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saragarnier · 9 days

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Away from you pt.2

pairing: Jay halsted x reader

summary: when y/n found out that her boyfriend was cheating on her she left Chicago, without saying a word.

warning: Angst maybe and bad english since it's not my first language.

A/N: i'm actually thinking about writing a part 3, but i'm not sure.

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Previous part, next part

When Jay got home that night, he went straight to the bedroom, without noticing your absence at once; he was really tired after the intense day at work and after the night he spent with Hailey. He was feeling guilty about it, obviously, but he could find the courage, he just couldn’t tell his future wife that he completely messed up with everything. He loved her, he really loved y/n and he didn’t want to lose her, even if she would have all the rights to do it, after all he cheated on her, just few months before the wedding.

Jay was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realise that she wasn’t still at home; he removed the badge and the gun from his belt, placing them silently on the bedside table, then he looked around and he finally noticed that you weren’t sleeping in the bed. He frowned, looking around and trying to understand where you were; he couldn’t hear the noise of the shower and the bathroom’s door was open, so you couldn’t be there either. He searched the entire home, then he took his phone out and he messaged you, hoping that you still were with Kim outside.

He tried to not get worried, but he couldn.t help himself when he saw that the message hadn't been sent successfully; he stayed awake for another hour, before falling asleep on the couch, waiting for your return.

He woke up the next day, feeling pain all over his body because of the position he fell asleep with; he looked around and he got up, searching all the house to find you. The bed was still done, and it didn’t seem like someone slept in it the other night, so it was clear that you didn’t come back home.

Feeling his hear skipping a beat because of his worry.

Why didn’t she come back home?

Had something happened last night?

Was she in danger?

He grabbed his phone and called for Kim straight away, walking all around the house while waiting for her to respond. He knew that it was still early in the morning, and he didn’t want to wake her up, but he had no choice. Y/n could have been in danger, something could have happened to her while she was coming back home, and he needed to know at what time Kim and her left the bar.

“Jay, it’s six in the morning, what’s happening?” Kim whispered when she answered the phone, seeing Jay’s name on the screen.

“Is y/n with you? Did something strange happened yesterday? Did she leave the bar after a call from the hospital?” Jay questioned her without taking a single breath. He just wanted to know if you were okay, if you were with her, maybe after drinking too many beers. He couldn’t understand for what reason you didn’t come home last night and he couldn’t believe that something bad happened to you or he would have known by that moment, his brother Will would have advised you.

“What? No, she left around ten pm and she walked away saying that he needed to do something… why? Did something happen?” Kim got up from her bed immediately, especially after hearing his tone of voice and hearing how worried he seemed to be.

“Fuck.” He exclaimed, shaking his head, still walking all around the house; he grabbed his badge and his gun, then he left the apartment without even reaching for his jacket. It wasn’t cold outside, but you definitely needed to have a jacket with you all the time in Chicago, at least till the begin of the summer. “She didn’t come back home last night and she doesn’t respond to my messages or my calls. I’m going to call Mouse and to make him track her phone, after that I’ll call Voight if I notice something strange, okay?”

“Shit…” Kim whispered, worried. “Tell me if you find out something, okay? “

“Sure.” Jay reassured her, then he hung up and he called Mouse instead.

He waited for almost a minute before his friend answered the phone, still in his dreams; Jay could tell just by his voice that he woke up Mouse and that he wasn’t really happy about that, but he just couldn’t wait any longer, especially if something bad happened to you.

How could he have been so stupid?

You were never late, he should have called Mouse and Kim the night before, he should have called them before to make sure that you were okay. What if someone kidnapped you? What if someone hurt you?

It would have been his fault.

It would have been his fault because you went out with Kim alone because he wanted to spend the evening with Hailey, he would have been his fault because he should have called for help immediately, he would have been his fault because he wasn’t by your side.

“Mouse, I need you to track y/n’ phone right now!” Jay said without waiting a minute.

“What do you guys have with tracking each other phones, uh?” Mouse replied, mumbling something about last night, when you called him.

Jay froze at hi friend’s words; he pulled up and he parked the car before crashing into someone else, then he took a deep breath and he try to stay focused on Mouse.

“Wait… what does that mean?” He whispered, afraid of what he could have discovered.

“She asked me to track your phone yesterday’s night… she seemed worried about you falling again into ptsd and I immediately tracked your phone. I told her that you were in your older apartment and that’s it, I didn’t hear from her after that.”

In that moment, all the dots connected.

That’s why Kim said you left earlier that’s why he noticed the backup- key in the wrong position, that’s why she didn’t come back home and that’s why she didn’t respond to his messages or calls.

She knew.

She found out.

He messed up and she knew it.

Jay stayed silent for what looks like hours, even days for him, even if it was probably for just one minute or two. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice he was crying, not until he was brought back to reality from Mouse.

“Uhm… Jay, there’s a problem…” he whispered. “I can’t track y/n’ phone, it’s like it’s dead. Maybe she didn’t have the chance to charge it? But why did you need her location? Is she with you?”

Jay gulped, looking outside of the car, looking at everything and nothing at the same time. he was like a ghost, he felt like a ghost, he felt like he was dead, like he lost all.

And he did.

If she really saw him with Hailey, he knew that he lost the love of his life, and all for what? Some sex with his partner at work? He said he loved Hailey, he always said it when they fucked, but while doing it he always thought about y/n, about the love of his life. It’ didn’t make sense, it didn’t make sense for him either and he didn’t expect the others to understand, that’s why he never told you or anyone else, even if he really wanted to after the first time he and Hailey had sex together.

“Jay?” Mouse asked again, worried when he didn’t hear anything from his friend for minutes. “Are you okay?”

“I ruined everything, Mouse.” He whispered at the phone, crying silently. “I lost her… I think she broke up with me… I think she left…”

“What?! What does that mean? She couldn’t have done it, couldn’t she? Why?” Mouse didn’t really understand what was happening between his friend and his friend’s fiancé, but it was clear that something bad happened between them since he heard Jay crying on the other line of the call.

“I cheated on her… I cheated on her and I think she found out… she didn’t come home last night, she doesn’t respond to messages and calls… I don’t know where to find her, I don’t know where to find her to talk to her and explain everything to her. She had all the rights to know the truth from me, but I can’t do it if I can’t reach for her.”

Mouse stayed silent for some minutes, then he had an idea.

“She works at the hospital, maybe she’s there, no? It’s seven am and she had to present her resignation letter if she really wants to leave Chicago, no? Maybe she’s at the hospital to do it, maybe you still have time.”

It was one last hope and Jay accepted it; Jay took it immediately.

“I’ll call you from the hospital. Thank you, Mouse.”

He hung up, dried his cheeks from the tears and he drove towards the Chicago Medical Center as soon as he could; when he arrived, he met his brother, Will, but he was to focused on finding y/n, so he ignored him and went straight towards Meggie. Before he could ask her where his fiancé was, Jay got stopped by Will, who pushed him into an empty room.

“Will I do nit have time for this right now!” Jay exclaimed, trying to go out go the room to find you.

“Well, you’ll have to find some time because I want to know why y/n presented her resignation form on a fucking mail!”

And that was when Jay lost his last hope.

“W-What?” he whispered, sitting on an empty chair before falling on the ground. “She left?”

It was too late.

He arrived too late.

Will nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder, and trying to reassure her in any way possible.

“What happened, Jay?”

“I fucked up… I fucked up and I lost her, Will.” He whispered. “I lost her.”

And it was true.

He lost you.

And the best part was that being a detective’s fiancé helped you to find a way to be invisible.

New phone.

Only cash.

Being a ghost.

You didn’t want to be found, especially not by him and, while he was crying on his brother’s shoulder about losing the love of his life, you were landing in New York city, trying to find a way to hang on, trying to start a new life.

A life away from him.

Away from the last version of you.

#oneshot #fluff #angst #chicago pd #fanfic #jay halstead #chicago fire #chicago med #adam ruzek #hailey upton #will halstead #hank voight #kevin atwater #kim burgess #greg gerwitz

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

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His Good Sweater: Chapter 10

Masterlist

Shoutout to my bestie @acollectionofficsandshit for all the drunk comments she made while betaing this one... Wish you guys could see them lol

Word Count: 4.8k

Recommended song: “Amnesia" by 5SOS

Pierre paces in his dinky trailer at the Circuit of the Americas and desperately tries to forget you exist. He had already taken down the pictures on the wall but the images were burned into his brain. He had shoved your shirt under his bed, having absolutely no idea how it had made its way halfway around the world to taunt him.

He was slowly unraveling like a spool of thread on a loom as you wove him irrevocably into the tapestry of your life.

The race in Austin started in less than two hours and you hadn't texted him. Not once in the handful of years he'd known you had you neglected to wish him luck before a race, even if it was 2 am your time or you had exams, you always took thirty seconds to warn him to be safe and finish well.

He was beginning to think you hated him for how he'd acted at the gala last weekend, jealous and possessive from afar. Talking to you would have been the better choice. But seeing you laugh and dance the night away had hurt too much. He’d slipped out early after Victoria assured him she could find a ride and sped home to fall apart.

He had only barely managed to piece himself together in time for the race.

Pierre checks his phone for the third time in as many minutes and swears under his breath. He didn't know why he expected it to ring and for your face to pop up at this point. Even if you called to tear into him, he'd still fall to his knees at the sound of your voice. He just wanted to hear you speak, didn't care what was said, only that he could latch onto your words and lose himself in them.

Hope sparks when his phone chimes but he nearly throws it across the trailer when he sees Charles' name.

Heard from her yet?

No. At this point I'm beginning to think I never will again.

Maybe she fell asleep early?

It's 5 pm in London. I'll bet you she's eating a bowl of takeout from the Chinese place down the street, not sleeping.

Its still possible. Don't dwell on it. This isn't the headspace you wanna be in before a race. Block it out. I don't wanna see my best friend wind up hurt today.

Pierre didn't reply, if only because Charles was right. Worrying would get him nowhere. After his shitty qualifying yesterday, he started thirteenth on the grid so he had his work cut out for him. Austin offered plenty of opportunity for overtakes; he could get the job done if his team made the right calls.

And if he made it to the podium, you would have to text him.

The thin mattress groans when he sits to unlace his hastily tied race boots. He folds his legs to sit criss cross and places his palms on his knees. The familiar pose already has some of the tension leaving his shoulders as his eyes slide shut. He breathes in for ten seconds, reflecting on what ails him. He holds the breath for five seconds before releasing it slowly.

He repeats the process until he comes to terms with the fact that you won't be wishing him luck. That was your choice; there was nothing he could do about it and therefore no sense reading into it. He had done all he could to convince you to trust him. The ball was in your court; he had to be patient and wait for you to take a shot.

“Focus,” he murmurs to himself, forcing any erroneous thoughts from his head. “Walk through the track.”

The circuit at Austin was challenging, consisting of a mix of 20 sweeping corners and scattered hairpins. He was almost lucky in a way to be starting so far back on the grid because turn one was only a few hundred meters from pole and their tires would be slightly colder and less grippy upon arrival than his would be. The few extra seconds afforded to him by starting thirteenth could mean the opportunity to leap frog past his rivals in the first corner.

The counterclockwise circuit meant he would have to keep an eye on his front left tire too, as it would wear faster than the others. He'd change gears an average of 66 times per lap, higher than similar length tracks like Monaco. Pit stops cost an average of nineteen seconds, meaning he would need to build a significant gap to the driver chasing him in order to avoid the threat of any undercuts.

There were too many variables occupying space in his mind to afford you a sliver of it.

Some time later he decides that his four leaf clover tucked safely in the worn leather of his wallet will provide all the luck he needs and switches on his pre race playlist after popping in his ear buds.

"Sights on the podium," he murmurs to himself, hand on the doorknob. "Let's race."

The bass flows through him as his feet carry him to the Alpha Tauri garage on autopilot, through the back entrance and to his plain white driver room. The familiar beats are a numbing salve spread on his frayed nerves, his anticipation rising like a crimson wave in his veins. He leaves his clothes in a haphazard heap in the corner and changes into the white fireproofs hanging nearby, thoughts momentarily veering to you knocking on the door and stripping them right back off.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, he runs through his usual stretch sets until Pyry arrives to walk him through reflex exercises.

"How's your head?" Pyry asks, running him through more cool down stretches. "Do we need to take a minute and do some meditation?"

"Beat you to it," Pierre grunts out, pushing back against the hand on his head to work his neck. "I'm good."

"You sound better than you have all week, I'll give you that. Keep that focus, use it to propel yourself forward."

"Run me through the lineup again," Pierre requests, "I need something else to think about."

Because if he let his mind follow the path it wanted to, it would inevitably lead to you and undo the work he had done to avoid that. He needed to be empty of anything that wasn't racing, anything else was an unnecessary distraction that had the potential to end in disaster.

Pyry rattles off the grid in order of who Pierre needs to overtake, pausing between each name to give him time to recall their driving styles and potential chinks in their armor to exploit. He knew from tapes of previous years that Stroll often ran wide into turn one, giving Pierre the option to brake late and sweep up the inside. Vettel was half convinced the track was cursed, so his mind would work against him enough that Pierre could exploit it and get past at some point. He continued until he got to Hamilton and Max locking out the front row, where he would need a bit of luck to overtake.

"You got it?" Pyry asks, stepping back.

Pierre rolls his shoulders and nods.

"Get shit done mate," Pyry says and bumps fists with his driver. He slips out to allow Pierre a moment to center himself before slipping into his race suit, leaving it half unzipped and tying it around his waist before following his trainer.

Pyry leads the way to where the matte navy and white car waits, mechanics swarming it like studious worker bees tending to their queen. No one talks to him save his engineer because words from anyone else threaten to break his carefully constructed race mentality. If they wanted him to bring home points, they knew to leave him alone once he was suited up.

His mind is blank of anything but statistics as he twists his ear buds in and pulls on his balaclava and helmet. As his vision narrows to the sliver of track he can see through his visor, so does his focus. With forty minutes to lights out, he's directed out onto the track. He rips the wheel to the right as he exits the garage, getting a decent powerslide for his efforts.

There was no doubt in his mind that he would land on the podium, if only to see the look on your face when he did.

**********

It took an unfathomable amount of restraint to keep yourself from calling Pierre to wish him luck.

You texted Max instead, wishing him a safe and comfortable podium a half hour before lights out. He hadn't responded, likely already in the garage with his trainer going through his pre race routine.

The pace Max had set the day before had awarded him pole position and the margin between him and Hamilton had been enough that you were confident in his ability to hold off the Mercedes for all fifty six laps.

If you were honest with yourself, you were disappointed that the Alpha Tauri you so desperately tried to ignore would be starting in thirteenth. You try not to think about it, instead queueing up SkySports and opening your laptop for pre race coverage. You avoid the interviews in favor of listening to the commentators analyze the grid.

"It should be an easy win for Max as long as he fends off Hamilton until the first round of pit stops. The undercut works well here, as Red Bull proved last year, and I'm sure they plan on doing the same thing this year."

You hum in agreement, gingerly sipping your steaming tea. You really ought to consider a career as a sportscaster at this point based on how often you came to the same conclusions they did.

"I think one of the biggest shakeups is Russell starting all the way up in eleventh after his amazing qualifying for Williams yesterday. Think he can hold onto that position?"

"He's got some fierce competition not far behind in the form of Alpha Tauri. Gasly starts thirteenth- surprisingly far back on the grid given the otherwise flawless performance he's shown this year. But it seems likely that he should be able to overtake-"

You flick the tv on mute, unable to stomach listening to them sing his praises. You numb your mind with social media until the Formula 1 theme plays on your laptop, alerting you that there's a few minutes until race start. Tire blankets are peeled off and the drivers weave their way through the formation lap with the exception of Kimi who takes his traditional straight line approach to warm up his supersoft tires.

Most of the front runners are on ultrasofts, indicating a two stop strategy. It was Pirelli's recommended approach, and you were glad that Horner heeded their advice for once and let Max use the ultras in Q2. It would give Max the upper hand over Hamilton who starts on the yellow sidewall tire and thus slightly slower lap times.

Crofty and Brundle break down the notable turns as the cars line up on the grid, pointing out the sharp hairpin only a few hundred meters from pole position. If Max got away clean, he would be ahead of the cramped pack and have an even better edge over the silver arrows who would be forced to queue behind him.

The traditional "lights out and away we go" kicks off the grand prix, engines roaring into the first turn. Max does manage to get away clean and is awarded with an immediate advantage. Turn one proves tragic for the Alfa Romeo of Raikonnen and the Asthon Martin of Stroll who collide and cause Kimi to spin. They rejoin at the back of the pack, your eyes snagging on the navy and white of an Alpha Tauri as it streams past.

Your heart spins in a similar fashion when the GAS driver tag leaps up two places in the timing table, suddenly in eleventh due to the incident. Your gaze snaps to the laptop humming on your legs before you remember its Max's driver cam you queued up. The Dutchman is silent as his engineer relays information about the incident and informs him of the widening gap between those chasing him.

“Confirm received,” Gianpiero says calmly. No matter the situation or how heated Max got, he always kept his head. It was what made the duo such a good match and had likely kept Max from going off the rails on more than one occasion.

“Yeah,” Max says shortly, clearly pissed about how quickly Hamilton was approaching. “Let me know when I’ve got enough charge to get out of range.”

“Yep, will do. Just keep this pace and you’ll hold him at bay.”

Live coverage replays the incident between Stroll and Raikonnen from the view of onboard with Pierre. The instant the 10 on the halo appears in the center of your screen you suck in a breath. He yanks the wheel to avoid colliding with Ocon, who had to do the same to keep from hitting his teammate as they navigate through the carnage.

You chew on your lip and try to refocus on the battle between the front runners. Not much is happening in the midfield for the next thirty or so laps and Max just barely manages to build a solid enough gap between himself and Hamilton to dive into the pits comfortably without losing places.

Your phone rings and you answer it without checking who it was as the only person you wouldn't answer was currently occupied.

"Hello?"

"Why the fuck didn't they pit Daniel?!"

You grin, noting the blistering beginning on his front left tire as SkySports switches to his onboard camera. "Because he's about to pass Charles," you tell Dan's girlfriend. She didn't call you often during races. It was likely that she knew you were nearing your wits end and this was her way of offering support.

"He won't be able to with those tires- oh." She breaks off when Daniel passes a DRS detection zone and his rear wing opens, allowing him to pass the Monegasque with ease.

"Told you," you say with a touch of reprimand. "You're always too nervous about those things. Daniel knows how to drive, just trust him to get the job done and he'll bring home another trophy for your apartment."

"I don't live here," she points out and you roll your eyes. She had lived in London as long as you had known her, but she was almost always at Daniel's apartment whether he was in town or not. Daniel digs in as the camera follows him for a lap, highlighting the widening gap between the McLaren and the Ferrari.

"You basically do. At this point, you're paying rent for a dusty one bedroom apartment on the east side that you set foot in maybe once a month." She scoffs but you push on, "a waste of sterling if you ask me, when you're at Daniel's every time I ask you to do anything."

"You act like I never- there goes Pierre!"

His name sparks dread in your gut as your attention flicks back to the screen in time to see him overtake Bottas on the inside of turn one. He'd managed to claw up to fifth with the move, somehow gaining places while you weren't looking.

"Good for him," you croak, trying your best to be genuinely happy for him. He was pushing the car to the limit and you'd be amazed if he didn't wind up on the podium along with Dan and Max. Charles and Hamilton were the only ones in his way, and something told you Charles wouldn’t put up much of a fight when his mate reached his gearbox. Hamilton would prove a challenge but he had been making tiny mistakes all day. Nothing significant, though enough to add up to him barely holding onto second while Daniel rode his gearbox.

"He's got ten laps to get past those two," she murmurs as if momentarily forgetting you were on the phone.

"Can we talk about literally anything else please?" You whisper, half tempted to shut off the race completely.

"Babe, you have to face the music at some point. Either you never want to see him again or you love him, which is it?"

She never failed to be anything but brutally honest. You appreciate it because everyone else let you brush off your problems, but she called you on your bullshit. She would needle you about it until you folded.

"I think it's better for both of us if I pretend we never met, don't you?"

"Easier for you, yes," she agrees. "But it'll kill Pierre. You don't think you could keep in touch with him, just as friends?"

"I don't know if I can handle that. I can barely look at him without wanting to bawl my eyes out."

She sighs, pausing to contemplate what to say. Voice soft, she continues, "Why don't you just take him back? Clearly it's ruining both of you. Are you really gonna let the press wreck the best you ever had? I know its hard but-"

"I'm not like you," you cut in. "I can't just ignore the articles and the comments and pretend there aren't people out there that hate me for being with him. They came to my house, disrupted my family. Hell, Ben can't even go to school without being mobbed by his classmates demanding answers. If my suffering is what allows my family to go about their lives then so be it."

"If that's what you wanna believe."

You sigh, tangling your fingers in the hem of your shirt. "It is."

"Alright," she says, voice teetering on a knife's edge. "I know better than to try to change your mind when you're like this. He's on the podium by the way. Oh, and watch what you say to Max- Pierre will read into it."

She hangs up without a goodbye, leaving you to deal with the realization that the podium is indeed VER RIC GAS on your own. Your eyes are glued to the Red Bull and McLaren drivers, blatantly ignoring the one in the white suit as the anthems play and the champagne is sprayed, turning away to busy yourself with making coffee when Daniel hands his liquid filled race boot to third place.

You weren't quite sure how you were supposed to watch what you said to Max- there was no reason to in your mind. Max was your next closest friend on the grid and you had every right to congratulate him if you wanted to.

Resolute in your decision, you text Max and Daniel a quick congratulations before shutting off the TV and closing your laptop.

Max's insane custom ringtone he'd selected for himself nearly makes you jump out of your skin when it blares from your phone.

"Hey great race-"

"Did you see it? I wasn't sure if you'd watch it- did you see my move on Hamilton when he tried to get past me?" He was talking a mile a minute like he was still out on track. "I was like- and then Dan tried to overtake me on the final lap and I was like no way! And then-"

"Max," you chime in, dragging out the 'a' with a sing-song voice. "You're rambling."

"Oh right. Yeah but I made it! Led every lap and finished with another win."

"That's great." You force as much enthusiasm in the words as possible, trying to match his chaotic energy. "You did great. I know it probably doesn't mean much, but I'm proud to be your friend. You beat a world champ!"

"It means a lot-"

"Who's that?"

You stiffen at the familiar cadence. You had assumed Max was back in the garage when he called, but he must have still been in the podium room. You could picture him in his race suit, smudges of grease and dirt staining the pristine white. Beads of sweat probably ran down his neck, begging to be brushed away by your tongue.

"Uh, no one," Max says in a lame attempt to cover up his digression. "I gotta go," he whispers to you.

"Let me talk-"

"Wait don't," you start, but the call ends abruptly and you blink. You stare down at your phone, completely dumbfounded. Of course his instinct would be to talk to you, to share the euphoria of a podium with you. It was the first victory in three years he wouldn't have you to celebrate with.

It was only a matter of time until his resolve popped like the cork on his champagne.

**********

Pierre's phone is in his hand as soon as Max hangs up. He hefts his trophy in the other, a wild grin on his sweaty face as he snaps a picture. He makes sure he's the only one in the frame, shamelessly wanting himself to be the center of your attention.

"Mate," Daniel pipes up, catching his eye, "you think that's a good idea?"

Pierre sighs, cutting the Australian a glare. "I'm just trying to fill her in."

"Wasn't your plan to give her space?"

"It's been a week, isn't that long enough?"

"Take it from me, sometimes it takes months for someone to figure things out. Hell, you know how long it took me to sort through my feelings for-"

"I know," Pierre cuts in. "I know. I just- a snap can't hurt can it? C'mon, I just got a podium! If it goes bad I can blame it on the post race jitters."

Daniel holds up his hands and shrugs. "You're a grown man. Do what you want."

Pierre studies the photo, scrutinizing the way his hair was plastered to his head and the awkward way he'd posed to keep anyone but himself out of the frame. It's his genuine smile that he knows will do you in, and ultimately the reason he sends it.

His phone is a lead weight clutched in his grip as he winds through the paddock, constantly stopped by vips and team members congratulating him. None of what anyone says registers, he just tries his best to match their mood and sputter praises about his team's contributions to his podium.

The snap you finally send back is only from the eyes up, but it's enough. He's surrounded by people in his driver room, but for ten seconds it might as well have just been him staring at a sliver of your face on a screen.

The tiny lines at the corners of your shining eyes tell him you're smiling, which is a step in the right direction even if you won't let him see your entire face. It's enough to reignite the hope that slumbered in his chest while waiting for you to pull the trigger and make a move.

He sends back a video of the people in the room, who cheer when they realize they're being filmed. 'Wish you were here,' is what he captions it and sends it without giving himself a chance to overthink.

Ten minutes pass with no reply.

The beer he’s already consumed have given him a pleasant buzz as well as an excuse to make a bad decision or two. He takes another video of the room to post to his Instagram story, 'Missing you' written in the lower left corner.

Fuck, he hopes you'll see it and regret leaving him on read. Instead all he gets is a text from Charles chastising him for stirring up drama.

Really Pierre?

Blame it on the alcohol, he texts back.

I know you aren’t drunk. You can’t form a coherent sentence when you are.

Guess i gotta drink more then

Pierre doesn’t turn anyone bearing alcohol away. He's two celebratory shots deep when Daniel finds him sulking in a corner. "You've got my girl texting me freaking out over your story. I've seen it and I gotta agree with her. Was that really necessary?"

"She left me on read," Pierre says like that was enough explanation. His head was spinning and it was getting hard to keep the room upright. "And it's the truth. I miss her like hell. I want her here. She was supposed to come, you know? I was gonna have her fly in with me on the jet. She doesn't start class again until June. I had this whole week planned out. I was gonna show her Texas- she’s from New York and..."

He trails off when he notes Dan’s pitying smile. Daniel sighs and runs a hand through his curls. "I know. I get it, okay? I know it's hard but you can't force it. You've gotta let her come back on her own, all you're doing now is pushing her away."

He was fucking clueless when it came to these things. He'd had you for a few precious moments and now that he'd lost you he didn't know how to act. His mind was running on hazy autopilot; he barely knew which way was up, let alone did he trust himself to make any sort of important decision.

He stares down at the shot he'd been handed at some point before throwing it back. The cheap whiskey burns his throat but he barely registers the sting. "Should I take it down?"

"She already saw it," Daniel says gently, as if he anticipates how bad the fuck up will hurt. And it does. It hits him like a tire wall at two hundred kph, knowing that you were probably ranting or crying on the phone with Daniel’s girlfriend. "But yeah, that's probably best. People are already wondering what happened between you two, no need to throw fuel on the fire."

"You're probably right-" Pierre cuts off when Charles arrives with a grimace on his face. He shakes his head and gives his friend’s shoulder a squeeze.

"For once I'm not the dumb one."

"You're a dick, you know that right?" Daniel says, allowing Pierre to delete the post. It takes him a few tries before he gets it down, but undeniably rumors will be circulating in the morning if they weren’t already.

"Honestly what were you thinking?" Charles demands, edging towards full blown yelling. "I told you to leave her be. The gossip stemming from this isn’t gonna help.”

The last thing he needed was someone else telling him how stupid his decision had been. At least Daniel had the decency to show sympathy.

"Honestly?" Pierre responds with the same intensity, his anger flaring. "Honestly, Charles, I was thinking that she was happy for me but was too afraid to take the leap. She haunts me. Every second I’m awake I have to force myself away from her. Even when I’m asleep I can’t get away from her. So I don’t know, maybe I wanted to haunt her too."

“This isn’t the way you win her back and you know it.”

“I know!” Pierre throws up his hands. “But what else am I supposed to do? She won’t talk to me. She has no problem talking to Max or Daniel but apparently she draws the line at me.”

“You know it’s not-” Daniel's eyes flick to his phone and he fights back a grin. All it does is remind Pierre that he lost the person that could bring that sort of smile to his own face. "Fellas I wish I could stay and help but I gotta get going. Charles, I think Pierre needs another drink." He slaps five American dollars in the Monegasque's hand. "First one is on me."

Pierre is too deep in a spiral to care when his friend drags him from the party to a bar just south of the circuit. Somehow it was within walking distance; the floor was sticky and the lighting was for shit but he didn't care.

Pierre's focus was on downing shot after shot, erasing the broken image of you his mind had conjured up. He never should have posted the story. It only served to feed into what the media had been speculating for the past week and dredged up more tension between you.

Pierre stops checking his phone two shots later. The liquor provides a wet blanket over his senses, dousing him in cold water and scrambling his brain. He could barely remember his own name, but yours still lived in the corner of his mind.

Even drunk, he refused to forget you.

Two hours and who knows how much alcohol later, Charles helps Pierre back to his hotel room.

Pierre falls asleep as soon as he hits the mattress, head too blurry to dredge up memories of you.

#are you feeling the angst yet #pierre gasly #pierre gasly X reader #formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 rpf #f1 rpf #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly fanfiction

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path-of-my-childhood · 4 years

Photo

Collect Call From... TAYLOR SWIFT

Blender Magazine (final, unpublished issue from May 2009) // By Josh Eells

Each month, one lucky rock star phones Blender HQ for seven days straight, just to, you know, share. Now on the line: country-pop princess.

DAY 1: FEBRUARY 24th, 3:51 pm

Swift calls from Nashville, where she lives with her parents and younger brother. “I’m so happy to be home! I’ve been in Europe for two weeks. I got back two nights ago and spent half of yesterday sleeping. This is my only week off for months, but I categorize vacations differently than most people. I don’t care if I’m doing interviews from when I wake up till I go to sleep, as long as l’m in my own bed, that’s a day off. This morning I went to some of the radio stations in town, said hi to program directors. Then I met with my stylist - we talked about tour outfits. And now I’m getting dressed for my brother Austin’s lacrosse game. He plays goalie - this is his first game as starter. His friends used to tease him about me, but now he's six two and built. I don’t think they make jokes anymore.”

DAY 2: FEBRUARY 25th, 4:14 pm

Swift phones from home, where she’s “lounging on the couch under a quilt” and playing with her dogs, Baby (a Doberman) and Bug (a mini Pinscher). “Austin did great! His team won, and he kept a bunch of balls out of the goal. Afterwards I went with my friend Emily to a Nashville Predators game. I did a commercial for them, so they hook me up with tickets when I’m in town. There’s a couple of cute guys, but I think they’re all married. I totally cheer and do the fang-finger thing. Last night they put me on the JumboTron, and you could literally see the wave of people getting up to come over. I’m still getting used to the fact that being stared at is part of my day - in high school it meant I had something on my face. The fact that my albums has been No. 1 for 10 weeks - it’s unbelievable. But this week looks a little questionable: The Jonas Brothers have an album out, too. Hmm.”

DAY 3: FEBRUARY 26th, 5:30 pm

Swift dials in from the road In Nashville, where she’s stuck In rush-hour traffic. "I just shot a video with my friend Kellie [Pickier] for a song we wrote together. It’s about ex-boyfriends. In the video I am kind of her trouble-making sidekick - I wore this strapless studded dress with a zipper up the front. The whole day I was afraid someone was gonna walk by and unzip me. It would have taken half a second to ruin my day. Oh, my God, last night I fell asleep on the couch watching CSI: NY. I was out at like 7, but at some point I dragged myself to bed, and apparently in my haze I turned the heat up to 95! I woke up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, with my poor cat lying on the floor panting. I made myself an ice bath and called my friend Emma in LA - she was in Superbad - and she kept me company for two hours while I cooled down.”

DAY 4: FEBRUARY 27th, 4:37 pm

Swift rings from the music room at her house, where she’s teaching herself how to play piano. “I’m still not caught up from my jet lag. Today I woke up at 5:30, ate same cereal and fell back asleep on the couch. I didn’t sleep long though, because we had rehearsal this morning. Kenny Chesney was rehearsing next door, so we chatted for a bit. Nashville is a really small town. I still live with my parents because I’m never home long enough to move out. And I don’t go to bars, because I’m 19 and scared of breaking rules. Besides Kellie and my best friend Abigail, who moved to Kansas, most of my friends are in LA. And boys aren’t even an issue right now. I categorize guys as “talking”, “nominees” - people you feel like you could someday date - and “dating”. Right now I don’t even have nominees. I don’t even have potential future nominees! But I’m used to being single. Before my last relationship [with Joe Jonas] I was single for like two years. It’s sort of my thing.”

DAY 5: FEBRUARY 28th, 12:50 pm

Swift checks in from her mom’s car with some medical news. “So, I’m driving to the doctors office. I burned my face with a curling iron! Don’t worry, I’m fine - I’ll call you after we’re done. [She phones a few hours later.] OK. What happened was, I woke up at 6 am and decided to curl my hair. I guess l was still asleep, because I slipped and burned my face under my right eye. It hurt really bad, but I didn’t think much of it. I edited and uploaded a MySpace video - unhindered by the fact that my face was melting off - and went downstairs, and my dad was like, ‘Oh, my God!’ I guess it was worse than I realized. So we went to the dermatologist. She gave me a prescription for some burn cream - I’m not sure what it is, but it has a lot of syllables. The good news is I’m expected to make a full recovery.”

DAY 6: MARCH 1st, 10:03 pm

Swift phones from Plant City, Florida, where she lust performed at the world famous Florida Strawberry Festival. “This place is strawberry city! When we landed, there were official Strawberry Festival minivans waiting to pick us up, driven by people in strawberry shirts. In the dressing room there were bushels of the most beautiful, gigantic chocolate covered strawberries I’ve ever seen. It’s like they welded three together! And this afternoon I met the Strawberry Festival Queen and her court. They were dressed in red and looked very sparkly. It was cold for Florida, like 55 and rainy, but everybody bundled up and had a great time. Afterward we had a police escort, which always makes you feel cool, and we’re taking a private jet, which is even cooler. On the way to the airport all these kids were trying to hurl themselves on our car - it was pretty frantic for a second. But thankfully no one got hurt. That’s why it was cool.”

DAY 7: MARCH 2nd, 12:50 pm

On her last day at home, Swift calls from her favorite couch, where she’s enjoying the view of Old Hickory Lake. “It’s freezing in Tennessee! It’s like 29 degrees, and I’m sitting here packing sundresses and flip-flops for two weeks in Australia. That and downloading movies for the 20,000-hour flight I’m about to embark on. I have three goals for this trip. One, get a tan. Two, go to the beach. And three, debut my new summer wardrobe. Oh, and four, play some good shows and make an impact on Australia! Ha. I don’t go into most situations thinking I’m going to win. I’ve never even won a raffle. These blessings I’ve had lately are more amazing than I could have ever imagined. We got the new projections today, and It’s looking like we’re going to be No.1 again. Does it feel a little sweeter this week? [Laughs] Yeah - just a little.”

#someone posted this on twitter so I thought I'd share #little TBT #fearless era #I find young Taylor so amusing...cause you never know what you're gonna get =)#like - she was always trained and disciplined enough to be careful with her words #but sometimes...lmao sometimes she would just go off...I don't know - I just find it so funny #anyways...#apparently this whole issue was never even published #blender magazine #interview #taylor swift #baby taylor #scans

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xdsockmonkey · 4 years

Text

The Best I’ve Been in A While

Pairing: Aziraphale x Reader (could be platonic or romantic), Crowley

Word Count: 1,653

Warnings: Mentions of a breakup, hurt comfort

Summary: Reader gets broken up with, Aziraphale helps

Notes: *I tried to make everything as gender-neutral as possible* This is based on @thependragonwritersguild prompt #11596 for @daryls-crossbow-carols-boots who asked for someone to write an Aziraphale fic and I finally got an idea

You had recently moved to London… well, not that recently. You had moved here over a year ago, got a relatively good job and two solid friends, but you still felt like something was missing. You had gotten a black kitten to keep you company—you loved Butters (the name was part of the reason you fell in love with her) but there was still something missing. Today was Saturday and you were fulfilling your tradition of going on a random adventure one day out of the week. Today you were wandering some streets you had never paid much attention to while sipping some coffee. So far you had discovered two pet stores, a donut shop, a pizza shop and a Christmas store. As you were walking down the street, looking at the colorful shops you were passing, you accidentally bumped shoulders with a stranger.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” you exclaimed. As your head turned to look at the stranger, you first noticed his dark sunglasses. But for a split second you could see behind them and you could see bright yellow-orange eyes. The stranger pauses for a second and stands up straight.

“No worries,” he quietly says, before walking away. As you continued to wander around you kept thinking about that man. He intrigued you and you felt an immediate urge to want to be his friend. Later that day, when you were home curled up on your bed with your cat you suddenly got a text.

“We scheduled too many people for tomorrow, you can have the day off,” your manager sent. Not putting too much thought into it, you turned off your alarms and decided to watch some TV while falling asleep.

When you awoke the next morning, you instantly thought of the man with the yellow eyes. Throughout the morning you continued to feel the strong urge to go back to the streets you wandered less than 24 hours ago. You ate a quick breakfast while watching TV then changed into some casual clothes. Once you felt ready to face the world, you grabbed your phone and earbuds and listened to some of your favorite music as you walked to the streets you wandered the day before. As you were nearing a corner, something made you stop—some kind of feeling, similar to daja vu. It made you feel as though you were walking toward something greater. Your feet began to move forward again, and before you knew what you were doing, you had entered a shop. The atmosphere of the building immediately brought you a sense of peace and you just knew you were in a book shop. It was incredibly quiet but some soft squeaks of old stairs told you someone was here.

“Hello?” asked a sweet voice. Instinctively, you stopped all movement and suddenly felt very out of place. Feeling unsure of yourself, you decided to turn around and exit the bookshop. Right as your hand touched the handle the stranger said “You don’t have to leave… if you don’t want to that is.” Something about the way he spoke made you take your hand off the door handle and turn around. What you didn’t know was that this day was the start of the best year of your life.

You began to hang out at the bookshop more. You learned that Aziraphale was the name of the man who ran the shop and that Crowley was the name of his friend (the man with the sunglasses that you had accidentally ran into). About six months after meeting them they told you they were an angel and a demon. Life was great. You had found these two amazing people that you spent most of your free time with, unless you were with Charlie. You had met Charlie two months after meeting Aziraphale and Crowley. Charlie had asked for your phone number, then immediately asked you on a date. Not having anything to lose, you agreed. Things were great in the beginning, they made you laugh and were incredibly respectful with any boundaries you set, but after two months of dating something in the relationship felt off. You tried to spend more time with them and to talk about what was going on but they would always change the subject, so you just dropped it.

Now, here you are, almost five months into the relationship and Charlie is coming to your apartment to “have a very serious talk.” You were sitting at your kitchen table trying to calm your shaking hands.

“They should be here by now,” you mumble to yourself. Not even a minute later an uneven knock comes from your door. Taking a deep breath you stood up and walked to your door. Gathering all your courage you opened the door.

“Hey!” you said, forcing a smile to your face. They looked nervous, but not a good kind of nervous like when you’re on a rollercoaster, it was a bad kind of nervous like when you have to take a test you didn’t study for.

“I’m just going to make this quick,” they start, not even looking you in the eye. “We’re over. I just can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry.” And with that, they were gone. You were left standing in the doorway completely flabbergasted. You slowly backed into your apartment and locked your door. Turning around you slid down the back of the door. You put your hand over to try and control your sobs. You sat against your door for an hour as sorrow overtook your body. Butters curled up between your legs and tried to lift your spirits. Eventually, the afternoon turned into the evening and you had to find the strength to stand up and get something to eat. Shuffling to your kitchen you grabbed a random snack and stumbled into your bedroom. You turned on the TV, not bothering to change the channel to something you’d actually like to watch and ate your snack. Feeling a tiny bit better you checked your phone. You had 20 unread texts from Crowley and 40 missed calls from Aziraphale. You felt bad for not answering but you didn’t have the emotional capacity to do that right now, so with the TV still on you rolled over and went to sleep (even though it wasn’t even 6 pm yet).

When you awoke the next day you felt a lot better. You weren’t at 100% yet, but you felt as though you could function. When you checked your phone you had even more missed texts and calls from Crowley and Aziraphale. You decided you better go visit them before they thought you were dead. Sighing, you got up and brushed your teeth then got dressed. You walked to a coffee shop and got a drink before continuing your walk to the bookshop. As you got closer you became more nervous and almost considered turning back, but you forced yourself to continue forward.

Your steps slowed as you walked up the steps of the old store. Slowly, you pushed open the door and walked inside. You didn’t even know what brought you here, you began to think that it would’ve been better if you started at home. You didn’t want to be a burden to them. Hearing the familiar creaking of the old stairs, you knew they were here and it was too late to turn back.

“Y/N! Darling, is everything alright? You weren’t answering your phone and I almost came over last night but Crowley convinced me to wait til tonight if we still hadn’t heard anything…” the Angel continued to ramble. Your feet pulled you forward and before you knew it, you had yourself wrapped around him in a warm hug. His train of thought halted and his arms were soon wrapped around you. You were trying so hard not to break down right there but a few tears escaped.

“What’s wrong?” Crowley asked from behind Aziraphale. The Angel pulled away and gave you a concerned look while checking over your face. You suddenly felt very small under both of their strong gazes. Your eyes diverted to the ground as you began to fidget with your hands.

“Y/N, you know you can tell us anything,” Aziraphale said as you began to fight back tears. “We need to know what happened so we can help.”

“Umm… you remember Charlie right?” you quietly began.

“Of course,” the angel replied.

“About three months ago I felt something in our relationship change… oh my God, I’m so stupid of not doing anything about it sooner!” you cried. Suddenly feeling very weak on your feet, you felt yourself start to collapse. The angel and the demon leaped toward you and caught you; one on each arm.

“Let’s come have a seat on the sofa,” the angel mumbled. Slowly all three of you shuffled to the sofa as tears poured out your eyes. Once you were all settled on the sofa (Aziraphale on your left and Crowley on your right). Crowley had his hand resting on your shoulder while Aziraphale had you hand in both of his.

“Continue dear,” Aziraphale whispered. Taking a few moments to compose yourself, you regained your train of thought.

“Anyway, the main point is, they broke up with me yesterday. They didn’t say why th-they just said it was over.” Once again you crying your eyes out and your body was exhausted. Before you knew it, your body collapsed sideways onto Aziraphale as you continued to cry. His arms quickly wrapped around your body and held you close.

“It’s okay. Everything will be alright,” Aziraphale whispered into your hair. You hardly noticed Crowley leaving the two of you. “You can stay here as long as you want.”

And you did. That night you went back to your apartment to get Butters and her toys and food. You stayed at the bookshop for nearly three weeks. Your heart began to heal and before you knew it you were the best you had been in a long time.

#aziraphale #aziraphale x reader #good omens #reader insert #crowley #crowley good omens #demon #angel #I hardly proof read this #fanfic #good omens fic #good omens fanficion #michael sheen #david tennant

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nosferatyou · 5 years

Text

New Tune: Chapter 4 (Jake Kiszka x Reader)

WC: 3.9k

Warnings: Cursing, Alcohol, Moshpits, Rock and Roll, and general dumbassery.

Summary: Two guitarists meet at a Rock Festival, only having a week with each other before they have to return to their own lives. The bond they create is unfeigned and resolute.

I stir awake, in an incredibly uncomfortable position on the.. Couch? A blanket that I definitely don't remember getting was laying on top of me. I look up at the clock to see that it was 1 PM, and let out a groan. I move the blanket off of myself and trudge to the bathroom. I look in the mirror to see what I can only describe as a gremlin. My hair was a rats nest, my makeup had smudged off onto my face, and my clothes were untucked and wrinkled. The weirdest part was the sticky note posted to my forehead. I grabbed it off and scrawled onto it said

“Y/N, Left to go get coffee even though it's practically the afternoon. Anyways will be back soon. -Jake.

PS I would've moved you into a better position, but I didn't want to wake you.”

Shit, he’s going to be here any minute, and I look like straight up trash. Going for a different look, I grab a very cut up Black Sabbath shirt (with a plunging neckline), simple high-waisted black shorts, fishnet tights, and finally my docs. I quickly combed out my hair, and applied some darker makeup. By the time I was done I heard a knock at the door, I opened it to reveal a sweaty Jake with two coffees in his hand.

“Ah so you finally woke up?”

“Oh hush it, get in here I need coffee.”

He walks on and hands me the cup before splaying himself out on the couch.

“So what's the plan today.” He asked.

A smile grew on my face, I already had plans for tonight, but now I'm definitely dragging him along.

“Okay so.” I grabbed a seat next to him, practically buzzing with excitement. “Did you see the headliner tonight?”

“I honestly wasn’t paying attention.” He took another sip of his coffee, still relaxed on the couch.

“Well.. I already planned on doing this since we got here, but this may be a little out of your comfort zone. I don’t know how wild you get.”

He sat up a little bit, interest peaked.

“And I don't know if the band will be up your alley, but…. Anthrax is playing tonight and they put on some of the most fun shows I’ve ever been to. Anyways I honestly live to be in the pit and was gonna sneak in and have some fun.”

He really doesn’t strike me as the mosh type, but definitely the partying type, so this is all really a gamble.

“You know what, fuck it. The boys and I never went to heavier shows, so I've never moshed, but this place seems as good as any to do it. You also seem like a good mosh pit spiritual guide.”

An even bigger smile grew to my face, and I hopped up off the couch.

“The show starts at 7, that gives us like 5-6 hours of pregame and prep. Up you go, we have work to do.”

I grab his arm and try to pull him off the couch. He just laughs and goes along with it.

“Take me to your bus.”

“Not that im complaining but why?”

“That outfit is completely unacceptable.”

He looked down at himself and then back up to me.

“Wait what, why?”

“Well first off you’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and your toes are definitely gonna get squished in those flimsy boots.”

“Hey! They aren’t flim-”

I grabbed his hand again and dragged him off the bus.

“Lets go, Rockstar. Lots of work to do.”

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He suddenly stopped me before entering the bus, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m going to be frank with you. They are weird as fuck, especially Sam and Josh, but seriously, watch out for Sam. He’s especially weird.”

I laugh and mimic his hand on my shoulder with my own on his.

“This’ll be fun then, I'm sure we will get on just fine. “

“Alright, Y/N. Just wanted to let you know ahead of time.”

“Whatever you say, Rockstar.”

I open the door and waltz up the stairs to see an odd scene to say the least. Josh, who I had met nights before, was sitting on the couch playing guitar. It seemed like his first time, but two tall boys were standing over him. One yelling at josh, and very aggressively might I add, trying to fix his positioning. The other was trying to calmly explain it to him, the two boys both breaking their instructions with bickering between the two of them.

“Josh, darling, just use your thumb to steady your hand on the neck. Barre chords are 100% easier that way.”

The two taller boys whipped their attention over to me, but Josh just tried what I suggested instead. He produced a much clearer sound and gleefully yelled because of it, then looked up to me.

“Y/N! Thank you, darling. These two imbeciles couldn't pick a way to teach, and it was nothing but confusion.”

Shortly after Jake clomped up the stairs, taking a place next to me. Josh quickly ran over to his twin to seemingly go in for a hug, instead all Jake got was a hefty punch in the arm.

“You bastard, where have you been?”

Jake rubbed his arm and said “Well we went out for a little smoke sesh and then fell asleep on her bus by accident. Sorry man.”

Josh raised his eyebrows in surprise then said, “Ohhh, well that's all you had to say, little brother. We get it.”

“Don’t be gross, Josh. There is a lady here. Plus I’m only five minutes younger, we've been over this.”

I suddenly burst in.

“By all means, Josh. Be gross. I could barely be described as a lady.”

“She already loves me, Jakey.”

He just let out a sigh and said “Don't forget about the others. This is Sam, the actual little brother”

Sam stuck out his hand and gave me a firm handshake. “I feel like this friendship between us will stick.”

“Very bold, Sam. I completely agree.”

Jake continued. “And this is Danny, not blood related, but is basically family.”

He also went in for a handshake, this one a bit softer.

“Pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

“Pleasures all mine.”

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The boys and I instantly hit it off the bat, maybe it's my chaotic personality, or maybe it's theirs. Either way they grew very comfortable around me quickly, and so did I. Jake was a bit more laid back, he mostly just watched us all interact with a smile on his face. It was oddly endearing.

By that point it was Six and they helped us pregame for the night ahead. Many beers and a couple shots in, and Josh and I were in a heated game of the floor is lava. Well we were but that was until Sam grabbed the chair out from underneath me, causing me to fall onto the couch. Which poor Jake happened to be sitting on, so I partially crushed him, but we were all so tipsy that both of us didn't care. I was too comfortable to move, forgetting about the game.

“Danny, my love. What's the time?”

He checked his watch and said “About 6:30”

I sat up from my reclined position on Jake’s lap and yelled “Shit!”

I quickly got up and yanked Jake up a well, causing him to spill some of his beer.

“We gotta get you better shoes or else your toes are gonna be crushed.”

He laughed and started to push me to the back of the bus. “Well we can't have that can we?”

He led me to a tiny closet near the bunks where he stored his clothing. His shoes were also haphazardly stuffed in there as well.

“Damn this is how you live?”

“Is it not the same for you?”

“You got me there, Rockstar.”

I looked through all of them, stopping on a bright red pair for a moment because they were just so damn fun. But tucked away were some older and heftier leather boots. I grabbed them and stuffed them into his hands.

“Did you bring any normal shirts? Cause button ups won't do, man. Gotta have room to move.”

“Yeah I think I have an old Zeppelin shirt back there somewhere.” He said motioning back towards the closet.

I found it and threw it over to him. I turned around to face him staring at me with an indistinguishable look on his face.

“What are you waiting on? I'm not gonna help you, go get dressed and lets go.”

“Aw what a shame.” He teased.

He dumped his stuff into his bunk before unbuttoning his shirt and taking it off. My eyes slightly widened, and heat rose to my face. I coughed and pulled out my phone as a distraction. A multitude of texts from Sam, my boyfriend, as usual. I ignored them and simply stared at my homepage, just trying to direct my attention from the very tanned shirtless man in front of me.

He tapped my shoulder, pulling me out of my haze.

“Ready to go, little bird?”

“Ready, Rockstar.”

We said our quick goodbyes to the boys before heading off. Josh quickly called out behind us, “Don’t lose an ear!”

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In our drunken state we tried and failed, many times, to hop the fence to the venue. The pit was much harder than expected to get to. Jake tried to lift me over, I tried to lift him over, all ended with one of us almost crushing the other. We were hot, sweaty, and about to miss our chance to join in the fun. Well that was until Jake thought of a different plan of action.

“Y/N!”

I had my hands joined together to grab his foot and lift him up the metal slats, I about dropped him when he yelled my name. Putting all my strength into lifting him, concentrating on a response was hard but I choked out,

“Jesus, Jake. Don’t do that or I’ll drop you again. What is it?”

He scrambled out of my grasp and almost took me down with him.

“I have the best idea I’ve ever thought of.”

“I doubt th-”

He cut me off and grasped my shoulders, shaking me as he spoke.

“We can just jump into the pit!”

I swatted his hands off of me and said

“We’ve been trying that for 20 minutes, dumbass.”

“No!”

He grabbed my hand and practically dragged me toward backstage.

“We are artists, we just go to the wings backstage, sneak onto the stage real fast, jump off into the pit, then join in!”

“Oh my god that is the best idea you've ever had!”

“I know!”

At this point we were in a full on sprint towards the venue, people were giving some strange stares, but we were way too drunk to notice nor care.

We finally reached the inside, laughing as we ran through, navigating through crew members and roadies. When we reached the edge of the wings we stopped for a moment to catch our breath, we both looked at each other for a moment. A look of excitement and adrenaline crossed his face, and i'm sure mine as well.

“Ready, Rockstar?” I asked.

“Let’s go, motherfucker!”

We both ran onto the stage, jumping off the ledge into the space between the barrier and stage. The people at the barrier very quickly noticed us, all very confused by our actions.

“Help me over!” I yelled to them, holding out my hands.

A couple of men grabbed me and lifted me over, I quickly thanked them and looked back over to Jake, still inbetween.

“What are you doing? Get over here!”

He laughed and lifted himself over, pushed close next to me.

“This is quite tight!” He yelled.

“What’d you expect?”

He just shrugged his shoulders and leaned onto the barrier.

“Oh no, Rockstar. This isn’t where we will be.”

He gave me a puzzled look, and I simply responded by grabbing his hand and dragged him away from our spot. I took us deeper into the pit, more and more to the middle. Both of us tightly pressed up against each other. The band wasn’t on stage yet, but the crowd was buzzing with excitement.

“You nervous?”

He looked excited, very drunk, but obviously a bit hesitant about it all.

“A bit. I have a feeling the moment it starts i'll fit right in.”

“Good! It'll be-”

The crowd erupted into cheers and we both looked up to see the band entering the stage. I looked back over to Jake, who’s nervous demeanor had increased substantially. I grabbed his hand, and he looked over to me. He squeezed my hand in response, a smile appearing on his face.

“Don’t let go until you feel ready.. Or if we literally get torn apart.” I yelled to him, barely audible.

“Oh jesus.”

Jakes POV

For the first couple of songs the crowd stood still, well not still, but what I assume is still for this crowd. The music was loud, really loud, and gritty, but the lead guitarist was damn good. Had a clean tone for the genre. It definitely wasn't my crowd, that's for sure, it was a lot of very tall men in tank tops, all older than you'd expect. Y/N definitely stuck out in the crowd. Though she was very much in her element, Dancing with the others, getting a bit rowdier than the rest actually. She knew how to hold her ground in a group like this no doubt about. The music definitely not what I ever ventured into, but I definitely could appreciate it. The band was having fun on stage and messing around, something i'm definitely no stranger to.

Then the band introduced the song “Indians” and all hell broke loose. Y/N’s grip tightened on my hand.

“Get Ready!” She yelled.

The guitars harmonized with a simplistic riff, no other instruments joining in, but boy when they did, the fun began. People around me started to basically push and shove me, basically just running their bodies into me. Jumping into each other and me, Y/N jumped into me at one point. It was tamer than expected, Y/N Joined them as well, pushing into me and jumping into others. It was definitely something I could have handled, I don't know why she hyped it up so much. Everyone took a mutually agreed upon break during the chorus and second verse. Still pushing but just keeping to their spots. Y/N had a huge smile on her face, and looked over to me, her hair wild and her face flushed.

She leaned over to me and tried to yell, “Get ready!”

“Get Ready? Wasn’t that the mosh?”

She threw her head back and laughed before returning to her space. The singer screamed “War Dance!” and the crowd lost it. They were jumping into everyone basically using shoulders and elbows to bounce off of each other. I felt my arm jerk and I looked over to Y/N, and everyone in front of her was.. Running? She tightened her grip and started running with them, and in town, I was dragged along. They all were basically running in a circle in dancing, screaming the lyrics to the song. When we got into a groove something in me grooved with it and I lost every nervous feeling in body. I let go of her hand and ran next to her, jumping into her at some points. She threw her head back with laughter and reciprocated by almost pushing me over. At some point we stopped running, but we slammed and jumped into each other until the song was over. And by that point I was so out of breath it burned.

“Holy shit.” I breathed out.

As the show went on the more into it I got and the more wild Y/N got. Alcohol still very present in our systems, along with adrenaline. Y/N screamed the lyrics with everyone and danced all night, causing a ruckus with the neighboring people, and of course I joined in.

She suddenly clamped her hand on my shoulder in the middle of the song “Antisocial”, surprising me.

“Jake! I have my phone on me, but if I don't make it out, we meet where we jumped in!”

“Don't make it back?” I yelled in confusion.

“Don’t worry ill be right back!”

She leaned over to the taller guys next to us and did her best to talk to them. They both high fived her and she grabbed onto their shoulders. They grabbed her legs and lifted her, passing her forward. The people in front of us very quickly took notice and passed her along. She was having the time of her life, yelling and milking her performance. I would be lying if I didn't say she was cool as fuck, and that I didn't envy her lust for life.

The guy next to tapped my shoulder and yelled “Dude your girlfriend is dope as hell!”

I simply responded “Don't I know it.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N’s POV

Eventually I did make my way back to Jake, it just took me awhile to push through, and not get distracted by the crowd, as nice as it was to get recognized, I was worried he got swept away.

I found him attempting to headbang with the guys who helped me crowd surf, it was honestly cute to watch.

“I lived, Bitch!”

He stopped and locked eyes with me, the already huge smile on his face grew bigger,

“I don't want this to end!” He yelled, grabbing me and sweeping me back into my old spot.

“Well I’m sad to inform you we probably have one more song left, Rockstar.”

He gave me an over exaggerated frown and threw his arm around my shoulder and said

“Well I guess that means we have to make it count!”

“I guess it does!”

The crowd gave too much energy in too early on and tried to put everything into the last song, but it didn't compare to earlier. All of our bodies heavy, our breath hard, and sweat was everywhere. Compared to earlier, Jake now looked like a pro. Pushing everyone around him, keeping his balance, a huge smile stuck on his face. Near the end of the song I was completely exhausted and my balance is getting harder and harder to keep. They guy next to me just about pushed me over, except Jakes torso kept me from getting very far. He quickly caught me and wrapped his arms around me looking down at me, stopping for a brief moment. I looked up and our eyes met, our faces were closer than expected, our noses practically touching. The both of us not attempting to move away. Heat rose to my cheeks and I held my breath, unable to move. The relentlessness crowd was ever moving though, and the guy in front of us knocked the two of us into the men behind us, moving us from our position.

“Well that was close, you almost took me down there.” He laughed, relieving the tension.

“You wish, Rockstar.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The walk back to my trailer was silent, it wasn’t a bad silence, just contempt. We both just felt oddly comfortable around each other, and could just live in the moment, not having to force conversation. Comfortable silence is rare, and you've met someone truly special if that can be achieved. Even though it was last night i'm still confused as to how he got me to open up. I make it seem like i’m open with people, joke about my insecurities so they can’t hold them against me. Rarely does anyone ever see past that. I haven't even gotten the chance to throw those jokes around, I haven’t felt like I needed to around him. I've known him all of three days and he makes me feel something. I don't know what it is, its past romantic or platonic, I guess I just feel some sort of kin to him. That scares me.

We were in no rush, taking as much time as we wanted on the walk back. The both of us occasionally just staring at the sky. Crickets and a seldom guitar could be heard, bouncing from bus to bus. A different tune from each player, and even if it was 11, they all seemed to be saying goodnight.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jake glancing at me every so often. When I turned my head to look at him he just stopped trying to hide it. A small smile played at his lips and the stars almost reflected in his eyes. He seemed at peace. Still, I could see that he had a question he wanted to ask playing through his mind.

“What's on your mind, Rockstar?” I asked.

He seemed taken aback that i’d noticed.

“Oh uh, I was just thinking of asking if maybe you'd like to join me and the boys during practice tomorrow? I mean we played last night, but I what to see what you can really do.” He paused for a moment, a smirk appearing on his face. “Plus I can finally Woo you with my guitar playing. Gets all the ladies.” He finished off his sentence by very animatedly wiggling his eyebrows.

“You wish, I've been playing since I was three, bet you I can do everything you can, and then some.”

“You're on, little bird. You don't know what you're getting yourself into. Lets just say i’ve been playing for a little while.”

“You don't even know what you're getting yourself into.” I mimicked the smirk he gave me and said “Gets me all the ladies.”

He cocked an eyebrow in confusion “ You're taken.”

“Well when I wasn't… Let's just say I never had a shortage of fun.”

“Ooh look at you go.”

I just simply laughed and threw an arm around his shoulder, both of us returning back to our silence. My bus seemed to have snuck up on us because suddenly we were standing at the door. I reached for the door handle, stepping away from him.

“Wait.” He said suddenly, grabbing my hand.

I turned to him seeing that same expression as before, he had something to say.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching for something in mine. I almost waited for him to step closer to me. He didn’t.

“No goodnight for me then?”

I stepped closer and left a lingering kiss on his cheek. He froze for a moment before relaxing under my touch.

I leaned in and whispered “Goodnight, Rockstar.” in his ear.

I moved away turning away for him to reach for the door again, opening it as quietly as I could. His hand slipped out of mine and I stepped onto the bus, but before I closed the door I turned around one more time. His eyes softened when they met mine, and a smile played on his lips.

“Goodnight, Little Bird.” He said softly, before turning around and walking away, humming a familiar tune.

Chapter 5

#jake kiszka #jake kiszka x reader #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner #greta van fleet #greta van fleet fics #can we get a reblog this time #or at least one thats not for me #god i wish that were me

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everyday-effing-therapy · 5 years

Text

26/07/19

Hello!

Sorry I lied to you about posting yesterday, which I clearly didn’t do. I’m not trying to force excuses here, but I was dead tired from the trip, needing to hop under the shower ASAP and also really bored with retelling the same story from the previous five days again and again.

Let me just start off from the very beginning.

Let’s start with 20.07. I didn’t post on that day, cause I had manicure in the morning and then I slept, packed and overall got ready. I was planning to post at night, but I knew I already wrote about the hiatus and besides, it turned out that I had to arrive at V’s house on Saturday and not Sunday. Her mom promised to drive us some way to the seaside, but we had to leave early in the morning, therefore it turned out I had to arrive on Saturday’s night.

On Sunday, 21.07, there was Su’s birthday, who is our best friend, so we decided to call her two minutes before midnight, not to let anybody hold the line. Su was already by the seaside.

When I arrived at V’s house it was about 11pm. She packed, we went on a walk with her dog, called Su and then didn’t go to sleep up until 3 am.

At 3 am, Su called saying that she argued with her boyfreind, Opal.

Basically, Opal and Silver arrived on Saturday, Su and Z were already there on a holiday and me and V were supposed to come on Sunday. The six of us were to live together for 5 days and then Silver and Opal were supposed to stay with Black, Gold and another guy for the next couple of days and us girls were supposed to come back home.

Opal and Silver tried to get on well with Su’s and Z’s friends from the holidays, but they’re from two different worlds and Silver and Opal didn’t really have fun. Which is, well, their problem, but then they were mad that Z started to come after a lot of guys and they kept on chasing her the entire evening, so that she wouldn’t do anything stupid.

They obviously had their hearts in the right place, but some peple will always do what they want, even if it’s dangerous and Z is exactly that kind of person. Besides, if anything, they should be mad at Z, but they decided to get pissed at Su. During her birthday.

Which led her to call us crying.

We calmed her down, but the next day, after the 2,5 hour trip with V’s mom, during which we listened to Ed Sheeran’s new album (about which I already talked about) and the 2 hour train trip to the small seaside town, the atmosphere was not that good. We eventually got the house, planned how we were going to sleep and because Su was mad at her boyfriend, he slept with Silver, I slept with Su and V. Z slept alone.

The first day was shitty. We argued a lot, Silver said some very rude things to me because he was tired and well, that didn’t end well. We finished the day by having a bonfire at the beach, but we had to finish that a bunch of hours later, cause we weren’t allowed to do so.

The next day was a bit better, we had more fun because of a bonfire. We went to the supermarket and argued again, because Opal and Z really wanted to throw a surprise birtday party for Z (who had her birthday on 21.07, they have already celebrated on 20.07 and then anther partty on 22.07) and me and V knew that she didn’t want that. Silver was against the idea as well. Fortunately, the party didn’t really work out and we spent the night together, but Opal and Su again had a problem, so we went to nearby city to clear our minds - just me, V and Su. We had waffles, walked the pier, got matching henna tattoos, bought books and ate dinner. After that we came home for that party, but Opal was mad big time.

We woke up at 2 pm on 23.07. We travelled to another city, walked around and had so much fun. That was a really good day, I had an awesome time with Silver and the rest, but when we came home my ankle got so swollen, I couldn’t walk straight.

Silver offered to carry me downstairs, we somehow got down and I got into the bathroom. I wondered whether or not to lock myself, cause I was afraid of falling down, but I decided that nothing bad could have happened to that ankle and I didn’t know whether somebody wouldn’t just barge into the bathroom without knocking. I locked myself, thank god, because Opal felt sick and since he couldn’t get to the bathroom, he threw up outside. Silver stayed with him half of the night, to make sure he was okay.

On 24.07 Gold arrived. We went to the beach since I couldn’t really walk. Almost everybody got sunburnt, but V had it the worst. After that, we ate dinner, went to the beach again to take some pictures and packed, cause the next day was the day of coming home.

We woke up at 25.07, ate breakfast, got waffles and left the house. Me, Su and V took the same train, but V left the fastest cause she was visting family by the sea. Me and Su had to travel for a long time and it was very tiring, cause we didn’t have seating spots, but thankfully, we got home.

After that I had to unpack, take care of my ankle and I fell asleep, cause I had my driving class in the morning.

I didn’t have any driving class during the last two weeks, so let me tell you, it was the absolute worst. I still feel so bad because of that, but I’m trying to forget somehow. Today, I also visited my grandma and soon, I’ll prepare myself to sleep.

If you asked me about how I felt during the trip, I’d have to admit that mostly okay. I didn’t worry about anyhing that I worry about at home, my mental health was better, but we did argue, which in turn made me cranky. The swollen ankle didn’t help at all, but it’s better now.

I realised that I don’t love Silver. He said that he wouldn’t pursue anything with any girl now, so I’m letting go and it does seem possible now, finally.

I do miss Black a lot. I told Opal that i wanted to go to prom with Black, when Opal asked me about whether Silver and Opal finally made the decision between them. I also told him that Silver asked another girl out and Opal was genuinely surprised.

So, there’s that. I think I’m going out with my friends tomorrow, we’ll see how that goes.

Today’s light I’d like to send to Opal. He’s a really nice guy and is in a not the best situation right now, which causes him to hurt. I like him a lot, as a friend, but nevertheless I want him to be happy. I hope all the guys are having fun right now.

And you, have an amazing night.

Love,

#22:10 #26/07 #night post #diary #journal #journal entry #love #life #c posts #finally #holidays #seaside #trips #friends

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apotatomashedbybts · 5 years

Text

The Stains Of Your Love

[GENRE: angst, mature

Pairing: Jimin×reader, Jungkook×reader

Word Count: 3.7k+]

[Summary: Jimin and your relationship was perfect, everyone said so, you thought so too. But love is not always what it seems to be. What if you get hurt by the person you love the most? Will you flee away? But how far will you run until love finds you again? ]

Part I : Stained Heart

You chuckled to yourself as the face of your surprised boyfriend crossed your mind.

You were out on a work tour to Germany for almost two weeks. This tour was supposed to last for three weeks but due to your work efficiency the work got finished earlier than expected. So you decided to surprise your boyfriend by not telling him about your arrival.

Working in the Government Foreign Service had its own perks and you being a travel lover had always enjoyed it but missing your boyfriend in those frequent tours was never your favourite emotion. You had been in a relationship with Jimin for about four years. In those four years he had joined you in your tours sometimes but he had his own job too, so leaving him alone at home had always been tough for you. When you both started dating, you were known to be the perfect couple in your friend circle and everybody talked about your relationship. After about six months of being his girlfriend, you moved in with him to a new apartment. You had never thought life would be so perfect after being with him. He was one of the most caring person you had ever met and you loved him like crazy. He had never failed your expectations and always treated you like a queen. After moving in with him you decorated the apartment with your own hands with love and turned it into home. You had been content ever since. It was a happy home. It became even happier when both of your parents approved of your relationship.

You inserted the special key that only you and Jimin had one each to unlock the door if it's closed from inside and tiptoed inside. You were quite surprised to see that all the lights were off. Jimin was supposed to be home by now. You kept your heavy bags by the door and moved towards the bedroom. The bedroom door was slightly ajar and you could hear murmurs coming out from the room. You planned to raid suddenly but you froze on your tracks after hearing Jimin's moans.

From the slight opening of the door you could see a girl's bare back giving Jimin a blowjob as Jimin pressed her head tightly and moaned in pleasure. He was barely whispering sultrily, "Yes baby girl! Just like that! You are really good at it! I love you so much!"

You couldn't take it anymore. You started to shake violently as your heart shattered into a million pieces. You tried to muffle your cry and moved out taking your bags as quickly and as silently as you could. After coming out of the apartment building you wiped your face, called a taxi and told him to take you to a nearby hotel.

Checking in your room you sighed heavily. You went straight to the bathroom after keeping your luggage to wash your face. Seeing your face in the mirror made you remember all the kisses that Jimin left there. With that the memory of a while ago came flooding in before your eyes. You were in no position to be strong. You collapsed on the bathroom floor and started crying violently. You didn't know how long you were sitting there crying but the vigorous hiccups made you stand up and go to your room. You planned to have dinner with Jimin and that's why you ignored your hunger on the way to apartment. But now all those hunger drowned in the pain that you were feeling in your heart. You looked at your phone to see the time but the wallpaper of you and Jimin together made your heart clench. You lied down on your bed and tried to think logically but there was no space left where you could squeeze in your logic.

Jimin's face on your wallpaper made you remember that time a year ago when you and him went on a vacation to Tibet and an old lady blessed you saying that you will be your husband's most precious one and he will love you to the world's end. Jimin was in a nearby shop and you visited the lady secretly. After coming out you saw that Jimin was looking for you and calling you. After seeing you the relieved expression on his face made you love him more and you realised that you were precious to him. And after that you took the picture kissing on his cheeks where Jimin's face was all squishy and adorable.

You stared at the wallpaper for a few moments and run your fingers over his face. You were trying to manipulate your mind into thinking that it was all a dream but in vain. Your heart sank again resulting in making your eyes moist again. You wanted to scream but you couldn't. You just lied there with your face in the pillow and cried harshly. You eventually became exhausted and cried yourself to sleep.

The next morning when you woke up you were surprised to see yourself in an unknown room at first. As few seconds passed your head cleared itself from the sleepy fog and you remembered yesterday. You decided to stay strong.

"I must have not been good enough for him. That's why he chose her instead. But he should have told me, I would have gladly accepted. His happiness is of most importance. I should let him go." You thought to yourself and smiled mildly.

After washing up you got ready to return to your apartment. You decided to tell nothing to Jimin about yesterday and also to meet that girl secretly to tell her to take care of him. May be that's the least you can do for him, you wondered. You also had to think of a way to break up with him.

You called Jimin to inform him about your arrival. You didn't want to run into that girl in your apartment, not to tell in that position again. As it was a Sunday morning Jimin was home. He sounded quite happy about your coming back. You wondered how long had he been putting up the act of being happy with you.

He pulled you into an embrace when you entered the apartment. It didn't feel like home anymore but you didn't show any expression that might rise his suspicion, you wanted to check the girl first. He treated you the same, with 'love'. He even cooked your favourite dishes for lunch. You looked at him as he chatted on about how he missed you and wondered about yesterday, "Was it all true?" Your eyes became teary again and he became conscious. "What is it y/n, why are you crying? Is everything alright? Tell me!" He pulled you into a hug.

You said, "Ah! It's nothing! I just missed you, a lot..." trying to convince him.

"You know that I am always here, right? I missed you too." Saying this he kissed you. You kissed back and deepened the kiss knowing that it might be your last one. He lifted you up bridal style and took you to the bedroom. After putting you down he went on top of you and kissed your forehead. After that he left trails of kisses all over your face and stopped on your lips. You pulled him in and deepened the kiss, you didn't want to break it though both of you became short of breath. Breaking out from the kiss he kissed your neck and bit gently, that made you leave a soft moan. You wanted him to leave a deep mark on your body so you looked at him and said, "I want the wild you, I want you to mark me!"

Jimin got the signal and devoured himself into the lust of your body. Every mark, every kiss, each thrust made you miserable thinking that it's only the last. So you chose to give it your all too. After the rough yet loving intercourse ended Jimin looked at you and asked, "What had happened to you today? You are never like this? Did you miss me that much?"

"I will." You murmured. "What?" He asked confusedly.

You wiped your tears and said, "yeah I did, a lot!" and hugged him.

You both fell asleep after that.

Your sleep got broken by a soft mumbling sound. You slightly opened your eyes and saw that the bedroom door was open and Jimin was outside talking on phone as much silently as he could. You looked at your watch and noted the time. Noticing that you had woken up Jimin kept his phone down and entered the room.

He came near you and whispered in your ear, "Hun, it's already 8pm. Wake up and get ready. We are eating out today. Hurry up." and left a kiss on your cheeks. You got out of the bed and got dressed up nicely. When Jimin entered the room after getting ready he looked at you in awe, at least tried to act to you thought. He took you by your hand to the car. The whole evening he treated you like he had all these years, like a queen. After returning both of you binge watched movies until late night. You tried to take in as much as possible of every moment.

At night after Jimin fell asleep, you took his phone and noted down the number. You had to do this as quickly as you can. As Jimin hugged you while sleeping you turned to face him. You traced your fingers along his face and asked him, "Do you even love me anymore?" Of course he didn't answer and it was not like you wanted him to answer you. You brushed off the untamed tears and tried to sleep.

Next morning as Jimin went to his office, you called the number and needless to say a girl's voice answered.

The girl: Hello! Who's this?

You: Ah! Hello! You might know me! I am Jimin's girlfriend.

The girl didn't answer right back as if she was contemplating her reply.

The girl: S-sorry, I don't know anyone named Jimin. Wrong number.

You: Wait! Please don't cut the call. I know you know him. I even know that you two are in a relationship. Which type I don't know yet but listen out me first. I mean no harm, seriously. I just want to meet you. Better if it's today and also please don't tell Jimin. It would be really good if you do that.

After a long pause she answered back.

The girl: Okay! 12 pm at Sky café.

Saying this she cut the call off. You left out a relieved sigh and thought that it's going to really end then. You looked around the apartment, at everything, at every memory and broke down into a fit of sobs while asking, "Why did you do this Chim?"

Entering the café you looked around for the girl, it was not like you know how she looked like but she knew you. She was late. You took an empty seat and ordered two cold coffees and called her. She didn't receive your call instead she sent you a SMS saying that she was on her way. After about ten minutes she entered the café and went straight up to you and took the seat opposite to yours.

"Oh! Thanks for the coffee! By the way, I am Yujin Lim. No need to introduce yourself. I know you." She chimed.

"What was she being so happy for?" You wondered.

"Yeah hi! I came here for an important matter. So I should come straight to the point." You said after crossing the first state of small doubt in your head.

You continued, "I came to know about your relationship until recently, the source should better be kept unmentioned. So do you really love Chim, I mean Jimin?"

She replied rather vaguely, "Of course I do! And it's needless to mention that he doesn't love you anymore. So I think you should better step out of this relationship. He was eventually going to kick you out though." She took a sip from the coffee and smiled crookedly at you.

You squinted your eyes at her processing what to say. You tried to interpret her by her behaviour, "Is she really good for Chim?" you wondered.

Seeing your expression Yujin smiled softly and said, "Please don't mind me. I am rather possessive of Jimin. I am glad by the way seeing that you took the first step. You are a wise woman. Don't worry, we love each other a lot. And I will take care of him."

You tried to convince yourself into believing her words. So you thanked her and drove yourself home. Wherever they met was none of your business so you didn't want to get further information about her. Talking to her more would have only increased your pain, nothing else. Their love for each other was all that mattered to you.

After reaching your apartment you fell into a deep thought as to how to say all these to him. You looked at your phone and it was already time for Jimin to return. You prepared yourself for the consequences. But things seldom go as planned.

Jimin opened the door with a thud and burst into the apartment. Looking at his face you can clearly tell that he was furious about something.

As soon as he entered he addressed you, "How dare you y/n?"

You were shocked, he never talked to you like that. You were so perplexed that you forgot to move or say anything.

"You went through my phone, didn't you? And today you met with Yujin only to harass her? Answer me y/n, how dare you? How could you? Are you so jealous of her? Yes we love each other and you can do nothing about it! You always leave me here, alone. And I can't even brag about you to my friends. She is a lot more beautiful than you are. I can always brag about her." He was practically yelling at this point.

You were baffled. "Harassed her? When? Why would she say something like that?" You thought. You tried to tell Jimin that it was all false. But he didn't listen to you, "Stop it for God's sake y/n! I am not a fool. And I believe her more than I do you. How can you slap her?" He grabbed your hands tightly.

Now he crossed his limit which made you snap, "Stop it Jimin, you are hurting me! How dare I? Listen to yourself what you are saying! I didn't do anything like that! You know me for years. And now you believe that bitch more than me?" you tried to control your shaking voice as he loosened his grip on your hands.

"Don't you dare call her a bitch!" Jimin growled and slapped you loudly.

Everything suddenly became a blank before you. You couldn't believe it. He slapped you, he raised his hands against you. The same Jimin that never even raised his voice against you. You couldn't recognise this Jimin. You were afraid of him. More than fear, grief and insult took over your soul.

"Thanks for this Chi.. Jimin. I hope you stay happy." You said almost whispering and burst out of your apartment taking your purse.

You spent the night at another hotel as you didn't want any of your friends to worry about you. It was more than you could take. Everything was a blur in front of you. You worked like a robot, getting into the taxi, booking a room, spending the whole night sitting on the bed. Before you realised it was morning already and you had made up your mind.

You washed your face and went to a nearby clothes shop to buy a new pair of office wear as you left home in pajamas. After entering your office you sighed deeply and went straight to the director's room.

"Are you sure you want to go back to Australia?" Director asked looking at you with concern.

"Yes sir! There's nothing left here. So I would like to go back as soon as possible and work there in the same department." You replied with a determined voice.

After all you decided to permanently move to Korea because of Jimin. As that reason was not yours anymore so there's no meaning of you staying here.

"Ok then! I'll finish all the procedure and you'll be able to continue your work from next month. Just sign here and you can leave for Australia the coming week." Director smiled at you.

"Sir, I have one more favor to ask from you. If Jimin ever comes here asking about me, can you please not let him know?" You asked.

"Of course! Don't worry about that. I'll cover everything. By the way, it was a pleasure having you here with us!" Director replied with a soothing voice.

"Thank you sir." You said after signing the papers and left the room.

After coming out of the office you called the moving services.

You took everything that was yours and erased off your memories from the apartment. No one could tell that you were ever there. You left a small letter for Jimin

Dear Chim,

I don't know if I am still eligible to call you by that nickname but I wanted to use it one last time. I promise that this letter won't be long, don't worry. This is the last time you'll be dealing with me. I just wanted to tell you that I am sorry. Sorry for being a bad girlfriend. If you were my old Chim then by now you'd have already told me to shut up and kissed me saying that I am the best girlfriend that one could get. But I guess that won't happen this time. I was not the girlfriend you wanted. You wanted someone who you could brag about. But Chim you could have thought that before you started dating me. Then it would have saved a heart from breaking. Ah! Leave it! What's done is done. I don't hate you, I don't know if I can ever do that. But I will try to not to love you anymore. I also wanted you to take notes of some things that only I knew. Your eye drops are on the fourth shelf of the left wall case in the bathroom. Don't forget to take the drops every evening. Never skip your breakfast, you know what happens when you do, right? But if ever you have to and you become sick then the pills are on the second drawer of the bedside table. I bought new ones. Keep them in your bag. And I talked to the maintenance uncle of this building. He will come this evening to show you the fittings on the fuse box and other electrical settings. I sorted out the things I needed to. I hope you will be now able to live in peace and love. I will try to cherish the beautiful moments I had with you in my memory. I hope you won't. Bye. Take care.

with love,

Y/n

You kept the letter on the bedside table and pulled out the diamond ring with your and Jimin's initials engraved on it from your ring finger and left it on top of the letter. You never for once removed the ring from your finger until now. Jimin gifted this ring to you on your first year anniversary and you treasured it with love. But now it was time to let it go along with the love that it symbolised.

"What do you mean by 'I want him to be happy'? He fucking cheated on you y/n! How could you let him off the hook so easily? He even slapped you! I am gonna kill that bastard! And that bloody bitch too!" Your best friend Ga-yeon shouted at you angrily.

"Just leave it Yeon! You know I don't like that! And moreover I don't want to face him anymore. I'll just leave and never return. And you are eventually going to get transferred to Australia for your job after two months! It's good to have you around." You smiled at your best friend and put a big spoon of ice cream into your mouth.

You had decided to live with your best friend until you leave for Australia. After returning to her apartment she was quite surprised to see you outside her door with all your belongings. Needless to say she had been quite furious since she heard everything from you. Knowing you she knew that Jimin was now in the hands of someone who doesn't have a decent heart. She speculated that staying in relationship with Yujin would be Jimin's perfect punishment. So she didn't persuade you further.

The next few days went in a blink as she took you to various tourist places across Korea to lighten your mood. Though there was a heavy cloud in your heart but you pushed it into a corner only not to be an emotional burden on her.

"Did you take everything? Nothing is left here? I'll not take responsibility for your left out objects in my apartment." Ga-yeon chattered on as you two were going to the airport in a taxi.

"I guess I left one thing." You replied thoughtfully.

"Oh God! What is it? Is it something important?" Ga-yeon facepalmed.

"I am leaving my best friend here." You laughed out loud.

Ga-yeon smacked you and laughed along with you, "I swear to God, you almost got me thinking here!"

You looked at her and sighed thinking, "I am leaving the most important thing here."

Before parting your ways at the airport you hugged your best friend tightly and said, "Thank you Yeon, thank you for everything."

And like that you left South Korea that was supposed to be your home. From your window you could see the city that shined brightly in the night blurring the dim hearts underneath it.

A/n: Here's a year ending gift to you all. It's specially for international ARMYs. But everyone can enjoy it. Thank you for reading. Love you all 💜💜💜

#bts #bts imagines #bts scenario #bts jimin #bts stories #jimin×reader #love story #jungkook #bts angst #mature #jungkook×reader #international armys #the stains of your love #tsoyl #bts jungkook #part 1

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ilovemesomekillianjones · 6 years

Text

All Aboard Part 3/3

Hey guys!! This story was originally a one shot for the CS Cocktober event, but I got carried away, so here is the final part. Thanks to my girl @xhookswenchx for providing me a setting for my story with this post of her travel experience, and letting me build upon it for Emma’s travel experience. And all the love and appreciation to the talented @hookedonapirate for her beta services! And thanks to allof you who requested more after the first part, you allowed me to take the story to a fuller completion :p

Part 1 Part 2 ao3 ffnet 8.7k Rated E

CUT Line here :p

It was a mistake. Emma knew the moment her train jolted into motion that she’d made a life changing mistake. She would regret for the rest of her life the moment she left Killian Jones standing on the platform of a train station, again.

It was now fifteen hours into the last leg of her train trip. She’d cried herself to sleep immediately following the train’s 6:30 PM departure the evening before, then alternated between tears and fitful sleep for the next twelve hours. She woke for good when she couldn’t avoid getting up any longer because she had to pee so badly. Now she sat in her window chair staring aimlessly at the blank screen of her dead iPhone. She wanted to look at blurry photos of them. Only it wouldn’t be the photos that were blurry, but the tears flooding her eyes which made everything blurry. She was too angry at herself to even get up to plug in her phone. Punishment for pulling an Emma, she thought as her self loathing came forth from the shadows to point out her mistake.

Her stomach growled loudly and she realized she hadn’t eaten or drank anything since her late lunch yesterday. Despite having every amenity aboard this new train, even a small personal bathroom, Emma didn’t want to shower or brush her hair or teeth, but she realized the world shouldn’t be punished for her mistakes. Pulling herself from the chair she fumbled through the motions of making herself look like a presentable human. Once she was as ready for the day as she would ever be, freshly showered, hair in a messy bun, jeans, t-shirt, no makeup and glasses, she headed to the dining cart.

~♥~

Killian boarded his train and headed straight for the bar. Heartbreak of this magnitude - and yes, he’d contemplated the situation; this was heartbreak - called for a drink, or six. But as he sat at the bar with his first rum in hand, he realized he didn’t want to drown out the memories of Emma. Sipping it slowly instead of shooting it like his hurting soul wanted him to, he pondered if he was doomed to always have his love be unrequited. He huffed at the thought, because he knew better. Emma had felt exactly the same as he, otherwise she would not have looked and sounded as broken as she did when she told him goodbye.

I should’ve gone after her, he thought. A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets. Killian couldn’t remember how many times he’d heard Liam repeat that mantra as the two of them navigated through life as fatherless youth. “Bloody coward,” he muttered.

Slamming his glass down, he didn’t order another drink. Instead he headed back to his room where he fell into a restless sleep, plagued with dreams of her and what could have been if he were a braver man.

He woke much later than usual the next day, and the first thing he did was check his phone, foolishly hopeful that Emma had seen his contact information in her AirDrop notifications. Of course there was nothing. He cursed under his breath as he realized perhaps Emma had been right. Was he a peddler of hope? “Pull yourself together, Jones.”

Walking to the dining cart for lunch and perhaps a drink, he found a corner table to sit at, where he pulled out his phone to look at the pictures they’d taken together. He could delete them in an effort to get over her more quickly, he thought - but immediately realized he wouldn’t even consider the notion as a viable option. He stewed in his own misery as he waited on his drink. Killian thought he might be taking his mourning to a new level when he was assaulted with the smell of her. Olfactory memories were positively soul crushing. Inhaling deeply, he looked around, and a spark of that pesky hope ignited in his heart when he saw a blonde sitting down at the bar. “Swan,” he whispered before he could even stop himself from speaking aloud.

~♥~

Plopping down into the bar stool, Emma ordered a shot of rum, despite the morning hour. She needed a little something to take the edge off as she tried to come to terms with her current state. She’d fucked up bad, and not only was she miserable over it, but soon she’d be in the presence of the most sappily, happily married couple in the universe.

Emma immediately snatched up the drink and took that first swig, enjoying the burn in her throat, the one that spoke of a soothing calm on it’s way to encompass her battered being. Of course that was still many drinks off, but still, a drunken stupor seemed a better outlook than miserable idiot.

“What’ll you have?”

“Can you make breakfast grilled cheese and onion rings,” she mumbled. Maybe her childlike comfort foods would help. They won’t, her inner bitch yelled at her. Wonderful, now even her own inner monologue was turning on her. She put a hand to her forehead as tears welled up in her eyes once more.

“Fine choices.”

Emma whirled around in her seat. “Killian!” she cried softly when her eyes confirmed what her ears and heart already knew. She threw herself into his arms and kissed him just as passionately as she had the last time their lips met. “Wh- how are you here?” She rained kisses all over his cheeks. Grasping at him to make sure he was real, and she wasn’t still asleep.

“I guess we must still be headed in the same-” his words were cut off as she crashed her lips to his once again.

“I don’t care. I don’t care how you’re here. I’m just glad that you’re here.” Emma held his face in her hands, afraid that if they separated he’d somehow disappear.

“Me too, love. Would you… will you join me for breakfast?”

Emma could hear the hesitance in his voice as he asked her the question, and even worse, she could see the fear of rejection clouding his handsome face. “I’d love nothing more.” Looking to the bartender, she asked him to have her food brought to Killian’s table, then they went to sit down. At first they sat quietly, holding hands across the table and marveling in the serendipity of being on the same train again.

“I’m so sorry, Killian. I made a mistake. I never should have let you go like that, without even exchanging numbers or anything.”

“Where’s your phone?”

“It’s dead in my room, but as soon as I charge it, I am putting your number in there.”

“Well, as soon as you charge it, I think you’ll find my number is already in there.” He scratched behind his ear, biting his lip nervously as he awaited her reaction.

“When did you put your number in my phone?”

“When you AirDropped the photos, I sent you my contact information.”

“Sneaky pirate,” she laughed.

“Desperate pirate,” he corrected.

“Smart pirate.”

“Would you like to come back to my place?” Emma asked when they’d finished eating.

“Aye, I’d like that very much.”

As they walked back to her roomette, a flutter of butterflies swarmed Emma’s insides. There were so many things she wanted to say to Killian, but she’d never been good at communication. Perhaps it was a stunted skill from her childhood, or perhaps she should stop making excuses for herself and just try her damned best. Yes, she decided. That is what she’d do… try her best.

The minute the door closed, Killian had her pressed up against it. He sealed his lips to hers, kissing, nipping, sucking, licking, desperate to connect with her on the level she knew and allowed.

“Wait, Killian. Can we… can we talk?”

He ceased all movements, and a tiny seed of doubt started to grow as she looked into his eyes. “Aye, love. We can do whatever you fancy.” He adjusted her glasses on her nose as he’d bumped them when he’d plundered her mouth. “I like when you wear your glasses, you look adorable.”

She’d always felt self conscious in her glasses, and as an adult had only ever wore them in the privacy of her own place, but somehow he melted away years of insecurity with just that one compliment. “Thank you,” Emma mumbled, ducking her head down and blushing fiercely.

“I know it’s barely been a day, but I’ve missed you terribly, Swan.”

Emma guided him over to the couch, the one which she hadn’t even bothered with turning down into a bed the previous evening as she cried herself to sleep. Sitting down next to Killian, she folded her legs beneath her and turned so she could face him. “If you want to know the truth, I missed you the minute I walked away.”

“Then yes, I want to know the truth.” He smiled cheekily at her, trying to keep the situation light. He desperately wished to talk to her on the deepest of levels, but he also did not want to startle her into running off again.

“You don’t have to do that,” Emma started. She placed a hand against his face and caressed his stubbled cheek. “I promise, I am not going to run away again.”

Killian released a breath as those words slammed into him in the best way. “That’s a relief, lass. I don’t think I could handle it twice in as many days.”

Brushing her thumb over the apple of his cheek and across the crinkles at the corner of his eye when he smiled at her, Emma decided to take a leap of faith. “I’m not good with words, but for you, I want to try.”

If possible, his smile grew bigger and brighter. Killian nodded his head in encouragement, staying silent so she could command the floor.

“You know my past with men, my track record with relationships, and you’re probably savvy enough to recognize that I use that record as an excuse to judge all men by and hide away. What you don’t know is I have never met a man like you, I knew from the beginning that you were different, you treated me like I was something special. That would normally scare me to death, but because you were a temporary fixture in my life, I let myself be real with you. I let you show me real affection, I reveled in it, and I returned it. I didn’t hold back because I knew you weren’t here to stay, and you’d never have the opportunity to throw me away.”

Killian’s heart swelled as he listened to her admit she did feel the same as he did, and then it broke when she suggested he could ever throw her away. “Emma, I could never-” but before he could proclaim his pure intentions, she cut him off with a kiss.

“Let me finish?” she whispered against his lips, desperate to speak, now that the words were flowing. Kissing him again to assure him that no ill will was meant from her words, she waited for the nod he gave her. “I’ve never believed in love at first sight, or fairy tale romances, so when I allowed your affection I didn’t realize how much I was compromising my heart, I let myself fall for you, Killian. And I fucked up when I let you go yesterday. It was careless, and heartless...” A single tear slid down her cheek as she fought to keep the rest from falling. “I ended up doing to you what happened to me my whole life, and I’m so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you. Can you forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive, Emma. Nothing in my heart has changed since yesterday. I am smitten by you, and I want to give this thing a try.” Killian found her lips again and sealed his words with a kiss.

Climbing into his lap, the damn burst and her tears fell freely. She’d never been the one to hurt someone she cared for, and it had weighed more heavily on her heart than she’d known, until his words lifted the weight. “Me too, Killian, I want to be with you. And I’m so sorry I didn’t admit it to myself earlier. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Stop apologizing, love. I understand why you did what you did. And I’ve faith that since I pirated your phone, you would have contacted me eventually, even if we hadn’t ended up on the same train. Now that I have you in my arms, nothing else matters.” He leaned in to kiss her more, wrapping his arms firmly around her back to tuck her close.

Emma’s heart was bursting at the seams, more full than it had ever felt. She wasn’t ready to make any declarations of love just yet, but she knew she was where she was supposed to be in this moment. She knew the arms around her belonged around her, and the lips fused to her lips belonged there. Maybe Killian really was the reason she hadn’t gone home sooner; she was supposed to meet him.

“Remind me to thank Liam for needing to go home. I’d have never been on that platform three days ago if he and Elsa hadn’t felt the compelling need to return to London.”

“Remind me to thank him too,” Emma murmured into his mouth. She rolled her tongue and her hips in sync, signaling to him the time for talking had come to an end. Let the proverbial makeup sex ensue, she thought.

Killian returned her advances with a thrust of his own, then pounced on her, sprawling her to her back.

Emma giggled as he nestled in between her thighs and blazed a trail of hard sucking kisses along her neck and down to her chest. He slinked a hand underneath her top and squeezed her breast playfully before declaring them both overdressed for the occasion. Emma raised her arms in supplication, wordlessly asking him to undress her.

Pulling her shirt over her head, Killian effortlessly unfastened her bra so he could look his fill. “Bloody gorgeous.” Surging forward he sucked one nipple in his mouth, teasing it with his teeth and tongue while he rolled the other between deft fingers.

Emma hummed appreciatively when he switched up his ministrations so he could lap at her other breast and tweak the former. The man was talented. She decided she needed to tell him all things now, since she was turning over a new leaf. “You have a prodigious mouth, Jones, is there anything you can’t do with it?”

Killian growled against her chest, biting down gently. “I don’t suppose I could drive a car with it,” he murmured between bites and sucks.

“Shut up. You know what I mean.”

“Aye, I do. Is that a request?”

Emma leered at him greedily as his tongue darted over his lips, then nodded her head.

Killian didn’t need to be asked twice, he was ready and willing to taste her ambrosia again. Divesting her of her pants, he didn’t bother removing her panties which were already soaked through. “Someone is quite ready.” He started with chaste kisses along each thigh, and then the top of her mound.

“Killian,” she whined.

“Patience.” He pulled her panties to the side then parted her folds by licking them open with his tongue pointed and firm. Inhaling deeply, his eyes rolled shut, and his cock twitched against its confines. “You smell delectable, Swan.”

Emma could feel the warmth spread throughout her body. She was not used to a man saying things like that to her, and what’s more, she knew he meant what he said. “It’s all for you, babe.”

“Mmmm, darling, you are too good to me.”

Emma felt like he was the one that was too good to her as he worked her up. He sucked her clit between his lips, then circled it with his tongue getting her right to the edge before switching gears and fucking her with his tongue. The wet sounds of his tongue fucking her flesh as his nose pressed against her clit had her seeing stars, and she involuntarily raked her fingers into his hair and held his face to her, breathlessly pleading for him to never stop. Her toes curled and her legs flexed as she came around his tongue. And then suddenly it was too much as he continued to lap and flick at her now over sensitive nub. “Too much, too much,” she whined, writhing away from him.

He plunged two fingers deep inside her then withdrew them and sucked them into his mouth. “You taste too divine darling,” he groaned.

Emma watched through darkened eyes as he sucked his digits clean, then wrenched his head up toward hers and captured his mouth in a salacious kiss. “My turn.” Emma stood up and pulled Killian up by the collar of his shirt. Unfastening each button slowly, Emma pushed the shirt from his shoulders then massaged her hands along his arms, his shoulders and down to his pecs. She pulled lightly at the hair covering his chest, staring at it appraisingly. “I have a confession to make.”

“I’ve found most women do.”

Emma yanked his chest hair in response to his sarcasm. “You’re just full of one liners today.”

“Watch the goods, love,” he complained, rubbing his chest and smirking. “Now tell me, what is it you must confess?”

“I have never in my life been turned on by chest hair.” She paused a beat waiting for his reaction, teasing him a bit like he teased her. Emma instantly felt horrible when his gaze fell and he shied away from her touch. “Come back here,” she coaxed, grabbing him by the buckle of his belt. “That is, until I met you.” Killian’s smile immediately came back as she grasped at a particularly thick thatch and hummed appreciatively. “This is so fucking hot, like the inception of chest hair was created for you. I love the feel of it rubbing against me when we make love. And the way it all comes together to lead the way,” she rasped as she dragged her fingernail along his happy trail, “to your hidden treasure is beyond erotic.”

Yanking him all the way to her by his belt buckle, she wrapped her other hand around his head to pull him in for a kiss. Emma quickly unbuckled his belt, so she could rid him of the rest of his clothes.

Killian actually blushed red to the tips of his ears as Emma stepped back and eye fucked him six ways to Sunday. He stood naked before her as she circled him. He’d never been shy, but he’d also never been studied, and next to her flawlessness, he felt somehow lacking.

“You are a perfect specimen, Killian Jones, you’ve got it all, the face and hair of an Adonis, the perfect build.” Stepping up behind him, she grasped his firm cheeks, “A very enticing butt, and,” she continued snaking her arm around his waist and wrapping his length in her soft hand, “let’s not forget the supercock amongst mere mortals. Pick your pleasure, babe. You want me to jerk you off, or do you want to fuck my mouth?”

Killian’s breath stuttered as she pumped him with one hand and cradled his balls with the other. He groaned audibly at her salacious words. He wanted it all really. “Let me have your mouth, love.”

“As you wish.” Emma released her hold on him, turned him around, and dropped to her knees, removing her glasses. Taking each of his hands, Emma placed one on each side of her head, letting him take control and folded her own hands in her lap.

Killian gazed down hungrily at this woman offering herself to him, he threaded his fingers into her hair and guided her hot mouth to his waiting cock. He whimpered at the sensation of her tongue gliding along his shaft and hitting the sensitive underside of his head as he slowly slid in and out of her mouth. He didn’t dare to fully seat himself, for fear he’d hurt her, and still her mouth felt like heaven.

Emma pulled off of him, and narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t say make love to my mouth, you can make love to me. I said you could fuck my mouth,” she said lustfully.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. How about I pinch your left ass cheek if it’s too much?”

Killian chuckled at her suggestion until he realized she was dead serious. Every gentlemanly fiber of his body told him he shouldn’t be considering what she was suggesting, but his baser desires were kicking in, and the thought of ramming his cock down her throat was not something he wanted to pass on. “Left ass cheek,” he confirmed.

Emma smiled at his acceptance and then swiftly engulfed his cock in her mouth once more. He picked up the pace infinitesimally, until Emma slapped his right ass cheek hard and grunted around him.

He tightened his grip in her hair as she spurred him on, slapping his ass and shoving him hard against the back of her throat. His resolve to be gentle broke when she swallowed around him, and he found his head fully lodged in her throat.

Emma breathed through her nose as she swallowed him down, and saw the moment his eyes went wild with the need to thrust. Were her lips not so stretched around his girth she would have smiled victoriously. She placed her hands lightly at his hips, not to guide him, but just enough to feel the rutting of his muscles as he well and truly fucked her mouth. Reaching a hand down between her legs she shoved two fingers inside her wetness and brought them to her clit. She hummed against him as the delights of his hands fisting and pulling her hair collided with the way he used her mouth and the sensation of her fingers as she played with herself.

He pulled out of her throat as his thrusts became more shallow, but still furious. He was hitting the back of her throat with each pass and his cock swelled impossibly as the pull of his climax built in his balls and his spine. A shiver coursed through Killian, his mouth went slack while his nipples tightened, and each muscle in his body flexed as he began spilling himself against her tongue.

The moment his salty come hit her taste buds Emma came quietly, pressing her fingers solidly against her clit and riding the waves of pleasure. She sucked and licked greedily at everything he gave her then smirked up at him as he slumped down into the chair. Emma rose from the floor and sat on the couch facing Killian.

“Fuck love, that was amazing.”

“I know, you made me come again.”

“I did?”

Emma nodded seductively as she ghosted her fingers along her lips. “You made me come all over my fingers.”

“Tell me more.”

“Your sounds, and the way you pulled my hair, and the thrust of your hips, I couldn’t help but touch myself.” She sucked her fingers into her mouth, licking away her arousal.

Killian’s limp member sprang to life at the picture before him. She’d be the death of him; a heart attack during sex couldn’t be the worst way to go, though.

“I still need you though.”

He watched as she spread her legs, propping one over the back of the couch. Her greedy little hand roamed the expanse of her body until it lay over her mound. “Where, Emma, show me where you need me.”

“Here,” she whispered as she sunk two fingers inside her pussy. “I still need you here.”

“Bloody hell, woman.” Killian went to her, kneeling by the couch, fist wrapped around his half hard cock.

Emma sucked her lip between her teeth and bit down hard as she watched Killian stroke his shaft. She brought her free hand to her breast to play with her nipples, pinching and rolling as she sped up her fingers.

He was going to come again, her soft whimpers and the wet sounds of the glide of her fingers thrusting in and out of her core was killing him. She was going to wreck him twice and he hadn’t even been inside her. Killian immediately loosened his grip; he couldn’t be that selfish. Yes, he wanted to stroke himself to completion while she fucked her fingers, but she’d also told him she needed him. “Are you going to make yourself come again before I get my turn, darling?”

“I’d rather you make me come.” Emma pulled her fingers from her pussy and held them out to Killian. He complied, latching onto her wet fingers and licking them clean while crawling on top of her. He penetrated her easily with the way her arousal coated her.

“Gods, Emma.” Killian rested his forehead to her neck and luxuriated in the sensations of her swollen walls welcoming him.

Emma clenched her core against his cock, squeezing him, spurring him to action. She needed movement, dammit.

“Do it again, I love the way you squeeze me.”

Emma squeezed him once more, then demanded that he start moving. Finally he withdrew, and the way his cock rubbed her walls was sublime. Placing both hands on his ass, she guided him back home while meeting his hips with her own. She craned her neck to kiss him, wanting to feel his tongue against her while he made love to her. The room reverberated with whispered praises, the meeting of flesh, and wet kisses as they moved together to reach that ultimate high one more time.

Emma threaded one hand into his hair, and caressed his face with the other. Their tongues moved at the same tempo as their bodies, and she’d never felt closer in mind, body, and soul to anyone in her life.

Coming up for air, he looked into Emma’s eyes, and the way that she stared back at him had his heart pounding in his chest for reasons other than being buried balls deep inside her. Killian was lost to her on so many levels. Her walls pulsed against him, trying to wrench his orgasm from him, sheer torture in the form of pleasure.

The way his pelvic bone met Emma’s clit each time he plunged home had her wading into the deep end within minutes. She watched the cords of his neck strain against his skin as he fought to stave off his release. “Let go for me, Killian.”

The minute she said the words his release consumed him, his cock spasmed and shot his hot seed deep inside her warm walls. The pulse of his seed as it wet her pussy triggered Emma’s climax, and her clit vibrated with pleasure that echoed through her entire body. Killian continued slow, shallow passes, letting their combined release soak her folds and thighs and bathe his sensitive cock, and sending small aftershocks through Emma, a shiver wracking her body each time her clit sparked with a mini pleasure jolt.

Emma had no desire to leave the comfort of his arms as they lay basking in the aftermath of fervent love making. Her mind wandered to all the promise this reunion held, she had no idea what was coming next, but she felt an unfamiliar calm running through her as she realized she’d never have to wonder what might have been.

“Let’s turn down the bed?”

“Shower first?”

“I’ve no wish to leave this room, darling.”

“We don’t have to, I have an en suite this time.”

“In that case, let’s get you clean you filthy vixen.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open and she reached out to twist his nipple. “Me?”

“Oi, that fucking hurt!”

“It was supposed to, you ass.”

“I meant it as the highest of compliments, Swan.” Killian stood up and offered his hand to pull her up, flashing her his cheekiest grin.

Emma couldn’t help but smile; she wasn’t really mad anyway, she’d be his filthy vixen any time he wanted. Taking his extended hand, she got up and stretched her body. A yawn and subsequent chill ran through her body as the exhaustion of a shitty night’s sleep and overwrought emotions caught up with her.

“Tired?”

“It was a trying night, I was busy freaking out over some great guy that I let slip away.” Killian pulled her into a warm embrace, skin to skin, and the way he smiled at her, eyes crinkled in the corners, melted her heart.

“I too had a rough night, I was a bit melancholy over this brilliant lass that came into my life like a hurricane and swept my heart away with her when she left. It’s a good thing I found her again, or I imagine I’d make for terrible company.”

Emma imagined she was probably giving him that same sappy smile as she listened to him tell her how much his evening had sucked. “What a heartless bitch.”

Killian chuckled as she pulled him toward the shower. “Hardly.”

After a steaming hot shower where they actually did just get clean… between lots of kisses, they turned down the bed and crawled in.

“Set an alarm for around four? That’ll give us an hour until we make the station.”

“Will do,” Killian said, reaching for his phone. A nap sounded wonderful, especially with Emma in his arms. After setting his phone, he turned off the table lamp, then pulled her tightly against his chest, and a soft sigh of contentment left his lips.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered while snuggling into the cocoon of his body.

A wash of comfort swept over her as he murmured a heartfelt “me too” in her ear.

~♥~

“Ten minutes to arrival.”

The automated overhead message had Killian sitting bolt upright and Emma throwing the pillow over her head. “Shit! Wake up, lass.”

“Stop,” she whined as Killian shook her shoulder. “Need sleep.”

“Ten minutes till we pull into South Station, love.”

“Fuck! I thought you set an alarm?”

“I did! Though I might’ve forgotten to toggle it to PM.”

He gave such a cute forgive me smile, she couldn’t help but grin back. Cupping his cheek she leaned forward to give him a kiss, then hopped out of bed to get dressed. “Guess we better hurry then.”

They both dressed, and Emma gathered her few belongings into her duffel bag as the train pulled into the South Station of Boston, Massachusetts. A moment of panic surged her chest as she wondered what truly did come next.

Killian witnessed the moment reality set in for Emma, her eyes bugged wide and her body tensed. “We don’t need all the answers right now, Swan.”

She scoffed under her breath. Easy for you to say, she thought. However, she was going to be positive, hopeful even, that this thing with Killian was going to work out. “Okay, I trust you.”

The moment they stepped off the train, after collecting Killian’s things from his room, the icy winter air greeted them. “Oh my god, it’s freezing! I forgot how cold it gets, I have to pee now,” Emma complained. “What?” she asked as Killian cocked an eyebrow and chuckled at her. “The cold air makes me have to pee,” she laughed, realizing she was probably way oversharing.

“Let me hold your bag, you go to the bathroom and then meet me at Au Bon Pain, it’s where I’m supposed to meet my brother and his wife. I’ll get us a couple of hot cocoas ordered.”

“Sounds perfect,” she beamed at him. Kissing him on the cheek she went in search of the nearest restroom.

Killian headed to the small coffee shop. He didn’t see his brother or Elsa as he entered, so he got into line to order the cocoa. As he stood in line minding his own business, he noticed a couple who seemed to be studying him. He tried to ignore them, but eventually the woman’s quizzical gaze got to be too much. “May I help you, lass,” he asked politely.

“Yep, that’s him,” the man said.

“See I told you it was him.”

Killian was confused, he hadn’t a clue who these two Americans could possibly think he was. “And just who is it you think I am?”

“Killian Jones,” the petite brunette said. “You look just like your picture.”

“My picture?” How do they have my picture? he wondered as the woman held out her cell phone with a picture of his face on the screen.

“You’ll have to excuse her,” the blonde man intervened. “We should probably explain who we are before we go showing strangers that we have their pictures, dear.”

“Oh, of course!” The woman blushed and smiled while running both hands over her very visible baby bump, “You’ll have to forgive me, pregnancy brain. Your brother, Liam sent us. Elsa went into the hospital this afternoon, and as you know it’s too early for her to give birth.”

Killian’s eyebrows hit his hairline as the short woman continued to ramble a mile a minute.

“But don’t you worry yourself, Killian. Liam texted an hour ago and Elsa is a-ok, she was just experiencing some Braxton-Hicks. You know, fake contractions,” she elaborated when he cocked his head at the term.

“So, my brother sent you…” he paused hoping to get a name.

“Oh, I’m Mary Margaret Nolan, and this is my charming husband, David Nolan.”

Killian narrowed his eyes as he wondered why those names sounded familiar. Perhaps Liam had mentioned them before. He was still reeling from the fact that his sister-in-law was pregnant and his prat of a brother hadn’t thought to tell him. He was just extending his hand to shake David’s when a blonde firecracker rushed up to embrace him.

“Miss me, babe?” she laughed before planting a kiss on his lips. Emma felt the pause behind Killian’s lips and pulled back. “You okay?”

“I... uh, I just met this charming couple here. Apparently my brother sent them in his stead as his pregnant wife went into the hospital.” Killian shook his head as he tried to reconcile why Liam wouldn’t have told him about the pregnancy.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Emma said as she whirled around to the couple Killian was gesturing to. “What are you guys doing here!?” Emma shouted excitedly.

Killian was about to reiterate that they were here in his brother’s place when a half second later, between Emma’s excited tone, David’s arms folded across his chest, and Mary Margaret’s gobsmacked expression, he realized just who this couple was and why their names had sounded familiar.

The four of them just stood silently looking between themselves. Then everyone spoke all at once.

“How do you two know each other?”

“Wait! You guys are friends with Killian’s brother? No way!”

“How do you know my sister?”

“You are Emma’s brother and sister-in-law? No way!”

They all burst into laughter, save for David who was still scowling at Killian. The barista called for the next guest. The group stepped up to the register ordering hot beverages and sweet treats.

“Why don’t we sit so we can hear all about how you two know each other,” Mary Margaret suggested once they had their purchases in hand. She was grinning from ear to ear, and her nose even wrinkled a bit she was so excited.

“Just for the record, some of us don’t want to hear… everything.”

“Oh, David!” Mary Margaret scolded, “She’s twenty-eight.”

“Her age doesn’t matter, she’s still my little sister!”

Killian chuckled lightly as he watched the couple, thinking they were charming indeed. Emma rolled her eyes at her brother. She wasn’t little anymore, she was a grown woman for crying out loud!

“Hey, the only one who takes care of me, is me,” Emma said with a raised eyebrow at her brother. “And before we go any further, I want to know how you guys know Killian’s brother.”

“Ooh, I can answer that! Liam’s wife, Elsa, and I teach together at the school. We met when she started a little over five years ago. She is just wonderful, she kind of filled the void left by my best friend leaving before I returned home from college.” Mary Margaret reached out and gave Emma a half hug, “It’s great to see you.”

Emma shifted her eyes downward, regret filling her because she hadn’t kept in better contact and visited more over the past ten years. When Killian’s hand embraced hers under the table, she accepted the comfort he was offering.

“Anyhow, she and I became fast friends and started doing everything together. At some point we figured the boys should meet, too. At first they didn’t get along so famously, they tolerated each other for Elsa’s and my sake.”

“And why didn’t they get along?” Killian asked. “I imagine it’s because my brother is a stubborn arse of indescribable proportions?”

“Something like that,” David chuckled.

“Oh, they disagreed on everything! Which football is the real football, which MLB division is the best, how to barbecue a steak to perfection, who to get the best firewood from, they even argued about whose car got worse gas mileage.”

“That sounds like Liam,” Killian muttered at the same time Emma was chuckling about how very David-like this all seemed.

“Well, they get along famously now. They like to team up against me and Elsa, and argue with us now!”

“It’s fun riling up pregnant, hormonal, women,” David laughed. “Now, enough about us. How did you two meet?”

“I picked him up in a bar and took him home,” Emma teased her brother, although, it was pretty much the truth. He didn’t need to know it was less than four full days ago.

“Come now, love, you make it sound so crass. There is a little more to it than that,” Killian added.

Emma gaped at him; surely he didn’t expect her to expound on any of their other enjoyable activities. “Oh, well, be my guest,” she prompted.

Killian held up his hand as if to count, all the while grinning at his audience. “Well we have been on quite a number of dates since you picked me up in that bar. Let’s see, there were several dinner dates, a lunch date, a breakfast date, the casino we hit, ice skating, and of course the best damn train ride ever.”

“Oh Emma! I’m so happy for you, why didn’t you tell me you’ve been seeing someone?”

“Well… it’s all been kind of a whirlwind! Time flies when you’re having fun.” She shrugged her shoulders and offered them a genuine smile, one indicative of just how happy she really was.

That smile seemed to appease her brother, and of course Mary Margaret had been on board since the moment Emma had attack kissed him back in line. Squeezing Killian’s hand, she hoped he understood her thanks.

“Oh my gosh, I just can’t believe what a small world it is! I mean what are the odds that my sister-in-law would be dating my best friend’s brother-in-law? I couldn’t have planned it any better than if I’d set you up myself,” Mary Margaret effervesced.

Emma laughed out loud, because that is totally something Mary Margaret would have tried at every turn if given the opportunity. “Well, now you don’t have to, we found each other all on our own.”

Mary Margaret’s face clouded suddenly, “But, if you’re here to stay Killian, how are you two going to make a long distance relationship work?”

“I’ll let you answer that one, Swan.”

Emma beamed at her brother and sister-in-law. “I’m moving home,” she singsonged, “surprise… yay!” She raised her hands and wiggled her fingers enthusiastically for her announcement.

“Eeeee!” Mary Margaret squeaked and then she was off, rambling about where they’d stay, where to spend the holidays, a car, a job…

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Emma interrupted. “How about we just start with the drive home to Storybrooke?” She stood up and grabbed her bag, and the rest of the table followed suit. Before they left the coffee shop, Emma uncharacteristically swept her sister-in-law and brother into a bear hug and told them how happy she was to be back home, they could catch up on the rest later.

“My wife will have your wedding planned before you’ve proposed,” David chuckled to Killian as they headed toward the door.

“David!” Emma said, sounding scandalized. She couldn’t very well tell him to shut up because they’d just met, but she couldn’t stand idly by and let him be an annoying big brother.

“Relax, Swan,” Killian murmured, grasping her hand in his and lacing their fingers together. “I’m not proposing… yet.”

Mary Margaret actually clapped her hands like a two year old and jumped up and down, while David laughed at his sister’s reaction and his wife’s antics.

Emma just blushed and giggled at this new territory she found herself in, one where she wasn’t afraid of anything involving her and Killian Jones.

On the ride home, Killian got a call from his brother, and after laying into Liam about hiding the pregnancy news, he let his brother speak. Killian learned that they would indeed be keeping up the Nolan - Jones tradition of volunteering in the soup kitchen on Christmas eve, as Elsa had been released after the false alarm. He was also told that his cottage was move in ready. When he asked why he wouldn’t just be taking over payments on the house Liam and Elsa owned, he got another surprise.

“Honey!” Liam hollered into the phone. “Killian wants to know why he isn’t moving in to our house.”

“Move the phone before you yell, you wanker,” Killian grumbled.

“Hi Killian,” Elsa’s soft voice came through the line.

“Hello, El. I’m a bit perturbed with you as well. I can see Liam not thinking to mention to me that I have a niece or nephew on the way, but you?”

“Aww, don’t be sore, little brother, it was going to be a surprise when we picked you up at the station.”

“Younger.”

“Same difference,” she laughed, knowing it annoyed him to no end when he was called little brother. “And the reason you’re not taking our house is because we are staying in it.”

“You’re staying? Why’d you need me to come out then?”

“Because we needed our family. And you needed your family. Face it, you had no reason left to stay in England, and we hated seeing you devoted to nothing but work. You needed a change, a new beginning.”

Killian started to argue about their meddlesome ways and the fate of the business in England, but before he could, the hand twined with his twitched lightly. Emma had fallen asleep, head in his lap, and at some point she’d pulled his arm tighter around her middle, and interlocked their fingers. When he thought about the last four days, he realized he really should be thanking them for sticking their noses in his business, as opposed to complaining. “Aye, you’re right, but don’t tell Liam. I’d hate for the wanker to be smug all night.”

Elsa giggled. “You know he will find a way to annoy you anyway. Why not let it be about the beautiful woman you met while on your way to your new home per your brother’s request.”

Killian guessed there were worse things to have lorded over him by Liam. “Too right, lass.”

“Is he done having his pissy fit?”

Killian could hear his arse of a brother in the background. “We’ll see you in a bit, El,” he told her, then hung up the phone before Liam had a chance to be Liam.

~♥~

The evening could not have been any more surreal as Liam and Elsa were told of the connection between their best friends and their brother’s new girlfriend. It seemed about as picture perfect as it could get. Killian even got to see Emma in an apron as he had envisioned in Chicago. The service at the soup kitchen for Storybrooke and the surrounding cities had gone off without a hitch, and Emma had also gotten information on becoming a volunteer youth mentor. Seeing all the needy, she’d decided maybe it was time to try and make a difference in some young lives, as Ruth had made a difference in hers.

At the end of the night, everyone got ready to part ways, until the following day for Christmas at the elder Jones’ home. There’d been a little arguing about where Emma should stay, mostly between Emma and her brother, who thought she should be staying with him and Mary Margaret. Emma had won that argument.

They’d gotten to Killian’s new home a little less than an hour before. After showering, they jumped into bed. The heat had kicked on, but the small, beachfront cottage was still a bit drafty.

“You looked adorable tonight with your little holiday apron on. Like a regular chef.” Killian gathered her up, attempting to warm them both as they waited for the sheets to adapt to their body temperature.

Emma snorted at the last part. “I am about the farthest thing there is from a chef. I order delivery like a pro, pick up takeout like a champ, and will try any restaurant cuisine out there, but a chef, I am not.”

“Perhaps, we will have to remedy that.”

Emma turned in his arms to face him, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Oh, why, do you need a woman who can cook your meals, Jones? Perhaps I was wrong about you.”

“Ooh, you’re a tough lass. No, I do not need a woman to cook my meals. I merely meant we could cook together.” Killian leaned over her, crowding her space and pecking at her lips.

“You cook?” Emma shivered as he ran a hand up and down the side of her torso.

“Aye, I’ve dabbled a bit.” He licked the seam of her lips, seeking her tongue against his.

Emma could definitely imagine Killian barefoot in the kitchen creating all manner of delicious cuisine. He seemed just that refined. “I guess I’m not opposed to some cooking lessons,” she shoved Killian to his back then perched herself above him, one knee on each side of his hips, before adding, “with a hot teacher.”

Grasping both his hands in hers, Emma held them above is head and assailed his mouth. His surprised gasp allowed her entrance and she wasted no time thrusting her tongue against his. “I knew there was a reason we didn’t get dressed,” Emma murmured between kisses. Killian was hot and hard between her legs and she could already feel the flow of her own arousal as she started rubbing herself along his length.

Killian struggled against her hold, desperate to caress her anywhere. “Let me touch you.”

Emma relinquished her grip, holding on to the headboard instead. She was immediately rewarded with his hot palms on her breasts, cupping their weight.

Killian was mesmerized by her breasts as he ran his thumbs down each nipple. He repeated the action, mesmerized by the way her hardened peaks would spring upward after each pass. He moved them in circular motions, cock hardening evermore when she moaned his name.

Killian jerked his hips upward, “I want you, Emma.” He growled when she immediately reached a hand down to grab his cock so she could line him up. Just as he nudged her entrance, she slammed home with a desperate cry. Killian’s hands circled around to her ass, holding her in place.

Emma’s hands left where they’d been to rest on his chest as she adjusted. She wanted his mouth again, that talented tongue; she leaned down so she was laying flat against him. While she made out with him, she drew her fingers through his chest hair, pulling it lightly, each time she’d do so, she could feel his cock flexing within her walls. Biting his lip playfully, then giving him one last kiss, she sat back up so she could move. Emma withdrew slowly, savoring every inch of his cock as it caressed her from the inside.

Killian watched in rapt fascination as he disappeared into her soft flesh over and over, his cock glistening with her juices each time she rose. Her pace quickened as she continued to thrust, and he knew her thighs must be starting to burn with the strenuous tempo. Placing a hand on each hip, he helped her by lifting her body on the upstrokes and thrusting up into her on her downstrokes.

“I’m so close, Killian,” she panted.

“Touch yourself, Emma.”

Sucking three fingers into her mouth to wet them, Emma placed them upon her clit and massaged herself in time to the stroke of their hips.

“Oh, yes, just like that, love,” he groaned. She was quite breathtaking as she played with her cunt, and her breasts bounced with the force of her fucking him into oblivion.

Barely able to keep herself upright as pleasure started to encompass her, Emma braced a hand against his chest. The pull of bliss finally snapped, and her insides contracted as her release washed through her. Uninhibited in the privacy of his bedroom, Emma moaned his name through her climax, wanting him to know he was the reason for her euphoria.

Killian watched, mesmerized as she came with his name on her lips. As her sated body began to relax, he flipped them quickly. He pinned her legs against his body, each arm wrapped around one of her thighs as he thrust hard and deep inside of her. He watched her beautiful face as she continued to have little pulsing climaxes, admiring the the shape of her lips, the flush of her cheeks, and the dilation of her pupils. The way she was looking at him though, lovingly, that’s what pushed him over the precipice. “Fuck, you make me come so hard, Emma,” he praised as he slumped against her.

“Same,” she whispered. “You really do have the best cock, ever.”

Killian sat up and looked at her seriously. “Don’t you mean I have a supercock amongst mere mortals?”

Emma laughed mirthfully. “Yes, I was just paraphrasing.”

After cleaning themselves up, they crawled back into bed, this time with only the intent of sleeping. Each reflected silently on all that had happened over the past four days; the fun, the passion, the connection - neither could quite fully fathom the serendipitous nature of their connection, not just to each other, but to the others surrounding their lives as well.

“Sweet dreams, love.”

“Night, Killian.”

“I can hear you thinking.”

“Hear me thinking?”

“In the tense of your body, what is it, darling?”

“I know we really didn’t discuss it, but is it okay that I’m staying here tonight?”

Killian threaded his fingers into her hair and kissed her lips lightly. “Of course, why would you ask such a thing?”

“Well, I mean, it’s just, I don’t want to impose myself into your new life. We haven’t really talked about how any of this is going to work.”

“First of all, Swan, you are in no way imposing, I both need and very much want you in my life. And second, we don’t need all the answers right now.”

She smiled as she realized the sentiment he’d expressed earlier that evening was true, they didn’t need all the answers right now.

Killian curled around her and closed his eyes, contented with his love in his arms. “We have from here to forever,” he added as he pulled her closer.

Her mind raced as the words registered, but her heart delighted as she accepted the truth in the words as they pertained to them. “From here to forever,” she repeated, closing her eyes and snuggling into his embrace.

@xhookswenchx @teamhook @xemmaloveskillianx @laschatzi @kmomof4 @branlovestowrite @resident-of-storybrooke @rubyrose82 @deathbycaptainswan @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @roseyflush @delightfully-difficult-pirate @effulgentcolors@captainswan-shipper88 adding a few more icymi @spartanguard @thislassishooked @demisexualemmaswan @hungrywhovianpotterheadfrom221b @ultraluckycatnd @artistic-writer @optomisticgirl @selfie-wench @jennjenn615 @let-it-raines @lifeinahole27 @this-too-too-sullied-flesh @wordsmith-storyweaver @yayimallamaagain

#cs ff #cs fanfic #cs smut #cs au #captain swan

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x-men-x-imagines · 7 years

Text

Imagine #15 Peter Maximoff (Request)

Requested by @fragcc: Could you make an Imagine of Peter getting sad when he realizes that you don’t like it when he frightens you with pranks? Please? XD

Not my gif

Words: 1735

Warnings: fem!reader, typos, mild angst?, swears

A/N: You know that feeling, when you think you’re gonna write like 500 words to a prompt and it turns out to be almost 2000? I think I have a problem. Also I just reached 700 followers, which is AMAZING THANK YOU SO MUCH, but also mildly disturbing tbh :D Nvm, I hope you enjoy reading this! xoxo

Somehow, you managed to be terrified and not at all surprised at the same time, when you snuck out your dorm, trying to be as silent as possible, and suddenly felt a familiar hand on your shoulder.

“Fucking hell, Peter!”, you whispered aggressively and turned around to give him a glare. “What’re you up to?”, he asked with a grin, strategically ignoring your death stare.

“You know damn well what I’m up to, you jerk.”, you replied. And it was the truth, he knew that you snuck out every once in awhile. There were days when all the mutants and lessons, the atmosphere, as open and accepting as it was, became a bit too much for you. You had only discovered your abilities very recently and there were times when all you wanted was to go back to your normal, human life. And the best way of doing that was to sneak out when everyone else was asleep and meet up with your best friend since childhood at your favourite diner, about 300 miles away from Xavier’s. Being a teleporter did have it’s perks, once you looked past the fact that it normally took you around six tries to go where you were actually planning to go, and also that your gift had gotten you in quite a few very uncomfortable and embarrassing situations. But you weren’t in a hurry, and so, every once in awhile, you took the risk of accidentally landing in a few strange places, if it meant that you could meet your best friend. Of course, none of that was going to happen, if Peter got you caught.

“Can I come with you?”, he asked in that moment and smiled hopefully. “Peter.” You sighed. How were you gonna phrase that? “I’m sorry, but I need to get away for a little while, okay?”

“Meeting your boyfriend?”, he teased and raised one eyebrow. “He’s not my boyfriend.” You shut the door to your dorm behind you and walked past Peter, pushing him aside a little, because he was blocking your way. “Sure he isn’t.” And with that, he was gone, just as quickly as he had appeared.

“I don’t get it.”, you said for what felt like the twentieth time and Jean sighed. “Okay, look at it that way…”, she began, but you weren’t even listening. Algebra could suck it, you thought as you reached for your sandwich next to you on the table. “Sorry you have to put up with me, Jean.”, you murmured. “You know, if you stopped telling yourself that you’re too dumb for this, you probably would have gotten it by now.” Only Jean managed to say something like that and not make it sound patronizing. “I’m glad, at least one of us believes in me.”, you grinned and took a bite from your sandwich, only to realize that it wasn’t a sandwich anymore. You were chewing on an old, very pink, bone-shaped dog toy. And your sandwich, or what was left of it, you saw in the hands of the silver-haired boy, that had just appeared in front of you.

“What the fuck, Peter?”, you shrieked, dropping the toy and pulling a face. He seemed to find this very funny. “Don’t you like it? Our dog used to love it. It even squeaks when you bite down hard enough.” “Fuck you.”, you moaned. “You owe me a sandwich.” “And you owe me a chewing bone, guess we’re even.” And just like that, he disappeared, taking you lunch with him. You pounded your head onto the table. “He’s so annoying.” “I think he likes you.”, Jean giggled, pushing her own sandwich towards you. “He’s not gonna like me that much after I rip his fucking head off. So, algebra, god’s way of preparing us for the burning pits of hell.”

It had been a long day. Working with the professor was always exhausting, but only recently it had turned into something you really didn’t want to do. Making absolutely no progress somehow didn’t convince you to put in more effort, but to give up all together. A vicious circle of not succeeding and not wanting to work on yourself, to fight. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself.’, the professor ordered. ‘You have a complicated set of powers, it takes time to fully understand and control them.’

Then why did it feel like you just weren’t cut out to be here? To be a teleporter, a mutant, why did you miss your normal life so much, even though that girl back then actually hadn’t been the real you? Why was the only time you actually felt good, when you left the mansion for a few hours, got away from all these things that you didn’t understand? How could this be your world, even though you didn’t feel like a part of it at all?

You sniffled absentmindedly as you kicked the door shut behind you and dropped your bag in the middle your dorm. Damn this place, it shot through your head and you immediately felt bad. This was a good place, an amazing opportunity for young mutants to live and learn in a safe environment without judgement or discrimination. But right now it didn’t fell like the right place for you. And if you left, a quiet but convincing voice inside your mind whispered. If you just left? Packed your bags and went back home? Back to your normal life?

Things wouldn’t be the same, another, very loud voice inside your head argued. Everyone knew about your mutation, in small towns things didn’t stay secret for very long. All your classmates probably knew by now. There was no normal life for you anymore. There was just feeling wrong at Xavier’s, or pretending not to feel wrong back home.

You decided to go to bed early. At five pm. Who was going to judge you, you thought sarcastically, as you pulled your duvet over your head and buried your face in your pillow. You should probably tell Jean that you wouldn’t make it to your study group, you thought without moving a finger.

It felt like an eternity, being alone with your thoughts, not being able to escape, not wanting to move, until you finally felt your eyelids become heavy and your mind slip off into sleep. And just there, on the brink of calm and rest, your eyes were suddenly met with a piercing light and a sudden breeze hit your face. “There you are.”, you heard a familiar voice and abruptly snapped back into reality. It was Peter, a torchlight in one hand, your duvet in the other. “Give it back, Peter.”, you sounded almost as tired as you felt and rose your hand to rub your eyes. “No way, we have study group and from what I’ve heard, you definitely can’t afford to not go, y/n.”, he said teasingly.

“And since when do you care about school?”, you snapped, sitting up straight in your bed. You were cold. “What do my grades have to do with you? Why can’t you just leave me alone for one evening? Just one night for myself, is that too much to ask for?” And to your own surprise, you suddenly felt tears run down your cheeks. You saw Peter’s smile drop and suddenly he appeared much younger. “Uhm, hey, y/n, I’m sorry, I didn’t… You know I wasn’t trying to…”

“Do I?” You felt pathetic, crying because of Xavier’s, because somehow, this amazing chance still wasn’t enough for you, crying about algebra, because you felt like you would have understood all of it, if it had just been explained to you by your best friend back home, crying because of Peter, because of his pranks, which were simply a part of him, of who he was. But there were things you wanted to say, and you could regret it tomorrow, that wasn’t your concern right now. “Do I know, why you’re behaving like a prick towards me? Why you’re obviously trying to annoy me into punching you in the face? No, I don’t, but I swear to god, if you don’t stop this shit, I will never speak to you again. And now get out!” The last words came out as a scream and before you had even finished, the door fell shut and Peter was nowhere to be seen.

“You look tired.”, Scott greeted you the next day, Jean sitting next to him and punching him in the side. “Thank you.”, you replied. “You don’t look too great yourself. Sorry I didn’t make it to study group yesterday.” You felt bad, because you hadn’t informed them.

“Oh, it’s fine, Peter told us that you were sick.” “He… do you know where he is?” You were surprised. You hadn’t even expected Peter to actually go study and after your performance last night, it wouldn’t have surprised you to wake up to all your friends collectively hating you for your outbreak. But obviously - and completely contrary to his usual behaviour – Peter hadn’t told anyone about your encounter.

“No idea.”, Jean replied. “Wait, there he is.”, and she looked past you towards the library door, before waving her hand. You hesitated, but then turned around slowly, finding yourself face to face with Peter, a very uncharacteristic expression on his face. “Hey.”, you murmured, looking down abashedly. “Listen, because of yesterday. I’m sorry about what I said, I…”

“No, I’m sorry.” He interrupted, and if he had looked way younger than usually only a few hours ago, now his face showed a sincerity that you had never seen there before. “I didn’t know how much it bothered you. You have told me to stop before and I didn’t, I’m sorry. I’ll try to not annoy you all that much in the future.” There he was, the normal Peter. You sighed in relief. Peter was a great friend, you loved spending time with him and you hated fighting. “I just have a lot on my plate right now, I shouldn’t have snapped.”, you explained, because you felt like you had to. “No, it’s fine. We all snap sometime. And I did deserve it, to be honest.” You smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“Though…”, Peter continued after you had sat down next to Jean and Scott, “the dog toy was pretty funny, admit it.” “Careful, Maximoff.”, you replied, lowering your head so he couldn’t see your grin.

#xmen #xmen imagine #peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff imagine

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bountyofbeads · 4 years

Text

My Whole Household Has COVID-19

“The thought of simply breathing in and out without coughing and reuniting with my children ... is goal enough. To—literally—live and let live will be enough.”

By DEBORAH COPAKEN | Published March 27, 2020 12:35 PM ET | The Atlantic | Posted March 29, 2020 |

I can pinpoint the exact moment I started feeling off. My partner, Will, and I were on a bike ride on the afternoon of Wednesday, March 18, to escape our apartment and get some exercise. This was back when leaving a New York City apartment to get some exercise was still okay, or at least that’s what we’d read, or at least that’s what we thought? If the coronavirus pandemic has taught us anything, it’s that what is considered dogma today might change tomorrow.

Ten minutes into our bike ride, I was overcome by an intense fatigue. “I think I have to go back,” I said.

Back home, I felt chilled. Took my temperature: 99.1. I’m normally 97.1, but still, not a huge deal. We’d been so careful about wiping down doorknobs, washing our hands, and keeping everyone except for our family out of our apartment. I’d been ambiently worried enough that my 13-year-old son could be a silent carrier of the virus that I’d yanked him out of his public middle school and off the crowded subways four days before Mayor Bill de Blasio pulled the plug– (far too belatedly, in my opinion). I was getting over a urinary-tract infection, so my fever, I thought, must be from that.

That evening, I answered a bunch of Slack messages from work, finished a project for my boss, and picked at the dinner Will cooked. I was, unusually, not hungry. Neither was Will. Neither was my son, which is weird because normally he eats twice his body weight in food.

The next day my temperature was back down to 97.1, but the UTI had worsened. I called the nearby urgent-care center to see if they could prescribe me a new antibiotic, but no one was answering the phone. Figuring the place was overwhelmed with coronavirus calls, I walked over to the urgent care, opened the front door, and poked my head in. “Hi,” I said. “I’m so sorry to bother you at this time, but no one’s answering your phones.” I explained that the antibiotic course I’d just finished hadn’t worked, and I needed a different prescription.

“Do you have a temperature?” I remember the receptionist asking, as she walked over to the door and handed me a mask. Wait, what?

“No. I had a slight fever yesterday. Can I just leave a message for the doctor? I don’t want to come in.” I could hear a hacking cough coming from one of the exam rooms.

“If you need a new antibiotic, you’ll have to pee in a cup again.”

“But you guys already have my pee from last week! Use the same pee!”

“Sorry, we can’t treat you unless you meet with the doctor again and give us a new sample.”

You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought. Why are we talking about pee during a shit storm? I weighed my options: either endure the UTI for who knows how long until this pandemic is over, which could lead to a kidney infection, which might eventually mean being forced to enter an overwhelmed, COVID-19-infected hospital anyway, or walk into this urgent care right now and possibly get exposed to the virus, but only from the two people coughing. I didn’t like this game of “Would you rather.”

I put on that mask and walked straight in––in my regular clothes, with no eye protection––where I stayed for a good 30 to 40 minutes until I could pee into a new cup, meet with the doctor, get a prescription, and go home. To say it was scary sitting there listening to all that coughing in the other rooms would be an understatement. The other patients sounded as if they should be on respirators, not in a neighborhood urgent care.

When I came home, I immediately stripped and washed all my clothes. That night, I got word that I did, indeed, have an ever-worsening UTI. (Duh.) A few hours later, Will came down with a fever and diarrhea and fell asleep watching Rachel Maddow, which he never does.

We isolated ourselves in separate rooms. My son stayed in his room, Will stayed in my other son’s room––that son, 24, had been volunteering for several months with Syrian refugees in Samos, Greece, and was self-quarantining in a nearby Airbnb––and me in the master bedroom, but not before I wiped down the entire apartment with Clorox wipes again. The next night, March 20, I cooked some rice and beans that no one ate.

Will stayed quite sick for three days, his temperature spiking and then retreating, but he never came down with a cough. Just the diarrhea, which is a rare COVID-19 symptom. We considered heading over to the drive-through test site that had just been set up on Staten Island, but by the time Will was feeling well enough to sit in a car for several hours, New York City had been declared a FEMA disaster zone. All masks and pieces of personal protective equipment were needed to treat the sick and dying, and the city put out a statement saying that people whose illnesses didn’t require hospitalization should not get tested. So we stayed home.

We missed each other’s company, though, so I threw caution to the wind, washed my hands, and invited Will to wash his hands and lie on the bed with me, as far from my body as possible, to listen to a recording of the 1977 Cornell Grateful Dead show while watching the sunset from our bedroom window. I kept it together until Jerry, in “Morning Dew,” sang, “Where have all the people gone, my honey? Where have all the people gone today?”

My fever spiked again on Sunday night. Monday morning, March 23, the fever was gone, so I decided to reorganize our spice cabinet. As one does in a lockdown. But I found I could no longer smell the spices. I had to make sure, when writing up new labels, not to mix up the herbs de Provence, the basil, and the oregano, all of which now looked and smelled exactly alike, which is to say they all smelled like nothing. (Doctors have begun observing a loss of smell and taste in some COVID-19 patients.) By the afternoon, I had a well-organized spice cabinet and a sore throat. Not a bad one, just a slightly annoying one.

By Tuesday afternoon, I was quite sick. I was now coughing a deep and scary dry, wheezing cough, just like the ones I’d heard in the urgent care a few days prior. My temperature was spiking and falling, spiking and falling; my throat was still sore; and I could not drink enough water to quench my thirst. My chest felt as if there were an anvil sitting on top of it. When I attempted to take a deep breath, I could not get enough air into the bottom of my lungs to fill them.

I sent a text message to my primary-care providers’ office through their telemedicine system. I made an appointment with a doctor to speak on the phone. Over the course of our 15-minute call, she asked many questions about my symptoms, about Will’s symptoms, about my son’s loss of appetite. She also heard my cough several times, and said, as I remember it, “That’s a COVID cough. You have to assume all three of you have it at this point. Just lay low until everyone’s symptoms are gone.”

“Can I get a test?” I said.

“No,” she said. “You can’t. Only essential workers. You don’t need one. I can tell just from listening to your cough and hearing your symptoms. When did you first start to feel ill?”

I told her about the bike ride.

The doctor became irritated. “You rode a bike? With viral load everywhere? Why?”

Hadn’t I read one or maybe several experts saying it was safe to go outside and exercise? “I thought it was okay to go out if you stayed six feet from others?”

“No,” she said. “Not in New York. Not right now.”

So nobody knows anything. Or some people know some things, but then facts catch up and prove them wrong. What an embarrassment, how unprepared this country is. We had time to right the plane before it crashed. But the pilot’s been too busy blaming the clouds and spouting lies over the loudspeaker. If I’m sick and can’t get a test, how do we even know that the attack rate in New York City is, as was recently reported, five times the norm? Maybe it’s 10. Maybe it’s 100. Who the hell knows? How many others are sheltering in place in my city right now, coughing on the down low because they can’t get tested? I want to be counted, goddamnit.

“Can my partner and I sleep in the same room again, now that we’re both sick?”

“I wouldn’t advise it,” said the doctor. “Your bodies need to get better. Keep your viral load from his and vice versa. Do you have enough rooms for all of you to self-isolate?”

“For now, yes,” I said, explaining how I have one child self-quarantining in an Airbnb in Brooklyn and now another, just evacuated from the Peace Corps, in an Airbnb in Washington, D.C. It’s been an expensive month.

The doctor told me to open up an account with Capsule, a prescription-delivery service, to keep my germs from infecting our local pharmacy. She’d send over a prescription for an inhaler and a nebulizer. The key thing, she told me, is to stay away from the hospitals unless absolutely necessary. There are no beds, even if I need one. And I could get sicker in a hospital than I would staying home.

These were not reassuring words to hear from a doctor.

The drugs and equipment would be delivered later that evening, but before they arrived, my cough and breathing had become so bad that Will barged into my room and said, “We need to make you a go bag.” I could barely get out of bed to go to the bathroom, much less contemplate what items I’d toss in a go bag, a bag to go to the hospital, a place I’d just been told by a doctor not to go.

“If it gets that bad, I won’t even notice if I don’t have my phone charger or extra underwear,” I said. My older children were each FaceTiming me from their own quarantines, but it suddenly hurt too much to talk.

A few hours later, the medications and the nebulizer arrived at my door via a brave delivery man who left the bag at the end of the hallway, smiled, waved, and then ran. “Wait, don’t I need to sign for that?” I shouted after him.

“That’s okay!” he said. “I’ll do it for you.”

I watched a YouTube video that explained how to use the nebulizer. Then I set up mine, squeezed the medicine into its chamber, turned it on, and suddenly … relief! For the first time all day, I could breathe. I could feel the bottom of my lungs again. Hallelujah.

But then my heart rate shot up. It got up to 144 beats per minute according to my Apple watch. I was dizzy with heartbeats. I’m prone to premature ventricular contractions––extra, abnormal heartbeats that begin in the ventricles and disrupt the heart’s regular rhythm––so I have to be careful. My doctor, after I texted the office about my heart rate, called at 8 p.m. and gave me her personal cellphone number in case of emergency.

It’s been three days since my COVID-19 diagnosis, nine days since that first rush of fatigue and slightly elevated temperature. My life is now centered on finding a balance between being able to breathe and not feeling like I’m going to pass out from a too-thrumming heartbeat. Periodically, I send photos of my Apple Watch heart monitor to my doctor, and she gives me advice on when to use the nebulizer next.

All in all––aside from the few hours when I couldn’t breathe and didn’t have the nebulizer; and when I passed out walking from the living room into my bedroom; and when I cough; and at night, when it all feels much worse, and my back aches from coughing, so I can’t sleep––I’ve been okay. Groggy and irritable and down six pounds, but okay. I’ve had worse colds and flus, and I’m hoping I’ll still be able to say this when I’m all better. My biggest fear now is getting sicker and needing to enter either a too-crowded hospital at the viral peak or, heaven forbid, the Jacob Javits Center, which FEMA is transforming into a giant COVID-19 treatment center. Not to make light of an increasingly dire situation, but the last thing I want is to die in the Jacob Javits Center.

I spoke with my daughter yesterday morning from her Airbnb in D.C. She’s not sure where to go after her 14 days of quarantine are over. She’d planned on staying in her post in Cameroon for two years but was able to complete only six months before the emergency evacuation, and she’s not allowed to return. As a Peace Corps volunteer, she’s not eligible for unemployment. She is, at 23, broke, heartbroken, and homeless, which is another reason I’d better not die right now. My son is going stir-crazy all alone in his Airbnb. I haven’t been able to hug him since he got back from Greece. Should he come home on March 31 or pay for another week of the Airbnb, given our illnesses? How long will we remain sick? The World Health Organization says two weeks for a mild case, and three to six weeks for a more serious bout. But that’s just the accepted dogma right now. Tomorrow, those numbers could change.

Part of me wants, as soon as we’re better, to grab my three kids and my partner and escape someplace remote, but where? COVID-19 is everywhere. I guess the thought of simply breathing in and out without coughing and reuniting with my children, wherever that might be, is goal enough. To––literally––live and let live will be enough. Because in the middle of writing that last sentence, I learned that an old friend has been felled by COVID-19. Rest in peace, Mark Blum. I’m so sorry we didn’t do more to flatten the curve while we still could.

Trying to remain optimistic, I have sent an email to researchers at Mount Sinai, who are searching for antibody-rich plasma from those of us who catch COVID-19 and make it through to the other side, to treat critically ill patients—a protocol that showed some promise in China. I definitely, certainly, 100 percent plan to give my antibodies as soon as I can. If my illness can help someone else be less ill, then it is my moral duty to make that happen, just as staying home right now is our moral duty to save others. “We must love one another or die,” W. H. Auden wrote. I read that poem to my older kids after 9/11, and I plan to read it to them again when we’re all reunited.

I received an email back from Mount Sinai asking for my full name, date of birth, symptoms, date of symptom onset, and last day of symptoms.

“Still sick,” I responded. But hopefully not for much longer.

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We want to hear what you think about this article. Submit a letter to the editor or write to [email protected].

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DEBORAH COPAKEN is a contributing writer at The Atlantic. The author of The Red Book and Shutterbabe, she's currently at work on a new memoir for Random House, Ladyparts.

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I’m Treating Too Many Young People for the Coronavirus

Americans in their 20s and 30s—no matter how healthy and invincible they feel—need to understand how dangerous this virus can be.

By Kerry Kennedy Meltzer, Internal medicine resident physician in New York City | Published March 26, 2020 | The Atlantic | Posted March 27, 2020 |

ON FRIDAY NIGHT, I WORKED A 12-hour shift in the designated COVID-19 area of my hospital’s emergency department in New York City. Over the course of the night, I examined six patients who were exhibiting common symptoms of the novel coronavirus; five of them were in their 20s or early 30s.

I am 28 years old. Up until Friday, when people asked me whether I was scared, I would tell them yes—for my country, my colleagues, my 92-year-old grandmother, and all the people most vulnerable to getting seriously ill from the virus, but not for myself. I, like many others, believed that young people were less likely to get sick, and that if they did, the illness was mild, with a quick recovery.

I now know that isn’t the case. The fact is that young people with no clear underlying health conditions are getting seriously ill from COVID-19 in significant numbers. And young Americans—no matter how healthy and invincible they feel—need to understand that.

My first patient was in their early 20s. (To protect their confidentiality, I’m referring to my patients without mentioning their gender.) They had a dry cough and a 102-degree fever, but their chest X-ray came back clear and their oxygen levels were safe. I wanted to test them for COVID-19, but they weren’t sick enough to require admission to the hospital, which meant I couldn’t do so. We desperately want to be able to test and take care of everyone, from the seriously ill to the mildly sick and worried, but with our current capacity, we simply can’t. I told them that they needed to assume they had the virus, and gave them instructions on how to quarantine at home.

I changed my gown and gloves, checked my mask and goggles, and moved on to my next patient: a student who had been coughing and feeling fatigued for multiple days. They had been with a friend before getting sick, and that friend had since fallen ill with symptoms of COVID-19, including a fever. The patient was having trouble catching their breath, but their symptoms were not severe or acute—as confirmed by a chest X-ray and a test of their oxygen levels—so I recommended discharge and quarantine, and they understood.

My next patient was a young professional. For the past week they’d had a dry cough and chest pain. They had no underlying health conditions, and they’d tried to follow the current guidelines by staying at home (the right thing to do, given the overwhelmed state of hospitals like mine) but that evening their breathing had become so labored that they called an ambulance. When I saw them, however, they were breathing comfortably, their chest X-ray was clear, and their oxygen levels were safe. They were visibly upset when I told them they would not be admitted. They wanted to be tested. I explained why we couldn’t do that, and completed their discharge paperwork.

I collected myself and approached my next patient: a young person who’d been suffering with a fever, cough, and extreme fatigue for the past three days. Their boss didn’t believe they were sick, so they’d continued to complete long shifts working with customers at a local business. After examining the young patient, I determined that they were in the same category as the previous three I’d seen—sick, but not sick enough to be given a precious hospital bed or COVID-19 test—so I gave them fluids, Tylenol, and a note for their employer confirming that they were indeed ill, and needed to stay home.

Late in the night, another young patient came in with a high fever and no underlying health conditions. They’d had a dry cough for the past four days. They’d come to the hospital after finding they were unable to walk a few feet without getting severely short of breath. On their chest X-ray, I saw lungs that were almost completely whited out, indicating a significant amount of inflammation. It was clear how uncomfortable they were, and how desperately they were trying to catch their breath. They were in a different category from the previous patients I’d seen that night. They needed to be admitted. They needed testing. They needed close monitoring.

I called the Intensive Care Unit team, and they admitted the young patient to the hospital. I finished my shift not long after, walked home, and got in bed, feeling unsteady. When I woke up a few hours later, I logged into our electronic medical record system and learned that in the time I’d been asleep, my patient’s oxygen levels had dropped severely. A breathing tube had been placed down their throat. A ventilator was now keeping them alive.

Recent statistics suggest that what I saw that night is not unusual. On Tuesday, California Governor Gavin Newsom said that half of the 2,102 people who had tested positive for COVID-19 in his state were ages 18 to 49. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention published data on March 18 showing that, from February 12 to March 16, nearly 40 percent of American COVID-19 patients who were sick enough to be hospitalized were ages 20 to 54. Twelve percent of patients with the most critical cases, requiring admission to an ICU, were ages 20 to 44. There are some caveats worth noting: The CDC was not able to determine whether the young people included in its report had underlying health conditions. And all of this is early data. We know that we are still not testing nearly enough people in the United States. The numbers may change.

But in spite of these alarming figures, too many young Americans have been slow to give up the false belief that they are safe from COVID-19. The day after the CDC report was released, college students began responding to a poll. Only 50 percent said that they were concerned about contracting COVID-19. Fifty-three percent admitted that they or their friends had gone to social gatherings in the previous week.

At the same time as I was seeing the flurry of young patients on my overnight shift, a resident friend of mine at a hospital on the West Coast was placing a patient in their 20s on a ventilator. A 26-year-old woman who was hospitalized with COVID-19 recently told her story in The New York Times. A doctor at my own hospital said that he has never seen so many young people in the ICU as he’s now seeing with COVID-19.

This isn’t the type of evidence that we like to talk about as scientists—anecdotes, instead of hard data—but doctors are people too. We listen to the stories of our patients and our colleagues. We pay attention to the trends that we see on the ground. We connect the dots.

We still need better data to fully understand how young people are being affected by COVID-19, but until we can get it, we have to spread the word, and ask friends and family—no matter their age—to stay at home.

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We want to hear what you think about this article. Submit a letter to the editor or write to [email protected].

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KERRY KENNEDY MELTZER is an internal medicine resident physician in New York City.

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A New York Doctor’s Warning

China warned Italy. Italy warned us. We didn’t listen. Now the onus is on the rest of America to listen to New York.

By Fred Milgrim, Emergency-medicine resident physician in New York City | Published March 27, 2020 7:00 AM ET | The Atlantic Magazine | Posted March 27, 2020 |

In the emergency-department waiting room, 150 people worry about a fever. Some just want a test, others badly need medical treatment. Those not at the brink of death have to wait six, eight, 10 hours before they can see a doctor. Those admitted to the hospital might wait a full day for a bed.

I am an emergency-medicine doctor who practices in both Manhattan and Queens; at the moment, I’m in Queens. Normally, I love coming to work here, even though in the best of times, my co-residents and I take care of one of New York City’s most vulnerable, underinsured patient populations. Many have underlying illnesses and a language barrier, and lack primary care.

These are not the best of times; even for my senior attendings, it is the worst they have ever seen. Here, the curve is not flat. We are overwhelmed. There was a time for testing in New York, and we missed it. China warned Italy. Italy warned us. We didn’t listen. Now the onus is on the rest of America to listen to New York. For many people around the country, the virus is still an invisible threat. But inside New York’s ERs, it is frighteningly visible.

Every day, in our hastily assembled COVID-19 unit, I put on my gown, face shield, three sets of gloves, and N95 respirator mask, which stays on for the entirety of my 12-hour shift, save for one or two breaks for cold pizza and coffee. Before the pandemic, I would wear a new mask for every new patient. Not now. There are not enough to go around. The bridge of my nose is raw, chapped, and on the verge of bleeding. But I consider myself one of the lucky ones. My hospital still has a supply of masks—albeit a dwindling one—to protect me and my colleagues.

Many of my patients clearly haven’t received the message to stay home unless they’re in immediate need of professional medical assistance. Their fevers and coughs alone are not enough to even earn a test. I hand them discharge paperwork and a printout about how to prevent the spread of the coronavirus, tell them to self-isolate, and then I move on to the next person. If they didn’t have the coronavirus before coming to our hospital, they probably do now. So much for gatherings of 10 people or fewer.

Meanwhile, my colleagues tend to patients in the critical-care bay with dipping oxygen levels, patients who can barely speak and may need breathing tubes.

Earlier in the month, we were told that positive-pressure oxygen masks, such as CPAP machines, were risky, as they would aerosolize the virus, increasing health-care workers’ risk of getting infected. But in recent days, running dangerously low on ventilators, we have attempted using CPAP machines to stave off the need for medically induced comas.

Still, the increasing frequency of intubations we need to perform is alarming. Our ventilators are almost all in use, and the ICUs are at capacity. Our hospital has already received extra vents here and there from other hospitals in the region that can spare them, but those few additions are merely a stopgap. Will we soon have patients sharing vents? We wouldn’t be the first hospital to attempt that unusual and suboptimal practice, which gained traction after the Las Vegas shooting, when scores of young trauma patients were vented in pairs. But these COVID-19 patients have delicate lungs, which makes vent-sharing far more dangerous. Nevertheless, we’ve already started studying the mechanics of how to make this happen, as a last-ditch effort.

By next week, we may simply have no choice. Those hundreds of relatively healthy patients we sent home may return to the hospital en masse in respiratory failure.

On Wednesday, I greeted a patient I had discharged only one week prior. When I saw his name pop up on the board, my heart sank. He is just shy of 50, with hardly any past medical history, and he had seemed fine. Now he was gasping for air. His chest X-ray was no relief—COVID-19 for sure. I needed to admit him to the hospital, and set him up with oxygen, heart monitoring, and a bed.

Last week, I saw an elderly woman on dialysis. She had arrived with a mild cough. But her vital signs were normal—no fever. After her chest X-ray came back clear, we decided to send her home. But before her ride came, she spiked a fever to 102. Change of plans. With her age and complex medical problems, she would need to be admitted.

The next night, I saw a rolling bed wheeling past me with a resident riding on top, performing chest compressions on the patient.

Only after we pronounced the patient dead did I learn her name. She was my patient from the night before. She went into cardiac arrest before she even got a bed in the ward. My first COVID-19–positive death. The numbers have been mounting ever since.

A few days ago, FEMA finally arrived to help with this crisis. It has brought more tests, hopefully more vents, and a morgue in the form of a truck to help with the ever-growing number of dead bodies. I wonder if this help will be enough. My colleagues and I discuss this pandemic with a sardonic sense of helplessness. Some of us are getting sick. Our reality alters by the moment. Every day, we change our triage system. Each day could be the day that the masks run out. There is much we think but are too afraid to say to one another.

I do not want to see you in my hospital. I do not want you to go to any hospital in the United States. I do not want you to leave your home, except for essential food and supplies. I do not want you to get tested for the coronavirus, unless you need to be admitted to a hospital.

For those of us at the forefront, knowing who has COVID-19 won’t change our ability—or inability—to treat patients. The problem is, and will be, our shortage of healthy personnel, personal protective equipment, beds, and ventilators. A nasal swab is not the answer anymore.

If you have mild symptoms, assume that you have the coronavirus. Stay home, wash your hands, call your doctor. Don’t come to the emergency department just because of a fever or cough. Receiving a test won’t change our recommendation that you remain in self-isolation. We don’t want you to expose yourself to those who definitely do have the virus.

Social distancing, while still crucial, came too late in New York to prevent a crisis. Maybe, just maybe, extreme measures can prevent this from happening in other cities around the country.

In spite of all this morbidity, the doctors at the hospital received one piece of good news yesterday. A coronavirus patient was successfully taken off a ventilator after two weeks, a first for our Medical ICU and a victory for the staff and, of course, the patient.

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We want to hear what you think about this article. Submit a letter to the editor or write to [email protected].

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FRED MILGRIM is an emergency-medicine resident physician in New York City, currently working at Elmhurst Hospital.

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Watch New Orleans

With the country’s attention turned north, the coronavirus pandemic is exploding in Louisiana.

By VANN R. NEWKIRK II | Published March 27, 2020 2:11 PM ET | The Atlantic | Posted March 27, 2020 |

Between the time this sentence was written and the time this article is published, hundreds more Americans will likely have died from COVID-19. Hundreds or perhaps thousands more people will have been hospitalized, and certainly tens of thousands more will have tested positive for the coronavirus. At this point, making predictions about the pandemic is like riding a barrel over Niagara Falls: We can only guess how it ends, but we do know things are going down.

Here’s another prediction that’s safe to make: The city of New Orleans—and, potentially, all of Louisiana—is going to become the next front in the fight against the pandemic. Even as national attention is justifiably focused on the aggressive outbreak in Washington State and the mounting pressures on New York City’s hospitals, the virus’s advance in Louisiana has shaken local officials and doctors, and the state is already approaching a similar burden of infections and deaths as the crises to the north. There’s good reason to believe that this southern outbreak will be even more difficult to contain, and is perhaps a better harbinger of what’s to come as the pandemic spreads across the country.

The numbers already indicate that Louisiana is a global epicenter of the pandemic. Just over 1 percent of the U.S. population lives in Louisiana. But according to the COVID Tracking Project, 7 percent of all COVID-19 deaths, 7 percent of all hospitalizations, and 3 percent of all positive tests have been in the state. New York has suffered about two deaths per 100,000 residents. Louisiana is at 1.8.

To put the numbers into perspective, if Louisiana were a country, its death count would put it in the top 15 globally. The burden appears to be increasing so quickly that all of these statistics will become quickly out of date. The state reported 83 total deaths from COVID-19 as of noon yesterday. It had reported 34 as of Monday. And, as is the nature of this virus, most of the reported data represent only a snapshot of the infections that took place a week or two ago.

Hospitalizations and deaths will increase. And, if other outbreaks around the world are any example, the curve will not rise gently. The fallout in Louisiana will be most painful in the New Orleans metropolitan area, whose Orleans and Jefferson Parishes account for two-thirds of all cases in the state.

Louisiana Governor John Bel Edwards has already declared a state of emergency. In a press conference on Wednesday, he said that, despite the official numbers, he’s certain that all parishes in the state have coronavirus cases. He asked citizens to continue to stay home and follow state guidelines on slowing the spread of the virus. Like New York Governor Andrew Cuomo, Edwards also warned of a critical shortage of ventilators in the hospitals that will soon be hit with waves of COVID-19 patients. “We could potentially run out of vents in the New Orleans area in the first week in April,” Edwards said. According to state data, a third of all people hospitalized because of the virus so far have required ventilators.

Local officials in New Orleans have made even more dire pronouncements. “We are preparing to mobilize in a way that many of us have never seen,” said Collin Arnold, the city’s homeland-security director, in a separate press conference Wednesday. “This is a disaster that will define us for generations.” New Orleans Mayor LaToya Cantrell said the same day that the city expects hospital beds to fill within two weeks, and she authorized the use of the Morial Convention Center as an overflow site.

Physicians and other health professionals in the city already seem close to being overwhelmed. In a tweet on Wednesday, the former state secretary of health, Rebekah Gee, referenced stories of people reusing protective gear or ordering it from eBay. Joshua Denson, a pulmonary and critical-care physician at Tulane Medical Center and University Medical Center New Orleans, diagnosed the second confirmed case of coronavirus in the city. Now he’s currently under self-quarantine as he awaits the results of his own test for the virus. “I'm not the only one of our critical-care doctors who is on quarantine or sick right now,” Denson told me. “The big point is: If you lose one or two, it’s a big deal. This isn’t a place that’s just swimming with available options.”

According to Denson, problems particular to Louisiana might make an outbreak there worse than what other parts of the U.S. have seen. The state has one of the highest poverty rates in the country, and with that burden comes health disparities—including the kinds of conditions that appear to put people at risk for serious complications from the coronavirus. Louisiana is one of the youngest states in the country, which would seem to suggest its residents would have better outcomes, given that older people have so far been the most vulnerable to the outbreak. But about 43 percent of its adult population falls into “at risk” categories, according to the Kaiser Family Foundation. A sizable number of young adults in the state have preexisting conditions.

According to Denson, that means that New Orleans and the rest of Louisiana might be looking at a different kind of outbreak than most countries—or even New York and Washington—have seen, including widespread hospitalizations or even deaths of young people. Yesterday, Louisiana reported its first death of a person under 35, a 17-year-old in Orleans Parish.

“We’re seeing different processes of this disease than they have seen in China, at least anecdotally,” Denson said. “We’re seeing more comorbid conditions that are common to Americans, such as high blood pressure, stroke, and diabetes.”

Many common assumptions about the coronavirus pandemic are about to be tested in the U.S., in ways they haven’t been so far. The effects of the virus on populations like those in the American South—poorer, characterized by marked racial and social disparities in health status and health access, and often saddled with multiple existing conditions—aren’t yet well known. And many other southern states, unlike Louisiana, New York, Washington—all of which expanded Medicaid under the Affordable Care Act—have little in the way of public health-insurance options for those younger at-risk populations. If Louisiana (likely through Mardi Gras) was COVID-19’s foothold in the South, then America is about to learn a whole lot about how the disease interacts with some of the most stubborn and intractable health-care issues in the country.

For now, the next point of focus should be on New Orleans. It’s not Italy, not yet. But the warnings are urgent, and perhaps even more portentous in their sobriety and certainty. The state will run out of crucial resources for taking care of coronavirus patients, likely before their number peaks. Hospitals will be under extreme strain. Health-care professionals will contract the virus themselves. Underlying health conditions will make their jobs more difficult.

That means now is the time for desperate measures, Denson thinks. He’s calling for the kind of mobilization people reserve for the worst disasters—including donations of supplies and more doctors and nurses. “I hope that two months down the road, people are saying, ‘I overreacted,’” he said.

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The Rich Fled New York. Don’t Be Like Them.

You live in a cramped apartment and you’re scared. But escape is selfish.

By Nathan Thornburg, Host of The Trip podcast | Published March 27, 2020 6:45 AM ET | The Atlantic Magazine | Posted March 27, 2020 |

Hello fellow New Yorkers. You want to leave. So badly. I know. Me too. But don’t. Don’t do it.

It is absurd at this point that it’s even your choice. The bridges should be closed to all but essential traffic. The airports should be shuttered. Instead, Hertz is still renting cars at its 17 Manhattan locations, AirBnB is listing “Corona free” homes in New Jersey, and airlines are offering (apocalyptically cheap) tickets from all three New York airports to Anywhere But Here.

I know all that because I spent one morning this week Googling a dozen possible escapes, in a moment of claustrophobia and panic. I share 900 square feet with two kids and a dog. My wife is a physician who is still seeing patients. And even though I trust her precautions and protocols, I can’t shake the feeling of dread. Mixed in with the uncertainty is the certainty that everything is going to get much, much worse, as the cases spike and people I love or know or admire begin to die. My impulse is to do something—to move, to flee. I’m sure virtually everyone else in the city feels the same way.

The rational truth, though, is that I probably won’t contract COVID-19 while locked in my apartment, though I may well have it already, a holdover from those faraway early-March days when this city was a big pool of the virus and we all were just doing laps together. And if I leave, I’ll bring my germs with me.

There are already pockets of disease on Long Island, and fever spikes in the Catskills, and empty stores in Jersey shore towns that have long put up with our summering bullshit. To paraphrase the New York Post, Nantucket thinks NYC can suck it.

And though I am dreaming, hallucinating almost, of what it would be like to have a yard for the dog and the kids while we wait out the pandemic, rural communities just aren’t built for anybody’s dream quarantine. Proactive governments recognized this early on. A friend of mine in Norway, the restaurateur Nud Dudhia, had been staying with his family in their super-hygge mountain cabin. But in mid-March Norway’s government ordered everyone back to their primary residence, so that any potential health-care burden would land where the population actually lived.

In the U.S., unbelievably, whether to leave is still up to you, as is where to go. If you fled for the hills the moment you read about Dr. Li Wenliang’s death in February, then kudos. I’m jealous of your paranoia, and perhaps you didn’t endanger anyone. But if you left this week, or are planning on leaving, you are nakedly prioritizing your comfort and peace of mind over the physical health of others. Don’t start in on Donald Trump, Treasury Secretary Steve Mnuchin, or any of those faraway self-dealers unless you start by doing what you can do to be part of the solution. Stay home.

I borrowed some of this moral clarity from an aunt in Madrid. She had watched with horror and fascination as politicians in Italy (about as far ahead of Spain along the coronavirus curve as Spain is of the United States) leaked news about a planned quarantine so that, instead of being contained, the virus scattered around the country on the wings of hundreds of thousands of individual decisions. That was on my aunt’s mind as the cordon started closing in on her city. She and her partner thought about fleeing to the village of Adahuesca, but, as she put it, “there was a chance that we’d just kill all the old people there.” They stayed put.

The restrictions in Madrid make New York’s stay-at-home guidelines look like an invitation to bacchanalia (seriously, why are our playgrounds still open?). In Madrid today, you can’t walk a dog with more than one person. Police have the discretion under Penal Code 556 of fining you if you are smoking or otherwise loitering on the street. Spaniards are lovely people and frequently also insolent scofflaws, so some started taking a couple of cans and a carrot or two from their own pantry and walking them around the city, to pretend they had been out shopping. Now police demand that you show a grocery-store receipt.

If you are nervous about staying in New York, and shopping solo, and surviving, this video that everyone is sharing from the Weill Cornell ICU doc David Price should reassure you that you can do this. Wash your hands. Don’t touch your face. Smile at your neighbors.

This pandemic involves a class element, of course. This is, among other things, a Prince Charles disease, a Tom Hanks disease, splashed around the planet by the kind of world traveler I’ve become myself. In the past year I’ve been to Iraq, Kenya, Beirut, Cuba, Japan, Mexico, and beyond, for a podcast. I flew to Chiang Mai for a wedding, to Sweden for the last night of a famous restaurant. And leaving aside for the moment what I’ve done to the ozone layer, it’s safe to say that I’m exactly the kind of asshole who brought you rapidly circulating global disease. COVID-19 became a wildfire thanks to a super-spreader soiree in Connecticut and the Biogen breakout in Boston and the Mar-a-Lago miasma and that gentleman who flew from New York to Florida while awaiting his COVID-19 test results.

I imagine that few of the people who stock the bodegas and clean the subways here in New York are surprised by the exodus. Privileged New Yorkers, the kind who moved here with college degrees and an Exciting New Career Opportunity, have long held themselves aloof from the city. They are ready for the rewards—a beautiful skyline, a killer shawarma—but are often trying to skip the bill. They can’t even stomach August in New York. I get that they don’t want to stay in the embattled epicenter of a global contagion.

And by they, of course, I mean me. Except not this time. The coronavirus is running a massive social experiment on us all. The question: Can each of us put aside our dreadful specialness long enough to slow this thing? Can we grit our teeth through the eerie nights to come? Do we trust our neighbors, the dudes on the corner, the first responders, the men living in the single-room occupancy down the block, to have our back—and can they trust us to have theirs? The answer has to be yes.

We are New Yorkers. We rushed the pile after 9/11, rebuilt after Sandy, walked home during the blackout, made out in Times Square on V-J Day. We’re minting a lot of heroes at Elmhurst Hospital and Mount Sinai West this week, health-care workers who have answered the call with bravery and compassion and sacrifice. The story of New York in this pandemic should belong to them, not to the summer-home super-spreaders.

So it’s settled then. We’re going to get through this, right here, in our tiny freaking apartments. Sending love to you all.

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NATHAN THORNBURGH is a co-founder of Roads & Kingdoms and host of The Trip podcast, which he started with the late Anthony Bourdain.

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