#sad part is she wouldn’t know she has dimples
Text
Wish You Were Here | Part 1
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year. Running over the same old ground, what have we found?
The same old fears. Wish you were here.
20 years after the outbreak, you’re a stable, well established member in the community of Jackson, Wyoming. You have been for a long time now, the horrors, the brutality of survival buried deep inside, leaving place to the safe simplicity of routine. You didn’t think there’s anything that could disturb that, after all you’ve been through. That is, until you meet Joel Miller, and a drunken choice leads to…much more.
Set in between Part I and Part II. Canon compliant (I'm breaking my own heart)
Series masterlist
Pairing: Joel x f!reader
Fanfic tags : canon compliant, slow burn, romance, eventual smut, angst, hurt/comfort, joel and the reader are terrible at feelings, female reader, no use of y/n, reader is in early 30s, past relationships, trauma/PTSD, grief, loss, post-apocalypse, joel is a good parent to ellie, major character death, original characters, queer characters, bisexual main character, age difference, canon-typical violence
WC for Part 1 : 4.5 k
Warnings for Part 1 : drinking, swearing, implied sexual content
New Year’s Eve 2034. Jackson’s tavern is packed to the brim, people in every corner of the room, almost shoulder to shoulder. It’s hot and humid inside; layers have been shed, revealing patches of sticky skin. A musky, sickly sweet smell assaults your nose : a mix of sweat, booze and dust, making you nostalgic for a time you never knew, before the world fell apart. The windows are fogged up, blocking out the view of snow falling peacefully, coating the street. You’ve rarely seen anything like it. Nearly every adult survivor in the community has seemingly decided to come out tonight, and the fact that Eugene has finally dipped into his batch of mead, home brewed by the barrel, is most certainly to blame. Maria, Jackson’s leader, doesn’t exactly approve, but she’s making an exception. Just for the holiday. You spot her at the back; she’s holding hands with Tommy, her husband, protectively watching over the crowd. Eugene’s feeling particularly generous this evening; he offers a hefty bottle to whoever asks, reminding each lucky recipient to “savour ‘cause she’s been fermenting since July!” You must have heard that sentence a good twenty five times since you got your own bottle, the words getting progressively less intelligible as Eugene indulges in his creation. You’re still not certain why he refers to his mead like it is a woman, and frankly, you’re afraid to find out. One thing’s for sure, the beverage is incredibly strong, has a horrid taste, burning your throat like acid with every drop. It’s questionably safe for consumption, but the occasions to get shitfaced in the midst of an apocalypse are quite limited, so you endure. Even Jackson’s most reclusive members agree with that notion. Including him. Joel Miller. He’s nursing a drink at a table near the bar, opposite to the one you’re sharing with your usual group. You wouldn’t exactly call them friends, but they’re fellow patrollers, close to you in age, so, naturally, you’ve grown familiar.
“What are you looking at?” Max, the one you’ve known the longest, nudges you with their elbow.
Your gaze quickly snaps back to meet theirs. You realise you’ve been staring at the older man. Noticeably. You don’t quite know why. Maybe he intrigues you, all quiet and pensive in the middle of a rowdy celebration. His expression is hard to read, but there’s a hint of…sadness? You get a hold of yourself and brush off the thought.
“Nothing,” you lie. Max cocks an eyebrow, a little grin forms on their lips, freckled cheeks dimple.
“Uh-huh.” There’s a glint of malice in their green eyes. “You sure? No one particular caught your attention?”
You don’t let their teasing get to you. “Nah. Just checking at Seth trying to hit on Leanne,” you reply without missing a beat, “for the millionth time.” This one isn’t a lie, as the scene really is unfolding a few metres away. You blink at Max, feigning innocence. They narrow their eyes, not buying it.
“Man, when is he gonna get the hint?” Fred chips in, breaking the unspoken exchange between you and Max. She quickly peeks in the direction of the duo, a muscly arm propped on the back of her chair, long cornrows draped across the other shoulder. She scoffs, and takes a swig of her drink. “She looks like she’s seconds away from kicking him in the balls.”
“Don’t know how she hasn’t done that, like, years ago.” It’s Astrid’s turn to talk. She sighs, shaking her head, her wavy golden blonde hair rustling with the movement.
“Maybe you should go beat him up for her, A,” Fred jokingly suggests. “Bet she’d like that.”
“Don’t give me ideas,” Astrid responds, seriously. “I’d have him in a wheelchair for the rest of his days.”
“Oh, yeah. And then you and Leanne would run off into the sunset,” Max adds, taking their attention off you, finally. They start screeching in a horrible, high-pitched voice. “Oh, Astrid! Oh, thank you! You saved me from the big, bad man! I lo-”
“Shut the fuck up.” Astrid cuts them off, cheeks reddening.
“Hmm. I think they hit a little nerve there, A,” Fred continues, laughing, moving her arm to playfully put it around a flustered Astrid. She’s too easy, you think. It’s pretty endearing.
“Who are you kidding,” you join in Astrid’s torment. “You can’t even say hi to Leanne without stuttering.” The woman gets even redder, the angry tint reaching her pale neck. Fred and Max giggle. “You’re such a teenager,” Max strikes.
“Just fucking drink.” Astrid commands the three of you, pouring the group another round.
“Fair enough,” Max says, before clinking glasses with Fred in front of them. Astrid finishes hers in one gulp, which makes her cough, while you sip slowly. The buzz is setting in. It’s nice. It eases the burden on your aching shoulders.
You let your companions carry the conversation as the night progresses, occasionally humming or laughing at a remark. You’re not exactly concentrating. You keep getting drawn back to Joel Miller, for some reason. He arrived in Jackson last summer, about six months ago. Him and a kid, a girl, around fourteen or fifteen. You assumed that was his daughter, but soon learned that you were wrong. People talk, especially in such a small community. Something about Joel smuggling her across the country for the fireflies? A failed operation, clearly. You heard the organisation disbanded since then. It was about time. You’re surprised they lasted that long in the first place. He’s Tommy’s older brother. There’s history there, you know some of it; Joel already had a bit of a reputation before ever passing through Jackson’s gates. He hasn’t done much to help it since then; he barely interacts with anyone besides Tommy and Ellie, the girl. He keeps to himself, brooding, silently observing, tough, cold, detached. That’s how Joel’s treated you on the few patrols you’ve had to go on together these past months. He usually works with Tommy, you usually work with Max, but Maria likes to switch around the schedule occasionally to test out different pairings. You and Joel have done a very efficient job, only speaking when absolutely necessary, technical terms only, mumbling salutations. However, on the last patrol, in early December, you made a great shot at a stalker, and you could have sworn Joel’s mouth twitched in approval. It was so short it might have been a product of your imagination, but then, after coming back to Jackson and bringing your horses to the stable, he mumbled your last name instead of his usual grunt goodbye. It’s fair to assume there’s mutual respect for each other’s skill there. Nothing else. So then, why does your gaze keep returning to his tousled, greying curls, scruffy beard, piercing brown eyes, and the scar on his left temple? Maybe it’s the alcohol. Yeah, that must be it-
Joel’s eyes suddenly lock with yours. Your heart skips a beat, making you choke on your drink. Shit. What the hell was that? Fred immediately interrupts the story she’s telling and you feel three pairs of eyes on you. You clear your throat, looking down at the table.
“Sorry. Went down the wrong pipe,” you mutter. They keep staring. “Uh, Fred, what were you-”
And then, as if the universe takes pity on you, Mike, Jackson’s butcher, jovial fellow in his early sixties (but barely a wrinkle creasing his dark skin) claps loudly and calls out over the incessant chatter.
“How about some music, huh?” A few supporters acclaim him. He pushes through the crowd, reaching the old console piano standing at the south wall, underneath a window. Around, some tables have been stored away, allowing some space for dancing. The instrument is in poor shape, the keys are yellowed, a pedal has fallen off. Mike sits on the worn piano bench. Most survivors in the tavern have momentarily lowered their volume, following the man’s moves. He tries a little riff. Not as bad as was expected, just slightly off tune. You know he’ll make it work. “Alright. Get ready to groove, everyone!” He plays the intro to Johnny B. Goode by Chuck Berry perfectly, earning cheers and applause. Chair legs scrape on the ground, glasses and bottles are snatched up as the crowd converge around Mike.
“Woo! Come on!” Fred exclaims. She stands and takes Astrid’s arm, forcing her patrol partner up. Astrid resists, but just for the principle, a beaming smile on her face. The pair leaves, already bobbing their heads to the rhythm. Max takes another shot before shuffling away from the table on legs rendered wobbly by the booze. They hold their hand out to you, but you don’t take it yet. You dare look over at a certain someone again, who is grounded in his seat, indifferent to the change of mood. Max wiggles their fingers impatiently.
“I’ll, uh- I’ll join you later,” you say, averting their eyes.
“Ugh. Fine. You suck,” they reply.
You raise your middle finger in response. They turn away abruptly, flashing the back of their frayed jean vest, the sleeves cut off by hand. Max catches up with Astrid and Joey, and you watch as they start dancing, snorting at how uncoordinated the three are. You’ve downed a good five drinks now. One more won’t do any harm, right? You fill up your glass with the last drops of mead from the current bottle. Warmth spreads through your veins, making your head throb in a pleasant way. Your eyelids are heavy, your surroundings blurred. Something is clear, though. You and Joel are amongst the very few survivors that aren’t taking part in the fun. Hell, even Maria’s letting her husband spin her around.
And then it happens again. Joel meets your gaze. But this time, he holds it for a couple of seconds, before looking to the side and rubbing his chin. Almost like he’s doing it on purpose. You must be drunker than you thought, because that makes no fucking sense. And what your clouded brain makes you do next is even less logical. Slowly, you rise, and walk unsteadily to the now deserted bar, heading towards Joel. Your heart picks up its pace. This is so stupid . You sit down at one of the stools, just a few feet away from him. You lean over the counter, resting your head in your hand, staring straight ahead at the row of vintage bottles aligned on a shelf behind the bar. On the piano, Mike has moved on to I’m Still Standing by Elton John, his voice strong, smooth. You catch a glimpse of Joel in your peripheral. He’s tensed up ever so slightly, his back straightened. He’s aware of your presence. This is so stupid.
“Hey, Miller,” you hear yourself speak, still looking ahead, but loud enough he can hear you.
He sighs. That’s something. He hasn’t gotten up and walked away, he hasn’t told you to get lost. He’s acknowledged you. It’s full of irritation, sure, but it gives you enough motivation to keep going.
“Not a fan of the music?” You attempt a sultry tone and make yourself cringe. Great start. Joel grunts, takes a swig of mead and crosses a leg over the other, nonchalant.
“Yeah, I didn’t exactly peg this as your scene,” you continue, gesturing vaguely at the crowd. The booze has taken the reins, and you can’t hold your tongue.
A full minute passes in silence. You’re about to give up. And then Joel talks, gruff, sarcastic, the inebriation accentuating the southern drawl in his voice. “Right. And like you’d know, of all people.”
A sentence. Joel Miller just spoke a full sentence to you. You’re stunned.
“Fair point,” you recover after a few seconds. “You just, uh, don’t really seem like the social type.” A pause. You feel Joel’s gaze burning the back of your neck. “No offence,” you add.
“None taken.” Joel downs the rest of his drink, exhales. “You’re not dancin’ either,” he observes.
“Perceptive,” you retort. You spin on your stool, now facing him. A corner of his mouth curves upwards almost imperceptibly. It goes back down immediately, but you caught it. And it gives you a boost of confidence. You’ve made the grumpy bastard smile, or, well, the closest to it he can probably manage.
“Why not?” he questions. “Your friends looks like they’re havin’ fun.” He nods his chin over at Max, who’s gone up to the piano and is belting the lyrics to the song, stomping their feet, while Mike plays the melody. Two things : first, Joel knows who you hang out with, which means he’s not completely oblivious to who you are, and second, he’s making conversation with you. Astonishing.
“Guess I’d rather be bothering you.” You shrug, trying to suppress a smile. “Thought you’d have cursed me out by now, if I’m honest.”
Joel scratches his forehead. “Dunno why I haven’t,” he mumbles.
“Maybe you should.” Did you really just say that? Did you just try to flirt with him? And why did his gaze flicker to your lips?
He looks back up and narrows his eyes at you. “Nah. You don’t want that.”
You don’t miss a beat. “Hey, I could take it.” You’re maintaining eye contact from your seat at the bar. “I’m tough.” Well, this is happening. Damn Eugene and his mead .
The ever-so-subtle smirk passes over Joel’s face for the second time. He shakes his head. “Don’t wanna make you cry.”
“Hm. How considerate,” you reply, unable to fight a little smile. Joel emits a short, low, rumbling sound.
“Was that a laugh?” You ask, the smile growing larger.
“Hm. No.” He goes right back to irritation. But still, he’s not pushing you away. So, in your drunken state, you decide to test the limits. You slip off the stool and take a step towards Joel. He furrows his brows, but doesn’t say anything. You take another step, and then another, until you reach his table. There’s no going back now.
“Uhm, mind- mind if I sit?”
“Are you really gonna leave if I say no?” He asks, rhetorically. He’s challenging you. You feel your cheeks heat up and your stomach drop. You pull the chair out and settle on it. You’re suddenly very conscious of your near proximity to Joel. The courage you had mere minutes ago is disappearing; you have to fuel it up. You grab an empty, upside-down glass sitting near two bottles of mead, one empty, one half full. Joel is acting quite coherent for a man who’s had that much. You tilt your head in request.
Joel scoffs. “Go ahead.”
You pour yourself a seventh drink, knowing perfectly well that it is an absolutely terrible idea. You down most of it in one gulp, wincing, before putting the glass back down with a thud.
“Something wrong, sweetheart?” Joel asks, the nickname dripping with irony. Still, your stomach does another flip. “Can’t hold your liquor?” He mocks. He leans back in his chair, legs open, right hand on his knee, left hand palm down on the table. Your gaze travels from his face, down his neck, to his broad chest where the small unbuttoned portion of his flannel reveals a few dark hairs. What the hell are you doing? Your eyes snap back up
“Fuck off,” you mutter under your breath. Joel looks pleased with himself. You finish your drink, looking straight at him, taunting.
“What was that?” he asks, even though he heard you perfectly. His smug smirk is assured now. You don’t answer. Joel fills up his glass. You take it as a sign that he intends to see this interaction through. Fine by you. You search the depths of your sluggish brain to find something witty to say.
“So, Miller. What’s with the accent?” This is the best you can come up with. The words are slurred.
He scoffs again. “Don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout,” he says, pointedly adding your last name. He’s playing you.
“Ah, come on, cowboy ” you continue, impressed by your own audacity, “Where you from?”
Tommy has mentioned this to you before. Definitely somewhere south, but you can’t recall in your current state. And you want to hear Joel say it.
He rolls his eyes at the nickname, but he doesn’t stop smirking. “Texas. Austin.” He takes a sip. “You?”
Texas. Right. Makes sense. In a way, you feel proud to have gotten this minimal piece of information out of him. You didn’t think you’d ever witness Joel Miller opening up to you, not even a tiny crack. But here you are.
“Washington. Seattle.” You copy the structure of his answer; Joel nods, casual. “Uh, you’re a long way from home,” you add.
“Yup.” He doesn’t elaborate. Takes yet another sip. “Seattle, huh?” His gaze pierces through you, eyebrows knitted in reflection. “Born and raised?”
“Yeah…” You’re not certain what he’s getting at.
“There’s a QZ, right?” A pause. “D’you end up in it?” he questions.
The words are like a slap in the face, sobering you up a little. You don’t want to think of that right now. Not at all. You look down, fidgeting with your empty glass.
“Hmm,” you confirm.
“Damn. Heard things got pretty bad up there,” Joel says. You wish he’d just shut up. You don’t like this turn the conversation took.
“Yeah, well, I left, so.” The sentence comes out harsher than you had planned. Joel understands the message; he raises his hands up in defence.
“Got it. Sorry I asked.” The guy doesn’t look one bit apologetic. It frustrates you, and yet…You’re enjoying this little game.
“Yeah, watch it, Miller,” you warn, but your tone has gone back to being playful. Joel relaxes in his seat. He rests an elbow on his denim-encased thigh, shifting his weight.
You proceed. “So what’d you do? In Texas?”
“Hm. Contractor.” He really is a man of few words. His past occupation suits him like a glove.
“Fitting.” You give him an unimpressed pout; he stays unbothered.
“Yeah, yeah. What’d you do, then?” He asks.
It makes you chuckle. “Uh, middle school student. 6th grade sucked ass.”
Joel takes a second to register. Something quickly washes over his face, an emotion you can’t quite discern, before vanishing. You’re too drunk to analyse it.
“Huh. I would have guessed elementary,” he states.
“Aw. Don’t flatter me,” you reply, dryly.
“I’m not. Just sayin’ you don’t seem like you’ve learned much past fourth grade,” Joel says with a shit-eating grin.
Wow. You’re speechless. And then you burst out laughing. And, miraculously, Joel starts chuckling with you, the corner of his eyes crinkling. The sound is hearty, surprisingly warm. It’s the kind of laughter that you would try your hardest to hear as often as possible. That could make you all fuzzy inside, if you’d let it. And just like that, the tension that had been building between the two of you breaks. It’s comfortable, you’re at ease. The moment stretches out; you feel a strange connection with Joel, and you wonder if it’s mutual, or if you’re going completely insane. It’s probably the second option. You manage to utter a few profanities, between two breaths. Joel watches, amused, waiting for you to calm down.
“Alright, you’ve got me there,” you concede, a smile lingering on your lips.
Joel’s expression has softened. He looks younger, somehow, like a few years of constant stress have been erased just by talking with you.
“I may not be the brightest, but at least I can take a joke.”
“You’re not wrong there.” Joel fills your glass with the remnants of the mead, while you push a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to conceal a blush. “You deserve it,” he explains, “if you can take another round.”
“You keep underestimating me.” You raise your glass up in the air.
Joel imitates you. “No hard feelings?” He suggests.
“Deal.” You clink Joel’s glass with your own, and tilt your head back to swallow the foul liquid as quickly as you can, your gut churning in protest. You groan.
“Think my estimation was correct, actually,” Joel quips. You look over at him. Besides a slight glaze over his eyes, he appears unaffected by the alcohol.
“How are you doing this?” You ask, baffled.
He shrugs. “You’ll get there eventually.”
“And by there, you mean kidney disease?” You naively bat your eyelashes at him.
“I’ve survived worse,” he remarks. It’s lighthearted, but it hides a bleak truth you know all too well. You ignore it.
“Yeah. It shows.” You tease, giving him a scrutinising up-and-down.
“Hm. Funny. You didn’t seem to mind it that much when you were starin’ earlier.”
Jesus Christ.
Game over. Joel wins, one million to zero. You want to bash your head against the table, or run very far away, preferably out of Wyoming. And get torn apart by clickers. Instead, you stay right where you are, mouth agape, cartoonish. Fucking idiot. Are you twelve?
“That’s not- I- I- wasn’t-”
Joel is delighted by your reaction.
You wisely decide to shut up and quit stuttering. As if on cue, Mike hits the iconic intro to Don’t Stop Me Now. Max starts singing dramatically, in an offensively bad Freddie Mercury impression. Some survivors join in, not a single one on key, resulting in a cacophony. You take it as an opportunity to get out of the situation. You scramble off the chair and start walking away, stumbling and catching yourself on a nearby table.
“Where you goin’? We weren’t done.” Joel calls after you. You turn around.
“Me? Oh just stretching my legs.” You start stepping side to side and swaying your shoulders, following the rhythm. “Showing some love to the artists.” You shoot two fingers at him, moving your arms to the music. Joel shakes his head, chuckling. “You’re terrible.”
“Well then why don’t come here and try to do better!” You shout back, doing a ridiculous twirl as the sheer quantity of mead you ingested finally hits you. The room spins, transforming into blobs of colour. So, you close your eyes, and you flail around carelessly, your mind too foggy to worry. The tempo of the song increases.
I'm burning through the sky, yeah! Two hundred degrees, that's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit-
Suddenly, there’s a presence next to you. You crack your eyes open, checking on who’s intruding. Joel is standing about three feet away from you, hands awkwardly shoved in his pockets. His left heel is tapping the beat.
“S’a good song,” he mumbles.
Joel Miller, nervous to dance with you? Anything truly is possible tonight. You approach him, not interrupting your dance. He stays put. You two are away from the crowd, and it feels like you’re alone in the tavern with him, like no one can see you.
I'm travelling at the speed of light, I wanna make a supersonic man outta you!
As Max puts all of his might into the chorus, you get closer to Joel, because he lets you, close enough that you could reach out and take his hands if you wanted to. And you do, but they’re hidden in his pockets. So you keep dancing, wiggling your hips, jumping up and down. Joel still isn’t budging, but you feel his gaze on you, eyeing your bare arms, the tattoo right under your left clavicle, and going lower down your chest…You take a step towards the man.
“Who’s staring now?” You hadn’t planned to say that out loud, but it’s too late. You take another step, now inches from Joel’s chest, which is rising and falling faster than before. His lips are parted, his eyes intense. It’s now or never. Fuck it.
Your right hand moves up to rest on Joel’s shoulder, causing him to tense up. His expression goes stern, serious, like he’s fighting an internal conflict, debating whether he should pull away. Yet, he remains still. So your left hand goes to his other shoulder, looking up at him through your lashes. He holds your gaze, then inhales like he’s about to say something.
A clunking noise interrupts him, shattering the moment. Your arms fall back to your sides and you glance over Joel’s shoulder, searching for the source of the disturbance. You find it easily. Astrid is standing near the table your group had claimed before, her hair thrown in a ponytail, face glistening with sweat, the sleeves of her sweater pushed up. Her water gourd lays on the ground, its content spilled. Her eyes are wide with surprise, jumping between you and Joel. Her mouth contorts in a silent, one worded question.
That’s bad. That is very bad.
Joel notices the shift in your attitude and whips his head around, as a snickering Astrid jogs up to the crowd, merging into it again, certainly to tell Fred about what she just stumbled upon. Joel turns back and leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers:
“Outside. Now.”
His breath tickles your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. Something stirs in your lower abdomen; a longing, a desire that demands to be dealt with, urgently.
Joel snatches his coat from the back of the chair he sat in, before striding towards the exit. You follow behind, docile, not bothering to retrieve your own jacket. Once you’re out of the tavern, the freezing wind barely even pinches your skin. You’re too preoccupied with another feeling that’s dangerously rising up inside. You need his touch. And you get what you want. Joel grabs your forearm, and drags you to the alleyway at the side of the building, lit up by a single, flickering street lamp. In a second, your back is pressed against the logs, Joel’s face taking up your entire field of vision. He’s seething with anger. His pointed finger digs into your sternum.
“You- you- ” he growls. You look back at him like a deer in headlights.
And then he kisses you. Hard. His lips crash onto yours and you let out a startled yelp, jerking your head to the side. Joel stares, anticipating your reaction. You don’t let him wait for long before you kiss back. His hands glide down to your waist, gripping it, while yours go to the nape of his neck. You pull each other in and a burning heat spreads between your bodies. Time seems to slow down as you part your lips to deepen the kiss, letting his tongue in. He tastes bittersweet like the mead. Your heart races. An ache forms where your thighs meet.
Just as suddenly as he came in, Joel shoves you away roughly. Your head bounces on the tavern’s facade. He storms out of the alley without another word, leaving you alone in the cold, panting, riled up, confused.
What the fuck just happened?
To read on AO3
63 notes
·
View notes
Text
Random parts of James which Regulus loves:
regulus' part here
>His collar bones.
>His knuckles.
>His Dimples (specifically his right one, because it’s the most prominent one).
>How his accent curls around words. (James has an Indian accent, and it would get stronger when he was talking about things he’s excited about).
>The bump on the bridge of his nose. (And how it’s the exact same as his father’s).
>How he’ll stop and pet any cat he passes, and not worry if he’s petting McGonagall. (‘She deserves a pat on the head every once in a while’ is what he said when Regulus joked about it once).
>How he’s always willing to help him with his transfiguration homework.
>How his curls fall in his sleep. (And how they keep their curl when he plays with them).
>His hands. (Duh)
>How he’s always warm. (Like he’s so toasty like all the time).
>How he doesn’t know how to tie his shoe laces and, even though James knows he will do it without asking, he asks anyways.
>How James will smile at him if they pass in a corridor but not able to speak to each other.
>His thighs. (He never talked about his to his friends when they figured out his crush on him cause he was embarrassed on how much he thought about it).
>How he says what he means and means what he says.
>How James will cheer for him when he wins at quidditch even if that meant he lost.
>His eyes. His hazel and gold flecks in his iris, and his slight lazy eye which you can’t notice unless you’re close.
>His patience. (With him)
>How James would point out a rainbow in a sky with the same amount of excitement each time.
>The way his brain worked. How James could remember a piece of information Regulus casually dropped in a conversation they had in passing but would literally forget his entire timetable on a constant.
>His smile. How it show his teeth. How his smile was crooked and genuine.
>How his face wasn’t symmetrical.
>His love for insects. He wouldn’t kill spiders, rather let it free out a window. He wouldn’t step on snails because then the snail would be homeless. He would follow butterflies until he physically couldn’t. (And the irony of that James was allergic to bee and wasp stings).
>How he always tried to show genuine interest in the stuff he talked about. (Regulus loved classical music, and it wasn’t James taste, far from it. But he’d still let Regulus play and talk about it, and he’d still listen with full focus.)
>How he was sensitive when he was tired. (He’d rub his eyes and get a cute, sad look on his face if he was rudely awoken).
>The way his hands felt against his skin (James would place his hands on Reg’s cheeks and thumb at the apples of his cheeks).
>The way James tanned in the summer. How his cheeks would become a maroon flush and how he’s get a uproar of freckles on his arms and shoulders like he was built for summer because they always disappeared by October.
#just to name a few#Regulus could definitely name more#(i could too)#god I love how this came out#I’ll be doing one for James pov on Regulus don’t worry#I want to do more of these#I’m so going to do marylily next#they’re so in love#it’s sickening#i love it#james potter#regulus black#jegulus#sunseeker#starchaser#james x regulus#jegulus brainrot#jegulus headcanon#maurder era#jsp headcannon#jsp- marauder era#jsp- jegulus
457 notes
·
View notes
Text
^^ thank you for letting me use your character I really appreciate it<3
Word count: 1,036
!!Likes do nothing, Reblog instead!!
Summary: two kids meet at an unexpected way (they are like 7-8 in this fic)
Part 1/2
Warning: none
For: @revivemyreverie
Next part
Najih was used to traveling a lot with his mother for her job, but a casino wasn’t somewhere he ever thought he’d go to. Yet there he was, sat alone at a bar, drinking a random mocktale his mother ordered him before disappearing to talk to a client of hers.
It wasn’t that bad in his opinion, the bartender was nice, gave him some snacks from time to time, and some of the costumers found him adorable. But he could also feel people’s stares of confusion, not that he blamed them, a child alone at a casino was not normal. Or he guessed form what he heard people saying.
“Your moms late” he looked up at the bartender, a man who looked to be in his early fourties’, before shrugging “I’m used to being on my own” the man hummed and placed a plate in front of him. It has various nuts and some chocolate. “I can’t give you something too expensive, but nuts and chocolate are fine” Najih nodded and took a bite out of the chocolate -milk chocolate with hazelnuts he guessed-, not his first choice, but he wasn’t complaining.
“Thanks” he mumbled while nibbling on the sweet treat. The bartender smiled at him and ruffled his red wavy hair before walking away to serve another client. Najih sat there alone for a while, just eating his snacks and drinking his beverage. A group of ladies-in their mid to late twenties he guessed- came up to him for a bit to pinched his cheeks and coo at him -one of them gave him some thumaks as well but he couldn’t care less about that- before leaving to go get wasted with some guys.
A bit after they left Najih was done with his snacks and decided to go explore the casino instead of sitting here and waiting for his mother -who, knowing her, was probably hiding and seeing how he handles the situation-. He left the main area and opted to go explore a random hallway he found, the loud sounds of the casino echoing behind him as he looked around the place, admiring the design.
“Hello!” Najih turned around and blinked at the person that spoke “I’m Vegas, you?” “…” he kept silent as the other stared at him with a smile, his dimples showing. He had dark skin, baby blue eyes and black colt hair with some red. “Hello? Earth to stranger?” He blinked a few times and took a step back, wary of the other kid “Are you gonna answer me or not?” “..Najih…” the boy beamed at him and took a step forward “There we go! Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? Are you here with your parents? Where did you come from? Do you wanna play with me?”
Najih frowned slightly at the boys actions, wanting to keep a distance between them, and not liking all the sudden questions. “I’m here with my mom, She’s meeting with a client of hers here” “What does she do?” He tensed up at the question, it was an innocent one, something the normal person wouldn’t bat an eye to. But his mom was an assassin, like him, like his grandparents and all his relatives. The boy, Vegas, continued to stare at him with his Pearl eyes -Najih thought they were pretty- waiting for his response.
“…I’m not sure…” such a small, simple, lie. But it seemed to work, so he took that as it as a win. They stood there in silence for a few moments, just staring at each other. “Ok then, I’m gonna go now” the redhead pointed behind him as he slowly started to walk backwards “my mom is probably worried about me” Vegas frowned and grabbed one of his forearms and tugged at it slightly “Can’t we talk a bit more? You didn’t even answer all my questions”. He asked, annoyance lacing his voice with a hint of sadness and disappointment. “You just got here..” he tugged again at the others sleeve, a bit harder this time.
“I’ve been here for two hours, I wanna go home!” He pulled his arm away and started walking back from where he came from. He could still feel the others eyes boring into him, signifying his annoyance and disappointment.
“Najih” came a voice from his front, causing him to stop dead in his track. He gulped and raised his eyes to the person, to find a figure of a tall lady with slicked back red hair wearing an elegant black dress. Her heels clicked as she walked towards the two, before completely disregarding him and walking towards the other boy. She knelt to his eye level and smiled sweetly -Najih had to hold in a frown at the fake display of sweetness- “I’m sorry about my son, he’s a bit shy” she told the boy, her voice as sweet as poisoned honey.
“My name is Layla Al-Amin, I’m a close friend of your parents, I’ll be working at the casino for a bit and bringing Najih with me. I do hope you two will get along well”. Vegas smiled back at her and nodded “we do have to leave now though, But you two can play all you want tomorrow” “Really?!” The boy beamed at her words, excitement painting his face. Layla let out a small giggle at the boy and nodded “Really” she got up and lightly dusted her dress “Say goodbye to your friend child, we’re leaving”
Najih nodded before gave a small wave to the blue eyed boy “bye”. Vegas waved back at him as Najih started to turn around to follow his mother “Bye! See you tomorrow”. Najih waited a bit as the boy ran back down the hall before hurrying after his mother, making sure to keep up with her as to not as to not fall behind. “Befriend him” he glanced up at his mother, her face and voice back to their monotone default, all the honey and sweetness gone “his parents are extremely important” he nodded at her before glancing back one last time at where the boy was.
He hopped he could continue to be his friend after the job is over.
Thank you again to @revivemyreverie for letting me use Vegas in this<3.
I have been trying to figure out what to write for this for way too fucking long😭
!!requests are open!!
comments are more than appreciated. but reblogs help the content reach more people so please reblog if you want to like<3 likes do nothing. Seriously, don’t like, reblog.
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Little Poppy | Chapter 14
Previous chapter | Next chapter
Masterlist
I fall sleep the moment I make it to the bed. When I wake up, the sun is completely out, illuminating the whole room. Once my eyes have adjusted to the light, I see a little note on the bedside table on my left.
James is alright. A doctor already checked him and he has a broken leg, but he will recover. Rest as much as you need.
MM
I let out a sigh of relief and try to go back to sleep, but my stomach says otherwise. I am so hungry.
Someone has left some new clothes for me and also everything I may need to refresh myself, so I decide to start getting ready. Once I’m done, I leave my room, but I don’t know where to go. Last night it was so dark, and I was so tired, that I didn’t pay attention.
“My lady, may I help you?” a young maid asks me.
“Would you mind taking me to the dinning room? I would like to have some breakfast” I say.
“Oh, my lady, it’s past lunch time. You spent most part of the day sleeping” she says. “But don’t worry, Lord Mount told us to save some food for you for when you woke up. If you follow me…” I just nod and go with her.
After eating, I ask another maid to take me to James’ room. I want to make sure he is alright.
“You didn’t need to come, my lady” he says as I sit next to his bed. “There are more important matters you should be taking care of right now, like talking to the little Lord.”
“I haven’t seen him yet” I say. “He doesn’t seem to be in the house.”
James, probably noticing the sadness in my voice, holds my hand, giving it a little sqeeze. “He’ll come back, my lady. If he’s left, I’m sure Lord Mount will ask him to come back.”
I give him a shy smile, hoping he is right.
━━━━━━❃━━━━━━
“I’m sorry we’ve left you alone all day, my lady” Lord Mount says as we sit to have dinner. “But last night’s storm did some damage in town, and we’ve been busy helping people and making sure everyone was alright.”
“That’s very kind of you, my lord” I say.
“If I were you, my lady, I wouldn’t start flattering him. He becomes insufferable” his fiancée says with a smile before sipping her wine.
“Don’t listen to her” he replies with another smile, a dimple showing on his cheek.
I can’t help but blush and look down at my hands. I feel like an intruder, like I’m being part of something private.
“Dinner is ready” Walter says, bringing us all back to reality.
Once we are done eating, we sat next to the fire, the sounds of the waves in the background.
“You probably are ondering where Dec is” Lord Mount says.
“If he isn’t here, I guess he’s gone to visit his brothers and spend the holidays with them” I shrug.
“He’s decided to spend the holidays with us, my lady. But he isn’t here because he has joined my father on a business trip to court” he says. “They’ll be back in a couple of days. He just needed to keep his mind busy and stop thinking about you for a little while.”
I only manage to nod, tears coming to my eyes as I think about him, heartbroken and looking for comfort with his best friend.
“He’ll forgive you, my lady” Lord Mount says. “He is an idiot, you probably know it better than anyone. But he isn’t that level of an idiot.”
I can’t help but laugh at that, which for some reason also makes me cry.
“He’s my idiot” I say between sobs.
“Just like this one is mine. Lucky us, uh?” the future Lady Mount says as she hugs me. Again, I find myself laughing and crying at the same time.
━━━━━━❃━━━━━━
It’s been three days since I arrived at the Mount’s house. And Declan hasn’t arrived yet.
While waiting, they’ve been showing me the area, taking me to visit the town nearby and on walks to the beach. Despite the cold, I love our little walks.
“I still remember the first time I came here” Lord Mount’s fiancée tells me one day. “Mason asked me to come because I had never seen the sea, and he tried to convince me by saying that he was the best tour guide. He probably thought he was being super romantic and cheeky, when in fact he was just being ridiculous. But he made me laugh, and that was one of the reasons I said yes.”
“Declan also says stupid things like that. Stupid to the point of being annoying and wanting to punch him on that stupidly gorgeous face he has. So I guess that’s why they are so close. Two stupid boys. Our idiots” I say with a shrug.
“Our idiots” she replies as we both start laughing.
━━━━━━❃━━━━━━
It's been a week. Still no sign of Declan.
Luckily, Lord Mount's sisters and their children are back in the house, and they've kept me busy. One of their favorite things is playing blind man's bluff in the big ball room, going completely crazy as I chase after them while making weird voices. This time, I'm a cat.
"Where are you, little kitties? Meow" I say.
"Not here, meow meow" one of them says next to me.
"I think I'm going to have to call my older brother the lion to catch you. Rawr!!" I yell. I can hear them running and laughing, though I can feel someone behind me. "I can smell someone... Right here!" I say as I turn and jump, trying to catch the kid who was behind me. But I find myself clashing against someone tall. Someone too tall for a kid. As I pull down the scarf in my eyes, I find myself looking into those eyes I've been dreaming with for months. The eyes that have followed me everywhere since the day a huge dog tried to attack me by the river. Declan's eyes.
"Hello, little poppy.”
#declan rice#mason mount#declan rice x reader#declan rice imagine#declan rice fanfic#football fanfic#football imagine
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
IOTA DRACONIS
Legendary / Energy / Fusion Rifle
"The paths between stars are fractal mirrors of the neurons in our brains and the vicissitudes of our fates." —Sjari, Awoken Techeun
Daniel insisted they check in on Saint-14 and his rescued Osiris once they returned to the Tower. If the Cryptarch got a little misty-eyed emotional over the relief and adoration the Titan held for his returned husband, Jack wouldn’t ever mention it. He has stood watch and cared for Daniel so many times himself, hoping to be the first thing he’d see upon waking. Jack knew exactly how Saint felt and it left him feeling something rather emotional, too.
So much so that when they parted ways with Saint that evening, Jack took Daniel directly home and made love to him slow and tender by the light of the Traveler shining in through the apartment’s windows. He poured his heart into Daniel through kisses and touch, watched him respond beautifully, like a flower soaking up the sun. And when Daniel fell apart from too much, Jack held him through the storm of their passions and gently tucked him back together in the calm afterwards.
It was a stolen moment of pure joy. A gift for them and their yearning hearts before being forced to regroup. A reprieve before the nightmares began again, tragedies starting anew. After all, who really knew what the hunt for Savathûn would bring.
Without a Ghost of his own, Daniel would always be vulnerable. Every mission they ran, Daniel was at risk of permanent death. Seeing a Guardian, especially a Warlock as powerful and willful as Osiris, lose their Ghost: that hit hard. For Jack, though, watching Saint-14, the strongest and bravest of Titans, reduced to worry and panic over his now Light-less beloved? That hit him even harder.
That could’ve been Daniel. Savathûn could have snatched him up, used him just the same as she had Osiris. Jack could see how she played with his Cryptarch’s mind even from her crystal cage, tried twisting him just like she did poor Crow.
There had always been something melancholy and desperate in Daniel since he’d initially come home from the Dreaming City, something that Jack hadn’t seen in him before on their first fateful mission to The Reef. Jack noticed it after giving Daniel simple gestures of affection, even more so after taking Daniel to bed and loving him thoroughly. The Hunter chalked up the sad little quiet moments and private bouts of needy intimacy to grief and loneliness. Daniel thought he was hiding it, but Jack knew him too well.
Or at least he believed he did. Because somehow Savathûn had tapped that pain in Daniel. Even Mara Sov could pull the ache to Daniel’s surface. What did they know that Jack didn’t? What did they know so directly about his lover, while Jack only found himself stumbling over it like an Eliksni web mine, leaving him confused and drawn up short? What was the common denominator hiding in them all?
“You can talk to me, you know,” Jack said to the curve of Daniel’s neck, hopefully sounding confident, as he placed a kiss on his shoulder.
Daniel stretched his long body like a lazy cat before turning and curling on his side and onto Jack. He folded an arm over Jack’s chest so he could rest his chin on it and stare up at him sweetly under heavy eyelids. The electric blue of his eyes was brilliant without his glasses to dim them, even more so with satisfaction turning his gaze soft. “I don’t?” he teased.
With a snort, Jack had to concede that one. “Okay, talk to me, not just at me. About anything. I mean it.”
His laugh was full of fond amusement. “Are you looking for a bedtime story, Jack? Because I’ve been talking to Eido down in the Eliksni Quarter, she’s been telling me all about how she’s recorded the House of Light’s history. Ah, there’s the glazed over expression I’m so familiar with.”
“Daniel,” Jack said, eyes narrowing in a flat look of irritation.
Daniel smiled, all coy innocence and boyish dimples, backlit by the play of Light softly rippling under his Awoken skin. “Jack?”
In privacy together was one of the few places Jack could ever witness Daniel so carefree and unguarded. Forever at odds among his peers in the Cryptomancy, and with the past abuses heaped upon him by the people he once considered loved ones and the losses of so many dear to him, Daniel tended to have a subtle edge about him that he very rarely dropped. Somehow Jack had found favor with Daniel, was given his trust—his heart—like a precious gift, and Jack loathed to break it.
And yet, here he was, trying to prod at invisible wounds, looking to hurt Daniel in his own happy place. For what purpose? To be nosey? To assuage some kind of jealousy that others knew his Cryptarch better? In all honesty, those could be true, but Jack just wanted to soothe whatever it was that made Daniel ache so much he didn’t feel he could show it.
“What’s eating at you, Daniel?”
He blinked rapidly, eyelashes fluttering, before his eyes looked down, darted away. He took a deep breath, licked his lips. Jack could feel his body tensing up, fight or flight kicking in. He put an arm around Daniel to keep him close, rubbed circles on his back to try showing he didn’t mean any of this in harm.
“I’m fine. I, uh,” Daniel swallowed and gathered a brave face, looking Jack in the eyes, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Is it Riven?”
The perfect lavender flush from their lovemaking has long since vanished, but now the pale blue of his face faded to a deathly gray, the ribbons of Light under his skin pitching into Darkness. The guilt and sorrow crashed over Daniel’s face in slow motion, Jack’s educated guess taking him more by surprise than he was able to protect himself against.
“Did you make a bargain, Daniel?”
He tried to push away, but Jack wouldn’t let him. So Daniel tried harder and they scuffled, losing the blankets and pillows to the floor. But Jack prevailed, hugging Daniel to him, one arm across his waist and the other around his back, his hand gently pressing against the back of Daniel’s neck. Daniel settled with his arms wrapped defensively around himself, his forehead resting on Jack’s sternum as he just tried to breathe.
“They say Wish Dragon bargains really were cursed. Monkey paw wishes.” Jack’s fingers brushed at the short hairs at Daniel’s nape, offering a little comfort. “I know you knew this, going in. But you can’t help the wishes in your heart.”
Daniel was very still in his arms.
“You don’t know that your life is forever tied to the damn thing once you’ve made a bargain, though,” Jack said quietly. “How else would the curse stay with you long after they’re gone. When the raid team went in, we all had a wish in our hearts. Revenge for Cayde. We killed Uldren and it wasn’t enough. Riven started him on that path, we wanted her dead for it. So, she wished a curse on the Dreaming City with her last breath, a trade for us putting her down.”
He felt Daniel shudder. “You don’t understand,” he gritted bitterly.
“You think I don’t? I was greedy, Daniel,” Jack said, his voice taking on a harsh whisper in his confession. “I made a second bargain before I even pulled my gun. All I could think about was you in the chamber above, alone with Taken waiting in the wings. ‘Let me bring Daniel home alive.’”
Breath turning ragged and heavy, Daniel seemed to be biting back words, shaking his head where his forehead rested against Jack’s chest.
“I got my wish. I got you out of there and back to the Tower. Safe. Alive. And every mission after, no matter how near to death you may reach, no matter how many times you come close to it, I still bring you home alive.”
“This isn’t real,” Daniel choked on a quiet sob. “This is still Riven. This. This is Savathûn.”
Jack was floored by the accusations, enough so that when Daniel pushed away this time, Jack didn’t even think to stop him. He just watched stupidly as the Cryptarch clambered off the bed and as far away from him as possible. He grabbed for the first article of clothing he could find, Jack’s thermal pants, and quickly pulled them on. Jack would normally find that hot, Daniel half dressed in Jack’s own clothes, but at the moment he felt impossibly cold.
“Daniel?” Jack sounded raw as he called to his lover.
“Oh god, Jack, I want to hear you sound hurt. I want, I want so much for you to sound like you care for me. But it’s not real,” Daniel insisted.
Jack sat up and held out his hands. “Daniel, please, come back to bed.”
Daniel’s arms came up around himself in his defensive self-hug, his shoulders tight and high around his ears. “I can’t. I want to, but, Jack, I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?” Jack stood up, confused and just wanting to hold and calm Daniel.
The Cryptarch backed himself further across the room, glowing blue eyes darting between Jack and the apartment door once he figured out he was on the wrong side of the bed to escape. The horrific realization that Daniel was trying to protect himself against Jack, was looking for routes of escape from Jack, had him dropping back to sitting on the bed, utterly staggered.
“Ahamkara warp reality to grant wishes. Don’t you see, Jack?” Daniel began to pace along the far wall, his words picking up speed as he warmed to his argument. “This isn’t real. What we have, what you think you might feel for me? Riven did that to you. Against your will. Because I wished for you.”
“Me?” Jack asked, as a cold rock settled in his stomach. The probability that all this, the best thing that had ever happened to him since Charlie, might not be true left him stunned.
“For all that I had—Sha’re and Skaara, access to the Dreaming City, my mother’s past—I missed you, Jack,” Daniel said, pressing his back to the wall and sliding down to the floor. “When the Taken came, I needed you. All I could think was, if you knew, if you just knew I was in danger, then maybe you’d. Maybe you w-would save us. You’re the only person I’ve ever known to truly, unconditionally have my back. You were my friend.”
Daniel hung his head, shamefaced and defeated. Jack could just see the glint of tears slipping down his chin by the light of the Traveler’s glow. “It could have been any Guardian, but in my heart. I wanted you. And then you were there.”
Shaking his head, Daniel’s breath hitched. He continued on in a helpless whisper. “I should’ve wished for freedom, for the safety of those in the Dreaming City. I should’ve wished for Sha’re and Skaara or the Techeuns to be released from the Taken. But Riven shoved her claws into my heart and pulled you free and I couldn’t. I couldn’t.” The guilt hung heavy on Daniel’s shoulders, weighing him down and curling him in on himself.
For three long years, he bore the burden of a wish coerced from him in desperation. Every kiss they shared, every time they made love, Daniel believed it to be a lie. The curse of Riven’s wish come true. The sorrow Jack had seen in him all this time was that Daniel knew it was all a sham, but felt so much for Jack that he couldn’t give it up. He thought he was selfishly taking advantage of Jack all this time.
But wait. They’d wished for each other, hadn’t they? Daniel needed Jack to come for him and Jack, he just wanted to bring Daniel safely home. Didn’t that cancel the curses out or something? And what about what Jack felt? He was grudgingly attracted to the geeky Cryptarch before they even left for The Reef, and his admiration only grew worse as he watched Daniel in action as they fought and negotiated their way to the Venetian Outpost. They were friends then, but Jack was pretty sure now that he was already on his way to falling for Daniel. Why else would he make a bargain with a damn Wish Dragon to bring the infuriatingly brilliant pain in his ass home with him?
“You know, I’m not a Warlock,” Jack said slowly, glad that some semblance of confidence had returned to his voice. “I don’t get the whole reality warp thing. I just care that I get to live in the reality where I can love you.”
Daniel went very still, to the point Jack wasn’t even sure he was breathing.
“It’s always felt real to me, Danny,” Jack went on, his voice low and sweet, just the way he liked to murmur the secrets of his heart against Daniel’s skin. “Every moment felt like a truth. I thought my heart grew on its own for you all this time. So what if it was nudged? Or led? I still feel it. And it feels right.”
“Jack?” There was a desperation in the way Daniel said his name. It was as if he was hanging from a fragile edge—urgent—but raising his voice above a hoarse whisper would shatter everything.
Jack answered back calmly and sure, “Daniel.”
The dam broke and Daniel’s grief poured out. Jack, still naked, crossed the room to his sobbing lover and gathered him into his arms. They sat tangled together on the floor as the Traveler shined on through the window over their heads.
It made sense now to Jack why Daniel somehow always managed to interrupt him from ever saying I love you. Why would he want to hear it, if it wasn’t true? So Jack whispered it over and over, in Daniel’s hair, against his cheek, into his ear. I love you. I love you. I love you.
When Daniel could breathe again without the hiccup of tears, Jack pulled them both up to their feet. But Daniel pushed him away.
“I have to. I have to go,” he told the Hunter. Jack hoped he had washed the guilts and aches away from Daniel’s heart, but even now he still wore them. He just wasn’t hiding it from Jack anymore. Jack tried reaching for him, but Daniel fended him off and backed away quickly. He grabbed a shirt from the back of a chair, his own that he tossed there as Jack hustled him to bed a few hours ago, and yanked it on. “Please. I just. I need to think. Clear my head.”
“Daniel.” He wasn’t above begging, not for his Cryptarch, and his name was a plea on Jack’s lips.
“Jack.” Daniel looked torn, as if fighting himself over wanting to flee as fast as his long legs could carry him, or to curl into Jack again and never leave his warmth. Shutting his eyes and squeezing them tightly, Daniel nodded to himself and determinedly made his decision. “Just. Just stay. I need you here. When I come back.”
A rush of nervous energy, Daniel only stopped long enough to shove his feet into a pair of boots—Jack’s—and fumble with the locks of his door. Then he was gone.
Jack sat naked on the rumpled bed in Daniel’s apartment, the Traveler a witness through the windows. Marge was quietly tucked away, but no doubt she heard it all and was only keeping her peace for the time being. Probably just waiting for Daniel to come back to give him a passive-aggressive piece of her little Ghost mind.
He sighed and picked up the pillows, straightened the blankets from their tussle. Not even a half hour ago, they’d been enjoying a sweet afterglow. But Jack had to open his mouth. He didn’t regret it, though; he finally said the words he’d long to tell his distractingly talented Cryptarch. I love you.
At some point, he must have fallen asleep as he waited, hoped, and worried over Daniel’s return. He turned over and reached out for a warm body, but was only met with cold, empty sheets. Disappointment sunk his heart.
He opened his eyes as shadows played with the mid-morning light glowing in his face. Wreathed in a perfectly cloudless blue sky, haloed in golden sunshine, Daniel stirred from his perch on the windowsill. He must’ve been watching the Tower coming to life below, listening to the calls of merchants in the Bazaar and chatter of the remaining New Monarchy’s members discussing Tower politics. He probably heard Jack rustling the sheets and turned to him, putting a mug that no doubt held coffee down on his seat as he stood.
He looked tired. Ragged. Wistful. Endlessly beautiful.
The grip this man held on Jack’s heart still felt exquisitely, crushingly real.
He pulled back the blankets and wordlessly opened his arms. With no hesitation, Daniel climbed into the bed with Jack, wrapping himself in his embrace. He cupped Jack’s face with a tender hand and drew him into a slow, sweet kiss.
"I love you," Daniel murmured against Jack's lips, desperate and unapologetic. And it was the honest truth.
#cryptarch daniel jackson#fan fiction#hunter jack o’neill#jack o’neill x daniel jackson#jack x daniel#destiny 2/stargate sg 1 fusion
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
invisible string (13/18)
summary: modern soulmate birthmark au; After Omera lost her soulmate, she lost hope she’d ever find love again. Then, a short time before Earth’s first colony ship will be sent to a place they call the Outer Rim, she meets a Mandalorian whose touch makes her Soul Mark burn. (Mandomera!)
rating: hard T
word count: ~5.7k
prev. chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve
read chapter 13 down below or on ao3!
an: Hey friends! I'm going to be updating daily (hopefully!) through the end of this story starting now, which is a big yay, but also a big sad because I'm going to miss this a lot. I have a few crazy weeks coming up and I don't want to not be able to update at all while we're at a dramatic and angsty part in the plot, so keep your eyes peeled!
You're amazing! Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy seeing how this whole thing ends :)
-
Chapter 13: The Choice
“Omera is known around the colony on Alpha for her graceful leadership. You always see her completely put together, fearless even when things look bleak. She has solutions for almost every problem, and if she doesn’t have one she’ll find someone who can help.
When I find her, she’s folding laundry in her living room.
This is the Omera that nobody gets to see. She wears a messy ponytail, an oversized paint-stained shirt, and baggy gray sweatpants. Her smile is as bright as one might expect, but exhaustion peeks through when she forgets where she put the tea leaves in her kitchen.
‘Do you remember the day everything changed?’ I ask while we sit at the table in the kitchen with mugs of hot tea.
She frowns and her shoulders fall. ‘Are we really going to start by talking about this? Those were some of the hardest months of my life.’” - Soulmates and the Outer Rim: Real Stories About Soulmates Who Went the Distance
-
They decided to surprise the kids with a trip to the beach right after they picked them up for the day. They got a box of cheese pizza and a blanket they could sit on. Winta picked the spot where they sprawled their blanket out and not even five minutes in, Grogu already had sand in his hair.
As they sat there, listening as the waves rolled in, Omera realized that this was a lot like the future she and Din talked about. The only difference was that there was sorrow knowing that at any moment all of it could end.
Grogu wanted to sit in Omera’s lap while they ate. His little voice was too precious to deny and she selfishly wished to hang on as tightly as she could to what time they had. There was no telling what waited for them around the corner.
While they ate, Winta’s giddiness from earlier that morning rose to the surface and she blurted out, “Din, Mama told me that you’re soulmates.”
Din sat beside Omera, just close enough that if she wanted to she could touch him.
She wouldn’t touch him. They were always careful around others, but especially when they were in public where anyone could have eyes on them.
The beach felt safe with its calm sounds and soft salted breezes. It was as if nothing was wrong at all.
Din looked at Omera and she smiled easily. When it was the four of them together it was always so easy to be joyful. Now that Winta knew the truth about them, it was even more clear that they’d become a family.
“We are,” he confessed.
Winta bit on her lip and tilted her head so her dimpled cheek hit her shoulder. “Can I ask you questions about it?”
“Yes.”
Her daughter considered her first inquiry carefully before she straightened out and asked, “Why did you choose to Bond? You said Mandalorians don’t do that.”
“We both chose to Bond,” Din told Winta. “It wasn’t just my choice.”
Winta narrowed her eyes some. “But why did you want to?”
Omera eyed Din, whose mind must’ve moved a thousand miles an hour as he tried to sift through everything they’d been through over the course of a few weeks.
Grogu finished his pizza and tilted his head back to look at her. There was sauce on his cheeks and crumbs on his shirt. She smiled tenderly at him and grabbed a napkin from where she’d hidden them just under the box of pizza.
Carefully, she wiped his messy cheeks and then kissed his nose when he squirmed upwards in search of more affection. Laughter fell from his sweet lips and he nuzzled his cheek into her chest while he turned in her lap to face Din.
“There were a lot of reasons,” Din finally shared. “We both knew we were a Match and it was difficult for us to focus.”
Winta hummed curiously, but said nothing.
“When I’m with her, it’s better,” he continued, “and since we Bonded, I realized that what my people believe is flawed. There isn’t anything wrong with having a soulmate. If the Mandalorians knew how it feels, maybe they wouldn’t discourage it.”
Winta perked up. “What’s it feel like?”
Omera watched Din. He turned his head to look at her.
“Like two halves of a whole,” he explained. “Together, we’re complete.”
Her heart ached. There was nothing but love that existed in the space between them, this chaotic swirl of two lives on differing paths finally united. It would ebb and flow, and they both knew that it would, but right now, it was good. She desperately hoped it would stay that way.
“Aww,” Winta cooed. “Where is your Mark, Din? Can I see what it looks like? Mama’s is different now. Is yours?”
Omera laughed. “We have all night to talk about all of this, my love.”
“I know,” she sighed wistfully. “I’m just so excited. You seem so happy, Mama.”
Omera glanced at Din. He stared back at her, just to look.
She thought back to the way he’d tracked her down after their class at the office. He’d laid her out on the couch in her office and peppered her with sweet and hungry kisses, like he’d never get enough of her. There had been so much warmth in him then, so much pride and joy, and she could taste happiness on his lips.
“My Mark is under my right ear,” Din told Winta. “I can show you when we go back to the apartment.”
Winta gasped. Her voice was quiet when she asked, “You’ll take your helmet off?”
“Yes.”
Winta’s eyes went wide with a wave of sudden understanding. Her daughter looked directly into her eyes. “You’ve seen his face.”
“She has.”
Omera laughed. “A few times, yes.”
Grogu stirred, restless, and climbed out of Omera’s lap to stand on the blanket. “Winta? Play?”
Winta looked at Grogu and sighed, frustrated that she would have no choice but to go have fun with the two-year-old instead of asking Din and Omera more probing questions about their Bond.
“Okay,” she agreed as she pushed herself off of the blanket to stand in the sand. She pointed a serious finger at Din. “I have more questions.”
Din nodded. “I’ll answer them later.”
“Stay close,” Omera reminded. “And don’t go into the water.”
Winta took Grogu’s hand and smiled. “We won’t.”
The children took off to play. It was so natural, this sibling bond they shared, like they were always meant to be together. Their laughter and playful banter was noisy, but with nobody else around it didn’t matter.
Omera thought forward to what they’d do next. Cara and Peli had already agreed to come over again so they could officially learn about the Bond from both she and Din. She knew that it meant Din would likely get a fierce interrogation even if he didn’t deserve it.
She turned to face him and drew her teeth against her lower lip. “Do you want to stay over tonight?”
His response was instant, spoken even before he looked back at her. “Yes.”
She smiled happily. It would be nice to get to share a bed with him again. Even if they kept their hands to themselves, and she hoped they wouldn’t, having him there would be so much better than hearing his voice on the phone.
She was surprised at how she continued to need to be closer to him. It was different now, even different than when they first Bonded. Now, it was like her soul expected to be close to him in ways she hadn’t experienced with her first Bond.
“She seems okay with us,” Din remarked.
Omera hummed. “She’s always wanted me to date.” She met his gaze. “She’s always wanted a dad.”
He nodded. “I hope I’m good at it.”
Her heart squeezed affectionately. “You are.”
-
After the sun went down, they brought the kids to get ice cream before they made their way back to the apartment.
Winta was excited to get the chance to ask more questions, but she thankfully bit them back until they set foot into her and Omera’s place. Then, it was like a tsunami wave hit and there were no survivors.
“Can I see your Mark?”
Din carried Grogu. The kid had stumbled on the sidewalk after he tripped on his own foot and cried the whole journey back. It was safe to say he was worn out after a long day.
“We just got home,” Omera chuckled. “Be patient.”
He carried Grogu into the living room and sat him down on the couch, but he wouldn’t let Din get too far before he whimpered, “Da…”
Din sighed softly before he made the choice to sit with the kid. He took his helmet off in the process. The boy instantly wanted to climb up into his lap where he could rest his cheek against his chest and reach up with his tiny fingers to touch his jaw.
With Grogu comfortable, Din lifted his focus away from the kid. It was time to show Winta his face.
“Come here, Winta.”
Slowly, carefully, Winta tip-toed into the living room like she was nervous. When she saw him, a little smile grew on her lips, but she said nothing.
She sat down beside him, on his right side, and he tilted his head for her so she could see the birthmark.
“It’s here.” He rubbed the spot where his Mark had been since birth. “Do you see it?”
Winta bobbed her head. She wore a patient grin. “It’s just like Mama’s.”
Din smiled softly. “Yeah.”
“Winta, did you get any homework today?” Omera asked from the kitchen. “Cara’s going to come over. I just want to make sure you’re not going to be behind if I let you stay up with us.”
Winta sighed wearily. “I have to read.” She climbed up on the couch and faced her mother. “But I still have questions for you and Din.”
“What other questions do you have? Let’s try to answer them.”
“Are you…” Winta paused. “Do you love each other?”
The silence was completely deafening. Din’s heart began to beat faster and he avoided looking away from the kid in his lap, whose fingers went from his face to his shirt.
He knew how he felt about Omera, but he didn’t know if she felt the same way.
His soul felt warm every time they were near; every time they touched or he heard her laugh. He was so in love with her that it hurt.
“Even though we’re Bonded, it still takes time to feel that way,” Omera finally said on behalf of them both.
Winta frowned. “Oh. Well… then you might not stay together forever?”
“It’s like any relationship. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.”
He knew Omera wanted to be diplomatic, that she didn’t mean that she didn’t want it to work. She was cautious when it came to Winta and didn’t want her heart to be broken should something go wrong. Like a Mandalorian covert who had learned of his sins against the Way.
In Winta’s silence, Din could sense the weight of her emotions. She probably had expectations for the way things would go if her mother ever found herself in a relationship. It put pressure on them both, but even more pressure on him.
“I want to stay together forever,” Din told her honestly. “We’re gonna try to.”
Winta’s eyes shined when she spun around to face him. The corners of her lips inched outwards in a weak smile.
“My father was Bonded with Mama,” she shared quietly. She bowed her head in sorrow for a man she’d never met. “And he’s gone.”
Din took his knuckles to her chin and tilted her head back up again. “I’m not going anywhere, kid. I don’t want to be anywhere else but here with you.”
Winta surged toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He ran his hand against her back in an effort to soothe while he buried his nose in her hair.
In the time he’d known Winta, she’d always been just as kind to him as her mother was. She deserved to know that she was wanted- that he’d chosen her, too.
When she pulled away, she hopped off the couch and shared, “I don’t have any more questions. Not any important ones, anyway.”
Omera stepped into the living room with a plate of pizza and a glass of water that she passed to him while she directed her focus to her daughter.
“Are you sure? If you have questions or if you’re nervous… or excited, even… we can talk about anything you want.”
Winta smiled. She shook her head without reply.
“If you think of anything, no matter how silly it feels, you can come to me- or to Din. I promise this doesn’t mean I love you any less.”
“I know.” She grinned. “I’m gonna go read so I can see Cara when she comes over.”
“Okay.”
Din took a bite of pizza while Winta went to do her homework. As he chewed, he glanced down at Grogu and saw that his lips were parted and his eyes were closed. He was asleep.
“Uh oh, someone got too comfy,” Omera murmured as she sat beside him.
“I hope he doesn’t wake up too early,” Din replied after he swallowed a bite. “This morning, he was hiding things because he got bored.”
Omera’s nose scrunched and she winced. “Oh, no.”
While he ate, she gently ran her fingers through Grogu’s hair and then placed her palm against Din’s back. Her presence was soothing even though she was quiet.
After he finished off the slice of pizza, he looked at her. She was too pretty for him. Mayfeld was right. She was out of his league.
What would Cara and Peli say? He didn’t need their approval, but they were some of Omera’s closest friends. It would be nice to know they didn’t hate him.
“Thank you for saying those things to Winta,” Omera said earnestly. “She needed to hear that.”
“I meant it,” he promised her. “I want to be together forever.”
Her smile widened and she hummed. “Me too.” His heart leapt for joy at her confession. “You’re a good man, Din. We’re very lucky.”
He wasn’t sure if he was a good man. He had his struggles and failings like anyone else. The Mandalorians would argue his decision to Bond was at odds with goodness.
“Hey, hey!” Cara’s voice called from the entry. “I brought Peli. And cake.”
“What’s the cake for?” Omera asked with a laugh.
As she walked away to welcome her friends to the apartment, he realized that there was part of him that was nervous to show his face off to Cara and Peli. Although he’d grown to know them as friends, they were just friends.
It was different to share all of himself with Omera and with the kids. They were the people he hoped to spend his future with.
“Woah, who’s this guy in your apartment?” Cara asked with a playful wink.
“Hell-o there!” Peli exclaimed. “Not what I expected, but I’ll take it.” She lifted her eyebrows at Omera. “I regret not taking my shot when I had the chance.”
Omera laughed. “Be nice to him, please. He’s not used to having his helmet off.”
He was comforted by the kindness in her voice. She knew exactly how he felt and knew exactly how to make it better.
Din focused on Grogu’s sleeping form. The boy was a good distraction from the onlookers in the other room.
Eventually, the group of women entered the living room.
Cara stood with a glass of something amber colored near the windows that looked out on the city while Peli sat in one of the cushioned chairs. Omera rejoined him with her hand on his knee as support.
“What are you guys planning on doing when we get to the Outer Rim?” Cara asked suddenly. “I think I’m gonna explore.”
Peli swiveled in the chair and twisted her lips thoughtfully. “Whatever job they give me. I’m not too picky. As long as I get a few hours to write about the goings on in the colony. I’m sure there’ll be a lot to keep track of.”
“Omera already has a job,” Cara teased with a coy grin. She lifted her eyebrows. “Little Miss Brainiac.”
She shook her head. “I’m sure it will change over time. I don’t want to have to lead forever.” She sighed softly. “What I want to do is teach.”
Omera hadn’t mentioned her desire to become a teacher before, but he understood it. He could easily see her at the head of a classroom of kids Winta’s age or younger, filled with joy as she taught the next generation of bright minds to achieve more than she had.
“What about you, Mando?” Cara nudged. “What’s your job?”
He took a deep breath. “They have me on the ship overhaul. The plans are to take the bridge and turn it into its own ship so it can be sent to other planets in the system.”
“And when it’s ready, then what?”
Din shrugged. He looked at Omera. “Depends on what the school teacher wants to do.”
She smiled sweetly at him. His heart almost burst at the sight.
“It sucks we can’t pick our plots before we get there,” Cara sighed. “I get that it’s all hypothetical right now, but…”
“Where are you thinking?” Peli asked. “I was going to try for something in town.”
Cara hummed. “Probably in town. Maybe just an apartment. I don’t know. I like to think I’ll be gone a lot.”
“You can stay with us if you want,” Omera suggested. She eyed him playfully. “Din wants a four bedroom house by the ocean.”
He shook his head. “You agreed.”
In response, she slid her hand against his leg. “We want a four bedroom house by the ocean. There will be a spare bedroom. It can be just for you, if you want.”
“I don’t know…” Cara trailed off. “You guys give off some major huge family energy. Like… what do you think, Peli, six kids?”
Peli scoffed. “At least.”
Omera shook her head and winced. “I don’t know about that…”
He couldn’t help but smirk, even when she looked at him for support. It was funny to see her squirm and it was clear that Cara and Peli were both teasing. After three weeks of radio silence on the matter of their relationship, it was probably what they deserved.
“All I’m saying is, there’s not going to be room for me in your big house because you’ll have way too many little Omera’s running around being way too smart for their own good.”
Omera rolled her eyes and dimples appeared in her cheeks. He loved her. God, he loved her.
“This is why I didn’t want to tell you about us,” she told her friends. Her fingers slid along his leg and she squeezed. “I knew you’d have us married with babies in five minutes.”
“Omera, I’m kidding,” Cara replied with a laugh. More seriously, she added, “Thank you for the offer. I’ll consider it.”
Peli flipped her notepad out of her belt and directed her attention to them. “Can I ask you a few questions about your Bonding experience? It’s research only. I won’t use your names and I won’t even mention you’re Mandalorian.”
Their eyes met and they quietly came to an agreement with tiny nods exchanged.
“Okay.”
Omera shifted to sit closer to him and he pressed his lips to the side of her head. She smiled at the affectionate touch and squeezed his leg beneath her hand.
“What exactly happened?” Peli wondered. “It’s different for everyone I’ve talked to, so don’t worry if you think it was bland, or too spectacular.”
“Well, when we touched our Marks, they were already warm,” Omera explained. She searched his eyes as the memory returned to them both. “And they got hotter. A lot hotter than it’s ever been for me.”
“Me too.”
“After it was over and the Bond took, they cooled down, and that was it. We were both a lot happier then.”
He smiled when he remembered how it felt, the fresh awakening to a world of being Bonded with his soulmate. Since that day, they’d grown together in ways he hadn’t anticipated. He was increasingly more grateful for making the choice to Bond with her.
“Interesting,” Peli uttered. She wrote something on her notepad and then chewed on her pen. “Just before you Bonded, would you say you were being pulled together by your Soul Marks?”
Omera breathed a sigh. “Oh, yes.” She chewed on her lip as she stared up at him. “We kept trying to stay apart, but I don’t think it helped. It made it worse.”
“Hmm…” Peli frantically flipped through her notes. “What was your experience with physical touch? I’ve heard the whole gamut here, so you don’t need to be shy.”
“Any time we touched, my Mark got warm,” Omera shared. “The longer we touched, the worse it felt. And when we were apart, it was difficult to focus because I needed to be near him.”
“I didn’t sleep for a week after we hugged the first time,” he told Peli.
“Woah, really?” Cara blurted out. “That’s wild.”
Peli hummed, but it wasn’t out of surprise. Rather, it seemed like she wanted to confirm something in her notes.
“And now how does it feel when you touch?” Cara asked curiously. “Does it still make you go crazy or are you good now?”
Omera laughed. She settled her cheek against his arm and placed her hands between her thighs. “It’s better now.”
“So…” Peli trailed off, writing something down. “Here’s something interesting. You’re actually in the minority on that. Most people are able to wait as long as they need to before they choose to Bond. Those that felt the same way you did…” She paused to cross check something. “Most of them were half circles.”
“Half circles are usually the longest lasting, too, right?” Cara asked.
Peli hummed in the affirmative. “If I had to guess, a lot of that has to do with the intensity of the Bond.”
“It’s different than before,” Omera shared. “With my husband, I mean.”
Peli’s eyes grew wide. “How?”
“It’s hard to explain…” She stayed where she was, her cheek on his arm, and he felt her try to get closer. “I didn’t feel like this before. I felt him sometimes, and I knew he was there with me, but… I never felt like I needed to be closer to him after we Bonded. Now, I always feel that way.”
“Is it because… of what happened?” Cara asked carefully.
Omera shook her head. “Din’s soul feels different. He’s stronger. More patient and kind.” She paused. “It’s… like my soul feels safe with his. Maybe it always knew, somehow, that the Bond would break.”
What Omera had to say about him would stay with him forever. To know that she felt safe, that she felt his strength, made every lie he’d spoken to the Mandalorians worth it.
“I have a few more, if that’s okay.” Peli sat up straight. “There are some in the community who believe being intimate after your Bond acts as a sort of second Bond. Have you been intimate since your Bond?”
Omera was quiet and Din tried to remain unfazed by the question, but it felt invasive. Was this all an elaborate ruse to get them to disclose all of the little details about their relationship?
“We aren’t going to answer that,” Din spoke up on their behalf. Omera’s fingers wrapped around his arm and she squeezed gently. “Some things stay between us.”
Cara smiled smugly and turned away from them to look outside. It was clear that she had something she wanted to say and he was glad she didn’t.
Peli nodded in understanding. “I didn’t think I could respect you more than I already did, Mando. You’re good to our girl.” She jotted something down in her notes and glanced up again. “You have my seal of approval. Omera, this is exactly the kind of guy you deserve.”
Omera swept her thumb against his arm. Her voice was quiet and soft, “Thank you.”
He was relieved when Peli closed her notepad and tucked it away, apparently satisfied by the answers they’d given. He pressed a kiss to the top of Omera’s head that earned a little smile from her when she looked up at him.
Cara turned away from the window and crossed her arms against her chest. “So how long ago was the Bond? My guess is it was three weeks ago. The day you were in the simulator.”
Omera rested her cheek to his arm once more. “I hate that you know me so well that you can just guess it like that.”
Cara grinned. “Three weeks keeping it a secret from us isn’t bad. Good job.”
Grogu stirred in Din’s arms, finally aware of the fact that he wasn’t in his bed, and whined as he squinted his eyes open.
He looked at Omera and tilted his head toward the front of her apartment. “I’ll let you know when we’re on the way back. Should get him ready for bed.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
Before he got up and put his helmet on, he kissed her goodbye in the way he would if they were alone. It felt surreal that they could do such a thing in front of people, but all that mattered was her anyway.
He ignored the eyes on him on his way out of Omera’s living room. He knew that her friends judged him for everything he did and said, especially now with their secret out in the open. He hoped he performed to their expectations.
With Grogu lifted into place on his hip and the boy’s bag in one hand, he walked him down the hall to their place. By the time they were inside, Grogu had woken up some from his nap and rubbed his eyes with a fist.
“Do you want a bath before bed or are you too tired?”
Grogu blinked at him quietly and touched the edge of his helmet, like he wanted to see his face before he’d answer. Din allowed the kid to take it off and caught it before it fell away.
He poked Din in the cheek and giggled at the way he flinched. “Daddy.”
Daddy.
The kid had only called him Da. At first, it was because he couldn’t quite say Din, but it had stuck.
“What did you say?”
He wanted to hear it again to see if the kid actually meant it.
Grogu’s sweet lopsided grin was accompanied by a little dance. He poked him one more time, this time on the chin.
“Daddy.” The boy poked himself next on the nose. “Grogu.”
The confirmation drew tears to his eyes. He’d known that he was Grogu’s father for a while, but to hear the kid say so made it real in every possible way.
And then there was a knock at his door.
He kissed Grogu’s cheek and set him down on the floor inside his bedroom. “I’ll be right back. Pick your PJs for me.”
Grogu smiled. “Okie, Daddy.”
Now that the kid started, it seemed the train wasn’t going to stop. He was Daddy now.
He swiftly replaced the helmet onto his head and answered the door.
It felt like déjà vu. On the other side of the door, there were two Mandalorians: Armas and his accountability mentor.
A hard lump formed in the back of his throat that he swallowed. “If you’re here to evaluate the kid, it’s not a good time. He’s tired.”
Armas nodded at him. “We have decided to take him without evaluation. You have broken from the Way, and your attachments have made you lose focus.”
Din shook his head. “What evidence do you have of that?”
The pair were quiet for a beat.
“You have had this child in your care for five months. The law of attachment says that if left unchecked-”
“The kid is happy with me,” Din cut them off. “He’s safe. I’m not going to let you take him.”
“If left unchecked, attachments can form whether we know it or not,” they continued.
“He’s two years old,” Din argued. “There are rules about children his age being brought into the covert without a primary guardian to watch over them. That’s why I was given the responsibility in the first place.”
“Are you volunteering?” Armas asked.
His jaw clenched. “He stays here. He feels safe here.”
The pair exchanged glances.
“The child is not our only concern,” Armas admitted.
His chest heaved with anger. “What have I done to forsake the Way?”
“A Bond is the most direct violation.”
Armas lifted a tablet from her hip and spun it around to show him a picture of him and Omera on the way to work that very morning.
In the photo, her Mark was clear on her wrist, obviously emboldened in the way that Bonded Marks were. She smiled at him, lighter than air, and his heart leapt to see it because it was so clear how happy she was with him.
“Is this your Match?” Armas asked coolly.
He lifted his gaze to meet hers. There was no way out of this argument. He’d also never been angrier.
“Yes. She is my Match.”
Armas lowered the device. “Then you have forsaken the Way and deserve to be cast away.”
His eyes closed. “The Bond was the only way I could stop the urges. It only got worse with time.”
He was met with silence. Armas nodded toward the other Mandalorian, who stepped forward like they were going to come inside, but Din put a hard stop to it by blocking their entrance. He shoved the Mandalorian out of his apartment.
“I found the kid. He’s more mine than he is yours.”
Memories of their time together flashed in his mind. He’d stayed up with the kid when he got sick. He’d wiped away countless tears. He’d changed diapers and gave baths.
Then there were the good things. The sound of Grogu’s laughter in the morning when Din tickled him. He curled up in his lap when he got tired at the end of the day and mumbled his name in a way that made his heart squeeze tight.
Nobody else had ever loved Grogu the way that Din did. He was abandoned and left to die. What the Mandalorians did for children like Grogu was give them shelter and purpose, but wasn’t it more valuable for a child to feel loved?
After Din’s parents died, he didn’t feel loved until he met Omera. She showed him how good it was to be wanted, to know that there was purpose behind his life that went deeper than what he already believed his purpose to be.
Armas shook her head. “If you refuse to let us take the child, you will lose your job and everything that comes with it.”
He scowled. “I earned the job by merit.”
“We donated to the project. In exchange, they asked us to send them the name of someone who could perform a job. Someone who would add Mandalorian influence to the colony.”
The gravity of the statement had yet to hit him fully, but he felt sick. He already knew there would be no way out. They had him cornered.
“Because we donated to the project, it is our choice which Mandalorian goes.” Armas’ voice was colder and crisper than it had ever been. “So, you can either give us the boy and seek atonement for having fallen apart from the Way, or you can keep your soulmate but lose your job.”
He stared at Armas silently, unwilling to give up without one last fight. If this was the end, he wouldn’t go down easy.
“They wouldn’t let me go because of a private matter.”
She nodded. “When you first started, you were in an altercation with a member of the Falcon Industries board. There were threats of a lawsuit.”
Din’s eyes squeezed shut. His fingers flexed into his palms tightly. “That was taken care of.”
“Who do you think took care of it?”
Anxiety crushed any semblance of peace that remained in his soul.
“We don’t want to take this action, but you’ve left us no choice,” Armas said in a somewhat sympathetic tone. “You’ve been lying to us. You Bonded with your soulmate. I know you are a good, well-intentioned man, but I can’t look the other direction anymore and watch you fall.”
In silence, all three of them watched one another with chests heaving.
“If you want to walk away, you can,” his accountability mentor spoke up. “Many in your position have, and we have respected their choice.”
“You’ve put me against the wall,” he argued. “I’ll lose my job and risk ruining countless lives because I want to choose my soulmate?”
Armas sighed. “I know it is a difficult choice, but it is the choice you have to make.”
“Daddy?” Grogu’s voice called out innocently from behind. “Daddy!”
There was no other choice. There was no other answer. He wouldn’t abandon Grogu. He wouldn’t allow the project to fail. He didn’t want to abandon Omera and Winta, but there was no way he could have it all.
The Mandalorians showed him grace, as much as it felt like they were being unfair. The rules and guidelines for life as a Mandalorian were something he’d blatantly ignored and they were right to call him out on it.
His chest tightened with the words that sat on the tip of his tongue and he sighed heavily. “I… choose him. Grogu. We’ll stay together.”
-
Read Chapter 14
#mandomera#din x omera#the mandalorian#my writing#invisible string fic#i'm sorry for cluttering the ship tag with my mess y'all it's almost done 😩
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
"Now How Come I've Only Found Out About This Now?" [G.W]
[Pairing:] George Weasley x Fem!Artist!Reader
[Summary:] So far, George Weasley knows three things about his new potions partner; So why not make it four? Or five?
[Warnings:] use of mudblood, a bit of angst, a bit of swearing, a pov change at some point in the end, idk-- fluff?? (is that a warning??)
[Word Count:] ≈2.7k
[A/N:] i used @buckystrenchcoat 's fluff plots for george weasley: 2. George finding out you can draw (kind of got carried away but oh well :D--) (ps just imagine that classes in hogwarts includes all of the houses together, thanks <3) Y/H = your house. (dk the timeline or what year george and the reader are in but i'd say between 3rd-5th year)
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
The Weasley twins were becoming reckless and apparently, Professor Snape has had enough. The constant explosions on the other side of the dungeon and the numerous attempts at drowning his hair with shampoo has eventually led him to the decision of assigning the entire class their partners.
Thus halfway into the semester, the Weasley twins are never to be seen together again... that is until the end of 2nd period where they will go back and cause mischief elsewhere.
Fred was assigned to a Slytherin girl who George couldn't figure out if she's madly in love with his brother or wants to rip out his guts. While he on the other hand was assigned with Y/N. Truthfully, he never gave much thought to her, but after their first double potions lesson as partners, he began to wonder why he never gave much thought to her.
She was smart but never overbearing, made jokes here and there, sniggered when he made even the cheesiest of puns, and is wicked attractive. Their first task was to brew a calming draught and whilst adding in a smidge more of lavender, she proposed that they should make more while the majority of the class was still struggling.
"Why in Merlin's beard are we going to make more? We can just pass this and leave class early?" He asked, bringing a smile to her lips. "Yeah, yeah, that's what you want, don't you Weasley?" She quipped, looking back up to the red-headed boy who's now readying their vials.
"Just thought that we could make some for people, like, your brother. Poor guy, reckon he's going to rip his hair out getting partnered with Tuttle." And with that, George let out a laugh, a laugh that cost Gryffindor 5 points. Though, all was well when they were the first to finish and send their little vial of calming draught into the hands of Severus Snape, garnering 5 points each and an opportunity to leave class 10 minutes early.
And that was it, that was their relationship; potions partners.
George Weasley learned 2 things that day. One, his potions partner was someone he wanted to know more, to be with more, and two, one should never put a liberal amount of peppermint in a calming draught. (Fred learned that the hard way.)
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
She was the epitome of beauty and brains. So far, that's what he knew about his potions partner. But a little incident in the corridor made two into three.
It wasn't unusual for Fred and George Weasley to skip class, especially if the class was History of Magic. And it also wasn't unusual for them to hide behind a tapestry whilst a stinky dungbomb was set in the first-floor corridor.
What was unusual though, was George not wanting to move from their hiding place, forcing Fred to also not move. "George, mate, wha-?" "SHH!"
Whatever Fred's question was supposed to be, it quickly got answered by the presence of a certain someone whose walking to the Muggle Studies classroom, his brother's potions partner perhaps? Fred grinned mischievously, nudging his brother in the abdomen, and earning a wince.
"Oi mudblood! Was that you?" They heard from a distance, heavy footsteps following the girl he's teasing his brother with. From their point of view, they could tell that the girl stopped in her tracks, sighing heavily as though this was a regular thing.
"Was that me, what?" She asked, clearly annoyed. "Was that you who did it? Or d'you just shat yourself? It smells horrid. Would make sense, as you're a filthy little mudblood."
George's blood was beginning to boil, fingers formed into a fist, knuckles white. Especially when they got to see the silhouette of the two arguing. Perfect, Winnifred Tuttle, his brother's potions partner bullying his Y/N Y/L/N. He had an urge to protect her. To avenge her. To show her how much he cared for someone who's supposed to be his potions partner.
"Was that supposed to be an insult, Tutts?" Y/N spat back, pulling George out of his trance and making Fred shut his mouth. Now he's the one staring intently. "It's honestly just sad. A 'pureblood' like you should know the difference between a dungbomb and a piece of shit. Or perhaps you're probably just that daft?"
The boys were fixated on their conversation now. A hand on their mouths, hopefully covering up their shock even if they're hiding behind a tapestry. George's heart was beating faster now.
"Me? Daft? Well, if I'm daft then why are you taking muggle studies?" Tuttle sneered, an ugly grin splattered across her face.
"Bit hypocritical, isn't it, Winnie? Bye-bye!" She turned her back away from the Slytherin now, walking into the Muggle Studies classroom, holding a few books in one hand and her middle finger in the other.
He knows three things about her now; She's bewitching, she's a whizz, and she's a muggle-born who doesn't take shit.
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
A few more lessons in and one could say that Y/N and George are starting to become friendlier to each other. Acquaintances, sure, but, friendly nonetheless. But the Gryffindor wanted to live up to its name, to its values. He might've just gotten to know a bit about her but he was completely and utterly entranced.
Nothing's going to stop him now.
His right hand held his wand as he stirred the concoction in the cauldron. She, on the other hand, was cutting up the stewed mandrake. The easy silence between them was broken by none other than the lion himself.
"Hey," he called, lifting his gaze from the potion to the girl right next to him. "Hi." She said back.
"So... Today's a Friday, right?"
She looked at him, confused, recounting a particular time in which she looked at a calendar today. "Yeah, I think so."
"And we can go to Hogsmeade after classes?"
"Pretty sure you can, why?"
"Want to go on a date?"
She looked stunned which kind of hurt George's ego but as soon as the slightly parted mouth of hers became a cheerful grin, he felt a whole lot better.
"As long as you stop staring at me and not over mix our potion, then sure, I'll go out with you." She smiled, making George give a shy little grin back before attempting to put all his concentration on the brew. Mind boggled on the way she said 'our potion.'
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
Going to Muggle Studies felt utterly useless now that Y/N's been promised to go on a date right after. But having George by her side, walking her to the class just seemed to be the best part of the day.
He recounted the time when he and Fred hid behind a tapestry and told Y/N all about it, giving a hot feeling to her cheeks. They stopped by the door frame of the classroom, Professor Burbage was waiting inside, pacing around her study as George's hand slyly held Y/N's.
"I'll pick you up later?" He asked with the same shy smirk plastered on his face, cheeks pink and ears flushed. "Yeah. Thanks for walking me here. You shouldn't have." She uttered, heels rising and falling as she bounced on her toes.
"Just making sure that Tuttsy's not going to ruin your day, love." Y/N felt heat rising to her cheeks and ears, as well as an uncontrollable grin. Her heel turned to make her face the concrete walls of the castle, hands covering their face and body slightly swaying from side to side. It was ridiculous, really. Dumb. Very.
"You're adorable when you're flustered."
"Shut up, Weasley." And with that, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, leaving him slightly startled, stunned, and very red in the face. "You're adorable when you're flustered." She quipped, walking into the Muggle Studies classroom and taking her seat.
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
Muggle Studies felt oddly slow that day. Usually, it lasted an hour but today it felt like a century. Professor Burbage's talk about electricity and muggle technology went in one ear and out the other.
If you'd ask why Y/N chose a subject she already knew plenty about, her answer would be that she wanted to see things from a different perspective. But truthfully, she just knew that she'd be good at it and it'd be an easy O.
So there she was; A scrap piece of parchment laid on the wooden desk and a pen since Professor Burbage discouraged the use of quills.
Her mind wandered off the moment she sat down on her chair. Feet either bouncing up and down or stuck straight onto the floor, she wouldn't know. What she did remember was her non-dominant hand posing itself as the other one scribbled on the piece parchment.
Her fingers played with the hazy light and the ink added depth. Soon she started sketching other things; The student in front of her, a study of Professor Burbage, a head with a moderately strong jaw and beautiful, short, messy hair. A male side profile with a big nose that has a slight bump on its bridge matching a cheeky grin with dimples. Her hand posed itself once more but this time she wasn't making it look like hers, she was making it look like his. Something she's seen many times before, and guiltily stared at once, twice, more than she could recount.
She was adding in the cluster of freckles when the worst happened; "Miss Y/L/N, still with us?" Professor Burbage stood at the front of the class, standing straight, clearly thinking about her posture. "Miss Y/L/N?"
She felt an elbow nudge her arm, and that was the thing that brought her back into reality. Her head whipped itself to face her seatmate then to her Professor, giving her a funny-looking nervous grin.
"Charm would get you nowhere, Miss Y/L/N. When was the first electricity generator introduced in Britain? And where was it installed?" She has to have something in that brain of hers. It must've been taught sometime when she was in muggle school. "Err-- 1900s something, Surrey--?"
Professor Burbage meekly chuckled, "Nice try. 1881. Godalming, Surrey. A point from Y/H then, I'm sorry."
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
George was faithful and stuck to his word. Even being 5 minutes early after asking Professor Grubbly-Plank if he could go to the bathroom and have a wee, saying that the unicorns would definitely mind if he pissed on their trees.
He did not go to the bathroom but instead went straight to the Muggle Studies classroom. Leaning the side of his body onto the wall by the door. Trying his best to peer into the room and find his potions partner and soon to be his date and maybe even his. But he was getting ahead of himself.
The bell rang and he heard a loud shuffling sound of chairs being pulled back. The door was opened as students from all of the houses started pouring out and there she was. Looking beautiful as ever with her bag slung on her shoulder.
"Glad to see you're alright there, dove." He cooed, earning once again another shy smile. "Anything happened there?" He asked, pointing to the now open classroom.
"Felt way longer than usual, and I lost a house point." She said matter of factly. George chuckled, his heart filled with pride as he turned his head towards her.
"And what have you done to lose said house point?"
She smiled before reaching her hand into a pocket of her robes, pulling out a folded piece of aged parchment before handing it to the curious redhead.
"What's this? A love letter?" He bantered. "Just open it." And so he did. His nimble fingers unfolding the parchment, then he was stunned. Seeing his face drawn in ink with lines crossing over more lines was the last thing he expected. It looked like him. And it didn't look like Fred. It is him.
"I was just drawing in class but then I sort of blanked out and got a dumb question wrong." She paused, looking back up to see if the redhead was still listening. "Hello? Earth to George?"
"You drew me?" He was on a fine line of disbelief and awe. It truly looked amazing. She drew her hand at least three times before he recognized his was also there. She even got the little freckle he had on the middle of his wrist. The full body of ol' Professor Burbage brought so much of her energy and even the way her scarf wrapped around her neck was perfect.
Her cheeks were heating up again, realizing what she just did. "It's not that good. Just-- drew what I saw and, err-- whatever came to mind, I guess." Bad execution, sloppy excuse. "Okay, you've been looking at that for way too long now--"
"This looks bloody brilliant! Now how come I've only found out about this now?"
"Flattery would get you nowhere, Weasley." She joked, but he was serious.
"S'not 'flattery' if I'm stating what's true! It's amazing, you're amazing." She felt her heartbeat increase by a mile.
"Well then, I'm flattered." She said, adjusting the strap of her bag to hopefully let out some adrenaline. "And to answer your question, it'd be terrifying if I just started drawing in Snape's class. I swear that man has eyes at the back of his head. That's why this is a new discovery for you."
"Fuck, this is amazing!" He uttered.
"It's really not that good--"
"'S'really not that good' Some shit standards you have there. I'd put this in a museum!" He said loudly, extending both his arms and imagining that the piece of parchment was displayed on the Hogwarts walls. "If you don't like it then I'll keep it." George joked, expecting disapproval, which, to his shock, never came.
"Are you actually giving this to me?"
She shrugged, "I mean if you'd like a photo of you drawn by a teenage girl then be my guest." He smiled, genuinely smiled. He looked so pretty at that moment and there shouldn't be any holding back now.
"...But," She started, his gaze looked intently at her, ready to listen to whatever comes next. "There's a price."
"Between Freddie and I, we have 26 galleons and a few sickles." He said, earning a hearty laugh and a shake of her head. "Don't really think he'd like me to give all of it to you, I'm sorry. If you want I'd pay a bit then I--"
"No, George." She said, tugging lightly on his tie to gain his attention. "How about... a kiss? Perhaps?"
He grinned. His hand hovered itself across her face before landing on her cheek, thumb gracing itself on its apples, slightly squishing the skin whilst his eyes looked for any signs of discomfort; there was none.
They slowly leaned in, eyes locked on lips before their lips locked onto each other. His lips were slightly chapped but it felt like the softest thing on Earth. He smelled of cinnamon, firewood, gunpowder, and other indescribable scents, but it was nice. It was short but meaningful, gentle, even. His other hand was wrapped around her waist and once again, his thumbs were running up and down whatever part of her body it's laid on.
He learned two more things about the girl that day; she's artistic, and she felt like home.
He never thought there'd be a time in his life where he'd be thankful for Severus Snape. But life goes in unexpected ways.
"If you'd like to tip me then I'm just going to say that I love cauldron cakes." She grinned up at him as they pulled away before settling her face in his chest. George chuckled to himself before wrapping his arms completely on her waist, placing a sweet kiss on the top of her head.
"Yeah, yeah, come on." He said, pulling away to let her shake herself up as he held onto the piece of folded parchment which graced his face, giving it a small peck before putting it in his pocket, patting it three times.
"Better sign that drawing for me, Y/N. How much does an autograph cost?"
"Double the original price—?"
"And the tip?"
"And the tip."
#george weasley fanfiction#george weasley fluff#george weasley x reader#george weasley x fem!reader#george weasley x ravenclaw!reader#george weasley x hufflepuff!reader#george weasley x slytherin!reader#george weasley x gryffindor!reader#george weasley fic#george weasley#george weasley x y/n#oml this is long
633 notes
·
View notes
Text
Time | Gilbert Blythe
masterlist
summary: time can fix a lot of things if you let it
words: 1.5K
requested by: anon
It’s been six months since Gilbert Blythe left. Six months without the boy you love so dearly. Six months without your friend. Gilbert had made short notice plans only days after his father’s funeral. When John Blythe died it felt like a never ending fog swept across Avonlea. You remember Mr. Blythe from your childhood. He was a very kind man that took good care of you, so when the news of his passing had arrived at your parent’s house you felt a heavy pit in your stomach. You were saddened by his death and couldn’t imagine what Gilbert was going through and sent him a pie the same day, knowing he would have a hard time preparing food for himself. It has been months since you attended the funeral and you remember it like it was yesterday.
‘Y/N dear, make sure to wear your black straw hat.’ your mother called up to your room.
You grabbed your hat and gently placed it on your head not wanting to mess up your curls. You took one last look in your mirror and hurried downstairs to see your father, mother and younger brother waiting for you. You quickly grabbed your shoes and tied them up.
‘I sure hope Gilbert’s okay,’ you spoke into the room feeling uneasy about the next couple of hours.
‘You’ll be able to see for yourself once we arrive.’ your mother said, adjusting your hat. She placed her hands and your shoulder and smiled.
‘Come one now, the carriage is waiting.’ your father announced and opened the door to reveal a coat of snow that painted the countryside. You stomped through the snow and sat yourself to the far left of the carriage as your mother, father and brother followed. The coachman lightly whipped the horse and you were on your way. When you arrived at the Blythe’s family burial site you saw the carriage that pulled Mr. Blythe’s casket towards the hole. You also saw Gilbert leading the line of people. You saw the pain in his eyes. His sparkly brown eyes were now dull, and glossed with his salty tears. His cheerful smile with those dimples you so loved, disappeared and weren’t to be seen. His posture was slouched and his head hanging from his shoulders on a thread. Your family and you respectfully walked up to the crowd that was gathered for a prayer in honour of his father. You saw Anne, Diana, Ruby, Jane, Tillie and Josie, all spread out throughout the crowd. You locked eyes with Anne and gave her a warm quick smile before turning away. When the service was over everyone gathered at the Gilbert House for some tea and conversation. You stood next to your mother, plate in your hands but you weren’t in the mood to eat. You set it aside and walked around the house to look for Gilbert. He probably needed someone to talk to. Once you searched around the house and almost gave up, you saw him outside in the front yard. You grabbed your coat, scarf and hat and rushed down the front steps.
‘Gilbert!’ you yelled after him.
Gilbert turned around with a surprised face, yet his eyes still carried his sadness within.
‘Are you leaving?’ you pushed your hands deeper into your pockets.
‘I can’t stand being in that house. Everyone wants to comfort me but I just want to be left alone.’ he confessed.
His hat draped over his forehead making it hard to make out his facial expression.
‘Where are you going?’ you asked him as he didn’t seem to stop walking.
‘I don’t know, the lake perhaps.’
‘May I join?’
He nodded and continued to look straight ahead.
After some time you arrived at the small lake in the forest you always went to after school in the summer. Everyone would meet up to bathe in the sun kissed water but everyone was happy and enjoying themselves. Today’s occasion was the opposite. You sat on a tree trunk and pulled your gloves from your pockets. Gilbert sat next to you and stared at the frozen water. He found comfort among the empty woods. You felt like giving him alone time and told him that you were going back to the house. That was the last time you saw Gilbert. Days after he packed his things and left on a ship. He left a note with a few details so that Avonlea wouldn’t erupt in fear of a murder or some sort.
During the first three months you would leave letters at Gilbert’s house in case he came back unannounced; just like he left, but you stopped soon after, after you realised that he wouldn’t be coming back for a long time.
You were peacefully sleeping in your bed when a loud thud awoke you. Your eyes were squinted due to the sun rays shining on your face. You got out of bed and started to get ready. Anne would be arriving any minute now. You always walked to school together. It was safer and more fun. When you rushed out of the door you saw Anne waiting on your doorsteps with an extra bottle of milk. You walked to school and noticed a large crowd gathered in front of the doors. Noticing the rest of the girl you walked up to them to ask what was going on.
‘Ruby!’ you called out and saw her spin around with a big smile on her face. ‘What’s going on?’
‘It’s Gilbert!’ she cheered loudly.
Your eyes went wide as you stared back at Anne. She had the same look painted across her face.
‘What do you mean ‘Gilbert’?
‘My uncle who works at The White Sands Hotel said that Gilbert passed through the place. Supposedly he was working on a ship!’ Ruby’s face was gleaming with joy. ‘He was covered in coal ashes.’
‘Is, Is Gilbert here? At school?’ you asked intriguingly.
‘I haven’t been inside but I don’t believe so. He’s probably at home.’ Diana chimed in.
You had to see him. You just had to. Knowing he was back and not knowing if he’d part again you ran back towards the forest. You made your way through the foggy woods and ran up to Gilbert’s house. You went up to the door and knocked on the door like your life depended on it. A few seconds later a man, whom you’ve never seen before opened the door.
‘Hello, who are you.’ he said in a strong accent.
‘Is Gilbert here?’
‘Yes, he is.’ the man smiled at you before he shouted at the top of his lungs. ‘Gilbert! There’s a girl wanting to talk to you.’
‘I’ll just come in.’ you smiled before slipping through the door.
‘Y/N?’ Gilbert sounded surprised. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘What are you doing here?’ mimicked him.
‘It’s good to see you.’
Gilbert seemed happier than the last time you saw him. His teary eyes were now filled with joy. He seemed...okay, and you didn’t want to take that away from him but he couldn’t just show up and pretend like nothing happened.
‘Why did you leave?’
Gilbert’s back stiffened and shifted onto his other leg. He looked down at the floor not making eye contact with you.
‘Can you at least look at me.’ a hint of disappointment and annoyance coating your words.
‘I needed to get away from here.’
‘You left without a goodbye and you left without telling anyone. Do you know what it feels like? To see your friend leave you behind?’ you raised your voice. ‘You could’ve at least told me. I didn’t know when you were coming back. I thought you left me!’
‘Y/N, I’m sorry but I wasn’t in a good headspace and needed distance from this god forsaken town.’ he stormed past you. The man that had answered the door was long gone. Only the presence of the two of you filled the cold house.
‘Distance from me?’
‘I never said that.’ his irritated voice erupted from the back of the pantry.
‘Sounds like it to me!’ you yelled back, angrily stomping after him.
‘Why are you picking a fight with me, Y/N.?’
‘A fight?’ you stared at him in disbelief. ‘Picking a fight with you? I came over because Ruby was swooning over your return and I came here to make sure it was true. To-see-if -my-friend-who-left-me-without-a-trace-of his-existence-came-back!’ you snapped in one breath.
You had enough and quite frankly didn’t know what to do anymore. The person you loved so dearly had hurt you in a way that you couldn’t understand. Gilbert sat down at his wooden table and stared at you for a few seconds before talking.
‘What can I do?’ he said.
‘What can you do? I don’t know, what can you?’
‘Y/N, I’m serious. I don’t want this friendship to end over this.’
‘You think I want this? I’m just upset that you left me if you hadn’t noticed.’
‘Please tell me what I can do.’ he pleaded out.
He stood up and took your hands into his. His brown eyes stared into your as your breath hitched.
‘I-I don’t know.’ you confess as you slid your hands out of his and turned your back towards him. ‘Nothing can fix this except time.’
You walked towards the door looking back at Gilbert once more.
‘Time can fix a lot of things if you let it.’
#awae#awae imagine#anne with an e#anne of green gables#anne shirley cuthbert#period drama#anne x gilbert#gilbert blythe#gilbert blythe imagine#gilbert blythe imagines#gilbert blythe blurb#gilbert blythe blurbs#gilbert blythe headcanon#gilbert blythe headcanons#gilbert blythe angst#gilbert blythe fluff#gilbert blythe x you#gilbert blythe x reader#gilbert blythe x y/n
816 notes
·
View notes
Text
That’s When (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part three of Bye Bye, Baby
Part three has arrived! Guys, this was so much fun to write and this part made me so weepy. Thank y’all so much for reading <3
Loosely based on “That’s When” by Taylor Swift ft. Keith Urban xx
Summary: Juliet wants to meet Aaron, so you set it up. Things go better than you were expecting.
Warnings: angst, happy ending!
Word count: 3.7k this time EYE
Bye Bye, Baby (part one) || Don’t You (part two) || Hotch Masterlist
You said, “I know,” when I said I need some time, need some space/to think about all of this
You pour the coffee Aaron got you down the drain. You took maybe two sips on your way home.
Juliet is still with Dannie, but she’s on her way now to drop her off. And once Jules is asleep, you’ll be filling Dannie in on everything.
Easier said than done, because Juliet all but refuses to fall asleep.
“Munchkin,” you sigh. “You have school tomorrow.”
“M’not tired.”
You give her a look.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?” She asks out of nowhere. “You look sad.”
“I’m okay, baby,” you whisper, even though you nearly start crying. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
“French toast for breakfast?”
You chuckle, tapping her nose gently. “French toast. You got it.”
“Love you bunches,” she murmurs, already falling asleep.
You lean over and kiss her forehead. “Love you, munchkin.”
Juliet keeps her eyes closed as you stand and turn off the light, and you don’t doubt that she’s fast asleep by the time you pull her door closed.
Dannie is waiting on the couch, two glasses of wine already poured.
“You know me too well,” you laugh, taking your glass from her. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me, it’s your wine,” Dannie grins.
“Right.”
Dannie watches you stare at your wine. Something you never do.
“How’d it go?” She asks. “It looks like it went bad.”
You snort. “Well, it wasn’t great.”
You watched me go/And I knew my words were hard to hear
“Oh boy.” Dannie shifts her body and faces you on the couch, her legs bent underneath her. “Go on.”
“His first question was if she’s his.”
Dannie scrunches her nose in disgust, an expression Jules has picked up from her. “What did you say?”
“That she’s mine, but he is her dad,” you exhale shakily. “I forgot she has his dimples, too.”
Dannie smiles sadly. “Honey…”
“Yeah, it was bad,” you admit. “It was so easy to forget all of that when I was angry and when I was too busy being pregnant,” you joke. “Seeing him just opened that door again.”
You swirl your wine for a second. “He said he wants to meet her. I told him I’d have to ask her first.”
“That’s good,” Dannie nods.
“How do I even bring that up?” You ask, defeated. “And what if she says no?”
“Then she says no,” Dannie shrugs her shoulders. “Then life goes back the way it was.”
You take in a deep breath. “Is it wrong that I kind of want her to say no?”
“I think that’s very motherly of you,” Dannie smiles. “You’ve protected her so well, I hope you know that.”
“I’ve tried.” You take a big sip of wine before your next sentence. “He asked me for a second chance.”
Dannie blinks. “Seriously?”
You nod.
“Did you tell him about the phone calls? He’s ignored you this whole time and now just because he realized he’s a father, he wants a second chance?” Dannie scoffs loudly. “Maybe I want her to say no, too. I hate men.”
You nearly inhale your wine in laughter. “You and me both.”
+++
As it turns out, bringing up Aaron to Juliet is easy. She asks you the next night why you still look sad, and you use it to bring him up.
“I’m not sad, munchkin, I’m just thinking really hard about something.”
Juliet furrows her eyebrows. “What?”
You slide off the couch to sit on the floor next to her where she’s coloring a picture of Elsa. “Remember how I told you that your dad and I don’t talk anymore?”
It was the easiest way to explain Aaron’s absence when Juliet started to ask about it. It was hard to think about because you and Aaron were never married, he didn’t die, and to make matters worse, he had no idea Juliet existed.
She nods, picking up a blue marker. “Yeah, you said adults have to stop talking to each other sometimes.”
“That’s right,” you nod. “Sometimes it’s better for us if we don’t speak. But sometimes, after a while, we can start talking again.”
“Okay.”’
“Well, your dad and I have started talking again,” you pause. “And he said he’d like to meet you. But only if you want to.”
Juliet thinks for a moment, then shrugs, switching to an orange marker. “Okay.”
“Yeah?” You ask, just to be sure. “Where do you want to go?”
“I can pick?”
“Sure can. Wherever you want.”
“Hmm,” she taps her chin for emphasis, and you try hard not to laugh. “What about McDonalds in the park?”
It’s a somewhat tradition of yours to get McDonalds, then go to her favorite park and have a picnic. It’s one of her favorite things to do, so you should’ve known.
“I love that,” you smile. “What about this Saturday?”
“Mhm!” She nods. “Can Dannie come, too?”
“I’ll ask her, but I don’t see why not.”
Juliet is completely satisfied with this answer and goes right back to coloring Elsa.
You chuckle quietly. Kids.
+++
It’s almost noon by the time you get Juliet in the car. And surprisingly, you were the one running behind today. Juliet was ready and sitting on your bed, watching you get dressed before you had even done your hair.
Now, though, you’ve picked up Dannie, and the three of you are headed to McDonalds.
Juliet hasn’t mentioned meeting Aaron once this morning, but she has talked about McDonalds at least four times now.
“How are you holding up?” Dannie asks while Juliet is occupied singing along to ‘Let It Go.’
“Nervous,” you admit quietly. “Thank you for coming.”
“I wouldn’t turn down McDonalds any day,” Dannie scoffs, then turns around to Juliet. “Are you excited?”
Listening to the two of them ramble makes you smile wide, and the drive to the park feels infinitely shorter.
You told Aaron you’d text him when you get there, so he can come over. He said he’d already be there, but for what reason you have no clue.
All you care about is setting out the blanket and getting Juliet to eat her food before she plays with her new Frozen toy.
Truthfully, you’re expecting him to text you and say he called on a case. Not that you blame him because you’ve been there, the BAU is unpredictable like that. But you wouldn’t be surprised.
However, you are surprised when Aaron jogs over.
Yes, jogs.
In shorts, a t-shirt, and sneakers, with sweat clinging to his hair, he jogs over. And you lose all semblance of reality. There’s cotton in your mouth. Good fucking god, he looks good.
“When the hell did you start running?” It's the first thing that comes out of your mouth, and it’s complete word vomit.
Juliet gasps dramatically. “Bad word, Mommy.”
Dannie tries and fails to hold in her laugh.
“You’re right,” you chuckle. “Bad word.”
Aaron, with a smile, answers your question. “The BAU is having a triathlon. I’m training for it.”
“When is it?” You ask without entirely meaning to. You hate how easily you fall right back into conversation with him, how easily he makes you dumbfounded just by his looks.
“In a few weeks, so I’ve got some time,” he breathes. “Mind if I sit?”
You shake your head, scooting over. “Here, I got some nuggets.” You ordered enough for the two of you to share, mostly to save money, but now you’re realizing the implications of it.
You don’t have time to think about that, though, because Juliet has been staring at Aaron for a few moments.
“Munchkin?” You ask. Dannie nudges Juliet’s arm.
“Didn’t you hit us in the grocery store?”
Dannie bursts into laughter then, unable to control it this time, and thankfully, Aaron laughs, too.
“I did,” he nods. “I’m really sorry about that.”
“It’s okay, Aaron,” Juliet says, going right back to her nuggets, sandwiching fries in between two pieces of chicken.
His eyebrows raise and he looks at you.
All you can do is shrug. “She forgets nothing.”
From there, lunch is...uneventful.
Juliet is more focused on playing than she is talking to Aaron, but thankfully, she doesn’t seem upset by him being here.
Dannie asks him a couple questions, mostly standard ones. “What’s the BAU like? I bet the hours suck. You’re unit chief, too, right?”
Aaron answers everything politely, and seems mostly at ease.
After a while, you begin to relax, too.
You have no choice, really, when Juliet feels comfortable to ask questions like, “Are you really my dad? Why weren’t you talking to my mommy?”
Aaron handles the questions like a pro. “I am. Your mom and I needed some time to ourselves, so that’s why we weren’t talking.”
“Adults are weird,” she says, but she seems satisfied with his answers and even hands him her Olaf toy. “I’m gonna go swing.”
Aaron chuckles and sets Olaf in the shade of his leg. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t melt.”
Juliet tilts her head. “He’s a toy, he won’t melt.”
This time you’re the one incapable of holding in your laughter.
“Dannie, come on!” Juliet yells out, giggling when Dannie nearly trips over her feet to stand up.
As they run off, you start picking up Juliet’s trash and stuffing it back in the bag.
“Here, I’ll run it over to the trash can.”
You turn your head to Aaron with a smirk. “You’ll run it over there? Promise?”
He gives you a look.
He doesn’t actually take it over to the trash can because he goes completely still, then says, “She has my eyes.”
You take a deep breath. “Yeah. She does. Your dimples, too.”
He smiles. “Thank god she got your nose, though.”
“What?” You whip your head around. “She has your nose.”
“She does not,” he argues. “And as I said, thank god.”
“Oh, shut up, I love your nose.”
His smile is never-ending. “Really?”
You move on from it quickly. “Thanks for meeting us today.”
“Thank you for letting me.”
You nod slowly, deciding to blurt out what’s been eating at you. “You know, if— If you’re doing this just to get a second chance with me, please don’t.”
“I’m not.”
“Because I don’t need that kind of stress, and Juliet doesn’t either—”
I said, “I know,” when you said I did you wrong/made mistakes, and put you through all of this
“Y/N,” Aaron’s hand rests gently on your arm, getting your attention. He lifts it when you stop talking. “I’m not. I’m doing this because I want to be a part of her life, as her dad. I wasn’t there for her, or you, and I’m sorry. I just want to make it right. Let me make it up to you — to her.”
You stare at him closely, watching. “You mean that?”
He nods. “I do. And I’m so sorry my actions in the past made you think differently of me.”
“I just don’t want her to get hurt,” you murmur. “She’s my baby.”
“I know,” Aaron says. “I know.”
+++
Co-parenting with Aaron is surprisingly easy. Or maybe he makes it easy.
Every Saturday, you and Juliet meet him in the park for a picnic lunch after he’s done training for the triathlon. Sometimes you get there early — which happens nearly every week as Juliet becomes more eager to see him — and you get to cheer Aaron on as he finishes his run.
Dannie comes sometimes, but the few times that she hasn’t have been just as pleasant.
Aaron keeps his word. He does this to spend time with Juliet as her dad, and he doesn’t make any advances on you. The two of you don’t even hug at the end of the afternoon, but Juliet has taken to running and jumping in his arms.
She’s growing more and more attached to him every week, and you hate the dread that you feel. So far, you’ve been lucky. Aaron’s cases have been during the week, so he hasn’t missed a single Saturday — yet.
It’s one of the reasons you are grateful for your transfer at the time four years ago. If you had been in as unpredictable of a job as the BAU when you were pregnant, or when Juliet was born, you have no idea how you would’ve done it. Your job now is a perfect 8 to 5, sometimes 6, but that’s only been a handful of times in the past four years.
Juliet is used to you being there every day. And now, she’s getting used to seeing Aaron every week. You’re just bracing yourself for the time when he has a case and won’t be able to make it.
You try not to think that far ahead, but you can’t help yourself. You were once an agent under him. You know just how crazy the BAU can get. You know exactly what to expect when it gets busy.
Which is why you don’t understand the feelings that are growing inside of you.
You told him he wasn’t getting a second chance — at least not right now. Because you don’t have it in you, and you don’t want to do that to Juliet if it doesn’t work out.
But that was before things started working out.
And you said, “When can I come back?”
Before he never missed a single Saturday. Before he insisted on a birthday dinner when he realized her birthday was a few months ago. Before she started running into his arms. Before he started lifting her up and spinning her around, listening to her giggles as she squealed, “Mommy! I’m flying!” Before she fell asleep on the blanket in the park, and he moved over to shield her from the sun, all while still talking to you.
Now, you don’t know what to do. It sounds awful, but you didn’t expect him to prove himself this well.
You’ve always loved him. That is easy enough to recognize and admit. But you never imagined feeling this way again.
“Mommy?” Juliet pushes your bedroom door open a little.
You sit up, patting your bed. “Good morning, munchkin. C’mere.”
She climbs into bed and right to your side, and you spread the blanket over her, letting her snuggle into your side.
After a moment, you think she’s asleep, but then she whispers, “Are you and dad going to stop talking again?”
You freeze. Up until now, Juliet has called him “Aaron.” Obviously, she knows Aaron is her dad, but she’s never called him that.
“Why do you ask that, baby?” You murmur, kissing the top of her head.
“I don’t want you guys to stop talking again. I like hanging out with him.” She buries her head further into your chest. “He makes me laugh.”
Tears fill your eyes. “He makes me laugh, too.”
“I know,” she smiles into your shirt. “He looks at you a lot.”
“What?”
“When you’re not looking,” she whispers, half-asleep again. “He smiles a lot. He has dimples like me.”
“He does,” you smile softly, wiping your tears away.
+++
The day of the triathlon, Juliet is more than eager to get to the park to cheer Aaron on.
You, on the other hand, feel like you could throw up from the thought of it.
Aaron told you the rest of the team will be there, and you’re grateful for the heads up, but you’re also nervous as shit. You haven’t seen them since your send off party. You haven’t texted with Penelope and Derek in...probably two years now.
He said he didn’t tell the team you’re coming because he didn’t want you to feel pressured, but he also warned you that the team has been questioning him nonstop if he’s seeing someone. He said he’s told them that he isn’t, but of course, they think he’s lying.
Dannie comes with to the triathlon, mainly because Juliet asked her to. It’s been a few days since Juliet has seen Dannie because she was out of town for work, but now she’s back, so Juliet wants her around all the time again.
You’re grateful for Dannie’s presence once again to calm your nerves and offer distractions at every second.
Surprisingly, you don’t see the team anywhere when you arrive, so you, Juliet, and Dannie set up your chairs and blanket peacefully. It’s a while before Aaron will be over here for the run, the last part of the triathlon, so Juliet breaks out her coloring book at your and Dannie’s feet.
You and Dannie spend the wait while idly talking, and after about an hour, the first cheers begin echoing out.
Juliet perks up with the noise. “Is that dad?”
Dannie’s eyes snap to yours and she mouths, “Did she?”
You nod, smiling stupidly. It brings you way more joy to hear Juliet freely call Aaron her dad. Way more joy than you thought.
“Maybe,” you stand up and reach for Juliet’s hand. “Let’s go see.”
Juliet grabs your hand and starts tugging you toward the front, and Dannie follows with a laugh, watching you get drug away by a four-year-old.
A few runners are passing by, but none of them are Aaron. Juliet is watching impatiently, and squeals when Dannie lifts her up onto her shoulders.
“Can you see now, munchkin?” You ask, your hand resting gently on her back, even though Dannie is holding onto her ankles.
Juliet nods. “I see him!”
You look down the way, and you see him, too.
Your lips split into a grin almost immediately. His black shorts, black t-shirt, with his number pinned to the front. His hair is slick with sweat, and yet, you still have a burning desire to run your fingers through it.
Aaron moves to the side, running right next to you, giving Juliet a high five on his way by, and you, too, only when his fingers graze yours, he squeezes.
As soon as he crosses the finish line, Juliet is scrambling out of Dannie’s arms, and when she hits the ground, she runs.
You’re running after her, Dannie too, calling her name, because she really shouldn’t run off like that.
But your nerves calm down the second you see Juliet jumping into her dad’s arms.
Slowing to a walk, you shake your head with a smile as Aaron spins her around, squeezing her tightly.
“Hey,” he says when he sees you. “I’m glad you guys could make it.”
“Me too,” you smile. “She wouldn’t let me miss it,” you nod toward Juliet.
“You’re smelly,” Juliet says out of nowhere, pinching her nose.
Dannie laughs loudly at her comment as Aaron sets her down. But despite her comment, she doesn’t move from next to him.
“Is that who I think it is?” Derek Morgan’s voice floats through your ears.
You turn around to face him, putting your hands on your hips. “Depends, who do you think it is?”
Derek grins wide. “Come here, you.”
You hug him tightly, and over his shoulder you see everyone else, all with shocked looks on their faces. JJ, Emily, Penelope, Spencer, and Rossi, too.
After giving out hugs all around, you look back to see Juliet still clinging to Aaron’s leg.
“Who is this?” Morgan asks quietly, kneeling down to Juliet’s level. “Hey there.”
She eyes him skeptically. “Hi.”
“Munchkin, this is Derek. He’s a friend, too.”
Derek waves.
“Do you like Frozen?” Juliet asks.
Derek nods seriously. “I love it.”
“Hmph,” she wraps her arm tighter around Aaron’s leg. The sight makes you want to crumble. She looks up at Aaron, and says, “Dad?” To get his attention.
Everyone stills. Even Derek.
“Yes, honey?” Aaron replies, kneeling down, too.
“Are they your friends, too?”
He nods. “We’re all really good friends.”
She shrugs. “Okay.” She looks around at everyone, and gasps when she sees Penelope. “I like your bracelet!”
Penelope looks down at it with a smile. “You wanna try it on?”
Juliet practically sprints toward Penelope with a dramatic nod.
While the two of them are playing with Pen’s jewelry, everyone else is looking at you and Hotch with blatantly shocked expressions.
“We’ll explain later,” you offer. “But the answer is yes.”
Rossi, bless him, breaks the awkward, silent tension. “Is anyone else starving?”
You laugh some nerves away. “Yeah, I am. We just need to go pack up our stuff.”
“I can help,” Aaron says.
“Okay, yeah,” you nod, glancing over at Juliet, but her, Penelope, JJ, and Emily are now sitting in the grass, talking animatedly about Frozen.
“I’ll stay over here,” Dannie says, nudging your arm.
“Thank you,” you murmur, trying to hide your dumb smile at the thought of being alone with Aaron, even if for only a few seconds.
Regardless, you try to keep your cool when you turn back to him. “We’re just over here.”
“Lead the way,” he gestures ahead.
You ignore all efforts to hide your smile now as you start walking. He falls into step beside you, his sweaty shoulder brushing yours, but you don’t mind.
And against all of your better judgement, you slide your hand into his.
His surprised look is priceless, and you can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes you. “What? Am I not allowed to make the first move?”
You don’t know if the red on his cheeks is from running or blushing. “No, no, you’re allowed.”
“Good,” you murmur, walking a little closer. Your things are far too close for your liking. You want to walk with him like this for longer.
When you stop next to your chairs, you don’t let go of his hand. He doesn’t let go, either.
“Can I ask something?” He says, squeezing your hand.
“Sure.”
He steps closer, his toes nearly touching yours. “If you make the first move, am I allowed to make the second?”
You can’t help the violent swarm of butterflies in your stomach. “I think that’s how that works.” You pause, tilting your head, gesturing to how close your feet are. “Was that your move?”
He shakes his head. “No. This is.”
That’s when, when I saw your face/You let me in, and baby, that’s when
Aaron’s free hand holds your jaw as he kisses you in the same tender, gentle way that he used to, only this one has four years’ worth of apologies in every touch. You let go of his hand to smooth your hands on his chest, his neck, any place you can touch because it’s been too long. Way too long.
That’s when I want you/That’s when I love you/That’s when
#bye bye baby#don't you#that's when#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#hotch#hotch x fem!reader#hotch x you#hotch x y/n#hotch x reader#criminal minds fanfiction#aaron hotchner angst#angst#aaron hotchner songfic#taylor swift
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
nikolai lantsov request of exes to enemies to lovers with angst and fluff (happy ending pls)
blondie writes for nikolai lantsov and him alone. i simply translate! 😉
part 1/2 🧍♀️you get happiness later!
nikolai lantsov: sad beautiful tragic
time is taking it’s sweet time erasing you, and you got your demons and darling they all look like me.
cause we had a beautiful magic love there; what a sad, beautiful, tragic love affair.
with footsteps pounding down the stone staircase, you locked your eyes beneath you to avoid falling victim to one of the chipped steps. the tears collecting at the forefront of your irises did little to mitigate the matter. the castle still confused you but as long as you could flee from wherever he was, you would manage. for every passageway you put between yourself and the place you left him you breathed a little deeper.
he did not call after you.
he did not care to fight for you.
he did not want you to come back.
perhaps, you would not have acted any differently, but his actions—or lack there of—still stung immensely. it took no longer than a blink of an eye for him to break your heart. the strong hands that had once held you tore it into two without leaving behind a shred of remorse.
you felt overwhelmed and dizzy. you started to hold your breath in an attempt to delay the sobs smoldering in your throat. any more oxygen and they would surely be set ablaze.
when the door finally closed behind you and things quieted, you allowed yourself to tolerate the tears. how unfortunate it was that you fell apart behind four unfamiliar walls. the room was more of a formality than anything else, given you had not spent a night apart from nikolai. that would all change now, of course.
it had been easy to fool around with sturmhond. you did not have to care if every word he spoke was a lie. you were not responsible for either his feelings or your own. you entertained each other for a time.
a knock came at the door. with your fingertips gripped across the back of a chair, you looked up into the mirror ahead of you. puffy eyes hanging above red and splotchy cheeks reflected back.
“go away.”
ignoring your command, the door swung open.
genya shuffled inside, hands behind her back. you started to cry again. it was not nikolai. your breathing grew despairingly shallow. your mind wanted to forget nikolai, but your heart was crumbling without his other half to support it.
“oh,” she whispered, immediately beginning to wring her hands at her sides, “oh, honey.”
your chest battled gravity as it rose up and down repeatedly, “he doesn’t want me anymore.”
genya sunk down on her knees alongside you, bringing a quick arm around your shoulder. she brought your hair behind you shoulders and wiped the tears that had already fell. with furrowed eyebrows, she brought a hand to your wrist. stroking her finger over your pulse point, you began to find yourself relaxing your breathing. she kissed the top of your head, a spot where a crown might have one day rested.
“nikolai is foolish and confused,” genya comforted you, “i think he wants you more than anything else, so much so that he doesn’t know what to do.” a sad smile lined her features, exposing a dimple just beneath one of her scars.
“so many people want him,” you began, rising from the ground with a sniffle, “the entirety of ravka depends on him, and i’m just me.”
“i happen to believe he’ll disagree,” she offered, “i know i certainly do.”
genya sighed, tugging on your elbow with a nod to the door. you tried to dig your heels into the floor, but she guided you elsewhere. you allowed her to carry you forward.
“don’t take me to him,” you hiccuped, “please, genya.”
“no,” she refuted, “you’re not leaving it like this.”
“he did,” you whimpered, finally tugging your hand out of her grasp, “why shouldn’t i?”
“because you either have to let him keep your heart or make him give the other half back.” her words were even and carefully considered.
—
genya disregarded the royal guards. you followed behind her, sparing them a single glance. they settled back into place. you almost laughed. you had become such a permanent fixture of nikolai’s life that his guards relented to genya barging in because of your presence.
nikolai was slouched in a chair, appearing rather exhausted. his hair hung a mess over his eyes. you bit your lip at the sight of his leg bouncing restlessly.
genya sent him a look more threatening than you would have ever been able to accomplish in your current state. he caught himself before he could roll his eyes or argue, unwilling to sacrifice a member of the triumvirate. you supposed he could simply justify your loss as collateral damage.
your eyes trailed genya’s form until she departed entirely from your view. only then, did you dare take nikolai in fully. he looked about as awful as he had made you feel.
“you didn’t come after me,” you phrased your words as a question, begging him to answer.
he shifted, leaning back in his chair to look up at you, “i didn’t want to.” it left you looking down at him.
you breathed out in disbelief, shaking your head at his tone. he knew exactly what he was doing to you. you wanted to rip your heart away from him. maybe if you cut away the remaining strings, he would not be able to control you like he did now.
“what if i wanted you to?” your voice increased an octave, clattering against the walls as an echo.
a scoff left his mouth as he resigned to engage in the breakdown of another fight, “it wouldn’t have mattered. you wouldn’t have listened to me.” before you could respond, he spoke up again, “i don’t have to follow after you.”
you shifted your gaze to the glass of water on his desk. no matter the desperation building in your chest, you wanted to feel angry, instead. it was easier to manage. so, you lashed out at him. building the water pressure in the lone glass, you watched it shatter on his desk and saturate the paperwork.
“missed me,” he mumbled wearily.
feeling like a child, you stomped your foot and sent the water to splash against his face. it dripped past his lips—a sight you chose to ignore, lest it elicit a response rather inappropriate for the current circumstances. they caught in a smile as he laughed bitterly, bringing his hands across his mouth.
“i told you i would marry you,” nikolai pressed onward carelessly, running a hand through his hair as if to dismiss your actions, “certainly not my fault you said no, now is it?”
“because it sounded like something you’d resigned to accept! something that had to be done!” the words tore through your throat painfully, “it should be a privilege. it should be love.”
you detected the exact moment he comprehended the final line. he straightened and swallowed harshly. nikolai lantsov looked inexplicably afraid.
“it should be love?” he questioned quietly. now, he was angry and afraid. you knew it to be a fragile but dangerous combination.
“you assume marriage is enough for me,” your voice grew louder, daring him to fight, “marriage won’t make you love me again, nikolai lantsov.”
“you’re putting words in my mouth!” the fervor in his voice did not go unnoticed.
“someone has to,” a moment of silence passed, “you haven’t talked to me in weeks,” you clung to a whisper, “not really.”
you watched his eyes carry themselves across the room. you cursed your heart for hoping they would find land in you. they kept searching elsewhere, drifting further out to sea.
“again?” his voice was broken.
“what?” you questioned, clearing your throat as the sudden shame washed over you for barging in on the king.
“you said marriage wouldn’t make you love me again,” he dared a step closer, “have you stopped loving me?”
you took a trembling step back from him with your heart beating erratically inside your chest. you could not find the control to move your fingers, not even to curl them into reluctant fists. suddenly, everything felt heavy, and you did not want to carry the weight alone.
“i don’t know, nikolai,” you answered somewhat truthfully, unable to gather an honest answer.
“i suppose that’s fair,” he relented.
“i suppose it is,” you whispered with a frown.
you turned to leave after a moment, taking his soundless stance as an indication of retreat.
“you broke my heart,” nikolai realized aloud, hands deep in his pockets as he stared at you.
“yeah well,” he titled his head at you, “you broke mine first,” you spoke coldly, hardening yourself to ice against his warm body.
taking a step away from him, you gasped as his hand found your jaw. although his grip was firm, you refused to melt at his feet. you did not belong to the whim’s of nikolai lantsov’s heart any longer.
“i’m leaving you, nikolai,” you stuttered out as you backed away, gasping at the shiver in your chest enacted by his touch.
his jaw tightened, “you can’t.” his voice was a ghost of a severe whisper, and you knew it would haunt you forever.
“i have to,” you spoke clearly.
“i-,” he fumbled fervently for any semblance of conviction or persuasion, “you can’t leave me.” he had ran out of personas to pull you in with.
“i already have,” you granted him a final look out of pity before you left his room behind and with it, his wavering silhouette.
#nikolai lantsov imagine#nikolai lantsov fluff#nikolai lanstov x reader#nikolai lantsov#nikolai lanstov imagines#shadow and bone fic#shadow and bone#grisha netflix#the grisha trilogy#grisha series#grishaverse#genya safin#leigh bargudo#rule of wolves#ruin and rising#six of crows
337 notes
·
View notes
Text
600 degrees
~
pairing: bang chan x (fem) reader
summary: you can’t cook. like, really can’t cook. good thing your cute neighbour is here to help clean up the mess.
word count: 5.1k
genre: neighbours au. strangers to lovers. the fluffiest of fluff, slightly suggestive.
warnings: a make-out session, bad humour, minho being a twat of a roommate, and tooth-rotting fluff.
rating: 14+
a/n: hi guys! hope you enjoy this one, it’s so much more wholesome and fluffy than what i usually write, but I'm pretty happy about it. don’t by shy to send me an ask or leave a comment. anything you have to say, I would love to hear. :)
...
..
.
“Fine. Since you won’t come, at least enlighten me on how you plan to keep yourself busy?” Minho asks, casually leaning against your kitchen island. He stares at you, with that familiar condescending smirk you’ve seen far too many times.
“I don’t know,” you state, rolling your eyes. Rising to your feet, you head over to your shared refrigerator, pulling a bottle of Sangria out of the fridge. “But I’m sure I’ll find something.”
“You know, if you want to drink, you could at least do it at the party.” Minho approaches you from behind, placing both his hands on your shoulders. “It’s a lot less sad that way.”
You slap his hand away, letting out a frustrated groan at the laughter he lets out from his own joke. “I get out plenty, quit acting like I’m some lonely cat lady,” you say, grabbing your favourite wine glass from the cupboard. “I like parties, I just don’t like Jisung’s parties. They always get way out of hand.”
“But Y/N,” Minho wines, picking up your freshly poured glass and taking a sip, earning himself a glare. “I never said you were a cat lady, just the lonely part.”
At that you snatch the glass away from his hands. Not wanting to deal with this torment any longer, you walk back to your comfortable, worn-in spot on the couch.
“You know I’m right,” he says, continuing despite the fact you begin to turn up the volume of the television. “And the only way you’re going to change that is by accompanying me to Jisung’s loud, out of hand parties.”
You turn to face him, raising your eyebrows. “Somehow, I doubt my soulmate associates himself with Han Jisung.”
“Well that can’t be right, because I associate myself with Han Jisung?”
“Shut up, Minho.”
Your roommate snickers to himself as he opens the fridge, taking a quick glance at everything - or for a better term, lack of anything - inside. “What are you even going to eat? There’s nothing leftover from last night.”
“I’ll make something,” you say. Frankly, you had expected the outburst of laughter, but that didn’t do anything to simmer down your growing annoyance.
“Make something?” Minho laughs, giving you an incredulous stare. “Y/N, I’ve lived with you for two years and I don’t think I’ve seen you cook anything once.”
“Hey, I can cook,” you return, wrinkling your nose. “But why would I, when I have you to do it for me?”
At this, it’s Minho’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yeah, okay, I take that back. I don’t want you to come, have fun curling up on the couch alone with your three cats.”
“They’re literally yours.”
“Whatever,” he says, opening your front door. “Just don’t burn the apartment down, alright?”
As he closes the door, you flip him off. At first, you aren’t sure if he saw, but you’re given your answer as his laughter echoes down the hallway, fading as he walks further away.
You scowl. Of course you can cook. Well, at the very least, well enough to make a meal for one on a saturday night. Minho didn’t know what he was talking about.
Minho. Your best friend and roommate for the last two years. Man, does the guy have a way of pushing your buttons. You love him, of course. In the weird, bickering, just short of volatile friendship sort of way the two of you had developed.
Still, you can’t deny that even with his painfully irritable nature, he is still a good friend. No matter how many times you say no, he always offers to take you anywhere he goes. He pushes you out of your comfort zone. He’s there to console you when a date goes bad, or you failed a test you studied hard for. He makes all his meals for two, just because he doesn’t want you to live solely off shitty take-out.
He’s your rock. Your platonic other half. Your closest companion.
Which means you are going to prove him wrong, and then rub it in his face as much as you possibly can. Of course, because that’s what friends are for.
~~~~
Then again, maybe you wouldn’t. Or, at the very least, it was going to be exceedingly more difficult now that your apartment was full of smoke.
Covering your nose with one hand, you take the tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. If you can even call them that, as they now held a far closer resemblance to that of hockey pucks. Both in looks, and what you could assume in taste, as well.
Okay, you know chocolate chip cookies don’t really count as a decent meal, but they are the only thing you remember how to cook from when you lived at home. Or maybe you didn’t remember, based on the tray of failure sitting in front of you.
Then, to make matters even worse, your fire alarm starts going off.
“Shit,” you mutter under your breath. Now you are going to have to go to the front desk, let them know everything is okay.
Maybe Minho was right, you should’ve just went to Jisung’s stupid party and eaten something there. Putting all the other painful aspects of Han’s parties aside, Felix was his roommate, so the horderves were always excellent.
They were better than your hockey puck cookies, anyway.
Letting out a disappointed sigh, you open your apartment door, prepared to get a rough scolding from the lady working the front desk. However, you are surprised to find a man standing in front of you, his hand in the air, as if he were about to knock.
“Hi,” he says, awkwardly putting his hand back down at his side. He has messy platinum blonde hair, and soft eyes. He’s cute, and the realization quickly makes you recognize him.
“You’re my neighbor,” you say, pointing a finger at him. It’s not until he doesn’t respond immediately that you realize it was a strange thing to say. Obviously, he knows he’s your neighbor, and he might be a little offended you didn’t recognize him immediately.
Then again, the two of you had never really talked before. Everytime you would pass each other in the hall, he’d always give a polite nod and continue walking. Sometimes you’d try to say hello, or start a small conversation, but he always disappeared quickly. It had gotten to the point where you assumed he had some strange, unwarranted grudge against you.
So, it was safe to say that you were more than just a little surprised to find him at your door.
“Uh, yeah, I am. Are you okay? I thought I smelt something burning, and then I heard the fire alarm go off.” He asks, peeking behind you into your apartment, seeing if he can catch sight of any flames.
Instead, his eyes land on your tray of butchered cookies, and he… smirks?
“Oh,” he says, attempting to hide the smile growing on his face. “Having some cooking trouble?”
You stare at him for a moment, watching as his lips pursed together, stifling a chuckle. “Are you...” you begin, your jaw dropping slightly. “Are you laughing at me?”
“No,” he looks down at you, finally letting his grin free. “I would never.”
“Yeah, okay,” you frown, already not enjoying that sarcastic look on his face. You thought you’d be able to avoid that humiliating look considering Minho wasn’t here, but apparently not.
“As you can see, it’s nothing. So if you’ll excuse me,” you continue, attempting to move past him. “I need to go get my neck rung by the lady at the front desk,” However, he doesn’t budge from his place in your door frame. You cast him a glare, which only makes his smile grow wider.
“Nah, don’t worry, I’ll go let her know,” he says, already turning to walk down the hall. You open your mouth to object, but he casts a glance over his shoulder, snickering. “You focus on cleaning up whatever those black lumps were supposed to be.”
You stand in your doorway, dumbfounded as your neighbor disappears down the complex staircase. Who did this guy think he was, openly laughing at your current predicament? Sure, if the roles were reversed, there’s no doubt that you would do the same. But that isn’t the point.
No. The point is that you are not impressed by the audacity of this stranger, and you are going to make sure that this distaste is known.
Grumbling to yourself, you dump the still smoking cookies in the trash can. It’s a shame, really. You’d thought you were doing so well, too. You thought this would be your chance to prove Minho wrong. Minho. Oh, he would be having an absolute hay day if he were here right now, and the thought only makes your scowl deepen.
“Well,” your neighbor calls from behind you, causing you to jump slightly. He reappears in the open door frame, sticking his neck inside, but not fully crossing the threshold into your apartment. “She’s not thrilled, but the alarm didn’t trigger the main system’s sprinklers, so you’re good.”
You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”
The man smiles. “If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly were you trying to make anyway?”
An embarrassed blush casts itself over your cheeks. “Chocolate chip cookies,” you mumble, not meeting his eyes.
He lets out a burst of laughter, smiling widely. You can’t help but notice that he had a cute smile, dimples on both of his cheeks, eyes crinkled. Not that you were looking. Not that you cared, obviously.
“How’d you manage to mess up chocolate chip cookies that badly?”
“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging your shoulders helplessly. “You tell me.” You gesture towards the oven. Your neighbor smirks, walking inside your apartment. He bends down in front of your oven, before taking a look inside.
“Well, nothing seems to be wrong in there…” he starts, before glancing up at the set temperature. “Oh,” he states, before looking back at you, his eyes full of pity. “Oh boy.”
“What?” You ask defensively.
“The temperature. You forgot to convert it from celsius to fahrenheit. See?” He says, leaning away from the oven to give you a closer look. “So you thought you were cooking them at 350 degrees fahrenheit, when in reality they were at over 600 degrees.”
“Oh my god,” you say, smacking your palm against your forehead. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I don’t know,” the guy shrugs. “You could have burnt your apartment down, so I’d consider it a win. You’re lucky I got here on time.”
You cast him a scowl, although you can’t seem to relinquish the faintest hint of a smile creeping onto your lips. You know damn well you wouldn’t have started a fire, and that the man showing up really didn’t stop anything but an uncomfortable conversation with the front lady. You are also sure that he is fully aware of this too, which makes your smirk grow wider. Alright, you’ll play along.
“Right, what ever would I do without you?” you say sarcastically, causing your neighbor to playfully roll his eyes. He leans against your kitchen counter, relaxing slightly.
“Does my saviour have a name?” You ask, opening the fridge to take a look at what’s inside. You feel your stomach rumble, taking a glance at the clock to see that it was already past 9:00.
“It’s Chris,” he smiles, leaning over your shoulder. “So what are you going to eat, now that you’ve successfully butchered the easiest recipe known to man?”
“Hey!” You snipe. “That is certainly not the easiest recipe known to man.”
“Fine, fine,” Chris says, putting his hands up in defense. “Maybe not the easiest, but it’s definitely up there. But putting that aside, what are you going to eat? Because I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever seen a fridge so empty.”
You want to quip back at him, but he’s right. Minho usually does the grocery shopping, but because of Jisung’s party tonight he wasn’t planning on cooking anything.
“Good question,” you sigh, closing the refrigerator door before leaning your back against it. “Maybe I’ll just order some take out. I don’t think my pride can handle another failure.”
Chris smiles. “Or, I have an idea,” he says, his eyes glinting. He heads over to your apartment door, and for a moment you worry that he’s leaving.
No, you’re not worried. You’re curious. That’s all. You were curious whether or not he was leaving, nothing more.
When Chris returns, he has his arms full of ingredients. Spinach, penne, tomato sauce, cream, a variety of spices. The list goes on, and he stumbles slightly, almost dropping the surplus of food onto your kitchen floor. Imagining the mess, you rush over to help him, placing the load of groceries onto the counter.
“I don’t know if you couldn’t tell before,” you say, motioning to your overflowing counter. “But I really can’t cook. I have no clue what to do with any of this.”
“That’s no problem,” Chris smiles, already separating the food into different groups. “I’ll help you.”
“No, no, no. I can’t ask you to do that,” you say, waving your hands in protest. You step in front of him, squeezing yourself between his chest and the kitchen counter, preventing him from reaching any of the ingredients. “You’ve already dealt with the desk lady for me, and brought over all these groceries. You’ve done more than enough.”
He smiles, gently placing his hands on your shoulders and effortlessly moving you to the side. “Why would I bring you these groceries if I knew you couldn’t do anything with them?” When you don’t respond, he continues. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. Don’t worry about it. Just let me help you.”
You sigh in defeat, ignoring the way your heart begins to beat faster in your chest. “Alright,” you say, grabbing Minho’s cutting board from the cupboard. “Let’s do this, then.”
~~~~
An hour later, you find yourself sitting on top of your kitchen counter, Chris stationed by the stove working on the pasta sauce. You had genuinely tried to help in the beginning, you really did. But after Chris criticized your (awful) cutting technique, and said he didn’t exactly trust you to do anything else, you gave up.
Besides, you don’t have a problem watching him work. Over the last hour, you’ve come to learn that Chris is an absolute whiz in the kitchen. Moving from place to place, adding spices by intuition and nothing more. This wasn’t something you could have managed to make yourself in a million years, and it’s obvious that if you tried to assist him right now, you’d only get in the way.
Of course, you’ve learned a lot more about Chris in the last hour than just that. Where he grew up, his hobbies, what he was currently studying at the university. Music theory, as you’d learned. As cool as it sounded, Han had managed to tarnish your image of music majors, but you suppose you could give Chris a chance.
“It’s almost done,” Chris says, glancing over his shoulder to look at you.
“Thank God, I’m starving,” you reply, leaping off the counter to stand beside him.
“What, no ‘thank you, Chris?’ No, ‘what ever would I have done without you, Chris?’” He mocks offence, placing a hand on his heart.
“It’s not even done yet. I’ll thank you after I try it, I promise.” You laugh, rolling your eyes.
“Ah, so you’re only thankful if you like it. I see how it is,” Chris says, crossing his arms in front of himself, pouting his lower lip slightly.
“Guess so,” you say, crossing your own arms mockingly. Chris smiles, those cute little dimples of his dancing across his cheeks.
Then you feel it, that little jump of your heart. The faintest skip of a beat that you’d familiarized yourself with over the last hour. That little hint of anticipation that makes you decide that you are, even if only slightly, a bit interested in Chris.
After all, he’s funny and sweet. Can carry a conversation well, and to understate it, undeniably easy on the eyes. That’s more than enough to give him a chance.
Most of all, however, you like that little flare between the two of you. The sarcasm, the banter. It doesn’t feel the same as when Minho does it, slightly condescending and done purely to harbour your annoyance. No, this is different. It is a challenge. He wants you to quip back, to push further. To make him smirk, or laugh, or roll his eyes.
“Alright, fine then,” he says, taking the large wooden spoon and scooping up some of the pasta sauce. “Tell me if this is up to par, your majesty.”
You aren’t sure if he wants you to take the spoon, or let him hold it for you as you take a bite. You decide to take the gamble, gently moving your lips around the spoon, tasting the sauce. You glance up at Chris, a small look of surprise on his face. However, you don’t miss the flash of something behind his eyes. The faintest hint of affection, interest.
The sauce itself is delicious. A perfect blend of tomato, basil and cream. You hum contently, giving him a thumbs up.
“Chris, this is amazing,” you praise, admiring the small blush that sprinkles his cheeks.
“It’s really nothing,” he says, diverting his gaze and rubbing the back of his neck, shyly.
“No, seriously,” you say, taking the spoon from his hand and scooping some of the sauce up yourself. “Try it.” You hold the spoon out in front of him, and he raises his eyebrows slightly. Your gaze remains firm. A challenge.
Hesitantly, he takes the bite, not breaking eye contact as he does so. You stare at him, watching the way his lips move around the spoon, the intensity of his gaze. The action itself should be innocent, yet you feel a warmth rise to your cheeks.
Chris swallows, taking his lips off the spoon. For a moment, neither of you say anything. You can feel the change in the atmosphere of the room. The spark between you two being brought alight.
You swallow hard. “So?” You ask quietly.
“Yeah, it’s good. Very good,” he says back, his voice low and raspy. He goes to take the spoon from you, and his hand lingers a moment, his thumb trailing the skin of your knuckles.
You feel yourself lean in slightly, fully prepared to take the leap, when suddenly he breaks away from you, eagerly taking a few steps back. He looks away, placing a hand on his face, as if he were ashamed.
“Shit. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I know you’re seeing someone, we shouldn’t be doing this. I’m sorry,” he babbles, completely turning away from you.
You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out. Seeing someone? Where the hell could he have possibly gotten that idea?
“Seeing someone?” You ask, incredulously voicing your thoughts. You grab him by the shoulder, turning him around. “Why do you think I’m seeing someone?”
Chris still refuses to meet your eyes, instead focusing intently on the wall behind you. “The guy that lives here- Minho - aren’t you two?”
“Minho?” You gape, contorting your face in a look of pure disgust. “Ew, gross! No! Believe me, I am not dating Minho, I’d genuinely rather stick this spoon in my eye,” you exclaim, lifting up the utensil.
At that Chris finally looks at you, wearing his own look of pure confusion. “Wait, really? But whenever I hear you guys out in the hall, the two of you are always so… flirty.”
“Flirty?” You laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement. “If by flirty you mean he teases me literally every god damn second of every day, then yeah sure, I guess. But believe me, there is absolutely nothing romantic about that. Not in the least.”
Chris shakes his head, a smile forming at the corners of his lips. “Wow. I am such an idiot,” he sighs, a rediscovered lightness to his tone.
“No, no. Don’t worry about it,” you reassure him. “Anyone could make that mistake, I guess. It’s really no big-”
“No, it’s not just that,” he cuts you off. “That’s why I’ve never talked to you before now.”
“You never talked to me because you thought that me and Minho were dating?” You ask, slightly confused. Even if you were dating, you didn’t see why that would stop him from starting a conversation with you. “Why?”
“Well,” he sighs, his cheeks reddening further. “I thought you were pretty, and based on the way you always quipped back at him, clever and funny as well. I don’t know, it just felt wrong to try and build a friendship with you, knowing how I already felt a little....”
You smirk, drawing yourself slightly closer to him. “A little what?”
His smile transforms itself from embarrassed to a sly grin of his own. “A little into you, I guess.”
“It really is a shame,” you shrug, trying to hide the excitement building in your chest. “Because here I was, thinking my cute neighbor had some irrational grudge against me.”
Chris leans in, so the two of you are only inches apart. You can feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell the strong fragrance of his cologne. Sharp with lemon zest and mint.
“We could always make up for lost time, you know,” he says, his eyes flashing with mischief.
That is all the invitation you need to break the space between the two of you. You press Chris’ lips against your own, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other along the line of his jaw. His lips are soft, you notice. Tender in the slow rhythm the two of you develop.
He runs his hands up along your figure. One of them finding itself locked in your hair, the other placed firmly on the curve of your lower back. Gently, he leads the two of you away from the stove, placing you so that your back is pressed up against the kitchen counter.
You run your hand down along his chest, reveling in the groan he let’s out as your fingers trail down his lower abdomen. The sound is electricity pulsing through you, charging the room and igniting the atmosphere around the two of you.
His lips leave yours, trailing your jaw before making their way down your neck. Each individual kiss is slow and sultry, sending a shiver down your spine. You take a deep breath to stable yourself, and it does not go unnoticed.
Chris smirks, shifting his gaze to meet yours. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown out with desire. “You know, if we keep this up, the pasta sauce is going to burn,” he says, letting his fingers trail along your collarbone.
“Let it,” you shrug. “I wasn’t hungry anyways.”
Chris laughs at this, leaning forward so his face brushes the crook of your neck. “Yeah, right,” he says, allowing his lips to dust your skin. Suddenly, he bites down, not enough to break through the skin, but certainly enough to leave a small mark.
You laugh, running your hands in his hair, half-heartedly pulling him off of your neck. “Hey! That hurt,” you exclaim, only half serious.
“Sorry,” he grins, before crashing his lips into yours once again. The pace between the two of you is much faster now, each kiss more passionate. More promising. Your desire rings through you, clouding your mind in a hazy fog of lust. It is dizzying, just how much you want him at this moment.
You're certain he feels the same way, given in how tightly he grips your thigh, his breath ragged every time you break apart. It is messy. Greedy. The two of you so deeply wanting more. More of each other.
You’re about to ask if he wants to move this to the bedroom, when suddenly the apartment door swings open. It’s almost comical, how quickly you and Chris break apart, springing to opposite ends of the kitchen.
“I hate to say it, but you were right,” Minho calls as he walks inside, not yet glancing up from his phone screen. “Shit got out of hand. Someone managed to break the pool table, don’t even ask how, I don’t know either. Almost gave Felix an aneurysm. I swear the kid was about to cry, poor guy. Han had to shut everything down. So you really didn’t miss out on-” Minho stops as he sees Chris, a confused yet bemused expression crossing his face.
“Oh, hey Chan,” he says, causing you to give Chris a look.
“A nickname,” Chris mouths to you, as discreetly as he possibly can.
“What are you doing over here?” Minho asks him, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. He has that smug smirk on his face that makes you want to punch him.
“Oh, well…” Chris starts, casting you a glance. “Y/N made some food, and there was too much of it, so she invited me over.”
“Really?” Minho asks, caught off guard. He walks past you and Chris, staring at the pasta and sauce currently sitting on the oven burners. “You’re saying Y/N made this?”
“Well, yeah?” Chris says, feigning confusion. “Of course, I wouldn’t lie about something like that. Why?”
You have to stop yourself from laughing, looking at the expression of utter bewilderment on Minho’s face. Minho glances at you, narrowing his eyes, before sighing.
“Well then, I guess you proved me wrong on two things tonight, Y/N,” he says, grabbing a bowl from the cupboard.
“What are you doing?” You ask as he begins to scoop some of the penne into his dish.
“Oh, you said there was a lot,” Minho responds, raising one eyebrow. “Can I not have some?”
“Sorry, go ahead,” you say, still slightly flustered by the abruptness of his entrance. Minho finishes filling his bowl and takes a seat at the kitchen island. As he begins to eat, the room is filled with a rather tense silence. You and Chris share an awkward look, unsure of what to do next.
Minho looks up from his dish, glancing between the two of you.
“Yeah, okay,” he says, grabbing his bowl and standing up from his chair. “I’m going to go eat this in my room. Have fun you two.”
Before you can say anything, Minho disappears around the corner, down the hallway leading to his room. You turn back towards Chris. The two of you stare at each other for a moment, before bursting out into a fit of laughter.
“He’s a bit of a mood-killer, huh?” You say, grabbing two bowls from the cupboard, offering him one.
Chris nods in thanks as he takes the bowl from your hands. “Just a little bit,” he laughs, beginning to scoop some of the pasta into both of your dishes.
The two of you take a seat at your counter, spending the meal talking and laughing. Nothing else, the moment has passed, but that doesn’t bother you. You enjoy Chris’ presence. His quick humour and thoughtful conversation.
It really is something that you could get used to, you decide.
After you’re done eating, you walk Chris over to the door, handing him his surplus of spice bottles and leftover spinach.
“Thank you for doing all this, seriously. The food was delicious, you’re seriously gifted. And also, thank you for covering for me, I really didn’t feel like listening to Minho die laughing over the burnt cookies,” you admit.
“It’s no problem, really,” Chris smiles. He shifts all the spices over to his right arm, letting his free hand fall down to his side. Softly, he takes your hand in his, letting your fingers intertwine.
“Listen,” he continues, shyly looking up from your hands to meet your eyes. “If you’re not doing anything tomorrow, you’re welcome to come over for a proper dinner. You know, so I can show you what I can actually make when it’s not a last minute attempt at salvaging a meal.”
You smile a goofy, genuine grin. “That sounds good to me,” you say. Hesitantly, you lean forwards, planting a soft, innocent kiss on his lips.
As you break apart, he hums contently. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, thanks for today. You made my night, Y/N.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Chris.” You watch as he walks over to his apartment door, which is of course, only a few meters away from your own. When he disappears into his own apartment, you sigh, closing your own door behind you. You lean against the frame, letting out a shaky breath, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. It’s been so long since you’ve held any genuine interest in someone, you feel almost giddy.
That is until you see Minho, leaning against the corner of the kitchen wall, watching you with his cheshire smirk.
“Dinner tomorrow, huh?” He asks, walking into the kitchen and scooping himself the last of the pasta.
“What about it?” You retort, not giving in to that pestering look in his eyes.
“Oh, nothing. I’m sure it’ll be good, considering Chan clearly made this,” Minho says, shoveling some of the pasta into his mouth.
“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, grabbing two wine glasses from the cupboard.
“Save it, the lady at the front desk told me you almost set the apartment on fire,” Minho laughs as you pour the wine.
You let out a groan, handing him his glass. “God dammit.”
“Don’t blame her though,” he smiles, leaning back and taking a sip. “I wouldn’t have believed you could have cooked that anyway.”
You roll your eyes. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
“Had me fooled for a second there though,” he says, patting you on the head. “But more importantly, you like Chan huh?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right. Nice hickey, by the way,” he smirks, raising his eyebrows.
You pull up the collar of your shirt, casting him a glare. “Okay, maybe I do,” you shrug. “What’s it to you?”
“Nothing,” he replies, before taking a second to think. “Just please don’t fuck him or anything tomorrow. Walls are thin.”
You laugh, taking your glass of wine and flopping yourself back down on the living room couch.
“Shut up, Minho.”
~
thanks for reading loves <3
#stray kids x reader#stray kids x y/n#stray kids bang chan#skz bang chan#bang chan x reader#bang chan neighbour au#bang chan x y/n#skz neighbour au#stray kids neighbour au#skz fanfiction#skz x reader#stray kids fanfic#skz fanfic#stray kids fanfiction#bang chan#skz#stray kids
510 notes
·
View notes
Note
Can I order one of Jungwon and the character when they went to sleep together for the first time? And then he's shy at first but likes being around her
Kiss✨
@nanasmitek here it is!! Hope you like it!! If you anymore request? Ask box open!
{ also, they're going to sleep together as in sleeping beside each other ! 🤭}
←:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;❄️🌨️
←:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;❄️🌨️
You stop at the fridges area where it has all the delicious yogurt drinks stack inside. You glance at every single one of them but couldn't choose one to buy for your sweet sweet best friend, Jungwon.
The young boy injured his hand during his taekwondo practice so you decided to visit him after school. "...... uhh.....fine I'll take the banana one, he likes them...." You grabbed the banana drink and went to the cashier to pay for it.
You decided to surprise him at his house. "Hello, Mrs. Yang!" You whispered to her bringing the bag of food and banana drink for Jungwon.
" Hello! Why are you whispering?...." she whispered to you back. " Wonnie doesn't know I'm here, so I'm surprising him" you giggle making Jungwon's mom chuckle. " Ok," she said before going back to the kitchen.
You stopped walking in front of his door room. Your heard noises coming from his room. " All I wanna dooo~~ is to kick it with youuuu~" it was Jungwon singing to a song from Jay Park. You suddenly open the door and caught him dancing in front of his mirror.
" Y/n what are doing here!?" He yelled at you while laughing nervously as he immediately grabs his phone and pause the music. " I thought you were injured?...." You smirk to tease him.
" I am...my right hand is injured," he said shoving his casted hand against your face. " not my feet " he pointed at his foot. His cute dimples growing deeper because of his smile.
" Aish! Jungwon only if you weren't hurt I would've punched you....here loser, I bought you food and a banana yogurt drink!" You smiled giving him the bag.
" Let's see," he said putting the bag down on his bed and taking out the food. " Okay~~ I like this, and this and- banana milk!?.... Weren't there any of strawberries!?.... Oh my god Y/n" he complained on purpose to tease you. You facepalm and mumbled "I knew it!... Oh my god, I-... I'm sorry baby, I'll buy you another one next-"
Jungwon raised his eyebrows still grinning widely. " Wait. Wait. My. Time" he said in English with his cute voice. You tried your best not to crack a smile but failed. " You said, baby? You called me baby?" He said in his language. You widen your eyes realizing what you said to him.
" Oh- oh Jungwon! Not like that!.....I mean, you are a baby! Look at you! You're so cute! Have you seen your cheeks? Your puffy cheeks with dimples? You're baby!" You exclaimed pinching his cheeks with your fingers.
Jungwon bit inside his lip and rolled his eyes showing you how annoyed he feels. However, he couldn't control that look as soon he saw your pouting lips and he crack a laugh. He grabs your hands from his cheeks and pulls them away from his face. After a second he holds both of your hands and guides you towards his bed.
You were shocked because Jungwon isn't the type to hold your hands so sweetly unless he is trying to trick you or something. You felt weird out of his sudden behavior, Yang Jungwon, guiding you to his bed is something a bit unusual.....
"YANG JUNGWON! WHAT ARE TRYING TO DO TO YOUR NOONA! YOU PERVER, I'MMA TELL YOUR MOMMY!" You glared and slap at the extremely confused boy's shoulder.
He narrowed down his eyebrows. " What do you mean perver-.….. YOU'RE THE PERVERT ONE FOR THINKING DIRTY! And just because you're one month older than me, doesn't make a noona, calling yourself a noona makes you sound super old" he smirked and laughed.
You gasped and hit him in the shoulder again. " Whatever shit garden," you said sitting on his bed and crossing your arms over your chest.
" Hey! That was mean" Jungwon said trying not to laugh at the nickname. " Anyway....Ah....now let's be serious...." He said. His thin smile faded and replaced itself with a straight sad frown. You started to feel worried because most of the time Jungwon is always happy and smiling and never shares a sad story.......unless you want to count the story of his.....passed away cactus 🌵.
" Jungwon what's wrong?....." You scooted closer to him. You put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. His gaze towards his hands that were playing with his fingers. You saw him gulp down just by the movement of his neck. Is Jungwon nervous? Does he want to cry? What is going on?
" My dad came home...." He said slowly as his voice wanted to crack up but he would cough purposely so it wouldn't show. You furrowed your eyebrows forming a worried expression. Now you understand why he's acting like this. It just had to be that man again to make him feel unhappy about himself.
" Wonnie! What have I told you before! Do not listen to him!" You hold his face with both of your hands. Both of your gazes locked to each other. " He expects too much from you, and doesn't give anything! You're just a teen! You're still a child! You need to live your life calmly and freely, just focus on your school, the auditions later!.... Jungwon.....you are allowed to make your own choices too....okay?" you said slowly trying to get the words to go through his head.
" I know Y/n, but it's just.....he says so much that it makes me doubt myself...." Suddenly his tears run down like a waterfall on his cheeks. The pale fair skin of his face turns red. The boy felt embarrassed and covered his face with the sleeves of his white hoodie.
How much you wanted to protect your best friend, he means everything to you for so many reasons. You pressed your body close to him, wrapping your arms around his body tightly. You rest your head on top of his head. " Wonnie, baby, nooooo don't cry! You're a strong boy! Come on! Why are you suddenly becoming soft around me?" With your watery red eyes, you try to make Jungwon feel better but still, you felt him cry even more.
"Come here, let's sleep together....." You said almost forcing Jungwon to lay down but he stopped you. " NO- what if my mom comes in and thinks the wrong idea-..." His eyes were still red and puffy. His nose as well. That made you feel in pain as you wanted to give him a super tight hug letting him know you are there for him.
" That's crazy! She won't think wrong at all! I'm sure of it!" You smiled kindly. Jungwon shook his bangs away and grins. " Okay....." He said with a sheepishly grin.
You pushed him down on his back. You grab the blanket that was spread in the bed. You pull it up to your shoulders and his as well. You scooted closer to him holding him as if he was your baby brother. Your arms wrapped around his neck and shoulder, his face almost touches your neck. You felt he was calming down little by little. Soon his sobbing turned into nice calming sounds of his breathing.
'He must've felt asleep....' You thought.
You leaned closer to kiss his forehead while patting his soft black hair. " Thank you for staying by my side....baby" Jungwon mumbled and chuckled lightly at the 'baby' part to make fun of you. You felt his free arm wrapped around your torso as he went back to sleep.
You had a blushing face. " Shhhh Jungwon, just sleep...." You said although you felt something in your stomach. What was it called again? The butterflies? You felt butterflies in your stomach?......what's the meaning of it?
#kpop#enhypen#enhypen jungwon#jungwon imagines#yang jungwon imagines#yang jungwon#jungwon#jungwon scenarios#jungwon smau#jungwon soft layouts#jungwon soft icons#enhypen jungwon scenarios#enhypen jay#enhypen heeseung#enhypen sunghoon#enhypen jake#enhypen sunoo#enhypen niki#enhypen scenarios#enhypen soft hours#kpop scenarios#kpop imagines
150 notes
·
View notes
Note
please anything for my love polkadot man like show him the love he deserves. maybe the reader is the only person who's not his mother? idk I just need my boy to be happy
ugh god fuck this man this dude he made my crush on david dastmalchian resurface so fuckin hard it hit me with the force of a fucking speeding truck like what the fuck excuse you mister mommy issues who fucking allowed that its not legal
Abner Krill seeing Reader's face hcs:
the whole thing with his mother's face is weird - not just in a sense that it's fucking weird in general, but sometimes it comes naturally, and sometimes he has to imagine someone is his mom (which happens mostly when he has to hurt them). there's not much control he has over that. most of the time, everyone around him does have his mom's face, but when he's incredibly stressed, it's like his brain starts to work differently, focusing on other things, other thoughts, and without realising his mother's face disappears sometimes, but he's way too distracted and overwhelmed to ever realise that. he has to really focus in those moments, especially if he has to use his polka dots
but with that out of the way, he really doesn't know what you look like. he has no idea. and he fucking hates it. not only because he just hates that his brain does this shit to him, but because you're so different from his mom. so... nice and kind, and you pay attention to him, and you, dare he say, care. for him, about him, it doesn't matter. you show that you care. you show concern, you worry over him, you share his happiness, you talk to him and try to bring that happiness out, and he can't even properly look you in the eye because all he sees is his mom and he doesn't want to fucking associate you with her
it's a big barrier between you two. he desperately wants to see you for who you are, to see that smile he hears in your voice when you talk to him sometimes, watch your eyes water when you laugh hard by his side, see your fucking expression when you touch him, but he can't. you're such a beautiful person on the inside, and he's sure you are even more beautiful on the outside, but whenever he looks at you, he only sees that ugliness, that suffering his mother always brought with her
and then you told him you had an idea. said you wanted to help him. make him comfortable with you. let him be free of his mother and everything she's done to him for once. you just wanted that. you just wanted him to be happy. just because. because you liked seeing him happy, wanted to see him happy more often, wanted to make him happy - this whole concept is hard for him to grasp, the fact that you fucking care. it's not a thing he ever thought possible and he's plenty grateful for you as it is already, and yet you're still doing more for him
it wasn't the best idea. it wasn't guaranteed to work. but it was worth a try. Abner wasn't ready for the disappointment he expected. he hasn't hoped for anything this much for so long, but in the back of his mind, he knew he was just fucked up. he knew he couldn't be "cured", he couldn't be helped, and most importantly, he couldn't ever be good for you. and yet you were so intent on trying. and despite everything, he was too. because there was nothing in this world he wanted more than being able to see all of you, get rid of that barrier separating you and be able to truly be with you. in whatever way you'd have him
you made him sit down with you, close his eyes. you asked him to trust you, and honestly, he wouldn't have ever thought that to be possible, but he did. he really did. you took his hands - he jumped, you noted and started informing him of all your next moves - and put them to your face. he was touching you. you made him touch you. you willingly let him cup your face in his hands. and all of that made his already quickened heartbeat speed up
gently, oh so gently, you cupped his hands in your and started mapping out your face. you let him touch every part of it and described it as best as you could. every little dip, curve and crook. every scar, every dimple, every angle. you glided his hands all over your face and let him skim his fingers over every inch of it, from the tip of your head, through your hair, all the way down to your neck. he didn't want to acknowledge the blush that was covering him up to the tips of his ears, or the fact of how much he's wanted to touch you for so long. but he did acknowledge all that you've said to him. and he tried to get a clear picture. he tried with all his might. and since the first moment his fingers touched you, he knew you were beautiful
you let him take as long as he needed, ask as many questions as he wanted. for a few moments, he wasn't even focusing on what he was supposed to, he was just focusing on touching you, on having your face right in his hands, feeling you. if you knew (and he hoped not), you didn't say anything. but then he had to let go. and he couldn't let himself focus on how cold his hands felt after you let go of them, he had to pay attention to the task at hand. for a good few moments after parting from you, he kepts his eyes tightly shut, his hands slowly balling into fists, as he hoped, begged, prayed to whoever was listening that it'd work. you let him sit there for as long as he wanted, but at some point, he had to gather all his courage, and finally, he dared to open his eyes
he was frozen, those sad eyes seemingly even... sadder. or at least that's what you judged because of how they slightly glossed over. you thought it didn't work - it wasn't too surprising, the whole idea wasn't really anywhere near perfect, but you've had so much hope in you. you wanted to free him of his burden, you wanted to help him see the world for what it truly was, but it was a hard task. impossible, it seemed. you shouldn't've been this disappointed that it failed when it was destined to fail from the beginning, and yet you couldn't help that wave of sadness that overwhelmed you. he... he really deserved to be fucking happy for once. but you couldn't give him that, unfortunately
or so you thought before he suddenly cupped your face in his hands yet again, his thumbs caressing your cheeks frantically as he smiled. grinned, even. you have never seen a human being this euphoric before, because of you nonetheless. you've never heard him laugh this genuinely, as that glossiness from his eyes escaped to his cheeks and slipped down his face as his eyes roamed yours
his fingers trembled against your skin as words - more than he ever really spoke - flowed from his mouth. his broken whispers of 'i see you's and 'you're even more beautiful than i imagined's replaced the heavy silence that previously hung around the room, and now you had to deal with an overwhelmingly happy, emotionally-repressed, socially-awkward loser that practically vibrated in his spot at the sight of you
#polkadot man#polka dot man#abner krill#tss#the suicide squad#my writing#headcannons#fluff#kinda hurt/comfort ig#some angst sprinkled in there#cmon its abner#cant have abner without some angst#anonymous#this fucking guy i SWEAR-
181 notes
·
View notes
Text
The L Word ‣ hjs
‣ genre: angst with a fluffy ending, arranged marriage, sort of modern royalty (rich kid!au), female reader
‣ wc: 2.1k
‣ summary: “Tell me, Han. Has she ever explicitly told you that she loved you?”; in which Jisung's afraid that Y/N's going to leave him in rising of rumors but learns he shouldn't judge a situation from the words of others
‣ warnings?: The Hwang 'sibs' are mean in this (just a bit), lowkey rushed, jisung runs off because of overthinking
Looking at the ballroom’s appearance, Jisung feels as though he shouldn’t even be there in the first place. Like some puzzle piece placed in the wrong box. The people attending the party lived lavish lifestyles, knowing the difference between the different forks placed at the tables. Etiquette was more important to them than the basics a middle-class person would even care about.
Though Jisung had good ideas of such subjects, it wasn't forced onto him like those around him. The only reason why he was able to attend the party was because of a marriage arrangement your father and his father had made as some kind of sick ‘contract’ regarding business. Though he wasn’t complaining, feelings for you developed through the years of knowing you since childhood, he couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about a handful of things.
For one, you guys were engaged through the arrangement. It’s been three years since the announcement, and even if Jisung believed you were fine with it, even if you ensured to Jisung that you were happy with the engagement, intrusive thoughts started keeping him up at night.
He knew you. You hated speaking out your feelings, whether it led to consequences or not. What if you actually weren’t fine with it? What if you were somehow threatened by your father and the contract to actually speak out about the engagement? He didn’t want you to feel forced to marry him.
Then there was his family’s reputation. His family was deemed drastically poorer than yours by the other associated families and businesses. He was afraid of tainting your family’s reputation or seeming like one of those leeches found at the bottom of murky ponds. Though it was an arranged marriage, Jisung had genuine feelings for you. It was his father that was in it for the money and Jisung was nothing like his father.
“Hey, scrounger!” Jisung turned to find Hyunjin and his sister Yeji approaching him from the opposite corner of the room. They both were dressed in clothes that were probably a lot more expensive than his own, his clothes being hand-me-downs from his father.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Yeji smirked, “You don’t even have business here.” She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, eyeing down the boy.
Jisung didn’t cower under their gaze, instead of straightening his back, “I’m here because I was invited. My father was invited as well.” Don’t show fear, he told himself, That’s what they want.
“Ahh~,” Hyunjin chuckled, “Good way to disguise 'because of Y/N.' Tell me, Han. Has Y/N ever explicitly told you that she loved you?”
Yeji butted in, laughing, “I think love is too strong of a word… how ‘bout like? Has she ever told you that she liked you? Cause rumor has it she’s planning on breaking your engagement.”
Jisung gulped, “S-she has… and gossip is bullshit.” He lied. When the arrangement was created, there was some kind of unspoken assumption that you both liked each other. As a result of this, no confessions were made from you both. Sure it was stupid, but in Jisung’s eyes, actions spoke louder than words, and just by how he treated you and you treated him, you both cared very much for each other. Of course, other people never paid attention to actions and relied on direct statements.
“We don’t gossip, Han,” Hyunjin scoffs, “Who would pass up the opportunity to marry Bang Chan when he’s the son of the top businessman in all of Korea?”
“What do you mean?” Jisung’s heart skipped a beat, eyed widening slightly at the mention of Bang Chan’s name.
“His father apparently wanted to create a deal with her father that was a lot better than his deal with yours,” Hyunjin explained, “Isn’t your engagement part of that poorer deal?”
Jisung chose not to reply, biting his tongue. Instead, he shoots Hyunjin a narrowed glare, not up for defending himself or arguing. With the lack of response from their target, the siblings simply rolled their eyes and walked away, taking a seat at their designated table.
When the attention was diverted away from him, Jisung couldn’t help but let his shoulders fall. He feels his heart beating quicker than at rest, thoughts running through his mind like crazy. You wouldn’t leave him just like that right? You wouldn’t.
Then his mind wanders back to Hyunjin and Yeji’s question. Yes, he did think that actions were undoubtedly stronger than words, but now that a spotlight was shone on the hidden yet obvious fact that you both hadn’t said anything about each others’ feelings, he couldn’t help but believe that you could possibly be leaving him. But then again, he has never said anything to you and his feelings existed.
He felt the sudden urge to look for you, who had been busy accompanying your father with the guests. Maybe he will actually confess how he truly felt, just in case you were actually thinking about breaking the engagement. Maybe he could save it somehow, just in case your father was willing to make the deal with Mr. Bang.
Chewing the bottom of his lip, he scanned the room, looking for the lavender dress you were wearing. But with the clumps of people, his line of sight was constantly stopped abruptly.
“Excuse me,” he mumbled politely, making his way through the crowd, “Excuse me.” He ignored the looks some people gave him, still slithering his way between the socializing people. Though his hair was parted in a way that exposed part of his forehead, he felt the need to hide under his bangs, keeping his head low as he did.
The familiar sound of your father’s laugh drove Jisung to stop and look around his area. If he was close, you’d be close. Scanning his surroundings completely, he finally spots your father, with you standing close beside him. He feels a smile rise on his lips as he begins to make his way towards you both, heartbeat racing just as his thoughts were.
Opening his mouth to call out for you, he quickly stops himself when he realizes that you and your father were holding a conversation with Bang Chan and his own father. His feet abruptly stop, allowing him to overhear the exchange of banter.
“Well, it was a pleasure having this conversation with you,” Mr. Bang chuckled, “I will see you on Monday for the papers?” He held a hand out for a handshake, a smile filled with pride appearing on his lips.
Your father nodded, “Likewise. I’m looking forward to it.” He completes the handshake, which then queues for Chan to lean in for a hug.
Shit, Jisung gulps, feeling his heart drop to his stomach, What the hell just happened?
You take a step forward and hug Chan back for a brief second before pulling back, “I hope you enjoy the rest of your time here, Chan.”
Chan’s dimples appeared as he smiled genuinely, “Thank you, Y/N.”
Jisung was frozen on the spot, unsure whether or not he should say anything. The notes that he had mentally jotted down in his head were suddenly ripped into pieces and he was practically speechless.
Obliviously, you turn to follow your father, who was already ready to move on to another conversation. Mid-turn, the boy dressed in a striped, navy suit had caught your attention, giving him a double-take, “Oh! Jisung!” The corners of your mouth rise higher, eyes lighting up at the sight of the familiar boy. A wave of comfort washed over you. It was refreshing to see him after interacting with so many strangers and acquaintances.
When you go to approach him, Jisung panics and begins to back into the people behind him. It was then you noticed the look of distraught on his face, causing you to speed up. At this, he turns and runs, causing commotion around him as dodges those who got in his way.
“Jisung!” You called out, turning the heads of those people around you. The music had drowned your voice out from those further away from you, “Jisung!?” You begin making your way through the crowd of people, going as fast as you could in heels so that you wouldn’t lose Jisung. A million assumptions were running through your head, worry lining each and every one of them.
Swinging the door open, Jisung finds himself stumbling out into the empty corridor of the hotel. With the choice of left and right, Jisung stops and impulsively runs in one direction, not minding where he would end up if kept running.
So you were going to break the engagement… without warning? How were you going to break the news to him? How was he supposed to react once you told him about it all? Happy? Sad? Excited?
You finally reached the door of the ballroom, slipping out rather roughly into the corridor. Your head whips left and right, seeing Jisung’s trailing feet to the right of the hallway, turning the corner. You let out a heavy breath before kicking off your heels, booking it in that direction.
Your mind wanders to why Jisung was running. What did he hear? Was he okay? Could it be what other people were saying again? But Jisung was never usually one to let words get to him.
Jisung lets himself rest once he gets to a secluded room. Judging by its content, he realized that he managed to slip into the coatroom, but he didn’t care. He needed time alone to think. He just needed to process this entire situation.
“Jisung?” He hears you call out. Jisung sinks down at the corner of the room, resting his head against the wall. He stays quiet, resting his forehead against his knees.
The door to the coat room opens, revealing your disheveled figure, “Jisung…” You pause and try to catch your breath, “There… there you are.”
Jisung doesn’t lift his head, afraid that if he did face you, he would burst into tears. He could sense you approaching him, though, settling down beside him. He could feel your dress up against him. Soon he feels your hand take his, holding it tightly.
“What’s wrong?”
When Jisung doesn’t answer, you don’t say anything to push out an explanation. You let the question simmer, resting your head against his shoulder.
At this point, Jisung’s mind was projecting none of his thoughts but static. He didn’t know where to start and what to bring up. How was he supposed to confront you about the engagement?
“I’m happy for you two,” Jisung blurted out quietly, avoiding eye contact, “I really am.” Your ears perked up, confused at what Jisung was going on about.
“I think people will like you both together more than us,” Jisung continued, “Just know that I lo–“
You interrupt him, turning to completely face him, “Jisung, what are you talking about?” You turned your body towards him, completely facing the cowered boy. Though your body language was practically begging for eye contact, Jisung still avoided it, playing with his rings to keep him from losing control over his emotions.
Building up his confidence, Jisung let himself look at you before whispering, “Y/N?” He sniffled quietly.
“Yeah, Sung?”
Jisung gulped and asked, “Do you like me?”
You’re taken aback by the question, not expecting it out of all the questions Jisung could have asked. Is this why he was crying?
“Of course I do, Jisung, what makes you thin–“
“I mean genuinely like me. Do you have feelings for me?” Words were spewing out of his mouth before he could even process what he was saying. He could feel his emotions taking control of himself, which often is never a good thing.
“Jisung, I love you, okay? Why do you think otherwise?” The beat of your heart sped up with worry. Your eyebrows knitted together in concern as Jisung’s lips quivered slightly.
“The Hwang's told me you were planning on breaking our engagement because Bang Chan’s father offered a better deal than my father,” he explained quietly. He felt as though that if he spoke any louder, he would break out into tears, “I told them I didn’t believe them… t-then they asked me if you’ve ever told me if you did have feelings for me. I just didn’t know what to think when… when I saw your father accept Mr. Bang’s deal. I was afraid you were actually going to leave me.”
You gently slapped his shoulder in shock, “Han Jisung, are you serious?” Jisung responded wordlessly, though a puzzled look replaced his previous emotion.
“My father approached me beforehand about it. He wanted to break our engagement because of the deal, telling me that it was no longer necessary,” you say, “But I told him I wanted to marry you because I love you, Sung. And if he did threaten to forcibly break our engagement, I would’ve fought for us.”
Jisung wanted to laugh at himself at how much he had overreacted. Overthinking was a bitch and this situation was real-life proof, “Y/N?”
“Yeah, Sung?”
“I would fight for us too.”
#this was supposed to be a royal!au but idk its hard to do tht shet sometimes lmao#so here have this#stray kids#stray kids imagines#stray kids scenarios#skz#han jisung#Han Jisung stray kids#jisung#Jisung stray kids#Han Jisung imagines#Han Jisung scenarios#Han Jisung fluff#Jisung scenarios#jisung imagines#han imagines#han scenarios#stray kids fluff#kpop imagines#kpop#kpop scenarios#soft stray kids#stray kids soft#my writings#my skz writings
249 notes
·
View notes
Note
ahem... cassian taking nesta to that bookstore (fluff, don’t try making shit sad aight?)
Our First Non-Date
SURPRISE I GUESS!!
Nessian Archeron x Cassian
You can find the first part here.
A/N: this month has been really nice on me. I finally feel better, not crying every day for literally nothing and I wanna dedicate this to my fren Sim (@perseusannabeth) cause homegirl just finished the offcampus series and she's grieving. I know she is. So yep. Take some Nessian fluff
And Nina, I had to add some angsty parts, but they're not Irene Angst Level, okay?
Word count: 6,833
When Cassian had called her back the night after their outing with Amren and Varian, she'd stared at the phone for a full minute until it had stopped ringing and she could go back to reading the article on poisonous plants that Elain had sent her.
It hadn't even been five minutes before the words had been obscured from the call screen again and the name "Cassian Navarro" appeared.
When she had ignored the call for the second time as well, he had decided to change tactics.
Hi Nes, I was thinking about when you'd be free to go to the library. I need a couple of manuals because I'm building a little gazebo in Rhys and Feyre's garden and your sister is putting a lot of pressure on me, so I was wondering if you had the day off tomorrow.
Nesta was stunned at the amount of useless information he had given her, but managed to reply with a simple, Working tomorrow, day off on Wednesday. Sending you the address later.
She certainly hadn't anticipated how hard it would be to get up that day, her will to live must have been hiding somewhere under her bed and Nesta didn't know if it was directly related to their going out or just her stupid brain not being able to connect to real life.
The only other worst thing she'd been able to think of at that moment was having to explain to Cassian what was going on, so, pulled out of bed by the future embarrassment they'd feel in such a situation, she'd managed to dress, wash and style her hair so that she had a braid crowning her head.
She hadn't put too much effort into deciding what to wear, after all, it wasn't a date and Cassian had seen her many times before in far more outrageous and scruffy clothes than the comfortable black jeans and grey jumper she was wearing right now.
The silence had made her uncomfortable at first, only because Cassian seemed to be really stressed - about what, she certainly wouldn't ask - but after about ten minutes, he'd turned on the radio and popped a CD into the player and the melody of a Verve song had filled the cabin.
She'd started humming under her breath and he'd looked at her with a faint smile on his lips and his eyes sparkling. She hadn't mulled over that look too much, but she'd started eyeing him more closely and noticed the way he narrowed his eyes at every street sign and how he ran a hand over his face every time a strand of hair landed in front of his eyes.
When Cassian had to blow the hair out of his face for the millionth time, Nesta pulled a rubber band off her wrist and handed it to him abruptly.
Cassian looked surprised, but took it almost immediately, brushing her fingers. Nesta immediately withdrew her hand, feeling how warm and calloused his were.
"Thanks, my hair is killing me today," he finally spoke.
Nesta continued to look ahead, noticing that they were about to enter the highway. "Well, it wasn't very wise of you not to tie it up before you got in the car. I never drive with my hair down."
He nodded slowly, still with the band clutched between his fingers. And then, suddenly he let go of the steering wheel, "Hold that for me for a second." and Nesta's eyes went wide, launching herself at him to grab it and keep the car in their lane.
"Are you nuts?" she almost shrieked, keeping her gaze fixed on the road and feeling every nerve ending vibrate with anger.
"Relax." he said in a calm tone, shifting her hands and gently pushing her back into her seat one more time. "It wasn't even five seconds."
Nesta huffed out a laugh that lacked amusement, "You do something like that again without warning me first and I'm getting out of the car."
Cassian looked at her with a raised eyebrow, "A bit dramatic, but alright."
She sighed, shaking her head slightly and resting it on her hand propped against the window.
That awkward silence fell again and Nesta couldn't figure out what the problem was. She hadn't felt any kind of unease three days before, but after all, they'd been with friends and busy walking, not stuck in a car for two hours with no chance of walking away or splitting up.
And in that moment, the reality of their situation overwhelmed her.
She forced herself to steady her breathing, opening the window slightly so that more air could get in. She forced herself to think about all the things she would see today at the library and how beautiful and spectacular it had looked from mere pictures. She wasn't going to let her twisted mind stop her from having fun with someone who was desperately trying to be her friend.
She took a deep breath and a surprising calm enveloped her. She looked to her left to see if Cassian had noticed that temporal change in her behaviour, but it seemed to her that he was just as fidgety.
She was about to ask him if he was okay, because the knee that kept bouncing and the fingers opening and closing on the steering wheel were obvious nervous tics, when he did the eye thing again, this time leaning forward over the dashboard as well, and the sharp turn he took to the right caused her to shift in her seat so much that she bumped her shoulder against his.
Cassian grimaced, "I'm sorry," he murmured.
"What's wrong?" she asked, readjusting in her seat.
"Sorry?"
"What's the matter? With your eyes, I mean."
"Oh." he seemed surprised by the question, almost as if he hadn't realised she'd been observing him for the last twenty minutes. He cast her a curious glance immediately returning to the road. "I wear glasses when I drive, but I couldn't find them this morning and these contacts are the wrong shade and I can't see very well."
Nesta nodded thoughtfully, "Where do you normally keep them?"
"In the glove box. But I already checked," he replied, rolling his shoulders. Another nervous tic.
Nesta had to suppress a smile. There was no way he could be so worked up just because they were talking. She looked down at the phone in her hand to check the time, and a flash of light momentarily dazzled her. She blinked a couple of times and then scoffed, "Found them."
She reached a hand towards the hatch compartment and pulled out a pair of very plain black glasses, handing them to him. Cassian seemed to finally relax since she'd gotten into the car.
"Thank fuck." then he pulled into a lay-by and without turning off the car, slipped two fingers in his eye, removing one contact and then the other, leaving Nesta stunned. He put the glasses on his nose and flashed her a smile that went from ear to ear. And Nesta was stunned for other reasons.
She couldn't deny that Cassian was an attractive man. She wasn't stupid or blind, but the man next to her should have come with a warning sign or a bell.
Attention, hot stuff coming your way.
Nesta forgot the comment she had wanted to make about how antigenic and risky it had been to remove his contacts without first cleaning his hands and in such a dirty environment.
His hair tied back in a messy bun, with the hint of a beard he was letting grow, and now his glasses on, Cassian looked like a model on the cover of a newspaper about sexy carpenters. The short-sleeved black shirt he wore that pulled on his huge biceps every time he moved in the slightest was just one more point to add to the list of things that made him appealing.
"So," he began, getting back on the road, "what's your favourite colour?"
Nesta snorted, "Are you serious?"
Cassian seemed to blanch, "What?"
"Have you ever been out with a girl?" she asked him sarcastically, knowing full well what the answer would be.
He clenched his jaw so hard that a muscle popped out on his face, "Only on dates."
"And this isn't a date." pointed out Nesta, holding back a laugh at how tortured he sounded.
"It's not."
Nesta touched the tip of her nose, thoughtful, "Shouldn't this be easier for you then?"
Cassian released a breath through his nose, "I'm under a lot of pressure right now."
"Yeah?" she asked, looking away and smiling.
"Yeah, and stop looking like you're enjoying it." he retorted.
She feigned innocence, "Enjoying what?"
"My pain." he sheeted.
Nesta laughed, unable to contain herself any longer and when he glared at her, she covered her mouth with one hand, laughing harder. Only when he snapped his fingers against the steering wheel did she stop, laying a hand on his arm, just for a few seconds, "I'm so sorry." she wheezed, "I just don't understand. When you're hanging out with my sisters or Amren, or Mor, I don't know, you don't seem to be in this much discomfort."
Cassian sighed again and Nesta chuckled one last time, stopping when he smiled slightly. "I'm just trying not to make you uncomfortable. You accepted I take you on this non-date, and I'm doing my best not to flirt badly with you every chance I get." he confessed, nodding slowly, as if to convince himself that he was doing the right thing and not wasting their time.
Nesta was genuinely surprised at his answer and decided to offer him an olive branch.
"My favourite colour is blue."
"Nice." he smiled, showing a hint of a dimple, "Mine is red."
"It's too bright of a colour," she said lightheartedly.
Cassian chuckled, "I'm pretty sure it reflects my peppy personality."
Nesta nodded, "I read an article once about how a person's favourite colour says a lot about the person themselves," she said annoyed, "It sounded like one of those quizzes you find in gossip magazines, like it was written by a third grader. I hate those things, like horoscopes."
He grunted, "God, Mor's obsessed with horoscopes..."
The conversation continued without any more awkward silences for the remainder of the ride, and when Cassian turned onto a bumpy road, Nesta knew they were close. Of course, even if she hadn't looked at the directions from her house to the place, the myriad cars parked along the road would have been an indication.
They parked in the first vacant spot they could find and as soon as Nesta was out of the car, an icy gust of wind hit her face, making her shiver with cold. She looked over the bonnet at Cassian and found him staring at her with a half smile on his face. He'd left his glasses in the car and had let his hair down again, her hair band on his wrist, and he looked even prettier than before.
"Do you want my jacket?" he asked her, with a conflicted look on his face, as if he didn't want to. Nesta narrowed her brows and he hurried to add, "There's no hidden agenda to my offer, just a friend lending a jacket to another friend."
Nesta watched him for a moment, trying to really understand his intentions, but then remembered reading in one of the reviews that the library was heated inside and shook her head.
Cassian gave a small nod of assent and then pointed down the street, "Shall we?"
From where they had parked to the library it would have been about a ten minute walk and Nesta couldn't help but notice the way Cassian kept his distance between them as if he was afraid she would get scared and run away.
He was back to fidgeting nervously with his fingers and when he realised she was looking at him, he put them in his pockets, smiling tensely at her. He took a deep breath and then said, "So, what do you know about this library?"
Nesta looked ahead, hoping to catch a glimpse of the building, but the foliage of the trees was still too thick and they were still too far away for it to see anything. She brought her hands to her stomach, crossing her fingers, "I actually did a bit of research before I came. Did you know that the Peace Treaty between Prythian and Hybern of 1864 was signed here?" she asked in an excited voice.
Cassian smiled at her so naturally that she felt herself blush. He had an expression she couldn't decipher, but Nesta had never been good at cracking people in general, so she didn't venture to continue until he said, "Tell me more."
And Nesta launched into a detailed description of the events that had taken place inside the building, which only a hundred years before had become a bookstore. Only one wing of the building had been furnished in such a way as to become a real shop, the rest had been set up to be visited as a museum, one of the oldest libraries. She talked about the architecture and how it was obvious that the palace had been built long before it became an important meeting place for scholars and researchers.
"And in 1932 a fire destroyed the science wing, burning more than a hundred textbooks." Nesta sighed, thinking how devastating that loss had been. She lit up with happiness when she remembered what happened next. "But luckily, one of the most important literary clubs in the city got together and they managed to recover a small portion of the books. It took them years to rewrite every manual, but they got help from one of the local researchers, a certain Mr. Hawthorn, I can't remember the name or details of the research, only that he's mentioned often in the article I read."
When she paused to catch her breath, Nesta realised with immense horror what had just happened. Cassian had not spoken a word after asking her if she knew anything about the place and she had monopolised the conversation without even acknowledging him once. She felt herself flare up and knew in that moment that any hope they had of becoming real friends was gone.
Sometimes she would get lost in thought and ramble on about the things she was passionate about. Quite often people had stopped her, letting her know they weren't interested in the subject, but Cassian had never interrupted her and she was afraid to look at him, convinced she would only find boredom and disgust on his face.
That was why, when he spoke, she was struck dumb.
"I'm impressed." he breathed, chuckling immediately afterwards.
Nesta pushed herself to look at him and he stood admiring her with his mouth slightly open, as if he couldn't find the words. She felt her heart clench in her chest so tightly that she didn't know if she could survive the pain. Who knows how many times he'd tried to stop her and she'd gone on and on about windows and arches and treaties of peace.
But when she got a better look at him, stopping in front of him, Cassian looked... happy.
He let out a laugh, running a hand through his hair, and Nesta was distracted for a moment by the sway of his arms before she was brought violently back down to earth when he said, "You surprise me more and more every time, Nesta."
And the way he said her name - Ne-sta - made her toes curl.
"Why?" she managed to throw out in a weak voice.
Cassian laughed again, raising his eyebrows so high they ended under the hair on his forehead, locking his eyes to hers. "I have a degree in history and my final thesis happened to be on this very library." Nesta felt the ground open up beneath her feet and hoped it swallowed her alive. "I came out of university with top marks and various accolades for finishing my studies on time and you, dreadful creature that you are, have just taught me at least three new things about this place."
His gaze was so intense that Nesta had to lower her head to hide the satisfied and surprised smirk that popped up on her lips.
"You're amazing." huffed Cassian, "Perfect in every way."
She shrugged.
"Although," he clicked his tongue against his palate, "You made a mistake."
Nesta looked up at him, frowning, "Oh, yeah?"
Cassian nodded, smirking fiercely, "Why don't you turn around and admire the palace, and once we're inside, I'll explain what it is?"
She must have been so lost in her chatter that she hadn't noticed that they had arrived in the large entrance forecourt, because when she turned, her back to Cassian, the building stood among the forest trees, as imposing and splendid as ever. The photos had not done it justice in the slightest and Nesta was left speechless.
Living in a country with a history going back millennia, it wasn't hard to stumble upon historic streets with old buildings and monuments, but this was completely different.
She was still admiring the way the stone around the windows had been carved to look like trees trying to get into the building when she felt something settle on the small of her back. A hand.
Nesta stiffened slightly, before closing her eyes and relaxing.
Cassian must have noticed her discomfort because a moment later his hand was no longer touching her.
They entered the museum part of the building in silence and Nesta paid the entrance fees, reminding him of the tea he'd offered her last Sunday and Cassian hadn't been able to argue with that.
They had just passed the doors to the first room, the smallest in the entire palace, when he leaned towards her, to the point of touching her ear with his lips.
The fact that he was whispering as if they had been in a sacred place did things to her little icy heart, "Mr. Hawthorn was not a man."
Shocked by that information, Nesta's head snapped in his direction and she realised too late that she had miscalculated the space.
Her lips brushed against his cheek, the corner of his lips, before Cassian reacted so quickly he startled her, but avoiding them both an involuntary first kiss. His sudden movement caused him to lose his balance and he reached out his hands towards her, straightening as he held on to her shoulders.
Both of them were holding their breath.
Cassian cleared his throat, shifting his gaze to the wall of books, but returning to look at her soon after, "I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, you just surprised me," she said when she had recovered. "I must have read the article wrong."
He was still watching her and shook his head, "Oh no, I don't think it's that. They only found out a few months ago that it was Georgina and not George Hawthorn. They found letters in the house of what was thought to be Hawthorn's wife. Some people think they were just friends, but anyone who has read the letters they exchanged knows full well that they were lovers. Anyone who says otherwise is either homophobic or stupid."
Nesta realised that she could have listened to this for hours on end. And so it was.
The visit continued relatively quietly, Cassian explaining every detail to her, expanding on things she already knew and when he forgot something, she would step in and have her say, commenting on every little aspect.
She'd noticed how Cassian hadn't tried to touch her anymore and how whenever someone was about to bump into her, he'd vocally warn her instead of wrapping an arm around her shoulders to move her out of their way like he had on Sunday.
The visit to the museum lasted less than expected unfortunately, because Nesta hadn't had this much fun in too long. It was becoming easier to smile at him or tease him when he said dumb things and even he seemed to finally be more at ease when he had to make jokes that smacked of him.
When they finally got to the shop, Nesta couldn't stand on her feet anymore, she just wanted to buy all the books she saw and go home and arrange them on her shelves.
"Which section do you want to see first?" she asked him, even though she had started hopping impatiently about the place.
Cassian gave her a smug look, "Why don't you go wherever you want and I'll look for the manuals for the gazebo in the meantime? That way you don't waste time keeping up with me. I'll be right there."
Nesta let out an excited squeal and ran off, hearing only the echo of laughter that shook Cassian from head to toe.
***
As Cassian flipped through the various books to find a picture of a gazebo that looked similar to the one Feyre had requested, he kept casting glances at Nesta.
Her eyes sparkled as she grabbed book after book without even reading the synopses. She was in the romance novels section, from what he could see from where he stood, but soon ended up in the classics, where she grabbed just as many books. She moved to the mystery books section, this time stopping to read the plots and putting most of them back on the shelves.
Then, surprising Cassian, she walked over to where the historical novels were and turned to face him. He bent his head to the side, raising an eyebrow to ask her what she was doing there. Nesta seemed at a loss, trying to move all the books from one arm to the other to point him to join her, but Cassian was already halfway there and when she looked back up at him and found him standing in front of her, she gave him a bright smile.
"Hello." she exclaimed.
Cassian's breath caught for a second before he too sighed a greeting.
"I was thinking," Nesta began, running her eyes over the titles in front of them, "that you could recommend something about..." she wiggled her fingers as much as she could, trying to point to the shelf, and Cassian leaned forward, cursing himself for not thinking of it sooner.
"Here," he removed the first stack of books from her arms and she sagged a little, giving him a thankful look. "I can go get a bag so you can put them all in there and you don't have to carry them like this," he said taking all the books and having her help him arrange them so they wouldn't fall out.
He smiled at her over all the books, looking down at her and she smiled back just as happily.
Hell, if she looked at him like that every time he took her to a bookstore he should do it more often.
He had just turned to go towards the entrance, where he had seen special bags for carrying books, but Nesta stopped him by putting a hand on his arm.
"Wait!" she exclaimed almost impishly.
Cassian turned his head, genuinely worried that something had happened to her in the mere seconds he had been shot. He must have moved too fast, because one of the smaller classics flew off the top of the stack and landed right in her face.
Nesta groaned at the impact and brought her hands to her face, rubbing her forehead where it hurt.
"Oh my God, are you okay?!" he asked with wide eyes. And then Nesta laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she stared at him and he visibly relaxed. "Christ, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to throw a book at you."
She waved a hand in mid-air, to let him know it was nothing, and bent down to pick up what he realised was A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. Of course Nesta was reading feminist classics.
She turned back to the books as if nothing had happened and Cassian had the urge to look for a list of all the bookstores in the world to take her to if it meant having her in such a good mood by his side, it didn't matter if she would never agree to go on a real date with him, he realised. As long as he could see her smile like that, he didn't need anything else.
"So, I was saying, before you battered me with a book-" she cast an amused glance over one shoulder at him.
He frowned, muttering, "I said sorry."
Nesta ignored him, "What do you recommend?"
Cassian blinked.
"You said you read historical novels right?" she asked, looking for confirmation, "You could recommend your favourites. But not the English or Russian classics. Or French ones. Chances are I've already read those."
Cassian was stunned. Nesta wanted advice on books. From him.
They were silent for too long as she turned around impatiently, "You lied?"
He looked surprised, "When?"
"When you said you were reading. Were you just doing it to impress me or were you serious?" she asked and maybe Cassian imagined it, but she looked disappointed.
He was quick to reply, "The Black Coat, by Neamat Imam. It's pretty recent, but set in the 1970s in Bangladesh. It's about a man who needs help and seeks it from a journalist he asks for work and one of the main themes is the famine that hit the country after it became independent. It's not my absolute favourite, but it certainly gives you something to think about."
Nesta nodded, searching through the titles and finding it almost immediately, "Anything else?"
Cassian felt his neck heat up and coughed a little before resuming speaking. "The Long Ships by Frans G. Bengtsson. Set in the tenth century, it's about a Viking who is called Red because of his hair and focuses on the European political outlook in the late Viking Age. Again, it's not as good as the historical classics, but it's nice and shows a way of life that we're definitely not used to. It's different."
After looking for a few minutes, Nesta gave up reading and turned to him, crossing her arms. She tilted her head to the side, watching him closely, "What's your favourite book?"
Cassian shrugged, settling the books against his chest, "I think at the moment it's The King Must Die by Mary Renault. But I change my mind every month when I find something more interesting or captivating."
She nodded thoughtfully, "I'll take that one then."
And Cassian wished he could change the title immediately because... what if she didn't like it? Or if she thought it was a stupid book? What would she think of him then?
But Nesta had already found a copy a few shelves down and there was no turning back.
He could counterattack, though, "What about yours? You're not going to give me any advice on feminist classics or blatantly trashy romance novels?"
Nesta opened her mouth wide, looking outraged as she placed the latest addition on the pile, settling the book under her chin, "How can you say they're trashy if you don't even know what they're about?"
Cassian chuckled, "On the cover of You Came," he said as he gave her a sly look, "there's something called a 'spicymeter'. How am I supposed to take you seriously?"
Nesta blushed, "I read erotic novels, so what? I have to keep myself busy in my spare time somehow."
And then he challenged her, "Get me the hottest book you've ever read," he said in a joking tone, "I'll go get the bag in the meantime."
She had already left for the section when he had an idea that would surely doom him depending on how Nesta would react.
He walked up to the cashier's desk, making sure she didn't notice, and begging the clerk behind the counter to be quick, paid for all her books, gently placing them back in the bags.
When he reached her again, she seemed not to have noticed anything.
"'So, what did you get me? Ride Me? Fucked You Good? Last Night I Gave You A Thousand Orgasms?" he teased her with an annoyed grin on his lips.
Nesta gave him a fiery glance before noticing the bags, quite different from those you put the things you wanna buy in, and closed her mouth tightly. She frowned and looked at them for so long before speaking that Cassian began to feel self-conscious.
"You paid for my books?" she whispered, looking at him.
He nodded.
"It's not a date, Cassian," she reminded him for the umpteenth time.
"I know, but-"
"So why would you pay for things that are mine?"
He couldn't read her. She wasn't hinting at anything.
She didn't look angry but she didn't look impressed or grateful either.
Cassian placed the bags on the ground between them and Nesta followed his every movement with her eyes.
He ran a hand through his hair, sighing, "My adoptive family is filthy rich. I have a trust fund that I never get to spend on things I really want to do, the only way I get to use it is by giving gifts to my friends, so just accept these as my first gift - friend to friend - and call it a day."
Nesta continued to be impassive as she kept her eyes fixed on the books.
Perhaps he had gone too far. After all, she had taken more than a hundred and fifty euros worth of stuff, but he really didn't mind.
He was about to apologise, tell her she could give the money back if it made her feel better. Cassian would find a way to spend it back on her at other times anyway.
Then she raised her head, handing him two books with hilarious covers to say the least, "These two have storylines full of plot twists. You won't be able to put them down, but don't expect big epic battles or Viking warriors. It's just two college kids trying to survive in the modern world while finding solace in each other."
He didn't even have time to thank her that she was already across the room and waiting in line so she could pay them.
He scoffed, shaking his head.
"I guess you'll be paying for these two," he said as he caught up with her.
Nesta didn't even look at him, pulling out her wallet, "A gift from a friend to a friend."
As they walked back to the car, Cassian offered to carry the bags, but she didn't want to hear one more word so they had managed to compromise and had split the load equally.
They'd been on the road for about thirty minutes now and Nesta had gone through every book he'd bought her, talking about all the previous works by the authors she was holding in her hand at the moment.
Cassian could have died like that. Happy, relaxed, listening to the plots of those dirty books with no moral lessons to teach the reader, just pure entertainment.
He wondered at that moment if he would make it through the first few chapters of the books she had offered him and let out a heavy breath through his nose as he turned right towards the coast.
Nesta looked at him wide-eyed, stopping her rant about the headmaster's son getting the occasional model student to fall in love with him. She brought a hand to her mouth, "Oh dear, sorry, I'm boring you. I'm sorry."
He gave her a confused look ready to tell her she didn't have to apologise, but she continued.
"Sometimes I do and I don't even realize it. And I realize they're not challenging plots where you have to apply some hidden lobe of the brain to understand them, but they distract me from everyday problems, you know? It's fun to be able to unplug a few hours after I get home from work and-"
"Jesus, Nesta, stop!" he laughed, placing a hand on her thigh. She sighed. "You don't have to apologise. Not when you're so excited about something." he looked at her slyly, offering her a reassuring smile, "In fact, I'm glad you're talking so much today. Normally I have to pull the words out of your mouth."
She blushed slightly and then grew sullen soon after, sitting up straighter, "This isn't the way to Velaris, where are we going?"
Cassian didn't answer.
"You're taking me into the woods aren't you?"
"We literally just came out of a forest."
She ignored him.
"I knew it. You're a serial killer."
"Nes-"
"You're a little dense though. Why would you spend so much on someone if you're going to murder them?"
He decided to ignore her, chuckling, "I'm taking you to the beach."
"Why?" she asked, somewhat unconvinced.
Cassian shrugged, "I wanted to see the sunset."
"You didn't ask."
He sighed, gripping the steering wheel, "Okay," he whispered, then louder, "You want to go to the beach and watch the sunset?"
She nodded in assent and then continued to read the plots aloud.
And Cassian could have sworn he was in heaven.
***
Nesta gathered more sand, making a small ball out of it and placing it on the top of one of the towers she had made so far.
"Where did you learn to make such good sandcastles?" asked Cassian suddenly from behind her, startling her.
She jumped in the air, turning to face him and noticing the satisfied smile on his face for having taken her by surprise.
Nesta didn't answer him immediately, but allowed herself to admire him a bit.
Since they had arrived at the beach, they had taken off their shoes and were now both barefoot and then Cassian had bent down and started to roll his trousers around his ankles, offering to do it to her jeans as well, but Nesta had refused. She had sat down, looking at the sea for a while, while he walked along the shore and collected stones and shells.
When he had come back to her and shown them to her, asking her to make a sandcastle, she had laughed at first, but faced with his serious expression, she had been unable to do anything but get up and roll up her sleeves, moving to where the sand was a little more workable.
She looked away from that heavenly vision and made another ball, placing it next to the one she had just made. "When I was little my mum never let me do these, she said I'd get too much sun and forced me and Elain to stay under the umbrella all day," she replied truthfully, remembering the cruel bite of jealousy watching the children on the shore.
"And Feyre?"
Cassian had joined her, kneeling beside her and had begun to place the shells so that they served as windows to the towers.
Nesta sighed, "Feyre was still too little when Mini Me wanted to build sandcastles, but as soon as I became 'too old to play like a kid'," she gave him a knowing look, mimicking her mother's voice, "and Feyre started to figure out she was an actual being, Mama let her do whatever she wanted. Even stand in the sun for hours on end." she shrugged. "Whether it was out of indifference or love, I never understood."
Cassian had been silent the whole time and now he watched her, hands on his thighs as he waited for her to give him more. For her to tell him another little piece of her soul.
So she offered him a forced smile, "So to answer your question, it's all pent-up creativity."
"Well, you're very good at it," he granted her. "I can imagine what you could have done if your mother hadn't been so strict."
Well, yeah.
"What about you?" she asked him.
"What about me?"
"Did you go to the beach a lot?"
Cassian smiled weakly, getting up and heading towards the water to collect more shells. He nodded a couple of times and then said, "My mum and I loved coming to the beach and she loved making castles. And she always put so many 'windows' on the towers-"
Nesta turned to look at their work, realising how many shells he had placed on the piles of sand. She smiled softly, covering her eyes from the sun and watching him walk towards her.
"We always came when she was free from work."
A charged silence settled between them until Cassian chuckled, drawing her attention, "What?"
"You said this wasn't a date. And that we're just friends. Right?"
Shifting her gaze to him, she noticed how he kept his hands hidden behind his back and the mischievous glint in his eyes didn't reassure her at all. Slowly she stood up, nodding.
"So, I must treat you as I would treat my friends. Correct?"
"Cassian, I swear to god that-"
She didn't have time to finish her sentence that something wet and sticky landed in her face with a resounding splash, making her jump back.
She took a deep breath and immediately regretted it when a strong smell of stale water and seaweed flooded her nostrils.
When she opened her eyes again, wiping the seaweed from her face, Cassian was doubled over in laughter.
She didn't even give him time to get up when she started to run towards him - to do what, she had no idea - but he started to run away too and soon they were chasing each other all around the beach, not noticing the sweet looks they were getting from the people around them.
At that moment, Nesta was running so fast that she could feel the wind in her hair and the smell and sound of the sea, together with the laughter of the man who was chasing her, mixed with her own and the continuous tapping of her feet on the sand, made her feel alive.
She felt Cassian come closer every few metres until two strong arms wrapped around her waist and she was pulled up and spun around in the air.
A surprised yelp escaped her as Cassian laughed in her ear, "Gotcha!"
It wasn't until he stopped spinning with her in his arms that they realised the position they were in and immediately broke away, laughing embarrassed.
Nesta turned to face him, her face red from running and her breathing laboured. He was in no better condition. His hair was pointing in all directions and his sculpted chest was rising and falling with haste under the black fabric of his shirt.
He looked away first, scratching the back of his neck and fixing his eyes on the sunset, and offered her his arm as they returned to where they had left theirs things unattended.
Nesta shook her head, laughing one last time and started to run, " Last to reach the castle is stupid!"
Cassian burst out laughing, but he caught up to her in the blink of an eye and they both knew that she had doomed herself to lose. That's why, when he fell tripping over his feet, Nesta knew he had done it on purpose.
She helped him up and they sat back as in silence they watched the sun go down, disappearing past the horizon and the blending lights of the sky created a breathtaking spectacle.
Nesta couldn't have noticed, too busy admiring the clouds, but Cassian had been watching her the whole time, trying to understand how something as sombre and secretive as her could look so bright just by being.
The journey back was silent, but this time the silence was not awkward. They both welcomed it with open arms, a new awareness that there was no need for it to be filled with chatter and that gave Nesta the opportunity to close her eyes for a moment and doze off.
When the car stopped outside her flat, Nesta was surprised to find that she didn't want to get out.
She turned to Cassian after she had gathered her things and nodded, "I had fun today."
He gave her a genuine smile, looking surprised, "Me too."
And then she permanently shocked him, adding, "I'm not working on Saturday, we could do it again. Changing location."
He blinked once. Twice. Then he nodded, "Sure."
He didn't seem to want to say anything more, so Nesta waved goodbye to him and then got out, not waiting for an answer from him.
Cassian stood motionless in the car park of her flat for another half hour, trying to figure out what had just happened, and when the reality of things finally dawned on him, he smiled, "Fuck yeah."
acotar tag list (if you wanna be added or removed just dm me or send me an ask)
@sjm-things @kris10maas @awesomelena555 @sannelovesreading @queenamydien-of-nargothrond @ireallyshouldsleeprn @messyhairday-me @ncssian @observationanxioustheorist @my-fan-side @booksstorm @maastrash @sayosdreams @thedarkdemigod @courtofjurdan @thewayshedreamed @hellasblessed @nahthanks @archeron-queens-blog @sleeping-and-books @bri-loves-sunflowers @thegoddessofyou @ghostlyrose2 @claralady @queenestarcheron @oop-theregoesgravity @firebirdofscythia @anne-reads @fantastypenguins @laylaameer01 @thalia-2-rose @darkshadowqueensrule @bookstantrash @lanyjoy-13 @the-regal-warrior @lordof-bloodshed @dealingdifferentdevils @swankii-art-teacher @rowaelinismyotp
237 notes
·
View notes
Text
ᴍɪɴᴇ | ʏᴏᴏɴɢɪ ғᴛ sᴇᴏᴋᴊɪɴ
yoongi/reader ft seokjin | s | 18+ | actor!au | oneshot
wordcount: 5.4K
requested: yes
warnings: Dom!Yoongi, Sub!fem reader, hair pulling, teasing, fingering, dirty talk, pussy eating, throat fucking, possessive!Yoongi, degradation, praising, finger sucking, spanking, choking
— summary: you have to kiss seokjin in a drama, that you star in for the next episode of their reality tv show run bts! yoongi becomes possessive of his girl. So he reacts by showing that you are his, that is by making Seokjin watch him fuck you.
note: yeah.. this is just filled with filth sksksk
ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍ.ʟɪsᴛ | ʙᴛs ᴍ.ʟɪsᴛ
© koos-euphoria 2021. Do not repost, modify or translate.
The camera lens zooms into yours and Seokjin’s face, preparing to shoot. Your eyes running over the script in a hurry to memorise your next lines for the scene that’s about to happen. You feel a makeup sponge bounce on your cheeks delicately as the makeup artist touches up the subtle blush that she’s created. “Okay guys, we be starting the last scene for this run episode in a minute!” The director calls from behind the set. The rest of the boys crowding silently around him wanting to witness the ‘best scene in the whole script’ that is quoted from the director himself. You and Seokjin both give your scripts to one of the staff team as you get in your places, giving one another a small smile before getting into your characters. “Okay guys, in three.. two... one.. ACTION!” The director shouts and you hear a click for somewhere behind the camera.
Rain begins to pour down on both of you as you stare at the man in front of you. “You can’t just leave me y/n, not like this. I need you.” Seokjin stammers, his voice unstable, as he tries to hold back the need to cry. “If you needed me, then I wouldn’t of just seen you with her!” You shout back, your fists clenching by your side as the image that you saw not even five minutes before. The imagine of Seokjin smiling with his ex, as she holds flowers in her hands enters your mind. Your eyes fall shut, as if attempting to erase the picture, the sight of it bringing you so much pain. Oh how it hurts your heart. “It wasn’t what you think! Please... y/n just, let me explain.” Seokjin begs, no longer being able to hold back his sadness, tears freely flowing down his pretty face. As you take deep breath, your own tears begin to fall, one after another. Slowly opening your eyes, you look up at him and take another deep breath. God, you hate seeing him cry. “You have two minutes.” You tell him gently, though it wasn’t a whisper, it is all you could manage, however, your voice to unstable for anything more. Seokjin’s eyes widen slightly, before he scrambles for his words, stuttering. “I b-bumped into her, she already had t-those flowers, she just got back from seeing her boyfriend. Those were not from me, I’d...” Seokjin pauses to take a deep breath, clenching his fists in an attempt to steady his trembling hands. “I don’t love her y/n, she’s just.. she’s not the one I want. Or who I want to be with. That person, she is just someone I used to know.” Seokjin explains, eyes frantically looking everywhere he can see. Scanning across your face, searching for any negative reaction from you. You space out as you take in his words, eyebrows coming into a frown, lips pouting as you become confused. “You.. you don’t love her?” You question, quietly, as you take a small step forward, closer to Seokjin, your hands still clenched by your sides, cautious. Automatically Seokjin erratically shakes his head from side to side, taking his own step closer to you, so close his breath fans over your face, creating some sort of heat that dances along your cheeks. His hand comes up to gently caress your cheek, thumb running along the soft skin. “No. I don’t. She’s not the one I love.” He confirms, your eyes flicker between his eyes and lips. The rain continues to pour down on the pair of you, even as the tears cease, a chill running down your spine as your clothes begin to soak through. Seokjin’s hair sticks to his forehead, as his eyes copy yours, flickering across your face. “Then who?” You whisper, raising a hand to lay on his chest, your breath is felt on Seokjin’s lips and you could almost hear the hitch in his breath. “You. It’s always been you.” He whispers back. Right before he finally closes the gap between you, his free arm slithering around your waist to pull your body against his own. His pillowy soft lips pressing against yours. The kiss full of raw passion. The emotion of pure love. It steals your breath away. The kiss only lasted for about 6 seconds, but it almost felt like a whole minute. Seokjin pulls away first, out of breath, you both pant as he presses his wet forehead on your own, looking into your eyes, neither of you are able to hold back the goofy smiles that spread across your faces. “I love you too.” You whisper to Seokjin.
“and CUT! Well done guys that was great!” The director praises you both enthusiastically, arms wide before he gives you a pat on the back once he’s in front of you. “Thanks!” Seokjin and you both beam. The boys were quick to steal the pair of you away as the director runs to talk to one of the other staff members. “Damn, I was about to cry myself!” Hoseok exclaims as he wipes away a fake tear from his cheek. “Right? It was so beautiful!” Jungkook’s quick to agree with his Hyung, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly. “I wanna kiss y/n! You’re lucky Hyung!” Jimin winks at you, a smirk playing on his full lips, making your cheeks flush pink. “Oh me too!” Taehyung chimes in, nodding his head, his dark hair flopping in front of his eyes. “You did great guys.” Namjoon smiles, dimples popping out on his cheeks, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He smiles again as he ignores the other boys comments. You look over at Yoongi, waiting to hear what he thinks, but you find him practically sending Jin to an early grave. The elder coughs awkwardly, windshield like laugh floods the room. “C’mon guys, let get you changed before you catch a cold.” A female staff cheers, you see Jin physically relax as she begins pushing you both away from the boys and towards the changing rooms. Side by side, you and Seokjin joke on the way there, before splitting apart to go into different rooms so you can get changed.
As you take a step out the door, humming happily to yourself freshly changed into dry clothes, you bump into something sturdy, catching you off guard. “Oh!” You shout in fright, not expecting anyone to be there. Your head tilts up to find Yoongi staring harshly back down at you, arms crossed over his chest. Your eyebrows scrunch up worriedly. “Is everything okay Yoongs?” You ask, your hand moving to gently brush the stray strand of hair that is covering his beautiful dark eyes. You see his features soften slightly, a small pout appearing. Cute. “Mmm.” He hums absentmindedly, rolling his eyes, before he grips onto your wrist in time for it to be slowly pulling away. “Come.” He demands, his voice deep and raspy, the harsh look back on his face before he is turning away from you and walking down the long corridor, leaving no room for you to argue.
You practically jog to keep up with a pissed off Yoongi, or what you’re guessing is a pissed off Yoongi, if the clenched jaw and dark eyes are anything to go by. The grip that he has on your wrist isn’t tight but it is enough to have your heart racing inside your chest, and trip over your own two feet. Yoongi pulls you away from the changing room you were just in and past many doors that you don’t have the chance of even looking at, room by room going past you both like a blur. Yoongi comes to a sudden halt, making you awkwardly face plant into his back. “Where are we going Yoongi?” You ask, your voice soft and delicate to his ears, your hand that isn’t occupied in his grasp moves to gently lay on the middle of his back, fingers tips spread apart, pushing lightly to create a bit of distance between you, as you step backwards. His head is turns towards you without a second thought, his chest tightening at how cute you look. Eyes wide like a little dear caught in headlights with a faint blush dusting along the apples of your cheeks, but still. It doesn’t change anything. He’s still pissed. As the quick flicker of the soft emotions appeared, they are gone just as fast. His dark eyes look down at you, almost scarily, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. The irises expanding, now almost pitch black of colour are practically sending you six feet underground, right then and there. You curse to yourself inside your head as your heartbeat quickens, from nervousness and excitement, but also worry. What’s gotten him so mad?
Moving his whole body, he faces you completely now, his free hand that isn’t wrapped around your wrist, moves to grip your chin, fingers curling around the feature forcing you to look directly at him. “Did you enjoy that kiss?” Yoongi asks, voice low, raspy. It sends a chill down your spine as he completely ignores your question. Your eyes widen as your lips part at the sudden question. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it, who wouldn’t enjoy kissing the worldwide handsome Jin? Obviously someone who isn’t sane. Waiting impatiently, Yoongi’s tongue comes into your view as the wet muscle licks the corner of his mouth, making your thighs clench involuntary. Noticing the subtle motion, the corner of Yoongi’s mouth twitches slightly as if holding back a smirk. He runs his tongue along the rest of his plush bottom lip, his eyes raking over your body top to bottom, checking you out. His bottom lip now glistening with saliva before a deep growl rumbles from the man in front of you. His left eyebrow raises once you move your eyes back into his. “Y-yes, I did.” You stutter, your fingers twitching as you fidget nervously, already knowing he’s not gonna like your answer. Your cheeks flush red as you watch Yoongi’s eyes turn even darker, narrowing at you. Whizzing back around after dropping his grip on your chin, Yoongi grasps the door handle with his now free hand, almost aggressively, proceeding to push the wooden door open after a loud click echos through the empty hallway. Moving himself into the room, his fingers instantly find the light switch, flicking it so the room is suddenly bright, almost blindingly so. A swift tug to your wrist, is all that Yoongi gives you to have you stumbling into his chest, grasping the soft material of his shirt between your fingers, as he pushes the door shut behind you.
Before you even have the time to remove your hands from him and flatten the new crinkles that you’ve made in Yoongi’s shirt, he looks down at you, one hand coming under your chin again, gripping it as he silently pulls you up straight. You suddenly gasp as you feel your back roughly hitting the door behind you. His other hand suddenly leaves your wrist and finds its way in your hair gripping at the roots. The feeling has your pussy clenching, a whimper falling from your parted lips. Yoongi ducks his head down causing your breath to catch in your throat. It was almost overwhelming how little he’s doing with how much it’s affecting you. The feeling of Yoongi’s lips trailing along your exposed collarbone renders you speechless, as his warm breath ghosts along the skin forcing goosebumps to rise, it makes him smirk. Oh how he loves just how easy it is to get reactions from you. So sensitive. Humming, he trails his feather-light touches of his lips along your neck, stopping once he reaches the part just below your ear as that has your fingers tightening in his shirt, crumpling it further. His teeth nip at the flesh and you keen, moaning, your knees buckle weakly. Yoongi chuckles darkly as he licks and kisses the sensitive spot before he decides to mark it, sucking on the skin. When he pulls away you see him slightly nod in approval, when he sees the fresh purple colour it’s turned to. Ducking back down he nips again, this time at your lobe, and your eyes instinctively shut, lashes tickling the tops of your cheeks as they flutter. You can feel the material of your underwear sticking your folds, as you get more worked up at Yoongi’s hot mouth. Yoongi gives a small tug on your roots, making you mewl. “Look at you. So responsive and I’ve barely even done anything.” Another tug to your roots, this time harsher as he forces your head back, making it slightly thud against the door, but you couldn’t care less as the pain only adds fuel to the throbbing between your legs. Your hole clenching, feeling far too empty. You whimper, attempting you grind on something, your eyes glazing over as you look up at Yoongi, to find him darkly staring back at you, a Sultry smirk on his lips, like he can read just how desperate you’re becoming by the second, how needy you are to have him. “I bet you’re soaking, hm?” Yoongi asks rhetorically.
Yoongi doesn’t need an answer, as the hand that was wrapped under your chin moves south, the tips of his fingers brushing past the tops your breasts on the way down, continuing until he reached the inside of your bare thigh. Two fingers then start trailing upwards, slowly, his feather light touch, torturing you. “Yoongi p-please.” You beg, and oh how sweet you sound. It makes Yoongi cock twitch inside his tight jeans. His lip is captured between his teeth, as he continues the slow pace. “Please what, what do you want Kitten?” He asks huskily. Kitten, fuck. That name effects you more than you ever thought it would, especially when it’s mixed with his deep voice. It makes your cunt drip. His fingers finally reach the hem of your skirt, playing with the material as his smirk deepens. Your eyebrows furrow, very frustrated. “Need y-your fingers, p-please, f-fuck need it so bad.” You beg again, stuttering over your words, unable to hold back the slight whine as his finger slips under the hem of your skirt, to continue the trail, his pace still slow. “My fingers? Where exactly do you need my fingers huh?” Yoongi teases, and god does it drive you crazy. Your knees begins to wobble in want, the grip on his shirt becoming even tighter as you cry out in frustration. “My p-pussy!” Yoongi chuckles at this as his lips attach onto your own, the taste of him flooding your senses. It makes you all the more needier for him as you feel his tongue lick at your lip, wanting entrance, which you give him, his tongue instantly moving to wrestle with your own. He swallows the moan that leaves you mouth as you finally feel his long fingers on your underwear. He groans, pulling away with your lip between his teeth, letting go after a second. “Fuck your so wet, Kitten.” His own eyebrows furrow, licking his lips, the taste of your mouth still there. “P-please.” You whisper, sliding your hands that sits in Yoongi’s shirt up and into his dark hair, pulling him back down to your mouth.
Yoongi wastes no time now, as he moves the lace material of your underwear to the side, his two fingers automatically running through your slick folds. Circling your hole, he collects your juices before running them up to your clit, circling the bud. Pleasure flows through your veins as you part from his mouth, gasping. “Fuck!” You moan, and the grip on your hair disappears as Yoongi’s falling to his knees in a blink of an eye. His eyes hungry, taking in your needy cunt. Using his free hand he moves your skirt so it’s bunched around your stomach, finding it in the way as he groans out. “Look at you. Who made you this wet hm?” He asks, as he leans forward his breath hitting the soft skin just above your sensitive clit. “You, Yoongi.” You answer him breathlessly, and that’s all he needed to hear for his digits to slide down to your hole, and his mouth to attach onto your clit. A loud whine leaves your mouth when his tongue first flicks on the little nub, your head banging against the door again, this time harder. His fingers slowly push their way past you tight hole, your mouth falling open in a silent moan as you feel the burning pleasure of being stretched open. Your fingers tangle through the soft strands of Yoongi’s hair, tugging lightly, forcing a deep groan to be released from him below. His two fingers curl deliciously on the spongey spot buried deep inside your cunt, over and over. It has your toes curling and eyes rolling back. Your mouth releasing noice you’ve never even made before. “Mmm that’s it, Kitten, are you gonna cum? Your clenching around my fingers so tight.” Yoongi pulls slightly away from your pussy panting, trying to catch his breath, a dark glimmer of mischief shines in his eyes. You don’t manage to pick up on it though, your heads to clouded with lust and the desperate need to cum. “P-please Yoongi, I’m so close.” You whine, tugging on his hair, pulling him back to your aching cunt. You’re so close, just a second longer and you’ll be there, floating in ecstasy. Your legs begin to shake and your pussy tightens around his fingers like a vice, making Yoongi groan in want and just as you’re about to step into that sweet release, Yoongi pulls his whole body away from you, your cunt empty and your painfully close orgasm fades into nothing.
“W-what? No, I was so close!” You practically sob, tears filling your eyes. Yoongi stands up and moves so close to you, toes touching but nothing else. Capturing your eyes, he lifts his hands up, the two fingers that were inside your cunt, taps your bottom lip before sliding along the red flesh. “Open.” Yoongi demands. You listen instantly stuck in some sort of lust filled trace. Yoongi hums to himself, loving how obedient you are as he pushes his digits between your lips. The taste of yourself fills your senses and you couldn’t hold back the small whimper building up inside you. “Suck. Thaaats a good girl.” He praises you as you hallow your cheeks, bobbing your head on his fingers, imagining to yourself that it’s something else entirely. Yoongi swallows as the same image flash his mind. The thought of your lips wrapped around his fat cock has it twitching. Just as he opens his mouth to tell you to get on your knees. There’s a knock at the door. “Yoongi-ah, are you in there? Have you seen Y/n? She’s missing.” Seokjin shouts. Looking at Yoongi, he seems to be caught in his thoughts so just as you’re about to answer for him his hand that you were sucking on pulls out from between your lips and covers your mouth, keeping you quiet. His dark eyes are on you again, almost daring you to speak. With his other hand gripping your arm, he moves you both away from the door, and once he’s in a place he likes his hand slides up your arm, tickling the skin until he reaches your shoulder. He presses you down and you fall loudly onto your knees, hissing at the small pain. “Yoongi-ah?” Jin shouts again, knocking. Yoongi looks down at you, smirking as he begins to unbuckle his belt and unzip the zipper of his jeans. Only pulling his boxers down enough to reveal his very hard cock.
You almost choke at the sight of him, not only is he long, but he’s thick, so thick. It makes you wonder how the fuck are you gonna even fit that inside you. Yoongi still smirking grasps his cock in one hand, running his hand up and down along his shaft. A drop of dripping from the tip and you lick your lip hungrily. This earns a chuckle from Yoongi. “Wanna suck my cock, Kitten?” He asks, his head tilting slightly to the side, and you nod so fast, needy. “Open up then.” He says as he taps the tip on your mouth as if to enticed you further. Obeying, you open up and Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to slide his cock inside right to the hilt, in one swift thrust, the salty taste of his precum coating your tongue in the process. You feel a hand in you hair holding you still as your nose brushes the skin above. Yoongi moans deeply as his head falls back, his eyes screwed shut. Another knock at the door brings his attention back to you, the same mischievous glint in his eyes. This time you see it, your eyes widening in wonder of what he’s about to do. The free hand that isn’t tangled in your hair moves to your cheek caressing it gently, thumb running along your cheek bone almost lovingly. It makes your heart sore. “Come in.” Yoongi’s raspy voice echos and it makes you jump as it practically slices through the almost silent room, other than the sound of your gags from his cock sitting snuggly inside your throat.
You can almost feel the stare that Seokjin is giving on the side of your face, and as you go to look as him, Yoongi growls out, his loving grip turning harsh on your jaw, forcing you to stay looking at him. “Eyes on me. It’s my cock down your throat. Not his.” Yoongi spits. His head looks back at his elder, smirking. “Ah, Hyung, how nice of you to join us. Why don’t you take a seat, hm?” His head tilts, dark hair moving with the action. When you think Seokjin was gonna turn around and leave, he actually walks closer taking the seat at the side of you both, one leg crossing over the other wordlessly. Yoongi’s head turns back to you, his cock twitching, almost like he forgot for a second that is was between your spit covered lips. “Now, where were we Kitten, hm?” He chuckles, pulling his hips out slightly before pushing back in, repeating the motion over and over, a steady rhythm of his hips, as he fucks your throat. “Such a good girl for me, letting me use your throat. My perfect little fuck doll.” Yoongi praises, his grip tightening in your hair in time with his last sentence. “So pretty with your lips around my fat cock, Kitten.” Your cunt clenches around nothing as you whine, though it sounds nothing like a whine from the way Yoongi started thrusting fast making you gag and choke around him. “Your throat’s so tight, almost want to cum down it.” He reveals, and you moan in approval, the thought of drinking Yoongi’s cum sounds more than appetising. “Oh you want that huh? Want to drink my cum, like a little cumslut huh?” Yoongi asks, and you try to nod your head as best as you could with your mouth stuffed. It makes Yoongi chuckle, mockingly. “Hm as much as I would like that, I’m making Seokjin hyung watch me take what’s mine. So, I’m cuming no where but inside that tight little cunt of yours.” He tells you. Oh what a filthy mouth he has, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it. If your dripping cunt is anything to go by and the way it’s starting to run down the tops of your thighs. You almost forgot that Seokjin was even there, as you see him fidget from the corner of your eyes. But before you could even give him the slightest attention Yoongi pulls his cock from your mouth, gripping your arm, as he pulls you up from your knees to stand. Turning you around so your back is towards him he runs one hand up your spine, stopping once he reaches between your shoulder blades. Applying slight pressure he pushes you down so your top half is leaning on a table. A table that you didn’t even realise was there, as your body jerks from the cold wood.
Yoongi kicks your feet apart as he grasps the material of your underwear, pulling it to the side again. You groan when you feel his cock touch your folds lightly, making him chuckle. “Hm so excited for cock aren’t you, Kitten?” He asks teasingly, and you nod your head, but your lack of words makes Yoongi tut, bringing his hand back before swatting your ass cheek, quick and hard. Your whole body jumps forward, hipbone digging into the edge of the table, you gasp at the sting, the pain only adding to the arousal between your legs. “Words, Kitten. Use them.” He demands, and you obey, fast, so needy, that you whine lightly, you don’t even care as Seokjin chuckles from beside you. “Yes, fuck yes, want your cock.” Yoongi hums to himself, wrapping his hand around his girth he teases the head along your folds, tapping your clit twice with the tip before aligning his cock to your awaiting hole. “Yeah? Want my cock?” He asks again. “Hm, I can feel you clenching around nothing, greedy girl.” He says, while spanking your ass twice. “Beg for my cock. Show Jin how pretty you sound when you beg for me.” Yoongi tells you.
You don’t even wait as words spill from your mouth, not even holding back forgetting about Jin’s obvious presence at the side of you. “Please Yoongi, please, want it bad, want you. Please.” Tears spring to the corners of your eyes, so desperate to feel him buried inside your cunt. You can tell that Yoongi is loving every second and every whimper or whine that leaves your mouth. All for him. A gasp leaves your lips as Yoongi pushes the tip of his cock in your cunt, the blissful burning stretch of the tip makes you choke on your saliva. “Fuck so tight.” Yoongi curses through clenched teeth, pushing in his cock further, a hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise as the other wraps around your throat. Not choking you but just the feeling of it being there is enough to have adrenaline running through your veins excitedly. As his hips are flush against your plump ass cheeks, you both groan loudly In unison. The feeling of your cunt walls hugging Yoongi’s fat cock so nicely, forces him to take his bottom lip between his teeth. Your legs are already shaking at how good he feels inside you, so full, and you get impatient, wriggling your hips in effort to make him move and fuck you dumb. “Ah ah. Naughty girl.” Yoongi says disapprovingly, his hand tightening around your throat slightly.
He begins to pull his cock slowly out of you until nothing but the tip is inside you once again. “Tell Seokjin you're mine.” Yoongi growls, his teeth clenched, and you keen, arching your back, “I’m yours, Yoongi.” You moan breathily, and that’s when Yoongi pushes his cock back in. Hard. Knocking all the air out of your lungs. “Yeah. All mine.” Yoongi states, cockily, his eyes flicking to his Hyung for a split second. Picking up a fast pace, controlling it so his cock reaches deep inside you, his tip kissing that spot that has your toes curling and you eyes rolling back. His hand releases his grip on your neck, sliding up until he reaches your jaw. Leaning his body over you, his chest against your back. He forces your head to face Seokjin, taking in the sight of him. Man spreading, cheeks flushes and his hands rub at his cloth covers cock. A delicious sight. You feel Yoongi’s breath hit the side of your face, as he growls out. “Mine.” Taking your lobe between his teeth, you whimper. “Tell him.” Yoongi grits, fucking into your cunt harder, as his other hand works his way around over your tummy and between your thighs, teasing your clit. “Go on.” He demands, letting go of your jaw he stands back up, both hands gripping your waist fucking into you. You gasp for breath desperately trying to grasp onto something, anything, until they land on the edge of the table. “I’m yours, fuck.” You whine, your mouth dropping open as your brows pinch together. Your high, so close once again.
Your eyes widen however as Yoongi pulls out, turning you over and lifts your ass up onto the table. Whining at being edged once again, Yoongi grips your thighs, spreading them before he lets go of one to help push his cock back inside your tight, leaking hole. “Oh-” You moan out, falling back onto your elbows as Yoongi picks up where he stopped, his hand going back to your thigh not wasting any time as he begins his same pace. “Hm, so pretty when my cocks splitting your little cunt open, Kitten.” Yoongi praises. “Isn’t she Hyung?” You hear a small, breathy ‘yes’ leave Seokjin’s bitten lips. You keen at the praise, as your head falls back. “C-close!” You shout, as you force your head back up to look into Yoongi’s eyes, your own being wide. “Hm, I can tell, squeezing my fat cock so good.” Yoongi moans, giving you one harsh thrust as if to emphasise his words. “Mmm love your fat cock.” You babble mindlessly, earning a chuckle from Yoongi, though his own eyebrows pinch together and his tongue licks the corner of his mouth. Sweat dripping down his temples as his hair sticks to him. You looking like a similar picture. The feeling of his cock twitching inside is enough to show he too is close. “I know, wanna feel you cum on my fat cock right now though, baby.” He says, as he slides his hand further up your thigh until he’s rubbing at your clit in circles. “Be a good girl and cum for me.” He purrs, leaning over your frame, his body encasing your own. Your body stiffens as you feel euphoria run through you. Your vision turning white as you cum, hard. “F-fuck! Baby, where do you want my cum?” Yoongi gasps, your cunt like a vice around his girth. “Inside, god, want it inside please.” You cry out. “Shit!” Yoongi curses, his mouth fits over yours as he kisses you, all tongue and teeth. As spurts of his cum hit your walls coating them.
The after glow of your orgasms wash over you as you continue to kiss, Yoongi’s arms wrapping around your frame holding you against him as you wrap your arms around his neck. Pulling away from you with a final peck, Yoongi flashes a gummy smile, running a hand along your spine comfortingly. “Are you done?” Seokjin’s strained voice is heard properly for the first time since he has entered the room and you immediately flush burying your face into Yoongi neck embarrassed. “I think you’ve made your point Yoongi.” Jin teases further, an eyebrow raises as he uses the arms of the chair to push himself up. “So, uh, yeah, I’ll be leaving, thanks for the uh, free porn show guys.” Is Seokjin’s final words before he walks vacates the room, the tips of his ears bright red. Unbothered, Yoongi just chuckles turning back to you, placing a kiss in your hair, as he breathes in your scent. “Did you mean it?” He whispers, and you pull your face away from the warmth of his neck arms falling to the table to hold your weight up, confused. “Mean what?” You ask, tilting your head, your hair falling in front of your face, just for Yoongi you brush it behind your ear softly, smiling like a lovesick puppy. “That you’re mine.” His voice surprisingly steady despite how nervous he really is. “Yeah, I’m yours Yoongs, always have been.” You whisper leaning into Yoongi’s soft touch, inwardly cooing as Yoongi’s gummy smile appears of his face once again. “Good, and uh incase you didn’t know, I’m yours y/n.” He confesses, but you giggle at him, leaning up to place your lips on his quickly, in a small kiss. “I know.” You say softly, leaning further back you properly look at yoongi’s flushed face, post sex hair, thin layer of sweat covering his skin, kiss swollen lips. A sight that has your cunt clenching, around the cock that’s still buried inside you. Grunting, Yoongi’s gummy smile quickly turns into a small smirk. “Round 2?”
Taglist 🏷 : @ramblingsofawolfgirl @maknaeronix @blue-yoongles @marinasrizzel @kgalaxy224 @jjkdayss @snowyydayys @minvaleria93 @whocaresarchives @nervouskiwi @titty-ambulance {let me know if you want added or removed}
#bts smut#bts imagine#bts oneshot#poly bts smut#poly bts imagine#poly bts oneshot#min yoongi smut#min yoongi imagine#Min Yoongi oneshot#Kim Seokjin smut#Kim Seokjin imagine#Kim Seokjin oneshot#Yoongi smut#Yoongi imagine#Yoongi oneshot#Seokjin imagine#Seokjin smut#Seokjin oneshot#Yoongi x you
497 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
le-erreur-humaine
OKAY?
machine-science-anything
Untitled
selinam1993-blog
Untitled
b3uy
𝑺✨
whimsy
たちどまる。やってみる。