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604to647 · 5 months

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Safest with You (Ch. 7 - The Third Date)

5.3K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: Din takes you to see a prize fight, and the evening does not end the way either of you expect.

Warnings: Fluff but also Angst, pet names as usual (pretty bird, baby, pretty girl, etc.), descriptions of blood splatter, mention of alcohol consumption, men (not Din) harassing reader at a bar, very poor description of boxing by a person who knows nothing about boxing (me.)

A/N: I'm...sorry about this 🫣 Our (first!) chapter with angst; oh my feelings - we will get through it together? For some levity, while I'm trying not to be too heavy handed with the Star Wars references, I did have a lot of fun plopping in some character names from The Mandalorian to make up Din's rag-tag group of mob enforcer friends. Picking a Hutt to insert was another story - I tried to pick a name that (exists and) fit into the scene, but I'm not married to it; if upon reading you think another Hutt family character's canon characteristics are more fitting, please let me know and I'll change it! Thanks and thanks as always for reading!

Series Masterlist

“Ok, hang on, I gotta let Rory into the meeting.”

The mosaic on the screen shifts, and Rory appears in a new tile, “I can’t believe it’s a Saturday and I’m taking a Zoom meeting.”

“Stoppppp. It’s for the greater good – please help me pick an outfit,” you plead with an exaggerated pout.

“You never ask for fashion advice? We’re always asking you.”

“Ok, thank you for hyping me but for real I need help. I’m going to a boxing match!? Movies and pop culture tell me that every woman there is either wearing a bandage dress or a bikini and I’m not wearing either,” you step back to show off your bed that’s cover in heaps of clothing options.

You’re nervous. Not because of anything Din’s said or done, and not even because it’s the “third date” (not as if you and Din are following any type of out-dated dating script), but because you’re stepping into Din’s world tonight. So far, you and Din have been dating in a blissful little bubble, just the two of you (and Al!), but tonight, you were going to meet the people closest to him, his people. When you had confessed your nerves to Din earlier, he had affectionately told you he was proud to be bringing you as his date tonight; you didn’t want to let him down.

In the end, you and your friends opt for a white, off the shoulder silk shirt, loosely tucked into a silver skirt. The shoulder cut-out of the shirt drapes purposefully low down your arm, revealing the entire strap and more than a little of the top of your lacy black bra chosen especially for Din. There, you think, it’s not a bikini, but it’s sexy.

Din couldn’t agree more. Your little lingerie peek-a-boo is nearly all he can think about at the restaurant and the entire cab ride over to the fight venue. A few times during dinner he might have lost his train of thought mid-sentence, teased mercilessly by that small triangle of lace and the ample curve of your breast that isn’t contained within. You blush and smirk at his barely concealed drooling. Now in the cab, Din has his arm draped around you, and you let him absentmindedly toy with the exposed strap; periodically he slips a finger or two under the strap and slides it down as far as your innocent looking white shirt will allow, then back up again. You can feel your nipples harden against the soft lace, and by the time you step out of the cab, you’re flushed and your core is already fluttering.

You take Din’s arm and walk with him towards the entrance, still somewhat nervous; Din senses your hesitancy and not used to seeing you withdrawn in any way, he pulls you aside before you get to the main doorway.

Holding you close, one hand lingering on your lower back and the other cupping your face, he gives you a long, deep kiss, meant to be soothing. Opening your eyes and you murmur, “Just one more, please”.

“One more?”

“One more minute. One more kiss. While it’s still just the two of us,” you explain, wistfully.

“Pretty bird, we don’t have to go in. Just say the word and we’ll go somewhere just you and me. It can be just the two of us for as long as you’d like,” Din gently strokes your cheek with his thumb and gazes at you with sincerity brimming in his eyes.

Reaching up, you bring Din’s face down to yours and kiss him tenderly. You want to let him know you’re okay. You’re nervous, but also somewhat excited to see this world that’s such a big part of Din’s life, and the idea that he wants to include you and introduce you to his friends is actually so touching. You nuzzle into your favourite little nook right under his jaw, and whisper, “Let’s go in.”

Din takes your hand, and holding on tightly, leads you in to the building. It’s already insanely busy inside, filled with people here for the fight; as you thread through the crowd, even in the dim lighting, you hear lots of people shouting Din’s name – waving hello, clapping him on the shoulder as they go by. Din leads you through a side door away from the bustle and takes you down a quiet side corridor; you’re about to ask where you’re going when you see some people up ahead wearing “Mando’s Gym” gear. In the center of everything, there is an older gentleman in a colourful striped sweatsuit, and a young man, who is wearing baggy grey shorts and a loosely tied warm up robe; you recognize the younger man as Din’s sparring partner from the day you visit the gym after dropping your dry cleaning off at Peli’s. Din is greeted enthusiastically by both men with big hugs; he claps the younger man on the back and introduces you, then, his voice filling with pride, brags, “Pretty bird, this is Jimmy. Best middleweight division fighter this side of the bridge. One of Mando’s best. And our tireless chief, head coach, Greef Karga, the best of the best.”

You shake their hands happily, and they in turn seem happy to meet you as well; you think you spot them giving each other a knowing look, but it was so fleeting you’re not sure. Regardless, you enthusiastically wish them luck and let them know how excited you are to be here. When he hears it’s your first fight, Greef tells you you’re in for a treat and gives you some novice spectator pointers – in particular, he tells you to watch out for a move call the “Mando Roll”, a move made famous by Din during his career. Din hypes Jimmy up with some pep talk and some light combination drills before he takes your hand to go; you wave goodbye to the two men and wish them luck one last time before asking Din, “The Mando Roll, eh? Didn’t realize I was here with a celebrity.” You grin at him proudly, and Din’s chest puffs up a little but he responds humbly, “Nah. Don’t believe everything you hear about me here. Especially from Paz. Don’t believe a thing Paz says.”

As if on cue, you come upon the man himself, who seems to be waiting for you and Din so you can all walk to your third row seats together.

Paz is hilarious. He has a deep booming voice, and a boisterous spirit about him; he’s huge, bigger than Din, but in the same way you don’t find Din’s size to be imposing, neither do you find Paz’s. He regales you with childhood stories about Din and tells joke after joke, all the while pretending to ignore Din’s protests and looks of mortification that honestly make everything Paz says even funnier. He doesn’t forget to ask you questions about yourself, and your heart melts when Din chimes in to brag about you when he thinks you’re not doing so enough yourself; Paz looks impressed before he gives you a mock look of condescension, “You sure you’re with the right guy?” jabbing his thumb at Din. You look up at Din fondly and nod softly, “Yes, definitely.” Din can’t stop looking at you either, eyes filled with adoration and, if he’s being honest with himself, maybe love. When he pulls you in tightly, Paz gives him a look and nod of approval, which Din didn’t need, but finds himself appreciating nonetheless.

The lights dim and the fighters’ ring entrances begin; you cheer loudly with Din and Paz when Jimmy goes by, looking pumped and intimidating. The first few rounds of fighting go by in a blur; the fighters move with blinding fast speed, unleashing powerful punch after punch – it’s violent and graceful all at once. Both Din and Paz are pointing things out to you, teaching you boxing terminology and noting finer points on the bout that you definitely wouldn’t notice otherwise; when the bell dings signaling the end of a particularly intense round, Paz turns to you, “Did you see that last move, with the bob and weave? That’s the “Mando Roll”. Your boy invented that! It’s what’s going to win Jimmy this fight, you just watch.” You look at Din, who’s got a cocky smile on his face, even though he’s running his hand through his curls, bashfully. Your eyes shine with pride; you knew from the articles and awards at the gym and his apartment that Din had been a talented and successful fighter… but tonight you’re seeing for the first time that it was more than that. He’s an important figure in this community, a leader with a legacy… just like his dad. You make a mental note to share this thought with Din later; for now, you hope he can tell by the expression on your face how proud of him you are. And how proud you are to be here with him.

If you thought the excitement and intensity of the fight would die down a little in the later rounds, you were mistaken; if anything, the crowd gets rowdier and louder, amping the fighters up more, even though they have to be exhausted. Nearing the end of round 10, Jimmy gets the upper hand against his opponent, drilling him against the ropes before stepping back and delivering a knock out uppercut. This last punch happens as if in slow motion; Jimmy’s opponent’s feet leave the ground as the force from Jimmy’s glove propels him backwards, body twisting slightly before he falls to the ground unconscious. Before you’ve finished processing what you’re watching, you’re hit with the losing fighter's blood splatter. Most of it lands on the people sitting in the rows in front of you, but a fair amount lands on your shirt and you can feel a bit of it on your cheek. Instinctively, you touch it with your hand, accidently smearing it. Din looks at you in horror but gathers himself quickly to ask you with deep concern if you’re alright. You have to admit, you’re not sure how to feel, but you let him know you’re okay with a reassuring smile before asking him to point you in the direction of the restroom so you can clean up. In the restroom, the droplets that landed on your skin are easily and thoroughly cleaned off, but your shirt is a bit of a mess. The delicate silk is splattered in a big, almost Pollock-esque pattern; you decide to leave it as is, figuring you’ll probably just turn it into a bigger mess if you try to clean it here.

You get back to your seat as Jimmy is being declared the winner of the fight in the ring, and you’re glad to see that his opponent has regained consciousness and is standing up of his own accord. You cheer as Jimmy’s arm is raised as the victor, but notice that Din doesn’t appear to be joining in the reverie. In fact, he looks downright despondent. Taking his hand, you give him a soft, but quizzical look and mouth, “Everything okay?”

No. Everything was not okay. Din had seen a lot bloodshed in his life, hell, he had caused his fair share, but he's never become desensitized to the underlying violence. He was not prepared for that type of violence, bloody violence, to touch you. In the second before he had realized where the blood splatter had come from, all he saw was you covered in blood, and he had felt nothing but intense panic and fear. And maybe, a little voice in his head adds, guilt. Even now, he is reeling from those feelings. He doesn’t know how to articulate any of this, so instead he drops his eyes to your stained shirt and says sadly, “I’m sorry about the mess, pretty bird.”

Ducking a little so you’re now holding his gaze, you look softly at Din, somehow knowing he’s feeling more than he’s letting on; you kiss him warmly and whisper, “It’s okay. I’m okay,” before wrapping your arms around Din’s neck and pulling him down into you. You feel Din’s back muscles relax under your hands, as he presses you in tightly and just holds you for a minute. Behind your back, Din and Paz lock eyes; a look of understanding passes between the two men before Din closes his eyes and let’s himself melt into your embrace.

Now that the fight is over, most of the crowd moves, almost as one, to a bar across the street for the planned after party. Din’s mood seems to have lightened considerably; with his arm around your waist, he steers you through the crowd, shouting salutations to people he knows and sporadically introducing you to people as they come up to say hi. You don’t remember all the names, but they all seem to be people that have known Din from when he was a child, watched Din box during his glory days, are somehow associated with the gym, knew Din’s dad or some combination of the above. Even more memorable are some of the stories Din whispers in your ear when out of earshot of the person you just met (like the gym member who thought that the Mando’s locker rooms had a nude sauna. They don’t), and you’re glad that the faces are all kind of a blur because otherwise, you might never be able to face some of these people again. The entire bar erupts with cheers when Jimmy, Greef and some of the other team from Mando’s arrives; they head straight for Din and you give them your hearty congratulations once Din’s released them from his bear hugs. You assure Jimmy that you thoroughly enjoyed your first boxing match and you’re glad it was one of his; when Greef learns that you saw the “Mando Roll” he looks like a proud papa bear, of Jimmy or you, you’re not sure. Slowly, the entire friend group descends on your and Din’s location and you get a chance to meet them all. In addition to Paz, there’s Woves, Mayfeld, Bo, Koska, and a few younger boxers from the gym, Brian, Santos, and Iggy tonight. It’s a great group; everyone is welcoming and even appear eager to meet and get to know you. You dance with Din, laugh at Paz’s jokes and sip drinks with the group.

At a certain point, you need a bit of a breather, so you volunteer to go to the bar to get the next round of drinks for everyone. When you give your order to the bartender, you’re told it might take a while given the number of drinks; honestly, you don’t mind and happily take the opportunity to give your social battery a mini-charge, check your messages, and just take in your surroundings. You’ve missed a lot of messages and you’re about to dive into the group chat when you’re aware of someone standing directly in front of you. You look up; it’s a stranger, and not one you remember Din introducing you to earlier in the evening. He’s standing uncomfortably close to you, as if you’re already acquainted, which you most certainly are not. Once the stranger knows he has your attention, he lays on a thick, “Don’t think I’ve seen a pretty thing like you around here before.” You appraise the man in front of you; he’s okay looking but there’s something about his posture, his presence that’s just... slimy. Suddenly, you notice on either side of you his friends inching closer, flanking you, and they too seem to have a greasy, sluggish look about them. You almost sigh; their intent is so obvious, and all the more insidious for not trying to hide it well. Under different circumstances, you would be feeling at best, harassed, and at worst, panic, but with Din and his friends just a few steps away, you know you’re perfectly safe.

“You wouldn’t have. First time,” you give a thin smile, before making a gesture to show you need to check your phone now.

“Well let me and my friends show you a good time! We know everyone here.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got a great group of hosts already,” and you point towards Din and his friends. The men take a look in the direction you’re pointing and seem to hesitate, but then carry on as if what you said is a but a mere inconvenience.

Din had been talking to Paz when he looks over and sees you being surrounded at the bar and hisses, “Fucking Hutts.” Paz looks over as well, “She looks like she can handle it.” And it’s true, you really do look like you’re fine (annoyed, but fine), but Din sighs, “Yeah, but she shouldn’t have to. Those guys are slime. She shouldn’t be anywhere near them.” Paz raises an eyebrow, “You wanna talk about what’s really bugging you? I saw you back there when she got blood on her. You worried she can’t handle being with a Mando?”

Din shakes his head; it’s not that. He is sure you can handle anything… but should you have to?

“You’re worried she’s too sweet for all this?” Paz gestures generally.

Sighing again, Din shoulders droop a little, “Maybe. She’s a good girl, you know?” That little voice in his head from earlier is nagging him with more insistence now, too good. He’s watching you, knowing you’d make eye contact with him if you needed help, but he really can’t stand you being so close to those assholes. You’re not even giving Gorga Hutt and his cronies a forced smile anymore; he sees your mouth make the words: “No, I’m sure. No, thank you” and he’s off, long strides reaching you with just a few steps. He walks right past the man standing stupidly close to you, and maintaining eye contact with him, says, “Hutt.” The man practically sneers back, “Mando,” as Din slides an arm protectively around your waist and turns to stare daggers at the 3 men who have now all lined up together. Luckily, at this moment, the bartender appears and slides over a tray with all your drinks, so you tug on Din’s arm, “Do you mind helping me carry these?” and like that, the two of you leave the three Hutt men before they can get another word in.

Everyone is thrilled to get their refills, and you take the opportunity to ask, “How come those guys back there called you guys “The Mandos”? Is it just because of the gym?”

Maybe you imagine it, but there seems to be moment of stalled silence where no one in the group speaks, before Bo pipes up and answers, “It was the name of our club when we were kids; the gym was like our clubhouse, so… look, we weren’t very creative kids, okay?” Everyone laughs, and Bo waves you over and starts telling you some of the shenanigans the group got into when they were young.

“You really didn’t let her know what she’s stepping into, brother,” Paz says quietly so only Din hears.

Din looks at Paz with something like regret. He’s doing a visual sweep of the room; it’s second nature to him in crowds like tonight’s, but it also serves to distract himself from the agitation of running into the Hutts. He looks around the room and sees a few men leering at you; not just the Hutts, although Gorga is still at the bar where you left him and looking over with a sour expression, but other unsavoury types that Din is no stranger to. Din can read the look he sees in their eyes: to folks like that, you were a mark. Prey. The voice in his head gets louder: You were a pretty bird and he had brought you into a den of hunters, and you didn’t even know.

Din’s so deep in his own thoughts, he doesn’t notice when a petite brunette breaks away from a group of girls hovering on the periphery of his friends and makes a beeline for you.

You’re in mid conversation with Bo, who you’re finding to be incredibly refreshing and interesting being a female body builder when you turn to put your empty glass down; however, turning back, you find a girl you haven’t met has wedged herself between you and Bo while you were faced away. The look on Bo’s face indicates she’s just as surprised you are.

“So you’re Din’s date.” This is stated more like a fact than a question.

“I guess I am,” you introduce yourself; the girl says her name is Vanessa and she’s giving you a smile but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, so you honestly can’t tell where this conversation is going.

“You know, so many of us girls have tried to lock Din down, maybe you’ll finally be the one to do it.”

Oh. Does Din have… groupies? “Oh!” you give a polite laugh, “I can honestly say that locking anyone down or having anyone lock me down, has not crossed my mind.”

“A couple of us girls have had a lot of fun trying,” she tilts her head in the direction of a group of girls that are hovering close by, “Din’s a total catch. One of the best I’ve ever had.”

Ah ha. This is new for you. All your life you’ve been a girl’s girl, and one thing about being a girl’s girl is to never let men be the cause for contention, but man oh man, this girl is definitely fishing hard for a reaction from you; you know what she wants, but it’s honestly not in you to give. Instead, you look at her with a sympathetic expression, “Oh I don’t doubt it. Din’s probably one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.” It’s the truth and the best you can offer her.

She looks at you with disbelief before scampering off; Bo stifles a laugh before the two of you return to your conversation.

Din is starting to feel like he’s been away from you too long; then he knows he’s been away from you too long when Bo comes by and tells him about your little interlude with Vanessa. He immediately finds you; slipping his arms around you from behind, Din nuzzles your neck and murmurs, “Sorry, I’ve been neglectful, baby. Not leaving your side for the rest of the night, I promise.”

You turn in his arms and winding your arms around his waist, you happily press your mouth to his, “Don’t worry. I’ve been thoroughly entertained. I’ve been learning soooooooo much about you, Din.” Your eyes are twinkling.

Din should have known that you wouldn’t let Vanessa bother you; although he still feels like he has to address it. He presses his forehead to yours, “So… I heard you had a visitor.”

“Oh right. Vanessa,” you chuckle.

“Pretty bird, there’s nothing going on, I promise.”

You give Din a quick, reassuring kiss, “Oh, I know. I wasn’t bothered by what she said.”

“…but you were bothered?” Din pulls away to look at you, as if checking you over to make sure you were alright.

You tuck yourself under his chin and sigh, “It’s nothing really. Just... surprising? It’s been a really long time since someone, never mind someone I don’t even know, has gone out of their way to be intentionally mean to me.”

Din feels his chest constrict. Of course you would be perceptive enough to recognize casual cruelty when you saw it, and of course it would wound your tender heart, “I’m sorry, pretty bird. You don’t deserve that.”

You burrow deeper into his arms, “Thank you.”

“I still want to make sure you know, there isn’t anyone else. Only you, baby.”

“Okay,” you lift your face to his and invite him to kiss you. He melts into your lips, but can’t ignore the persistent voice in his head that’s only gotten louder over the course of the evening anymore.

---

In the cab on the way home, Din is quiet. You snuggle extra close to him and when he tightens his arm around you, you nuzzle your way into your nook and press light kisses to his neck.

Din looks down at you and his heart breaks a little at the sweet look you give him; he can’t help himself, and he kisses you, soft and long – he knows he shouldn’t with what he’s about to do, but he also knows this could very well be his last chance to kiss you and he can’t convince himself to pass it up.

He wonders how it could end like this – when he first saw you this evening, gorgeous and sexy as hell, teasing him with a peek at your black lace lingerie, he was sure tonight was the night he was finally going to take you upstairs and ruin you, not the night he was going to walk away.

But he had made up his mind before leaving the bar. Paz was right, you were too sweet for his world. Din had been busy trying to make sure that he deserved you, he hadn’t thought about if you deserved what he would bring into your life. You didn’t; you didn’t deserve to be on the periphery of violence, never knowing if it would touch you directly, you didn’t deserve to be in the company of lowlifes and scumbags that would take advantage of your kindness, and you certainly did not deserve to be the recipient of any nastiness simply for caring about him. How could he bring this kind of darkness into your life?

You’ve been the best thing to happen to him in a long time, and Din’s heart aches knowing these are some of the last moments he will get to spend with you. But when, out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of the same shirt that was so inviting to him earlier with blood splatter that looks almost black in the night, it hardens his resolve.

You sigh deeply into the kisses, only breaking away and opening your eyes when the cab starts to slow down. Din pays for the cab and helps you out; as soon as he closes the door of the car and it drives away, you make to walk into the building. Tugging on his hand, you playfully ask, “Did you want to come up and get Al with me, or are you still pretending you don’t want to come up?” To your surprise, Din doesn’t budge from his spot on the sidewalk and drops your hand. He stuffs both hands in his pockets and can’t quite look at you when he says, “I don’t think I can come up.” You’re about to make a silly joke about it being the third date, when he continues, “…and I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

At first, you’re not sure you heard him correctly but then you see Din's face; while not quite facing you directly, you can see it looks downtrodden and tired, and you realize he's being serious. You forget how to breathe for a moment and you don’t know what to say. Didn’t you just have a fun night, full of promise? Hadn’t he kissed you the entire cab ride over? Weren’t the last two weeks of getting to know each other romantic and deliciously tension filled? You’re confused and you say the first ridiculous thing that comes to mind, “You don’t… want to... court me anymore?”

Din didn’t think his heart could hurt anymore, but the way you were looking at him, confused and upset, was proving him wrong. He shouldn’t have kissed you in the cab. It had been selfish. He knows he's been so selfish when it came to you, and that stops now. Din struggles to get the words out, “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I mean, tonight… I shouldn’t have taken you to the fight tonight. You don’t belong in a place like that. You showed up in a beautiful outfit and… fuck.” He’s getting flustered now, but he forces himself to press on, “…it’s ruined.” He gestures to the blood splatter on your shirt and hangs his head.

“It’s just a little blood, Din. It will come out. Nothing has been ruined, I promise,” you can see he’s distressed and you want to comfort him. You try making a little joke to lighten the mood, “I mean, I know you know a good dry cleaner.”

“It’s not right. It never should have happened! A girl like you doesn’t belong near any place like that.”

Oh. You only now come to the realization that perhaps you hadn’t been paying attention and Din didn’t have fun tonight. The date had been on his “turf”, so to speak, and around people he’s known a lot longer than he’s known you; maybe Din had had certain expectations on how the evening was supposed to go... expectations that you apparently didn’t meet. “Din, for the record… I had a lot of fun tonight. I didn’t realize I wasn’t fitting in; I’m sorry if the evening didn’t go the way you had wanted.” Now it’s you that can’t meet his eye.

“No, no, it’s not… it’s… fine. It was just clear to me tonight that we come from different worlds and… maybe it’s not a good fit. I’m sorry.”

You’re trying to swallow your feelings but they’re getting caught in your throat; you force yourself to say, “You don’t have to apologize. I thought… well… it doesn’t matter what I thought. But it was only our third date, Din – you’re entitled to feel that I’m not for you.” You’re trying so hard to appear calm and neutral despite your heart breaking, that you miss Din wincing at those words. “I guess I want to say that I’m still glad we met, Din. And, thank you. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for me these past few weeks – all the food when I worked late, helping me walk the dog… the books. Really, thank you.” You pause, shrug a little, then hold onto your arms, trying to make yourself as small as you feel while delaying the next words for as long as you can, “Goodbye.”

Din nods, “Goodbye.”

You walk away, finally free to cry when you realize that you still have to walk the dog. Even though your tears are already spilling over, you turn around, “Din?” He’s still standing where he was, having not moved, but looks up when you call his name. Once you have Din’s attention, you look away; you can’t bear to see the expression on his face as he watches you cry. “I’m going to take Al for a walk. I’ll be back down in just a minute.” Your voice starts to break, “Is it okay if you’re not here when I do?”

“Of course.” Din turns and walks away from you. You don’t see his own eyes have welled up before you turn to go in.

Inside, you clip the dog up and give him a lot of kisses in the elevator. True to his word, Din is nowhere to be found when you get outside. Al looks around, excitedly; most likely for Din. Perhaps he can still smell him. You kneel down and say sadly to your dog, “He’s not here, baby. Turns out he didn’t quite like us as much as we liked him.” Al licks a few tears off your cheek as if to comfort you and then trots off to start sniffing a tree.

---

Din watches you with Al from a distance away, out of sight. He knew you were upset and he wanted to make sure you were safe, being out alone with your dog. But if he was being honest, it was a perfectly safe neighbourhood – he just simply wanted to look at you for as long as he could. He stays looking up at your apartment long after you’ve gone in, leaving only when your lights go out.

#din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #modern au #no y/n #modern!din djarin

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capricornlevi · 2 years

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jean picks the movie

jean kirstein x gn!reader - fluff, v mild nsfw (mdni !), wc ~900

"I hate this fucking movie," you mutter, voice muffled by the fabric of Jean's sweatshirt as you bury your face into the nook of his shoulder. "And I hate you for making me watch it."

Jean laughs, and it makes you even more annoyed despite the fact that you're the one looking to him for a bit of comfort and levity.

"Babe, we agreed-"

"I agreed to a horror movie, not the most psychologically scarring thing I've ever seen in my life."

You draw out the last word for emphasis before lifting your head back up, lolling it back against the couch and keeping your eyes closed.

You hate the cliché of watching a horror movie on date night and clutching at your boyfriend for reassurance. Firstly, it's overdone. Secondly (and thirdly), you don't find horror movies all that scary, and you don't think Jean needs the ego boost of being seen as a 'protector' of any description.

Especially since you're the one who ends up reassuring him that 'based on a true story' pretty much always means a wild exaggeration of some old anecdote.

But this time ... maybe it's the lack of sleep from studying for finals, maybe it's the howling wind and rain pelting against your door, or something else ... this time, the movie is utterly horrifying to you and you only.

"Jesus Christ," you burst out at the abrupt sound of a jumpscare. "How did it survive that?"

"It's a horror-"

"I know it's a horror," you snap back, letting out a shaky whine when you hear the tell-tale music indicating that another fictional death is imminent. "This is just way worse than I imagined."

"I think it only has like forty percent on Rotten Tomatoes," Jean offers, as if that provides you with any comfort whatsoever.

"Not helpful."

Jean laughs again, and you fold your arms in frustration.

"Stop enjoying this," you say without much conviction.

"It's no big deal," he replies with a grin, "it's just nice to not be the coward for once."

"'Coward' is a harsh word."

"Applies here, though," he interrupts pointedly, referring more to himself than you. "Wanna watch something else?"

You smile then, in spite of everything.

Jean has always been open about being a worrier. He might carry himself with self-assuredness, but you know him well enough to know that he is concerned about pretty much every conceivable outcome of every decision he's ever made.

He jokes about it, in his little self-deprecating way. You don't want to add to the teasing because it's something that's so quintessentially Jean, you can't imagine using it as a way to make fun of him.

Jean worries about his choice of degree, and whether it will give him the best possible career opportunities.

Jean worries about the car payment he missed three years ago when he mistakenly withdrew too much from an ATM.

Jean worries about what movie to pick for date night, and so he'll research it online first to weigh up his options.

Jean worries about global warming.

Jean worries about you, too, though he plays it off well - he's not overbearing, but he's concerned for your well-being and happiness.

His offer to change the movie without making a big deal about it ... he knows where to draw the line when it comes to your comfort zone. It's stupidly endearing.

"Turning it off is a sign of quitting," you say light-heartedly. "Plus, I want to see if that guy with the blue hair actually lives."

From the way Jean's eyes slide to look at you, you guess that he doesn't.

"I don't know, it's kinda boring," Jean pipes up with admirable conviction. He wouldn't make the best actor, but he's trying. "Plus I saw a review that kinda spoiled the whole thing, so, y'know, I'm not pushed."

Oh, Jean. He's so very not subtle in his attempts to make you feel better, but you love him for it.

"I don't know, isn't it sort of cliché to chicken out of watching a horror movie?" you inquire, shifting your legs to rest over his so you can look at him. He lifts his hand and rests it on your thigh, stroking the bare skin just under the hem of your shorts. It makes your skin prickle and you feel hot, hot all over.

"Maybe," he muses, aware of the response he's eliciting. "I could say something more cliché though, if that would make you feel better?"

"What is it?"

He bridges the gap between you, capturing your lips with his. You melt underneath him, able to completely ignore the noises of the long-forgotten movie playing in the background. It's so familiar and welcome having been with Jean for as long as you have, but his touch still makes you feel electric. Your head clears of all worries.

Just then, just as the keens are starting to spill from your lips against his, he brings his other hand to your nape while still stroking your thigh, and you're a goner.

You want to complain when he pulls away, a thin string of saliva connecting your lips as he leaves just an inch or two of distance between you, but he shuts down your objections instantly.

"Wanna head to my room instead?"

#jean kirstein x reader #jean x reader #may tries to write #maybe someday i'll do a 'reader picks the movie' version idk!

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jerzwriter · 1 year

Text

A Capy Ending

Book: Wake the Dead

Pairing: Eli Sipes x F!MC (Zoe Rivera), with Troy Hassan

Rating: Teen

Category: Fun Fluff

Summary: Eli, Zoe & Troy set off for an afternoon of hunting and make a most unusual discovery. As the day continues, Troy reveals he's made some discoveries of his own.

Words: 1,677

A/N: A while back, @missameliep and I were having a conversation about our mutual love of capybaras. It's not the most common obsession, so we were delighted that someone else shared it. As we were talking, this silly little idea was born. When I got this ask from @cariantha, I just knew how I wanted to use it. I hope you enjoy this! I write a lot of heavy stuff for WTD, so I love when I can give them little moments of levity too!

@choicesmonthlychallenge Propmts: Being Outside, Ferris Wheel, Friends, Slow Burn, Smile (Take your pick lol)

Despite their best attempts to keep quiet as they hunted one late afternoon, two things kept betraying Eli and Zoe. One: The massive amount of twigs that had fallen during a recent storm. No matter how much they watched where they walked, they still managed to crunch under their boots.

But the second was the bigger offender, and it was becoming increasingly annoying to boot. The second thing? Troy Hassan.

Another loud sigh echoed from behind them. It had to be his tenth in as many minutes, and even though Zoe was walking behind Eli, she could feel him bristle each time the noise escaped her childhood friend. She looked haggardly between the two, knowing she’d be forced to mediate at any moment now.

Troy was unamused. His feet were becoming more tender with each step. When he let out a groan of disapproval, Eli had reached his limit. He swiftly turned around with a scowl.

“Troy, I’m sorry. Are we keeping you from something important?”

And there it was...

“No. But I do think it's time we head back. We’ve been out here forever, and we’re coming up empty.”

“We’ve been out here for less than an hour!” Eli insisted.

“Yeah, but it’s a thirty-minute walk back to Olympus. So, we should get started!”

Zoe hated getting between the two when they bickered, but she had to agree with Eli this time. She gently tapped Troy’s shoulder, hoping she could talk some sense into him.

“Troy, Eli’s right. We need to give it a little longer.”

“Hunting sucks!” Troy whined.

“But you like eating?” Eli rebuked.

“And we will be eating! We have plenty of rations right now!”

“Right now,” Zoe stressed. “You know as well as I do that can change quickly, Troy.”

“But nothing’s biting today, Zo! And if we stay out here much longer, it will be the zombies biting us. Come on!” He smiled sweetly, employing his best puppy dog eyes to attempt to sway Zoe to his side. “Make it two out of three, and we can head back?”

“No,” she stated firmly. “You should know by now I’m immune to your tactics, my friend! We’re staying out here for at least another half hour.”

She caught the little smirk Eli shot in Troy’s direction from the corner of her eye, Troy sticking his tongue out at him in quick succession. Zoe rolled her eyes. Some days she felt more like the Colony’s preschool teacher than its leader.

About ten minutes later, they all heard rustling in the leaves, and their feet were not the culprits this time. They pointed their weapons in the direction of the noise, hoping that evening’s dinner would appear, and not a drone. That’s when the tuft of golden brown fur lurched out from behind the bushes. It stood in the center of a clearing, appearing to have a death wish or a desire to perform; either argument could be made.

“Quiet,” Eli whispered, barely audible. “I’ve got this one.”

But Troy ignored that directive entirely.

“Is that a freaking…” he exclaimed, compelling the creature to hop back into the bushes.

“What was that?” Zoe asked, perplexed. “It was too big to be a rat, but I’ve never seen anything like it?”

“It will be dinner if I can get it,” Eli stated bluntly. He nocked an arrow as the creature stepped out again. “Now, just be quiet while I….”

“STOP!” Zoe yelled as Eli dropped his bow.

“Zoe! What the…”

“Look at him!” She squealed. “He’s standing on his back legs! It almost looked like he was waving to us! Troy, do you know what kind of animal that is?”

“It looks like a capybara,” he shrugged. “At least based on what I’ve seen in books.”

“A capybara?” Eli ridiculed. “I remember studying about them in school, but they’re not exactly native to this region.”

“You know, Eli, I bet when you were in school, undead creatures that wanted to eat your face off weren’t indigenous to these parts either… but shit happens.”

For once, Zoe ignored squabbling. Instead, she tiptoed over to the furry creature, who didn’t seem frightened by her approach.

“Hey, little guy,” she whispered in a sing-song voice. “I’m Zoe; what’s your name.”

“If he answers you, I’m shooting it!” Eli yelled, and Zoe promptly shushed him.

The animal let Zoe rub his damp fur when she got closer, even rolling to his side with delight as she patted away.

“Oh my God, he’s so cute!” she beamed. “Carlos!”

“What?” Troy asked.

“His name is Carlos!”

“He told you that?” Eli asked with a raised brow.

“Of course not!” She laughed, “But that’s what I’m naming him.”

“Zoe…” Eli questioned. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you? It’s not a good idea to name your dinner.”

“I know that! But Carlos is not dinner!”

“That’s right, he’s not!” Troy agreed as he played with the animal by Zoe’s side. “He’s our new friend!”

Eli shut his eyes and shook his head. Zoe, too?

“Zoe,” he tried to reason. “We’re supposed to be hunting, and….”

“Eli! We have plenty of rations right now,” she insisted while Troy shot a smug grin Eli's way. “And he’s far too cute to be dinner! He’s not dinner… he’s… he’s our… our….”

“Our mascot!” Troy shouted.

“Our what?”

“Our mascot!” Troy repeated. “We can bring him back to Olympus, maybe make him some clothes! The kids will love him! He will help with morale.”

“Clo… clothes?” Eli astounded. “Did you say make him clothes?”

“I did,” Troy nodded.

“That mouth of yours does nothing but talk dumb shit, does it?” Eli asked.

“Eli!” Zoe scolded. “Be nice! You’re going to hurt Carlos’s feelings!”

Eli dragged a hand down the front of his face. “Not you too, Zoe?”

But he knew fighting this was futile; Zoe had already scooped the animal up in her arms, he was coming home with them, and not as supper.

“Hunting’s over!” She announced. “Let’s return to Olympus and bathe Carlos before introducing him to everyone.”

“This isn’t happening….” Eli groaned.

“Oh,” Troy smiled as he clapped his friend on the back. “It most certainly is.”

“We should have brought Angel and Shannon along,” Eli lamented. “We need other opinions!”

“Oh, sure!” Troy laughed. “They would have been on your side! Angel would already be teaching it tricks, and Shannon would have burst into tears at the mere suggestion of making Carlos dinner.”

“He’s making sense,” Zoe shrugged.

“And that alone should convince you this is a bad idea!” Eli groaned, but he just followed behind in defeat.

~~~~~

Several hours later, Eli sat in the corner of the great room, still shaking his head in astonishment. The rest of the colonists had gathered, and it seemed everyone was fussing and cooing over Carlos. What's worse, the rodent simply reveled in the adoration. He returned to repairing his bow, muttering unintelligible words under his breath. But when the crowd thinned as people began to retire for the evening, Eli addressed Zoe.

“Where is that thing going to sleep?” he asked.

“Carlos is going to sleep in my room tonight,” Zoe replied, snuggling beside the little guy on the couch. “Walt and Mina said they’d build him a new pen in the morning, but he’ll be with me tonight.”

Troy, who had since joined Eli in the corner, made a poor attempt to conceal his amusement.

“I’d try to make friends with Carlos if I were you, Eli,” he jibed. “Because it doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere.”

Troy's laughter intensified as more garbled words fell from his friend's lips, but that didn’t mean he was about to let up on him.

“It’s OK, Eli,” he needled. “I understand. I’d be pissed if that cute little guy was getting all the cuddle time with my girlfriend, too!”

Eli turned to him slackjawed, with his eyes bulged wide.

“She’s not my girlfriend!”

“Riiiiight,” Troy hummed. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“Troy! How many times have I told you….”

“What? She’s your friend? Right? And she’s a girl? So…..”

“Does that make her your girlfriend, too?” Eli shot back.

“No, because I don’t get that stupid look that you do whenever she walks in the room. Also, I’ve never been spotted sucking face with her on top of a Ferris wheel.”

“TROY!” Eli hollered, causing the others to turn their way.

“Is everything OK?” Zoe asked.

“Peachy!” Troy saluted before smirking at Eli. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” he whispered, “but I’m not above bribery. So, get over there and introduce yourself to Carlos properly.”

“Troy… are you freaking kidding me?”

“Come on, Eli,” Troy winked. “It’s for the good of the colony.”

“Oh, for Christ's sake!” Eli stood up and walked to the couch, where Zoe remained snuggled with their new mascot.

“Yes,” she beamed at Eli.

He wouldn’t admit it, even to himself, but seeing her so happy filled him with a warmth he didn’t quite understand, and it took all he had to keep from grinning.

“I’ve been advised that Carlos is probably staying.”

“He most certainly is.”

“Then I guess we should become better acquainted.”

“Yey!!!” Zoe enthused, gently clapping her hands. She sat up straight and held Carlos out to Eli. “Come! Sit with us.”

“You’re not going to make me hold him, are you?” Eli groaned.

“Mmmm… we’ll build up to it,” she smiled, “baby steps.”

Eli patted the capybara’s head, and a trace of a smile appeared on his lips when the creature nuzzled against his hand.

“See!” Zoe squealed. “He likes you!”

“He… he is kind of cute,” Eli surrendered.

“Hmph! And you wanted to make him dinner!”

“Zo!” Eli quickly covered Carlos’s ears. “You shouldn’t talk like that in front of him.”

Zoe chuckled as the most enchanting grin appeared on her face.

“Did he win you over?” She asked. “Or are you afraid he’ll come for you in your sleep if you aren’t nice to him?”

Eli was about to answer when a hand clapped him on the shoulder. “None of the above,” Troy laughed, then quickly headed toward the door. "Option number three. It’s definitely option three.”

Permatags: @a-crepusculo @animesuck3r @annoyingmillenialnewbie @crazy-loca-blog @differenttyphoonwerewolf @doriopenheart @fayeswiftie @gryffindordaughterofathena @genevievemd @inlocusmads @jamespotterthefirst @jennieausten @kingliam2019 @liaromancewriter @lucy-268 @onikalover @openheartforeverinmyheart @potionsprefect @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @secretaryunpaid @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction @jerzwriter-reblogs-asks @choicesficwriterscreations

WTD Only: @kyra75 @cariantha @lilyoffandoms @missameliep

#wake the dead #wake the dead choices #eli sipes #troy hassan #eli sipes x f!mc #eli x zoe #choices fanfic #playchoices fanfic #choices fic writers creations #choices monthly challenge

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h0tchner · 3 years

Text

Any Age, Any Day, Anywhere (Part 1) - aaron hotchner x fem!reader

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: WRITTEN FOR AN ANON REQUEST: "ok hi so u already wrote a jealous reader and was wondering whats your take on jealous hotch? i mostly see him in fics as possessive and yeah being the leader type i would think he could also be possessive but i also think that he would just be sad like ya know he doubts himself as we saw in some episodes and i think he would need assurance and a lot of convincing that u only love him but if you’ve given that to him then thats the time he would be possessive and god i would love to imagine a possessive and feral aaron hotchner"

word count: 3.5k

includes: kissing, so much freaking adorable fluff, talk of body insecurities, insecure!hotch, protective!hotch, wifey reader, super brief mentions of pregnancy, alcohol, confrontation with a drunk asshole (derek & hotch are all over it tho dw), party at papa rossi's!, smut to come in next chapter...

rating: 18+ (technically there is no smut in this part, but there are adult themes such as drinking, kissing, etc.).

a/n: HELLO BESTIES! This is part one of a two-part fic! The next part will be pure filth, so keep your eyes peeled for some feral hotch content... ALSO! PLS (!!!!!!!!!!!) interact if you liked this, rb, comment, like and/or send me a request if you have ideas for future fics! i love y’all! - rivka💞

“Aaron! Can you come here for a sec?” you call out to your husband from the bathroom, muttering curses under your breath as you try (and fail) for the third time to zip up the back of your black cocktail dress.

“Sure, I just need a minute,” he replies from the bedroom closet, securing the last opalescent button on the arm of his white dress shirt. He looks at himself in the closet mirror, zeroing in at the bags under his eyes and the sprinkling of grey in his stubble. He looks… tired. Tired and old. And he hates it.

Even though Aaron is only in his late-40s, he has lived lifetimes; years of working as Unit Chief of the BAU will do that to a man. Every horror he’s seen and every person he’s lost has weighed on his body and mind. In the past few months, amidst work changes and a new baby, he’s been exhausted and in fear that he’s letting himself go. Of course, being the stoic man that he is, he’s done his absolute best to hide these feelings from you. Tonight, however, he doesn’t know if he can. It’ll be your first night out together as a couple since welcoming baby girl Hotchner to the family four months ago. With no pressing family or work distractions, he just knows that you’ll be able to sense his apprehensions. It’s only a matter of when.

Taking in a breath, he turns a little to the side, frowning at his profile. Aaron winces a little at his “dad bod,” but quickly recovers from the discomfort, milliseconds after it flashes across his face.

“Aaron Hotchner get your handsome butt in here and help me zip my dress! We’re gonna be late,” you exclaim, trying one last time to reach the zipper before giving up and crossing your arms in defeat. You lean back lightly against the countertop facing the door, letting the fabric slip off your shoulders, and wait for your husband to rescue you from the hell that is this dress.

At the sound of your voice, Aaron snaps out of his trance. He shakes his head lightly, as if to physically erase the intrusive thoughts, and clears his throat. Grabbing his suit jacket off the hanger, he flicks off the closet light and closes the door behind him.

Languidly, he meanders from the closet toward the bathroom. He drags his feet a little longer than he normally would, still feeling off and a little bit shy about his appearance.

“Aaron,” you sing, “I’m waiting for –,” your jaw drops mid-sentence when Aaron appears in the doorway.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe out before you can stop yourself, eyes widening at the sight of the gorgeous man in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, crossing over to you, searching your face for any ounce of reprieve.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong,” you’re quick to reply, standing from your leaning position to meet him, holding out your hands.

He takes them in his own, cocking his head slightly, his soft hazel eyes boring into yours.

You shift forward, moving up on your toes to peck his soft pink lips.

He sighs into the kiss, feeling the warmth of your lips against his own. It feels so good that it almost makes him forget about how he is feeling… almost. But the dark thoughts come back, and he pulls away from you a bit, reluctantly.

Aaron clears his throat.

“You called me?” He questions, but it sounds more like a fact.

“Yeah,” you give his hands a squeeze. “I needed you to zip up my dress, but now,” you lean in again, “I kinda want you to rip it off me.” You offer him a sultry smirk, moving your hands up to rest on his broad chest. He moves his hands to settle on your hips.

You lick your lips and let your eyes rake over his body, taking in every ounce of his sexy frame. The way his crisp, white dress shirt hugs his solid body makes you go weak in the knees. His strong, toned legs in those black dress pants? Yes please. His soft black hair and salt and pepper stubble on his face are practically begging to be touched. He looks good. Damn good.

“You look…” you pause, tapping a finger lightly against his pectoral, searching for the right word, “…delicious.”

Aaron blushes lightly at your ogling, offering you a sad smile as he squeezes his eyes shut out of embarrassment.

You sense the falter in his demeanor, knowing that there’s something else nagging at him far beyond his usual flustering when you vocalize your attraction to him.

“Honey,” you implore, looping your hands around his neck to bring his forehead down to touch yours. “What’s going on in that big, beautiful brain of yours?”

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, swallowing, rubbing soft circles into your sides.

“It’s something,” you counter, carding a hand through his hair at the nape of his neck. You scratch lightly at his scalp, waiting for him to speak. You’ve learned that the best thing to do when Aaron gets in a mood is to give him some time to gather his thoughts. Keeping him close, physically, is a way to show him some comfort without pressuring him to speak. It encourages him, without words, that your arms are a safe place.

“I don’t…” he starts, and then stops himself. His dark eyebrows furrow and his mouth presses into a thin line.

“Mhm?” you question, fingers still tangled in his thick, black locks.

He pulls his forehead away from yours and locks eyes with you. You let your hands be still now, a silent gesture to show him that you’re listening.

He takes in a breath.

“I don’t look the way I used to,” he says quietly, shifting his eyes away from yours.

“What do you mean,” you urge him to continue.

“I mean, I don’t look like I did five years ago. Two years ago. Four months ago. I mean, I was practically a different man when we first met. I was younger, fitter…” he trails off, visibly upset.

“Yes, Aaron, you were,” you agree, keeping your tone temperate.

His eyes snap to yours, confused. It’s clear that was not what he was expecting you to say.

“You were a different man,” you continue gently, resuming your pacifying touch in his hair, “and I was a different woman.”

Aaron lets out a huff.

“Do you love me any less now than you did five years ago?” You ask him.

“Of course not,” he’s quick to answer.

“Why is that?” You prod.

“You’re gorgeous, inside and out. You’re funny, smart, loving…” he begins, but you interrupt him before he can go on.

“And,” you butt in, “if I were to go completely grey, gain thirty pounds, and only wear a potato sack to work every day would you love me any less?”

Aaron huffs again, but this time he’s fighting a smile. He’s starting to catch on. You watch as a spark of levity returns to his eyes. He holds you a little tighter.

“No. There’s nothing you could do or say to make me love you any less,” he grumbles in annoyance, but his upturned lip and matching eyebrow tell a different story.

“Ditto, baby,” you smile up at him. “I love you at any age, any day, anywhere, and there is nothing in the world that can make me change my mind.”

He dips down then, capturing you in a kiss, grinning against your lips.

You giggle as Aaron works his way down your jawline and neck, gasping as he kisses the soft skin at the junction of your neck and shoulder, thick fingers gripping the sides of your hips. He moves his lips back up to your earlobe, nipping at it lightly as you let out another soft gasp.

“You always know the right thing to say,” he whispers into your ear, pressing another kiss right underneath it.

“Aaron, I know I said I wanted you to take this dress off me,” you say breathlessly as Aaron nips at your shoulder again, “but Rossi will kill us if we don’t show up tonight. Plus, I really want the chance to show off my super sexy FBI husband. It’s been far too long.”

He lets out a low groan into your skin and gives your hips a squeeze, nuzzling his head into your neck.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “you’re right.”

“Aren’t I always,” you snort, eliciting a chuckle from your husband as you turn around in his arms to let him zip you up.

He takes his time, letting his fingers brush lightly over your spine as he draws the zipper over your back. When he’s done and the clasp is latched, he kisses one shoulder lightly, and then the other.

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning back against his warm body.

“No, honey,” he kisses the top of your head, “thank you.”

_____________________________________________________________

By the time you and Aaron arrive at Rossi’s mansion, the party is already in full swing. Judging by the number of cars in the makeshift parking lot on his spacious front lawn, there must be at least fifty, maybe even a hundred people here.

Despite the bustle of the evening, it doesn’t take long for you two to find Emily, Penelope, and Derek in the living room, drinks in hand, snacking on some very expensive looking food.

“Hey, look! It’s the Hotchners!” Emily cheers, teetering on the arm of the leather couch, wine glass in hand.

“Hello beautiful BAU power-couple!” Penelope chimes in from the seat next to her, cuddled up into Derek’s side.

You laugh and let go of Aaron’s hand, walking over to greet your friends.

“Hey hot stuff, look at you, look at you!” Derek chimes in, eyeing you up and down before standing to shake Aaron’s hand.

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes at him as you give Emily a big hug.

“And you don’t look bad yourself, boss man!” Derek adds.

You shoot your husband an ‘I told you so’ look over your shoulder, before untangling your arms from Emily and giving Penelope an equally enthusiastic squeeze.

“It’s good to see you all,” Aaron smiles lightly, all dimples in the low light. He steps in to give Emily and Penelope soft hugs.

“Let’s go get you a drink,” Derek says to Aaron, clapping him on the back.

“White?” Aaron looks to you, even though he already knows the answer.

“Yes please,” you respond, “thank you.”

“Be back soon,” he smiles easily, kissing your cheek, making your heart ache.

Aaron and Derek turn and exit the room together.

Penelope drunkenly pats the seat next to her, and you plop down on the couch.

“We’ve missed you like this!” Emily exclaims, gesturing between the three of you and around the room. “I can’t believe we’ve had to wait nine whole months plusanother four just to have a drink with our best friend again.”

You laugh at her, tilting your head back lightly. “Well, you guys got a beautiful little niece out of it, doesn’t that make up for all the wild girl’s nights I missed?”

Emily sighs, dramatically, “I guess so,” she jests.

“Oh, for sure.” Penelope adds. “You look freaking gorgeous, by the way. I mean, I would have never guessed you were creating a tiny human in that body only a few months ago!”

You blush lightly at her words, “You flatter me far too much, Pen. I owe this,” you gesture down at your figure, “all to Spanx!”

“Amen!” Emily toasts. You raise an imaginary glass to theirs and pretend to clink, taking a swig of invisible liquid.

“Are J.J. and Will here?” You ask them after they’ve had a few more sips of their wine.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emily nods, “they’re around somewhere.”

You take a moment and look around the room, taking in all the sights and the sounds of the party. You see some faces you recognize from around the bureau, but others you don’t. Just as you’re about to turn back to your friends, someone catches your eye. One face stands out from the crowd: he’s a young, suave-looking man in a sharp navy suit. Sandy hair perfectly gelled, shiny brown loafers, and bright blue eyes looking right at you. In another life you would have been exhilarated by his attention, apparent charm, and good looks, but now? Now, you’re married to the love of your life with an amazing stepson and a wonderful baby girl. His wolfish gaze means absolutely nothing to you. You simply flash him a curt smile and turn back to Emily and Penelope without a second thought.

You and your friends resume your chatter, waiting for the men to return with more drinks... only they don’t. Perhaps its “new mother anxiety” talking, but the longer your husband is gone, the more you start to grow concerned. A few more minutes pass of antics, laughter, and catching up until the nagging voice in the back of your head turns into an all-out scream. All you know is that you’re suddenly feeling very overwhelmed need to be with Aaron. So, you announce to your friends that you’re going to hunt down Derek and your husband.

You stand from the couch and smooth out the skirt of your dress with the promise to be back in a few minutes.

You walk out of the living room and into the grand foyer, following the same route as Aaron had earlier. Your black kitten heels click on the marble flooring, the skirt of your dress swishing lightly as you walk with purpose towards the kitchen. You’re so concentrated on reaching your destination that you don’t realize the man who had been watching you in the living room was now hot at your heels, following you through the house. It’s only when a hand reaches out and jerks your arm backward that you stop, startled, just past the grand staircase, turning face to face with him.

“You’re not an easy woman to get alone,” he smirks, reeking of alcohol, still gripping your arm, tight. Up close he is decidedly not as handsome as the low light of the living room made him seem. In fact, he seems… creepy. Really, really, really, creepy.

“Can I help you?” You blink at him, pulling your arm out of his vice grip.

“You sure can, baby,” he steps closer to you, voice oozing with sleaze. You gag at the liquor on his breath.

Moving away, you scowl at him, crossing your arms across your chest.

“What’s say you and I head upstairs for a little while? I’m dying to get my hands on your body.” He jerks his head toward the staircase, reaching out to grab your arm again.

You’re fuming at this point, ready give him a piece of your mind when a stern voice beats you to it.

“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?” Aaron articulates, approaching you both with Derek not far behind.

You breathe a sigh of relief as your husband glares at the drunken man vengefully, coming to stand by your side. Aaron pulls you into him, roughly, hand tight around your waist. The anger radiating off your husband is equally terrifying and HOT.

“Take a walk, man,” Derek adds in, coming to stand next to the drunken asshole. The man looks from you, to Aaron, then over to Derek, and finally back at you.

“Whatever,” the man grumbles, putting his hands up, “she’s not worth it anyway. Not pretty enough for the hassle. I just thought she looked like an easy lay.”

“That’s enough,” Aaron snaps, seething. “Leave now, before I make you,” your husband growls. He angles his body forward so you’re slightly behind him. A shiver passes through you at his fierce protectiveness.

“Fine, I’m going to get another drink,” the man utters.

“No,” Aaron interjects, “the party. Leave the party or I’ll have you removed.”

“What’s your problem?” The creepy man retorts, this time, more confrontationally.

“My problem?” Aaron says, angrily. You feel his entire body tense at the accusation.

“Hotch,” Derek warns, “I’ll take care of it. You guys go enjoy yourselves. Forget about him.”

“Come on, Aaron,” you tug on his suit jacket lightly, eyes pleading… but Aaron doesn’t budge from his spot. He only holds you tighter as he continues to stare down the man as Derek ushers him away and towards the front door. He doesn’t falter until they are out of sight.

“Aaron?” You repeat.

He looks down at you, finally, blinking away the fury until all that’s left is an all-consuming love. He releases you from his protective hold, and you face him.

“I’m okay,” you assure him in earnest, letting out a shaky breath.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” he breathes, bringing his hands up to cup your face.

“Aaron, it’s okay, really,” you bite your lip, shifting your eyes away from his.

“You’re so beautiful,” Aaron kisses your forehead, and then the top of your head. “So, so beautiful, and I’m so sorry.”

“Aaron, can we just go home?” You ask.

“Sure,” he kisses your head one last time before weaving his fingers between yours and guiding you gently toward the back exit.

_____________________________________________________________

The car ride home is quiet. The only sounds are the occasional click of the turn signal, and the hum of the wheels on the road. Aaron is still upset, and so are you, but you’re also… something else. Something you can’t quite put your finger on. You feel guilty for ruining the evening, guilty that you FEEL guilty for something you had no control over, hungry, tired, and… horny? Oh, and guilty for feeling horny.

It isn’t helping that one of Aaron’s hands is planted firmly on your thigh. He lifts it only to adjust the air conditioning or to scratch his nose, but otherwise it remains on you the whole way home. When he pulls into the driveway of your shared house, and shuts the car off, he still doesn’t move it.

“Honey?” You turn your head to look at him. His eyes are closed. You take in the strong features of his profile, noting the prominence of his nose and the way his eyelashes rest on his high cheekbones.

“I almost punched him.” Aaron whispers, opening his eyes to look over at you sheepishly.

“You what,” you exhale, mouth slightly agape.

“That guy,” he continues, bringing his left hand up to pinch his nose. “I almost punched him for saying that about you.”

You snort, amused by his confession.

Your husband lets out a short laugh, squeezing your thigh as he does.

“I would’ve liked to see that.” You’re grinning now and so is he.

He flashes his eyes at you and laughs again, this time less anxiously. You join him, feeling the tension dissipate with every passing moment.

“My big, bad FBI man decking a barely-legal drunk dickhead for making a move on his wife? Where can I get my tickets?” You joke.

As you say the words “his wife,” Aaron’s breath hitches in his throat. His hand on your thigh presses down instinctively. Neither of his reactions go unnoticed.

You lay a hand over his where it rests on your leg.

“You know, Aaron,” you begin.

He looks over at you, jaw tight, but this time it isn’t from anger.

“This is the first time we’ve had the house all to ourselves in months,” you pull his hand off you and bring it up to your lips. You press a kiss to his palm, and then to his wrist.

“This… is true,” he breathes out, studying you, taking you in.

“So, I’m just wondering:” you grin, linking your fingers with his, “are you going to carry your wife into our house, Aaron? Or do I have to walk myself?”

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givemethatgold · 3 years

Text

Fix’er Upper - Part Twelve

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: Mentions of sex, swearing, mentions of drug use, fluff, smidge of angst? Length: 1.7k Notes: Managed to whip up this bad boy during a quiet moment today and should probably make y’all wait for it but I don’t really do posting schedules (as you’ve noticed) so enjoy. Not beta’d, not proof read, I’ll die on this messy hill.

Series Masterlist

Surprisingly, life didn't change too much after that night. Frankie continued to run his acreage and oversee the making of this year's cider. With some encouragement and support from you, he was starting to expand the business and already had a few pubs in the closest city clamouring to have his product on tap.

Meanwhile, the improvements on the house were nearing an end, for the indoors list anyways. The first thing Frankie had helped you do was to install your new soaker tub, immediately followed by christening it by making soft, slow love to you inside of it.

There hadn't even been any water, your impatience to be close to each other wouldn't allow for that. You had just stripped out of your coveralls, convenient work-wear for people who fucked like rabbits you had to admit, and sat in his lap with your arms and legs wrapped around him. His hands guiding your hips in a slow rocking motion, breathing each other's air as your open mouths hovered in a not-quite kiss, only breaking eye contact when you threw your head back as you came.

Autumn passed quickly and Winter had gripped Vermont, cloaking the countryside in a heavy blanket of white. Christmas was a cozy affair, you and Frankie had been asked to join Jacquie and Mark in their family's merriment. It had stirred something inside of you, watching a functional family laugh, sing, argue, eat, and love with such abandon.

It was everything you'd dreamt, initially, for your future with Brad. Now? Now you were starting to picture that future with Frankie's face as the patriarch, you just haven't built up the nerve to broach the subject yet.

You'd started working at the bakery, enjoying the early mornings surrounded by rising dough and sculling back coffees with the adorable older ladies who ran the place. You'd also begun doing the books for Morales Acres and Catfish Brewery. Frankie was a veritable genius but he claimed he had no patience for keeping receipts and tracking numbers.

You had a sneaking suspicion he was playing dumb in an effort to give you more time together but you really didn't mind. Your break-of-dawn mornings at the bakery had you tired, but after a full day of renovating or bookkeeping, you were downright exhausted and ready for bed by eight pm. This, mixed with Frankie monitoring the brewing, bottling, and distribution of his cider and networking at bars and pubs throughout the state meant the two of you rarely saw each other.

All of your hard work in your own house had made you a popular friend to call when someone needed decorating advice, or a helping hand once they realized they couldn't tile their kitchen backsplash solo. You never charged for your time, although payment had initially been offered until work had got around that you preferred a good meal and conversation over money. I mean, sure, you could use the cash but it just didn't seem right. And you loved helping people and making deeper connections with the town you now truly felt you belonged in.

Tuesday evenings had become an unofficial date night for the two of you. The bakery was closed on Wednesdays and bar owners tended to be less interested in business halfway through the week, something to do with the rush of the previous weekend having worn off and the worry of setting up for another one starting to grow.

This meant you could stay up late, enjoy a proper homemade dinner, maybe even watch a movie or share a bottle of wine while soaking in your big ass tub. It usually ended as a sleepover, your house being the preferred location; Frankie's loft was perfectly fine but it did lack a certain homey appeal.

This pattern, this life, that you'd created for yourself was making you happier than you'd ever been in your entire life. You weren't one hundred percent content, not yet anyway, but the path to getting there was on a direct trajectory. You still wanted to finish your college degree, maybe switch it over to horticulture. Building a greenhouse and selling flowers was still a pipe dream but something your heart truly longed for, something that Frankie was constantly encouraging you to do.

"Look, hun," he had called out to you a few weeks ago while supposedly researching the new line of bottles. "There's an auction next county over and they have all this confiscated stuff from a grow op that got busted!"

"What?" You'd made a face and laughed at the absurdity of it all. "What on earth would you use from a pot farm?"

He just gave you a salacious wink as an answer.

Frankie had been open about his past drug abuse and while some recovering addicts may want all mention of it banned from a conversation, Frankie found levity in treating the topic like any other person would.

It had taken you a couple of hours to realize why he'd brought up the auction. It had hit you with a jolt, knowing that he’d remembered your rambling from on top of the Ferris wheel. You didn't realize he'd been listening when you'd told him about your idea of taking over the flower stand at the market once the current couple retired.

Your heart had swelled and there was a concerted effort to prevent the sudden onset of tears from running down your face. God, you loved this man, maybe one of these days you should tell him...

This particular routine was working well for the two of you. It gave each of you your own space to relax, destress, enjoy the shitty tv shows you were too embarrassed to watch in front of another living person. It also forced the two of you to take your relationship slowly, communication being a constant learning curve. You were both really good and telling each other when you needed time alone, when you were feeling stressed or sad. You each had learned the tells for when the other was angry or just hungry, if it was hormones or if there was something that was actually pissing you off.

The thing you each seemed to struggle with was expressing the softer side of the relationship. Neither of you appeared to have the Words of Affirmation love language skill, yet you both craved to hear it. You showed how much you cared for Frankie with your acts of service; helping him with the boring side of the business, baking, deep cleaning the loft, even scrubbing out the massive fermenter in the Catfish Cider warehouse.

Frankie, on the other hand, showed his love through physical touch. At first, you had assumed it was a staking-his-claim kind of thing but then you noticed how he'd do it all the time. A hand on your lower back while walking, caressing your hand with his thumb when driving in the truck, carding his fingers through your hair while you watched tv.

This week's date night found you at his place, relaxing in the loft after a busy workday. You were making dinner while he 'helped' by sneaking bites of the prepped ingredients, arm slung around you with a hand in your back pocket.

"What're you looking for?" He asked, taking advantage of your distracted searching through his cupboards to sneak a few more pinches of grated cheese.

"A can opener!" You replied, exasperation raising your voice an octave. "I could have sworn I saw a white one around here somewhere..."

“No, pretty sure that one's yours. I don't think I have one?"

"Frankie," you deadpanned "how did you survive as a bachelor without canned food?"

"I ate a lot of take-out?" He looked indignant at your laughter, "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Can you stop judging me long enough to eat some burritos?"

Smoothing his playful scowl with a kiss, you sat down at the counter and enjoyed your first meal together of the week.

An idea was formulating in the back of your mind, though, and you barely tasted anything. As the evening progressed, the idea grew and you were liking it more and more. The final straw was you not having a toothbrush in his bathroom anymore, having forgotten that it had fallen off the counter and into the trashcan the last time you'd spent the night.

Using his, with a strange mixture of distaste and nonchalance, before making your way over to the bed, you began to plan how the conversation could go:

Hey Frankie, so you know how I have a big house all to myself? Yeah... And it had everything we need in it? Yeah... And there's more than enough room for two adults to store all of their things? Yeah... And I wouldn't have to use your toothbrush ever again? Yea- wait what? I think you should move in with me.

It wasn't very romantic but it was the most likely, considering your dynamic. Just as you were crawling into bed and snuggling under the arm he'd raised to allow you to get closer, his cell phone rang.

"Hello? - This is he. - Yeah, biological. - Oh god, when?"

The immediate change in his tone from questioning to horrified caught your attention, sitting up to face him you grabbed his free hand, silently letting him know you were there for support.

His eyes were out of focus and a panicked expression was slowly morphing his face as the conversation went on, but he gave your hand a squeeze back in acknowledgement.

"Yes, in Vermont. Do you have my address? - Okay, good, good...okay - When? - I'll have something ready. Umm... does she... does she remember me? - Oh. Okay, thank you."

Slowly lowering the phone from his ear, Frankie sat staring into nothingness for what felt like hours. His side of the conversation and the way he was reacting had you rattled. You could guess as to what was happening but weren't sure if now was the right time to pry.

"Babe? Is, is everything okay?"

Silence.

Gripping his hand tighter and rubbing his back you sat with him for a few more minutes before trying again. You didn’t want to push him but your heart was constricting in your chest from nervousness and concern for him.

"Can I get you anything? What do you need?"

His hand was now completely dead in yours; eventually, he turned his head towards you, eyes never fully focusing, and shook his head.

"I- she- fuck... I think you should go.”

Part Thirteen

#Frankie Morales x F!Reader #Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader #Frankie Catfish Morales x F!Reader #Frankie Catfish Morales x Fem!Reader #Francisco Morales x F!Reader #Francisco Catfish Morales x Fem!Reader #Frankie Morales x Reader #Frankie Morales x you

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missgeniality · 3 years

Text

“Kittens, They Love To Enslave Us”

prompt sent by @shadowsremedy : “ yoongi + sfw please haha + something cute!” - thank you so much for sending me a prompt gray!! i hope this does some justice! on a side note, i do feel terribly handicapped when things are fluffy and cute ;_;

find out how to send me prompts on the post here!

➺ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

➺ Genre: Fluff, Established Relationship!AU

➺ Rating: PG

➺ Word Count: 1.1k

➺ Warnings: None

“But he is looking at me.”

“Y/N, they’re all looking at you. People walking outside are staring at you. You’re like a wild Beyblade in a ring, spinning from one kitten to another. Just pick one.”

To a third person, Yoongi’s comment would sound like an annoyed grouse. His half-mumbled words, paired with the lazy cadence of his tone; it’s a reasonable assumption.

But you know better.

The way he is admiring you as you pout in confusion tells you most of it. There is a light mocking in his speech, a lilt of levity, something you are able to pick up on due to your years of togetherness. He’s not miffed; merely amused at your inability to choose from the deluge of furry babies lined in front of you.

“I can’t just leave him,” you’re trying hard to push out the one wild voice in your head browbeating you to empty your savings to become the crazy cat collector of your street, “his eyes are - LOOK AT HIM - they’re calling me!”. The youngling in question, seated on a bright, puffy cushion tilts his head, in expected confusion, probably wondering why this eccentric specimen is almost on their knees, wailing in his direction. You groan out loud, sitting cross-legged on the floor, stuffing your face into your hands in the hopes of an answer in the lineament of your palms.

The only sound populating the air around you is the mirthful snickers of the highly entertained boyfriend of yours. “You know, you don’t have to make a decision today.”

You vehemently deny the option, your shaking head hurling your hair side to side, accentuating your opinion. “But you’re not free any other day!”. You and Yoongi had decided to adopt, so it is rightful of him to be present while making the decision. You didn’t want to have that privilege to yourself, although with the passage of time your wishy-washy nature feels like a handicap - all the more reason to want Yoongi there.

With your head still in the sanctuary of your palms, you reason out with yourself. You know you’re being dramatic - you’d like to think you’re reasonably self-aware. But it’s not the sole idea of getting a pet that’s causing you worry.

This might be the first big step in your relationship with Yoongi, after moving in with him. And you don’t want anything to sabotage what you consider a smooth-sailing. Adding a variable to your equation might rock the ship you’ve steadied for all these years, the variable being a cup-size blob of hair with glimmering buttons for eyes. You’d like to think you and Yoongi have weathered quite a few vicissitudes, by placing your trusts in your partner’s hands. Getting a pet isn’t the end of the world, but the domino effect it could possibly have is affecting your decision-making skills.

Your head hasn’t left the sanctuary of your palms when you feel Yoongi’s fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging them towards him to have you meet his eye.

If there’s one thing about Yoongi, it’s that his eyes do a lot more talking than his lips. The gaze he’s giving is gushing with love, the soft apples of his cheeks plumped up into rosy globes as he simpers at you, just for being you. His eyes, brown and lax under the mellow late-afternoon rays flooding through the window, pacify you, quell the turmoil that runs in your brain, and offer the reassurance that you need. Under Yoongi’s loving gaze, you feel a metaphorical fuzzy blanket wrapped around, instantly putting you to comfort.

You’re going to be all right. One cat can’t sabotage a relationship as durable as yours, and if it does, it wasn’t durable enough to begin with.

From a corner, the agent walks in, papers for the adoption rustling in her hand. “Were you able to decide?” She’s startled by the position she finds you both in, you in an unflattering cross-legged pose, with Yoongi kneeled beside you. But as usual, Yoongi’s calm and tranquil demeanor sets her at ease. “I have the papers ready, so we can start whenever you want.”

“We’ll probably come back later.” Yoongi opines, understandably so, but you’ve made up your mind.

“Yoongi, no we ca-”

In a flash, a black ball of fur rolls in out of nowhere and lands on your lap, soft bean-paws pressing into the flesh of your thighs as it stomps around for the sweet spot. Turning to Yoongi, this young, fledgling kitty gives out, what is its own mind, probably the loudest, most intimidating roar in the world of felines.

The soft, elongated meow that actually leaves the kitten traps your heart in its cage, and even catches Yoongi by surprise. A defensive stance, the little one throws its best threatening glare at him, in presumably an attempt to guard you. Yoongi clutches his heart at the dramatism, and the agent is chuckling in awe of the runt’s behavior.

“Minnie!”, she coos to the munchkin backing up on your thighs, “You can’t just climb people, you clingy baby.”. The addressed one haughtily side-eyes her, as if to say ‘watch me’, and settles into your lap comfortably, with no intention to move visible.

“I’m so sorry. She’s usually not like this,” The agent moves to rid you of the furball, “usually it takes a lot to have her get along with people. She’s very feral, but,” pausing to look at the both of you, she chimes “she seems to like you two!”

“Well, she sure does like Y/N.” Yoongi extends his hand to cup the kitten’s face, whiskers tickling the side of his palm as he tries to get on her good side. A soft, low purr tells you all that his peace offering had been accepted. It makes Yoongi grin, his gummy smile brightening up the whole room better than any ray of sunshine.

The agent, looking over the whole interaction, affectionately quips “Well, you may not be able to choose one, but she seems to has chosen you!” You’re still looking at him. In your core, you have decided to take her home. Yoongi, admiring the kitten’s sparkling blue eyes, raises his gaze to meet yours, and at that moment you know; she is the one.

Cruising through the paperwork, Minnie had decided to give Yoongi’s lap a try. Now, her head is resting on his acid-washed jeans, and if it were possible, you’d have hearts for eyes observing this scene. Your constant, Yoongi, the one always by your side, and your new source of joy, Minnie. Having them, you don’t need anything else.

“Ah,” you sigh, as Yoongi finishes signing the last page of the document, “kittens, they just love to enslave you.” You can already envision the amassment of toys you’re gonna bring in for this one small being, just to keep her happy and fulfilled.

“Hmmn, yeah.” Yoongi hums in reply, but something about the way he’s smiling at you tells you he’s not just referring to the floofball in his arms.

#min yoongi #min suga #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #yoongi fluff #suga fluff #bts fluff #min yoongi fluff #prompts #ficswithluv #bangtanhq #bangtancentralstation #bangtaninn #bangtanuniversity

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pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

Insufferable (250 Drabble)

250 Celebration Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Prompt: A fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip, soothing it with a lick

Word Count: 1061

Warnings: Modern!AU. Arguing, both of them are too stubborn for their own good, but mostly fluff. Angst too tho, a teeny tiny bit. Sigurd is portrayed as a bit of a dick in this one (sorry!)

A/N: I am so sorry it took me this long to put this one out there. I am not very happy with it tbh, but I need to get to the end of this celebration at some point lol

I hope it isn’t too bad, and thank you :)

Ivar isn’t phased at your presence in his apartment when he gets home, and neither is Hvitserk, who greets you with a wave from the door before leaving. You don’t know what to make of that, of how easily they all seem to accept you making out of his place your second home.

You exchange short greetings as you watch your boyfriend from your place in his couch, swallowing down apprehension at the tension you see written in all of him.

Ivar discards his crutch with more force than necessary and sits down next to you with a huff, but you still choose to stay silent, waiting for him to choose to speak.

“Sigurd is a bastard,” Ah, one of those days with his brothers. “I don’t know what we were arguing about, but he kept insisting you’re counting the days to leave me. Exact words were something about being stuck with a crazy cripple.”

“That’s…” You frown, disgusted and angry, but words fail you. After a breath, you say, “He usually doesn’t involve me in your fights.”

Ivar grunts, turning his head back to look ahead, “He does. I just don’t tell you about it.”

You turn to sit on your side, one leg folded underneath you, and reach up to set his hair free from the hair band. With a smile, you run your fingers through his loose hair, moving it back from the side of his face.

“You know none of that is true.” You offer quietly, but Ivar only hums in response.

After a few minutes of silence, he turns to you. You offer the softest smile you can, but his pale blue eyes search yours, looking for…something.

“Move in with me.”

The gasp that leaves your lips sounds as if someone had dropped a weight on your chest. Which they probably did.

The answer trembles past your lips, confused and shocked, “N-No.”

Ivar has the look of someone that just had the air punched out of him, and you watch with baited breath how the surprise, the shock and pain, quickly give way to anger, to coldness and resentment.

“You are asking me to move in with you because you’re trying to prove something to Sigurd.” You offer tentatively, but you don’t get to him, you dare think.

He shakes his head, voice strangely muted when he says, “I asked you to move in with me, and you said no. This has nothing to do with my brother.”

“You know it does.”

His eyes lift to meet yours for the first time since you gave him your answer, and your chest hurts at the myriad of uncertainty and pain and anger you see in them.

Ivar whispers, almost lost, almost wrathful, somewhere in between, “You said no.”

Your heart threatens to break, and you want to make things clear, you want to offer an…an explanation.

So, you offer, “Ivar, I love you, but if you aren’t sure about this I-…”

“Are you not sure about this?” He interrupts, voice rising.

You freeze in your spot, eyes wide, “Huh?”

Ivar narrows his eyes, the clear tell of gritted teeth as he adjusts himself on the couch. He looks intently at you, coldness and pain masked with cruelty shining in his pale eyes.

“Answer the fucking question.”

You frown, “It is a stupid fucking question.”

“That you haven’t answered yet,” He doesn’t hesitate to point out, biting. After a breath, his mask threatens to slip, his expression threatens to fall, and for a moment you catch a glimpse of pain, of fear, when he asks, “Are you not sure about us, is that it? Is this your shitty way of choosing to tell me it’s over, hm?”

“What on earth…” You take a deep breath, and sentence, “No.”

“You hesitated.”

Gods, he can be so difficult when he wants to be.

“Because I am confused!” You insist, before gesturing with your hand at the enraged shock that simmers in his gaze, “Not that kind of confused, for fuck’s sake.”

“Then…then explain,” He demands, petulant and stubborn. “I don’t-…I want to hear it.”

Without hesitation this time, you remind him, “I love you. I want to be with you. If you had asked at any other time, I would have said yes. No question about it. I just…” You sigh, “Why did you ask me to move in with you? And be honest.”

Ivar’s eyes stay stubbornly on yours for a few breaths, before he offers any words. And you notice, in the slight drop of his shoulders, in the way his breath doesn’t seem quite so carefully controlled anymore, that he believes you, that he listened.

“It wasn’t because of Sigurd,” He spits out his brother’s name like it’s a curse, and you almost want to smile. “I asked you because I…I have been thinking about it for a while, we’ve…talked about it, too.”

“We have.” You offer when he stays quiet, as if to prompt him to continue.

“And you still said no.” He quips, annoyingly. You scoot closer to him still.

“I didn’t say no to you, I said no to…”

“Moving in with me.” He finishes for you, bitingly bitter still.

“Gods above, stop it.” You groan, leaning forward and shutting him up with a kiss.

Your hand grips tightly at the shirt over his chest, your own way of bringing him closer as you kiss him hungrily, angrily. When you feel Ivar give in to your kiss, his hand finding the back of your head and trying to take control of the kiss, you pull back, your teeth closing over his bottom lip and drawing a choked little sound from him.

You smile, your lips still a breath away, and because you will never have enough of that dazed and longing look in his eyes you can witness after just one kiss, you kiss him again, barely a breath, letting your tongue run over the spot where you bit last.

Ivar clears his throat, a small hum afterwards. Still, he insists,

“Still not an answer.”

“Are you going to annoy me until I say yes?”

“I tried asking you,” He quips back, and there’s levity in his pale eyes, “But you said-…”

You interrupt him with another kiss, and he chuckles against your lips when you pull away.

“Yes, Ivar. My answer is yes.”

____ ____ ____

That’s it for my 250 followers celebration! All drabbles are done! Hope you liked this, thank you so much for reading!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @1950schick @ietss @peachyboneless @encounterthepast @xceafh @maggiescarborough @chibisgotovalhalla @fae-sedai @zuxiezendler @crazybunnyladysworld

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar #250holyfuckthankyou #250 holy fuck thank you

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pfreadsandwrites · 3 years

Note

I would love to request smth for your 100 follower celebration 🥰 It’s so hard to decide which prompt to choose but since I’m a sucker for some good ol‘ fluff: 77: “ Are you jealous? ” and 54: “ I can’t stand the thought of loosing you. ”. I don’t know if two prompts make it easier or harder to write smth, I hope this is ok 😅

100 follower celebration

Yet again, I am super sorry for the delay in this. Just, the weird cold i’ve had the past few days, the last one I did hardly being read, creativity, writer’s block, etc but I really hope you enjoy this @praisingkuroosbedhead !! Thank you so much for the support you’ve shown me up until now and i just realised your icon is Bisuke... I love... Also yeah i struggled a little a lot, just because I don’t think Kakashi would show his jealousy in a very obvious way, the second prompt would usually come after something kinda serious like an argument, so Kakashi having a moment of actually showing anger in his jealousy (which is what would realistically lead into the second prompt)... So i had like 3 or 4 different outlines that were way too complicated so i found this very difficult. It was nothing to do with your request though, my brain is just... empty... . I still don’t know if this one’s any good though, think i thought about it too much which made for worse writing but i still hope you enjoy!

warnings: jealousy (duh), slight arguments, and resolution, fluff, reader being a dumbdumb, Kakashi being a dumbdumb too i guess but he’s mostly just grumpy this time, not proofread cuz my brain has gone on strike, 2.5k

taglist: @madaras-housewife @datblobbyfish @praisingkuroosbedhead @allthingskakashi @enchantedpendant @ibukiirisha @cinam00n @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @tachibrii @drunkenfists

sidenote: if anyone on my taglist could confirm they got the notification for this that would be interesting to know, but then it’s not like i can do anything about it lol.it would be cool if this showed in tumblr’s tags but i’m not holding out much hope.

77. “Are you jealous?” / 54. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

It’d only lasted a second, but you could have sworn you’d seen it.

No. Though you had no proof before you, you knew you’d seen it. You saw his fist clench - just for a moment - then his strong fingers uncurled, as if regaining composure. His eyebrows knitted to a point, furrowing nicely in that way you always found so attractive, but even that was quickly replaced with that familiar, relaxed gaze you were also charmed by. Even if you were a little disappointed to see it so soon.

But when you looked again, Kakashi had disappeared from the spot he’d occupied most of the night - leaning back with one foot against the wall, arms crossed as he pretended to read that stupid book of his.

Could he have straight up teleported out of there, sick of this party, your shenanigans or both? You had to admit, you didn’t put it past him. But before you had the opportunity to explore your suspicions, a louder, less familiar voice reclaimed your thoughts.

So, reluctantly, you shifted your attention back to the drink you’d been working on and the man in front of you. You hadn’t led him on - unless repeatedly mentioning your complete lack of availability fell under that category - but Kakashi didn’t know that. And though his apparent inability to take a hint was beginning to grate on you, you had to admit that it served nicely for something else. Nothing noble - namely, eliciting a damn reaction out of your frustratingly stoic boyfriend - but it seemed effective nonetheless.

Not that it had stopped the pang of guilt creeping up from the pit of your stomach to your pounding chest. Though you were willing to deny your principles, even if only slightly, you really hadn’t meant to upset him.

But you were no fool, either.

You knew exactly what you were doing tonight.

You knew why you had come out, why you had chosen this dress, and why you had asked that Kakashi come along tonight.

At first, he had refused dismissively. Like he tended to do these days. But when he saw that you were set on going, with or without him, dressed like that - he suddenly decided that he ‘would tag along for a bit if you absolutely insisted’. You had smirked, amused at how he feigned like you were forcing him, but didn’t challenge him.

You knew just how immature you were being. You were sure Kakashi did too, but it was very nice of him to let himself be swayed despite that, just this once.

But it was the best you could do, considering the circumstances. Every date he had to cancel, every night he came back after you went to bed and every morning he was gone before you woke up - you were at your limit.

You were willing to get his attention in any way you could.

The fact that he was currently out of sight was a mild dampener on your plan, but no matter - surely it was a sign that you’d succeeded, albeit a small one.

It was big enough for you to decide to find him, anyway. Maybe, if you were lucky, you’d even manage to actually talk to him about everything bothering you. Imagine that, an honest-to-God conversation! You didn’t think you were being too optimistic.

You made to slip away from the stranger attempting to retain monopoly on your attention as politely as possible. Unfortunately, his alcohol-fuelled indignation appeared to have got the best of him, and he grabbed your wrist, holding you firmly in place. You tensed, but your pleasant smile barely had the chance to transform before you felt another hand on you. On your shoulder, this time, but it was familiar.

“Hey Y/N.”

Kakashi’s nonchalant voice alone quelled that surge of anger and fear that had been bubbling beneath you. When you looked up at him, your shoulders relaxed involuntarily. Not that you had needed him exactly. You could handle an overzealous drunk at the very least, but he had that knack for allowing you to just breathe. “Hi.”

Your nuisance’s confidence dissipated just as quickly as it gathered. Evidently, he hadn’t expected to encounter the Kakashi Hatake tonight, especially not alongside you of all people. Kakashi hadn’t sounded threatening, not obviously anyway, but he didn’t need to. His reputation preceded him, and he counted on that fact - and sure enough, the other man let go of you immediately.

“Is there a problem here?” Kakashi wondered. Only the gruff tone at the end of his question belied his (potentially) aggressive implications, but it was all he needed.

“No! No problem at all!,” the other man assured, and moved back, suddenly very careful to observe his distance.

It was amusing to see the change yourself, the intimidating effect Kakashi had on others without even trying. If you didn’t know him better, you’d have felt too scared to try and mess with him in the first place.

“Glad to hear it! Now, if you’ll excuse us…,” his voice trailed off. He didn’t bother explaining himself further, or giving you time to argue, before pulling you away and through the crowd of people.

You almost stumbled, struggling to keep up with him in your heels. As much as you were happy to get the alone time you wanted, his hasty actions unnerved you a little. You noticed that his eyes were narrowed, the furrowed brow from before back with a vengeance. Was he actually angry? “Kakashi, wait! where are we -”

“Let’s just get some air.”

You couldn’t deny that sounded nice, and the peace and quiet on the rooftop was a welcome change from the raucous energy of the party beneath it. But Kakashi didn’t say anything else. He only adopted a similar position to the one he’d had inside, leaning against the roof door with his arms folded and eyes closed.

The air was suddenly… dense. This was uncomfortable. You sighed, and he peered an eye open to look at you. Still saying nothing, but at least it was acknowledgement. Taking your cue to approach him, you attempted to make sense of your current situation.

“Are you jealous?”

You asked it before you knew what you were saying. In hindsight, it was a stupid question. You knew that. Even if there were any inkling of truth behind it (and you suspected there was), Kakashi would vehemently deny it. No. He was above that - obviously. He wouldn’t allow himself to be manipulated by your obvious behaviour, by an an emotion as petty and irrational as mere jealousy.

Even as his actions belied his words, as they so typically did, as he had placed that large hand on your shoulder and led you away from your latest admirer, in that powerful but completely lackadaisical way that only he was capable of. Never realising how imposing he could be until you were up close, but never betraying that control either. God forbid he ever show that you were capable of bothering him.

When you glanced back at him, though, Kakashi was frowning again. His mask wasn’t the amazing obstacle he thought it was; you’d become quite adept at reading his expression through his eyes alone where others couldn’t.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said flatly. The subtle growl that accompanied his final syllable contrasted with the joviality your question, and it caught you off-guard. You had been cheerful enough, even teasing, but his stern glare and suddenly intimidating stature (he was so good at hiding it) cut through the levity you’d tried to bring to the situation. Suddenly, you were confronted with every implication of your actions tonight.

But you could only think of one acceptable way to shroud your nascent insecurity. Indignation and feigned confidence. “Why is it ridiculous?! Why did you pull me away like that if you weren’t?”

“Well, it seemed like he wasn’t getting it,” Kakashi shrugged. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No! But I could have handled it,” you sighed, but you didn’t have much faith in your words. You were sure you could have, probably, but you both knew you didn’t exactly hate the idea of him - specifically him - helping you like that. Even if you didn’t always like to admit it.

He hummed, amused, and you felt like he might have been smirking under his stupid mask. “Well, that’s probably true. But you were too busy playing games to notice what was going on.”

“I wasn’t playing games,” you hissed. Yet again, your words felt empty. But you hated being so transparent.

“If you say so. Care to enlighten me on what you were doing then?”

That scar that cut through his left eye, that was so engraved into his skin did an excellent job at cutting through your defences too. He was so good at seeing through you, you were surprised at the prospect of having to explain yourself. You had the inkling he just wanted you to admit it, the asshole, regardless of what it would do to your dignity. “Well, I-I don’t know.”

Kakashi folded his arms, as unimpressed by your response as you were taken aback. “Well, by all means, go back to him and figure it out.”

That was it. How willing he was to dismiss you, again. His tone sparked your own anger, and you were suddenly hit with the frustration of not just tonight, but of everything up until now.

“Why are you being such a jerk about it? Don’t you understand that tonight is the most emotion I’ve had out of you in weeks? I’ve tried so hard to be patient, and now I’m trying to be more obvious, and maybe this wasn’t the best way of handling it, but you don’t make it easy! You barely pay attention, then you act as if another man paying attention is meaningless, and then - Don’t you understand that I just miss you, but you don’t…,” your voice trailed off, and that dumbfounded wide-eyed stare Kakashi was giving you was the final straw. You were overwhelmed. You were exhausted. You were annoyed. How could he have the gall to look shocked while you bore your (admittedly, slightly nonsensical) soul to him? Your breath eventually caught up with your words, and the embarrassment at your rare tears and even rarer outburst lagged behind. You turned away.

“Y/N, I didn’t mean to - I just. Hey. Don’t cry.” It was Kakashi’s turn to stumble over his words. His breath hitched. “I miss you too. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t say anything, though you couldn’t exactly grant his request. How were you supposed to stop crying, when this was the first time he’d shown any regret, any realisation, over your feelings tonight? Had he honestly no idea? On second thought, you didn’t doubt that after all. The concern in his voice was genuine, and you knew he was even worse at working through his feelings than you were.

“I can’t stand the thought of losing you,” Kakashi whispered, just loud enough for you to hear. You turned back, something in that gravelly timbre of his voice pulling at your heartstrings. When you met his sincere gaze, he quickly closed the gap between you. When his thumbs moved to still your tears, your hands travelled to meet his. This was the closest you’d been in weeks.

“You have a funny way of showing that,” you admitted with a sniff.

He hesitated. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t figure out how to fix it. So with work, I let myself get distracted. I didn’t know what to do about… any of it”

His words and intent eyes render you touched, but ultimately, confused. You struggled to assuage both you and himself. “You’re the one that pulled away. Don’t you get that I don’t like the thought of losing you either? But at least I was doing something about it.”

“You think that was doing something about it?” His tone was a little too accusatory, and he knew it, relenting with a sigh before you had a chance to argue your case again. “Right. You were. It wasn’t very effective, or sensible - I know, I know - but it was more than what I was doing.”

You remained silent, ruminating on his words. It was nice to hear, affirming to have some admission that you weren’t the only one, that you were justified in your feelings. But you knew you weren’t guiltless either. “But I’m sorry. It was stupid to make you jealous. I should have just talked to you.”

“Yes, it was, and yes, you should have,” he agreed, a little too readily. You rolled your eyes, but he leant in close, as if in response, completely aware of the fact that he made your cheeks flare up. He leant down, lips dangerously close to your ear now, and went on in that huskier whisper that sent a shiver up your spine. “But it did work. It drove me crazy. Seeing them all look at you like that. Seeing him look at you like that. Watching him trying to get close to you. When he tried to touch you. ”

Wait? Did Kakashi just say it worked? Did you finally get him to admit that he was jealous? You allowed yourself an internal cheer of triumph. “I knew it!” An external one, too.

Never one to let you revel in your victories, least of all the petty ones, Kakashi stood up straight and went on. “Anyway. I’m sorry for being as distant as I was. I’m the one who put you in that position. I suppose I should have just talked to you too.”

“You suppose?”

Kakashi chuckled, tugging his mask down. You saw a glimpse of that genuine, handsome, smile - and you realised how long it’s been since you’ve really seen it. You were still pondering it when he kissed you. It was soft, sweet, apologetic - but much too short, and he was pulling his mask up before you could protest. “It’s nice to be gracious, Y/N. You were right. For the most part. Can’t we leave it at that?”

You gave an obnoxious sigh before grinning at him. “I suppose.”

“Thank you. Now, can we please go home already?”

You giggled, forgetting your self-consciousness for the moment, and placed a kiss on the masked part of his cheek. “Sure. Hey, make me a promise, though?”

He looked at you expectantly, even a bit apprehensive.

You reached up, your lips just as dangerously close to the shell of his ear as his had been to yours, and whispered. “Do you promise to make up for the distance, if I promise to make up for driving you crazy?”

Kakashi didn’t say anything, but you got the feeling that he didn’t have a problem with your terms. Something in the way he led you out, just as he had led you away from that nuisance. Something in the way he’d picked you up and carried you to bed that night, and in the way he held you close afterwards, his grip unrelenting. Something in that smile that you had missed so much, that was only for you.

It only lasted for a second, but you could have sworn you’d seen it.

#kakashi x reader #kakashi #kakashi hatake #hatake kakashi #naruto #kakashi fanfic #pfwrites #a lot of words but a lot of nothing #i feel like this is a fluffy nothing #enchantedpendant yours is next!! i'm scared/excited to start yours #so i can write an angsty nothing

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blossom-hwa · 4 years

Text

Constellation - FELIX

The last week and a half has been hectic, to say the least. I don’t think I need to go into detail about why, but hopefully this story will bring back a bit of levity :) I’m really excited that it’s finally finished, and for a) the comeback and b) Felix’s birthday no less! Happy comeback, happy late birthday to the one and only Han Jisung, and happy birthday to the lovely marvelous wonderful Felix Lee, one of the best boys in the whole world! I hope you all enjoy :)

Pairing: Felix x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, nature spirit!au

Word Count: 11k

You swear an oath to return your fallen star to the sky.

SKZ Masterlist | Whispers of Nature

Felix’s head hurts. It really hurts.

Something liquid starts trickling down his hair when he tries to move, something that he’s pretty sure isn’t the starshine Donghyuck so loves to splash in his fellow stars’ faces. It’s much thicker. Stickier.

Where…?

Groaning slightly, Felix forces his eyes to flutter open slightly. Immediately a round of dizziness rushes into his head and he slams them shut, willing the nausea to fade away.

What happened?

Mentally, Felix starts going through everything he remembers doing tonight. Nothing much, really – he sent dreams to the children, shone in the Sky, mediated a squabble between a few younger stars, ran away from Donghyuck’s antics, then… falling?

Wait, falling?

His eyes snap open to cold air brushing his skin and dusky green dotting his vision. A stark horror starts to fill his mind, overtaking the growing pain in his head.

I’ve fallen. I’m on Earth.

Panic rises in his chest but he forces it down, if only for a few moments. He must’ve hit his head when he fell. That would explain the throbbing pain. He probably blacked out for some time – he doesn’t know how long, but the Sky’s light is already turning gray in the east so it must be near dawn by now.

If he weren’t immortal, he would be dead right here, right now. Felix gulps at the realization, sitting up slowly. His limbs work, even though they ache a lot. But even that pain can’t compete with the feeling in his head.

Something shiny glints at the corner of his vision and he turns to see bright ivory ichor on the grass. He slowly reaches a hand to the back of his head and feels a sticky, wet lump. When he lifts his fingers to his face, smears of ivory glitter in the faint daylight.

By the Mother Earth and her child the Sky, how did I get into this mess?

For how long he sits there, trying to get a grip on the situation, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what to do – should he try to find people? Should he try to figure out a way back home on his own? Should he just lie down and wait and hope that the Sky will take him back tomorrow night? Why did he even fall in the first place?

A rustling of grass jerks him out of his spiraling thoughts and his head whips to the right. The throbbing intensifies and Felix watches in mute horror as someone emerges from the trees.

For several seconds that could be minutes or even hours, Felix stares at you and you stare at him. Terror adds to the growing pile of emotions in his head and he can’t even act on his instinct to flee because his body feels so tired and pained that it won’t let him move. The fact that you’re a human nearly sends him spiraling again but he forces his mind to cooperate.

Felix has seen many things from his vantage point in the Sky. War. Famine. Greed. Disease. Destruction. So many atrocities that humans have committed against each other and against those they deem different, inferior.

What would they do to a star?

Slightly more mobile, Felix scoots backward as best he can. His eyes remain locked on yours and he can feel himself trembling in your presence.

A being of the heavens, a child of the Sky and the night, trembling in front of a small human. The other stars would laugh if he shared this story with him.

He wonders if his powers still work on earth.

But for now, he doesn’t need to find out. For instead of pressing forward, you back away, holding up your hands in a gesture that does not scream danger to him. Curious eyes look at him with wonder and a little fear, but not enough to warrant harm. It is natural to fear the unknown, but thankfully for Felix, it looks as though you have not given in to the fear so much as to hurt him.

“I’m sorry for scaring you. My name is Y/N.” Your voice is soft, like the one he uses when comforting a startled moon rabbit. “I saw you were injured. Do you need help?”

Yes. Yes, he does. He needs a lot of help, but he’s not sure if he trusts you enough to rely on you.

You sit down, keeping a safe distance away from him, though Felix isn’t sure if the distance is for your safety or his. “You’re bleeding,” you say patiently. “I’m a maiden at a shrine not far away. If you want, I can take you there and clean your wound, then give you directions to wherever you’re headed.” A small, worried smile plays on your face. “The shrine is very deep in the forest, you know. You must be lost.”

Almost against his will, Felix nods. He is lost.

So very lost.

“May I take you to the shrine?” you ask again. “I can help you better there.”

Felix notices his muscles have untensed. He’s relaxed in your presence. He vaguely thinks he should be upping his guard, but the pain in his head has rebounded and the throbbing has turned sharper. He raises a hand to the wound again and his fingers comes back still covered in blood.

Ivory blood.

Hiding his hand is of no use but he does it anyway, heart dropping when he sees your widened eyes.

Dead silence reigns, broken only by the slight rustling of the leaves.

“Ivory blood?” you finally say, smiling tentatively. “It’s okay. At the shrine, we take care of many magical beings. We’ve had pixies, nymphs, a few fae, even a demon, once. Red blood, golden blood, black blood. I’ve never seen ivory before, but we care for all, so long as they show us no harm.”

The momentary panic cleared his head but now that he thinks you still mean no harm, Felix finds himself relaxing again. He nods sluggishly.

You come forward, touch slow and gentle against his bruised skin. You loop one of his arms around your neck, then support him with an arm around his. Step by slow step, you help him across the soft grass, deeper and deeper into the forest.

. . . . .

The bruises are easy to treat – a few dabs of cream, and you promise the boy in front of you that they will be good as new in a few days. The wound on his head takes more time. Ivory blood oozes from a nasty lump on the back of his head, and it takes a lot of water, a lot of flinching, and a lot of murmured apologies before it’s clean and bandaged.

“Done.” You finally give what you hope is a reassuring smile and begin putting away the bandages. “I need to go do my morning chores, but you can stay and lie on my bed awhile. I don’t think many people will come by here, but on the off chance that they do, they won’t hurt you. I promise. I’ll be back soon, probably around midday.”

He nods, luminous eyes staring at you with something unreadable in their depths. Even as you begin walking to your bedroom door, he doesn’t lie down on the bed. He’s still sitting as you close the door quietly behind you.

Your heart pounds as you rush down the hall, hoping the priestesses won’t scold you for being so late to your chores. They know your fascination with the forest, know the long walks you take every morning. Maybe you could just say you got lost in the sunrise? They wouldn’t hold that against you, would they?

Thankfully, no one comes by as you snatch a broom from the shed and begin sweeping the front of the shrine clear of dead leaves. Your stomach scolds you for missing breakfast but really, what’s a missed meal in the face of helping one of the lost?

Even if this lost boy is unlike any being you’ve ever seen before.

A lot of magical beings have strange-colored blood. That didn’t faze you. Fae, sprites, nymphs – golden blood runs through all their veins. Hell, you’ve seen black blood from the demon you helped that one time. Ivory isn’t so different.

But white hair that glows? Eyes as pale and silvery as the moon? You’ve never seen that before. As you finish the chores and begin walking back to your room, you puzzle over what the boy is.

He reminds you of something, but what is it?

Lost in thought, you bump into a heavy table full of small relics. But just as the curse leaves your mouth and pain starts blooming in your hip, a yelp from the sleeping quarters pushes all thought out of your mind and you run to your room.

You nearly smack into Priestess Jeon, the head priestess of fire, who’s standing outside of your room with a shocked look on her face. Peering anxiously into the room, you see the boy, looking scared but thankfully unharmed.

“Y/N.” She turns to you, not angrily, not fearfully, but with confusion. “Why is there a star inside your bedroom?”

It hits you.

A star.

Of course.

He is a star. It explains the glowing candlelit hair, the luminous eyes, the way he seems to exude the calm of night. That’s what he reminded you of – a night sky full of stars.

“A star,” you finally murmur. “I-I’m sorry, Priestess. I found him in the forest and he was hurt, but when I came back I was already late for chores and I saw no one around so I tried to patch him up as best I could and left him here to rest until I finished. I was just coming back to check on him.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the poor star’s gaze flicker from you to the priestess to the door and you feel terrible. He’s a star, one of the luminous children of the sky and night, being forced to face two impure human beings.

How did he even end up on earth in the first place?

Priestess Jeon steps forward slightly and your eyes rivet between her and the star sitting on your bed. She kneels down so that she is eye-level with the boy and beings to speak.

“Hello, little star.” You know the smile she has on her face – it was the one that persuaded you and your brother to stay, and you only hope it has the same calming effect on the star. “I am Jeon Jiyoung, priestess of fire, and one of the head priestesses of this shrine. We are a shrine, but we are also a home for the lost. We welcome all – nymphs, demons, fae. We have never hosted a star before, but it would be our greatest honor to do so. If you are lost, we will take care of you until you can return to the sky.”

“I don’t know how.”

Had it not been so full of anxious terror, the startlingly deep voice that the star speaks with could have belonged to a man. But all you can see is a scared boy in front of you. Cracked, soft, terrified, his words make your heart clench.

“Would our witch know anything about stars?” you ask. “She might have suggestions. Or maybe Changbin?”

“Perhaps.” The priestess stands. “Our witch is very skilled – she might know something. Changbin is a moon child, too. He might know or be able to ask someone how to return you to the sky,” she tells the boy. “But until then, little star, do not fear. The shrine is safe for you. Y/N –” she looks at you – “can I entrust you with caring for our star?”

“Me?” you squeak. “Aren’t there… shouldn’t one of the older maidens… I’m not –”

“Do not doubt your capabilities.” Priestess Jeon puts a hand on your shoulder, smiling gently. “Besides,” she whispers, “I think our star is a little afraid – naturally so. Since you found him, I think he will trust you the most. You have not given him any reason to distrust you, have you?”

Biting your lip, you shake your head. She turns to the star, satisfied. “Is this all right with you?” she asks him.

His pale eyes bore into yours, as though he’s seeing right through your soul. Trapped beneath his gaze, you cannot move until he nods slowly. “Yes.”

“Then it is settled.” The priestess claps her hands. “Y/N, you are excused from the rest of today’s chores. Take our star to the healing ward and check him for any more extensive injuries. He may stay there until he can return home.”

. . . . .

Felix lies awake for most of that first night in the healing ward. He doesn’t like it there. It’s too clean, too silent. He would have preferred sleeping in your room and he wishes the priestess had suggested it, but she didn’t and his shyness prevented him from asking.

Faint sunlight shining through the windows tugs him out of a light sleep the next morning. You come in just as he’s swinging his legs out of the bed.

“Good morn – oh.” You cover your eyes. “I’ll just… wait outside until you… put on a shirt?”

Confused, Felix looks down. Then he remembers that humans have strange rules about covering up their skin in the presence of others. “Sorry,” he mumbles, hastily fumbling for the shirt he was given yesterday.

After a light breakfast – the milk and the bread taste good, but not so much the sour, crunchy thing you say is kimchi – you take him on a walk in the woods to meet the witch.

“I don’t know exactly why she came here,” you explain on the way there. “She just showed up one day, pregnant, and asked for shelter. I think only Priestess Jeon knows truly what happened to her.”

Felix doesn’t know much about witches, but the one he meets is kind. She has a child, a young boy who has her hair and nose and eyes and who quickly takes a shine to Felix. His skin is a little paler than hers, though, and their smiles aren’t quite the same. Maybe those are traits from his father.

“I’ll be honest with you – I don’t know exactly how to return you to the sky.” The witch closes her book and Felix looks up from the cooing little boy you’re holding in your lap. Little fists grab onto Felix’s pants and he almost yelps in surprise, but the boy’s chubby cheeks and laughing eyes render him silent and he deals with it, even though it feels strange. You laugh a little, adoring gaze focused on the child, and Felix pauses at the love he sees within your face.

The witch holds out her hands to her child, who immediately (thankfully) abandons your lap and Felix’s ragged pants to enter her arms. “I do think there is a library in the moon palace where there might be more books on the stars, however. I’ll ask Changbin to help me find some. Until then, I will give you a potion that will help you adjust to life on earth. It will change your sleeping pattern, as well as prevent serious sunburns. I’ll also ask Changbin for one of his moonflowers – I think the moon’s magic will help keep your body stable.”

Felix nods, a little overwhelmed by the information and disappointed that the witch doesn’t know how to return him home, but thankful nonetheless. “Thank you,” he says, dipping his head in respect.

“Thank you,” you echo, standing up from the floor. “Do you know when Changbin will be around?”

“Not exactly,” she replies, detaching her child’s hands from her hair and settling him firmly on her lap, “but he’ll come soon. It’s almost that time of the year, you know.”

A dark silence falls over the small house, something you and the witch understand but that Felix doesn’t. Clearly something bad happened to this Changbin, and he isn’t exactly sure he wants to know what.

Then the child starts babbling and the spell of silence is broken as the witch focuses her attention on him and you laugh at his antics. “Thank you, again,” you say, looking fondly at the small family. “If there is anything you ever need from the shrine, simply ask. You do so much for us.”

A faraway look comes into the witch’s face. Felix wonders what she’s thinking of. “It’s no problem.” She smiles warmly, but with a tinge of melancholy that a less perceptive person might not notice. “Oh, wait.” Hefting her son onto her shoulder, she stands. “Would you give me one of your hairs? I will need it for the potion.”

Bemused, Felix reaches up a hand and plucks out a strand of hair.

“I know it’s strange.” The witch takes it with an embarrassed smile. “But this is a specialized potion, specific for just you, and these potions often need something from the person they will be given to. It’s to ensure that it will be effective on you.” She smirks. “Blood is often temperamental, so I don’t use it unless I have to. And I don’t feel like you would want to drink what used to be one of your nails or a sliver of your skin.”

Felix makes a face. He would not.

“I suppose we should take our leave now.” You bow slightly and Felix scrambles to do the same. “Thank you so much again.”

“Thank you,” Felix echoes, hoping his expression conveys the depth of his gratitude.

“The pleasure is mine.” The witch smiles, patting her son on the back. “I’ll bring over the potion sometime tomorrow.”

Then the boy starts crying, so you quickly leave the hut.

. . . . .

“I need to complete my chores,” you tell the star as you two enter the shrine. “Do you want to come with me, or do you want to stay in the healing ward until I finish?”

A slight grimace crosses the star’s ethereal face when he hears your second option. You’re not surprised by his choice to come with you, but you are surprised by his offer of help.

“It’s awkward just standing here, watching you work,” he mumbles shyly. “If I’m staying here for some time, I should at least learn to help out.”

So you fetch him a broom and teach him to sweep, then attempt to teach him to cook. He’s surprisingly good at sweeping – he even looks graceful while doing it, which doesn’t make sense at all – but he’s a terrible cook. You have a hard time stifling your simultaneous laughter and yelps of fear when he nearly cuts off a finger and sends carrot peels flying all over the floor.

In the end, you send him back to the healing ward with a plate of food and a promise to join him after you’ve finished serving the other maidens and priestesses. But by the time you enter the ward, he hasn’t even begun eating yet.

“Are you not hungry?” you ask, sitting on the bed next to him. “We can wait to eat until later, it’s not a problem.”

The blush that settles across his freckled cheeks is strangely adorable. “Um… no.” He holds up his chopsticks. “How do you…?”

“Oh.” You laugh. “It’s not hard. Let me show you.”

So the star learns to use chopsticks as quickly as he learns to use the broom – so not long at all – and within minutes, he’s carefully putting food into his mouth. Silence falls as you fill your stomachs.

“Do you want to go outside?” you finally ask, putting your plate on the floor. Then you look more closely at his face and see pale pink beginning to burn on his skin. “Wait, are you already burning?” You touch his face, alarmed.

He shrugs, leaning back slightly. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “Is… that what the pain is? Burning?”

“You felt pain?” you half-screech. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugs again. “I thought it was normal?”

You sigh. “Have you ever been out during the day?”

The nonplussed look he gives you is enough of an indication of how dumb that question was. “I’m a star,” he says by way of reply.

“Sor-ry.” You roll your eyes, embarrassed. “Sunburns are common if you stay outside in the sun too long – the heat literally burns your skin. But normally you don’t get burns from walking under the forest canopy. I guess your skin is just extremely sensitive.” You rummage around a nearby drawer, pulling out a bottle of aloe. “Can I put this on you? It’ll soothe the pain.”

Swallowing, the star nods assent. You sit next to him and begin applying the gel to his skin.

“How do you have freckles if you don’t see the light of day?” you mumble, brushing gel over some of the tiny dots on his face. They don’t really look like freckles – they seem to have a pattern, and they’re a little darker – but that’s the best word you have for them.

“Freckles?”

There it is again – that lost, confused expression that he had while holding the chopsticks. He doesn’t know what freckles are.

“Uh, freckles.” You wave your hands somewhere near his cheeks. “The… dots? The dots on your face?”

His mouth forms a little ‘o’ as he realizes.

“Yeah.” You drop your hands. “People are either born with them or get them from the sun. Most of us get them from staying outside too long, it’s not a commonly-born trait.”

“I didn’t get them from the sun,” he mumbles. “They’re… the constellation I’m part of.”

Silence falls again as you put away the aloe. “By the way,” you finally say, trying to start conversation, “may I know your name? I don’t think you ever said anything…”

The star swallows. “I’m sorry. In the sky, we don’t usually give our names to anyone but ourselves. Because to give our name to someone like a fae or another trickster race would be disastrous.” He smiles a little. “You’re not a fae and you’ve been kind, but I don’t think I can give you my name just yet.”

You give him a small smile with the last dab of aloe. “Don’t worry. I know the weight of a name.” Happy memories bring a smile to your face. “We had a fae here once – his love brought him in after he fell out of a tree, trying to impress her.” You roll your eyes. “The priestesses had to give up their names and all of the maidens’, too, to know the fae’s and his lover’s. It was worth it, though.” You close the drawer, smiling at him. “The fae and his love are some of our favorite and most frequent visitors now.”

“A fae,” the star murmurs. “You have a lot of strange visitors.”

“We do, but it makes life interesting.” You lean forward. “Did I tell you about the demon?”

He shakes his head slightly. “You mentioned it, but didn’t go into detail.”

“Well, let me tell you, he had the wildest blood pressure.”

And so story after story turns afternoon into evening, the light outside the window dimming until you have to light a candle and one of the maidens comes in with food for you too. Guilt-stricken, you apologize for not cooking, but Jiae simply waves you off, reminding you that your duty is with the star and a few missed chores are nothing. Felix doesn’t speak much, but his features begin to relax as the hours tick by and that’s all that matters, really.

The candle has almost burnt out by the time you decide you should leave. “I think it’s time to sleep.” You can only just see the faint outline of his face in the flickering candlelight, but his hair almost glows in the dark while his silvery eyes still bore into yours. “I’ll go now.”

Fear and another indecipherable emotion flash across the luminous eyes as you stand and you stop. “Do you need anything?”

The star swallows hard. “I…” He takes a deep breath. “It’ll sound stupid.”

“I’m sure I’ve heard stupider things. After all, I grew up with my brother.”

A small smile twitches at the star’s lips, but the uncertainty remains on his face. Patiently, you wait, and finally, he speaks.

“I don’t like being alone here,” he admits almost shamefully. “Could I stay somewhere where there are more people?”

That throws you for a loop. Where could he stay? In someone’s room? Maybe with Jeongin or some of the other messengers? But their quarters are all the way across the shrine grounds…

“You could stay with me?” you offer. “Do you want to go to my room or stay in here?”

A look of relief passes over the star’s face. “… Your room? If that’s alright.”

Hopefully the priestesses won’t scold you for this.

“Of course. Come on.” You take him to wash up first, then lead him to your room. He follows behind you so soundlessly that you look back sometimes, half-expecting him to have vanished. He’s always there, though.

“Take the bed,” you order, spreading out a blanket on the ground for yourself. Felix immediately begins to protest, but you hold up a hand. “You are the guest, and you are injured. Take the bed. Don’t argue.”

He takes the bed.

Satisfied, you lie down on the floor, pulling the blanket around you. Then another one drops on top of it.

“It’s too warm,” the star’s voice rumbles. His silvery eyes, peeking over the side of the bed, dare you to argue.

You sigh but smile. “If you say so.”

And so you fall asleep.

. . . . .

Several weeks pass, and Felix becomes more comfortable with the shrine. Trust is something hard to give and easy to take back, and he vacillates between the two as he explores the world little by little. You seem understanding, though, never showing impatience or annoyance with his periodic silences. That comforts him.

Life goes on. He settles into a routine, and as the days go by, Felix starts taking your presence as a comfort, rather than something to be viewed with suspicion. A month later, he feels comfortable enough to tell you his name.

“Felix,” you mumble. His name catches on your tongue, but he likes the way it sounds from your lips.

A flash of doubt courses through his body. “Please don’t give it out so easily.” Felix’s eyes beseech you. “I must return to the Sky.”

“I won’t.” You squeeze his hand gently. “I promise.”

The witch comes by with Felix’s potion after the first week and he can finally go outside. The other maidens and priestesses make him nervous at first, so you only take him deep into the woods to sit in silence.

Sometimes you talk. Sometimes you don’t. At first, the silences are awkward, but they later turn warm. Comfortable. You bring a pad of paper and sketch things when it becomes quiet. Felix likes to watch you draw, fingers moving smoothly along the pages and etching flowers and grasses and trees onto the paper. The silences are almost as pleasant as talking.

But when you talk, Felix is reminded by how nice your voice is. Soothing, sweet, kind. It washes over him in gentle waves and calms him like the starshine used to. Now, he’s too far away from the Sky to feel the starshine as much as he used to, but it’s okay. Your voice and your stories are good substitutes. They help him feel at peace.

One day, you bring a different book with you on the walk into the forest. It’s not your rough sketchbook. This book has tattered pages and a heavier cover embossed with faded golden characters. You stop him at the edge of a sparkling pond, right under a large willow tree that drapes over the water.

“What’s that?” Felix asks, pointing at your book. He can’t read the words on it.

“It’s a book of stories,” you reply, opening it up. “Since I’m running out of stories to tell you about the shrine, I thought I could read you some instead.”

You read to him for hours, stopping only to pass over some bread you packed for lunch, and Felix loses himself in your voice and the stories you tell. Witches, dragons, pirates, brave princes and princesses – he revels in every tale.

Being the star of everlasting childhood, he always knew humans had the ability to come up with these fantastic stories. But too many lose that ability as they grow older and their innocence slips away. It’s been a long time since Felix has had a reminder that people are still born under his star, born with the gift to remain a child despite their age.

The Sky has darkened by the time you close the book. Felix pouts a little when you say it’s time to go, but the firm expression on your face convinces him to stand.

“The forest isn’t safe at night,” you explain on the way back. “Daylight may keep the dangers away, but once the cloak of night falls, the sprites like to come out to play. Han isn’t here and I think Chan had to visit another forest, so we have no guarantee of safety right now. If you’re lucky, the sprites will leave you alone, but you’re a star. That’s strange enough. Better safe than sorry.”

“Who are Han and Chan?” The names are unfamiliar on his tongue.

“Chan is the guardian of this forest, and Han is the fae I told you about.” You grab Felix’s hand to pull him around a large tree root. Your skin is rough, but it feels so right against his. “Han is not the fae’s real name. Chan is, though. He’s protected by the magic that binds him here, so I can tell you his name. Han isn’t as safe.”

Felix likes your touch. Your hand may not be soft and white like a star’s, but it’s comforting and gentle in its smooth roughness and he trusts it.

Your voice pulls him back to reality. “But anyway, if you’re so put out by story time getting cut off,” you laugh, “I can teach you to read, and we can try to read together tomorrow. All right?”

Blushing slightly, Felix nods. “All right.”

. . . . .

Changbin finally arrives several weeks later, eyes hollow and reddened. They regain a little of their normal sparkle when you wrap him in a large hug, burying your head in his neck. His expression turns to one of wonder, then respect as he meets your star for the first time.

Felix is too starstruck at the sight of a moon child to say much, only wordlessly handing over a strand of hair for the witch and taking the moonflower necklace Changbin hands him. You tease him about his pink cheeks after the moon child closes the door.

“I’ve just never met a moon child before,” Felix grumbles. “He’s the son of the goddess I serve!”

Rolling your eyes, you push him out of the room to get ready for bed. The two of you settle down in comfortable silence after you blow out the last remaining candle, and you’re on the cusp of sleep when Felix mumbles something.

“Hmm?” you mumble.

“He didn’t look lost,” Felix whispers to the dark. “Changbin, I mean.”

Confusion shakes you awake. “Lost?”

“Priestess Jeon said this shrine was a home for the lost.” Felix rolls over in the bed. “I… just thought he didn’t look very lost. He looked quite sure of who he was. Where he was.”

Sympathy and sadness fill your heart, and your mouth twists into a small frown. “Changbin found this shrine after he lost someone very precious to him.” Your throat closes up, just remembering his story. “She was his world, for a while. When he lost her, he lost a part of himself. That’s when he found his way here.”

Contemplative silence fills the room.

“When were you lost?”

Under the bright rays of the sun, you don’t think you would be able to tell Felix your story. Allowing him to see the terror and joy and desolation of the memories on your face would make you feel far too vulnerable in the daylight. However, the darkness of night cloaks your expression and comforts you.

So you tell Felix of your manipulative and abusive father, leaving out the worst details but keeping enough that he realizes the gravity of your situation. You talk about your mother, the woman who tried to shield you and your brother from the worst of it but ultimately succumbed to sadness, illness, and injury.

“We left on a particularly bad day,” you murmur. The night hides your face, but it feels like Felix can still see the tear making its way down your face. “It was night, and our father had just gone to sleep. Jeongin and I just ran for it. We couldn’t stay any longer.”

Half-starved, you eventually found the shrine. The priestesses took you in, fed you, and allowed you to stay.

“Jeongin likes being a messenger. I like being a maiden.” You blink the tears away in favor of a smile. “We’re happy. I think I’d be happy here for the rest of my life.”

“What about Jeongin?” Felix asks.

Your smile turns wry. “He likes being a messenger. He gets to travel a lot. And if I’m not mistaken, he’s found a special someone already.”

“What?” Felix sits bolt upright, his silhouette dark against the window full of stars. “Who?”

You snicker. “I’m not sure,” you reply truthfully. “But I think – I think! I’m not sure – she’s the nymph in our wishing well.”

Felix falls back onto the bed with a soft whumph. “I’m so going to tease him tomorrow.”

“You’re terrible.” You sit up in the darkness, fixing him with a mock glare that he can’t see. It’s teasing, though – if there’s anything you’ve learned about your star from the past few months, it’s that he has a sense of humor. “What happened to being so solemn and sober in the beginning, huh?”

He rolls over. “Tch. I’m the star of everlasting childhood. I can be however I want.”

“… Everlasting childhood?”

A sad smile settles on Felix’s face. “Yes.”

“Isn’t that just immortality?”

“Not quite.” His silver eyes shimmer into yours. “You can age, but still be a child forever.”

You lie back down. All you say is, “I see.”

An idea begins brewing in the back of your mind. All this time, you’ve been choosing random stories to read Felix from the shelves of the shrine’s small library, but now you think you know one that he’ll enjoy for sure.

It’s one of your favorites, after all.

. . . . .

The next day, you’re buzzing with excitement, to the point that you drag Felix away from his breakfast to the tiny library in the shrine. When he starts complaining that you took him away from food for a dusty book, you just laugh. “I think you’ll like this one,” you grin.

That afternoon, after chores, you read to him the tale of Peter Pan under a shady tree, warm sunlight dappling through its leaves. It’s a children’s story, full of mermaids and pirates and young boys fighting, and it’s a little overwrought, but even so, Felix falls in love with it. He falls in love with John and Michael and their exploits with the Lost Boys. He falls in love with Peter Pan and his rivalry with Captain Hook. But most of all, he falls in love with Wendy Darling, the girl who trusted in her innocence and ability to fly.

Wendy reminds him of you, Felix thinks. Mother-like girls, caring for the lost souls around them without a thought for themselves. With a pang, he thinks of all that you’ve done for him during his time on Mother Earth.

He can see why you thought he would like the story, as the star of everlasting childhood, the star of those who stay young at heart for their lives. Peter stayed young forever, literally. But Wendy’s spirit was passed down through the generations of girls after her.

There’s one line he loves, one line that doesn’t have too much real meaning (they’re just directions, after all), but that resounds deeply within him, for some reason. It’s when Peter tells Wendy where Neverland is.

“Second star to the right, and straight on till morning.”

It’s childish, really. A bit stupid. Where is the first star to the right? How can one figure out the second star Peter speaks of? And depending on when you start out, how can the distance ‘straight on till morning’ be the same for all those who journey there?

But it’s the simplicity of thought that rings with Felix. The pure, innocent certainty of Peter Pan that he will find Neverland again and again, based on such minimal direction.

It makes dreams seem so direct, so simple, so real.

It gives him the hope that he’ll be able to return to his home in the Sky.

. . . . .

It’s a peaceful day when things begin to fall apart.

Felix is reading, his deep voice stumbling and uncertain and beautiful as he works his way through Peter Pan on his own. You’re taking advantage of the time to sketch, lulled by the errant rhythm of the star’s halting words. You haven’t picked up your sketchbook in some time, what with helping Felix adjust and all, but now that he’s picked up a penchant for reading, it’s nice to go back to one of your older hobbies.

Mina is the one who finds the two of you in the clearing, sun shining warmly through the trees. You look up, ready to greet her, but a frown slides over your face when you see her panicked expression. “Mina?” You stand. Felix stops reading. “Is something wrong?”

“Our witch,” she says quickly. “She wants to speak with you.”

It’s with a racing heart that you enter the shrine and see the witch waiting for you there. “Y/N,” she greets, kindly but hurriedly. There’s something terrified in her eyes – however, they’re steel. Whatever she’s decided she’s going to do, she’s set herself on it. “I’m leaving for the war.”

“War?” Felix echoes, eyebrows furrowed.

“There is a battle in the west,” the witch explains. “I’m not going to fight. I’m going as a medic. I’m letting you know now because I know the star depends on my potion, so before I leave, I’ll need several more hairs to lay in a supply. Changbin has the instructions to make more, if I don’t come back in time.”

Everything’s happening too fast. Just moments ago, you were sitting in a grassy clearing without a care in the world. Now you’re being told that one of your favorite people is leaving for a fight you can’t even see.

There’s no convincing her otherwise, though. You’ve seen the set in the witch’s eyes before. It was there when she arrived at the shrine, pregnant and on the brink of exhaustion. It was there when she gave birth.

You don’t know why this war means so much to her, but that’s not for you to know unless she explains. So you only nod. “I wish you luck.”

Felix echoes the sentiment, but as the two of you dress for bed, his expression remains pale and uncertain. You ask him if something’s wrong.

“I’m… I’m just wondering if I’ll ever go home,” Felix whispers.

With that short sentence, something in your heart breaks. You sit on the bed next to him. “I’m going to give you a hug,” you state.

Felix nods.

You squeeze him between your arms, patting his head until it falls limply onto your shoulder. His shoulders shake a little. “We’re going to get you back,” you whisper, stroking his hair. “If you don’t believe anything else, just believe this. You will go home.”

Felix sniffles, though the tears aren’t coming yet. “I know it’s selfish, but… why is she leaving?” he mumbles. “I just want her to stay and just work on a cure. I know she can’t, but…”

A sigh leaves your lips. “Our witch works in strange ways,” you say heavily. “She has a lot of secrets. She doesn’t say a lot about herself. But she does have a large heart. One thing I can say is that she wouldn’t have left you if the war wasn’t so important to her. She cares about you. She cares about everyone she helps. It would have been a very difficult choice for her to leave.”

The tears start falling, soaking into your shoulder. You huff a small breath, holding your star tighter. “Trust in her and trust in me. Or, if you can’t, trust in Changbin. He’s a moon child. He knows things that we don’t, and he isn’t completely through searching his mother’s library. We can find a way.” You lift Felix’s head out of your shoulder, making him look you in the eyes. “We always do.”

(You fall asleep in the bed that night, arms wrapped tightly around Felix’s small body. When you wake up, he’s turned around, one arm draped over your shoulders, breaths puffing softly onto your face. Tear tracks stain his cheeks.

You hold him until he wakes.)

. . . . .

The witch leaves quickly, dropping off her child at the shrine the next day with Felix’s supply of potion. As he watches her disappear into the forest, Felix can’t help feeling like the last thread of hope he had is about to snap.

He asks if you can stay at the shrine that day. Reading by the pond is relaxing, but he needs something to keep his mind from drifting. He needs chores, messages, something to do that’ll occupy himself.

“Of course.” You smile, squeezing his hand in the gentle way that reassures Felix’s trust in you. “Come on, I’ll teach you how to actually cook. None of the disasters from before,” you tease.

Felix feels his face grow hot with embarrassment. He smiles, though, in the wake of your sparkling eyes.

He’s still terrible in the kitchen. Bowls clatter to the ground, knives draw cuts on his pale fingers, and more than once you have to rescue a pot from charring itself on the stove. But it’s fine. Everything’s fine. The other maidens only laugh and smile, kindly helping him wrap up his fingers, finish cutting the carrots, and pick up the bowls scattered on the floor. They eat his bland food without complaint, telling him he’ll do better next time.

And for all those hours in the kitchen, you don’t leave his side. Not once.

So the days in the forest turn to days in the shrine, with Felix finding every little thing he can do in order to keep his mind away from the Sky. When he feels himself wavering, feels himself becoming jaded or hopeless or depressed, you nudge his side or hold his hand or call his name, and he comes back. He feels hope.

(You told him, once, to trust in you and the witch to get him home. And if he couldn’t, he could trust in Changbin.

You don’t know that he would trust you over the other two combined.)

The stories don’t stop, of course. He trades happy memories with you while sweeping the floors, tending the gardens, and washing the clothes. Every night, you read to him from another book, or you sketch by candlelight as he works his way through another few pages of Peter Pan on his own.

Your presence comforts him, wraps him in warmth that reminds him of starshine streaming down his skin. Felix knows that when (if) he leaves, you will be the one he misses the most.

Still, he has to go. He has to return to his home, the Sky. Mother Earth may be kind, but she isn’t his home. He isn’t meant to be here. It’s unnatural, his new sleeping pattern, the way his skin has slowly darkened over time. And though he revels in the sunlight, loves its caressing warmth against his bare arms, it isn’t meant for him.

The sun is meant for Mother Earth. The moon is meant for his Sky. The sun and its warmth weren’t made for his pale skin and silver eyes.

Which is why when Changbin returns, pressing a heavy, ripped book into his hands, Felix feels his heart soar and drop at the same time. He stares at the tome, unable to comprehend its weight between his fingers.

“There’s a spell inside that will help a fallen star,” he says, “one who has fallen due to a mistake of the universe, not one who fell of their own misdoings.” Changbin looks Felix steadily in the eye, dark eyes boring into silver. “This was not you?”

Felix racks his mind for anything that could have caused him to fall. He comes up with nothing. “No,” he answers.

The moon child nods. “There isn’t much to it. We need your blood. There are herbs in the witch’s home that she has given me access to, and we can get the rest from the garden here at the shrine.” Changbin’s gaze slides to you. “We also need the blood of one who cares for him. One who will be willing to sacrifice a day of their life for his return.”

It’s clear who he thinks that person should be.

A lump grows in Felix’s throat. It all rests on you. He wants badly to say something, to ask you if you will, but he can’t. You’ve done so much for him already.

He doesn’t have a right to convince you to do more.

Silence seems to stretch for an eternity as your gaze shifts between the moon child and the star. Felix doesn’t know what you’re thinking – your face, for once, is unreadable.

Then you nod. “I can do it.” You swallow hard, like something hurts, and say it again. “I’ll do it.”

Felix doesn’t miss the glance Changbin sends you, full of something he doesn’t understand. A prickle of uncertainty grows in his heart, but then the moon child is nodding, moving on to something else. “The spell can only be cast on the sixth full moon of the year,” he says.

Next to him, you make a small noise of surprise. Felix feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

The second full moon has just passed. There are only four left to go.

On one hand, he’s soaring above the clouds in excitement, elated that he can return home so soon. On the other, his heart is dropping like a stone, upset that he has to leave so quickly.

“Okay,” you finally say, breaking the silence. “That’s good.” You turn to him, a smile on your face. “You’ll be home soon.”

Your smile is genuine. It says so much, and Felix knows you truly are happy for him. But after all these months of standing by your side, he can see the underlying emotions conflicting beneath the surface of that smile.

“Yeah,” Felix breathes, unsure what else to say. “Home.”

His home, the Sky.

. . . . .

It’s easy to avoid Felix for the next day. You disappear into the forest with Changbin, citing the excuse of practicing the spell that you have to cast to bring him home. It’ll be boring, you say. He should just stay back at the shrine and maybe talk with Jeongin. You’ll figure it out.

As you walk to Changbin’s small home, he gives you a sidelong glance. You stubbornly don’t return it because if you do, he’ll see the truth lurking in your eyes.

And the truth is, you don’t want Felix to go.

You are happy for him, you truly are. When Changbin brought in the book, seeing that light flicker on in Felix’s eyes gave you so much joy in that moment that you almost felt like crying in happiness.

Then you realized that if he was going home, he was going to leave the shrine.

You still wanted to cry, but for a very different reason.

It’s stupid, you know that. Obviously, if Felix was to return to the sky, he would have to leave you behind. Just as stars don’t belong on earth, humans don’t belong in the sky. You don’t even think you’d want to live in the heavens, at least not forever.

But for the past months, you’ve managed to push that thought to the back of your mind. Felix is here, you told yourself. He’s here now, and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?

Clearly, it isn’t.

Everything happened so fast. It was like whiplash. One day, the witch was leaving and Felix was crying in your arms over the thought of never returning to the sky. The next, Changbin had found the book and there was a way to send your star home.

It happened too fast.

You’re being selfish, you know. Even though the sun is kind and the Earth welcomes him, this isn’t his home. He belongs in the sky, with the moon and the sun and the darkness of night. He doesn’t belong to the tainted impurity of the Earth.

And yet your heart doesn’t want him to leave.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Changbin pokes you with the book when you zone out for umpteenth time. With a jolt, you come back to the present, staring blankly at the sheet of paper in front of you. Written on it in Changbin’s neat scrawl is the phonetic translation of the symbols in the book.

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “Sorry. I’m… tired.”

It’s a lie if you’ve ever heard one, and the moon child knows it too. He puts the tome down and looks at you expectantly.

“What?” you snap, feeling cornered.

There are times when it’s hard to remember how old Changbin is, times when he seems more like a friend your age than an ages-old son of the moon. Right now, he’s a mix of the two, posture mimicking a slouching teenage boy, but eyes piercing with wisdom.

“Something’s on your mind,” he states simply. “And I think it has something to do with the star.”

Felix. The star. Your star.

Yes, it has very much to do with him.

The words slip out. “I don’t want him to go.”

A lump grows in your throat after you speak those simple words, staring at Changbin as though he holds the answers to your dilemma. But you already know the answer, the only correct answer – you must let your star go.

The problem is, you don’t want to.

The moon child brings you close after that, books and translations forgotten in favor of soothing hugs and quiet tears. He doesn’t tell you to do anything, doesn’t tell you to talk to Felix or the priestesses or even to avoid them. He just embraces you in silence with hands that hold the wisdom of an eternity.

You cite a headache as your excuse to go to bed early that night, curling up in your blankets on the floor and burying your head in the pillow. It takes some time, but you’re starting to drift off just as the door slowly creaks open and Felix pokes his head in the room. Immediately, you pretend to be asleep.

Mistake.

The star pads in with quiet feet, then picks you up with gentle arms and settles you on the bed. You can’t even protest or he’ll know you’re awake, so you lie in smoldering silence as he arranges the blankets over you.

He falls asleep on the floor while memories of his gentleness squeeze tears from your eyes.

. . . . .

Felix knows you’re avoiding him. There’s no doubt about it – no matter how much you claim you need to practice the ritual with Changbin, there are only so many times that excuse can hold merit. And anyway, there’s no reason he can’t be there too.

He thinks he knows why. It might have something to do with the fact that when he returns to the Sky, he will leave the Earth behind. Felix isn’t so oblivious as to believe his departure will leave no impression on you.

He isn’t so oblivious as to believe it’ll leave no impression on him, either.

The Sky is his home. There will never be any doubt of that. But he’s come to love the Mother Earth too, much more than he used to. He’s come to love her greenery, her creatures, the gentleness and care she showers her inhabitants with. He’s come to love the shrine, the priestesses, the maidens, the messengers.

And he’s come to love you.

If he stayed longer, Felix thinks, he would want to explore this tentative love, this blossom of affection in his chest. If he stayed longer, he might be disappointed, but he wouldn’t be sad. At least, not all the time.

The stars lure him in, though. Sometimes, he pretends to sleep, but he’s just staring out the small window in your room at the darkened sky studded with lights. His friends, his family. His home.

But he won’t go home without making peace with you first.

It’s hard to corner you when you don’t want to be caught, Felix finds. You disappear easily, quietly slipping between trees or into unknown rooms of the shrine. Even when you’re in plain sight, you’re busy – sweeping, cooking, gardening.

Then it rains.

Felix doesn’t normally care for the rain. It’s cold and wet, heavy and about as far from the gentle lightness of starshine as it can get. But the clouds heeded his prayers, perhaps, because the rain gives him the chance he needs to finally get you to talk.

You’re glancing out the window when he walks over, as though hoping a miracle will stop the pouring rain. When you notice him, your eyes turn slightly panicked, and you move as though to leave through the door.

The words escape him before he can hold them back. “Please stop avoiding me.”

You freeze.

For several moments, his broken, soft voice hangs in the silence, expanding to fill the room and thickening until he thinks he’s suffocating under the muffling words.

Then you drop your head. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, voice thick. “Let’s go to my room.”

. . .

Silence falls again when the two of you are seated on the small bed. You look smaller than ever, hunched over slightly, hands entangling themselves in the sheets. Felix wants to gather you up in a hug, the way you always did with him, but restrains himself. It isn’t the best time.

“Why were you avoiding me?” he asks quietly, just to dissolve some of the tension. He’s pretty sure he knows the answer, but he needs to hear it from you anyway.

Your fingers curl tighter into the blanket. “You’re leaving,” you mumble. “I just…”

The silence hangs heavily once more.

“I want you to go home,” you finally say, looking up. The sky outside the window is still dark gray, pouring rain, but you look at it like there’s something beyond the clouds that only you can see. “But I don’t want you to leave. Does that… does that make sense?”

Felix nods, once, twice. “Yes,” he manages. “Yes, it does.”

“I needed time to get my thoughts in order,” you continue, turning your gaze back to him. “I thought avoiding you might be the best way for a bit. But I’m a coward, I guess. I just kept trying to hide, even after I knew what I thought.”

“Do you still need more time?” Felix prods softly. “It’s fine. We have…”

He stops himself. He was about to say you two had all the time in the world.

You don’t. You only have around two months.

“No, it’s okay.” You shake your head. “I know… I know myself now.” Sad eyes stare into silver. “What about you?”

Felix knows his answer. It’s on the tip of his tongue, and if he could just get rid of the lump in his throat, he’d say it. Rain pounds on the window, mimicking the dull throb of the thoughts in his mind. He opens his mouth with difficulty.

“I don’t want to leave Earth,” he says slowly. “I don’t want to leave you.”

Your fingers loosen slightly on the sheets, then clench them even more tightly.

“But I have to return home.” Felix breaks his gaze, his head lowering. “I don’t… I don’t belong here, Y/N. I have to go home. I want to go home.”

Belatedly, he realizes how childlike he sounds. He sounds like a newborn star, newly formed of the moon and the sky, scared and terrified of the expanse of space in front of him. Shame crawls up his pale cheeks.

Then he feels a tender warmth around his shoulders. The thin mattress dips as you shift, wrapping your arms around his body – since when was he trembling? – and bury your head into his neck.

“You will go home,” you mumble into his skin. “You will go home. I promise.”

“I wish you could come with me,” he chokes out. “But you wouldn’t, even if you could, would you?”

The sigh you heave is all the answer he needs. “No,” you murmur, pulling back gently. “I wouldn’t.”

There are no apologies. No “sorry” for your decision, no “sorry” for his. There’s no blame here. Just facts, ways of life, and decisions.

A stray strand of hair falls into your face. Felix pushes it back gently. “You have too much here to give up for me.” He smiles sadly, his hand falling to cup your cheek. “As I have too much in the Sky to give up for Earth.”

You nod slightly, fingers rising to touch the hand on your cheek. Felix basks in the gentle warmth of your roughened skin.

He doesn’t know who leans in first, exactly. The memory is slightly hazy. But when his mind clears, he’s pressing his lips to yours gently, warmly, sadly. Your fingers intertwine, falling to your laps, and Felix tries to memorize the feeling. To memorize the way your hand fits into his, the way your lips feel so connected to his.

Two months. He has two months left before he must go.

Two months left before he leaves this warmth behind.

. . . . .

You pass the days with as much levity as possible. You don’t speak of leaving. Neither does Felix. Every day, the two of you work together on your chores, traipse into the forest, sit together in the sunshine. At night, when darkness falls, you crawl into bed together and hold each other until the sun rises.

Morning turns to night far too slowly, but far too quickly. In the back of your mind, there’s always a little voice reminding you just how long you have left. One day passed turns into two, then three. A week turns into two. Two weeks turn into four, and then there is only one full moon left to pass.

The night of the year’s fifth full moon, the last you will share before Felix leaves forever, you sit on the steps just outside of the shrine. Your star’s hair glows in the bright moonshine, bathing him in pale light.

A lump rises in your throat. You swallow it away. “Wait here,” you say.

You come back with your sketchbook and a few pencils. “Can I draw you?” you ask.

Silver eyes softly stare into yours. He nods.

This isn’t just a rough drawing. It isn’t one of the half-baked sketches you’ve done in the forest. No, this time, you want to capture the sparkle in your star’s pale eyes, the airiness of his blinding white hair, the exact location of each of the starry freckles dotting the sky of his cheeks.

It takes several nights to complete, sitting under the comforting rays of the waning moon, studiously ignoring the voice in your head that keeps chanting two weeks, two weeks. You sketch and resketch, rubbing bits of charcoal away, until on the third day, the sun is beginning to rise, and you have a portrait of the star you love.

You don’t cry. You promised yourself when you decided to draw the portrait and you promised yourself again when Felix sat, eyes expectant and soft and warm and gentle and kind. No tears will fall during the last few days you have together.

Your eyes still sting. Your throat still chokes. But even as Felix leans in, pressing the gentlest kiss upon your lips, you don’t let a single tear slip down your face. Not today, not tomorrow, not the next day.

And then it’s time.

. . .

The night is perfectly clear. Deep blue, so deep it’s almost black, ripples across the sky. Stars dot the landscape. The forest is silent, save for a slight rustling of trees.

Felix stands in a patch of moonshine, pale light glinting off of silver eyes. His eyes close as you begin to read from the book Changbin places in front of you, chanting strange words as the moonlight grows brighter.

Your eyes begin to sting. Your fingers begin to shake. Your throat begins to close, and your voice grows hoarse. But you keep speaking, words unwavering, until the chant is almost over.

Changbin pricks your finger. A drop of blood falls into the tiny bowl, already half-full of crushed herbs and two drops of Felix’s silver ichor. He gives the mixture to the star. Felix drinks it.

A wave of dizziness blows through your mind. You close your eyes, feeling a tear slide down your cheek, as the sky takes a day of your life away.

A day of your life for your star’s return to the sky.

It’s worth it.

As soon as the dizziness comes, it goes, leaving your mind clear once more. You finish the chant, voice trembling. It’s over.

Come dawn, your star will be gone.

Changbin leaves quietly, picking up the heavy book and disappearing back into the shrine. For a few moments, you sit with your star in silence, cool grass tickling your skin.

“Wait here,” you whisper eventually. “I have something for you.”

It’s a simple gift that you lay in his waiting hands, a worn, well-loved book with a torn leather cover and faded gold lettering. It’s familiar, and the corners of Felix’s lips lift in a ghost of a smile as he takes it.

“Thank you,” he says, clutching the book. One shiny tear drips onto the cover.

“I know it’s your favorite.” You try to smile, but it’s too hard. “Keep – keep learning to read, all right?”

He only squeezes your hand in reply. “Give me a moment,” he murmurs. “I have something for you too.”

He’s in and out of the shrine in seconds, carefully cradling something between his hands. A crown of wildflowers and leaves, interspersed with several delicate moonflowers. The ghostly petals glow in the moonlight as he places it in your windblown hair.

“It won’t decay,” he promises. “Changbin helped. I made it, but he gave it the magic.”

It’s too hard to not cry and you bury your face in your star’s shoulder, dreading every second that passes. Felix’s arms automatically loop around your waist, thin and warm and strong. “Hey, look up,” he whispers, his soft breath caressing your ear. “Look up for me, Y/N.”

Shakily, you comply.

“See that?” He points, finger glowing in the moonlight, at a patch of the sky. His constellation.

You nod.

“That’s where I used to be,” he murmurs. “Remember Peter Pan?”

“‘Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning,’” you recite, a shaky grin coming over your lips. “How could I forget?”

“Well, maybe I’m not the second star,” Felix says, pulling you close, “but I’ll always be there, all right? I’ll watch over you. You’ll know where I am, always.”

You take a breath. Nod. “Always,” you echo.

Little by little, as your quiet whispers and tiny laughs disappear on the wind, midnight begins to turn to dawn. Starlight fades, the sky turning from deep blue to pearly gray.

And as the moonlight disappears, Felix begins to turn translucent.

No, no, no, no…

Your heart races. Tears begin to pour down your cheeks. Felix looks as calm as ever, save for the slight panic in his eyes and the deep sadness etched in his face.

“Don’t forget me, Felix,” you beg, voice strained, words pleading. You try to breathe. “Please. Remember me.”

“How could I ever forget?” Your star smiles through the tears sliding down his cheeks. “You mean more to me than the earth itself.”

Minute by minute passes as you hold him, memorizing the weight of his body against yours, the warmth of his skin, the silver of his eyes, the gentle pressure of his lips on yours.

“I love you, Felix,” you whisper, even as his freckles begin to disappear. The tears roll down faster. “Truly.”

“I love you too.” Even his voice sounds thinner. You strain to catch the deep tones of his words, the slight rasp in his throat as it fades away.

For a second, his entire body disappears. You almost scream, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Felix!”

“Hey, hey.” He holds your hands tight, even as his fingers flicker in and out of existence. His silver eyes sparkle with unshed tears. “When you’re lonely, find me in the sky, yeah? I’ll always be there.” Your star smiles. “You’re never alone.”

You lean in desperately, lips crashing against his with terror and love and everything in between. His fading hands rise to cup your cheeks and you tangle your fingers with his, trying to feel everything about him before he leaves.

The sky takes him mid-kiss, and you’re left holding air.

. . .

They find you there after dawn breaks, silent tears streaming down your cheeks as the sun rises. Jeongin holds you close, saying nothing as he helps you back to your room.

You see the portrait of Felix you drew so many nights ago sitting neatly on the small nightstand. His smiling face stares up at you, starry freckles dotting his nose and cheeks, silver eyes glittering on the paper.

It hits you in the gut that he is truly gone, that your star has left forever.

(Jeongin catches you when you collapse to the ground.)

A week passes before you find the courage to speak to the sky. The moon is dark but the stars twinkle mischievously, throwing bits of light onto the grass.

Felix’s constellation glows, a silver map of his freckles sparkling in the sky. There’s a star, small but very bright, that wasn’t there before.

Your throat chokes, but no tears fall. The constellation that dotted Felix’s cheeks is now complete.

“Hello, my star,” you whisper. His flower crown sits on your hair, glowing in the dark. “It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

Speaking to him hurts a little at first, stings a bit in the heart. You keep wanting to look over into his eyes of silver, see his pale hair glow in the moonlight. But as you talk to the constellation, imagining the freckles dotting your star’s cheeks, the lump in your throat fades, and you begin to smile.

A few tears fall that night, dripping onto blades of grass and your clothes, but not too many. Just a few. You talk of anything and everything, from new shenanigans to old memories to plans for the future. You promise him things, to love and honor him as long as you live, to stay a child, to remember the story of Peter Pan, even though the book has gone with him to the sky. You talk until your words are strong and the silences comfortable, broken only by the rustling of trees in the wind.

Wind wisps around your shoulders as you eventually stand, staring at the new star in the sky. It seems to glow a little brighter.

“I love you, Felix.” You smile up at the blanket of night. “Thank you, my star.”

The star glows even brighter. You can almost feel his presence by your side.

Second star to the right, straight on ‘til morning. I’ll be there, always – you’re not alone.

#starryktown #inkidz #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz #felix #fluff #angst #nature spirit!au #stray kids felix scenarios #whispers of nature #constellation #scriptura-delirus

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liukangmybeloved · 3 years

Text

everyone else is fighting for second {Mortal Kombat (2021)}

SPOILERS FOR MORTAL KOMBAT (2021)

Summary: Canon Divergent AU. Crack & Fluff. The team develops into something of a found family, which happens to include Cole's actual family. They take a day off from fighting to go to the fair, where the biggest question is 'who is Cole's daughter's favourite in the team?' Besides her dad, of course. Kano is very competitive about this question.

A/N: 1968 words. I will take a meat-tenderizer and FIX the canon and make it SOFT. i love cole young and mk 2021, if you don't like that, you've been warned. everybody lives/nobody dies AU & kano isn't a traitor. also imagine there's just like.... more time before the tournament. enough to become a found family. like i said, fluff & crack. warnings for swearing.

If Cole had it his way, Emily and Kano would have never met. He would be perfectly happy letting everyone else on the team meet her, but he's yet to hear a single sentence leave Kano's mouth that didn't include some colourful variation of 'fuck', 'shit', 'wanker', or 'cunt'. So unsurprisingly, he wasn't exactly eager to let his teenager daughter near the man who Sonya had literally called 'scum of the Earth', but alas.

"I'll be on my best behaviour, pinky-swear!" Kano's grin was all teeth as he'd held his pinky finger up to Cole's glowering face, wiggling it a little when Cole made no move to finish the pinky-swear.

"If you say - cunt -" and the word sounds so uncomfortable coming from Cole, he damn well looks uncomfortable just saying it, "within a hundred feet of her, I'll get Kung Lao to cut you in half." And he gesutres over to where Kung Lao and the rest of their ragtag bunch of misfits; the man in question had forgone his usual weapon for a more modern, soft-brimmed sunhat, but his jaunty wave to Kano at the sound of his name still managed to be menacing. The Australian shuddered in horror at the mere thought; at least he took the threat seriously.

"You don't have to be jealous, man," the threat seemed to only have dampened Kano's jovial attitude momentarily, as he's got a spring in his step as he follows Cole to the rest of the gathered champions, "Uncle Kano's gonna set a fuckin' - flippin' -" he corrects himself as Cole shoots him a warning look, "great example." Sonya barks a loud, derisive laugh as Cole sees fit to remind him that he's not Uncle Kano.

"Emily's a good kid," Liu Kang assures, kind and sincere.

"Yeah, she never even believes me when I tell her Kano's a dirty, little rat," Kung Lao smirks in the face of Kano's sudden outrage, and Cole is pretty sure that, despite it being Emily and Alison's idea, to give the team a day of levity and to bond, this might be the worst plan he's ever agreed to.

"This is a day of bonding, not of infighting," Raiden's voice joins them, followed by the God himself only moments later, which is enough to unite all the champions in confusion at his choice of wardrobe for the day. While still sporting a majority of his usual attire, somehow he'd managed to procure a t-shirt with a meme of all things on it, a personalised meme!

"I designed it myself, I think it turned out pretty okay; whaddya think?" Kano sounded far too proud of himself, looking at the cartoon drawing of what could only be Raiden himself pointing awkwardly at Thor as depicted in Marvel Comics, who was pointing back.

"We are both Gods of Thunder," Raiden explained, pointing to his own shirt; Sonya had gone wide-eyed, unsure of how to react, while Jaxx was doing his utmost not to burst out laughing.

"I... didn't know you knew what a meme was," Cole admits, though honestly, once the shock had worn off of, it was rather charming.

"I didn't know you knew what a meme was," Kano fired back, equally confused.

"I have a thirteen-year-old, of course I know what a meme is -" but then it seems to hit him just as it hits Sonya and Jax, and the three of them turn to the pair of confused, cave-dwelling, internet-free champions. None of them knew where to begin trying to explain the whole situation, but thankfully, Raiden chose that moment to open a lightning portal, and they all headed through quickly.

----

The night that Cole and his family had gone home after everything had gone down, the fighting, Sub-Zero, and the man he's pretty sure is the ghost of his ancestor, Emily had looked him dead in the eye and called him a super hero.

And then told him that his friends were really cool.

This was a sentiment that his new friends seemed to share about his family.

Cole quickly comes to realise that family isn't something a lot of the rest of the team have nowadays; they have each other, but for a lot of them, that's mostly it. He sits on an invite to dinner that he'd already ran past Alison several days ago, before inviting Liu Kang and Kung Lao over, if nothing else, to repay the hospitality they'd shown him so early on.

Alison's rule was that there was to be peace on their property; no training, no fighting, but the team was welcome as long as they didn't bring trouble to the door.

So then it was Sonya and Jaxx, who brought dessert when they came over.

Emily once asked what Thunder Gods ate. Did they eat? Cole wasn't sure. He extends an invite to Raiden anyways, but it's politely declined. The next time, however, he took up Cole's invite, mostly for the company, and to thank Alison and Emily for their patience; having Cole away so often wasn't easy, he'd be the first to acknowledge that. Alison appreciated the sentiment, as did Emily, though she was also just bursting with questions for the God, and he did his best to answer what he could.

Then finally - finally - after so long spent with the team, of most of them coming to find comfort and serenity in his home on the occasions that they need it, Kano is invited to Sunday lunch too.

----

"I know us champions and our super powers are pretty cool," Kano says to Emily, the moment they step through the lightning portal and emerge into the sunshine and the noise of the fair, "but I'm your favourite, right? Besides your old man, of course," and he rolls his eyes a little at that, as does Cole, for very different reasons, while Alison shoots Cole a questioning look. Thankfully she still does not trust Kano as far as she could throw him.

For her part, Emily answers incredibly diplomatically, sounding much older than her thirteen years, and quite a bit like her mother;

"Kano, you're a grown man, my approval shouldn't matter to you," she sounds sincere, which is completely undercut by Kung Lao sliding into step beside Kano.

"Which means you're not her favourite," he teases, and Kano practically growls back, embarrassed, while Emily calls out to Raiden that she likes his shirt. He practically beams.

"Not a lot of people will really get it, though," she points out, and Raiden muses on that for a moment.

"But I get it, and it's mine."

"Fair point," Emily nods at that, as their strange group steps up to buy tickets.

---

Emily spends more of the fair of people's shoulders than she does actually walking, which delights her endlessly. Mostly she's up on Jax's shoulders, and charges her cotton candy for the ride, ripping a small chunk from the one Cole had bought for her.

"It's weird seeing you all look so normal," she says to Sonya, the two of them in line for the Dodge 'Em Cars alongside Liu Kang and Kung Lao. Sonya grins, knows exactly what she means, gaze turning to the two members of the Shaolin Order of Light, not that anyone would know simply from looking at them now. Where Liu Kang had found a pair of trendy, ripped jeans was beyond Sonya's imagination.

"You look cool, though," Emily amended quickly, "I didn't realise you all would come to the fair, but I'm glad you did," she's smiling brightly as they get closer to the front of the line.

"Who did you expect to come along today?" Liu asks, eyes wide and curious. It wasn't that he was as competitive as Kung Lao or Kano, but he still found the child's interpretation of their group to be interesting. She knows, in some capacity, what they're capable off; she'd watched her father slice, dice, and kill Goro after all. The fact that she could think so highly of them speaks a lot to her capacity for kindness, or perhaps her childish naivety, but Liu preferred to think it was the former.

Emily, however, goes quiet, seems to be a little embarrassed. She mutters something, avoiding eye contact with any of them, and Liu goes to ask her to repeat herself, but she interrupts him while doing so;

"I wanted Dad to have a day off," she admitted, before adding, "and... and Lord Raiden; I don't think he's had a day off this millennium."

"It's good of you to look out for them," Sonya tells her fondly, "our team can be pretty single-minded, but we needed this day off, I think." And she gives Emily a pet on the shoulder, and lets her steer the tandem Car when they finally get a turn.

----

"It's me, right? I'm your favourite," Jax asks Emily over lunch, not because he genuinely believes it, but because it riles up Kano, and to a lesser extent, the competitive Liu Kang.

"Jax is one bad day away from pledging his allegiance to Skynet, he can't be your favourite -" Kano grumbles.

"Dad's my favourite," Emily reminds them sternly, and Cole has to hide his proud little smile, before she adds, "and mom's my favourite too, the rest of you, well of course you're all badass as hell -"

"Is it Liu? 'Cos he's pretty and you're, yanno, a teenage girl," Kano scowls at the warrior who'd been attempting to just quietly enjoy his basket of fries. Both Cole and Alison are wearing similarly murderous expressions, and Kano raised his hands in mock surrender, dropping his gaze.

"Actually," Emily said pointedly, despite the embarrassed flush on her cheeks, though she was mirroring her parents intensity, "my favourite is Raiden because he's literally a God that shoots lightning out of his hands, and you're now my least favourite because you're a rat bastard."

"I taught her that," Kung Lao was grinning from ear to ear, and when he and Emily look to each other, they share a definitive nod.

"How come he's allowed to teach her words like bastard?!" Kano demanded to know.

"Because you're a bastard," Sonya interjects.

Kano is thankfully quiet for the remainder of lunch, sulking at his end of the table as chatter returns to normal, returns to talk of how everyone else had been enjoying the day.

----

At the end of the day, Kano shoves a large, stuffed kangaroo at Emily that he'd won at the booth where you had to knock over bottles.

"Didn't even use me eye or anything; lost an hour of my life and fifty fuckin' dollars," he was grumbling, while Emily was examining the prize.

"You won this?" She seemed endeared by it, endeared by the thought that he'd put the time into winning it for her.

"'course I won it, can I stop being your least favourite now?" He asked, and Emily tucked the kangaroo beneath her arm, giving him an appraising look.

"You can't buy my loyalty -"

"Wouldn't want it if it could be bought, I know that shit from experience," Kano interjected, crossing his arms defensively, ignoring where Cole was glowering at him every time he swore.

"But you put time in, and effort, so you're back to third with everyone else."

"As long as none of those bastards is beating me, I'm okay with that."

As they headed to the exit, to where Raiden had created a lightning portal for them all to go home through, Emily reached out and punched Kano lightly in the shoulder.

"Thanks, Kano, it's pretty sweet that you care so much."

"Don't tell the others," he grumbled back.

"We've been with you all day," Jax calls out, "we already know."

#mortal kombat #liu kang #mortal kombat 2021 #kano #kung lao #cole young #raiden #jax briggs #emily young #alison young #sonya blade #mortal kombat fluff #mortal kombat fanfiction #lkmb

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thatsamericano · 3 years

Text

The Sun, the Moon, the Whole Sky Too

Pairing: America/Romano.

Rating: Teen, but only for cursing.

Warnings: This fic is mostly fluff, but there is some vague, brief discussion of historical imperialism in Hawaii.

Word Count: 1884

Summary: Romano is not normally an early riser, but he is willing to wake up at 2:30 a.m., drink shitty hotel coffee, and brave freezing temperatures to watch a sunrise on top of a volcano with America.

A/N: Written for Itapan/Romerica week Day 7 run by @welovefrukmerunning and the prompt “sunrise.” I’ve never been to Hawaii, and all my information about America and Romano’s trip and the Māui legend comes from the Internet.

Romano was not a person who believed in waking up early. He preferred a leisurely start to his day: a light breakfast, a cappuccino or two, and a boyfriend who could be persuaded to collapse back into bed rather than dragging him out of his warm cocoon of blankets before the sun was even up.

So when Savino felt arms picking him up while he should have still been deep in slumber, his first reaction was to groan in exasperation. “Jesus fucking Christ, Fredo. What time is it?”

“2:30 a.m. Time to rise and shine, Vinny.”

Romano leaned his head into America’s chest, because he was much too exhausted to fight with him, even if he was severely annoyed right now. “Thought you said you wanted to see sunrise at the top of the volcano.”

“I do. But the sun rises before six o’clock in the summer, and it’ll take us at least two hours to get to Puʻu ʻUlaʻula in the car. And that’s without stopping for restroom breaks.”

Savino yawned as Alfred set him down on his feet in front of his suitcase. “I need coffee. Now.”

America pushed a thermos towards him. “Here you go. But fair warning, it’s the best I could do with the little machine here in the room.”

Savino wrinkled his nose as he took a sip. Alfred wasn’t kidding. This coffee was horrible. When America saw Romano’s reaction, he chuckled and kissed his forehead. “Don’t worry, we can stop for breakfast on the way back. I’m sure the coffee at the Kula Lodge will be much more to your liking.”

“Hope so.” He took a deep sip and watched as Alfred, who seemed to be unnaturally full of energy this morning, hummed and packed a cooler with snacks for their trip. Once Romano had drained the thermos and was as awake as he was ever going to be this early in the morning, he got dressed in the sweater, parka, gloves, and jeans America had told him to pack specifically for this experience. Hawaii was generally warm during the summer, but at more than 3000 meters above sea level before the sun rose, the temperatures at the peak of Haleakalā would barely be above 0 degrees Celsius when they arrived. Romano disliked the cold just as much as he disliked waking up before even a rooster would. If anyone else had proposed he wake up at 2:30 in the morning so he could watch sunrise at the top of a mountain, Savino would have bluntly told them they were insane. Maybe Alfredo was a little crazy for suggesting this, but he was also impossible to say no to, especially when he promised Savino that the view of the sunrise would be “almost as gorgeous as you.”

When they were both ready to go, America cheerfully led them out of their hotel room and took them out to his car. Romano squinted into the darkness skeptically.

“Are you sure this is safe? I mean, you are driving up a mountain.” Romano had enough mountains in his home to know how dangerous driving on mountain roads could be.

“We’ll be fine. I know these roads like the back of my hand. Besides, if I was gonna do something really dangerous, I wouldn’t do it with precious cargo like you in the car.” Alfred winked at him, and Savino rolled his eyes, pretended he wasn’t flattered at America casually referring to him as “precious,” and got in the passenger seat.

As America was setting up his iPod, Romano decided he had one last question to ask his boyfriend. “Aren’t you tired? Like, at all?”

“Not right now, but I’ll probably crash later in the day. I took some 5-hour energy this morning and drank about twice as much coffee as you did, so I’ll be good to go. Plus, I brought some snacks and have music to make sure I’ll stay perfectly alert for the drive.”

Romano buckled his seatbelt and stared out the windshield into the blackness. “Don’t expect me to stay awake the whole time. Because that is definitely not happening.” He could already feel himself getting sleepy, even though the passenger seat in Fredo’s car was a lot less comfortable than the bed back in the hotel.

Alfred laughed. “I figured as much.” He turned on the car, and started to back out of his parking space at the hotel, singing along to his “island tunes” mix. America wasn’t much of a singer, but he was loud and entertaining enough to keep Romano awake for a while.

Alfred’s playlist was an eclectic mix of Don Ho, Elvis Presley, and several singers Romano didn’t know the names of (or wouldn’t even attempt to say without abbreviating, like the one America called Bruddah IZ). The songs in Hawaiian tripped as easily off America’s tongue as the English ones did.

There was only one song on his playlist America didn’t sing along to. His hands tightened on the steering wheel as the song began with a slower, sadder melody. At first, Romano didn’t understand why Alfred wasn’t singing along, nor why he had that solemn, guilty expression on his face, but then he heard the English lyrics talking about highways through sacred ground and the land that was taken away. And considering they were on a highway right now…

Romano didn’t know what to tell America. He couldn’t tell America that it wasn’t his fault, or that he wasn’t to blame for what had happened to the Hawaiian people. All he could do was give America a weak smile once the song was over. He would have squeezed his hand if it hadn’t been on the steering wheel.

America let out a deep breath. “That one’s hard for me to listen to. But I think it’s important for me to hear it and to acknowledge that stuff, you know?”

Romano nodded. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

“They didn’t want to be my people, but now they are, just as much as anyone else is. My government’s never let me do much, but I can try to do my best for them. For them, and for everybody else.” America turned up the volume on his stereo and started singing, and his happiness seemed a bit more forced than usual.

Romano frowned, but didn’t say anything. Now was hardly a good time to make Alfred confront his guilt about American imperialism, or his tendencies to mask more negative emotions with false levity and engage in the sort of naïve, optimistic thinking that would only lead to disappointment down the line, when people inevitably failed to live up to his expectations. Maybe they would talk about this later, at some point when Romano wasn’t so tired he could barely keep his eyes open. Probably after they had returned to the mainland.

Eventually, Savino’s exhaustion won out over his worry. He was woken up by America vigorously shaking his shoulder. “Hey, sleepyhead. Time to wake up again.”

Savino rubbed at his eyes. “We there yet?”

“Not quite, but we’re at the Visitor’s Center. This is your last chance to go to the bathroom before we head up to the summit.”

Now that he was awake, his bladder felt uncomfortably full from the thermos full of coffee he had earlier. Romano unbuckled his seatbelt. “Yeah, okay, I’ll go.”

After using the facilities, America pulled out another thermos of coffee. “I figured you’d still be tired, so I packed this for you just in case.”

Romano accepted the thermos gratefully. “I could kiss you right now.”

Alfred giggled and leaned over to do just that. He pulled back a few seconds later with a goofy grin on his face, and Romano was smiling too.

America was back to his normal ebullient self by the time they reached the summit. He slung a blanket and a towel over his shoulders, took the cooler of snacks in one hand, and held Romano’s hand with the other. “Look at the stars, Vinny! Look at the stars!”

Savino laughed at his boyfriend’s childlike enthusiasm. “I can see the stars, tesoro.” He looked up towards the sky, where the tiny pinpricks of light from millions of miles away were much more visible than they would be down the volcano.

“They’ve got an astronomical research observatory over there.” Alfred pointed towards a group of buildings Savino could barely see through the distance. “I’ve actually been there, and to the Gemini North one up on Mauna Kea on the Big Island. Maybe in a few days, I could take you back up here for the sunset and to look at the stars some more. Or we could go Mauna Kea if you want.”

“We can always do that the next time we come to Hawaii too. There’s plenty of time for trips in the future.”

Alfred proceeded to give Savino a hug that lifted him off his feet and peppered the side of his face in kisses until Savino was cackling and weakly squirming to get away. Then he set him back down, took his hand, and led them to a spot where they could watch the sunrise together.

The temperature at the top of Halekalā was just as ridiculously cold as America had warned him it would be. But with the towel on the ground to keep their butts dry, the blanket wrapped around both their bodies, and his cuddle monster of a boyfriend, it wasn’t so bad.

There were a lot of other people around them, chatting and setting up their cameras, but a hush fell over the crowd when the first rays of dawn began to lighten the sky. Romano gasped when he saw that view America had spoken so highly of. With the clouds rolling in over the crater below them and the spectacular colors, they seemed to be in heaven itself.

“Told you it’d be worth it,” America smugly whispered.

Romano nodded, too awestruck to say anything, and America snapped a few photos to preserve the experience.

As people began to head back to their cars and leave, Romano turned to face his boyfriend. “Thanks for bringing me up here, amore.”

“Of course. There’s no one else I’d rather watch this sunrise with than you.”

Savino gave him a slow, sleepy kiss then turned back around to watch the sky for the next several minutes.

Eventually they were ready to go. America was holding Romano’s hand on their way back to the car. “You know, there’s a legend about this place. Apparently, Māui came up here before sunrise, just like we did, and lassoed the sun and beat him into submission. All so the sun would move more slowly across the sky and his mom would have more time to dry her bark cloth.”

Romano snorted. “He sounds like a very devoted son.”

“I’d figure out how to lasso the sun for you if you wanted. The sun, the moon, the whole sky too. If only Mattie had longer hair…”

Savino had heard such grandiose promises before, especially around Christmastime if Alfred had watched It’s A Wonderful Life recently. “How about we start with a decent cup of coffee?”

Alfred swung their hands back and forth in a giddy display. “That, I can definitely do.”

#hetalia #romerica #romerica week #tw imperialism #hws america #hws romano #hws south italy #aph america #aph romano #aph south italy #hetalia fanfic #hetalia fanfiction #hws fanfic #hws fanfiction #aph fanfic #aph fanfiction #my writing #original post

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walker-journal · 3 years

Text

Lenan and Lampchops (Adam and Caoimhe)

Characters: Adam Walker (Hunter- Tapir), Caoimhe Brennan (Leanan-Sidhe-Sadie)

Timing: Before the events of Hell’s True North

Summary: The search for Nell continues on a deceptive world of sheep and stray sod where Adam happens to run into, Caoimhe, one of the music professors who isn’t quite as surprised about Sheep Hell as she should be.

Content Warning: Gun Use

Adam looked into a bright sky with unfamiliar stars and other verdant worlds of fields and jungles that loomed in the sky. Fields of soft grass extended unbroken toward the horizon, undulating in the breeze. Towering thickets of Illuabris Ferns, larger than he’d ever seen them grow on Earth, were pillars of black and violet that stood stark against the rolling green.

Vegetable Lambs grazed around the Hunter, paying him no mind as they basked in the off-color light of alien suns. Adam had been wandering for what felt like many days now, but the strange sky didn’t give much clue if that was true. Only the deterioration of his clothes, now bleached by sun and sporting tattered holes hinted that the Hunter had been hiking for far longer than he realized. He couldn’t even count how many of these barometz lambs he’d eaten to keep his strength up, the rest of the herds always just staring with dull dispassion as Adam butchered and cooked one of their number.

He was lost, and had been so long enough for his tactical gear to fray, fade, and make Adam look more like a beleaguered deserter than someone who’d come here armed to the teeth on a mission.

The Hunter had to admit that of all the worlds he’d been to so far while trying to find Nell, Lambchops Land was definitely the most surprising with its ass-kicking at the moment, and it hadn’t even given him a scratch.

Adam felt a flicker of a paranormal presence that definitely wasn’t another goddam lamb. He crested another hill at a slow cautious gait, raising his rifle at the…

The new music teacher?

Wait….was that her? Was he…?

Ok, so if her chest burst open and she’s been a Lamb Alien the whole time Adam was just done, so done.

“Hey ...uh..Professor Brennan,” said the sunburnt ragged soldier, “what brings you to Lambchop Land?”

It was like something Caoimhe had seen in a picture, or dancing between the flames of the bonfires they’d light in Ireland. It was a world forever just out of reach, only as permanent as any single tendril of flame. It was beautiful, painted in hues of blue and green, all movement as the grass swayed back and forth, a patchwork quilt of stars overhead, and–

And Vegetable Lambs. Vegetable Lambs as far as the eye could see. They dotted the otherwise pristine landscape, cutting figures of cotton-fluff and fruit against the horizon. The peaceful breeze brought with it the bleating of different herds. It was by far the best portal Caoimhe had poked her head into yet: picturesque with a touch of levity.

Then the view changed with the barrel of a rifle. She followed the length of it up until she was met with ruffled hair and sun-bleached clothes, and the kind of weariness only seen in well-worn travelers who hadn’t seen home in far too long. He looked out of place, a single ragged figure painted in dusty pencil over a backdrop of vibrant oils. It was a concept, but Caoimhe wasn’t sure it quite suited him. The way his grip sat against the rifle, she thought maybe he might better fit in the climax of an old western; the twanging of the guitar builds.

“Just me.” She held her hands up for a moment before letting them fall back to her side. He looked like he’d been prepared at one point in time. This trip wasn’t an accident for him. “Would you believe me, if I told you I just stumbled in? Can’t say I expected White Crest to be so...dimensionally inclusive.”

Adam cocked his head at the music professor, features moving from confusion to frowning wariness as her lack of disorientation set off alarm bells in his brain. The Hunter could feel that she wasn’t human but didn’t narrow things down much.

“I’d believe it,” Adam affirmed. “There have been some other folks that’ve gotten yoinked by these space rips,” the planar wanderer noted. “White Crest is in a weak spot in reality,” the apocalypse prepper claimed, not really bothering to pretend ignorance when he was gun totting on the Veggie Lamb Planet. “I just hope we can find some way to seal that shit up before everything goes to hell...like permanently y’know?”

Adam sighed. “So uh...you would have happened to have seen a portal anywhere?”

Yes.

Caoimhe hesitated a moment. She’d pegged it right, he was prepared. Whatever had actually brought him to a planet of Vegetable Lambs, he at least had a mission now. And it seemed like the knowledge to accomplish it, if he could ever find a portal again. If she helped him find a portal again. His expression shifted, and her eyebrows lifted; curious.

He needed help, something curious in and of itself, considering. The portal she’d come through herself wasn’t too far away, obscured by the rolling hills. If he could manage to walk a straight line for more than a few minutes, he might even be able to stumble back through it without her help. But the state of him told her he’d been trying just that, to no avail. If something had him that turned around–

“I haven’t been here very long, so logically there should be one not too far away.” She kicked the grass at her feet. “If we put our heads together, we can find a way out. Don’t think either of us will be doing much good solving the portal crisis here. Any ideas what’s caused it yet?”

“I uh...can’t find my way,” Adam admitted. The Hunter reached into his pack and pulled out a battered compass. Adam closed his eyes and placed home at the forefront of his mind, focusing on the faces of friends and the DIE fraternity house. The compass Penelope had enchanted on the eve of their last night began to spin. The sorceress’ magic sensed the intention of Adam’s heart and soon the compass needle was dutifully pointing the way to portal back White Crest.

The only problem was, no matter how far Adam walked on these paradisiacal rolling hills in the direction of an exit, he kept circling back and retracing his way out.

“This compass was enchanted by a witch to help me find the way,” Adam said, choosing to simplify the painful knot of emotions that came with this gift. “But no matter what happens I keep circling back.”

Adam shook his head at the question of a bigger picture. “I know there are keys and big-ass worm boring through dimensions but I’ve got no idea how they all fit together yet.”

“I’ve gathered.” Caoimhe grinned up at the disheveled Adam, obviously having been wandering for longer than he ever should have been. Curiosity brought her the rest of the way up the hill to stand next to him. It was a neat trick, to say the least. With a needle to point him exactly where he should go, he should have found his way out long before the sun could bleach his clothes. The hills were just redundant enough to be confusing, but not that confusing.

“You focus on the compass, then. Nowhere else, just the compass. I’ll make sure we’re not doing any circles.” Placing a gentle hand on his elbow, Caoimhe led them in the direction the compass pointed, a direction she knew would eventually yield a portal and a ticket home again. “You know, if you ignore the fact this portal has you all sorts of twisted up, it’s kind of beautiful.”

It was. Blues and greens and yellows and the gentle bleating of the Vegetables Lambs. It was rather harmless, but then, Caoimhe still knew exactly where she was standing and in which direction she needed to go. “Keys and worms. That’s...way too vague. Have there always been portals, or did I just move in at the wrong time?”

“Yeah in a Little House on the Prairie butter-churning sort of way,” Adam admitted, controlling himself enough not to flinch Caoimhe put his hand on his elbow. His Hunter senses send icy hot pinpricks through him at the paranormal woman’s touch and not in the sexy way. Adam was thankful that his time in White Crest had made the feeling of being around supernatural beings routine enough that he didn't go into fight or flight mode as much as he used to.

“So uh, is finding your way out in the country just a superpower you’d got then,” Adam asked as they crested another hill of strange colorful plants whose tendril polyps writhing and curled in the sunshine. Outright asking ‘what’ Caoimhe was seemed a bit on the nose considering that she was in a helpful mood.

“White Crest is in a like, dimensional weakspot,” Adam posited, seeing no reason to conceal the information considering how literally to hell everything was going. “It’s properly why there are so many demons and whatnot around, but this is definitely a huge spike in Hellmouth stuff.”

With Adam following, Caoimhe let go and walked a few steps ahead. Her fingers curled into her palms and she spun herself through a few different answers. What she did wasn’t a superpower, though some might construe it as such. With their eyes glazed over and their hands moving over the keys of a piano, with a whole world of inspiration spreading itself in front of them. The divine muse. Caoimhe swallowed. It wasn’t a superpower. It was a mystical science at best. She wouldn’t go so far as to say a curse; she could hear her mother screaming from Ireland.

“Have you considered you might be exceptionally good at getting lost?” She cast a glance his direction, tone light. She had a feeling he wasn’t. She had a feeling he’d see right through her dancing around the point. “I’ve spent a lot of my life traveling, you tend to get good at the cardinal directions.”

She didn’t want to be seen. “Lovely. Welcome to White Crest, right? Portals and Hellmouths, and– what, what is that?”

The sun blotted out and the bleating seemed to increase in volume. Something deeper and louder broke through the din, then. Something Caoimhe could feel rattle in her chest.

“I mean...that’s fair,” Adam allowed, sunburned face breaking into a smile at Caoimhe’s counterpoint as he kept his eyes locked on the compass as they weaved their way through blossoming heaths and swaying forests of Illuabris Ferns.

Caoimhe’s exclamation raised Adam’s gaze to the verdant valley spread out below them.

In a cleft between four grassy hills was a circle of cairn stones. Within the cairn circle was what seemed to be a pit of pure sunlight that shone like a beacon in the sudden gloom that’d encroached across the sky.

Beyond the sunwell was what Adam had first taken to be an enormous tree before it shambled forward on hoofed feet. It was then that the Hunter realized it was a giant Barometz, bigger than any Earthly ecosystem would’ve made possible. It’s roots were a cluster of long hooved legs and scrambled forward like a bovine millipede. Engorged clusters of Vegetable Lambs hung from its branches in the matter of grapes on a vine, their discordant cacophony of shrieking growing closer.

“Well shit, its like a…. Megalamp King.”

“It’s coming our way, is what it is.” And directly in their way. Caoimhe thought throwing a dog on a piano might sound better than the thing trampling its way towards them. She’d heard middle-school bands who could give it a run for its money. Which was all entirely ignoring the fact that one misplaced, vine-thick hoof could squash her. It was a beautiful place, but she really didn’t want it to be the last place she ever saw.

“We shouldn’t be too far from the portal, but…” The sound of shuffling and the increasing din of the creature moving towards them was almost too loud, “We’re going to need to get through or around that. And unlike you, I don’t have a rifle.”

Nor were her gifts particularly suited for Vegetable Kombat. Round one, fight. “Any ideas?”

Adam reached behind to his back and produced a metal sphere topped with a fuse clip and safety to offered it to the professor. “I’ll fire at it and try to draw the Lamb Tree off the side,” he suggested as the towering Barometz began to lumber up the hill. “Run to the portal while I distract it. When you get there, pull this clip and throw this explosive at it.”

Adam doubted a handheld grenade would actually kill something this big but it’d at least buy a moment or two hopefully. “That might give me enough to run to you and we can get the hell out. Sound good?”

A bomb. He handed her a bomb. And really it shouldn’t have been too much of a surprise, considering the rifle with which he’d greeted her, but Caoimhe still took a moment to stare at it. Her strengths had always been a little more subtle. It was in gentle but purposeful touches, encouragement, making someone weak just for existing and creating in a space with her. Adam’s strengths appeared to be explosive weaponry.

“...Sounds better than anything I could’ve come up with.” Caoimhe took the metal sphere gingerly, like it was liable to go off if she squeezed it too hard. Okay, she knew how a grenade worked. She’d watched movies before. She was entirely prepared. She nodded, “Just make sure you don’t get lost trying to find me.”

She cast a grin over her shoulder and ran. And it was shaky at best. The kind of grin worked around a desperate joke and a heart hammering a sharp staccato against her chest, through legs that felt more like jelly than muscle and bone. The ground shook as she did her best to flank it, each thunderous footstep displacing the earth around it. A quick glance up and Caoimhe could catch wide-eyes with different clusters of Vegetable Lambs dangling off the main beast, their mouths dropped open but the cacophony too loud to pick out the individuals.

She was going to throw up. Perhaps not right in the moment, but later, after the adrenaline fully wore off. After she had a chance to remember how tightly she’d been holding the grenade and how many times she’d almost tripped over her own feet. How the grass itself seemed to tangle around her ankles and she could only catch glimpses of Adam through the weaving roots and swaying lambs. She might even laugh, too. Since when was a lamb so horrifying?

By the time she spotted the portal, her chest burned, and it would be so easy to jump through and be done with the whole experience, but Adam. She pivoted around, pulled the pin, and lobbed the grenade as hard as she could.

Adam sprinted out of the ensuing cloud of splintered wood and sheep guts, wiping fleece and gory vines out of his eyes. He bled from an array of bites from entire clusters of ravenous sheep and burns from vine constriction. The Megalamp Tree staggered in a panicked frenzy, thrashing out wildly in the splinters and smoke. Enormous limbs carved deep furrows through the bright grass as they slammed blindly down. Adam wove back and forth among the heather as he tried to avoid the descent of column-like branches and the vegetable lambs being flung everywhere like shrieking dandelion seeds.

Adam sprinted over to Caoimhe, plastered in bloody fleece and leaves. He looked over to the vortex swirling between the cairn stones. “Thanks! Nearly got strangled by the Bo-Peep there.”

Caoimhe almost didn’t expect to see him come out the other side. Between the thrashing off the Megalamp Tree and Adam’s penchant for getting completely turned around, the odds were not in their favor. But he rounded the thrashing beast with a thanks and Caoimhe promptly doubled over, dry-heaving into the once-serene, swaying grass. For a moment, a thumbs up was all she could manage over pulling in one breath after another.

She was made for classrooms. For violins in bar bathrooms and crooked smiles and french horns and running from her problems. Adam was obviously built of tougher stuff. He didn’t seem much phased by red-stained fleece and sticky leaves. He had a rifle and a bomb, and something twisted in Caoimhe’s chest, but she wasn’t going to question him when he’d handed her a ticket out. He was made for something else.

“I found the portal.” She rubbed at her eyes and grinned behind the column of her forearms. She found the portal, and he fought their way out. Caoimhe supposed she should be thankful. “Wouldn’t have been much good if I had been crushed, though.”

The ground shook as clumps of lambs fell wildly onto the ground, little feet scrambling every which direction, lost. Whatever Adam was made for, she was glad she’d found him. “Thank you.” She crooked a thumb over her shoulder at the mess of a beast behind them, “That was all you. I think...I think maybe we’d both have been stuck here.”

She stopped short of a ‘we make a good team,’ and settled for a thankful smile, stepping back to make sure he was able to pass through the portal and casting one last glance at the mess they left behind them.

#evebrennan #caoimhe #Portal Combat #potw #adam #gun use tw

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thelazyhermits · 3 years

Text

A Whole Lotta Love

In honor Shinsou’s birthday, I decided to share a JWTN excerpt focused on him since I thought y’all would enjoy the fluff XD

As soon as Shouto and Neito exit the kitchen, Hitoshi deadpans, “Have you ever met someone so annoying that you just wanna throw them off the nearest cliff?”

Snorting, you move to stroke his hair. “Now, now, Hitoshi, you know Shouto didn’t mean any harm. I think he was just trying to bring some levity into the room since Neito-kun seemed kinda overwhelmed by everything. It was nothing personal.”

“Wish he could’ve done that without bothering me in the process.” Hitoshi huffs.

With a giggle, you continue to card your fingers through his hair. “If you want, I’ll get him to apologize later for bothering you.”

A smirk suddenly appears on his face, catching you by surprise. “If you really wanna do me a favor, how about you tell him that I’m your favorite?”

Once you get over your surprise, you start laughing. “I don’t know if I could do that. Just think how distraught Shouto would be if I did. I don’t think my heart could take seeing him look so heartbroken.”

His smirk grows. “Mine could.”

You shake your head. “Now, Hitoshi, we both know you love Shouto and wouldn’t ever wanna see him look that sad.”

When all he does is avert his gaze at your words, you smile. While Hitoshi isn’t on the same level as Katsuki and Neito, he definitely resembles them when it comes to having a difficult time honestly expressing his feelings.

Chuckling, you wrap your arms around the purple haired boy, surprising him. As he returns the embrace, you say, “While I don’t intend to play favorites with you guys since I love you all equally, I will admit that, when it comes to cats, you’re my favorite without question, and that I could never love any cat or person more than I love you.”

Amused, you watch as his whole face turns scarlet at your words. Rather than transform like you half-expect, Hitoshi just moves to bury his face in your shoulder. “Dammit, Y/N. Why’d you have to throw my words back at me like that?”

“I’m just doing what you asked.” You giggle before kissing his head. “I thought you’d be happy.”

A few seconds later, he pulls away from you before the thirty second time limit passes, but you can tell he wishes he didn’t have to since he clearly would prefer to keep his red face hidden from view.

Even though you’d like to tease him, you decide to give him a break and focus your attention on preparing everyone’s drinks, so they won’t have to wait any longer than they already have.

Since you figure Hitoshi will keep to himself until he has time to collect himself, you’re surprised when he suddenly hugs you from behind. After his chin comes to rest on your shoulder, he murmurs, “I love you as much as I love cats, probably more.”

Your heart swells with affection at his words. Quickly, you turn your head, so you can kiss his cheek. “I feel the same way.”

His already red face turns even redder as he averts his gaze. “You don’t need to say it again...”

Giggling, you reach up to ruffle his hair. “I know, but I wanted to. I want you to always know how much I love you, so you won’t ever think otherwise, not even for a second.”

Hitoshi presses his face against your shoulder to hide his embarrassment. “Like I would ever think that…”

“Good.” You smile as you return to preparing the drinks. “That means I’ve accomplished my mission.”

The purple haired boy goes quiet after that. For several seconds, he remains in his current position, but because of his curse, he arranges himself so that he’s not fully hugging you by putting some space in between your back and his chest.

Even though you doubt that position is very comfortable, Hitoshi doesn’t move away from you. Since he’s obviously where he wants to be, you leave him be and keep your attention focused on the tea you’re making.

Rather than try to break the silence that fills the room by talking, you just quietly hum, content to leave things as they are. For the next few minutes, your humming is the only sound that can be heard before Hitoshi suddenly asks, “Are you planning on helping Neito study for his English test after dinner?”

You nod, “While I don’t know if he’ll really need my help, I did offer it, so I’ll at least sit with him just in case he has any questions.”

There’s a brief pause before Hitoshi quietly asks, “Can I nap with you in the meantime?”

A grin forms on your lips. “Of course. I’ll hold you for as long as you want, Hitoshi.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the rosy hue his cheeks gain as the corners of his lips tilt upwards. “Thanks.”

It takes all your willpower not to drop what you’re doing, so you can shower Hitoshi with all the love he deserves. How dare he be so adorable.

While you do manage to finish the rest of your tea preparations, you can’t stop yourself from pouting. “You’re way too adorable, Hitoshi. It’s not fair. Please control yourself, or one day I’m gonna hug you and never let go.”

Just as his blush has started to fade, it returns at full force at your words. When he disappears in a familiar cloud of pink smoke, you quickly reach out to catch the purple cat before he can hit the floor.

When the smoke fades, you see Hitoshi looking up at you, looking a mixture of embarrassed and exasperated. “Was that really necessary?”

With a huff, you cuddle the cat close to your chest. “It’s your own fault. If you weren’t so cute, this wouldn't have happened.”

Hitoshi releases a weary sigh as he hides his face in your shirt. “I did nothing to deserve this…”

#boku no hero academia #bnha #my hero academia #mha #fruits basket AU #my writing #JWTN #shinsou hitoshi #fortune is ready and willing to give hitoshi all the love he deserves #she'll give him so much love #he won't know what to do with it all lol #precious boy is just too cute for his own good

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perfeggso · 3 years

Text

I don’t want a lot (Johnny x Reader)

I wrote this as part of @suh-insane’s walking in a winter wonderland collab, so thanks to her for hosting! Happy holidays and I hope y’all enjoy ❄️☺️

Genre: domestic fluff

Characters: Johnny, fem! reader, Ten

Warnings: nothing really just mentions of bad things that have happened this year lol. It’s a very...2020 fic. Also I guess some language. Also, smoking pot.

Rating: teen and up

Length: 3.5k

My movie quote is “They can’t evict you on Christmas! Then you’d be ho-ho-homeless!”

December 18th 2020, 4:37 p.m.

“Knock, knock!” You pound your fist against the wooden door in front of you, then pull your coat tighter around you. You’d moved to Chicago five years ago for college, and you’re still not sure if you’ll ever adjust to the snowy winter months. It was at said college that you met,

“Johnny Suh!” You bang a fist on the door three more times. “I know you’re in there. Take your headphones off, you dumbass.”

You’re about to pull your phone out of your pocket and go to the trouble of removing a glove to text your boyfriend when you hear the door unlock from the inside, a metallic tumbling sound.

When the door opens all the way, Johnny is standing just past the threshold of his apartment, his catlike lips curled up at the edges. He’s wearing grey sweatpants and a blue flannel, and his freshly dyed blond hair falls to where his headphones rest around the base of his neck. You can hear Nirvana coming from them because you are dating a stereotype.

Johnny leans his large frame against the side of the door where he had been holding it and smirks, but there’s nothing but softness behind the expression.

“Long time no see, sicko,” he teases.

You roll your eyes as he moves to let you pass into the entryway of his and Ten’s shoebox dwelling.

“You look even more like a deadbeat than you did a month ago,” you say, not moving because your clothing is starting to drip melting snow onto the floor and you don’t even know where to begin with taking it off. “This is proof you need me around taking care of you.”

Johnny pushes off the door and closes it, pausing his music. He crowds close and starts unwrapping your scarf so you don’t have to think about it anymore, shakes some of the slush off it so it pools at your feet, and hangs it on the coat rack. He does the same with your puffer jacket.

“Aw,” he pouts, “you don’t like the new color?” He tries to remove your beanie too, but it was part of your Outfit, so you yank it back down onto your head and give Johnny puppy dog eyes, choosing to ignore the way your heart rate picks up a little from the proximity. Hey, isolation was rough, okay? Johnny tucks your hair behind your ears instead.

“No, baby,” you say, starting to toe off your snow boots. “I love it. It’s very Disney prince, but simultaneously very… Kurt Cobain.” Johnny smiles and lets you finish stripping your winter gear, walking his way back towards his sofa until he’s sitting, legs wide. Snow falls in flurries past the window behind him. “It’s just that, I dunno, you look like you’ve been spending more time on Reddit or something.” Johnny sulks jokingly at your ribbing as you hang up your purse and try not to fixate on how cold the indoor air still is. “I can tell you haven’t gotten laid in a while,” you continue. “Oh wait! I forgot you have Ten around for that.”

Now it’s Johnny who’s rolling his eyes, but he doesn’t seem too offended because he beckons you over to sit with him. You follow his gesture, skipping towards him until you can curl into his side on the couch. He removes his headphones and lays his head against the crown of yours, taking your hand softly.

“It’s not my fault my girlfriend abandoned me for a month,” he complains, rubbing his thumb over yours.

This makes you chuckle. Oh, how you’ve missed him. “If that’s what you call ‘considerately protecting you from the Novel Coronavirus’,” you joke, “then I guess, but I refuse to apologize for doing my civic duty.”

Your case hadn’t been bad, but it was a logistical nightmare. You’d spent two weeks in total isolation, nursing a cough, guzzling hard alcohol straight to see if you could taste it, sending your best friend out to shop for you, and thanking your lucky stars for having a job that would let you work from home. You’d spent the next two waiting to test negative for the virus and a positive for antibodies. Johnny was initially distraught when you told him, sending you cloying messages and calling everyday to see if your symptoms were getting better or worse. Once you’d convinced him you weren’t dying though, he went back to his usual obnoxious self, joking about planning your funeral and accusing you of faking it to avoid him.

Johnny pulls you tighter into his side. “Whatever,” he concedes. “Is it safe to kiss you yet?”

You look up at him and shrug. “Nothing’s 100% but…”

That’s all the reassurance he needs to pull you into his lap and connect your lips. It's soft and languid, and you hold each other through it. His arms are so solid around your waist it simultaneously makes your heart flutter and makes you feel like you could relax and take a nap right here and now. When you pull away, Johnny runs his hands along your figure, as if to reassure himself you’re really there. The smile he gives you glows, but only for a moment. You curl yourself into the crook of his neck and place the back of your hand on his cheek, tender. His skin there scratches yours just the tiniest bit.

“I missed you,” he says, chuckling.

“Mm-hm, I missed you too,” you reply. “How are you, anyway? You said you had something to tell me?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says. He maneuvers you off his lap to sit by his side, and from this angle you can truly tell that he’s going sheepish. Suddenly it feels like there’s an alien hand in your stomach. What could this possibly be about? Johnny’s nervous silence gets your brain spinning – a zoetrope of stupidity. Am I being broken up with? No – obviously not. Does he have a family member dying of COVID? I fucking hope not; that’d be complicated on multiple levels. Maybe it’s good? Maybe he finally got a job offer but he has to move away or something.

Johnny starts talking before your mind can come up with any other ridiculous hypotheses.

“We’re getting evicted.”

You furrow your brow. Had you misheard him? You shake your head, incredulous. Johnny and Ten had always maintained a good relationship with their landlord. It didn’t make sense for everything to turn on a dime, even if they were struggling financially.

“You’re kidding,” is all you manage to say.

Johnny just purses his lips and raises his eyebrows as if to say, “it is what it is.”

What he really says is that he wishes he was kidding, but he’s not.

“Oh my god,” you respond, crossing your arms in irritation at, well, at everything lately. “Fuck! When is this happening?”

Johnny sighs. “Technically in a week.”

You feel the cogs of your post-COVID brain start to crank against each other. A week from today would be…hold on,

“Wait,” you say, as the situation starts to appear more and more ridiculous. “Like exactly a week from today? Like on Christmas? You’re being evicted on literal Christmas?” You’re trying really hard not to raise your voice, even if it’s clear that if you did, it would be out of indignation on Johnny’s behalf. You’re obviously not upset with him.

Johnny’s eyes roll around in their sockets as if this is the first time he’s contemplated the exact timing.

“Well, yeah, I guess a week from today is Christmas…”

The absurdity of this all is getting to you, and you can’t help it, you start to laugh. It’s that kind of nihilistic, fuck-all laughter that’s been one of the few things getting you through this year.

“They can’t evict you on Christmas!” you quote. “Then you’d be ho-ho-homeless!”

Johnny looks at you blankly for a second, so you contort your face into that open expression universally recognized as the “get it?” face.

“From Go?” You hint. “C’mon, Johnny boy.”

And before his nickname can fully escape your mouth, your boyfriend is cutting you off with a long sound of recognition and doubling over his lap in giggles.

“Good one,” he says into his right knee, and you giggle along with him. “Wholly inappropriate, but clever nonetheless.”

“Why, thank you,” you say, enjoying the levity, but unable to uproot the feeling of dread in your gut at Johnny’s conundrum.

Go is one of you and Johnny’s favorite movies to watch around Christmastime, mostly because it’s only tangentially related to Christmas, it’s kitschy and ridiculous, and has a plot that is 90% crime. You’re surprised he didn’t catch the reference more quickly, but to his credit, he has more pressing worries taking up mental space.

“Where is Ten, anyway?” you ask, looking around performatively at the messy and claustrophobic room. A silver plastic Christmas tree twinkles on a table in the corner. “Have you two talked about a plan yet?”

“He’s grocery shopping,” Johnny explains. “He’ll be home soon. And yeah, we have an idea.”

“You do? Because you could always move in with me.”

Johnny scrunches his face up. “I would love to live with you.” Your heart rattles a little in excitement, even though you know there will be a ‘but.’ Johnny goes on, “but you know both of us wouldn’t fit in your apartment. Where would Ten sleep? Or put his stuff? We’d all be on top of each other.”

You nod, defeated because you know he’s right.

“Hey,” Johnny says, “but we can always have the ‘moving in’ conversation again, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, grabbing his hand. “Sounds good.”

It suddenly feels very dark in the apartment (it’s still chilly enough you think you might be able to see your breath, but you aren’t about to complain because you know there’s a very good reason for that), so Johnny pushes himself up off the couch to turn on a couple of lamps.

“So,” he says, facing you from across the room, “we’re gonna be evicted on Christmas, no matter what the cinematographic masterpiece that is Go tells us is right or wrong. Christmas is just as much of a capitalist construction as our rent, after all.”

You’re about to pipe up again about how fucked that is and how surely they can come to some sort of agreement with the landlord, but Johnny anticipates this and keeps talking.

“We tried to argue, babe, but as I know you know, we don’t exactly have much of a leg to stand on.”

Johnny is right. Again. How many months behind were they on rent at this point? They’d gotten a few months delayed back in spring, but they still owed everything that built up from that before the end of the year, and they’d blown through their stimulus check a long time ago. Johnny has tried to find work, but the theater business hasn’t exactly been booming. Ten, for his part, is able to make a bit of money doing freelance illustration and teaching dance classes over Zoom from his room, but his studio’s engagement has dropped since March and he still unfortunately gets paid per student. You can’t help wanting to punch a wall in frustration at how unfair this all is, but it’s not like any of it comes as a shock. You’re not naïve. You and Johnny met at a leftist theory club for Christ’s sake.

“We’re helping organize a rent strike,” Johnny says, calming you down. Finally, a glimmer of hope. “We’re not the only ones in the building going through it right now, and we know a lot of the tenants who aren’t being evicted well enough we can convince them to join.”

Right then, the front door flies open and thwacks a startled Johnny in the back.

“I’m home!” Ten calls from behind a sack of groceries. You can’t even see his face yet. “I’m terribly sorry,” he directs at Johnny, then heaves the bag of food onto the kitchen counter which is also sort of in the middle of the living room.

“Ooh,” he coos when he sees you, still sat on the couch. “The missus is back!” He strips himself of his winter coat, ignoring your scoffing and revealing an oversized red and white striped sweater. He shimmies against the cool air and lets out a sort of squeal. “I was not built for this actual winter shit.”

“Hi, Ten,” you say once he finishes his theatrics. “Missed you.”

Ten shoots a sappy pout your way. “I miss you too. I’m so glad you’re feeling better! You have no idea how morose Johnny got without you constantly around. Can I give you a hug?”

You nod and try to warm up Ten’s tiny frame with yours while Johnny mutters something about Ten not knowing what “morose” means. When you break away, Johnny is rifling through the week’s haul to put things away.

“I see you didn’t go off-brand for the ramen,” Johnny remarks, stacking several Shin bowls in the cupboard. He turns to Ten with a raised brow. “Big spender.”

“They didn’t have anything else but if you would answer your damn phone I could have called and asked you about it.”

“I answer my phone,” Johnny grumbles, stowing some orange juice away in the fridge.

“Besides,” Ten continues, ignoring his roommate, “since I’m the only one making any money in this household I figured I’d give myself some discretion for spending it.”

Johnny grimaces, and you figure this is where you should probably step in.

“We were just talking about the rent strike, Ten. Johnny was filling me in.”

Ten turns his attention back to you, letting Johnny house the food items in peace.

“We’ll see how it goes,” says Ten, looking out the window just past your shoulder, “but I’m letting myself hope a little bit. As far as I’m concerned, they’ll be kicking my corpse out of here before they put me on the streets.”

Johnny scoffs. “Always so dramatic.”

“Says the former theater major.”

“Touché.”

You’d missed the ‘old married couple’ dynamic your boyfriend has with his roommate.

“But really, just, please try not to get the cops involved,” you plead. “I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” says Johnny as he closes the last cabinet and crinkles the brown paper bag up for storage.

Ten shrugs. “No promises.”

You sigh.

Once everything is good and settled a few moments later, Ten decides the apartment needs a more festive atmosphere, so that’s how you end up getting dragged down the short hallway to Johnny’s room while Ten belts Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You” from the living room and accuses Johnny of being a scrooge. Even still, Johnny sways playfully from side to side as he walks backwards, shimmying his shoulders and mouthing the words with a smile between protestations that this is “not how I envisioned finally spending time again with my girlfriend!” The way he buries his hands into the sleeves of his flannel to make sweater paws makes your heart so full you want to curl up and die. But, moving on.

Once in his bedroom, Johnny flicks on a warm-hued lamp and watches fondly as you collapse on the bed.

“I really did miss you guys,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time in an hour.

Johnny’s lips press into a little smile. “Yeah. We missed you. A lot. Especially me – you have no idea.”

You laugh sardonically. “Based on your text messages, I think I actually do have an idea.”

Johnny flops down on top of you, crushing you a bit.

“Oh really?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. His golden hair is falling in your face and it tickles, but Johnny halts any laughter with a kiss, then dots tiny kisses all over your cheeks and nose. They tickle too.

“You wanna smoke?”

“Sure.”

Johnny has a pre-rolled joint on his bedside table, and you watch him light it, feeling like you’re in a snow globe with the fall of snowflakes outside. The sky is that weird greyish off-yellow that only comes with a snowy night.

After a couple of hits, Johnny lies back down next to you and hands you the joint. The smoke brings you that usual tight feeling, like your lungs are shrinking but at the same time swimming in radiant heat. You don’t know if you should technically be doing this right after COVID, but you’re young and your body is resilient; you figure you’ll be fine. Besides, you can already feel the pleasant lightness setting in around your mind. It’s a placebo at this point, no doubt, but the relaxed anticipation is nice. You take note of the fact that Johnny had started playing music while you were thinking about lungs. The Strokes’ “Under Control” is doing battle with Ten’s Christmas tunes still seeping in through the cracks in the door.

You hand Johnny his joint back and roll onto your side, supporting your head with one hand and curling the other into Johnny’s abundant hair.

“I just want to say one more time,” you begin, “if worse comes to worst, you can always move in with me.”

Johnny takes another hit and holds it for a second, leaving you in anticipation.

“I know,” he says simply. “But I really think this’ll work. I have to, right? Besides, if Ten had to hear us fucking multiple times a week we would all start to regret living together. That, I can promise.”

You laugh, burying your increasingly silly-feeling head into Johnny’s chest. “Okay, fair.”

There’s stillness for a few beats where you just count your and Johnny’s breaths, trying to synch them up. This doesn’t work though, since Johnny’s lungs are bigger. Then,

“There’s no way your parents would lend you some money?” Your voice comes out quiet. “Or let you stay with them for a while?”

Johnny looks down at you, letting out a heavy sigh. “No, no. That wouldn’t be a good idea for…so many reasons. Besides, they don’t exactly have an extra few months worth of Chicago rent lying around either.”

You nod against Johnny’s chest. “I figured,” you say. “Just checking.”

Johnny brushes his fingers through your hair and kisses your part. “I appreciate your concern,” he says, offering a slightly sly smile.

You kiss the white fabric of his undershirt. It’s been so long since the two of you just laid together, and it feels better than you could have hoped, Johnny’s body heat helping to alleviate some of the cold of an apartment gradually losing its utilities. You wish you could get closer than chest to chest. You kind of wish you could burrow into him, but not in a weird way, you know?

“I believe in you guys,” you say. “However I can help, I will.”

“Thanks.”

Apparently, Johnny is done with talking, because he pulls you in for a warm kiss. Then, he gets the brilliant idea to shotgun the pot smoke. This activity quickly devolves into a very giggly makeout session, only to be interrupted by Ten’s voice outside the door.

“I’m opening the door in five seconds, you guys,” he says, “and if Johnny’s dick is out when I get in there, I’m evicting both of you myself!”

You and Johnny fall together laughing as Ten cautiously cracks the door. He swats at the air in disapproval.

“Stinks…” he remarks. “Oh, thank god you’re decent. Anyway, John, if the lady is staying for the evening, you both need to come help cook dinner, because I am not your housemaid, even if I do look good in a maid costume. Chop-chop.”

It takes way too long to get up out of bed because Ten, as usual, has made both you and Johnny absolutely lose it. Eventually, you manage to rise, but Johnny pulls you quickly back against his lap.

“Hey!”

“Just a minute.” He presses one last kiss under your left ear. “I love you.”

You can feel your skin tingle, although it might just be the weed. Either way, you’ll never tire of hearing that. “I love you too, Johnny.”

“I think Mariah was right,” Johnny whispers, voice displaying mock awe as if he were coming to a mind blowing realization. “All I want for Christmas is you.”

You give him a sympathy chuckle because that was kind of cute, in a corny way, and Johnny just swats your ass a little in response to get you back up to standing.

“Well, you and some basic shelter would be ideal,” Johnny deadpans. “I don’t think that’s too much to ask but I guess we’ll see.” You smile sympathetically. This strike is no doubt going to make for a stressful week, but you’re glad it’s starting like this.

“Hey, love birds!” Ten hollers from the kitchen.

“C’mon,” you say with a laugh. “Let’s not leave him waiting any longer.”

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