtrooper who in her spare time, she likes to sing. then one day for no reason she forgets to take off her helmet and Thrawn hears her, and crushes loudly. how about? 👁️👄👁️

Mate, you have no idea how many fantasies I’ve had of this scenario.

Okay so when I was writing it I kind of fucked up the prompt a little, because I got carried away so like... it isn’t exact, so if you want me to redo it or whatever, that’s fine just let me know

I listened to that song Journey To The Past from Anastasia while I did this, so that’s kind of what I hear when I think about this, but that’s just me

Warnings: None

He never knew why he chose to go down that hallway. It wasn’t something he had any reason to do, the soldier quarters an unassuming and quite frankly boring place to be. And yet, what he could only ever describe as an instinctual reaction had led him down the hall, the grey walls interspersed with doors and lights that somehow carried with it an even heavier dreariness than the other, practically identical, halls.

It was a strange thing, he thought to himself as his heels clicked forward in their usual steady pace, the existence of this military. Back in the days of the Republic, soldiers had little option to join the war, their very existence designed for battle. Yet once the production of the clones had been stopped, the military hadn’t failed to recruit new soldiers, if anything, they succeeded even further, everyday citizens with a vigor and loyalty to the Empire standing first in line to offer their services.

But those were the officers. The troopers, some of them with a similar sentiment, most without it, were often there by little other choice. So what, he asked himself further, is the difference?

Nameless faces.

Faceless names.

Hell, even the leadership had stayed the same.

Even still, he was down this hall, and the identical voices in identical helmets suddenly spanned every wavelength, every tone, every accent imaginable. And he found that his mind had drifted from philosophy to imagination, the stories of these people building themselves in his mind, false as they may be, and what once was a pointless detour through a neighborhood he had no place in had turned into almost a creative exercise in possibility.

Thus, when the music began, he didn’t immediately notice. Still utterly encapsulated by the inner workings of his own mind, the thought that something else might not only interrupt his thoughts, but completely distract him from them seemed next to impossible. Something did distract him, however, and the voices he had been hearing around him stopped practically at once, the only sound that now mattered, a single voice, carrying a gentle melody down the dismal barrack hallway, lifting the area from its gloom that had before looked permanently weighted onto the atmosphere. How could he not have followed it?

The echoing of the music against cold metallic walls brought him to a door, nondescript in nature, and most certainly forgettable should muscle memory fail those that reside behind it. What it held behind it was anything but.

To passerbys, it might have looked as if he were making some god-awful attempt at sneaking about. At least to feign some form of casualty, he leaned his back against the door gently, careful not to create a bump that would alarm you, and simply listened.

The longer he stayed, the more he felt your voice pull at his chest, every emotion you would normally be forced to hide from your superiors poured into such a simple song. Yet he couldn’t possibly leave, feeling a strange force securing his feet to the floor. He could feel the heat gradually travelling to his face, just knowing that his cheeks had turned a deep purple, and no internal begging nor pleading would be able to hide such an obvious change. Pull yourself together, he told himself, it’s just music. Lying to himself did little.

But of course, songs don’t last forever, and it wasn’t long before the beautiful sound that had led him here finally ceased, and he was left in a lonely, empty silence that not even his previous thoughts would be enough to fill.

The door hissed behind him, and for a moment, he was falling backwards before catching himself.

Though it took him a moment to realize he had just been caught, the look on your face when he turned to face you was nothing short of horror. Your uniform, your armor, your everything was out of order, and oh god that is THE Grand Admiral and he’s standing right at your door, you must have done something horribly wrong. And he was flushed, meaning he must be angry about something.

“G-Grand Admiral!!” you wound up shouting in fear, giving the best salute you could muster under the circumstances, straightening up and tightening your expression. “I w-was u-unaware that you had been-”

He only barely seemed to be listening, a slight frown that wasn’t necessarily directed at you only making you more nervous.

A voiced face.

“Your name?” he asked simply, earning a gulp from you.

When you gave it, albeit reluctantly, his expression never changed. He only nodded.

A named face.

“You are aware,” he said distractedly, taking quick scans of you as your eyes widened further. “That these walls are incredible sound carriers. Metal transports sound waves at a much quicker rate than the air around us.”

You looked about ready to close the door in utter embarrassment, and understandably so. Though he continued, nonchalant as ever, tapping a studious finger at the door frame, the other hand secured tightly behind him. You assumed it was formality. It was actually to hide the uncontrollable fidgets that might have happened had both his lovestruck hands been left free.

A soldier.

“I couldn’t help but notice your voice,” he said, in spite of himself.

“My voice…”

“Yes.” His eyes flicked away, as if the admission was more nerve-wracking to him than to you. “I fear such talent is wasted in a place like this. If I were to make an offer… would you accept, or at least consider doing so?”

“An offer?” You sucked in a shaky breath, rubbing your arm in disbelief that the conversation had continued as long as it did. “What kind of offer…?”

After what felt like an hour of the tall, pretty, officer deliberating whether or not what he had started was a wise decision, he inhaled, a newly discovered confidence in his position taking full control of his actions.

A story.

“Possibly one of the most soundproof rooms on the ship is my office. If ever you were to need a place to practice…” He paused a moment to review your reaction. “I would gladly provide you full access for those purposes.”

Suddenly feeling your heart pound against your chest, you gave a slow, anxious nod, despite your shallow breathing. It was a kind enough gesture, and your acceptance pleased him, a small smile following his determination.

And even after he left, no doubt to prepare the space for you, a shadow of a gentle hand on your shoulder still lingering against your skin, your hands still trembled, though now in excitement rather than fear. After so long of being generally ignored by Imperial Officers, your first interaction with the one and only Grand Admiral Thrawn had been one of interest. Not only so, but with the newly made deal between the two of you, it was more than likely you would be seeing a lot more of him than you had ever expected. Such a thing only intensified your anticipation.

But for him, walking away ached, a string that had wound itself around his heart and attached itself to you failing to give way to the distance he was forced to forge between yourselves. Thinking about materials you needed was only a distraction from the illogical longing that had made quite the elaborate nest in him. He rushed to find a true space for you, the quicker he could complete the task, the sooner you could come with him.

A home.

#singing practice isn't the only thing soundproof rooms are good for if ya know what i mean #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn x reader #grand admiral thrawn x you #thrawn x reader #star wars x reader #star wars x you

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gravelghosts · 3 years

Note

1, 9, 16, 22, 25 (I know you did 25 already but maybe you could do another bit you're proud of?) <3

1) is there a story you’re holding off on writing for some reason?

answered here.

9) what, if anything, do you do for inspiration?

answered here.

16) are there any characters who haunt you?

answered here.

22) are there any subjects that make you uncomfortable to write?

hm that’s a good question. of course there’s plenty of subject matter that I don’t write and would be very uncomfortable writing, but I don’t have to, so. of the things I do write... sex scenes are always a little uncomfortable, though I think less than one might imagine? they don’t feel particularly different to me than writing fight scenes or any other kind of caught-up-in-the-action type sequence.

there is also some discomfort - and I think it’s a good discomfort - in writing beyond the boundaries of my own lived experience. whether that’s writing an ace character like elizabeth in tall grass, or a homophobic family like cas’s in home range, or a romance that traverses racism and historical genocide like in old olives - all of those stories are going to feel far more personal to some of my readers than they do to me, and I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t feel right at home just pulling up a seat at the table in someone else’s house. I should tread carefully, and do my homework, and be aware that I still might screw things up. all of that is a bit uncomfortable, as it should be. I think it’s also worthwhile.

25) copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of

answered here and here but here’s another:

They’ve got a half empty bottle of Aunt Jemima’s that Dean’s been lugging around for three states. He’s grabbing it from the cupboard over the stove as Sam pads over, already bundled in his oversized jacket — a Carhartt knockoff. It makes him look like a deflated football.

He’s walking on tiptoes, touching the linoleum with as little of his bare feet as he can. “Syrup toast?” he asks, hopefully.

Dean spares him a glance. Sam looks rumpled and fresh-faced, healthy, a little tan. There’s a crease from the pillowcase across his left cheek, acne threatening on his chin. A surge of love hits Dean’s ribcage, hard, out of nowhere; nearly knocks him sideways. I’d die for him.

“Pancakes,” he says, levelly. “Got a real stove, we might as well use it. Put some socks on.”

this is from my 14.01 coda - michael has dean trapped in flashbacks inside his own head - and I don’t know why, but it always catches me a particular way in the chest to think about dean’s parentified older brother relationship with early teenage sam. watching him stop being a little kid in some ways, but still such a kid in others, and starting to exercise self-determination in a way that dean never really got to, and... okay I’ll stop before I hurt myself. but I liked how I wrote that vibe here.

(catching up on this thing)

#writing asks #thank you so much for asking!#❤️❤️❤️

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snowbellewells · 5 years

Text

A Year in the Court of Misthaven: Part V “Becoming One”

At long last, the next addition to my “Year in the Court of Misthaven” Lieutenant Duckling series. I’m sorry it’s taken so long, but this one really took some doing. However, I hope you will enjoy this. It’s a step out of my comfort zone, in that I attempted to write a legitimate love scene. That said, this is probably the first piece I feel like should be rated M, so if that is a concern I wanted to let readers know up front. (I hope it isn’t too cringe-y, but I did try my best.) As always, this is for @kmomof4 who wanted to see more of this universe beyond the original one shot. If nothing else, I’m hoping you’ll like it, Krystal! :)

from the beginning of this series...

Part V: Becoming One

By: @snowbellewells

Now that their pledged troth was once again assured, Emma could happily show Killian the preparations which had been made in his absence for their wedding celebration, and begin to gain his approval, opinions, and preferences on those things and upon the details she had refrained from deciding without him. Whenever possible, Emma had sought to choose colors, food, and decor which she had believed Killian would prefer - or knew that he liked - still, now that he was at her side once more, she wanted her fiancé to have his part in the festivities and to know that how their nuptials were carried out was as much up to him as it was to her. Their wedding day was his as well after all, and she wanted her lieutenant to feel it so.

Life returned as much to normal as possible around them - at least as much as it would ever be for the Princess and sole heir of Misthaven and her intended consort. Their court physician had finally declared, not only Killian, but his brother as well, in the rehabilitative stages of their recoveries; no longer in danger of infection, further blood loss, or relapse, but instead working to regain their strength and adapt to life with the lasting ramifications of their injuries. To that end, Killian had worked with the physician, along with numerous assistants and craftsmen, to come up with some sort of prosthetic he could wear in place of his amputated hand. Though wooden models designed to look like a hand had been offered him, they had not the ability to move and grip which would be needed if he were to return to any sort of naval activities. In the end, he had settled on a sort of metal hook for everyday use which looked not much different from ones that could be found on the rigging of ships. Most of his everyday tasks could be handled better with such a utilitarian instrument, and though there was a fake hand chosen to wear at more formal occasions, learning to use the replacement which suited him best was all with which Killian, or any of those who cared about him, were concerned.

Though Killian had hand and arm exercises to perform, which could frustrate and pain him, he was as diligent in completing them as in any task he had ever undertaken. His ability to return to naval service was as yet uncertain, but if the outcome could be achieved through sheer determination and effort, he would be well on his way. Emma couldn’t help traitorously thinking to herself that his having to stay safe within their own kingdom was not such a horrible thing, but she also hated to think what it might do to her sailor’s pride, and - almost - his sense of self. She would never truly wish him to be kept away from the wind and waves he loved, only that he would always return to her hale and whole - or, better yet, that she could venture forth with him.

Liam had a longer road of recovery to tread, but the eventual outcome was also much clearer. Killian’s elder brother and Captain should, once his strength and function were restored, as they were assured would occur given proper time, be able to retake command of his vessel in her Majesty’s royal fleet. It had been a frighteningly close call; he had lost almost more blood than any single man could spare. To Killian, who was still forced to relive the immediate aftermath in gory, vivid detail in his worst nightmares, it had seemed his brother’s very insides were littering the ship’s deck in horrifying red resplendence. In the end, however, he had not lost any major organs, nor did there seem to be evidence of permanent ill effects once he could fully recoup the weakness and blood loss.

Two of the brothers Jones’ most regular visitors continually warmed Emma’s heart with their arrival. One, of course, was Belle. The petite brunette had always been helpful and kind to Emma, able to find exactly what the Princess sought in moments when she came to the castle library on a mission, and able to keep up a candid and spritely conversation with the young royal whenever Killian, Liam, Ruby or Graham had not been available to do so. Clearly she felt a more than casual concern for Captain Jones’ recovery however, which Emma had not seen coming. Sill, the other woman was often already seated by Liam’s side when Emma and Killian reached his room in the mornings, either already reading something to him, sharing breakfast, or simply sitting with him listening to the early morning bird songs outside.

Killian had already been released to return to the apartments he and Liam had made use of since they were children, rather than having to remain in the hospital wing. Though he liked to spend as much time as possible with his brother, doubtless knowing Liam must feel anxious and useless with his forced convalescence, and Emma felt no hardship in joining him in his visits as long as she was welcome. She had found herself growing even closer to Belle in the interim.

One morning, the had even found the pensive librarian fast asleep in the overstuffed chair at Liam’s bedside, head resting on folded arms while he was awake, hand raised as if almost ready to brush it over her rich, mahogany tresses when they had made their entrance just before his breakfast tray. Liam’s hand had pulled back so quickly Emma had needed to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing both at the motion and his flushed, sheepish expression as well. Belle, however, had not roused, and the elder Jones brother’s gentle, rapt glances over at her whenever he thought they wouldn’t notice were pathetically obvious and endearing.

Emma hadn’t stayed long that morning, meandering down to where her mother and Ruby sat in the sunroom making plans for ceremony and reception color schemes, flower arrangements, and seating. She knew that it would already feel crowded in the room if Killian tried to genuinely speak with his elder sibling as he needed to, and she also knew Belle well enough to not wish the other woman rapidly becoming more friend than pleasant acquaintance to be distressed by waking to find herself ‘asleep at her post’ or caught ‘neglecting her duty’ or whatever ridiculous notion the conscientious brunette would concoct. Giving Liam a truly happy smile and bending to kiss her fiancé’s cheek where he had settled at his brother’s opposite elbow, she had slipped from the room with a promise to return within the hour.

The second heartwarming recurrent guest, the one who made Emma’s chest swell almost beyond what she could stand without bursting, was her own father, King David. From the moment of their return, the man had been anxious to be apprised of both Jones brothers’ conditions and progress, anxiously questioning doctors, nurses, and even household staff when he could not visit the castle’s sick wing in person. Emma knew part of it was concern for her - her father not wanting his beloved daughter to suffer the loss of her partner and chosen mate, it went beyond that as well, to a depth that reminds her once again just what a good heart this man - once a shepherd whom True Love made a King - possesses and makes her adore her papa even more than she always has. He and her mother took these two orphan brothers in, raised them as their own, and their reaching adulthood has not made the crown regents any less attached to or concerned for their charges.

Though he does not tend to linger, probably sensing that both young men wish to be back at their duties onboard ship and do not wish for their monarch to see them as weak, the King is also more than obviously making his support and concern known. The two boys he raised alongside his precious daughter, whom he has watched grow into brave, honorable young men proudly serving his wife’s kingdom, hold a special place in David’s heart - as an adoptive father… and as a soon-to-be father-in-law. He will be certain that they both receive the very best care which can be provided, and clearly wishes to see Killian and Liam improving daily. She has always been her father’s darling, and daddy’s girl down to her bones, but if possible, his care for her fiancé and his brother made Emma adore her papa even more.

Slowly but surely first Killian, and then eventually Liam as well, began to venture from the recovery wing and back into as much of their daily lives as possible. Emma thrilled with any little jaunt Killian made alongside her, whether it be to the kitchens to test the batter for various cakes Granny Lucas was testing for their wedding reception, venturing to their secret garden arbor overlooking the sea, or even down at the docks where he laughingly started teaching her to fish. Though it might take him longer than before to accomplish some tasks with one hand, he was coping, and it did Emma’s heart good to see.

Unfortunately, she could also see quite well that the missing hand and the arm left behind still pained him, much as he might try to hide it or to appear as if everything was fine. At times sharp twinges seemed to strike him unawares, and he would wince or jerk in reaction before schooling his features to hide it. Emma in turn, could not help but to reach for him, wanting to soothe the ache, to offer comfort, to do anything to help. Despite the discomfort or distress he might be in however, Killian would not suffer her to touch the truncated limb, nor to see it without the brace that covered the amputation site. Though he had thankfully stopped trying to convince her to move on from him or that they should no longer marry, it would take a fool not to see that he still feared the full extent of his mutilation would disgust her or finally cause her to turn her back.

Nothing could be further from the truth; yet, Emma didn’t wish to push her lieutenant too hard or too far. He had been through a horrific trauma, one that - as much as she might wish to aid or lessen - he must deal with in his own way. When his pained reactions occurred she bit her lip firmly, forcibly holding back either comforting platitudes or questions about what troubled him. She genuinely attempted to allow him the moments which fooled no one to school his infinitely expressive features and pull the mask back into place as though nothing were wrong. The tautness of his voice betraying pain and tension despite his projected nonchalance nearly made her heart crack and brought tears to her eyes, but she always found the strength to hold them back, if only to stay near him and to perhaps distract her sailor from the torment he suffered in silence.

Early evening on the day before their wedding at last, they had been fishing at the docks and were walking back to the palace over the weathered wooden planks of the dock, a small bucket of their day’s catch over his whole arm, and her small, delicate hand tucked into his other elbow as he led her gallantly home for the night, when she noticed him shifting uncomfortably, his lips pressed together tightly against any sound. To some it might seem peculiar to go fishing on the eve of their nuptials, but both were anxious in their own ways, and being together, doing something simple and familiar was the best pastime for them it seemed. All was ready, prepared, not a single loose end left to be tied, and so they had slipped off to the waterfront.

“What is it?” Emma asked gently, worry creasing her brow in concern as she looked up into her beloved’s face; his dark brows pulled low over eyes scrunched near closed in intense pain, his shoulders hunching slightly in spite of his best efforts, and the truncated limb pulling in toward his torso unconsciously, even with her fingers still resting upon it.

Killian shook his head at her question, almost as though he had not the breath to speak as much as he wished to avoid giving straight answer. He moved them forward several more steps, before a low grunt of misery escaped under his breath, and he tripped slightly in his next step.

Her concern had not abated since her question went unanswered, and Emma was immediately anxious for him once more as he faltered. Not brooking any sort of opposition, she pulled him to the side of the path by his good hand, taking the basket from him first. Once off the walk and out of the way and attention of passerby, Emma pressed Killian onto a bench placed along the way, and knelt before him, peering up into his face with an intent scrutiny he couldn’t avoid. “It’s your arm, isn’t it?” she murmured sadly, already well aware she was right. “What can I do?”

She waited, hoping that he would not dismiss her concern, put up a front and pretend all was well when that clearly was not the truth. Her breath nearly caught in her throat, choking her on a gasp when he surprised her by meeting her gaze head on and answering with honest vulnerability.

His voice was a pant as he doubled over slightly in the seat, the blue of his eyes slightly diluted by tears she saw gathered but which he refused to let fall. “Aye, phantom pain…” he hissed, the words choppy as he forced them out. “The doc warned me about it...feels as though my hand...though it’s not even there...is burning.”

The explanation was simple and blunt, but Emma could easily sense the agony unspoken behind her sailor’s mere words. “It’s going to be alright, Killian,” she promised, forcing herself to project a calm she didn’t feel in hopes of helping him. “I can’t imagine what it feels like. I won’t pretend I can. But you are going to be alright.”

He nodded bleakly at her words, clearly using all his might to hold back a tormented sob.

Pressing on, Emma raised herself up just enough to rest her forehead against his, hoping to gently offer the contact and lead his breathing to slowly match her own at such close proximity. One hand slipped beneath the collar of his button-down shirt to rest over his heart, ignoring the way her own pulse stuttered and then tripled in speed at the feel of warm skin and coarsely curling hair across his chest, and instead further urging him to draw deep, steadying breaths. “Please, Killian, tell me what I can do to make it better.”

He knew exactly what would help, had done it in his solitary chambers on many an occasion though he had never been willing to allow any other to perform the task or even see his stump uncovered as such action necessitated. He did not intend to have his beautiful princess, his own pure paragon of perfection, be the first, though he had to grit his teeth to keep from telling her what would bring him ease. However, one glance at her determined and beseeching expression and how close she was, as if trying to read his face through sheer proximity, also alerted him to the fact that his princess would not be easily denied.

Brokenly, he finally answered in hoarse tones, “Sometimes...if I uncover it...and massage the stump...working those muscles can relieve some of the pain...but you don’t…” Already shaking his head, he began to pull away from her in hopes of dissuading her suddenly tenacious hands as she ran them up his arms to his shoulders, dexterous fingers slipping beneath the collar to seek out the straps and buckles holding the molded leather sheath over his blunted forearm.

Killian tried once more to protest, desperation rising within him as he felt exposed, out in the open, and more and more certain with each rapid heartbeat that once she truly saw the extent of the carnage, what - to him - seemed the mangled stump of flesh where once his other hand and wrist had been, that she would at last understand his fear and be disgusted enough to indeed pull away, leaving him wrecked and ruined. “Please, Emma…” he pled futilely, knowing it was no use, that there was no changing her mind once that particular furrow of determination settled upon her brow. “There’s no need, Lass. You shouldn’t have to see… Once I’m back in my room, I can…”

But his Princess was having none of it, shaking her head in denial of his excuses and pressing on, until he felt her unhook the buckle which held the entire contraption upon his shoulder. The release of pressure in itself was enough to ease some of the throbbing that radiated up and down his arm, even as it caused him to suck in a tight breath, feeling his doom about to unfold as hook and brace fell away into her careful hands before she gently set them aside next to him on the bench.

Her next move though, startled him enough to snap him from his dread and terror and transfix him, unmoving and completely attuned to her will. Even as her hands moved back to the end of his shortened forearm, wrapping with a soothing, gentle warmth over the scarred pink flesh, her eyes never fell to take it in; her gaze remained firmly and completely locked on his, promising that she was right there and that she would never leave. With a firm, but still tender, grip, Emma began to knead his stump expertly. Her face never changing to register disgust or regret, only that loving concern which had always been there any time he was hurting or troubled since he was seven years old and her father had brought he and Liam home. Her touch seemed so helpful and so assured in fact that he wondered if she had not researched different massage techniques or questioned the doctors and nurses at her family’s beck and call, in order to be ready if she might be able to help him. And he was then hit by the obvious realization that of course that was exactly what she had done. Why would he have expected anything else?

Ever so slowly, though he knew in truth it had been mere minutes, the pain ebbed at her calm, sure ministrations. Looking up at his lovely princess in wonder, Killian drew a ragged breath, hardly able to believe her goodness and devotion as the panic and fear receded. “You truly are a marvel, my Love,” he murmured, stunned voice soft and affectionate.

Emma shook her head slightly, a teary, lopsided smile lighting her face as she responded, “Did you really think I’d let you suffer if it were in my power to help you?” Her dainty hands still smoothed over his tormented flesh, easing him as she continued.

Several more minutes passed with them simply gazing into each other’s eyes, then gently the princess’ fingers trailed down to clasp her lieutenant’s other hand and to brace on her knees and stand. Pulling lightly, she urged him up after her. Wordlessly she turned back toward the palace once more, and Killian followed with their fingers intertwined, without hesitation.

Though wondering what his headstrong beloved had in mind, Killian didn’t question, merely walked behind her as they entered the courtyard and slipped through the entry hall. For a moment he thought Emma might be taking him to Doc, but as they began to climb the grand staircase, the idea was discarded. No one stopped them, even as they made their way along the second floor toward her apartments. Neither of them spoke, but then, Killian was not sure he would be able to anyway. He had just decided that she must be seeing him safely to his own room, wanting to be certain he was well and able to rest, when she pulled him to the right, drawing even closer to the royal family’s private wing, before leading clearly to her own apartments. The realization struck him, and his mouth went dry while his heart began to pound.

At last they stood outside her bedroom door, still silent in the gathering dusk, and Emma turned to look up at him, her beguilingly dark lashes fluttering over the transfixing green of her eyes and drawing him closer rather than taking his leave as he knew he should.

“Come in with me, Lieutenant?” she asked, biting her lower lip in playful query as she gazed into his startled face, unable to agree to something which might attach scandal to his intended bride just a day before the wedding, but equally unable to deny her. As if sensing his indecision, Emma ran her nimble fingers under the loose sleeve of his shirt, ghosting over still raised and somewhat tender scars and knowingly traced her pretty pink tongue over her upper lip in anticipation, pressing her advantage. “If you would, I could take good care of you…”

Though he knew that claim was large made of need and bravado, having only their own curious forays together to guide them, in that moment, Emma was a temptress Killian could hardly resist. He practically trembled as she continued to run her fingertips over the skin of his maimed forearm, jaw clenched so tightly to hold himself still that a muscle visibly worked in his cheek.

Emma raised her other hand to cup his cheek soothingly at the sight. Her heart stuttered to think that she might have caused him more pain and distress, or… was she wrong? Did he no longer want her?

He didn’t allow that thought to linger, instead startling her when he shook his head in frustration and backed away from her, dislodging her delicate touch and desperately searching her eyes with his own. “W-what are you doing t-to me, Emma? We can’t…” His chest heaved, and Killian downed a lungful of air before he could continue. “Stars above, do I want to… but you should take tonight… now that… now that you’ve really s-seen the damage… and be certain you don’t… want to back out while you still can?” His face fell to study the rich carpet at their feet with those words and the next were nearly inaudible when he added, “I would understand if you did.”

However, it is that declaration which galvanized Emma to action. Not allowing her face to fall with the return of his fear that her love could be so fickle, and without another moment’s hesitation, seeing clearly that it was not an issue of wish or desire, but that her brave, beautiful lieutenant was still trying to look out for her, at the expense of his own heart, she drew near to face him once again. He still feared her feeling trapped in their union, that she could not still want to bind herself to him, but in truth there was nothing she could want more. If she couldn’t convince him with sweet reassurance and heartfelt vows, then she would show him in a way that was impossible to doubt.

Killian was thrown slightly off balance by the way Emma suddenly latched onto his good arm and pulled him into her chambers, quickly closing the door behind them before they were seen, and then pressing him against it with her own body as she delved her hands into his dark, messy hair and kissed him for all she was worth. Still more than a bit disoriented, and not at all certain how to respond to her onslaught turning his body traitor to his mind, Killian was struggling to right himself, and mentally fighting not to surge forward and take over the kiss, spinning them to press her against the door and ravish her as she seemed to be demanding.

Neither of them had any wealth of experience beyond what they had explored with each other, and yet, as the emotion that had always been present between them swelled and began to guide them, hesitance and insecurity melted away. Now fully kissing his princess back, Killian just managed not to carry her across the room and press her to her mattress - but only just. Instead, his arms rose, meaning to cradle her precious face as he continued worshipfully drinking from her lips. His right hand did just that, calloused thumb stroking over her soft, porcelain cheek. Unfortunately, he caught sight of his blunted left arm and the mass of scars covering it as it rose to her face as well, and he jerked it back instinctively, hating the vision of it against such pale perfection.

Emma felt him flinch away, even as he tried to steady himself and continue kissing her. The catch in his throat and the tremble she felt where she clutched his shoulders gave him away, no matter how little he might want pity.

“Killian,” she murmured, her lips still brushing his, soft as rose petals and full of the solace only she can give. “What is it?”

He shook his head, having already tried to explain it to her, and knowing she would only argue with his fear now, even if it proved true once she genuinely looked at the ravages to his body bared before her eyes. Squeezing his own shut to avoid her searching green gaze, Killian instead rested his forehead against her own, drawing in her sweet scent and trying valiantly to memorize every detail in what he is sure might be the last time he was ever able to hold her so close.

As if needing nothing further to read his mind, understanding dawned on Emma as she took in her sailor before her. Taking a definite step back, she reached for his hook and its brace where it had fallen to the floor at their feet. Upon her picking it up and pushing it into his grasp, the air left his lungs in a rush; he was sure she had now awoken from her blindness and was about to send him away as he had feared. But then Emma, his stunning princess, caught him by surprise once more.

With only the barest of whispers to break the charged silence between them, she guided his arm across the space between them to place the sharpened metal point of the hook at the edge of her gown’s bodice, before biting her lip and looking up at him through her lashes with determined and sultry fervence. “Go ahead, rip it,” she commanded hoarsely, only the barest quaver to the words. “I want you to… and I need you to believe me.”

In truth, one hard downward swipe would slice through the material that covered her swiftly rising and falling chest, baring Emma completely to his eyes for the first time, but Killian had to stop himself, had to bring this back under control. It was folly, and could ruin her if anyone found out, even if they were to be married on the morrow. And not only that, he shook his head and blinked rapidly in an effort to clear the haze of lust her actions had brought before his eyes, beyond that, he had meant to release her, not make her more inclined to coddle him than ever.

When she saw that even with this further incentive Killian intended to balk, to cling to his blasted honor while it tore him apart, a spark of fiery ardor kindled in Emma’s green gaze, not giving up in her mission for even a second; instead, he had merely pushed her to retain the lead. “Killian,” she spoke again, her voice passionate and sincere as she took his chin between her fingers and forced his eyes to meet her own crackling with resolve. “I mean it. I want every part of you… Just you. No one else. That hasn’t changed… and it’s never going to.”

Wrapping both her small hands around his one holding the hook, she pushed downward in guidance until, with a sharp tear, the fabric gave and soon the rip sliced down the center until her dress fell open and Emma stepped from the folds of fabric to stand before her slack-jawed lieutenant. His eyes were round with wonder as he reached forward and then pulled back, as if aching to touch her with all the reverence and love she could read on his face, and yet, at the same time not quite sure he should truly be allowed to do so.

For the first time, the certainty on Emma’s face wavered, and a slight tremor ran through her limbs as her intended continued to stare in appreciation but made no movement forward. It was all she could do not to cross her arms protectively over herself, but her resolution held her fast as she urged once more. “Touch me, Killian. Please…”

This time the gentle plea in her sweet, beloved voice seemed to press Killian forward, finally breaking him free of the hesitance which had held him back and allowing him to close the distance between he and his princess until they were practically nose to nose. With the most tender gesture it seemed she had ever felt, Emma’s breath caught as he brought the gleaming curve of his metal appendage up to lightly brush a blond strand of her hair over her shoulder adeptly, and then ran the steely edge down her neck, out along her shoulder, and then over the outer curve of her breast and along her side to pause at her waist. It was now his chest rising and falling rapidly with the speed of his breath as his eyes followed the same paths along her body, seemingly heating her skin with his gaze as he did so.

“You’re so beautiful…” he rasped, his voice a raw husk of its usual timbre. For a moment, they merely gazed at one another, finally seeming in perfect accord, each loving the other so much no flaws or scars merited notice. Then, as if afraid to break the spell, but having to move, Emma raised one hand to brush her fingertips along that same long-healed scratch high on his cheek; a move of affection to ground herself in the familiar before venturing on.

“So are you,” she whispered sweetly, meaning every word and marvelling at how with those long, dark lashes mirroring the light blue, his strong jaw and the tilt upward of his soft, full lips, how he could ever doubt it. Letting her hand trail down the side of his face to his chest, the other one joined it, soon pushing his jacket from his shoulders to the floor and then going to work on the buttons of the loose-bloused shirt beneath.

Killian seemed to have finally given himself over to her will and the heat of the moment, merely shuddering at the sensation of her hands darting within the shirt once opened, skimming over his ribs and the quivering muscles of his stomach before shoving it from his arms and letting it fall to the floor atop the crumpled jacket.

Before he could protest or pull back within himself once more, Emma quickly grasped her sailor’s shortened arm, still reddened from the brace, but healed over and, to her, no deterrent in the slightest. Bending her head, she pressed her lips to the scarred flesh, lingering in what she could only hope might be a soothing kiss, holding his arm close, caressing the skin and cradling it to her chest.

A sort of half-whine escaped his throat, and then, as if the last of his restraint had at last been shattered, he surged forward, mouth claiming Emma’s and taking her over, just as she had hoped. Mindlessly, he was moving her backwards toward her fine canopy bed and leaning over her as her knees hit the mattress and they both sank down upon its soft surface.

Soon his firm, well-muscled legs were pressing against her own bare thighs, the pleasant weight of him hovering over her enticing, but also using just enough care not to crush her or squash the air from her lungs. His hand and left elbow were bracketing her shoulders, only awkward for a moment at the slightly unbalanced length of his arms before her clever lieutenant adapted and dove back in for another breath-taking kiss Emma could hardly match. Her heart beat wildly, near frantic in its exaltation as he continued to drink from her lips like a man who had been dying of thirst finally led to water.

Raising up only slightly, then sitting back on his haunches to study her, there was a darkening hunger in Killian’s eyes that she had never seen before. “So beautiful, my Love,” he whispered, bringing his hand to the side of her face, where she caught it in her own to hold close. Then he was bringing his bare forearm down her other side, taking a slow, leisurely path all the way from her neck to her hips, tingling flame and electricity skittering through her pores as he continued. It felt as though her brain was misfiring, unable to truly process all the sensations he was creating within her. He paused only slightly before his hand began to inch from her waist, where his scarred forearm remained steadingly reassuring her, over to her inner thigh and up toward her center, where she was practically trembling, vibrating for him, and for what came next.

Still, he waited, gaining her full and coherent attention before ascertaining once more, “Are you certain, Emma? Is this truly what you want?”

In spite of how badly she needed his long, graceful fingers to continue their quest, she was also practically clenching her thighs as much as possible against the desire running through her, merely to keep herself from flying into a million pieces. She nodded vehemently, trying to convey how much she wanted even though no words would come. “Yes… please…” she finally managed to grit out. “I c-can’t stand it if you s-stop now…”

Killian’s eyes seemed to light with an almost devious twinkle behind the way they had darkened to midnight hue. When his tongue darted out to swipe along his lower lip, his eyes leaving her face to watch where his fingers ghosted over tender skin, previously unseen by any other, her stomach lurched in a way that was intense, rattling, but not unpleasant. She felt moisture seep from between her legs, where his pointer and middle fingers were now deftly playing, tracing along her opening and dipping within in a touch that made her legs tremble, and her hips rise to him in supplication, whining fruitlessly for more as he looked both intent in his foray, focused on eliciting yet more sounds and feelings from her, and curious, as if she were a riddle laid out before him that he hoped to study from every angle and master completely.

Soon both those probing fingers were inside her, stroking so that Emma was now writhing beneath him, pressing her lips together to hold back more pitiful begging sounds than she had already let escape as she thrashed her head from side to side on the pillow.

Stilling his ministrations, Killian leaned down once more to press a kiss to her chin, her mouth, her forehead. “Please,” he whispered in her ear, before rising once again to watch his digits resume their rhythm along her inner walls as if entranced. “Don’t hold back any sound you want to make. I wish to know what pleases you.”

Emma’s hands had fisted in her sheets in desperation as he ceased his deft swipes and brushes, but when he upped the speed of his strokes, pulling his fingers nearly from her completely then back in, his stump all along stroking over her hipbone as if to soothe and keep her in place all at the same time, Emma’s hips began to move in response, trying to meet a thrust that wasn’t truly present yet, but that her body instinctively knew, as old as life itself. When Killian’s thumb at last joined in, pressing effectively against the small spot that made light and color burst behind her eyelids, Emma couldn’t stop the cry that tore from her throat as her entire body from fingertips to the ends of her hair to her very toenails seemed to seize in euphoria, crest and then burst. She went limp on the bed, shivering in the aftermath. It was like he’d had one of his beloved maps, she marveled, half consciously, only to guide him over her body instead of across waves. She didn’t know how Killian had done it so easily, but she was little more than a melted puddle in his hands.

“Alright there, Princess?” he asked, voice somewhat strained, but a tinge of pleased humor present as well.

This time, words did escape her. Emma merely cracked one eye open enough to regard him dreamily and hum as she attempted to brush one hand along his arm before it fell back to the bed.

“Hmm…” his deep voice hummed low enough to almost be to himself. “Good to know.”

Emma watched for a moment, appreciating the sparkling affection in his once more light, sea-blue eyes, the shock of dark hair that had fallen over his brow, the way his tempting, hair-covered chest heaved almost as much as her own, and the tight set of his sharply cut jaw. She loved him so much, and he had just made her feel so good - better than she had known she could feel - and she wanted to tell him so, wanted to make him feel the same, if only she could bring all her limbs back under her command and string a full sentence together.

Her eyes fell to his quivering stomach muscles, and then to where a thick bulge stood out within the breeches which still covered his lower half. Sense returned enough to her to realize that of course he had not yet reached the heights he had just made her ascend. They had yet to find completion together, and she reached forward with as much curiosity as he had earlier, and begin to work clumsily with the unfamiliar fastenings of his waistband.

Of course, her faithful, honorable betrothed had seen to her pleasure first, but she did not intend to leave Killian wanting - not after the satisfaction he had gifted her. And she wished to finally be joined with him fully and completely, in every way possible.

Killian’s larger, surer hands quickly covered hers and rapidly undid the buttons she had fumbled with, shimmying the pants over his hips and divesting himself of them entirely with a flick of his foot. Emma almost giggled aloud, regardless of what they had already done, at the image of his last article of clothing flying through the air to land haphazardly on her floor. However, the sight of her fiancé, her love, bared before her, nothing hiding any part of him, stilled the breath in her throat and the laughter on her tongue.

Just as he was in every other way, Killian uncovered was magnificent. True, she was also a bit intimidated, not sure now how the member she saw would fit where his fingers had so deliciously only a short time ago. Yet, though she swallowed hard, feeling her pulse pound a bit more erratically, she also trusted this man she knew as well as she knew herself. He would never hurt her, would sooner die himself than see her harmed. And she could see the straining state he was in and knew had to be painful. She no sooner wanted to him hurt than he did her. He had given her such gratification, could she not do the same for him? Despite her trepidation and uncertainty, she also wanted to know, craved that connection with him, that final bond they had yet to experience.

Her eyes drifted up from his rigid manhood, following the trail of thick dark hair up his lean torso to the darkly curling thatch covering his well-formed chest. She caressed his toned shoulders and arms with her gaze, having a hard time not rising to meet him, wrapping her arms and legs around him and never letting him go.

She found that her voice had deserted her altogether, but she beckoned him to her once more. This time as Killian swept in to kiss her ardently, tongue stealing forth to duel with her own, she noticed the quivering in his arms, the exertion showing on his face along with his love and devotion. He was holding himself back, but it was nearly all he could do. Making up her mind, Emma craned her neck slightly to catch his stare once more. When she was certain he read her resolve, her decision, and her heart’s desire clearly, she spoke at last. “Go on, Killian. I’m ready…. I - I want to be yours. You told me not to hold back, but you needn’t do so either. I belong to you…. now and forever.”

The sound that escaped him then was almost a growl, plunging back in with teeth and tongue to kiss her more fervently than ever. It seemed his hand and his stump were everywhere, no longer holding back in the slightest. Something about the stiff propriety to which he held himself loosening at last, took away the bit of breath she had regained.

In the next moment, Killian had rolled them so they faced each other on their sides. His eyes darkened to a deep cobalt again with desire as they searched for just a second before trailing nips and licks along her neck and across her collarbones, even as his shortened arm drew her leg up to rest it over his hip, opening her to him intimately. Pausing only briefly, Emma’s heart pounded at the way he whispered against her ear. “I’ll try to make this as good as I can for you, my Love. There may be pain for a bit, I’m told. Just hang onto me, aye?”

Emma nodded wordlessly, already clinging to him tightly as he shuffled just a moment to get them in place. She felt him at her entrance only briefly and then he thrust home, making everything else center at that point inside her until nothing seemed to exist beyond where they met. She felt stretched, filled, and there was a sharp pain against which she bit her lip and tried to hold back a few rogue tears.

Killian of course, ever watching her and seeing to her comfort, was already brushing his lips across her face, murmuring assurances, apologies, and kissing away those tears, even as he began to move in a steady, rolling pace that he couldn’t hold back any longer. Even as she winced slightly, anxious to adjust, Emma also felt something building beyond the initial discomfort. Warmth and sensation swelled and grew, pleasure vibrating within as Killian stroked places inside she hadn’t even known to exist.

Soon she was gripping him so tightly she knew her nails must be leaving indents on his flesh, moans and pleas for more mixed with his name falling from her mouth in shameless desperation. By the time the center of pleasure pulsed and burst rattling her to her core until she fell boneless from the heights, her eyes were squeezed closed and she was gasping for breath as Killian stilled his rocking motion, trembling in her loose-armed embrace as he found his own release.

As spent as he was, Killan still had the thought to gather her close as they both regained their breath, bundling her against his chest and nuzzling his nose against her earlobe. “Are you… alright, Emma?” he questioned earnestly.

She nodded, interlocking her fingers with his where his good arm rested beneath her. “I am. Very much so,” she assured him breathily. Snuggling closer still, their legs entwined, the sheet just barely pulled up to their waists, Emma stroked her fingers along his forearm, revelling in the intense connection she felt after what they’d just shared.

Probably she should urge him to catch his breath, then be up and back to his own rooms until the morning. Yet, she did no such thing. When Killian’s breathing evened out and his eyes slid closed, she studied his gentle, handsome face in sleep, his worries about their end finally defeated. Tracing a hand over his brow, she closed her own eyes too. When slumber came to her as well, Emma’s last thought was that she didn’t want to spend even one more night without him. Tomorrow they would be man and wife, but they had already become one.

Tagging a few others who may enjoy: @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard @laschatzi @effulgentcolors @let-it-raines @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jennjenn615 @bmbbcs4evr @blackwidownat2814 @gingerchangeling @branlovestowrite

#cs ff #cs EF au #lieutenant duckling fic #year in the court of misthaven #part five

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albionscastle · 6 years

Text

Red Eye (Jack x Reader

RED EYE

REQUEST FOR @woodlandwitch Reader meets Jack on a long haul flight, at first he comes across as arrogant and they don’t get along at all, but through the course of the flight they bond a bit (eg - sharing things, taking turns to sleep using an empty seat in their row). When they arrive at their transfer destination their connecting flight is postponed so they kind of stick together and decide to share hotel room. Lets just say they get on REALLY well that night. By the end its left ambiguous whether they go their separate ways or decide to see each other again. (But we all kinda know they will). AN: flight time from London to Singapore is app 15 hours

MASTERLIST

You made it to the plane with barely a minute to spare, literally. There were getting ready to shut the doors when you yelled for them to hold up. It wasn’t even your fault, you thought defensively as the attendant checked your ticket, you were on standby and you’d barely had an hour to get your ass to the airport. The flight was a bloody red eye to boot, taking off past 11pm.

Making your way down the aisle to your seat you laughed, remembering you watched the movie the other day, drooling over Cillian Murphy the whole time. Jackson Rippner in all his murderous glory would probably be a damn sight better you thought with a sigh, eyeing the boots currently occupying your seat.

“Excuse me.” you said softly while stowing your overhead luggage.

Nothing. The guy didn’t budge, his hoodie covering his face showing he was either asleep of deliberately ignoring you.

“Sir, excuse me, but that’s my seat.” you said a little louder, earning you a sleepy-sounding grunt as he shifted his feet to the empty seat between you.

Sitting down with a sigh you buckled in and watched the safety demo while your rowmate started snoring softly.

It was going to be a long fucking flight.

The flight attendant came by to check the overheads and seat backs, her stern look now set on the sleeping man.

“Sir, I need you to take your seat properly for take off.” Her no nonsense tone must have gotten through, the man jolting out of sleep, his booted foot coming into contact with your thigh under the arm rest.

“Ow!”

You narrowed your eyes to give the jerk a dirty look as he sat up, rubbing what would be a lovely bruise by the time you landed. Some people just really managed to get under your skin and apparently spending the next 15 hours sitting next to this jackass was going to be an exercise in anger management.

“Shite, sorry. I didna mean tae hit ye luv.” he mumbled, struggling to sit up in the space he had.

You had a quick flash of bright blue eyes as he moved upright to don his seatbelt. He was a tall man, at least 6 foot and you felt the tiniest bit sorry for him being all squeezed in like that. At least you were short enough to stretch out a little. The attendant moved on, your “buddy” slumping against the window, hoodie still obscuring his face. He was snoring again in moments, sleeping through the pilot’s announcements and the plane taxiing out to the runway.

Never a great flier, you closed your eyes as the engines got louder, breathing long and deep against the panic in your chest. The moment as the engine reached its crescendo and the brake was released was the worst and you knew your knuckles were white on the armrests while the metal cylinder hurled you down the tarmac.

Only when the plane had completed its lurching ascent and the seatbelt sign dinged did you manage to pry your fingers off the armrest, opening your eyes with a deep breath. An amused chuckle came from the direction of the window and you turned sharply.

“Firs time?”

He still leaned against the window, only his mouth visible. A mouth curved in a mocking smile. You clenched your jaw, immediately defensive.

“I’ve flown before.” You said tightly. “I’m just not fond of taking off.”

“I’d be more worried about the plummeting tae the ground if ye wan my opinion.”

“Which I don’t.” you snapped.

He simply shrugged and said nothing. You couldn’t tell if he was watching you from underneath that infuriating hoodie and you felt self conscious, even in the dimness of the cabin. Determined to get some sleep you leaned your head against your seat, curling around yourself in an attempt to get comfortable. Dozing off you would wake up after a few minutes, anxious and uncomfortable. No matter what you tried, you just couldn’t settle.

“Can I make a suggestion?”

“Dazzle me.” you murmured, rubbing your eyes.

He waited for a moment as the attendant handed you blankets and pillows, like they were going to help in any way.

“The armrests on this plane go up.” he stated, showing you with the one closest to him. “Jus like tha luv. Now if ye lean yer pillow on the aisle ye can lay oot.”

You weren’t certain, but you tried anyway, surprised when you felt your body relax, even in the cramped fetal position.

“Now I can do this.” he resumed his original position, stretching his legs over yours to rest his feet behind your calves. “Is no perfect but better than before, yeah?”

“Yes, much better.” you agreed reluctantly, still uncomfortable with the intimacy of the position.

“Ye can rest easy lass, I’m dead tae the world, no chance o bein manhandled in yer sleep.”

“You sure about that?”

“Aye, I prefer my women tae be conscious. Get some sleep stranger.”

“Name’s Y/N.” you mumbled, drifting off.

“Jack. Pleased tae meet ye.”

That was the last you heard before sleep claimed you.

Sometime later you opened your eyes against bright sunlight, squinting painfully as you tried to sit up. Your body felt stiff and sore but nowhere near as bad as you’d expected.

“Shite, sorry, didna mean tae wake ye.”

The light went away and you realised Jack had been looking out through the window shade.

“It’s ok.” You yawned. “What time is it?”

“London time or Singapore?”

“Either. No, London.”

“7am London time, fuck only knows wha time it is in Singapore.”

“I was asleep for 7 hours?” you asked incredulously.

Your eyes were gritty and rubbing them was just making it worse. You excused yourself to the restroom, splashing water on your face when you were done. In the mirror you saw a tired woman, shadows under your eyes and hair that was just….yuck. Smoothing it back into submission you made your way back to your seat.

“Feel better?”

“Loads.”

Your stomach chose that moment to gurgle in hunger, embarrassingly loud in the still dim cabin. Probably would have been helpful if you’d eaten anything the day before, not that you’d known you’d be flying around the world in mere hours.

“They said summan about some brekkie in about an hour.”

Reaching forward into your bag you pulled out a couple of muesli bars you’d remembered to throw in at the last moment. The sound of Jack’s stomach gurgling too made up your mind and you held one out to him. He took it eagerly, sitting up straight, the hoodie falling back off a messy pile of golden blonde hair.

“Ye’re an inflight goddess, even if ye do snore.”

“I do not snore.” you huffed indignantly, trying hard not to notice how handsome the man was.

“Sorry tae be the bearer o bad news luv, but yes ye do. No much, but the little grunts are kind of endearin.”

He grinned around a mouthful of chocolate and oats.

“Well at least I don’t snore like a souped up chainsaw.” you sneered, earning you another shrug.

“I never said I didn’t, it’s only ye tryin tae deny yer natural tendencies.”

Arrogant shit. It must have been nice to go through life as confident as he was. Probably had hordes of women falling at his feet too, and for good reason. Movie star good looks and a Scottish accent to die for, you were practically panting yourself.

“So I shouldn’t ignore my natural tendency to smack you in the gob then?”

“Now tha’s uncalled for ye wee spitfire.” he laughed. “Besides Im tae pretty fer ye tae hit.”

“Well someone has a healthy ego.” you couldn’t help but laugh.

“I haf tae make a livin somehow, I’m no smart enough tae be a rocket scientist.” “So, what, you’re a gigolo then?” you snorted.

“Why? Ye in the market fer one?” he raised his brows comically, causing you to dissolve into giggles.

“If I were, I certainly wouldn’t be looking for one on a plane.”

“Not even tae join the mile high club? I hear it’s quite a thrill.” he winked and your cheeks felt hot.

“How much of a thrill can it possibly be?” you retorted, laughing. “ I mean, picture it. That tiny bathroom, no way my ass would be sitting on that nasty sink and yours would be banging against the door cause you’s have to bend those flamingo legs.” you gestured to his long, very nice legs. “And even if all that could be managed, you couldn’t make a sound. Where’s the fun in that?”

You’d surprised him, score one for you.

“Ye’re no wrong lass. But suddenly I have a strong desire tae try it anyway, jus tae prove ye wrong.”

Score one for him.

“No response tae that one then?” he snickered, taking his meal from the attendant, who was definitely making eyes at him.

To his credit he wasn’t paying any attention, already digging into his food with gusto.

“You are so lucky, getting to sit next to Jack Lowden for 15 hours.” she whispered as she handed you your meal.

Who? The name meant nothing to you, but apparently it did to her, she was even sighing as she walked away. You were going to have to Google it when you landed. As for being lucky, well you guessed you could have it a lot worse. Better to sit next to a handsome, funny, albeit slightly arrogant man than the seaty mouth breather you’d spend your last flight ignoring.

The standard airline food sat heavy in your stomach, but you were full and Jack had opened the shade again, the sun bright and warm against your face. With 6 hours more until you landed for your connecting flight you pulled out your book, hoping to lose yourself in its pages.

After 45 minutes you closed it with a sigh, unable to concentrate. Your mind kept wandering, contemplating choices you were making as well as ones you’d made. An anxious lump rose in your throat and for a moment you were a panic attack was imminent.

A sudden jump as the plane hit an air pocket had you white knuckled again, holding your breath until the shaking stopped. The captain’s voice came over the speaker warning of more turbulence to come. Nothing to worry about. Words which were invented for the sole purpose of making you worry more. “Hey Y/N?”

Jack was looking at you, a small smile on his face.

“What can I do you for?”

“Do ye wan tae play a card game? Keep yer mind off it?”

“Keep my mind off what, the fact that everytime this thing shakes it’s possible we might be about to plummet 30,000 feet to a horrible death?”

“No. Well aye, but no like there’s anythin we could do tae change tha. I mean take yer mind off whatever it is botherin ye?”

“Why the fuck not?” you shrugged, turning in your seat.

For the next few hours you played every card game you could think of, plus a few new ones courtesy of your new friend. Instead of making monetary bets, and running out of airline peanuts before the end of the first hand, you bet information. So far you’d learned that Jack was 29, had a ballet-dancing brother, a love for Sinatra and that he liked Scotland better than any place on earth. He’d in turn learned what you did for a living, where you grew up, how much you loathed oysters, your favorite movie, color and your celebrity crush. Admittedly he was much better at cards than you were so you were left somewhat lacking in the information stakes.

As the games had progressed your initial opinion of him had changed. He wasn’t arrogant so much as he was a smart ass, and boy was he quick as a whip with the comebacks. You honestly hadn’t laughed so much in ages and by the time your approach to Singapore was announced, you felt as though you’d known him forever. It hadn’t escaped your notice either that his voice flowed over you like smooth whiskey, the kind of voice you could never get tired of hearing.

“I never did ask ye why ye’re travellin tae Singapore.”

“I’m on my way to Sydney, I have a connection in Singapore.”

For a moment you could have sworn he looked disappointed.

“What about you?”

“Work, I’m here fer three weeks. Are ye off tae Sydney fer work then?”

“No, I’m visiting a friend, long overdue.”

“Ahhh man friend then, aye?” “No, female. We had a falling out some time ago.”

To his credit, Jack didn’t ask any more about it and you offered nothing. She’d called out of the blue and asked you to come, so here you were.

“What sort of work are you doing, Jack?”

He looked a little taken aback for a second before answering.

“We’re makin a film.”

Well that explained the attendant. He had to be an actor, no way a face that handsome was working behind the camera.

“That sounds like…..fun.” you offered, knowing full well anything you said would just sound asinine. “Have you been in anything I might have seen?”

“Ummm, yeah.” he looked confused. “I was in Dunkirk wi yer sweetheart.”

“With Cillian Murphy? No way!” you couldn’t place him, but honestly your eyes had mostly been on Cillian when you saw the movie. Who the hell had Jack played?

You wracked your brain while the Scotsman looked at you dumbfounded. Then suddenly it hit you like a brick wall.

“You were the pilot! The one who crashed.”

“Aye, geeze lass, ye’re no good fer me ego at all are ye?” he laughed.

“Not that you need any help in that department.” you quipped. “The beard threw me off.”

“Not tae mention the fact that ye were tae busy eyballin the love o yer life tae even notice anyone else.”

“I can’t help it, it’s the cheekbones.” you sighed melodramatically, earning a laugh.

Jack crossed his arms over his torso, sticking out his bottom lip in a toddler-worthy pout. You were laughing when you were suddenly struck with the desire to bite it. A shiver ran down your spine as you realized how much you wanted to feel his mouth on your skin.

Where the fuck had that come from?

Almost as though he could read your mind his eyes fixed on you, hooded and full of sultry promise. You wished suddenly that Singapore was your destination, instinctively knowing that were you not catching another flight immediately, he would have you.

And oh God would you let him.

Whatever might have been said next disappeared. It was time to land, to buckle up and prepare for the stomach lurching final descent. Your fingers were wrapped around the armrests again, bracing yourself for your least favorite part of flying.

“Hey luv.” Jack’s voice was soft. “Ye got this.”

His fingers, long and warm pried yours from the armrest, sliding in between. You turned your head as the plane shook, letting his kind blue eyes comfort you, his palm pressed against yours. Your breath mimicked his automatically and you lost yourself to the point where you jolted in surprise as the wheels thudded and squealed onto the tarmac. You’d landed safely at your destination.

It was time to say goodbye.

It was the last thing you wanted to do.

In unspoken agreement you were the last two to deplane, Jack pulling your bag from the overhead for you. His palm was on the small of your back as you walked down the tunnel to customs. He stayed with you as you both went through customs and into the terminal.

“What time’s yer flight tae Sydney?”

“It’s in two hours, not sure what gate yet though.”

“Les go see, I’ll sit wi ye till ye haf tae board.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Nah, I came a day earlier, everyone else arrives tomorrow.”

“Oh, ok.”

No way were you going to say no to two more hours with him.

Of course you weren’t counting on your flight being cancelled. Looking at the red letters on the departure board you felt your anxiety levels rise. What the hell were you supposed to do now? You’d never had a flight cancelled before so you weren’t sure of the protocol.

“Les go tae the airline and see what’s about.”

Clearly many people had the same idea and you spent half an hour in line, laughing half heartedly while Jack tried to cheer you up. The whole thing was easier than you thought and you came away with a new flight leaving the next morning and a voucher for food and accomodation. Apparently flying that close to a tropical cyclone wasn’t something the airline was willing to risk.

“I better go find a hotel and some food.” you laughed, sure that this was the moment you would go your separate ways.

“I’ve got ye straight, ye’re stayin wi me.”

Only his arm reaching in front of you prevented you from walking into a pole as you gaped at him.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, I’m not.” he smiled wolfishly. “And I don think ye are either.”

He stepped closer, looking down at you with that same look from the plane. You could smell him this close, feel the warmth that radiated from him. He was so freaking tall, all lean and perfect, and his thighs…..

“Alright then, lead the way.” you said with way more confidence than you felt, glowing as his smile widened.

He placed a hand on your shoulder as you made your way through the terminal, telling you about his role and he seemed genuinely excited about it. Your nervousness had faded away before you even reached the doors to hail a cab. He was just so easy to be with.

The hotel was buy the water, way more luxurious than you’d expected. He’d been booked in on the 10th floor, high enough that the bustle of the city below was muffled, even on the balcony. The view was spectacular and the tropical air was warm and sultry.

Ever a gentleman, Jack offered you the shower first and you were grateful to wash 15 hours of travel off you. Honestly, you'd both been beginning to stink and gorgeous as he was, BO wasn't appealing on anyone. You stayed on the balcony while he showered, your mind only wandering a few dozen times to the wet, naked man in the bathroom. Deep in thought you didn't notice at first when he was done, his presence not registering until you felt his fingers brush the skin of your knee.

Opening your eyes you were met with his grin, the sun making his still damp hair glisten. He wasn't just handsome, you thought, he was take your breath away gorgeous. And he was yours, at least for the next few hours.

“Do ye wan tae venture oot tae eat or stay in?”

He sat on the bench beside you, pulling your legs over his lap.

“Stay in.’ you said immediately, no way were you wasting a second of this.

He’d obviously had the same idea, producing a room service menu and phone instantly. His hand stroked the length of your shin absentmindedly as he placed your orders and you almost nodded off, he was just that comforting.

“Food’ll be here in 30ish.” he murmured, putting the phone aside and stretching out his legs.

“Do we even know what time it is here?” you yawned.

“No really, but I did make sure ye haf a wake up call fer yer flight.”

“Oh, that’s sweet, thanks.”

“Don go tae sleep on me lass, ye need tae eat.” he grinned, fingers tickling the back of your knee.

You jerked, laughing as he held your legs down with one hand, the other torturing your ticklish skin.

“I’m awake!” you giggled, wiggling your legs in his grasp.

He smiled at you, one of those smiles that took your breath away and you stared back, enthralled by everything about him. You knew you would never forget how blue his eyes were, how straight his nose or how his bottom lip pouted out crookedly.

If you never saw him again after tonight you would be sorry.

Your food came and was eaten as you shared various stories. Jack talked about how his life was changing, how much less privacy he had. He said it was the tradeoff for doing what he loved but you got the feeling that he wasn’t quite ok with it. Honestly though, you could have listened to him forever, there was so much passion in him, and just as much for the stories you shared with him. This was a man who wasn’t afraid to really live.

It turned out to be only 5pm when the service cart was rolled back into the hall, too early to sleep for your flight at noon, so you decided on a movie. You were starting to overthink a little, had you misread his interest? You were sure you hadn’t but still, 40 minutes into the film and you sat apart on the room’s small love seat, the anticipation almost killing you.

Your hand rested on the cushion between you, a hair’s breadth away from his, just waiting. The air was thick around you, your whole body aware of him, of his every breath. When his pinkie finger brushed against yours you shivered, that one small touch setting you alight. The movie played on and Jack’s gaze never wavered from the screen, even as his fingers traced yours gently, holding your hand against his contentedly.

The movie finished and you honestly couldn’t have said what it was about, your only focus being on the man beside you. You both sat quietly as the credits rolled, him still holding your hand and you wondering if he needed or wanted some kind of sign from you.

Thankfully it appeared he’d been doing his own thinking and when you finally moved to face him you were met with that same heated look from the plane. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against your cheek, then the corner of your mouth gently.

When you sighed he moved like lightning, covering your mouth, sliding his tongue inside to roam freely. He cupped the back of your head with one hand, holding you still as he pulled himself closer, kissing you deeper. Responding, you pushed yourself toward him, running your tongue over the inside of his mouth, tasting the mint from his toothpaste.

He moaned against your mouth and gripped your fingers tightly, your free hand reaching up to grasp at his neck. His skin was warm and smooth there and you stroked your fingers up and down between the neck of his shirt and his hairline. You didn’t resist when he pushed you backwards, your back hitting the cushions. He laid over your side, running a hand down to your knees and pulling your legs up over his so you were completely horizontal. His feet were still on the floor and your thighs resting over one of his hips. It felt so intimate and yet not enough, not by a long shot.

Jack’s mouth moved away from yours and starting making a trail up and down your neck. You bared it for him with a sigh, running your fingers over his bare arm. His hand splayed on your stomach making you squirm and you kissed his neck, using your tongue to taste his skin. You couldn’t decide what tasted better, his neck or his mouth, though when he took your lips back again and you tasted mint you knew. His mouth, definitely his mouth. Your tongue flicked over his, your senses overwhelmed and you knew you never wanted to experience anything but this, ever.

No matter how foolish it might be.

Bringing your hands up to his face you pulled his head away until you were a few inches apart. You were breathing heavily as you stared at his flushed face, but you saw it register in his eyes that you were stopping him. He nodded once and laid his head down on your shoulder, his fingers still stroking the bared skin of your belly.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered.

“Don’t be.” you smiled, brushing your fingers through the hair at his temple. “I just need a moment.”

You were worried that you you were getting too involved emotionally. A step back out of your head was what you probably needed right now. You wanted this, so much, you were only flesh and blood after all and he was…..well fucking perfect if you were honest.

He moved so he was stretched out on the loveseat, half on you, legs tangled together. You smiled again to encourage him, your eyes closing when he moved closer again, playfully grabbing your bottom lip between his teeth and running his tongue over the spot when he pulled away.

Jack’s arm moved under you, cradling your head against his shoulder. Immediately wrapped in a sense of security and comfort, you breathed him in deeply. Giving in you smiled to yourself and wrapped your arms around his waist, gently rubbing his side through his shirt. His body radiated heat wherever he touched you and you would have been perfectly content to stay just like this forever.

“I like yer shirt.” he whispered in your ear, one long finger tracing the line of your neck.

You looked down at yourself and groaned.

“You would.” you laughed, your sleeping shirt had a picture of Cillian Murphy on it.

He smiled, you could feel it against your cheek and you shivered slightly. So he smiled again, this time gently pressing his lips against your skin.

Thunder boomed suddenly and you could hear the sound of rain falling gently outside. You ran a hand down his cheek as the thunder boomed. Then you got an idea.

Pushing him back you stood up and took hold of his hands.

“Come with me.”

He stood up, a bemused smile on his face and let you lead him to the balcony door. When you’d opened it, you tugged him out into the warm rain.

“What are ye aboot ye daft woman?” Jack laughed as the rain started to hit his face..

You stepped up to him, draping your arms around his neck and allowing the rain to wash over you both.

“Checking something off my bucket list.”

“Wha, gettin yerself knackered fer yer flight?” he laughed, winking to show he was just teasing.

“No you dope.” you chuckled. “To dance in the rain with a handsome man.”

“Well shite I better help ye find one then so ye’re no stuck w’ the likes o me.” You simply shook your head, resting your forehead on his wet shoulder. He slid his hands to your hips, pulling you flush against him. Together you swayed to an imagined beat, moving seamlessly as the rain fell around you. Jack’s sigh against your neck made you smile and you held him tighter. Pulling back he looked down at you, water trickling down his face and neck.

“Lass we’re soaked.” he laughed.

“Yup.” you looked down to where your clothes clung wetly to your body. “Feels good doesn’t it?”

“Fuck yeah!” he shouted, grabbing you up and spinning while you both laughed, water flinging out all around you.

When he finally stopped, you fell back onto the cushioned bench and lay there panting for several seconds. When you finally chanced a look at him you saw him sprawled out beside you, his hair wet and flattened to his head, clothing clinging to his body. His eyes were closed and his head back against the cushions, he looked, in a word, breathtaking. One blue eye opened and peered at you, catching you in your perusal and you flushed as he chuckled.

“See summan ye like?” he asked, one eyebrow lifted.

Hell yes you did, a lot of things in fact. So many that you could have taken all night to catalogue them all. So you simply continued to gaze at him, watching as he propped himself up on his elbows and raised his face to the rain.

Biting your lip, you held your breath at the sight of him. When he turned to look at you again you gave up, crawling the foot or so over to him to lean over and kiss his rain-soaked lips. He sighed against your mouth, opening beneath you and allowing you to slide your tongue over his teeth. He started a sucking motion with his tongue sending shivers throughout your body. You realized that he was drinking the rain that was falling from your face, over your lips and into his mouth. You groaned, feeling yourself go weak.

The moment that you thought you might collapse he shot up and neatly flipped you over so you lay along the bench, limbs intertwined, torsos pressed together, lips still joined. He moved his mouth over your face, sucking the water from your skin. Your head fell back as the fingers of both his hands rand down your arched neck and his tongue flicked out to taste the hollow at the base of your throat. Leaning up again he raked his eyes over you, the flare in his eyes telling you he noticed the fact that your shirt was plastered to your skin, and you wore nothing beneath it.

“I see summan I like.” he muttered, running the palm of his hand over your chest and over one breast. He circled it around, watching your body’s reactions to his touch with a satisfied look. His hand slid over your stomach and up under your shirt, peeling it away from your heated skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His palm settled over your breast again and you pressed against him with a sigh. Your whole body ached for his touch and the evidence of that pebbled against his hand. Jack’s head lowered, his mouth moving like a whisper over your other breast. He sucked at you through the material of your shirt as his thumb worked magic on your bared skin. You thought you might pass out from the pleasure of it all, it was too much. It wasn’t enough.

With one swift movement he pulled your shirt up over your head, trapping your arms above your head for a moment while he ran his hands gently all over the front of you. He lowered his head again, his tongue reaching out to lick off the water that trickled over your breasts. With the very tip of his tongue he touched your nipple, causing your whole body to lift off the bench and your breath to push through your teeth in a hiss. His arm slid under your back, keeping your body arched against him as his teeth scraped over you.

“Oh God!” you moaned, freeing your arms and dragging your nails over his back as you tried to pull him closer.

He complied, enclosing your nipple in the heat of his mouth, sliding his wet tongue over it in circles as he sucked gently. You bit your lip hard to keep from whimpering when he switched to the other side and added a few gentle nips with his teeth. Suddenly feeling desperate you grabbed at the back of his shirt, dragging it up and off, tossing it to land in the rain somewhere. Your grasped his head, pulling him to you and applying your lips to his neck, biting his neck, biting at his skin and drinking in the rain that washed over him. The sparse hair on his chest tickled against your naked skin, his beard rasping against you as his tongue stroked over your collarbone.

You shifted your legs so you could hook your knees over the backs of his thighs, pulling him as close as you could. Instantly you felt him hard against you, there was no way to miss it. With the weight of his body behind him he dug into you almost painfully until you shifted and he rested exactly where you wanted him. You gritted your teeth when you realized you could feel every inch of him, a lot of them throbbing and hot. He felt you moving, dragging his mouth from your breasts to look up at you with concern.

“Are ye ok luv?”

“Yes. More.” You muttered pushing against him with your hips until he was kneeling.

You sat up slightly, placing a hand against his neck and drawing him in for another mind blowing kiss, your tongues sliding against each other wetly and the rain falling between you and into your mouths. Your thighs were slung over his hips and even with the space between you he was still touching you, making it blatantly obvious he was going commando under his pants. Just the thought of it made you shudder as you ran your tongue over the roof of his mouth. He groaned against you and brought his hands to your hips, holding you still as he ground his body against you.

He was driving you insane and you started to pant against his mouth as he rubbed against you. Anxious to feel more of him you tore at his pants, sliding them down just enough for you to be able to reach down and touch him. You lightly ran your nails up and down the length of him, satisfied when he started to shake. A little braver now you grasped him tightly, moving the palm of your hand against his silky heat.

The combination of your touch and the rain was apparently more than he could handle. With a growl he pulled away and stood up, letting his pants fall to the ground and kicking then aside. While your gaze was aimed wantonly between his thighs, he knelt down, grasped your hips roughly and spinning you so you sat facing him.

Jack’s fingers hooked the waistband of your shorts and you lifted your hips as he slide them slowly down your legs. His hot gaze raked over you, eyes darting up to meet yours. Your cheeky grin told him he wasn’t the only one who slept commando. He laughed, shook his head and with his eyes boring hotly into yours he found your thighs and gently opened you to him. His hands ran down your legs as he moved then to hook around his waist. When you were in position he kissed you again, this time with more hunger. You felt like he was devouring your soul as he bit at your lips and when he pushed forward into you, you cried out against him. He stilled instantly, hips whispering across your ear.

“Ye make me feel so alive.” he groaned.

He uttered those words the exact moment he moved forward again, sliding against you, inside you until he was buried deep. Your head flew forward onto his shoulder, sinking your teeth in as he started to slide out again. You knew what was coming, knew how good he would feel when he pushed inside you again and your every nerve ending came alive at the thought of it.

Jack’s hands came to the small of your back and pulled you closer, arching you against him. Your hands grasped at his shoulders as he moved so damn slowly it was killing you. Your thighs gripped his hips tighter and he groaned in your ear.

“God ye feel fucking incredible.” he grunted against your neck, his mouth leaving a burning trail over your skin.

You pushed up against him, giving him access, his tongue rasping over your nipple as he took another plunge inside you. The sensations were almost too much for you to handle, the feel of his wet, hot tongue against your skin, the soft rain on your skin, the throbbing stretch of him inside you as he moved. You felt your entire body begin to shake uncontrollably and you gripped him tighter. Involuntary cries escaped you as he continued to move smoothly inside you, his mouth coming to your ear again.

“I want tae feel ye come luv.” he whispered, running a gentle hand over your hair. “God, I wan tae feel tha so fucking bad.”

Hearing his voice in your ear like that sent you over the edge and you fell back against the cushions as your eyes glazed over and you exploded into a million pieces. Jack didn’t stop as you clenched and quivered around him, he moved just as slowly as before, waiting for you to come back to him. You knew he could feel your pleasure as he groaned and grunted. When you opened your eyes again you saw him leaning over you, smiling proudly. You bit your lip, sighing as he thrust languidly, setting you on fire again. Reaching up your heavy arms you pulled him down on top of you, legs wrapped around his waist. You licked the droplets of rain that fell from his lips before you nipped at his ear.

“Fuck me, Jack, please. I need you.”

With a yelp he buried his head against your neck and moved faster, harder. You felt his hot breath on your skin, heard his ragged gasps as he took what he needed from you. Your fingers dug into his taut rear pulling him closer, deeper always wanting more.

“God, fuck, so good.” he moaned in your ear and you felt him shiver.

He was so close.

“I want to see your face.” you whispered.

He leaned up and nodded, biting his lip. His eyes were squeezed shut, rain and sweat dripping from his forehead, cheeks and nose. It fell in droplets into your open mouth and you drank him in, watching his stunning face as he started to lose control.

God he was gorgeous like this.

You felt it before you saw it, he was twitching inside you, then his eyes flew open and he let out a roar as his whole body went stiff. Jack’s eyes rolled back in his head, mouth gaping open while he shook. He collapsed on top of you, head on your chest, struggling for breath while you groaned, almost at the breaking point again.

He felt it, moaning deep in his throat, circling his hips against you as you jerked and twitched, exploding again, arms falling limply against your sides.

For a while you just lay there, letting the rain cool you both, Jack making no move to leave your body. You sighed contentedly, running your fingers through his wet hair, just relishing the feel of him. He raised himself up on his elbows, cradling your head in his hands and running his thumbs over your temples. Leaning down he kissed you softly before pulling away to smile down at you.

“Was tha what ye had in mind, lass?” he laughed.

“Mmmmmm, even better. I think I even ticked a few boxes I didn’t know I had.” you stretched like cat, your whole body perfectly relaxed and sated.

Tired as you were, you’d never felt better.

It was still close to midnight before you laid down to sleep, drying yourselves off having led to Jack tackling you onto the bed, head buried between your thighs until you were almost screaming his name. You spent the early hours of the morning comfortably nestled in his arms as he snored away in your ear. Then, when the sun rose you slid down his body, waking him with your tongue until he was panting mess, flipping you onto your belly and taking you with a passion you’d never experienced before.

Nothing was said about your departure, you didn’t want to ruin it, but you allowed yourself a moment in the shower to wish things were different and that he would be waiting for you when you returned to London. Jack kept his hands on you right up to the arrival of the cab, holding you on his lap quietly and keeping your hand in his all the way to airport security.

It was time for you say goodbye and you didn’t want to. A lump rose in your throat as he smiled softly.

“I’m glad ye sat next tae me on tha plane Y/N.” he reached out to cup your cheek.

“Me too Jack.” you rubbed your cheek against his palm.

He looked as though he wanted to say something and you were desperate for him to ask you to stay. You would in a heartbeat, this man…..this amazing, snarky, passionate man, you were certain you could love him.

“Have a safe flight and ye should really try tae finish tha book before ye land.”

He pulled you in for a hug, gripping you tightly while you buried your face in his chest, memorizing every detail of him. Jack tilted your face up to his, sending you soaring with the sweetest kiss you’d ever experienced.

“Bye Jack.” you managed to choke as he finally let you go.

They were calling your flight.

“I’ll be seein ye luv.”

The plane was in the air before you really took another breath. You felt the absence of him as a physical pain, despite the soft feel of his stolen shirt against your skin. Looking pensively out the window as Singapore and Jack got further and further away you remembered him mentioning your book. Sure you wouldn’t be able to concentrate you pulled it out, flipping through the pages until you noticed writing inside the back cover.

There was a phone number and an email address scrawled there, along with a short note.

“Really hope this doesna end here. Contact me when you land.” Yours, Jack

#jack lowden x reader #jack lowden #jack lowden blurb #jack lowden fanfiction #jack lowden fic #request #oneshot

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encountersincamperland · 6 years

Text

Surfing the Dunes of Estremadura from Sao Martinho to Nazaré

Running from the the Spanish border in the north you have what seems like hundreds of miles of Atlantic beach, broken only by estuaries, framed by low dunes which have been colonised by hardy plants. The vegetation is there to anchor the sand against the onslaught of big ocean breakers which would otherwise invade the land behind the dunes. A lot of effort has gone into creating the optimum conditions for the growth of the plants in what is otherwise a hostile environment.

On this coast, Sao Martinho da Porto is an attractive little town about 50 miles north of Lisboa, that sits in a bay shaped quite like Lulworth cove. Except of course this is Portugal where the sand is finer, the temperature more mellow, the houses white with blue painted timber and red tiled roofs, and the ubiquitous ceramic tiles with abstract patterns and figurative scenes. This was the place we decided to pitch at and we ended up staying there three days.

One of the days I wanted to go up to Nazaré and check the town as it is famed for its surfing and patronised by global surfers looking for the big waves that are common in that area. I was set on cycling the distance which is about ten kilometres.

The ride out of Sao Martinho on the back road is straight up for several kilometres and it's a bit teeth gritting at times but worth it for the views back down to the long, long beach below. I could see that just behind the low dunes that back the sea there was a brown dirt track. As Nazaré is situated on a river at sea level I wondered if I could save myself the inevitable climb out of the town on my way back if I took that track. Several kilometres later I made my descent to the river and crossed it and came round a bend into the town.

The first place you come to is the marina which harbours both working and pleasure boats. The dockside area has been laid out as if on a grid for new build. Instead there's an abandoned air, as if demolition rather than construction has occurred. But this was Republic day, a public holiday, and there were enough businesses in place to suggest that there would be more activity after the weekend.

My bike can handle off road and the soft traction of the fine sand, up to a point so I went over to the dunes and along the harbour mole to the lighthouse at the end. Whatever the wild reputation the sea has here, on this day it was as well behaved as a class of kids in front of their head teacher. This was tested by a jet skier who headed for the open sea at full throttle, sending his own waves either side.

Up on the wall a sprinkling of anglers were casting to sea. As I cycled to the harbour end I was put off the huge concrete blocks chucked and stacked to protect the wall. They looked like gigantic trig points upended and locked or not locked together depending on how they landed. They looked messy and inelegant but probably very effective against a powerful sea that would not find it easy to shift them.

I cycled back round the harbour and along the road further into the town. Nazaré is not a great looking place. It has a big beach but there is no wall to separate it from the pavement. While too much demarcation put me off the harbour, the lack of it here put me off the promenade. Holiday strollers ambled up and down wondering what to spend their money on next and a constant flow of traffic looking for parking reminded me of Brighton. I didn't like it and decided to leave.

So back to the harbour with the hope that I might be able to find that track and save myself an up and down journey. But of course there was the river between me and my road south and the only crossing was the bridge on the N242. After following various destinationless tracks around the dunes I went back the way I had come. It was ok though. I was enjoying the exercise, the wind, and just being on the track.

The way took me back to the semi industrial units of the harbour fisheries. Against the wall that holds back the dune I noticed the graffiti I had ignored the first time. Closer inspection showed it had been done by the crews of various craft that had put into Nazaré over the last twenty years or so, with crude renditions of their boats and tag lines. There were people here from Finland, Ireland, Nigeria,Sweden and the dates they had come. On one there was a caption something like: They said you left it much too late. But you said Biscay's just a bay. I wondered what might have happened. Had someone been lost at sea and this a memorial to the loss?

I crossed back over the bridge and as the main road bent round to the left, to the right there was a rough road with a sign pointing out that there was a ruin of a church called Igreja de Sao Giao along the way. I didn't have high hopes for the church when the way to it was a very broken cobbled trail, reducing to dried mud and then sand. I took it. I had to get off and walk the bike, at times climbing up dunes, a good work out I thought as the sweat poured through my shirt. But then the track would reassert itself and my hopes would increase. So past cultivated fields interspersed with scrub and bush, cane and pampas grass I carried on, not accepting this road might run out and I would have to retrace my tracks. Besides I hadn't got to the church yet. The track would at least take me there surely.

I got to the church and was bemused, as it looked like the wreck of an old adobe farm house, something that might have been left over from the set of 'The Magnificent Seven'. What was so special about this that it warranted a sign luring unsuspecting travellers? It did have a low wall of ten arches or so, that looked like it might have had some attempt at restoration. And someone had put a corrugated cover over it such as you'll see in any suburban street when builders are reroofing a house. But that was it.

Later I looked it up, and get this, it's reputedly one of the oldest churches in Portugal, dating back to pre Visigoth times, discovered in 1961 and classified as a National Monument. This isn't just a title. A building has to be assessed as to whether it is given the status of a National Monument. This one seemed to have faded back into the fauna after the initial excitement at its discovery. Maybe it was considered sanctified enough to look after itself. Comments on Trip adviser suggested it is privately owned. Time to nationalise a National Monument I am thinking.

I left the church behind wondering what Sao Giao might make of it all and carried on the track which became less defined as I went with me reduced to walking the bike, slipping back through the deep, soft sand that filled my sandals.

Then I met a jut of hill, and as the man said, there was no ignoring it. I had to climb it. So what I had tried to avoid had come to meet me. Up I went, this time too steep and too rutted to cycle and made my way towards Praia do Salgado. I didn't know this was its name at the time and a closer look at google maps shows the road runs out here except the one you takes you up the hill which also takes you back towards Nazaré! Well let it be I thought, and went down to the beach thinking what the hell, I'll take that hill on from the bottom.

On the beach people were making ready for going home. Signs saying no dogs on the sand didn't stop the disobedience of a dog owner and his big hound going on, while from the beach came another with her pert little mutt. People wiped sand from their feet and repacked the boots of their cars. It was like a klaxon had blown telling everyone to leave. As I turned and tackled the hill they passed me almost in a convoy with farts of exhaust from their cars adding pollution to the sea air my heaving chest was sucking in. This made me more determined to get to the top. And dear reader I am proud to say I made it without having to get off and walk, and found myself on the road I had originally gone to Nazaré on.

And not only that it was all down hill for, as you will remember, several kilometres. Well I must have hit 40mph on the way down as I hardly touched the brakes and I was back at the campsite in no time, sitting drinking an Estrella and recounting my tale to Madeleine.

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commschoolblog · 2 years

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Media Literacy Steps

In today’s society, more than 120 million households in the U.S. have t.v. 's which allows for them to have a weekly reach of about 90% of adults. Furthermore, roughly 92% of Americans listen to the radio on average once a week. Consequently, as a result of the number of media that is available in one’s day to day life, it is not shocking that Americans spend an average of 463 minutes or over 7.5 hours per day consuming media. As a result of the abundance of exposure everyone has to media, it is important that one can properly exercise media literacy. As a result, the topic of media literacy must be discussed.

Media literacy is defined as the ability to identify different types of media and the messages they are sending. With this definition, one should also realize that there are certain questions that one should ask themselves when practicing media literacy. The first thing one should question is who created the content you are interacting with. One should determine who they think created the content and follow up with the question as to why one came to that conclusion. The next question to be asked is why the creator made this content. One can assume that maybe the content is meant to be informative or to change one’s mind. Whatever one thinks the reasoning is, the follow up question of why that conclusion was drawn should be asked. The third question the reader must ask is who the message of the content is intended for. The message can be for kids, girls, boys, adults and so on. Once again, the reader must follow up with the question of why that conclusion was drawn. With the basic questions covered, the more technical questions must be discussed.

One must question the techniques that the creator is using to ensure that their content is perceived as credible or believable. This question entails deciding whether the given statistics or quotes directly support the assertions being made as well as whether they came from reputable sources. Of course, one should follow up this question with how the assumption was derived. The next technical question that needs to be asked is whether there are any details that were withheld from the content. One can go about answering this question by determining if the content has differing viewpoints or do they just present one side of the argument. Furthermore, if one needs to do more research to understand the concept that is discussed in the article, it can be concluded that the creator intentionally left information out. The final question that needs to be asked is how the message of the content makes you feel. To answer this question, one can assess who would feel the same as you or who would feel differently than you.

In conclusion, media literacy is something that is accomplishable if one takes the proper steps. Those steps include asking oneself several thorough questions that will allow media consumers to become more responsible media consumers.

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fletchermarple · 6 years

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Quick Review of the True Crime Books I read in 2017 (Part 2)

Part 1 of 2017

Review of books in 2016 Part 1 and Part 2

Review of books in 2015

The Michigan Murders by Edward Keyes: Before Ted Bundy, there was John Norman Collins. He was also a handsome, charming, smart university student that looked nothing like a stereotypical killer, but in fact was raping and murdering women from ages 13 to 21 at an alarming rate between 1967 and 1969 in Michigan. This book was originally published in 1976, and it’s a very serious and professional exposition of the case, written under journalistic standards but not so much literary ones. By that I mean that it sticks mostly to facts and remains objective instead of adding some narrative touches to make the story more appealing. Don’t get me wrong, the case is interesting enough in itself and if like me you didn’t know much about Collins (who now goes by the surname Chapman), this is a very informative read. The problem with this book is one that many true crime novels have: since there’s not a main character we can focus on, and instead we get just “this victim disappeared, then this victim disappeared” with no remarkable investigator to take the reigns of the story, it kind of drags a lot in the first part. It gets better once Collins is introduced, and let me tell you, he’s so chilling and the way they got him is so curious it definitely makes worth the read in the end. I should also add that Keyes changes pretty much every single name in the case, including the killer’s, which might have been common practice back then, but seems ridiculous now when everything is public information and it’s something that I particularly hate in non fiction stories.

Silent Witness by Don Weber and Charles Bosworth Jr.: This book is about the murder of Karla Brown, which I wrote about here, and the hunt for the killer. Although the book is co-signed by Don Weber, he’s presented in a third person style within the narration. He was the prosecutor in the case, and he comes across as a guy who takes his job very seriously and was willing to take risks with new technologies and techniques so he could get justice for the victim. The case itself is very twisty and interesting, since it took investigators four years to point to the right suspect, so the story is very riveting, especially if you, like me, enjoy the investigation and judicial part of true crime. Just keep in mind that the book was written by someone who is certain of the killer’s identity and there’s no room left to doubt his guilt, as opposed to the reality, where there are some people that have tried (unsuccessfully) to find proof of his innocence.

The Man from the Train by Bill James and Rachel McCarthy James: I really enjoyed Bill James’ book Popular Crime and I got this one as soon as it came out. James is not really a true crime writer, his main area of expertise is baseball, but just like us he’s very enthusiastic about true crime and has spent a lot of time researching, reading and formulating theories about it. In this book, he tackles a series of unsolved murders that happened in the first decade of the 20th Century in the US, when several families were hacked to death with an axe for no apparent reason. James and his daughter do a very thorough research into old archives to try to determine which murders are linked and were likely committed by the same person, who in their theory is also the guy behind the infamous Villisca Axe Murders. The book is really a very well done exercise in speculation, amateur profiling and connecting the dots, because there’s no way we can really know if what James is saying is true or not, and he knows it and acknowledges it several times through the extensive book. I’m not sure The Man from the Train is for everyone, I’d recommend it mostly to people who really enjoy unsolved mysteries and old American history, because there’s a lot of interesting analysis of those times. James is very entertaining in his writing and speaks directly to the reader while adding some humor and worthy anecdotes here and there. ( @congenitaldisease I know someone recommended this book to you, I think you’d enjoy it as well).

My Story by Elizabeth Smart: It pains me to say this, because I’ve met Elizabeth Smart and she’s an amazing and inspiring person, but of all the true crime books I read this year, this is probably the worst. I find it hard to believe that she worked with an actual writer, because the book reads like the journal of a 12 year old in both narration and content. The story is, of course, terrible and haunting, and Elizabeth tells us in detail about being kidnapped from her bedroom when she was 14 by the seriously disgusting Brian David Mitchell and his mentally disturbed wife Wanda Barzee. She also talks a lot about her determination to survive through the horrible ordeal and her faith... She’s pretty heavy on the faith side, at points the book can read like a Sunday sermon so if you’re one of those people who frown at religion, this is definitely not the novel for you. Like I said earlier, the book is written in a very childish way, which would be ok if Elizabeth had written it right after her kidnapping but this was done when she was already an adult and a decade had passed. There’s no deep insights or much new information and on paper Elizabeth does not communicate as well as in person. Her experience is worth to know, but objectively, as a piece of literature, this book is bad. I would suggest watching any of her interviews instead of picking up this (and definitely don’t get the audiobook because she’s not a good reader).

Waiting to be Heard by Amanda Knox: Now this is the complete opposite to Elizabeth Smart’s memoir. It’s a well written book that gives a very clear and thorough account of the ordeal Amanda Knox went through when she was accused and wrongly convicted of murdering her roommate Meredith Kercher in Italy. Amanda is very candid and represents herself very well, with a lot of material from the trial and details of her life behind bars. You can tell by this book that Amanda was a very naive, inexperienced girl who lacked self awareness. Even when writing this book she doesn’t seem to understand why her behavior was inappropriate and bothered the italian authorities, and while she doesn’t give a satisfactory explanation of why she involved Patrick Lumumba, there’s no doubt in my mind that she’s innocent of the murder and was horribly railroaded by unethical investigators, prosecutors and journalists, who built a case on nothing but a twisted fantasy. I imagine if you somehow believe she’s guilty (and I really would like to hear a good argument for that) this book would be extremely annoying to read, but otherwise you should add it to your list and expect to get your blood boil over the injustice. It’s scary to think that under the right circumstances anyone could experience what Amanda did.

Never See them Again by M. William Phelps: A gripping account of the Clear Lake Murders, a massacre in 2003 in which four young people were gunned down in a house in Texas in the middle of the day by then 17 year old Christine Paolilla, a close friend of two of the victims, and her boyfriend. Phelps, an experienced writer that used to host the show Dark Minds, does it right and finds memorable characters to narrate his story through, including the victims (especially Rachel Koloroutis, whose family was clearly one of Phelps main sources), the main investigator and Christine herself. Christine’s life is well researched but even after you’ve read so much about her, she remains an intriguing figure. It’s clear that her self portrayal of a victim that got forced to commit the crime is a fake and she’s a master liar and manipulator, but it’s hard to know for sure what drove her to kill the two girls that had made efforts to improve her life. Like Edward Keyes in The Michigan Murders, Phelps also uses some fake names but only in witnesses and he lets you know when it’s a pseudonym, which I appreciated.

Law and Disorder by John Douglas and Mark Olshaker: Any book by John Douglas is worth the read, because not only he talks in depth about very interesting cases, but his perspective, whether you agree with it or not, is always well informed and fascinating. He makes an excellent writing team with Olshaker, who lets Douglas’ voice come through in a way that lets you know what kind of person he is through the pages. This book, the most recent he wrote, published in 2013, is no exception. Here he tackles famous cases of miscarriage of justice, from the Salem witch trials to Amanda Knox. It’s not always about wrongfully convicted people, he also talks about how some clearly guilty convicts abuse the justice system. Douglas talks about his views on the death penalty, which he’s in favor of although not a passionate advocate: he just believes that if the sentence exists, and is decided after a fair trial, the family of the victim has a right to see it through. His main point throughout the book is that a theory should never be above the evidence, meaning some investigators get so obsessed with trying to prove someone is guilty that they ignore the actual evidence and use only what fits their idea of how a crime was committed. He gives several examples, but I found the chapters on the JonBenet Ramsey and West Memphis 3 the most illuminating. Really, when analyzed by Douglas, an agent whose experience in crime is not to be dismissed, it sounds ridiculous to think the Ramseys killed JonBenet or that the WM3 are guilty. Even if you think they are, I would ask you to please read this so you can have a wider perspective. (I also got some mild pleasure at all the shade Douglas throws to investigator Steve Thomas, whose book on the JonBenet Ramsey case I reviewed here). However, I will say that if you’ve never read a Douglas book, this is not the one to start with. You should at least read Mindhunter first.

#true crime #tcoriginal #true crime book #book review #review #john douglas #amanda knox #elizabeth smart #christine paolilla #michigan murders

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