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alpacaparkaseok · 3 years

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The Pact - Date #7

Pairing/Genre: OT7 BTS x reader (not poly), idol!BTS, best friend BTS

Word Count: 7.2k

Premise: The truth about the pact the boys have about you has been revealed. What happens when you agree to go on a single date with each of them?

Warnings: a bit of talking down on yourself, the confusion continues, general fluff with a touch of angst

a/n: this is the final date. guys...how is this going by so fast?? please let me know your thoughts on the date, on everything else overall...and I’ll see you soon? Next Saturday is the finale!

Date #7

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Note from the creator of this stupid idea:

I loved her first.

“Who do you think it was? Any ideas?”

“I…” you shrug. “No?”

Gina arches a brow, staring you down from across your kitchen table. “So, that was a lie.”

You can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up from your chest, Gina also chuckling. It’s a relief, the fact that she doesn’t hesitate to call you out. You’re grateful that you finagled her number from Jin, shooting him a text that looked a lot like this:

Me: Burn this after reading

Me: We can’t have any evidence !!

Kim Seokjinnie: ok, hi. I’m not burning my phone weirdo. I’ll just keep it away from Jungkook. What’s up??

Me: Hi. You know what I meant.

Me: Can you give me Gina’s number?

Kim Seokjinnie: Sure, I’ll send you the contact in a second. You two gonna hang out or something?

Me: Hopefully…do you think it’s weird if I just ask her out of the blue? Will she not wanna come?

Kim Seokjinnie: Nah, she’s pretty chill. I bet she’ll come

Kim Seokjinnie: *Kim Seokjinnie shared a contact with you*

Kim Seokjinnie: do you need anything before I burn my phone?

Me: no, thank you!! I owe you one. I’m short on friends rn, hopefully she’ll come over

Kim Seokjinnie: I’m sorry  miss you. We’ll all get to hang out once this is all over, I promise.

“Yah! I really don’t know. I mean they’ve all be so…”

“So what?”

You sigh, sounding like some kid in a dreamy teen movie. “Perfect?”

“There’s no such thing,” Gina huffs, leaning back in her chair. It’s a bit rickety, you’d found it at a yard sale with Namjoon and Jimin. You had just moved into your apartment, and realized that you were a little low on furniture. Together, you’d managed to find three mismatching chairs that made you grin each time you saw them.

It was a little odd at the time, you didn’t want to buy three chairs. Two seemed like plenty. They convinced you though, and looking back you understand why they were so adamant.

Wasn’t it rule #3? “Limit one-on-one interaction”? Three chairs made it so that there was always space for at least two of them.

Suddenly you look at the most average things in your house with different eyes.

Groaning, you rub your hands over your face. You’ve probably smudged your makeup, but you don’t care. It’s Friday night, you can do whatever you want.

“Unfortunately, I really think that there might be.” You let out a dry chuckle. “Seven dates with the world’s most perfect men. I knew I was screwed from the beginning, but this, I mean, I didn’t expect it to go this far.”

“On the bright side, you only have one more to go.” Gina gets up, stretching before moving to put her plate in the sink. She’d picked up some takeout on her way to your house, proving to you that you two are going to be friends for a long, long time.

“I’m terrified because of that. What happens after tomorrow’s date? I know it’s up to me, but I feel like I’m waiting for someone to come tell me the next step.”

Gina hums in agreement, shooting you an apologetic look. “Maybe I shouldn’t have pointed out how flirty they were at the haunted house. You never would have gotten into this mess.”

“No,” you wave her off. “It’s not your fault. Jungkook let it slip anyway, after the door closed on us in the basement. Ugh, I still get freaked out thinking about that. Has that happened since?”

Gina pauses over the sink, back turned to you as she runs her plate under the hot water. After a moment she shuts it off, turning around to wipe her hands off on a dish towel before leaning up against the counter.

“Erm…”

Your stomach drops. “What.”

“It’s just…” she crosses her arms and uncrosses them, unsure of what to do with her hands. “The door is connected to a little button on every employee’s key fob. You know, just for some extra scare factor.”

You meet her sheepish gaze with a blank stare. “So you’re telling me…”

“It’s just a part of the tour,” Gina shrugs. “Wait, what happened? He told you about the pact when the door closed? That’s…that’s honestly not the most romantic setting-”

“No no, we had a little moment after the door closed, and we almost kissed. But he stopped himself and said the I didn’t have to worry about him making a move. When we got out, I asked him why, and that’s when he mentioned the pact.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“So tomorrow is the last date, correct?”

“Yup.”

“Look,” Gina notices your worried expression. “Do yourself a favor. Let go. Don’t waste tomorrow thinking about what’s gonna happen next. Focus on the moment, ok? Then how about we get together next week sometime to talk everything over? If you feel like that might help, that is.”

You definitely made the right choice in inviting Gina over. You can already feel your stress levels going down.

“Ok.”

You’re up early the next morning, earlier than you’d like. You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting on your sofa, basking in the golden morning sun and watching the little dust motes float in the air, but it’s certainly been a while.

For once, it’s quiet in your mind. You’re not sure why now, why today. There’s no doubt you’ll be your typical bumbling mess once Yoongi picks you up, but for now all is peaceful.

It’s the last date. Somehow, despite how much you’ve enjoyed these little escapades, you feel relief at the thought. Knowing that you’ve made it nearly to the end without doing anything remarkably stupid (you’re still mortified that you and Jimin got kicked out of that basilica but oh well), and now you’re so close.

For now, you slide your worries under the rug, to be left there for the weekend. You curl your legs under you and lean your head back against the cushions to drink in the sunlight. It warms your skin, leaving you feeling even better than before.

Yoongi is supposed to be here around four. Jungkook had sent you a quick text earlier in the week checking that you didn’t have any plans for Saturday afternoon and night. You didn’t bother to tell him that you always had all day open for them.

While the exchange had been short, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was blushing just as much as you when his contact popped up on your screen. In an instant you were plunged into the memory of clinging to him just outside your front door, Jungkook’s shaky breaths the only thing keeping you planted in reality.

Either way, it was safe to say that you were a blushing mess despite the simplicity of the text. He kept it strictly professional, not once alluding to the events of last Saturday. But you could still hear those words he uttered when he asked if you ever thought about what might have happened if he’d kissed you in the haunted house when he had the chance.

“I do. Every day.”

Of course you thought about it. You let out an amused huff on the couch, laughing to yourself. Who wouldn’t? But the only thing was the fact that you were thinking about a lot of things. Not just Jungkook.

Or his lips, for that matter.

The couch rustles as you get up, deciding to change out of your red sweatshirt for a green one. You’d been instructed to dress warm, which made you wonder what was planned for today. Outside everything looks warm and pleasant, certainly no need for anything too heavy.

By the time afternoon rolls around, you’re tempted to call up Gina for a late lunch or something. To say you’re antsy is an understatement; you’re positively losing it. The clock on the wall has decided to try its hand at stopping time altogether, and you think it’s doing a pretty good job of it. Every time you glace over, seemingly no time has passed.

This time, you really start to wonder if no time has passed. You swear it’s been stuck at 3 o’clock for a while-

The sound of someone knocking on your door has you nearly tipping over from where you perch trying to grab the clock.

For some stupid reason, you’re frozen to your spot at the far end of your living room. Holding the clock in your hands, you jump a little as a second tentative knock sounds.

To your utter mortification, your mouth opens and you yell out, “Come in!”

You’re still frozen in place when the door opens and Yoongi pokes his head in. His eyes immediately land on you, a sheepish smile that he has a hard time containing immediately breaking out.

“You’re not planning on throwing that at me, right?” He asks, making you glare down at the clock you cling to.

“Oh.” Your knuckles have turned white, and somehow your heart has decided to try its hand at sprinting a marathon. “No. I- it’s broken. I think.”

Yoongi shuffles inside, closing the door gently behind him before wandering over to you. His pale complexion makes the pink on his cheeks easy to spot. Somehow the fact that he’s blushing makes you blush.

“Do you have batteries around here?” He asks quietly, hiding his amusement.

“Maybe in the kitchen?” You brush past him, handing off the clock. “Would you mind getting the old batteries out?”

He mumbles out a sure, plopping down on your sofa while he gets to work on the clock. He’s wearing a similar outfit to you, which makes you smile. It’s not very often these days that he sports a bandana and you wonder if he somehow knew that you love the way he looks in it. His hair looks particularly fluffy as it kisses his forehead, the dark bandana giving him an air of coolness you know you could never pull off.

Rummaging around your kitchen drawers, you pause when you realize what you’re doing. Are you stalling? What’s the rush to fix a clock when you have Min Yoongi in the other room waiting to take you out?

Closing the drawer, you take a deep breath and shake your head.

“Sorry Yoongi,” you call out, trudging back into the living room. “I’m an idiot.”

He looks at you over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips. “What’s your reasoning?”

“Ouch.”

Yoongi chuckles, setting the clock down on the coffee table before getting to his feet. “Wow, is it just me or…”

You wince. “This got off to a bad start, huh.”

“Yeah.”

Looking at each other from across the room, you realize just how much you’ve missed him. His witty sarcastic remarks, his honesty.

Him.

“Can we start over? Go knock on the door again.”

Yoongi’s already on his way, huffing out a laugh as he steps outside. “Alright, see you in a second.” The door clicks shut behind him, and you’re suddenly left with the silence of your house.

As Yoongi timidly knocks on the door, the same sense of calm you experienced this morning settles over you.

The seventh date. No more guessing who’s on the other side of the door, no more anxious glances in the mirror to check that everything looks flawless. It’s just you, Yoongi, and the door between you.

There’s already a smile on your face as you open that door, finding Yoongi standing with his hands in his pocket. He returns your grin, feeling like a fellow conspirator in a heist that has yet to be planned.

“I’m here,” he announces, then adds with a chuckle, “finally.”

“Took you long enough,” you tease, reaching out to grab his jacket and pull him inside. He feigns a horrified expression at your flirty nature, but you just roll your eyes. You’re not sure who wraps their arms around the other first, but the next thing you know, you’re wrapped up in a tight embrace.

I missed you, is what you want to say, but the words get caught in your throat. The lump that’s formed there only grows thicker with emotion as Yoongi’s gravelly voice rumbles against your hair.

“How’re you holding up?”

Your arms fall around his waist, ever aware of his shoulder. Even though he says he’s completely healed now, you aren’t taking any chances. It’s quiet for a long moment as you struggle to find an answer.

“I…fine. I’m fine.” You pull away and arch an eyebrow at him, pleased to see that is cheeks are still rosy despite the serious look in his eye. “How are you holding up?”

He lets out a breathy laugh, dropping your gaze. “Fine.” Then, when he catches your disbelieving stare, he states as innocently as possible, “What? Aren’t we lying to each other tonight?”

“You suck.”

“See!” He exclaims as you step out of his grasp to grab your things. “You always do that when you’ve been caught in a lie!”

“Ugh, yah! I wasn’t lying,” you turn around to face him, walking backward toward your room. “I’m fine, really.”

He shrugs. “And so am I.”

You stifle your laughter as you enter your room, grabbing your things and wondering if you should grab a coat. “Do I really need a coat?” You call down the hall.

“Yes!”

Pursing your lips, you snatch the puffy monstrosity from your closet before turning to head out. Double checking that you have everything you need; your eyes can’t help but glance at the item sitting atop your dresser.

You stick your tongue out at it. A few seconds later it’s tucked safely away in your top drawer and you’re heading out into the hallway. Your stomach does an uneasy flip as you recall the words that are practically burned in the backs of your eyelids now.

I loved her first.

Yoongi gets up from off the couch, waiting for you beside the door. His dark eyes survey you as you walk toward him. “Good to go?” He asks quietly. Clutching your coat a little tighter to your chest, you nod.

The two of you head out, locking up your apartment and settling in the car that Yoongi drove over. Before long, you’re out on the highway, speeding toward your destination.

Which, you’ve just realized, is still a mystery to you.

“Sooo…” You begin, smiling lazily at Yoongi. You take a moment to admire his hands that are wrapped around the steering wheel. “Where are we going?”

A smile tugs at his lips, but he manages to contain it as he adopts a serious expression. He glances over at you. “We’re going to see the sea.”

“We’re…” you stutter, furrowing your brows. “We’re going to see the sea?”

A breathy chuckle escapes him. “Yeah. But it’s a long drive, so are you down to listen to a murder-mystery with me?”

“YES.”

You’re still pretty sure that it was the nosy maid that did it by the time you arrive at your destination. Two hours, one murder-mystery short audiobook, and several snacks later, the sun is well on its way to the horizon when Yoongi pulls off to a sandy parking lot filled to the brim with cars.

There’s tons of people mulling about, several of them appear to be young families who smile fondly as their children laugh and play in the sand. There’s a couple of food-trucks that have popped up on the beach, which sport long lines. Yoongi observes them woefully, seeming to come to some sort of understanding with himself before moving to get out of the car.

“Woah, what’s with all the people? Is this beach always this busy?”

It’s a beach you’ve never been to before, the pristine sand glowing as the sun makes its way across the sky.

“Today’s a special occasion,” Yoongi explains, popping the trunk and rummaging around. “We should probably pick out a spot now before all the good ones are taken.”

You come around to the back of the car to meet him, taking the blanket he extends out to you. Leaving your big coat in the backseat, you hope he doesn’t scold you and tell you to put it on. Right now it’s windy, but fairly warm. No need to look like a living marshmallow just yet.

Before you can inquire after what the special occasion is, Yoongi passes you a couple of water bottles and begins rattling off instructions.

“How about I jump in line to buy us some dinner,” the way he says it so casually has your heart skipping a beat for some reason, “and you head down the beach to scout out a decent spot?”

“But what kind of spot do you mean? Is there a show or something?”

Yoongi pauses, closing the trunk and running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, something like that. A show. Just find a spot that you like, I’ll come find you with our food, ok?”

“Ay ay, captain.” You trudge away, hoisting the blanket up higher in your arms as you begin to look for an empty space. The immediate surrounding beach area appears to be pretty packed, which has you marching farther and farther away from the parking lot.

You grin as a couple of children race past you, giggling as they fly their kites. It’s looks like it’s a little boy and with his younger sister, trying their best to keep their kites afloat in wind. Waving at them, your smile only grows as the boy sheepishly turns away and the girl cheerfully waves back.

It feels like you walk for years before finding a clearing. You were definitely looking for a semi-secluded spot, not too keen on spending your long-awaited date with Yoongi surrounded by strangers. It doesn’t even occur to you to ask someone what the big deal is about today before you’re laying the blanket out. Not wanting to leave anything unattended just for it to blow away, you decide to just be patient until Yoongi finds you.

The sand is warm beneath the blanket as you plop down, resting with your face turned toward the sun as you let out a content sigh. Despite the chill of the wind, the sun warms you right up.

“Why are you alone?”

Peeking one eye open at the little voice, you’re delighted to see the same little girl from earlier standing a little ways away. She watches you with a meek expression, her kite forgotten at her feet.

“Oh, I’m not alone,” you explain. “I’m just waiting for my friend to come find me. He went to go get food.”

“Oh.” The young girl shuffles her feet. “My mommy says that I need to get all my wiggles out before the show.”

You chuckle. “Really? What show are we watching tonight? Is it Disney?” That would certainly make sense for all of the young families here tonight. Did Yoongi bring you to a beach-front outdoor movie?

“No, silly!” The girl giggles at your questions. “The sky’s coming to say hello!”

“What?”

“That’s what my mommy said. She said, ‘Young-mi get your wiggles out, the sky is coming to say hello soon!’”

You blink, a little amused by Young-mi’s earnest response. “I see…I didn’t know that the sky was coming to say hello tonight.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Oh,” you crane your neck toward the parking lot, but it’s too far away to see Yoongi. “My friend brought me, as a surprise.”

“Wow,” Young-mi utters in a reverent tone. “Can I meet your friend?”

“I don’t see why not.”

With a gleeful shout, Young-mi takes off running, her kite skipping along the ground behind her. She runs toward her family, her mother grinning at the sight before reaching out to pull her into her arms. You watch on with a forgotten smile, wondering for a split second what that would be like.

If you squint, that could be Yoongi sitting beside Young-mi’s mother, throwing his head back with laughter at something his daughter says to him. Their son crouches in the sand nearby, digging around as though searching for gold.

Laying down with a soft sigh, you close your eyes and let the little daydream take over. Here, at the beach. Telling your children that this is where you had your first date; laughing as they make disgusted faces when Yoongi plants a loud kiss on your cheek-

“Did the nosy maid get to you?”

Yoongi stands above you with arms laden with food. He blocks out the sun, the rays coming around to make him appear like an angel. Judging from the delicious smells radiating from the food he carries, you think he actually might be.

“Ah, so you agree that you think it was her that murdered Duke Rittington?” Your voice sounds a little croaky, a testament to the fact that you were just dozing a moment ago. Leaning up to ease some of the food from his arms, Yoongi snorts.

“No. It was obviously the son. Why can’t you see it?”

Rolling your eyes, you pat a spot next to you on the blankets. Yoongi takes the seat without hesitation. “Because, the son seems like too easy of a suspect. Whereas the maid-”

The screams of Young-mi as she rushes toward you cut you off. “You have a boyfriend?!”

“Oh, no.”

Yoongi leans over, still busy arranging the bags of food – is that a cheeseburger you see? – around the blanket. “Who’s that?” He mumbles.

“I, uh, made a friend while you were grabbing food,” you explain with a small smile.

Now Young-mi reaches your blanket, dropping to her knees as she gazes up at Yoongi with wide, innocent eyes. “Hi, my name is Young-mi and I’m four years old. I’m the second tallest in my class.” Young-mi prattles off information, her large eyes never once leaving Yoongi’s face. “Are you her boyfriend? I hope you’re her boyfriend.”

Yoongi lets out a startled laugh. “You do? Why’s that?”

“You’re so pretty.”

Now both of you burst out laughing, Young-mi looking utterly confused at your outburst. Yoongi covers his face with his hands, shaking his head.

“What? What’s so funny?” Young-mi questions.

You grin at her. “You think he’s pretty?” The little girl nods enthusiastically. “I do too.”

Yoongi peers over at you at this comment, an unasked question in his eyes. The pink in his cheeks has intensified, as has your own blush.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one complementing you?” He asks under his breath. You shrug.

“You brought food, so now we’re even.”

Young-mi lingers a little while longer, asking a few questions and drawing in the sand. Munching down on your cheeseburger, you eye Young-mi’s kite.

“Do you mind if I try to fly your kite for a second?” The question is out of your mouth before you can fully process it, but Young-mi looks up at you excitedly.

“Yes!!” She squeals, immediately dragging the little handle over to you. “You have to run really fast, that’s what my mommy told me. Then it’ll fly!”

Glancing back at Yoongi as you clamber to your feet, you don’t miss the fond smile he wears as he watches the interaction take place. You wave at him, heading off down the beach with Young-mi. Once you’ve walked far enough, you wink down at her.

“Ok, you run on ahead and I’ll catch up in a few seconds.”

The girl wastes no time running off, her laughter making you feel lighter than you have in weeks. Once she’s far enough off, you take off after her. She heads straight toward her family, who smile at you as you attempt to get the kite off the ground.

Sand flies up behind you as you race, and you catch a glimpse of Yoongi with his phone out, recording you with a wide smile on his face. The sun has hit the horizon now, a dizzying array of colors sending your mind into a joyful frenzy. Up ahead, Young-mi has successfully made it to her family and is waiting for you to catch up. She jumps up and down as the kite soars above you, the little pinwheels attached to it spinning around in the wind.

A bit more energy overtakes you, and you sprint the last few yards toward Young-mi, unable to stop the laugh that jumps out of you. You feel so free, here on the beach. It’s almost like you’re up there flying with the kite-

“Wait!”

Someone shouts it, you’re not exactly sure who, but by the time the plea registers in your ears, it’s too late. Foot catching in the hole that Young-mi’s brother had been digging earlier, you feel a twist of pain before tumbling to the ground.

You cry out, barely managing to catch yourself before faceplanting it. The handle from Young-mi’s kite digs painfully into your hand, but that’s the least of your problems at the moment.

Young-mi’s family rushes over to you, but before they reach you Yoongi is dropping to your side.

“Oh,” you pant, “hi Yoongs.”

“Are you alright?” He’s also panting, and you wonder if he had begun running after you before you even fell, foreseeing your path. “Your foot…”

“I am so sorry!” Young-mi’s mother stoops down on your other side, her husband right behind her. “We completely forgot that Doyun even dug that hole! Can you move? Are you in pain?”

From where you’re laying belly-down on the sand, you can’t help but feel the burn of embarrassment in your cheeks. “I…move? Yeah, I can – ah never mind.” You wince as you attempt to get to your feet only for the dull ache in your right foot to flare up to a fiery red pain. Yoongi immediately reaches out for you, unsure of what to do. His hands ghost over your leg, but retract when you hiss in pain.

“Here, my husband-” Young-mi’s mother points over her shoulder to the man in question. “He’s a nurse. Honey, could you…?”

“Do you mind if I take a look at your ankle?” The man asks in a gentle voice. “Just to make sure nothing’s broken.”

With a nod, you allow both him and Yoongi to help you swivel around to sit the correct way, the blush you already have deepening even more when Yoongi takes up a spot at your back. He gently pushes your shoulders back until you’re leaning into his chest, his arms coming to wrap around you in a protective manner.

When you wince as the man delicately presses down on your already swollen ankle, Yoongi begins talking.

“So, is it just me, or has this entire night been a disaster?”

You let out a choked laugh. “No, Yoongs. Well, maybe it has, but it’s all my fault. I can’t believe I fell, how embarrassing…”

“Oh, are you two out on a date? Er, sorry for prying…”

Both you and Yoongi awkwardly chuckle. “No, no…um, yeah. We are.”

“It’s our first date, actually,” Yoongi adds as an afterthought.

“How exciting! Honey, it’s their first date, did you hear that?”

The man currently inspecting your ankle spares the two of you a kindly glance. “Good for you two. You make a good looking couple.”

“But I swear I’ve seen you before,” the mother comments, squinting at Yoongi. “Where do I know you from…”

You can feel Yoongi tense up behind you, but he doesn’t say anything yet. Instead he takes to finding your hands (which you’ve slipped into your sweatshirt pocket to avoid accidentally punching the man poking and prodding at your foot), eventually curling his hands around yours and steadily unclenching your fists.

“Oh! I know it! Do you do commercials?”

Yoongi lets out an audible sigh of relief, which makes you smile for half a second before a particularly hard prod at your ankle sends you into a tailspin.

“Yeah, I’ve done a few commercials.”

“I knew it. How’s it looking, honey?”

Her husband sits back on his heels, giving you a nod. “Nothing appears to be broken, you just twisted it pretty good. Babe, grab that icepack out of the cooler. You should keep ice on it for a while to counter the swelling.”

A second later you’re handing a little bag of ice. “I don’t wanna take your ice,” you comment lamely. Yoongi chuckles in your ear, pulling back from you and standing.

“It’s just a disposable pack we used for the cooler,” the mother explains, waving off your concern. “No need to worry. We’ve got plenty more. Now, go enjoy your date!”

“Yeah, try your best to have fun. And keep ice on that, on and off for the next couple of days. It shouldn’t give you too much trouble after that.” With a wink toward Yoongi, your temporary nurse gives him a little nudge. “You seem like a good man. I think you’re in good hands here, miss.”

Young-mi bids you a mournful goodbye as you limp away with Yoongi, quickly coming to find that sand isn’t the kindest to people hopping around on one leg. You’ve made it all of four hops while clinging to Yoongi before he stops.

“Hop on my back,” he commands, stepping directly in front of you.

You blanch. “But Yoongi…your shoulder.”

“It’s fine. Just hop on. You don’t need to limp all the way back to where we’re sitting.” When you hesitate another moment, he looks back at you over his shoulder, his dark eyes sparking in the sunset. “Jagiya.”

Well, the man puts up a convincing argument.

Yoongi crouches down so you don’t have to jump, and with a bit of careful maneuvering you manage to hop onto his back. His hands grip your thighs, hoisting you up a bit higher which makes you gasp a little. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, careful to avoid putting too much pressure on shoulder.

Setting off toward your abandoned blanket and food, you can’t help but feel a rise of disappointment in your chest.

“Yoongi?” You mumble, almost sounding like an embarrassed child.

“Hmm?”

Hiding your face in the back of his neck, you groan. “I’m sorry.”

Yoongi’s steps falter before he continues on, confusion evident in his tone. “Sorry? For what?”

The calm that you felt earlier has completely shattered at this point, and you grit your teeth against the pain in your ankle and the onslaught of emotions that surface. What happened to picture perfect? Why couldn’t you focus?

Other than sitting in the car together, you feel as though you’ve hardly touched base with Yoongi. You haven’t seen the man in nearly two months, and yet here you are distracted as ever. Distracted with your dumb broke clock, distracted with the audiobook, distracted with a kite.

Yoongi stops in his tracks as he feels hot tears against his neck. “Jagiya?”

“I- I’m so sorry, Yoongi,” you blubber. “I’m an idiot! I c-can’t focus on anything tonight and…and now I’ve made everything fall apart by going and getting h-hurt…Yoongi, it hurts so bad. A-and now I’m complaining, which is making everything worse!”

You’re surprised when Yoongi doesn’t say a single thing, instead picking up where he left off as he trudges on toward the blanket. In response to his silence, you continue in your repentant monologue.

“And you waited in line to get us fooood,” you bite down on your lip as you fight the urge to wail. “It’s probably c-cold now, and you waited for s-so long to get it…I feel like such a bad person…if you don’t wanna continue the date, I u-understand. I promise I won’t tell anyone if you want! J-just, I’m so sorry, Yoongi. I’ve completely ruined this, and you drove t-two hours to get me here….” You’ve reached the blanket now, Yoongi gently sets you down, and you hobble on one foot as you half-expect him to grab his keys and set off toward the car. “I just can’t think straight because I read that stupid pact and-”

“Woah, back up.”

Swiveling around to face you, Yoongi has a frown etched into his face. It makes you want to turn and run, to crawl into a cave to die from embarrassment, but it’s the fact that you can barely manage to stand on one foot at the moment – let alone run – that has you standing still.

“You read the pact?” You blink, hopping a little. When Yoongi sees your struggle he reaches out to you, steadying you. “Here, let’s sit.”

“W-we’re staying?”

Yoongi gazes down at you, the look in his eyes turning unspeakable soft. “Yes, jagiya. Unless you aren’t feeling up to it anymore?” He looks as though the thought of leaving now pains him, but he waits patiently for your answer.

“I wanna stay.”

“Good. Now, what’s this about you reading the pact?”

Having successfully turned into a sniffling mess, you wipe away your tears with an angry swipe. It’s time to come clean.

“I found a copy in Jin’s room-”

“What were you doing in Jin’s room?!” Yoongi whispers frantically, growing more concerned by the second. You wave him off.

“-and I took it! I knew I shouldn’t, but I just wanted to know, you know? So I stole it but that was stupid because then I saw that thing on the back…the little note.” Your words trail off, unable to even say the word lovewhen Yoongi’s looking at you like he’s unsure of whether he wants to laugh or cry.

“The little…note?”

“Yeah, you know…” You shake your head, moving on. “And since I saw that, I’ve been a mess. Like, an actual mess. I finally called Gina help just to get some help, I needed someone to talk to because you know, I can’t talk to you guys right now which is stupid. But I’m still so lost and I screwed everything up and my ankle hurts Min Yoongi!”

You’ve stunned yourself into silence with your outburst, Yoongi across from you looks a bit lost himself as he sits back on his heels. It’s clear the moment he comes to a realization.

“The note.”

It’s all you can do to breathe normally and not burst out into tears again. Yoongi’s expression turns mournful when he sees you.

“Oh, jagiya…” leaning forward, Yoongi somehow manages to pull you into his lap. Wrapping his arms around you and tucking your head close to his chest, Yoongi pulls you in as close as he can. He sways gently back and forth, a hand coming up to cup your cheek to make you look at him.

You do so begrudgingly, feeling like nothing more than a large child. However, the moment you meet his eyes, it hits you like a lightning strike.

“Do you remember,” he begins quietly, “that time when your final paper accidentally got deleted? All you had left to do on it was add the reference page. You were distraught, remember?”

Of course you do. It’s the stuff of nightmares. Countless hours spent laboring over a final essay for a class you loathed, only to make a stupid mistake and delete it all. All of it, all nineteen pages were gone in a blink. Your hard work along with it.

“I remember you called me, a sobbing mess. Obviously I thought you’d hurt yourself, the way you were crying about killed me.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, leaving you completely enraptured in his spell as he continues speaking. “I fought with Namjoon because I needed to go see you, but we had a schedule. It was an interview, I don’t even remember for what or with whom, but I was so angry. I seriously thought I was gonna punch him. Then I remembered he goes to the gym a lot more than me, so I didn’t.”

He manages to make you crack a small grin at that. The sight spurs him on. “But I’ll never forget the sight I saw when I finally made it out to your house later that night. It was like what, two in the morning? No one knew I was even going over, which obviously I did on purpose. I didn’t want to get into another argument. When I walked in your apartment, you were sat at the kitchen table. Remember?”

The memory is vague, tinged with exhaustion and disappointment, but it’s there. You’d set up camp at your kitchen table all day, missing all other appointments just to try to rewrite your paper. You were half delirious at that point, staring at the screen seemed equal to burning at the stake.

“I’ve never seen you look more exhausted in my entire life,” Yoongi chuckles. “I remember I was ready to write the paper for you, I was so sad for you. But when I made it over there, I was floored to see that you’d already written it. Not only that, but you’d written twenty-seven pages. Twenty-seven! Who does that?!” He shakes his head at you, looking absolutely shocked.

“When I asked you why you would do that, you just shrugged and said, ‘why not reach for the stars?’ Then you submitted it, stood up, walked over to me and gave me a hug before going straight to bed. I was so shocked that I just stood there for ages, trying to fathom what had just happened.”

Yoongi sighs, glancing up at the night sky. You admire his jawline from this angle, nuzzling in a little closer to him for warmth. He notices that you didn’t bring your coat out with you, giving you a playful glare before gently rubbing his hands up and down your arms.

“Why did you tell me that?”

You can feel his shrug. “You are more capable, more special than you will ever know. I’ve always kept that in my heart, over the years. Why not reach for the stars? Jagiya…”

Yoongi shuffles a little bit before cupping your chin and pointing toward the horizon where the sun has slipped down. The night sky is becoming more visible by the second, a few stray stars winking down at you.

“Look.” He points at a certain spot in the sky just in time for you to see a streak of breathtaking light.

A falling star.

In the span of a few minutes, you’re completely speechless as the sky continues to darken and your eyes are glued heavenward. Gradually, more and more falling stars dart across the sky, taking your breath away. As they continue, you recall Young-mi’s words. The sky is coming to say hello.

Yoongi reaches for your hand, easily enveloping it while tracing the outline of your knuckles.

“You,” Yoongi breathes out, sending tingles down your spine. “Are the stars I’ve been reaching for ever since that night.”

Heart thundering against your ribs, you turn to look at him only to find his eyes also trained on the heavens. He speaks the words softly, almost to himself, but you still catch them.

“You’re a star, all the way up there…and I’m all the way down here. Maybe all I’m meant to do is admire you from afar. But for tonight, just for a moment, I’ll hold you.” His eyes slide down to meet yours, glinting with pure starlight. Cold and beautiful. Hurtling toward you, burning up in your atmosphere and leaving you wondering what would happen if you let him in.

If it would lead to utter destruction or the most beautiful thing you’ve ever witnessed.

All words have escaped you at this moment in time, but you don’t feel the need to scramble for some sort of a response. Instead you settle for snuggling in a bit closer, allowing Yoongi to hold you a bit tighter.

Tonight, he’ll hold you close to his chest while what will later be recorded as the most prominent meteor shower in recent history rains down above you. The dark night sky is set aflame with streaks of silver as falling stars graze the earth, sharing a sweet goodnight kiss as they hurtle through space. You marvel at the seemingly never-ending parade the night sky puts on, relishing the way Yoongi keeps your warm as he also marvels at the wonder above you.

There’s no words that are exchanged for the entirety of the meteor shower, the only form of communication found in the patterns Yoongi traces out against the back of your hand and the way he gazes down at you from time to time. As though making sure you’re really there.

It’s a long while before the meteor shower begins to fade, and it’s only when you hear Yoongi softly calling your name that you realized you’ve dozed off.

“It’s over, jagiya,” he coos, brushing hair away from your eyes. “Let’s get you to the car, then you can sleep the rest of the way home.”

Somehow you two manage to make it to the car, you yourself being much more coherent by then due to the sharp pains in your ankle. You realize that you two are some of the few people left at the beach, making you wonder when everyone else left.

Your eyes are half-closed when Yoongi begins to drive away, your hand finding his atop the console.

“You know you don’t need to worry about us, right?” Yoongi mumbles out, glancing over at you with a worried expression. “We’ll support whatever you decide to do. Remember what I said before? You’re the most capable person I know. You don’t need us, not really. Just…be happy.”

You mumble out something incoherent, not completely realizing that he’s referring to the aftermath of the pact until you’re already asleep.

The next thing you know, you’re parked in front of your apartment and Yoongi is grinning down at you from the passenger side door.

“C’mon,” he urges, helping you out of the car. “Careful with the ankle.”

“Mmm.”

It takes a bit of careful maneuvering to get up the stairs to your apartment, but you manage to make it. Leaning up against the door, you fumble for your keys.

Once you’ve found them, you hand them straight over to Yoongi. You’re far too tired to attempt unlocking your door at the moment. He laughs at your behavior, shooting you a proud gummy smile when he unlocks the door. You don’t even have to ask before he’s assisting you inside, helping you hobble to your room before turning to leave.

“Thank you, Yoongi. For everything.”

Yoongi smiles down at his shoes. “We’ll swing by tomorrow to check up on you if that’s ok?”

We.

Your stomach flips to remember that you’re over now with these dates. Now what-

“Or just shoot me a text? I know that might be awkward if we all show up…”

“Thank you. I’ll text you?” You sigh, running your hands over your face. “Yoongi, I…” You trail off, staring up at him from your bed as your mind and heart races. There’s just no words.

With a soft smile, he leans down and pecks your nose. The innocent gesture has your ears turning red, which widens his grin.

“I know.” He whispers back.

And then he’s gone.

And you’re left here, suddenly colder than ever.

main masterlist

the dates are DONE. please let me know your thoughts, I love hearing from you! Tomorrow I'll be opening up a poll for your top two dates, so stay tuned for that!

alsooo stay tuned this week because I may have a lil bonus chapter for you guys

taglist: @baepsaetay @dreamcatcherjiah @kookie-vuitton @thecaffeinatedscribbles @moon-write @fangirl125reader @heishichoulevi @knjkitten @sacha-cff @vik7797 @eusticenatalie @hesmyphenominiall @miriamxsworld @kayahay @secretlycrazyhummingbird @marianeamine @hqtetsurou @protontippens @beginwithamin @delacyrose224 @luvtaeha @fanfictionreader05 @mininimmy @dreadity @starlight-night0 @luzaroon @seaoffangirling @prachi05 @fangirl125reader @bluehairedotakugem @hunnibxbe @kayahay @fanfictionreader05 @seokjinmoonfics @littletinyhobi @honeyhalcyon @yoontaethings @herrmionejgranger @beepbeep11 @extraordinary_reads @vntwishlist @aussiebeachbabes @hitsussi @hannah2291 @alwaysasadaesthetic

#bts x reader #bts fluff #bts dating au #Yoongi x reader #bts ot7 x reader #bts friends to lovers au #yoongi friends to lovers au #bts as your best friends #bts imagines #bts fanfic #suga x y/n #yoongi x y/n #armywriterssupport

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buckstaposition · 3 years

Note

also...if you're taking prompts...how would you feel about writing even a little about marcus pike giving reader a massage and just generally being caring because you know how much I want you to write him and you also know how much I need that rn

okay, two days of ruminating and here’s what came of it. hope it lives up to expectation 🙏🥺:

Marcus Pike x (f!)xreader (f for mentions of wearing a bra, but that’s it), indulgent fluff, massage, cuddles, established relationship, Marcus Pike has husband material written all over him...hmm, what else? reference to not being a sprightly twenty-something anymore, but if you are presently a sprightly twenty-something you can still read this of course. in preparation for your future decrepitness or so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

words: 1101

“Uuuuuuuugh.”

Marcus poked his head out of the kitchen, brows raised in a sympathetic frown as he took in your brow-beaten form.

“You alright, honey?” Dammit, he looked too cute in his apron over rolled-up shirt sleeves. You were in no condition to truly appreciate the sight of your gorgeous boyfriend in all his domestic glory. You threw your keys in the dish by the coat rack and dropped your bag to the ground, managing an unconvincing thumbs-up with your other hand in lieu of words.

“That bad, huh?” You just nodded, wordlessly kicking off your shoes, then dragging your tired feet over to him and collapsing against his chest with another pained groan. You took a deep, fortifying breath from where you’d tucked your face into his neck.

“You smell nice.”

“Thanks.” He awkwardly wrapped his arms around you, being mindful of not getting any of the food on his hands onto your clothes.

“You always smell so nice.” A kiss pressed to your head elicits the first true smile of the day from you. “And you’re so good to me. What did I ever do to deserve you?”

You feel the low rumble of his little laugh more than hear it. You don’t want to move, because moving hurts. Some days you really hate not being twenty anymore. Mostly days like these when you come home tired and cranky, with the dull throb of a latent pressure headache between your temples, and small dumb things like moving your head wrong or sleeping funny result in your neck muscles locking up tighter than an activated safe room. You’d hoped it would dissipate over the course of the day, you even did some stretches, but to no avail.

“I gotta finish up dinner, my love. Why don’t you take a hot shower? It might make you feel a bit better.” He started swaying a bit on the spot with you, but you can tell he’s cautiously looking over his shoulder, probably making sure that whatever he has on the stove or in the oven isn’t starting to burn or boil over or anything. You make a displeased little sound, and then a pained one when you try to lift your arms to wind then around his waist.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Marcus started bodily shuffling the two of you along the hallway until you reached the bathroom door. He made to disentangle himself and you whined, burrowing closer. “Honey…”

You whined again and he sighed fondly. “Okay then. D’you just wanna sit while I finish up dinner?”

You nodded wordlessly. Marcus turned you both around and shuffled back towards the dining nook, settling you so you had a good view of the kitchen. You were miserable with pain and fatigue, but you appreciated that he never made you feel pathetic. With a kiss to the crown of your head, he left you to attend to dinner again.

You must have zoned out for a bit, because one moment you were watching Marcus cook – chopping, breading, stirring, frying, sautéing and so on – and the next a beautifully arranged plate was placed in front of you.

“Oh my god!” You exclaim. “Marcus this smells delicious!” Your answer is that pleased yet bashful little smile as he sits and motions for you to dig in, which you gladly do. How anyone could ever let this man go is beyond you.

Dinner enlivens you a bit. Admittedly a day of run-on meetings with only small breaks in between had left you ravenous. You can almost forget your aching back and tense muscles. Even go so far as to try and help Marcus with clearing the table afterwards.

“Honey, no.” He waved you off, but it’s mostly the intense pain when you try to lift your arms that makes you sink back into your chair. Not without a frown though.

“You already cooked!” You protested.

“Honey, it’s okay, really. You can clear out the dishwasher tomorrow if it makes you feel better.” Still pouting, you acquiesce. Marcus clears the table in record time and within minutes, you’re on your large, plush sofa, leaning back against Marcus who is warm and solid and comforting behind you.

You’re just about to doze off to the Golden Girls rerun on the TV when Marcus’ hands brush against your tender neck and you hiss.

“Christ, sweetheart, you’re tense enough to snap!”

“I almost did snap at Karen from accounting.”

“Very funny. Come sit up a bit yeah? Can you take your shirt off?”

“Oh, I’m suffering and you’re trying to get some action?” You sense his playful eyeroll even if you don’t see it. Nonetheless your hands start on the small buttons of your shirt. He helped you slide it off your arms, taking care to tuck the throw blanket up higher around you then moving to unclasp your bra. Once that too is discarded, he starts slowly, smoothing his warm fingers over the indentations left behind.

“Oooooh, I feel better already.” You sigh, only half in jest, and again he huffs out a short warm laugh, then presses a small kiss behind your ear. Your bliss lasts for about another half minute; when Marcus starts to dig his thumbs into the rigid tendons at the base of your neck you nearly sob. Marcus shushes you sweetly, humming a low ‘I know sweetheart, I’m sorry’ into the shell of your ear. To his credit, he is as gentle as he can be, but your muscles are so tight and coiled he does really have to dig in. But when he follows every forceful press with a soothing pass of his broad, warm hand over your skin, you can’t really object. Nor to the undeniable effect this treatment has. Already the tension lessens both in your muscles and your head, and with every minute you slip deeper into relaxation. Your eyes fall closed and the low noise of the TV faded into a mere background hum. You think you could fall sleep like this.

“Feeling better, my love?” Marcus passed one hand around to nudge gently against your collar bones, encouraging you to lean back against his chest. The small buttons of his dress shirt poke into your bare skin, but it’s a nuisance at best and you’re so woozy with relaxation now the sensation barely registers.

“Much.” You say. “Thank you, Marcus.”

You bend your head back against his shoulder, which you can now again do effortlessly, and kiss the corner of his smiling mouth while he tucks the throw blanket around your shoulders and wraps his arms around your middle.

- - - - -

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narcosmx · 4 years

Text

narcos mexico headcannon list: enemies to lover edition (pt.1)

a/n: cleaned out my classroom yesterday which means my summer break has offically starteD so lets cross our fingers that my motivtion matches the free time i now have

anyways here’s this little shindig for the following request... i just did two on this post because i wanted to put something out quickly

Hi may i request a“enemies to lover“ for boys.love your works ❤️😘

amado:

amado would be so fun to fuck with, you can’t tell me otherwise because no matter how much he claims to be done with you, he lives for the fucking chase

so that’s how i kind of imagine the enemy stuff starting not so much as enemies like you hate each other but goD YOU ANNOY THE SHIT OUT OF EACH OTHER

no matter where or what, you are there ready to roast amado’s ass

your daily goal is to have him groaning and running his hands down his face in frusturation and looking up at him with your big old giddy smile

so i was thinking, who would annoy amado the fucking most and fucking get this

being related to pablo fucking acosta because that is the same vibe he’d have with you

it’s the vibe of like getting on amado’s last fucking nerve and not giving a shit because you know he’ll be chasing after you the next day anyways

whether it be that you’re his daughter or his niece you can defintely tell you’re related to acosta

having that fiercly fucking independent streak, wild at heart with a truly i do what i fucking want attitude

which is even more fucking fun when amado needs your help finding your dad, fucking wrangling your dad in or when he’s put to task to make sure nothing happens to you

like acosta is going over to texas and you catch wind that he told amado to keep an eye on you your temper truly shines through

“estas en serio???? tienes el pinshi tontin como niñero?? ni madrES” and storming off

and acosta’s fucking amused like “chin.... pues suerte tontin” he says patting amado’s chest with a laugh knowing how firey you can get and leaving before you can come back to give him some more

you never make anything easy on amado not for a fucking second

intentionally doing the literal opposite of what he is asking you to do

like he’s like acosta left me in charge of you so please just fucking listen

laughing it up because you’re like are??? you fucking ??? joking??

nearly fucking begging you to just chill, take it easy at home where he knows you’re safe and what do you do :))) nothing amado says and going out to do whatever the hell you want

i laugh at the idea of amado rolling up to pablo’s ranch to check on you and he ask one of the guys where you are and they’re like oh she left like an hour ago

amado is out here looking into dead space as if he’s looking for a camera from the fucking office

massaging his temple and looking at the guy like are you stupid???? and the dudes like fuck you i’m not getting my balls blown off

amado’s out here ready to tug out his hair as he’s out looking for you and finding you at some bar or whatever

you’re dancing or taking down some shots and spot amado

groaning seeing him, storming up to him already yelling at him that he’s not going to take you home and you can do whatever you want

but honestly amado is just standing there with his hands up already surrending

“you win, sta bueno? i can’t control you so just let me stick around and keep an eye on you”

you have your mouth open already ready to yell a response but hearing him you like smile and kinda cock your head at him and are still a bit suspicious but like “hm okay”

and that’s kind of when your relationship starts to change; he got to you because he’s not trying to bend you into his expectations, he just realized it’s easier to let you have your fun and be there to supervise as opposed to making you go harder because it’s not allowed

realizing that amado is actually pretty cool and relatable; he’s sarcastic, teasing, chill and up to anything

ending up drinking and hanging out with amado for part if not most of the night

and that’s when teasing changes from wanting to make his life hard to like ?? wanting him to beg

that’s when the teasing of like “i know where my dad is :))))” starts and amado is like perfect, tell me where and you’re like :))))))) n ope :))))

because you love amado groaning and being like “por favor, no seas asi, hermosa”

you want him to butter you up, coo at you, grab at your hand and give you a little pout

this becomes a regular thing, amado knows he can come to you for favors he needs and it just grows from there to teasing about it to being like

:)))) and what’s in it for me :))))

and amado being like :))) lo que quiere la reina, tu nomas me digas :)))

and it started with him saying that with a small chuckle and moves to him saying it with a smirk to saying it in his like lust filled tone, hovering over you and backing you into a wall

it’s not like you can pinpoint exactly where each stage started and ended, it was something that kind of just evolved

wow and just going to making amado’s life a living hell to bringing him to his knees for you

benjamin

okay i don’t know why i am fucking digging these involved relationships where you are connected to them through someone you know but fuck it we keeping it up

get this being dina’s best fucking friend, being her main bitch; you’re over here hyping her shit up, encouraging her to make her moves and to go after these ideas she has

you are the opposite of benjamin when he’s like wtf stop trying to get into the business you are like ‘NO MI REINA TU VAS A SEGUIR Y YO TE AYUDO’

being constantly ready to fight benjamin, playfully putting your fists up to make dina laugh and being like ‘i’ll fight him right now, bring him on’

but you’re benjamin’s worst fucking nightmare because you’ll defend dina to the death when you go into protective best friend mode but benjamin feels he can’t say shit to you

benjamin wants to keep face; like present himself as like respectful and wouldn’t talk to you the same way he talks to dina

it’s not always yelling and popping off on benjamin, truly it probably rarely that really

it’s a lot of under your breath snarky comments that make dina and pancho snicker and benjamin like having to take this whole ass shaky breath to calm himself down and snapping at pacho and mon being like ‘wtf are you laughing at’

but what is always most effective with benjamin is like outsmarting him ??

like calling him out when he’s contradicting himself, when he’s not making sense, like out reasoning him

just calling out benjamin and he turns to give you this little glare and you just give him a smile and tilt your head letting him know you’re not going to

and benjamin being out here front as if he doesn’t low key get turned on seeing you get worked up but also seeing you show off your intelligence and the little smirk you get when you can see it on his face that he knows you have a poiint

idk i lowkey feel like he’d feed off having someone that can like push him a little intellectually and in his conservative ass beliefs

and i just benjamin developing his little fucking crush is something that makes me so fucking soft

ha ve this little thought of like benjamin asking about you but like trying to mask it in annoyance

like when he sees dina without you he’s like “that’s a fucking miracle, where is she? did she finally get tired of fighting me on everything”

but when you’re around he’s not as like vocal, goes back into his reserved state and kinda just rolls his eyes at you when you walk through the doors like you’re already part of the family

the way you know that benjamin is softening up on you and is showing these little hints of liking you is when he slowly starts to get out of his like stuffy, reserved mode

teasing you and at first you honestly just think he’s being an asshole but then you see him give you the softest ghost of a smile and you’re like oh shit he’s actually kidding

like you walking into the house and him rolling his eyes and being like “don’t you have your own place, i’m sure it misses you” and then gives you his faint little smile and chuckle before quickly looking away from you wow

shy boy benjamin has be feeling some sort of way

benjamin is out here beliving that he is hiding this shit so fucking well but dina notices immediately; she notices the small shifts in benjmain AND HER CROSSING HER EYES AND RAISING HER EYEBROW AT HIM LIKE HM INTERESTING

but like the little things, benjamin hanging around when you’re there as opposed to leaving right away like he did before, not responding when you have a point he just huffs and takes the loss

when he starts giving in to your comments when you’re calling him out that’s when all his other siblings are like THIS BITCH IS HEART EYES RN

THE NEV ER EVER EVER ENDING TEASING FROM ALL OF HIS SIBLINGS ESPECIALLY DINA

she’s like “oh la que no te gustaba” and the smirks she gets when all benjamin can do is tell them to shut the fuck up

and dina is out here like fuck yeah someone to put min in his place so she’s all for it and the fact that dina knows you better than you know yourself so she notices the little changes in you to

like the way you clap back at benjamin goes from like angry popping off to ending with a smirk and a shrug, or playfully getting all up in his face and poking his chest

I SCREAM DINA AND MON DEF SET YOU GUYS

like dina tricking you into going to dinner with her and mon getting min to go to set you guys up on your little dinner date where you both act annoyed as fuck but end up nearly leaning across the table to be as close to each other as you can

wow i love that idea so much, setting them up on a date where you’re both huffy with arms crossed until you are like FINE I GUESS NOW THAT WE”RE HERE to the two of you melting and holding hands across the table bYE

#narcos mexcio imagines #narcos mexico imagine #amado carrillo fuentes #amado carrillo fuentes x reader #benjamin arellano felix #benjamin arellano felix x reader #narcos mexico imagines

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sleepy-exe · 3 years

Text

Shapeshifter AU - 8

Iwaizumi x f!reader

<< Part 7 | Part 9 >>

Summary: After staying with Iwaizumi once again, Y/n let’s her guard down. She comes clean about being a shapeshifter to Iwaizumi. Not that she has a choice.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: angst if ya squint, there’s some arguing here but it's nothing awful, stress/minor panic

Genre: sfw (18+ regardless), shapeshifter au, strangers to lovers

a/n: I just know iwa is a softy that wouldn’t be able to stand seeing a girl cry. Also, there’s about a three week time skip between part 7 and part 8.

Part 8: Friend or Foe

Once again, Y/n had woken up on the sofa in Iwaizumi’s apartment, much to his dismay. He had offered again to swap places with her, but just as before she refused. Stirring as the sun began to shine through the living room window, she sat up and stretched with a soft yawn. Moving to her feet, blankets fell from her to the sofa revealing the oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder along with a pair of her own comfy shorts.

Like she had spent her first morning here, she watched the sun rise through the large window with the curtain pulled out of the way. She woke up much earlier than she had expected, earlier than her new friend, but at least she could see the beautiful colors of early morning.

After waking up more with the rays of heat shining on her face, she reached for her phone that was resting on the armchair she was standing next to. She caught the sound of steps coming from the hallway, eyes flickering to the sound as Iwaizumi entered the room. “Mm. G’morning, Iwaizumi.”

“Morning, Y/n,” he said, voice gruff from lack of use, walking through the living room.

Probably lingering on his frame a little longer than she should have, her eyes slid down his toned back and over the fit of his dark sweats as he made his way to the kitchen. Turning to face the window once more, she checked her messages.

>> From ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “You’re fox friend is going for a run during the day again.”

>> To ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “i take it as a fox”

>> To ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “is he at a park or something at least?”

>> From ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “Yeah”

>> From ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “I didn't think you’d actually be up this early.”

In her peripheral, she saw Iwaizumi had returned, taking a seat in the armchair. She looked away from her phone long enough to give him a friendly smile as he sipped at his glass of water.

>> To ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “glad to surprise you sometimes :)”

>> To ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “if he’s in the woods it's fine. wild foxes are around here unlike wolves. it's not that weird”

>> To ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “is it really that bothering you or did you just lose your human running buddy for this morning?”

>> From ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “Maybe”

>> From ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “If you’re up want to join me?”

“So what are your plans for today?” Iwaizumi pulls her from the text conversation.

“Well, I have work later, but I have tomorrow off so that’s nice. No plans yet though.” She watched as a couple of birds flew by the window.

“Aren’t office jobs usually nine to five?”

“Yeah.. I usually start late on days I work from home, then work until later in the evening. As long as early calls or online meetings don't prevent me from doing that anyway. I’m not much of a mornin’ person.”

He shot her a look of disbelief. He always woke up early, and yet here she was awake before he was, just like before.

She tilts her head in response. “So I guess nine to five.. or noon to eight-ish.”

He shook his head with a small grin.

Turning to walk around the coffee table and back to the sofa, she texted Sakusa back.

>> To ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “no thanks lol”

Not looking where she was going, she ran into the coffee table. Between the sound it made and knocking books and some papers off it, she jumped and let out a small yelp. Quickly, she muttered an apology and kneeled down to gather what fell. She could hear Iwaizumi take a few steps, likely to help her, but she had already grabbed the few items from the floor and sat them haphazardly on the short table and stood back up.

She heard something crash onto the floor, making her jump again and she turned toward the sound. She caught sight of a broken glass, Iwaizumi had dropped his empty water. Looking up to him, she was met with a shocked expression. Confused, she took a step forward to see what was going on, only to feel the fur of her tail brush against her leg.

Wait.

Shit.

Now she was the one looking like a deer caught in headlights. She stuttered trying to find words to - what - how could she save this situation? Best option seemed to be making sure he doesn’t run for the door or phone while her words fail her.

On rare occasions a sudden scare would bring forth a part of her wolf form, like maybe wolf ears that could pin down to hide in hair, or if she’s lucky under a hat or hood of her favorite pullover.

On even rarer occasions, a tail. Long and full of fur, reaching mid-calf.

Partial shifts weren’t unheard of amongst shifters, but it was generally done at will. How could she let her guard down and let this slip. This wasn’t ever in her plan.

What now?

But she heard him say under his breath, “It was you.”

Alarms went off in her head.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

Game over.

Y/n kept eyes locked on him, olive eyes staring back into hers. Heart racing, she wills away her unwelcomed tail and he seems to not have noticed it disappear. Not that it matters at this point.

She spoke low and unsurely, playing with her fingers, “Y-you, uh.. wanna talk?”

His eyes swept over her slowly, hovering momentarily where the now-gone tail was. “Uhm.. I think I need a minute.”

Quickly and gracefully, she moved between him and the front door to his apartment, but he headed the opposite direction, towards the hall to the bedroom. The sound of a door clicking shut followed shortly behind.

You know what.. Maybe some space is okay right now.

Y/n groaned to herself. What is she going to do about this? Quickly she dressed herself right there in the living room. Tossing his shirt over the arm of the sofa and grabbing her clothes from the bag she had dropped in the corner the night before, quickly throwing them on. Her boots were quick to get on and off so she left those alone for now. Slipping on her zip up hoodie, she checked the pockets to confirm her keys and wallet were still in it. She’s not planning to leave yet, but she’s ready if that turns out to be best.

>> To ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “how far are you from ikuno rn”

>> From ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “Ikuno?”

Softly, she pads down the hallway and waits by the bedroom door. Carefully listening, trying to confirm he’s in there and didn’t exit via window. Catching the sound of footsteps heading for the bedroom door, she quickly, though light and quiet, ran for the living room before he could open the door.

Standing in the living room, somewhat blocking the path to the front door, she looked about the room, too panicked to act natural. The bedroom door swings open and Iwaizumi makes his way to the living room. Choosing to avoid looking at him, Y/n stares out the large window she found herself to love watching the sunrise through.

Still listening to his steps, and now hearing the sofa, she knows he’s taken a seat. He’s running a hand over his face as she turns to face him. Heat flushed her cheeks and chest. Without making eye contact he spoke, voice laced with something akin to anger and disbelief, “I really thought I had to have hallucinated that night. That my eyes had tricked me or something..” He looks at her. “But no. So.. are you going to tell me I’m crazy, that I didn't just see that, or what?”

She spoke weakly, the word barely audible, “No.”

He stared at her for a moment then looked away and patted the spot next to him on the sofa. She quietly walked around the coffee table and the broken glass on the floor and sat down beside him. He only looked forward, not at her, a hand covering the lower half of his face as his elbow rested on his knee.

She exhaled softly. “No, you’re not crazy.” She folded her hands in her lap and looked down towards their feet. “You.. saw what you saw. Just now and back then.”

“Is that what you’re going to leave it at,” he paused for her to respond but she took too long. “Think maybe you should explain?”

She squeezed her hands together and brought her gaze to his hands, now hanging down as both elbows sat on his knees. “What do you want to know?” He shot her a look and she quickly added, “Exactly! I- Uh, don’t know where to start.”

He leaned back into the sofa, now glaring at her. “Maybe start with the wolf I saw in the woods that I swear somehow changed into you? And the.. tail?” He muttered something to himself before looking back at her with less distress on his face.

“Okay..” She looked him in the eyes. “I can’t explain how it works exactly, but yeah, I can switch between-,” she gestured to herself, “and the black wolf you saw that night.”

At this point he looked confused, which, fair. She continued, “Uh, and the tail was an accident. You scared me, er, maybe it was-“

He cut her off, “So you’re telling me this is just normal to you? Do- Can other people do this? Why can you-“ He sighed heavily. “No, I- Why did you talk to me in the first place? And I saw a wolf out there once before I saw you.. you know, switch back,” he waved a hand in her direction, “Were you following me for some reason?”

And now she sighed. “No. I wasn’t following you around. I’m not a stalker or anything. At the forest, both times we saw each other by accident. Obviously, I had gotten too careless..”

He stared her down, determined to figure things out. “But what about at the bar then? Did you only talk to me because I saw you.. as a wolf? Did you know I’d be there?”

She hesitated, which did less than pleased him. “No. I didn’t know you’d be there. We both just happened to be there.. and I took that chance to talk to you because I recognized you and.. I didn’t know if you actually saw me or not.” Her brows furrowed. “I was hopin’ you hadn't.”

They stared at each other for a moment. “So what now?” He moved to get more comfortable, breaking eye contact. Her heart raced even faster. “I know. You know that I know. What happens now?”

He turned back to her and was met with the sight of her holding one hand over her mouth and the other pressed to her chest, tears threatening to fall. His frown fell and his eyes widened at the sight.

She took a few deep breaths to calm herself and cleared her throat. “What will you do now?” She wiped her eyes with one hand while shifting in her seat, knee bumping his. “With this- With knowing.. That's why..”

She was scared. Just what she feared all along, that if he knew, what he would do. Would he get others involved and cause trouble for her and possibly other shifters in the area? She had other wolf and even fox shifters she cared about, though very few. She didn’t want them to pay for her carelessness, which is why she made a point to not mention these friends just in case. Would he try to hurt her? No, he didn’t seem the type now that she got to know him. Would she end up hurting him? She didn’t want to think of that as a possibility.

He placed a hand on her knee, making soothing circles with his thumb. “Why are you crying,” he spoke gently, “You’re fine.”

She looked up to him, one hand cradling the other against her chest. She spoke equally as soft, “I won’t hurt you.. You think I will, don’t you?”

He straightened at that.

“You won’t tell anyone?”

He shifted to face her more, removing the hand from her leg. “No.” He followed her gaze to find she was looking mindlessly towards the front door, then looked back to her. “I’m guessing people knowing is bad, right? I mean, they would freak out. Obviously. I’m sure with some people that.. could be a problem for you.”

She sniffled. “I do feel bad about not being upfront about it, but ya have to understand why. Right?” Tears welled up again but she fought them back. “I’m sorry to cause you trouble. I’ll leave ya alone. Okay? You don’t-“

He cut her off again, “I didn’t say anything about that.” He stood. “I’ll get you something to drink. Just stop crying.” And he left for the kitchen.

She wiped her eyes once more and took a few deep breaths before heading to the kitchen herself. He immediately turned to her as she walked up by the counter. He reached a glass of water out to her and she took it, idly sipping at it. Turning back to the counter, he rested both palms against it, eyes shifting deep in thought.

She drank half of her water before sitting it down and shoving her hands in the pockets of her hoodie, eyeing his arm closest to her. “So.. you’re not afraid of me?”

He scoffed. “No.”

She caught him rolling his eyes before he turned to put away some dishes that were left out, seemingly busying himself. Okay, so he was much bigger than her. And stronger. But the whole wolf thing had to be off putting. She murmured, “Okay then.”

“Yer the only one that knows..” She swiftly hopped up to sit on the countertop, legs dangling in front.

He lightly smacked the side of her thigh with the back of his hand before walking by to leave the kitchen. “No dogs on the counter.”

She gasped loudly, offended and shocked by the sudden comment. “What the hell! I’m not a dog!”

She slipped to her feet and took off to find him standing by the large window looking outside. She smacked his arm harder than the pat he had given her. He only eyed her as she plopped down on the armchair; he may have stifled a smile, but it was still visible in his eyes.

“So..” He glanced down at her, then went to get a broom for the broken glass that had been forgotten. “The tail thing was weird. That’s not going to be a regular thing is it?”

She rolled her eyes. “No. That was an accident. Doesn’t normally happen.”

He returned and tended to the pieces of glass on the floor. “Uh huh. And what about when that happens in public?”

She blushed in embarrassment. “That’s never happened! I just- Sometimes when I’m home alone I’ll,” she held her hands above her head to mimic wolf ears, “Y’know. It’s just like a relaxed thing, I guess. I don’t know. I don't think about it.” She smacked her head into her hands fully embarrassed now.

Amused by her reaction, he teased, “So you’re just that comfortable here, huh?” Mischief twinkled in his eyes as he went to dispose of the glass before returning to the sofa again. She stayed silent with her head still in her hands. He cocked an eyebrow at the lack of reaction, “Huh.”

She huffed in her hands, muffled, “Don’t ‘huh’ me.” She leaned back in the chair and peered over her shoulder and out the window.

He paused before deciding he may as well ask now, “Why were you a wolf, uh.. out there?”

She snorts at his words. “The forest over there, people don’t go there typically at night. It's nice for running with minimal worry of someone seeing me.”

“Except the times I saw you,” he said dryly.

Her lips pursed. “That was my bad. I got too close to the edge of the tree line.”

He looked at her, now more curious than anything. “Okay, but why run there? As a wolf, I guess.”

She looked back at him. “We all need exercise. Same goes for- me. Using that form keeps it feeling natural. Plus, I enjoy it.”

He nodded in response. “So do you like,” feigning seriousness, “Eat animals, and people, out there?”

She groaned. “Wolves, the animals and shifters, don’t eat humans. And I prefer my meals cooked.” She smirked at him, but then a thump from the neighbors temporarily caught her attention.

“Shifters? Plural?” His brows furrowed.

Shit.

“I mean, do you think I’m the only one who can do that?” She added a playfulness to her tone hoping to throw him off. It’s probably best not to dump everything on him today anyway.

He squinted at her. “I guess.”

“I left my water in the kitchen.” She rushed off and he sighed.

Part 9 >>

#shapeshifter au #haikyuu!shapeshifter #shapeshifter #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi fanfic #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu fanfic #wolf shifter

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mrsbhandari · 4 years

Text

Shutter - pt 6

a/n: THIS SHIT TOOK SO DAMN LONG AND IM SORRY ive just been dealing with people moving and going out to do stuff and having little motivation to actually write so im VERY sorry that this took years. also, this chapter is way more nsfw than my other chaps so it is of course inspired by @lxdy-starfury‘s absolutely BEAUTIFUL nsfw art so plsssssss check that out because she’s incredible. also this is the last part of this main series, who knows, if people ask or I feel like it ill write more in this au for this pairing. well see!! for now im happy to completely finish it

also I know that my masterlist is fucky rn, im looking for the time to fix it, so if you want to see a specific fic or even all my fics for a specific pairing or book, don’t hesitate to message me or send me an ask!! im happy to point yall in the right direction, and when its not a request, I usually get to asks pretty quickly so yeah!!

words: 3.7k

warnings: unwanted advances, nsfw at the endddd

tagging: @lxdy-starfury, @huntress1024, @anotherbeingsworld, @brightpinkpeppercorn, @chaotic-ramsay-queen, @brycemaloliver

Tyril was letting his PhD go to waste. He was letting it all go to waste because his brain was pouring out of his ears as his eyes took in the purely magnificent sight of Naexi in that skin tight purple dress, hugging every curve just right and accentuating her breasts with a low V neckline. The way the fabric moved with her every step was captivating, drawing his attention to every little piece of her body, tantalizingly revealed and taunting him.

“You’re going to catch flies, Tyril.” She was fumbling with her clutch, checking to make sure that her phone fit inside and then turning around to grab something else. This new angle gave him a perfect view of her backside, filling out the dress as if it was made for her. In all honesty, his sharp tuxedo had caught her eye as well, but the large field of crimson spread across his cheeks and nose was a reminder of how much better she was at holding her feelings about Tyril in. Tyril, however, could barely keep his hands to himself in her room, in the living room, in the kitchen, and on the drive over to the gala.

“Of course you own a stupidly expensive car.” Naexi ran her hands over the smooth leather seats and the crisp finish of the wood on the dashboard. The car was clean, making her feel like if she continued to touch anything, her fingerprints would forever ruin the surfaces.

“It’s a nice car.” His hand was on her thigh, covered by the fabric of the dress but no doubt covered in faded love bites meticulously placed by Tyril. She only hummed her response, briefly distracted by the way his thumb was rubbing circles on her inner thigh, spindly fingers inching toward her core as if it was magnetized. His inability to draw his hand away suggested that he was most definitely not thinking about the car. She only hummed, insistent on keeping any gratification he was giving her to herself; it only encouraged him to drag his fingers over the apex of her thighs, her core only separated from his fingertips by two flimsy pieces of fabric.

“You better not crash it,” she teased, still stoic. Quickly, Tyril figured out that continuing his current path was only going to hurt him in the long run, so he ran a finger back down to her knee as they arrived at the large hall his father had booked for the gala. He knew that this night was already going to be one of schmoozing and torture, but he still barely looked forward to it since he knew Naexi would be at his side.

“Hey, elf boy!” a voice called to his left as he gave his keys to the valet with a hefty tip. Naexi turned and was met with a man a few inches shorter than her with wavy brown hair and a smile that betrayed that he was up to no good.

“I told you not to call me that, you rogue,” Tyril grumbled, begrudgingly clasping hands with the man and patting his back as he was pulled into a hug.

“You can’t just say that people think you’re an elf in an interview and then expect not to be called elf boy,” he reasoned, sending a wink Naexi’s way. “I’m Mal Volari, and you’re gorgeous.” He gently took her hand in his and pressed his lips to the back of it, never breaking eye contact.

“Mal…” Tyril cautioned, palm spreading protectively over his girlfriend’s side.

“Don’t worry, Ty.” She tamely ran her fingers through the hair that fell so gracefully over his ears, hiding the blush that had started to touch the barely pointed tops of them. Mal smiled knowingly. “I’m Naexi, Tyril’s date.”

“I’ve heard much about you.” They began walking into the gala, all gold finishing and sparkling diamonds adorning the necks and hands of New York’s elite, and Naexi couldn’t help but feel completely out of place. Mal rambled on at her side, so she took advantage of his distraction to whisper to Tyril, who already looked bored.

“This is weird.”

“Indeed,” he murmured, his deep baritone accompanying the words quite nicely. Already, people were beginning to stare as they made the rounds, hopping from rich group to rich group. Mal had abandoned them to camp at the open bar.

“Why do people look at me like that?”

“I apologize, it’s my fault. I’ve not had a date to one of these things in quite some time.” They had sat at one of the tables, a glass of champagne in each of their hands as they took a break from socializing.

“Ah, yes; the elusive bachelor Tyril Starfury.” She threw her hand out in the air to indicate a headline. He smiled.

“I don’t know how I ever got through one of these things without you.”

“Mal never helped? Or Imtura?”

“Imtura always takes her job as security seriously and Mal enjoys the expensive champagne my father orders.” Tyril nodded his head at where his friend was gesturing wildly, no doubt telling a story of his travels to a handsome man with a starry look in his eyes. “As well as the company these events attract.”

“Will I get to meet your father?” The question threw Tyril off his balance, but he quickly recovered.

“Well, he usually finds me along with my sister so--”

“Big brother!” Two pale arms wrapped around Tyril’s shoulders and squeezed, holding him close. His eyes lit up as the woman behind him kissed his cheek. “Staying as asocial as always, I see.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Not for your company, no.” The woman’s eyes flicked to Naexi’s, as piercing as her brother’s but leagues warmer. “You’re Naexi? I’ve seen your work. You’re very good.”

She smiled as she responded. “Really? That means so much, thank you. You must be Adrina.” She stuck her hand out, but exclaimed a small “oh!” when Adrina pulled her up from the chair to give her a hug.

“Everyone’s here for my father, so I’m allowed to break stuffy old etiquette.” Her laugh was light and airy, like a sweet breeze on a summer day. A man with Tyril’s pale skin and dark hair appeared behind her, posture straight and face neutral. Tyril stood quickly, taking his place in front of his father and next to Naexi.

“Hello, Father.”

“Tyril! I’m glad to see that you found a date in time.” His tone was one of pride that barely hid the small element of surprise.

“Yes, this is Naexi.” The feeling of Tyril’s warm grip on her waist was already enough to make her knees buckle, but she forced herself to stay upright to shake his father’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you. Your gala is truly beautiful.”

“What else do we ever expect from the famed Valir Starfury?” a smooth voice sounded from her right, and her head quickly swiveled to see who it belonged to. The man’s smile was friendly and inviting, but upon closer inspection, the feeling never reached his eyes. His mop of curly hair was perfectly styled to make him look boyish, but with the way Tyril’s grip tightened ever-so-slightly, Naexi knew something was off.

“Aerin.”

“Tyril, is that how you greet an old friend?” Aerin laughed, sloshing his champagne in its glass. He turned a predatory gaze on her. “It’s been a while since you’ve had a date, Ty.” The man next to her stood completely still, his eyes narrowed. “Who was the last...Kaya?”

“And your point?” Tyril’s response was sharp enough to make Adrina take the smallest step toward him. Aerin continued to stare at Naexi while addressing Tyril.

“You sure know how to pick them, hm? You have a keen eye for beauty.” Aerin winked, but it made Naexi’s heart flutter and skin crawl. She shifted in her heels, ignoring the pain in her feet. There was palpable tension in the air between the five of them, suffocating and humid. Naexi racked her brain to find some way to cut it.

“I have to use the restroom.” The statement came off far louder than she intended, but it still did the trick. Aerin blinked, taken aback by her exclamation, and Adrina surged forward to take hold of her wrist, pulling her away from her brother and through the crowd of high rollers.

“I’ll take you!” Adrina said, hoping that the men would get the hint. As soon as they were out of earshot, she let out a sigh. “Thank goodness you got us out of that one. I’ve never been more grateful for girl code.”

“Who was that? He was charming but…”

“Sleazy? Yeah, you’re not the only one. That’s Aerin Valleros, heir to WhiteTower Corporations. He acts like he’s the best thing since sliced bread, but he’s been in more scandals than I can count.” Adrina visibly shuddered. “He’s creepy.”

“Didn’t he assault his brother or something?” Naexi asked, remembering the name popping up in one of the numerous headlines Nia sent her a while back.

“Yup, they fought over who was going to take over the company. Beat him so bad that his brother stepped down.”

“Holy shit.” They had reached a wall next to the opening for the bathroom, so they stood outside and leaned against it to talk. “Everyone here is insane.”

“Yeah, I feel kind of bad for leaving Tyril with him.”

“What’s their beef?” Adrina sent a wide-eyed glance to Naexi.

“People really say that?” She let out a delighted laugh. “I love that! Anyway, Tyril used to be engaged to this girl Kaya, but she cheated on him with Aerin and they planned to take over the Starfury company together.” She grabbed a glass of champagne off a passing tray and took a long sip. “But then her assistant leaked information to the press and she disappeared.”

“Do you guys live in a Lifetime movie?”

“Pretty much,” Adrina sighed, seemingly searching for someone in the crowd in front of them.

“Did you come here with a date?” Adrina hummed her answer and Naexi gently nudged her bare arm. “Go find them. I’ll be fine here.”

“You sure?”

“Go on!” Naexi waved her hands to shoo her off and leaned back against the wall to sip her champagne. Just as she was about to go find Tyril, a sultry voice and a large hand on her forearm held her in place.

“Hello.” Aerin was polite, but kept his hand on her. She felt goosebumps rise along the back of her neck and Adrina’s explanation of who he was repeated in her mind.

“Hi.”

“I apologize for the uncomfortable situation earlier. I’m afraid Tyril and I aren’t on the best of terms.” He seemed genuinely concerned, and for the briefest second, Naexi felt her guard fall.

“Should I be the one you’re apologizing to?” Her champagne barely stayed in her glass as he slammed his hand onto the wall behind her, bringing his face close to hers and smirking when she backed up to the hard surface. No one around her seemed to notice.

“You’re quick. It’s attractive. Do you think I’m attractive?”

“Trapping a woman because you can’t get her to come to you isn’t attractive,” Naexi drawled, keeping her gaze locked on his. He was simmering and dangerous; one wrong move could make him boil over, but she figured that he had more to lose than a random photographer here as a plus-one.

“What does Tyril have that I don’t?” At this, his breath cascaded over her face, and she didn’t know what he had been drinking all night, but it certainly wasn’t the expensive, barely alcoholic bubbles that were being passed around.

“Better alcohol tolerance, for one.” She winced as he laughed.

“Funny.”

“It wasn’t a joke.” Before she could speak again, Aerin gave a yelp as his tuxedo was yanked back, making him stumble into Tyril, who caught him easily.

“It’s time for you to leave, Aerin.” People were finally beginning to stare as Tyril walked Aerin out, who was mumbling about his kingdom. Naexi followed, easily hailing a taxi and pushing the drunk man into the back seat with a purposeful shove. The night was cold, and she turned to walk back inside when she felt a tug on her wrist. Looking back, she saw Tyril with his cold, slender fingers against her skin. “I don’t want to go back in.”

“Wanna head to your place?”

“Desperately,” he breathed, pulling her close to him and handing his ticket and a tip to the valet. His hand was wrapped around her waist exactly how it had been for the entire night, but this time felt different. His hands were always cold, but his touch was burning with a promise, which he kept as soon as they shut the door to his apartment.

His kisses were always encompassing, as if he captured every atom of her being between the seam of his lips, his teeth grazing every thought in her mind and his fingers brushing her soul. His movements were deliberate as he walked her backwards to his bedroom, slipping her dress off and letting it pool on the floor next to the sleek coffee table. She was more hurried, eagerly tugging his jacket off and tossing it in the hallway. Finally, they reached his room, vast and cold but slowly thawing. A well-placed kiss to his now-exposed collarbone had him gasping.

“Please…” he breathed, falling back onto the bed by himself as she stayed standing above him. She looked down on him, studying the way his chest rose and fell so quickly and the way his lips were ever-so-slightly parted, caught in the guarantee of pleasure that was soon to come. He gazed at her as if she was the only person left for him in the world.

He made her believe it.

“Tell me what you want, Tyril.” His words seemed to get caught in his throat as she, bare and only clad in a thin pair of black panties, got onto her knees on the bed and straddled him, already moving to unbutton his fancy shirt and pants. She could feel him hardening beneath her and gave an experimental grind, pulling out a low moan from his chest. His hands were loosely placed on her hips, but they traveled down to stroke her thighs.

“Please,” he repeated, sitting up to shrug off his shirt and unintentionally hitting his forehead on her collarbone.

“What, baby?” she asked, picking his head up and tilting his face to look up at her above him. His eyes were nearly shut and his lips were swollen, and she gave him a small simper. “Use your words.”

“I…” he trailed off, struggling to voice it. “I want you to suck my cock, Naexi.” She pressed a kiss to his lips and climbed off him, pulling him up to stand and kneeling in front of him. His hands immediately found her hair, tangling in the long locks as she pulled his pants down and fished his cock out of his fancy boxers. He opened his mouth to say something, but all thought left his mind as she wrapped her lips around his head and sucked, flicking her tongue around the tip. “Ah!” he yelped, eyes rolling back as his hand tightened in her hair. She briefly took her mouth away and settled for just her lips against him, and he whined in displeasure. “P-please--ooh--don’t tease me…” She took him in deeper until he teased the back of her throat, and he risked a glance down at her.

Naexi was looking directly into his eyes, studying his reaction and flicking her tongue accordingly. The sight of her green eyes brimming with tears as she took him was nearly enough to make him come, and she sensed it in the slight scratch of his fingernails against her scalp.

“You take my cock so well, Naexi,” he breathed, and she moaned around him. Letting out a shaky breath, he tapped once against her head. “I’m so close.” Instead of pulling away, she pushed his cock further down her throat and ran her tongue along a prominent vein along the underside of his shaft, pushing him over the edge. He let out a long groan as she swallowed him down, running her hands up and down his sides to both soothe him and keep him from stumbling. She stood and gave him a bright smile, raising herself to her tiptoes (even though she didn’t need to) and pressing her lips to his. He eagerly returned the favor, pulling away only to allow his lips to burn a path down her throat. He reached her collarbone, but stopped suddenly with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Everything okay?” Naexi asked, searching his face in concern.

“You--” Tyril started, but stopped, pursing his lips in disapproval. “You smell like him.”

“Aerin?” Her head was cocked, but her eyes widened when his own darkened.

His voice was low and made her heart race. “Don’t say his name.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, casting her eyes downward and fiddling with her hands. Sighing, he nuzzled the crook of her neck, placing kisses and small bites on the flesh he found there.

“No, it’s my fault. I should’ve been more careful with him. He sees a beautiful woman and loses all ability to think.” His hands flew to her hips to pull her closer to him when she gasped at his teeth on her skin. “The fact that you’re mine only made him crazier.”

“Yours?” She reached under his chin to bring his face up to hers, glancing down at his lips and then back up at his eyes.

“I’m--I meant you were my date, not mine, you’re not property--I just meant--” he stammered, taking a step back before realizing that the bed was close behind him. He lost his balance, falling back against the bed with a loud cry and frowning when Naexi snorted, barely containing her laughter at him. Instead of tugging him back up, she climbed on top of him again, letting her hair fall into his face as she looked down at how pretty his own locks were splayed out against the bed.

“Don’t worry, Ty, I like it.”

“You do?”

“I like being yours…” She pressed a kiss to the right side of his neck. “...and only yours…” She switched to his left. “No one else’s.” She placed a final kiss to his lips, one that he prolonged as he followed her when she tried to break it. “So greedy.”

“I can’t help it,” he breathed, giving a small squeeze to her hips. “I hated watching him put his hands on you.”

“Then how about you put your hands on me?” He smirked as she yelped at his quick movement to flip them over, pinning her to the bed by her wrists. Tyril immediately released her and ran his fingertips down her arms and stopped at her breasts, electing to switch to his mouth. With his left hand, he kneaded her flesh in his palm and took her right nipple in between his lips, flicking his tongue to mirror her movements from when she deepthroated him. His right hand continued downward until his index finger was circling her clit and entering her easily with the help of her own arousal. “Yes!” she gasped, back arching to push her body even closer to his. His finger pumped in and out of her, curling every so often and making him smile as she moaned louder and louder the closer she got to climax. He rushed the process by adding his middle finger and curling, hitting her sweet spot inside while rubbing her clit with his thumb.

“Come on, Naexi, let go for me.” She responded with a wail as she came, hands clutching the sheets and legs shaking. He continued to move his fingers even after she recovered, but leaned down to whisper softly in her ear.

“Would you like more?”

“Fuck, Tyril, yes. Just fuck me,” she begged, eyes barely able to stay open to look at his grin. He raised to his knees on the bed and looked down at her for a brief moment before entering her, admiring the way her skin shone with sweat and the way her flesh was blemished with the marks he had placed there. Naexi, in all her glory, was his.

“All mine,” he whispered before thrusting and gasping at how perfectly her heat enveloped him. He buried himself inside her, allowing her a few seconds to get used to his size. Finally, the legs she instinctively wrapped around him squeezed his waist, getting him to pull out of her again before slamming back in with a loud moan.

“Tyril!” she screamed, thankful for the lack of neighbors in his penthouse apartment. “Faster, please!” she pleaded, green locking with blue as she met him thrust for thrust, clenching around his cock and grabbing the wrists that connected to the hands clutching her waist. He picked up his pace, moaning all the while, and felt his stomach already coiling, a tell-tale sign of how close he was. She let out a small cry as he hit her sensitive spot and brought his thumb down to rub around her clit, unexpectedly throwing her over the edge. “Don’t stop, Tyril!” He heeded her instruction, and at the feeling of her juices coating his cock, followed her to his own peak, releasing himself inside her. Her eyes blinked slowly, as if finally coming back to her senses minutes after he pulled out and retrieved a warm washcloth to clean her up. Sitting up, she followed him to the bathroom, rubbing at his shoulders as he began to draw a bath.

“Did you...enjoy the gala?” he asked awkwardly, frowning when she laughed.

“After that mind-blowing sex, that’s what you’re going to say.” She poked his cheek and then kissed the small, red spot. “You’re too adorable.”

“...It was mind-blowing?”

“You’re turning into Mal.” His eyes bulged and he exaggerated a shudder.

“Oh no.”

“But yes, it was mind-blowing.” Her lips found his easily, but she pulled away again when she felt a smile against them. “What are you smiling at?”

“I’m just happy that now I can have mind-blowing sex with you all the time now.”

“How romantic.”

#choices tyril #tyril starfury #tyril #tyril x mc #choices #blades of light and shadow #choices blades #blades au #blades #n*fw #fanfic

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bedbellyandbeyond · 4 years

Photo

Preparation

“I… I don't think I’m ready,” Nathan said, shakily. “It's too soon, isn't it?” “No, the dragon knows best,” Nari assured. “It's really no big deal. You're so lucky too, with these new surgeries and things. You won't know the pain of true birth. Be glad you don't have a vagina.” It was the Saturday before Nathan's scheduled caesarean. Aoife had come to his room the day before like Syd had promised and went over planning with him. The problem was he didn't know what he wanted for the C-section. He didn't know if he wanted to be awake or not. He didn’t know if he wanted music to play or if he wanted to be the first sound his babies heard. Most of all, he didn’t know who he wanted to be there with him.

“I don't want to be alone,” Nathan said. “…Do you want to be there?” “Uh…” Nari paused. “To be honest… Just have Dax there. I'm sure he'll love it.” “I don't know, don't you think that's too much too fast?” Nathan asked. “We only just…like… We don't even know what we are yet.” “You spend too much time on these little things. Your life is too short to worry about that,” Nari explained. “Just tell him to be there and he will be there. You know you want him to be there, so tell him to be there.” “But it's Monday. He'll have class on Monday,” Nathan said. Nari was getting ticked. “I have class on Monday but you asked me.” “Yeah…” “Hang up and call him.” “Okay, okay. Thanks, Nari.” “I'm hanging up.” “Okay, bye.” Nathan heard the tone and hung up his phone. He sighed and tried to gather himself to call Dax but he was a little too anxious about it and decided to just text him. ‘Hey. Are you free to talk?’ He figured it gave him time before Dax would respond, so he started looking over some of the notes he took when Aoife talked to him. If he chose to stay awake, he had the option to pick music to play. He wondered if he wanted that. But then that meant he'd need to pick a play list and he couldn't figure out if he would be expected to pick music he liked or maybe classical music for the babies, or what and he figured it was too much to decide on. No music probably. His phone buzzed. ‘For sure. Did you want me to come over?’ Nathan's heart fluttered a bit thinking about it, but it wasn't what he expected. ‘I meant more for like a phone call.’ The next reply came shortly after. ‘Well are you busy right now?’ Nathan licked his lip in thought before answering. ‘Not really.’ ‘Then can I come by? I want to give you something anyway.’ Nathan was nervous to see Dax again so soon. Sure, they'd kissed, but after that, Nathan had been really embarrassed and asked for time to think. But he didn’t really have a good reason for Dax not to come over. He might as well. ‘Okay, sure. If you don't mind.’ 'Great! I'm out with the car so I can be there in 15’ ‘Are you driving rn?’ ‘Nono I’m in a store, no worries’ ‘OK Cool. See you soon.’ It took Dax little more than ten minutes to get there. By then, Nathan had just managed to make tea for them both, but he was still very nervous. “Allo, comment ça va?” Dax greeted when he got there. He had with him a small gift wrapped present. Nathan rubbed his neck. “You didn’t have to get me anything…” “It's not a big deal. Easy to make,” Dax said. Nathan took the gift and opened it. Inside was USB key. “A flashcard?” “Yes. On it are some lullabies and music I got from my tribe,” Dax said. “Since I didn’t get the chance to grow up around that side of my family, I used some of this music to get to know them a little better. There's some Quebecois music as well.” Nathan smiled and held the key in his hand. “…That's actually really sweet. Thank you Dax.” “So you like it?” “Yeah, of course.” “Aw, great, cause I lied. It wasn't that easy to put together,” Dax admitted. “I had it all on CDs so I had to rip them, but my computer doesn't have a disc drive so I had to use Nari's, and—” “Dax, I'm having my c-section on Monday,” Nathan said. Dax blinked. “Monday? This Monday? I thought—” “The doc says the wolf is ready to give birth any day now so they moved it up,” Nathan explained. “But I don't think I'm ready…” Dax took Nathan's shoulder. “You are ready. It's going to go well. The twins will be here. It'll be…” Dax looked at his phone. “December 7th. That's not a terrible birthday. It's further away from Christmas than it would've been. If you celebrate it.” Nathan nodded slowly but didn’t say anything. He felt like he was going to cry, but he was trying very hard to hold it in. Dax tilted his head and looked into Nathan's face. “…This might be a bit bold… but, would you want me to be there?” Nathan nodded again, quicker. “Yes… Please, if you can.” “Yes, of course I can.” Dax kissed Nathan's forehead. “Don't worry. I'll call the principal today.” “Thank you…” Nathan hugged him. “Nari said I should ask you, but I didn't think you could…” “Non, don't worry. I'll be there,” Dax said, holding him and rubbing his back. “Just tell me what you need me to do.” “I'm really scared. I don't think I want to be awake, but I also don't want the twins to be alone when they're born,” Nathan said. “If anything goes wrong, even if it's small, I want you to be there with them.” “I will,” Dax assured him. “You don't need to worry.” “What worries me though is that the doc said the wolf’s ready, so what if she goes into labour before Monday?” Nathan said. “It’s Syd who talked to you, right?” Dax said soliciting a nod from Nathan. “I have a feeling you can trust their timing.” “But still, no one knows enough about this,” Nathan said. “Nari seems to be the only one who knows the most about my condition, but even he doesn’t know anything about werewolf children or births or anything.” “You’re here though, aren’t you?” Dax said. “If anything happens, there’s guards here all night. They’d alert the medical ward.” “You’re right, you’re right…” Nathan ground his teeth nervously. “If you really want…” Dax offered. “I could stay overnight…” Nathan jerked his head up. “Overnight?” “I’m not suggesting anything, you know, indecent,” Dax said. “But remember, you stayed in my apartment that night. I can handle it.” “No, Dax, that was different,” Nathan said, pulling out of the hug. “I was injured. The wolf is calmer when she’s injured. You wouldn’t be safe.” “I don’t think that’s true,” Dax said. “You’re very gentle and so is the wolf.” “I’m not risking it,” Nathan said. “The whole reason I’m here in the first place is because I hurt someone I cared about. I don’t want to ever do that again.” “Is the doctor here today?” “Yes, but—” “Then I will ask them. I bet you it’s very safe,” Dax insisted. “I’ll be right back.” “There’s no point. I’m not putting you in harm’s way.” “You want me to be there, though, don’t you?” Dax asked, heading to the door. “There’s no harm in asking.” Nathan rubbed his arm. “Dax, please…” “I’ll be right back.” Dax left. Nathan frowned and sat back down on his bed. He still had the USB key in his hand so he pulled out his laptop and plugged it in. He needed to calm down and what better for that then music? The first track on the list was a song with slow heart like drumbeats and a throaty voice. Nathan figured it was the Ojibwe music Dax was talking about. It was rather soothing. The next few songs were similar, and Nathan felt a lot less tense as he waited for Dax to get back. The twins were becoming active, which always gave Nathan a feeling of unease, but he figured it was good to know they were healthy. Dax came back with Sydryn at his side. The doctor scanned around the room as they entered. “Hm, no, this won't do…” “Hey, doc,” Nathan said, nervously as he set his laptop aside. “Listen, I told Dax this was a bad idea…” “No, there just isn't space,” Syd stated. “Ideally, Mr. Olivier is to sleep here, you'd need better accommodations. Not to mention, when the twins arrive, you'll need better space. There's no use moving you now though...” “What?” Nathan frowned. “You're not serious.” “I couldn't be more serious,” Sydryn stated. “After the twins are born, we'll move you to a family suite. It would only make sense.” “That sounds great, but I mean, there's no way Dax can stay overnight,” Nathan said. “It's alright. If we just bring in an extra bed to extend it width wise... Or separately if that's your preference...” “Doc, that's not the problem!” Nathan said. “It would be too dangerous.” “Are you afraid of him?” Sydryn asked. “Of course not! He should be afraid of me though.” “I think you're overestimating yourself.” “I mean the wolf.” “Nathan, Dr Gardi has kept very detailed observations of the wolf's behaviour after dark. It's likely part of the reason he's ill right now, having not slept in weeks… But regardless, the wolf isn't of any threat unless hungry. You're regularly well fed here.” “But you can't be sure something won't happen...” “If something were to happen, you're already here,” Sydryn explained. “And the likelihood of an incident is very low. Having Dax here for the night is likely to do you more good than bad. But if you don't want him here, obviously no one's going to force you.” Nathan looked between Dax and Syd, then rubbed his knees. “...This is all happening so fast...” “No one can argue that,” Sydryn agreed. “Your lives are very short however. If you're worried about your relationship, I already told you you're both very attracted to each other. Your personalities are compatible and you're both educators so you can trust each other when handling offspring. If it's the twins you're worried about, honestly it is a risk and we're working with the unknown here, but I don't think anywhere else in the world has more ideal conditions for this birth to occur. You're in the safest hands we can provide, and I'm not saying that to inflate my own ego. This facility is incredible for what it does for people like us.” Nathan nodded slowly, though it felt like he'd been told this over and over again. He looked at Dax who smiled and reached out to take his hand. “You're sure it's safe for Dax to stay here with me?” Sydryn smiled. “Yes. And I think you'll appreciate the comfort.” “Okay... Set us up.”

#lore #Nathan #Dax #Sydryn #Nari #werewolf #thunderbird #dragon #vampire #mpreg #mpreg belly

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an-everything-blog · 5 years

Text

Everything's Different

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

Warnings: Language, some angst

Summary: You were best friends with Billy, kinda fwb but not really? Anyway you confess your feelings and he don’t know how to deal. Strongly inspired by the song Body Ain’t Me by Pink Sweat$

Word Count: 1.7K

Author’s Note: I’m obsessed with writing for Billy rn idk why. I think s3 just really got to me. But anyway I’m usually not a big fan of song fics, but these songs just keep making me think of Billy! I highly recommend listening to the song, it’s very good!

Used to know you, but I don't know you now Everything's getting so blurry now Vision hurting, I can't stand the look of you now Everything’s different

Another night, another party, another hookup.

It’s been like this since May. Since the day you left him. It has been three months since he’s seen your beautiful smile. It’s all his fault. He’s the one that can’t properly love. You gave everything to him and he threw it away.

Billy shook his head aggressively trying to get the thought of you out of his head. Most nights he finds himself getting drunk to the point of forgetting the look in your eyes the last day he saw you.

Billy downed another shot of Jack and threw his arm around the nearest girl that was more than willing to follow him up to an empty room.

I heard you're movin' back from out of town I heard you travelin' all these miles and miles Tryna get back to my love, but it's harder now Everything's different

“Did you hear (Y/n) will be back on Monday?” Lauren said to Stacy in a low voice in hopes no one would hear her. To Billy’s dismay he caught your name and he physically couldn’t stop himself from listening. He was leaning against his car in the mall parking lot smoking a cigarette while waiting on Max to finish doing whatever she was doing. Lauren and Stacy were only a few cars down making small talk before they went their separate ways.

“Yeah I heard she was coming back from her internship! Did you know she had the option to stay, but word has it she is coming back for Billy Hargrove! Can you believe it?” Stacy laughed. Billy pushed the smoke out of his lungs in shock. She was coming back for him? After what he said to her?

“Well yeah I can believe it! She is desperately in love with him! It’s sad honestly. Seeing her draping herself all over him. I heard that he dumped her ass though and that’s why she left. Sad.” Lauren shrugged making Stacy giggle. Billy threw his cigarette down angrily. Half the shit they were talking about was bullshit. Billy hates small towns like this because word gets out quick and then it all turns into bullshit.

Billy turned and threw open his car door and deflating into his seat while hitting his steering wheel. You shouldn’t be affecting him this much. It has been three months and he most definitely didn’t have feelings for you. So why were you always on his mind? Why were the color of your eyes always in his sight?

He turned his key in the ignition aggressively and pressed down on the gas speeding past Lauren and Stacy and past the town forgetting about Max entirely in the process. He needed to get you off his mind...

I can't lie, I want you on me And girl, I wanna love you closely I don't want nobody on you If that body ain't me, body ain't me I lied when I said I hate you Baby, I was tryna get through

“I hate you! Get out! Just leave me the fuck alone (Y/n)!” He yelled abruptly. He was gripping his steering wheel much too tightly and he was looking forward refusing to look you in the eyes. You noticed his eyes were brimming with tears as yours were already falling. You didn’t understand and you wanted to hold him or shake him to try and grasp why he’s acting this way.

You told him you loved him. You hadn’t told him that yet because he hadn’t officially asked you to be his girlfriend. Yet he would always hold your hand and call you baby at the end of the day. And it was true. You did love him. Too much that you couldn’t contain it anymore. You loved the way he gave you that special smile that was only reserved for you. You loved the sound of his genuine laugh that you heard so rarely. You loved the shape of his birthmark right in the middle of his back, so small that not everyone would notice and you most definitely loved the way he cared even though he claims he doesn’t.

So when he pulled into your driveway and he kissed your cheek so tenderly you murmured it to him against his cheek not thinking twice about it. This made him freeze immediately and you feared you made a mistake.

You continued to look at Billy in shock at his confession. Hate is such a strong word and it made you flinch the moment it left his beautiful lips. He couldn’t possibly mean that right? Yeah he was upset when you told him you’d be leaving for the summer for your internship, but you didn’t think he’d be that upset by it.

You didn’t say anything as you slowly reached for the door handle hoping he would take it back, but he didn’t and your heart dropped like a stone on your stomach. You pushed the door open and closed it harshly before quickly walking into your house. You looked out your window watching as Billy beat his steering wheel before hitting his car in reverse and speeding down the road. You pressed your back against the door and slid down slowly as you stared blankly at the floor.

I don't want nobody on you If that body ain't me, body ain't me I've been hearin' voices, can't get 'em out You still playin' cool, but I need you now Vision clearer, I can see it all better now Everything's different

Billy was already four shots in the party he was at and the thoughts of you were well on their way out of Billy’s mind for the night as he eyed the crowd for yet another girl he could capture. Ever since you came back to town his thoughts were louder than ever. He hated feeling this way so he did what he did best. Drank away his feelings. Spotting his next target he started making his way over to her.

Suddenly his beer fell to the floor and he realized someone had bumped into him.

“Hey, fucking watch it-“ he exclaimed turning around.

“Oh my gosh I’m sorry-“ Billy gasped inaudibly hearing that voice. It couldn’t be. He turned fully and stumbled a bit getting a whiff of the perfume you always wore. Fuck. He cant do this right now.

You looked up to him in shock not expecting to see Billy so soon. He still looked so beautiful and your heart twitched seeing that head full of curls. You noticed he looked scared and you hated that you made him feel like that because you were the one that he went to for everything. He quickly stumbled away from you and out the door.

Billy gasped for fresh air as his heart dropped and stomach turned. He didn’t expect to see you so soon and he most definitely was not prepared for it. He wasn’t prepared to see those eyes or the curve of your nose. Your beauty struck him in the face and he immediately noticed that you got a trim on your hair and he hated that he noticed something so minute about you when he told himself he didn’t care for you.

He then suddenly realized at 12:43 in the morning, that he loved you too.

Yeah, I know you got a whole lot to figure out Just know that I'm always here for you girl, no doubt Before buildin' up, sometimes gotta break it down Everything's different

It had been a few days since you seen Billy at the party and you have to say, you were pretty shaken when you saw him. You knew you still loved him, but you thought maybe it would be a little better seeing him. As it turns out it made it that much harder and your feelings immediately came back stronger than ever. You sighed trying to will him away from your thoughts like you’d been doing all summer.

There was a soft knock on your door and without thinking much of it, you hopped of your kitchen counter and pulled open the door. You gasped seeing him.

“Billy..” You sighed before he spoke up.

“No, please before you say anything just let me say what I have to say, okay?” Billy said softly looking into your eyes. You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything so you just nodded.

I can't lie, I want you on me And girl, I wanna love you closely I don't want nobody on you If that body ain't me, body ain't me I lied when I said I hate you Baby, I was tryna get through I don't want nobody on you If that body ain't me, body ain't me

“Look... I know what I said was... awful. Like really awful. But I hope you know that I lied when I said I hated you. I could never hate you. Like ever. And I’m going to be honest here, when you left I became a complete Jackass. I slept around a lot and drank a whole lot more. That’s not fair to you and I’m sorry. I was just trying to get through all of my thoughts and trying to push them away at the same time. But when I saw you the other day I couldn’t run from it anymore.” Billy breathes out pausing for a second. You look into his eyes hopeful before he inhales and continues.

“I am in love with you. And it scares the absolute shit out of me and obviously I didn’t know how to handle being loved back because I fucked this all up and I’m just sorry. I understand if you need time to think or just don’t want to see me. I just had to tell you.” He concluded looking to see your reaction.

“Oh, Billy...” You sighed sadly. You felt so many different things and you had no idea how to form the words. Instead you curled your fingers gently in his hair and pulled him close before pressing your lips to his. It was slow and sensual and it poured all the emotions you had been feeling throughout the past few months: longing, sadness, frustration, but most of all love. You smiled into the kiss at the realization that Billy Hargrove loves you. He’s in love with you.

“I love you Billy Hargrove.” You murmured against his lips like you had done months previous. Except this time Billy gave you that smile that was only for you.

“I love you more, Baby.”

#billy #billy hargrove #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy stranger things #stranger things #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove angst #stranger things x reader #dacre montgomery #hargrove #dacre imagine #dacre x reader

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ginmo · 5 years

Note

headcanons for morning after in bed IF they really do have sex (pls god I hope to fuck they do or else I'll dracarys everyone)? and how they'd be in public? Hand holding? im kinda nervous for jaime in winterfell bc I feel like ppl like tormund is gonna mock him abt being a sisterfucker and I don't want anyone to make him talk abt her in context of their relationship before he's ready to do that himself :( he's so fragile rn :( my son 😭 Im rlly fond of tormund but I'll fight him

YESSSTHANKYOU

Morning After

OKAY so I have like a million headcanons, but I took a couple of my favs and condensed them. My headcanons are kinda in the format of a filmed scene lol so… be prepared for semi-fic.

Context: post WF battle.

The scene transitions to the following morning, to them finishing like round a thousand probably. The camera goes up the length of their bodies and when it reaches their heads it’s showing them finish, breathing heavily, and Jaime is rolling over onto his back. Brienne is flushed, hair a bit messy, only her shoulders and arms visible above the furs. Jaime lets out a satisfied chuckle and makes a joke about her progress already. She ignores him and rolls over on to her left side, leans on her elbow and rests her head against her hand. She stares at him for a few seconds, a look of concern starting to form on her face. Jaime notices and shifts to his right side to face her. “What is it?” He asks, and lifts his hand to flatten a bit of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. A few seconds of silence as she tries to form words and then she mentions something about the battle. Maybe she almost lost him and admits to him how frightening that was. Or the NK is still around so she expresses her concerns. Jaime says something super sappy and cute like, idk maybe like if anything good came of it, the reality of almost losing her made him realize he can’t spend another day of whatever is left of his life without her by his side. Then he cuts the cuteness by wondering if that’s a blessing or a curse. Brienne half smiles at the joke. “I’m serious though,” he says and rolls back on top of her. [of course in the background their new theme is playing with the Kingslayer and Oathkeeper soundtrack]He slowly kisses her. “I am yours,” he whispers and gives her a kiss, “and you are mine,” he moves lower to kiss her neck, “from this day,” he moves to the base of her neck and places a couple of kisses on the scars left by the bear, “till the end of my days,” he moves his head back up and looks down at her and she smiles up at him.

“and how they’d be in public? Hand holding?”

You know that scene in the trailer where it pans from Pod to Brienne as they’re waiting for battle? I have a headcanon that Jaime is standing next to her, on her right (when the camera cuts out) and without even looking at the other, they grab hands. :P It won’t happen but I can dream.

After the bang I think they’d be pretty low key. They won’t be hiding it, because there’s no way Jaime is doing that again, but I don’t see Brienne as being someone who is super into PDA. Maybe Jaime gives her a kiss every now and then and then she gets super blushy when she notices people looking.

“im kinda nervous for jaime in winterfell”

He’s probably going to get jokes thrown at him, yeah. But it’s nothing Jaime hasn’t heard before. I’m pretty sure there will be at least one Cersei conversation between Jaime and Tyrion, but that’s a good thing. We don’t have access to his POVs, so we need a scene to get into his headspace. I’m expecting there to be a Jaime and Tyrion conversation about it in episode 2, while also simultaneously building up Jaime and Brienne. Maybe Tyrion will even question about Brienne.

#jaime x brienne #keep these coming!

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yoosungs-blush · 6 years

Text

Sky Miracle

For @yoosungweek Day 5! I'm now a day behind haha, but I'll get there! I hope you enjoy! Though I feel like I’m taunting people in the middle of summer rn haha.

“Yoosung!”

“Mmmmm…” Your boyfriend mumbled, hiding himself under the duvet.

Oh no you don’t! You kneeled down by the side of the bed, cheeks still flushed from the cold outside, and stuck your hands inside his warm cocoon of blankets. His reaction was instantaneous as your fingers tickled his exposed stomach.

“Gah~! St-op! Stop! C-cold!” He tried to wriggle over to his other side but you peeled away his blankets and let your palms warm against his silky skin, an evil giggle escaping your lips.

“Yoosung~” You tried again, but his head was still turned away from you, “Come on my darling boyfriend~ It’s a snow day~!”

“But it’s cold!” He whined, trying his best to curl up and preserve the last of his body heat, all while you still tickled his stomach.

“That does tend to be the bare minimum requirement for a snow day, yes.” “I was so warm…” as if to prove his point he shivered, the only thing he was wearing was a pair of sweatpants. Even during cold nights he always insisted that nothing could warm him up better than falling asleep while you were snuggled up against him; a line he had spouted indignantly, before hiding his face in his hands while you laughed, half-embarrassed yourself.

“The key word being ‘was‘. So you’ve got nothing to lose if we go outside, do you?” You put your hands together, begging him.

“Pleeeeease~? The snow is so pretty!” Yoosung finally got up to face you, his violet eyes marred slightly with his drowsiness, but watching you nonetheless. You’d been hoping for at least one decent snow day and you’d been blessed this morning; the entire street was completely veiled in snow. You wanted to have a chance to walk through it while it was still crisp and untouched before the city woke up and it all turned to slush.

“You can come back in and warm up whenever you want!” You pointed out, “But there might never be another chance to walk in the snow until next winter. So. Pleeeease! Yoosungie~ And then afterwards we can take a hot shower together and snuggle up on the sofa with snacks and a movie!”

His eyes brightened but you weren’t sure whether it was at the promise of a shower or more cuddling. Rubbing his eyes, he yawned, “Fine,” you squealed happily but he held up his finger, “But, you have to promise me you’ll dress warmly. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“ThankyouthankIloveyousomuch!” Pecking his lips, you bounded away and quickly got dressed - jeans, thermal, and fur-lined boots. You searched high and low for your jacket, but it had completely vanished.

“Have you seen my jacket?” You asked over your shoulder, “It isn’t where I left it.” “I tried to dry it out - it rained when we went for a walk, remember? Check the bathroom.” Lo and behold, your jacket was hanging up exactly where he said - still damp from the night before. The idea of putting it on like that made you shudder, but you didn’t know what else you could do.

“Did you find it?” Yoosung popped his head in, groaning in disappointment as he saw the half-dry garment.

“I can still wear it,” you said quickly, not wanting him to change his mind about venturing outside.

He stared at you, eyes widening in horror, “No way, MC! You’ll definitely get sick if you wear that outside. Here,” he grabbed your hand and guided you back to his drawers. Rummaging around he finally found what he was looking for - his favourite hoodie.

“Put this on,” he instructed. But when you reached for it, his eyes fell on your bare hands, “You don’t have any gloves?” He prompted, not waiting for your answer and going back to digging up his clothes.

The hoodie you slipped over your head was fluffy and warm, oversized just enough so that the sleeves fell past your fingers. You inhaled the mixed scent, the smell of Yoosung and jasmine laundry detergent relaxing you. “I don’t think I need gloves,” you told him, eager to get outside, “Honestly, I’ll be fine. The cold never bothered me anyway.”

Yoosung groaned, but pulled something else out of the drawers and turned back to you, kissing each hand before slipping a glove over your icy skin: “Well…*peck* Miss Elsa *peck*,” his smile warmed you up, and his lips brushed your forehead before he pulled a beanie over your bedhead, “It is my duty to protect you, so we can’t leave until I’m sure you won’t get hypothermia.”

Kissing your nose while you still grumbled, he brought his own jacket around your shoulders.

“All done,” he announced, “So shall we go my snow angel?”

You regarded him suspiciously - he only wore a hoodie with his jeans.

“And where’s your jacket exactly, Mr Kim? I thought you hated the cold.”

“Relax~” He pulled you towards him, hugging you tightly, “If I get cold then I’ll just hug you lots like this and we can share body heat - like penguins!”

Laughing, you dragged him towards the door, “Snow time~!”

As expected, the street outside Yoosung’s apartment was pristine. You took your first few steps, snow crunching under your boots; sighing blissfully. The air chilled your face, and you shut your eyes as you embraced the snow paradise you were in. It was quiet for the most part, birds singing amongst themselves. Something entwined with your gloved fingers, and you squeezed back.

Yoosung’s breath hitched, “H-hey, MC. Look at the sky.” Peering up, you let out a gasp of delight. Above your heads, crowning the sky, was a rainbow, the halo vivid and proud.

“I didn’t know rainbows could happen in the snow,” you said, shuffling closer to your boyfriend who slipped his hand out of yours, choosing to wrap his arm around your waist instead.

“It’s super rare,” he murmured, breath tickling your ear, “Like a miracle.”

You stood there together watching the sky until more people began to emerge from their homes; kids yelling happily as they discovered the surprise waiting for them outside. By the time the roads had become busy, the sky halo had vanished, a secret for the two of you.

Yoosung leaned over, pecking your cheek, his expression mischievous, “Does this mean we can have a shower now?” He was so keen that you blushed, and he stammered his explanation, “I-I didn’t m-mean… It’s j-just you promised… and… and…”

“It’s cold?” You finished for him, raising an eyebrow and he nodded, latching on to your words, “Y-yeah! And,” he lowered his voice so passers-by wouldn’t hear, “…I want to cuddle…”

Overloading on cuteness: please reboot. It wasn’t fair! Why~ How~ The chill of the air had evaporated; your cheeks burning from his confession, while your heart had melted long ago.

Casting one last gaze at the morning sky, you skipped alongside your lovely boyfriend, back to the apartment where a day of snuggles and pampering awaited you.

#mm yoosung #kim yoosung #Yoosung Kim #yoosung route #yoosung x mc #yoosung x reader #mysme fanfic #mysme scenarios #mysme yoosung #mysme #mystic messenger #mystic messenger imagines #mystic messenger yoosung #mystic messenger fanfic

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kokkoro · 6 years

Text

you and me (were meant to be) 2/3

Her name is Clarke and she likes coffee and it takes you half a second to decide you like her.

or part 2 of the ‘i just met you but there’s this couples contest on campus rn and all my friends are busy and you’re just sitting there reading on the quad, pls the prize is a Technivorm Moccamaster KBT 741 and my coffee machine broke last week and im dying pls i need my coffee’ au

(aka the couples competition au) (on ao3)

Clarke’s off campus apartment is cleaner than you expect. It’s bright and open, with a table littered with a multitude of books and a pile of shoes on the rug near the entryway. A mix of heels, sneakers, and flip flops that Clarke had to kick aside when you showed up at her front door. It feels like a home. Warm and welcoming and whole.

You tuck yourself into the corner of the counter with a hot cup of coffee, by the fridge and out of way as Clarke goes about fiddling with her new machine. The smell is permeating, rich and strong, but you at least you find it more tolerable than the taste.

She had invited you over to celebrate, though you’re beginning to see that ‘celebrate’ is simply another word for coffee.

“Are you ready for this?” she asks after her own cup is poured and steaming. She holds it out like it's some tankard filled with beer and not a normal cup of joe, some cream, and two tablespoons of sugar. “To us.”

“To us,” you repeat, clinking your mugs together gently. You bring it to your lips for show, taking a small sip, but your eyes don’t leave her. She holds it close with both hands, inhaling the steam with a happy sigh that she let’s linger a little too long to be normal. It’s far more endearing that it has any right to be.

She hums low at the first taste, eyes closing briefly, savoring it. It’s a few moments before she lowers the cup again. “Have I thanked you yet today?”

“Yes.” You smile, unable to help the satisfying ache that settles in your cheeks. “Twice.”

“Well, thank you. Again,” she says, looking you in the eye, and it takes all of you not to glance at her lips. “I really mean it.”

“You’re more than welcome, Clarke.”

You’re sweaty and breathing hard when you finally decide to take a break, peeling off the mesh fencing mask and setting it beside you on the bench. The first few unrestricted breaths you take fills your lungs and it’s a lovely feeling.

“How’s your girlfriend?”

Anya watches you with barely contained amusement, taking a seat next to you as you dig through your equipment bag under the bench for a towel in lieu humoring her with a response. Sifting through an extra pair of gloves and tape for your hands, you end up finding it in the corner side pocket instead, and you give it a quick shake before running it over your face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say finally, moving to rub the back of your neck with the towel before tossing it back in the bag at your feet.

You hear rustling, and you turn to watch Anya produce the weekly paper from where she had it hidden rolled up under her opposite arm. There, on the front page, is a picture of you and Clarke. It’s a little off center, but you’re stomach to stomach, your hands on Clarke’s cheeks, hair a little wild and there’s no question what it is you’re doing. The caption reads: ‘art major Clarke Griffin and poli sci graduate Lexa Woods locked lips this Thursday to win Polis U’s official unofficial King and Queen Competition. They are the first LGBT couple to win since it’s installment.’

“You’re famous,” Anya says, monotone, but her eyes sparkle in the way you’ve come to learn as amusement. “And I can’t believe I’m the last person to know.”

You take the paper from her, scanning the article briefly. It’s mostly a recap of the past week’s homecoming festivities. “There’s nothing to know,” you say, glancing at her, but by the look on her face, Anya doesn’t believe you. “She’s not… We’re not together.”

“Tell that to everyone else," Anya says, poking the paper you hold in your hands, and the thin line of her lips quirks up into a grin.

It’s quiet in Clarke’s apartment on Tuesdays. Midday, just after one, and it’s warm and cozy and you have nothing else to do. You had to reschedule practice for tomorrow thanks to the basketball team’s unannounced gym takeover and there really wasn’t much else you could do. It did leave you with some free time, though. The sun slips in over the coffee table through the small terrace doors, and you enjoy watching the shadows that stretch as a result. It’s one small reprieve from the hecticness this week has seemed to accumulate.

Clarke joins you after a few minutes, cradling a mug, and she forgoes the sofa in favor of taking a seat on the floor with you. It’s warmer in the sun, you assume, and you prop your head in your hand, studying the way her hair glints golden in the light.

“What’s on the agenda?” she asks once she’s settled, resting both her elbows on the table-top. She has on this loose sweater, the sleeves long, and she uses them to safely hold the scalding cup with two hands.

You give a halfhearted shrug. You always end up feeling a little lost on the days you can’t practice, missing the weight in your hands and the familiarity of the strip, and Clarke’s place seemed like the best alternative. If only to avoid Anya’s needling. “I’m not sure.”

Clarke takes a sip of her coffee, savoring the taste for a second before placing her mug down on an old, already stained napkin. She ruffles through a bit of the mess gathered in piles on the coffee table, plucking an impressively sized workbook out from under the clutter.

She opens to a page bookmarked by a blank piece of lined paper. “How good are you at physics?”

You squint curiously at her. You took calculus last year just as a prerequisite, but you’re not sure if it will help you now. “Why?”

She nudges the workbook closer to you. “Help me?”

You place a hand over the page, dragging the book closer to you. Flipping through a couple of pages bring things back into focus, though most of it remains stubbornly in that fuzzy area at the back of your brain. “I mentioned I’m a graduate student, right? Political science.”

“Yeah.” She’s looking at you with this barely there smile, the corner of her mouth upturned in a little curl. It’s like she already knows you’re going to say yes.

“What questions?”

Clarke’s smile spreads, and she scoots closer to the corner of the table you share. “Page 32, one through seven.”

“I probably won’t be much help.”

She shrugs. “I’d rather suffer with a buddy.”

Clarke’s left-handed, you notice. The two of you silently squabble over arm space, nudging each other’s elbows out of the way while trying to focus on the work spread out in front of you. She tries her hardest not to let you see her smile.

(You can hear it in her voice though)

“What’d you get for number 7?”

“47.4 meters per seconds,” you say. You have your head in your hand again, the pencil Clarke found you tapping a light beat against the table.

She bumps your arm playfully and the pencil tumbles from your hand. You reach for it as Clarke goes about vigorously erasing her work. “I thought you said you weren’t good at this.”

“It might be wrong.”

She dusts the eraser shavings from the paper and onto the table, glancing at you with an exasperated quirk of her brow. “You weren’t wrong the other six times, I doubt you’ll be wrong now.”

Once her workspace is clear, Clarke peeks over your arm at your paper and you roll your eyes, pushing it closer to her. “You have to equate the potential energy of the bow to the kinetic energy of the arrow.”

You gently brush her hand out of the way, finding a blank spot on her paper. “The potential energy of the bow is equal to one half K times X squared. K is the stiffness of the bow and X is the amount the string is stretched. Therefore--” You fill in as you go, the scratch of your pencil loud in the moments between. “-- the potential energy is 56.25 joules.”

You shift a line down. “Kinetic energy is one half mass times velocity squared. You know the mass of the arrow and you know the potential energy of the bow, so since kinetic energy is equal to potential energy, you simply solve for velocity.” Your pencil finally stills, and you turn to study the gentle furrow to clarke’s brow, the way her hair stumbles over her shoulder--the dim glow it has in the waning light. “Does that make sense?”

She nods slowly, but you wonder if she’s just trying to convince herself. “Clarke.”

Clarke’s eyes find yours for a moment, but she’s quick to look away. “No, yeah, I uh -- I get it.”

“Are you trying to convince me, Clarke?”

Clarke snorts, pushing the hair away from her eyes. She sets the tip of her pencil back on the paper, picking up where you left off, and the quiet click of her calculator keys fills the resulting silence. She shoots you a look not a moment later, mouth pursed, eyes judging. “47.4,” she mutters, scribbling the answer. “Never, ever, let me take a math based science class ever again.”

“The real question is why you thought you should to begin with.”

Clarke shrinks a little bit. “It fit my schedule better than biology.”

“Rookie mistake.”

She turns away, a smile forming as she cleans up the multitude of papers spread out over the coffee table. “Same time next week?”

“Sure.”

The gym is loud, a cacophony of triumphant shouts and buzzes that sound off on the speakers. You sink into en guard, sabre poised, and everything else besides your opponent fades away--their breathing, the angle of their shoulders, the stretch of their stance. It’s quick from the moment you settle, when the sound of the starting buzzer rings and you lunge, aiming for the opening you see in the guard.

With a yell, your hit lands at their neck and they stagger backwards from the suddenness of your advance, feet fumbling. You reign in the slack, pulling yourself back and returning to the en garde line, allowing yourself a small bounce on your heels before settling into poise.

The second bout begins quicker than the first, your opponent taking the initiative to attack. He seems unsure what to do with the right of way now that he has it, flicking the blade of the sabre to knock against yours, testing. It makes his lunge easy to read, that long reach of his arm as he aims for your chest. You parry inward, knocking the blade aside and immediately stretch forward. The tip of your sword hits his shoulder, sinks and bends, and you can pinpoint the exact moment he caves in defeat.

“Watch your hands, Aden,” you say, and the tension eases from your muscles as you watch him remove his mask with a huff.

He runs a hand through his hair, the sweat causing it to stick up and fall in amusing ways, and glares at you half-heartedly. “Yeah, yeah.”

You sigh as you take off your mask and you tuck it under your arm, the gym air cool against the sweat collecting near your hairline and the underside of your neck. “You can’t let defeat keep you from trying.”

He undoes his glove, pulling the velcro apart. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“I didn’t get this position because I was good--” his eye roll is pronounced and yeah you probably deserved that, “I worked hard for it. I trained. Skill is a testament to time.”

“Doesn’t make you any less of a natural.”

“You’re a freshman, Aden. You put in the time and the results will follow.” You see the little curl of his lips, that reluctant optimism at your unintentional praise.

“Captain!”

Your head turns at the sound, but not without a glance back at Aden to make sure he doesn’t run away. He seems amused that you feel the need to, but obediently stays put as Ryder makes his way through the throng to you.

He’s nearly half a foot taller than you, and built like a bear in breeches and a tank-top, nearly too stocky for fencing, but his swiftness belies his stature. He comes to a stop by your left hand side, waiting for you to finish whatever it was you were doing, but you urge him to continue.

“There’s, uh, someone looking for you,” Ryder says, and his apprehension at broaching the subject only lasts a second. “I think it might be your girlfriend?”

Your brow furrows, heat prickling in your cheeks. “Put that mask back on,” you say, pointing at a smirking Aden and then you go about unhooking yourself from the equipment. Once you’re free, you hand over your practice sabre to the new arrival, adjusting the helmet under your arm for a better hold. “Ryder, with Aden please. Keep an eye on his hands. I’ll be right back.”

Ryder nods once, grinning. Out of the corner of your eye you see Aden shaking his head.

You weave carefully through the thick of things, pausing to help a few of the new recruits with questions as you pass. It’s not until you catch sight of the double doors to the foyer that you notice Clarke standing awkwardly off to the side, watching a couple of veterans trade blows on the strip.

She does a double take when she finally spots you making your way over, adjusting the strap of her worn canvas bag over her shoulder. Her hair’s a little windswept without her hat, piled atop her head in a bun, but of course it works for her.

“Clarke,” you say as a way of greeting and it’s a little breathless. You wipe a bit of the sweat inching its way down your temple, suddenly self conscious.

“Hey,” Clarke replies slowly, and her eyes seem to get lost on you, lingering here and there before returning up to your face with a subtle shake of her head. It’s a moment before she says, “You fence?”

“I do.” You shift your weight to one foot, taking a quick mental note of the few people who have stopped practicing in an attempt inconspicuously watch your conversation unfold. “I captain the university team.”

“Wow,” Clarke says, and it seems sincere enough. She looks around you and you step a bit to the side so she can see better. “Is it... is it fun?”

A small smile finally takes hold of your lips. “I would say it is fun, Clarke. But my opinion isn’t exactly unbiased.”

“How long?”

“How long what, Clarke?” you say, humoring her while trying to block out the muffled giggles you hear coming from somewhere behind you.

“How long have you been fencing.”

“Since I was fourteen.”

“So you’re a pro.”

“Not exactly.”

“But you don’t deny it.” she says, leaning closer and you take a small unconscious step back to compensate. You wouldn’t call her intimidating, not in that soft worn tee and frizzy hair and a bit of blue paint speckled under her chin. Overwhelming on the other hand…. that’s a possibility.

“Is there a reason you're here, Clarke?”

She seems to remember herself, blinking. “Oh, I uh….. you said you’d be at the gym, and since I was passing by I thought, you know--” she shrugs, “--that I’d see if you were still free tomorrow.”

“I am. As far as I know.”

“Do you want to meet me for some coffee? I’ve got a take home quiz that could use an extra pair of eyes.”

“Isn’t that cheating?”

“No,” she says, and you’ve never seen anyone so sure of themselves.

“What were you doing that day?”

You don’t look up until you finish jotting down the last few numbers. You find her studying you softly, and in the buzz of the small coffee shop down on fourth it feels more intimate than it has any right to be. “Reading?”

Clarke sighs loudly, folding her arms on the table and slouching. Apparently that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. “No, but really.”

“Reading,” you repeat more firmly, and she smiles faintly, realizing the quiet tease for what it is. She bumps her foot against your shin under the table and you go back to your work. “I was doing some research.”

“For?”

“A graduate studies class.”

“Ah,” Clarke hums, and you pause your writing to glance up at her. Her face is serious, but at least she’s no longer watching you, her eyes focused blankly on her own paper even though she holds the pencil limply in her hand. She catches you staring a second later and you’re quick to look away. “Sorry for dragging you away from work.”

You give a one-sided shrug, scribbling away. “You weren’t bothering me. It was a welcome change of pace.”

“I can help you out,” she offers, and you throw away pretenses to finally look her in the eye. “I may not be good with the specifics, but my mother used to say my bullheadedness would get me somewhere in life.”

“I don’t think that was a compliment, Clarke.”

“No, but I decided to take it as one.”

This little pang shoots through your heart. “You don’t need to help me.”

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” She scoots a bit closer to the table and her chair screeches quietly in protest, leaning more on her folded arms. It’s as close as she can get to you, and then very softly she says, “You help me. Let me help you.”

Your mouth opens slightly but nothing comes out, so you close it and reconsider. She searches your eyes and it’s hard, you find, not to get lost in them.

The both of you struggle with electricity and magnetism. The coffee shop staff shoot you looks of pity as they go about their closing rituals, you and Clarke tucked in the corner booth with your heads in your hands, staring blankly at the pages of Clarke’s physics textbook. You save them the trip over by suggesting relocating to your apartment just a block away. It only takes one mention of your keurig machine for Clarke to begrudgingly accept, sweeping her books and utensils into her bag with little care.

The briskness of the november night takes the both of you by surprise when you step out the doors and onto the sidewalk. The wind hits you square in the chest, pulls at your clothes and bites at your cheeks. It takes your breath away, and you attempt to bury your nose into the flimsy short collar of your jacket with little success.

“Fuck,” Clarke says beside you, pulling the drawstrings of her hoodie tight and huddling further into her sweatshirt. Her pace unconsciously quickens to match your long quick strides.

She sticks close, keeping in time. At this time of night, other storefronts are closing, sweeping the trash and pulling in outdoor signs, and you try not to think about her shoulder brushing yours.

(neither of you take the initiative to widen the distance, the warmth both of you gravitate towards)

It takes you ten minutes to make it back to your complex and then up to your apartment. You open the door, keys jingling as you pull it from the lock and then make your way inside. Clarke follows just behind you, tentatively taking stock of the surroundings as you sling your jacket up on a hook by the door.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Clarke by the shelf of knick-knacks and photos near the entrance and you make your way over to the kitchen. “What would you like?”

Clarke jumps, turning towards you and inching her way over to the kitchen table, fingers curled around the strap of her messenger bag. “What do you have?”

You rummage through the cupboard above the coffee pot. “We have original or italian roast.” Both are Anya’s, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

Clarke hums as she takes a seat, pulling things out of her backpack and arranging them on the table. “Italian roast, please.”

You pull the keurig cup from the cupboard and a mug, filling the latter with water from the sink and then pouring it into the reservoir. You’re not particularly experienced with the process, but you’ve seen Anya go through the motions on more than one occasion to make an educated guess at it. When you press the power button and everything seems to work as it should, you figure it was enough.

You linger by the counter as it fills, keeping an eye on Clarke as she resumes where the two of you left off. She looks tired, hair gone messy after being bundled up in her hood, and if you didn’t know her you’d say she was two minutes away from calling it quits and passing out at your kitchen table. But she’s Clarke, and every few minutes or so she’ll shake her head and open her eyes wide as if trying to force herself awake.

And it works. To an extent. Though the look on her face when you finally set down the coffee mug next to her hand, her eyes doing this endearing back and forth between it and you, is another story altogether.

“Thank you,” she says.

You slip into the seat on her left, folding yourself a little ungracefully, but it’s nearing 11:30 and you want this done just as much as her. “What do we have left?”

She takes a quick, grateful sip of her coffee before setting it aside and sliding the book between the both of you. “Well, I’d say we basically finished chapter twenty--” she winces subtly at the memories and you’d rather not have to relive those moments. “--so that leaves chapter twenty-one: electromagnetic waves and alternating-current circuits.”

You glance over the first page of the chapter and like everything else, it’s a mess of physics vocabulary and equations with too many variables. Flipping through the next few pages makes you grimace, and you nudge the book back over to Clarke. Being a little more than halfway through the semester, you’ve become more of a soundboard than anything else, a suffer buddy as Clarke put it a few months ago, information from years past but mere child’s play compared to what is being thrown at you now. You help as much as you can though and you hope it’s enough.

Thirty minutes later, though, and it feels like you haven’t budged an inch.

“So if the voltage through the resistor is equal to the supply voltage then that would mean this is true--” Clarke jots a few equations down, waiting until you nod to continue. “--and if we….set this….”

You pick your head up from your hand as Clarke’s voice tapers off, eyeing the almost blank look that has fallen across her face. Possibly a side-effect from all the coffee, and you attempt to temper the impulse to reach out and draw her back. Luckily, it doesn’t last long.

“That’s it!” she exclaims, and you startle at the sudden increase in volume, sitting up straighter in your chair. Clarke looks at you, a wide giddy smile, and nearly upends herself from her seat to hug you, leaning awkwardly over the side of her chair, more one arm than the other. You return it awkwardly, your nose in her hair, and you miss the scent of it the moment she pulls away. “It’s the--thing! You know, the thing!” she says, a loss for words, intent on chasing her chain of thought before it gets away.

In a way so are you. She gathers her bottom lip between her teeth as she concentrates and you can’t help but remember the softness of them pressed against your own, that little ghost of a smile you hope you hadn’t imagined. You blame it on the exhaustion as the time ticks past a quarter after midnight, on that little inkling of weakness you call imagination. It couldn’t hurt you more than you already allowed it to, after all.

She passes out just before one, and to be honest you’re not far behind. You had turned around after cleaning up the mess spread out around the kitchen to find her hunched over the table, head pillowed in her arms and snoring slightly. For a moment you watch her, over by the counter some ten feet away, and you feel safe. But you shake your head and sigh, picking yourself up to tidy the table and set her second (half finished) mug of coffee in the sink.

You manage to rouse her enough to shuffle on over to the couch, slipping off her boots once she’s toppled over onto the cushions. She lets out this little sigh that gets lost into the throw pillows, and she wiggles closer for comfort.

You wake up the next morning around eight to an empty couch and the blanket folded neatly on its arm. Besides Anya sitting at the table with this wide smirk, the only thing left is this little thank you note and an IOU scribbled on last night’s coffee napkin that you may or may not save for posterity.

(It has a smiley face on it, of course you save it)

Thanksgiving approaches faster than you can comprehend. Between the multiple papers for your graduate studies classes and an upcoming fencing tournament in January, it’s quite like being pulled in multiple separate directions at once, so you savor the peace while you can. With Anya in colorado visiting family for the long weekend and practices canceled until after the holidays, you settle in the wednesday night before with no plans but your butt and that couch and a couple of mixed drinks.

There’s a slew of indie films and documentaries that have been sitting in your queue for the better part of a few months and you plan on making the most of your self-enforced relaxation. That is, until you get the phone call.

You recognize the number as Clarke’s and you pick up before it has the chance to ring again.

“Clarke?”

“Lexa, hi,” she sighs. In the background you can hear muffled noises and something suspiciously close to Christmas music playing. “How are you?”

You stare blankly at the television, your paused program stuck on a close up of the african savannah. “I’m fine.”

The music continues, and it’s long drawn out seconds of santa baby before Clarke decides to talk again. “Can I come over?” she says it quickly, rushed and almost like there’s a high probability you’ll say no. Which is absurd to you. That she could think you would and her resulting silence seems to reinforce the thought because she’s quick to stutter, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t--”

“Do you need me to pick you up?” You set your feet down from where they were propped up on the coffee table, setting aside the blanket you had draped over your legs. She doesn’t answer right away and if it weren’t for the noise you would assume she’d hung up. “Clarke.”

“No!” she insists, a little forcefully, and she clears her throat. “No, I can -- I’m good. I can make it. Thank you. I’ll just...” she pauses, and you press your hand to your lips to stop yourself from smiling. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

“I’m sure.”

“Can I bring anything?”

“Only if you want.”

“Okay. I’ll catch you in a little bit, then?”

“Sure,” you say. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Bye,” she mutters, almost shyly, and then she hangs up.

You haul yourself up from the couch, busying yourself with a menial task as the wait begins. There’s a few dishes in the sink that you clean and put away, but by the time that’s done you stand awkwardly by the kitchen table with little else to do. Everything is where it should be, the apartment is fairly clean, and you picked up an extra pack of italian roast keurig cups at the off chance that maybe something would happen, but here you are now, with something, and you’re not sure why you’re this nervous.

Or maybe you are and you just don’t want to admit it.

The intercom to your apartment sounds fifteen minutes or so later and you buzz Clarke up from the bottom floor. Clarke comes in bundled up in a large sweater and a thick wool scarf, cheeks rosy from the cold, and bearing a six pack of pumpkin ale.

She shivers visibly, standing just beyond the door as she takes in the heat of your apartment, before holding out the beer. “I bought us some drinks.”

You stand aside to let her in. “That’s not coffee.”

Clarke elbows you as she walks past, right in the gut but gently and this small smile forms while you watch her set down the case on your counter. “I drink more than just coffee, thank you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

She snorts, looking back at you challengingly as she fishes out a bottle from its containment and twists the cap off. “Oh, you better believe it.”

You join her by the counter when things settle. She takes a small sip and you stand close enough to see the way her ears peak through the blonde of her hair, red tipped and her flushed cheeks blotched from the sudden change in temperature. You gently touch her elbow, holding the contact for a second so she turns towards you. The blue of her eyes glows in the dim light of your apartment and you wonder if they find what they need when they look at you.

“Can I ask?” you begin tentatively. She doesn’t look away for a long moment, and you hope that means that line you're hesitant of still hasn’t been crossed.

“I wanted to get away for a moment,” Clarke says, shrugging. You have half a mind to realize that that’s not even the half of it, but you don’t push. She does the rest on her own. “My friends have this thanksgiving get-together on the Wednesday before. We eat, get a bit drunk, have fun. You know, it's for friends. They’ve always been more like family to me, anyway.”

She tilts her head back, looking up at your ceiling before glancing back down at her beer. The bottle twists in her hands, fingernails picking at the corner of the label.

“And then he shows up and I kinda just wanna….” she sighs heavily, the words lost, and her grip tightens on her drink until she forces herself to relax. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to --” she shakes her head, “you were the first person I thought of. Wells was more than happy to help me out.”

“That’s okay.” You gesture to the living room, the television still paused. “I was watching a documentary. Did you have something else in mind?”

“No,” she breathes, and the relief on her face is clear. “That sounds great.”

“Popcorn?”

Clarke moves away from the counter, patting her stomach with her free hand. “I’m good for now. Thank you though.”

You nod, plucking a beer from its cardboard holder and twisting off the cap. Clarke makes her way over to the couch, stopping halfway to look over her shoulder to make sure you’re following, and you do once both the caps are tossed into the recycling. She huddles into the far right corner of your couch, pulling her feet up after she slips off her shoes, her nose buried in her scarf, and you hear her sigh.

“Is it too cold?” you ask as you take a seat next to her, reaching for the remote that you left on the coffee table.

“No, it’s perfect,” she says, muffled. Not too long later she comes back up for air, taking a quick sip of beer. She sinks back into that warmth within seconds though. “What did I miss?”

You look back to the television. “The baby ostriches made it to the watering hole,” you say.

“Africa?”

“Yes.”

She snuggles further into your couch. “Oh good. That means I missed the scary part.”

You don’t bother tempering your smile, pressing play on the remote and settling in yourself. The both of your fall into a comfortable silence, quietly sipping your pumpkin beer as life on the african plains unfolds itself in your living room. You take a break to microwave a bag of popcorn halfway through the second episode, and when you return you sit shoulder to shoulder with the bowl in our lap.

(The warmth you feel when neither of you make a move to widen that distance after the popcorn is finished and the empty bowl moves from your lap to the table is… comforting. Content. And a whole bunch of other things your fuzz filled brain can’t manage to comprehend)

“The Dead Poet’s Society,” she says hopefully as you scroll through the main menu some indiscernible time later (you learn watching episodes of Africa back to back tend to have that kind of effect). You turn to look at her and the world outside is dark, but you feel light. It's no wonder as to why. “What about that?”

“It’s sad, Clarke.”

“I know.” She shrugs and you feel it. “It’s good though.”

It’s hard to argue with that kind of logic.

Clarke leaves late in the night. She wakes you up, her hand gentle on your shoulder and you feel not all quite there, half draped across the arm of the couch as you are. Her eyes are blue, this soft calm blue, and you find at that moment that you’d be okay with never looking at anything else.

“Is it okay if I leave the beer here?” she asks in a whisper, leant in close, and her voice fills your head.

You manage a nod, blinking, your tongue dry and heavy in your mouth. Everything about you feels sluggish, mind fuzzy and one step behind, and you don’t like it. The way way her touch disappears, her hand slipping as she pulls away, tucking an errant strand of hair that had fallen across her eyes.

You don’t like feeling like you’ve already been left behind.

“Clarke.” You hope you don’t sound as desperate as you feel.

She smiles this small gentle thing, and oh the way your heart clenches. “Have I thanked you today?”

“Yes,” you say without hesitation, without thinking, sitting up as if to follow. Because why would you need to. Your voice is hoarse and she smiles a bit wider at the sound and a tiny part of you hopes it convinces her to stay.

“Thank you,” she says anyway, half of a shrug. She buries her face into the scarf wrapped around her neck, hands deep in her pockets and this lazy slouch to her shoulders. “Get some sleep okay?”

It’s a few seconds before she makes a move for the door. There’s little you remember after that.

“Here,” Clarke says, holding out a cup of coffee and you glance at it, looking up from your notebook at that mug with the silly reindeer--Clarke’s soft hands and her chipped nail polish. You can’t believe she walked all the way from her apartment to the campus library with that thing and you find it’s hard to ignore that feeling that burns softly in the pit of your gut and you look away. That doesn’t deter her though. “Come on, you look like you need it.”

Your gaze rises and then falls, but ultimately you set your pencil down and accept the drink from her hands. “Thank you.”

She slides into the chair beside you, glancing over the books you have stacked in misshapen piles. To say she looks a little worried is an understatement. “How long have you been here?”

You tap her arm and she angles her wrist towards you, the face of her watch reading 4:37pm. “Six and a half hours.”

“Shit, Lexa,” she whispers, almost scolding. “Have you eaten at all?”

You think for a moment, but come up short. “No.”

Her lips purse into an almost frown, a displeased crease between her brows. Your face softens at the sight, this small, nearly nonexistent smile to your lips as you watch her expression sour minutely.

“Don’t give me that face,” she says.

You’re quick to avert your attention back to your notes. “I wasn’t aware I was making a face.”

Out of the corner of your eye she looks at you incredulously, a silent dare, but you don’t take the bait. You figure if there was ever a moment too close for comfort, this would be it. The harsh thud of your heart against your ribs is telltale enough.

“You need food,” she says a few moments later when you don’t acknowledge her further, her fingers touching yours. It’s distracting, but you don’t want her to stop. “Anya said you had practice this morning--”

That gets you to look up, and you blink owlishly. “You talked to Anya?”

“Yeah… I -- I kinda stopped by your apartment hoping to catch you.” she backtracks, shaking her head as if to remember. “She’s the one who told me where I could find you…. Is there something wrong?”

“No, I was just-- it’s fine.”

“She’s intense,” Clarke says.

You snort. “That’s putting it lightly, but yes, she is.”

“She would want you to eat.”

Your jaw drops slightly, watching Clarke fiddle with the sleeve of your sweater, as if pretending she didn’t just offhandedly threaten to use your roommate as leverage to twist your arm into getting you away from your work. When she glances up and your eyes meet the underhanded smirk is hard to miss.

You narrow your eyes at her. “Don’t bring her into this.”

She lifts her shoulders into a shrug. “Oops?”

“Did she put you up to this?”

“No, I’m more than happy to do that on my own.” She gives another tug, your sleeve now captive between her thumb and index finger. “Food?”

It takes a second, but you give in. “Sushi?”

“Sure, whatever you want.”

Clarke handles finals week almost as well as you do, which is to say she doesn’t. If it’s possible, she’s worse. You learned quickly that the people around her come first, and that doesn’t change even when she needs it the most. She’d run herself into the ground given the time, so when you get a call deep into finals week, you figure this is it.

It’s her number, from her phone, but the voice is too deep to actually be hers. You remember her mentioning Wells, her childhood friend and longtime (though sometimes reluctant) partner in crime, and when you show up to her apartment it’s him who opens the doors. It’s nice to finally put a name to a face.

You find there’s a gentleness to him that’s oddly relaxing.

“Thanks for stopping by,” he says, ushering you in quickly. You don’t get to offer much in return, feeling out of place by the door as he hurries to pack things from the kitchen table into his backpack.

You’ve been in Clarke’s apartment numerous times but it feels different now. Fuller, you think. To see a place with the people rather than simply their things. You watch as he goes through this mental list, checking to make sure he has everything, the pockets full and zipped, and then slings the pack over his shoulders.

“I’ve gotta run, but I really appreciate it. She was knocked out last I checked, but,” he shrugs, rolls his eyes, “who knows. She likes tomato soup and grilled cheese. Cheddar, not american. There’s kraft singles in the drawer, soup’s in the cupboard. She’ll tell you she likes it crispy but don’t, she’ll complain later that it hurts to swallow.”

He stills abruptly in the middle of the room as his mind wanders again. A shake of his head a second later brings him back. “Yeah, I think that’s it. Make yourself at home. If you need help just give me a call.”

And then he leaves with an awkward salute. The door closes shut behind him, the silence trickling in from it's hiding places and then familiarity along with it. The fridge hums, cars creep past on the narrow street below, this low murmur and general static, and you lower yourself into a seat and listen, the bag you brought with some busy work and books hanging limp from your shoulder.

You hear her before you see her. Some hours later after you’ve gotten comfortable in one of the kitchen chairs, a book propped open in your hand. It’s this tired shuffle of feet, of thick socks dragging sluggishly along the hardwoods. You chance a glance towards the hall and she appears around the bend in baggy sweats and a loose long sleeve shirt that’s rumpled and half twisted. Her blonde hair sticks out at random angles, a little gnarled and in desperate need of some attention. You watch her attempt to tug her hand through, a fight that she ends up forfeiting, and you look away before you’re caught.

It takes a lot of self-discipline to keep your eyes on your book. “What are you doing out of bed, Clarke?”

Out of the corner of your eye, she startles comically, hand moving to clutch at her heart. She stays like that for a few long seconds, relaxing when intrusion among her apparent solitude has been deemed unthreatening. That doesn’t stop her from vigorously rubbing her eyes, blinking in quick succession once she’s done only to find her surroundings the same and the dreams very much over.

“I was--” Clarke starts, voice more than raw, and you finally allow yourself to actually look. You notice the bags under her eyes, that extra color to her cheeks and neck. She takes quick stock of the rest of the apartment, perhaps wondering what other surprises it may have in store, but her sights keep settling on you. “What are you doing here?”

Careful to keep your page, you close your book. She seems unsure of herself, legs a little wobbly as she stands still in the middle of the hall, hesitant to move past the threshold that separates the bedrooms from the living space.

“I’m here for you, actually,” you reply.

“For me?” she croaks, pointing to herself.

“Are you hungry?”

She’s a bit taken back by the question, or maybe just surprised, and her hand drops to her side. Her mouth opens as if to answer, but nothing makes it out. She clears her throat instead, the pain evident in the dip to her brow, and bumps her closed hand against her thigh.

She nods.

(You wonder if she’s ever put herself first)

You gesture to the couch, and she wordlessly stumbles her way towards it, collapsing onto the cushions the second she’s close enough. For a moment she’s oddly still, face down on the couch and you briefly entertain the thought of checking her pulse, but not too long later her body quakes with the coughs she tries to hide into the pillows.

It’s pitiful, and yet in some way also endearing. You check on her while you go about finding the pots and pans and a skillet for the grilled cheese, glancing over your shoulder to find her still stubbornly face first in the pillows. She’s alive. If the small, occasional tremors are anything to go by, and her stubbornness makes you smile to yourself. You stir the tomato soup as you wait for the cheese to melt and you realize you’re right where you want to be.

She’s going to be okay. She won’t let herself be anything else.

You nudge her leg with your knee about fifteen minutes later with a plate of grilled cheese in one hand and a cup of tomato soup in the other. Her response is to peek from the confines of the throw pillows, eyes narrowed and slightly glossy with tears from coughing, and you shift slightly to place the plate and cup down on the coffee table behind you before turning back to her.

“Clarke,” you say, and her pout only gets bigger. “Can you sit up or do you want some help?”

Clarke shakes her head and you wait. She gets up slowly, pushing herself with the remaining strength in her arms and bringing her legs around until her feet are planted firmly on the floor. You hand her the plate with the little cup, and then reach for the remote that sits beside a messy pile of nail polish and old magazines. The first station you find is a late afternoon talk show and it’s mindless drone and audience laughter is a welcome addition among the static.

You backtrack towards the kitchen table after clarke takes her first bite of grilled cheese. She takes her time to chew, and you’re back with your book before she’s gotten through her second bite. You settle into the other corner, prop open your book against your leg, and pick up where you left off.

Whether or not you manage to comprehend what you’re reading, well. That’s a whole other monster. You get bits and pieces. Snippets of old government policies and other academic jargon that comes in second to the tiny bit of tomato soup collected at the corner of Clarke’s mouth that she wipes away with the side of her thumb.

Bits of the crust remain once she’s done, scattered over the plate and the empty bowl of soup. You flip through the next few pages, skimming the words and finding the next chapter too far away for your liking, so you lean forward to set it aside on the table and then reach for the plate in Clarke’s lap.

“Thank you,” she says, watching you as you stand.

You lift your shoulders in a small shrug. “What else are girlfriends for?”

She gives you this small lopsided smile in response and the swoop your stomach makes alights the butterflies resting there. You return it somewhat cheekily, embarrassed and unsure what to do in the wake of it, but you manage. Somehow, you manage.

You wander off to wash the plate and cup in the sink, taking your time so your insides have a chance to settle. The dishes--including the skillet and the pan of tomato soup--are spotless in two minutes flat and left to dry on the polka-dotted dish towel by the sink, and with nothing left to keep you, you make your way back to the couch.

Clarke has stretched out, head lolled back against the arm of the couch watching the television out of the corner of her eye. She spots you and attempts to adjust, but you wave her off.

You point at her legs. “Lift for a second?”

And she does, drawing her knees back towards her chest so you can take a seat. You guide them back over your lap once you’re good and Clarke sinks further into her slouch, chin nearly touching her chest.

“You are far too good to me, Lexa Woods,” she mutters practically into her shirt, but at least it seems as though her breathing comes easier. Her eyes droop closed, hands folded loosely together over her stomach, and you watch the rise and fall of her chest, your thumb absently rubbing back and forth across her shin.

Clarke (4:21pm): I passed!!!

Lexa (4:27pm): Congrats :)

Clarke (4:29pm): Celebrate? At the station around 7?

Lexa (4:30pm): I’ll meet you there

“So there’s this christmas party my friends are hosting,” Clarke starts one cold december afternoon, and you look up from your book. She doesn’t look back, seemingly enraptured by the television, but she does wiggle her toes that are tucked under your thigh for warmth.

You return your attention to your book when she offers nothing else beyond that, toying with the corner of the page. She wiggles her toes again though, and this time when you look up she’s waiting for you.

“Do you want to go?”

You tilt your head. “With you?”

“Uh...” Her mouth drops, a confused dip to her brows. “Yes...? With me. I thought--”

“I’m joking, Clarke,” you say and she purses her lips to stop herself from smiling, nudging you harder with her foot and you have let go of your book to steady yourself so you don’t topple over.

You push her back and Clarke laughs, holding on tight. You end up in a pile on the floor, between clarke’s legs and her hands at your back, the both of you in a bit of hysterics, and you don’t remember the last time you laughed like that.

The night of the party it is blistering cold and snowing faintly. Quiet uneven drifts that prickle your skin on contact and seem to burn. You and Clarke take an uber downtown to an off campus apartment housing, and the twenty or so feet that separate you from the front door when you pile out from the backseat are covered in five seconds flat, the both of you crowding into the foyer, Clarke pushing you in from behind.

“Christ,” Clarke breathes into your shoulder. Her hands lightly grip your waist, keeping you close for heat as you try to shake some warmth back into your limbs.

“It’ll be warmer upstairs,” you say, brushing the dusting of snow from your coat, waiting for Clarke to release you. She does eventually with one final groan, pressing her forehead into our back before stepping away and stuffing her mittened hands into her jacket pockets.

Music plays, muffled by the walls, and it grows steadily louder as you climb the stairs. The third and final floor has its doors open and people mill about outside and on the staircase to talk and enjoy a bit of quiet away from the main noise. More than a few say hi to Clarke, and she offers a small wave to the lot of them.

“Raven inside?” she asks, pointing.

A man reclined on the top step taps the lip of his beer bottle against his chin. “Last I saw she was mixing up shit in the kitchen.”

“Anyone throw up yet?”

He grins. “No, but you’re early.”

“Great. That’s just great, Murphy,” Clarke says, tugging you closer by the hand. “You’re helping me out if anyone does.”

His eyes roll and he shrugs, but you have a feeling that it's not a ‘no.’ “Isn’t that a girlfriend job?”

You catch gazes with him, and there’s a look of mischief in his eyes as he brings the bottle to his mouth for a sip. Clarke, however, doesn’t respond, and you don’t get much time to dwell on it before she pulls you into the apartment.

The actual apartment itself is a hallway and interconnected rooms, people collected in clumps and couples in corners. A stereo plays a collection of rock christmas music in the living room, the couch full and standing space slowly getting there as well, but you don’t get much time to observe. Clarke leads you to the end of the hall, opening a door that turns out to be a closet.

Clarke strips herself of her mittens, stuffing them in her coat pocket and then off comes the scarf and finally her jacket. She hangs them up on an available coat hanger before turning to you. “Jacket,” Clarke says, holding out her hand. “And anything I can start you off with? I’m going to see if I can quickly find Raven in the kitchen and say hi.”

You shrug out of your coat. ‘What are my choices?”

“Well.” She tilts her head. It’s a beat or two before she continues with: “You know, I’m not quite sure.”

“Surprise me,” you say, the corner of your mouth lifting in a small smirk..

Clarke nods her head. “Whisky it is.”

You eye her curiously, but her face is impassive and gives nothing away. “Sure,” you say, apprehensive, handing her your coat, and when she turns to hang it next to her own there’s the slightest of smiles on her face.

“Mingle,” she says once she turns around, her hand on your lower back and pushing. “I’ll come find you.”

You stumble forward, glancing back at Clarke who simply shoos you in the general direction of the living room, and you go somewhat reluctantly, looking back after a couple steps to find Clarke lost to the mess of people mulling about in the small kitchen. So you decide to wander.

There’s a couple faces you can pick apart from the crowd as vaguely familiar, though most likely they’re people you’ve run across cramming for finals week in the library. Not that the off chance of running into somebody you knew swayed your decision to come. Your social circle basically consists of Anya and the fencing club and that’s more than enough for you. So when a girl from across the room spots you, eyes widening, and immediately begins her trek through the throng, you wonder if there was something you missed.

You don’t recognize her, but she seems to recognize you. “Lexa?” she asks hesitantly, almost trying to hide behind a red singles cup she holds in her left hand.

“Yes?”

Her face changes immediately. “Oh my god, hi! It’s so nice to finally get to meet the girlfriend.” She holds out her hand and is quick to add, “I’m Niylah by the way, a friend of Clarke’s.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to say, unconsciously reaching for her hand, lost somewhere between the word girlfriend and it's relation to Clarke. Your brain short-circuits and it’s a second or two before it can reboot. Luckily she doesn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah. We suffer through art history together. She talks about you all the time.” She lets go of your hand. “This is a little late, but congrats on the big win. I’ve been trying to get my girlfriend to run with me. So far it’s a no go, but maybe one day.” and she shrugs, a smile stealing its way to her mouth.

It’s an expression you’ve become rather familiar with. “It was certainly an experience.”

“With someone like Clarke I wouldn’t expect anything less.” She nudges you with her elbow, impish, but her face is quick to soften. She looks at you then, and there’s something in her eyes you can’t seem to place. Admiration? A bit of relief? She taps her fingers against her cup and her eyes dart away. “She could use someone like you though. To keep her grounded.”

“Niylah?”

Both of you turn at the sound and you spot Clarke just a few feet away, a drink in each hand. She steps in close to you, handing off your drink which looks suspiciously close to whisky, and then pulls Niylah into a one armed hug.

“It’s so nice to see you,” Clarke mutters into her hair, giving a tiny squeeze for emphasis.

Niylah is quick to reciprocate. “The feelings mutual.” She pulls away slightly, face serious. “Quick--question six, Mrs. Edie’s exam. Renoir or Degas?”

“Degas,” Clarke says without hesitation and Niylah tips her head back and groans. Clarke pats her shoulder.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom and cry now.”

“Text me sometime?” Clarke says before she has a chance to escape off to the bathroom to mope, catching Niylah by the wrist. “We can catch up.”

Niylah smiles softly at her, and for a moment you think there’s more in common between the two of you than you realize. “You can count on it.”

You both watch her go, Clarke by your side, and you raise your cup to your mouth for the first cautious sip. It most certainly is whisky. You clear your throat and Clarke chances a quick glance, hiding her smile as best she can behind the rim of her cup. The second sip is easier than the first and you both wander into the living room to find a place to relax.

The second you’re through the threshold, Clarke gets waved over and you follow. The people on the couch scooch to make room until there’s space for both of you to sit, but the fit is still a tight squeeze. You end up half tucked behind her, Clarke’s arm overlapping yours, and she pats the back of your hand.

The old movie How The Grinch Stole Christmas plays muted on the television, and you find yourself watching it as Clarke carries on a conversation with her other neighbor. You’ve seen it before when you were young, and the nostalgia makes it easy to lose yourself in it. You quietly nurse your whisky, watching the poor dog tumble his way down the slippery mountain slope.

“You don’t have to drink it,” comes Clarke’s voice, soft, and you know better than to look, but you do anyway. Squished this close, you’re nearly nose to nose with her, and your eyes do this embarrassing back and forth between her eyes and then, for a fraction of a second, dip down to her lips.

You pull your gaze away quickly, focusing instead on her hand over yours and that subtle and subconscious graze of her thumb across your knuckles.

You give your cup a little swirl and the ice cubes shift against the plastic. “I like it,” you say, settling the cup back on the arm of the couch, held upright by your loose grip, and your attention returns to the movie.

“Still.” She pauses to watch you. “It’s not a problem. I can get you something else.”

But you don’t get to say anything else. The room is suddenly awash with wolf whistles and raucous laughter. It takes a moment to realize the entire room has its eyes on you--well, technically behind you, and you shift to look over your shoulder. What you find is a woman in a santa hat sporting the largest grin. It takes a second more to see the mistletoe hanging over your head.

“Raven,” you hear Clarke grit between her teeth.

The threat has zero effect, the mistletoe dangling on its string above your heads. “Come on, Clarke, don’t ruin christmas.”

“Raven,” Clarke repeats.

“Clarke,” Raven pouts. “Just one kiss? Your girlfriend is practically dying of loneliness.”

You don’t want to get pulled into this, but Clarke looks at you and it’s as if she doesn’t know what to say. The apology is written so clearly on her face it may as well be stamped across her forehead and you don’t know why it wedges this thorn into your side. She looks unsure and the longer she stares, the more the peanut gallery gathered around you eggs her on.

“Can I kiss you?” she asks, eyes resolute but her cheeks positively red. The person on her other side pokes her in the ribs and she swats it away, the blush stretching to her ears. She wrings the sleeve of her shirt in her fingers, avoiding your eyes as the chants of ‘kiss, kiss, kiss’ grow in volume in the wake of her question and the deja vu isn’t lost on you.

And you give her this smile. “Of course.” Because it’s nothing you haven’t done before.

(somewhere among the mess a voice shouts ‘gay!’ and yes. Yes you most certainly are)

She goes to cup your cheek but she hesitates and it’s just the tips of her fingers along your jaw. Your heart stops anyway, though. It trips over its own feet and stumbles and your breath hitches the moment you press together with her.

(her lips are as soft as you remember)

Your foreheads meet with a gentle thud and you exhale through your nose, content on letting the feeling last as long as she’ll let it. There’s a hesitancy in the absence of adrenaline and the second you feel her retreat you make no move to follow.

The show, no matter how brief, is more than enough to placate your audience, and once Raven moves onto the next couple by the stereo, the attention shifts and you’re left to your own devices.

That doesn’t mean you open your eyes. At least not right away, lingering as long as you can in the moment and the feelings left on the tip of your tongue.

“Sorry,” she mutters and you can feel it, her breath warm and smelling vaguely of peppermint schnapps.

“What for?”

You feel her shrug and you pry your eyes open, blinking a few times, and it's like being woken up from a good dream too early. But what greets you when you do, Clarke’s warm eyes and red cheeks still close, is a dream all itself.

“Things, I guess.”

You lean in without thinking, dipping to place a chaste kiss on her cheek. There’s the slightest movement as she accepts it without protest, quiet, blinking, shifting to study you softly afterward and you’d say the whisky made you brave. But it’s just one drink and there’s no one to blame besides yourself.

Clarke’s sighs, audible, and she leans into your side, resting her chin on your shoulder. The conversation drops and you watch the rest of the movie in relative silence, the noise from the party drifting as Raven and her band of followers roams room to room. It’s sometime after the credits when it finally dies down to an extent.

The kitchen remains a hubbub of noise, however. Glasses clatter, ice spills, people laugh. After a minute or two Clarke hauls herself up from the couch and you miss the weight immediately, so you pick yourself up and follow.

You get another set of drinks, watching as Clarke whips something up after shooing Raven away from the alcohol and you forget about the kiss halfway through your second mixed drink. You get caught up in a discussion about the education system with a group of student teachers, but Clarke remains a point of reference in the corner of your eye. She spends her time mothering a pair of incredibly drunk boys who can’t seem to stop giggling when they ask her for increasingly absurd drink names. They don’t notice when all she hands them is watered down juice.

“This is the good stuff,” one of them mutters, a pair of sunglasses askew on his head. The other laughs into his juice and Clarke rolls her eyes.

She finds you when they’ve finally passed out, hunched over on the island, their sleepy snores this quiet undertone among the kitchen noise. She steps close, presses her face to the back of your shoulder and you acknowledge her presence by turning your head, nudging her gently with your chin.

You have a few more drinks and then call it quits. The exhaustion settles in to stay sometime around midnight, and you want to leave before someone actually does puke and you and Clarke are left to clean up the mess. You go out into the hall where it's quiet to call an uber and then shuffle back into the apartment to find Clarke.

She’s back on the couch, smushed in the middle between Raven and the two drunk boys from earlier, watching the commotion with mild interest. She spots you over by the entryway in a matter of seconds and smiles, turning to say something to Raven. The other woman grins, drawing Clarke into a hug that is impossible to escape from and she succumbs to the inevitability. It lasts a minute at least, but Clarke manages to slip away after one last squeeze, pulling away just barely and then scampering over to your side.

Her hand finds yours and the world melts away and all you’re left with is just the two of you in that hall, the muffled music and laughter. The hallway is dark and your head is fuzzy and she’s already close enough to you that there’s no reason to reach out for her.

“Are we dating?” you whisper, almost a tease as you watch her shuffle through the closet for your coats.

“No,” she says, blunt despite the softness she manages to coat that word with. You find yourself staring at the redness in her cheeks--on the small upturn of her mouth and that tick of a smile, and you find yourself wanting to kiss her all over again. “No, we’re not.”

Your ride home drops her off first and you watch her amble up the sidewalk to her apartment through the frosted backseat window.

#clexa #clarke griffin #lexa #woop there it is #part 2 of the #cc au #one more to go

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notwithout-mymuse · 7 years

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Fic: Giving me faith to get me through the night

Robert and Liv (because that’s the only dad!rob content we need rn amirite?) hurt/comfort. Featuring domestic fluff, bonding and general drunkenness.

My first attempt at an ED fic, so feedback would be appreciated!

Robert/Liv, Robert/Aaron

Warnings: minor injury, blood, vomiting (none overly graphic I don’t think?), alcohol, underage drinking, panic.

Title from this song (minus the pretty cringey early 2000s video)

Stupid. You’re stupid.

You keep walking down the street, head down, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

Why did you think this was a good idea?

The guy was a creep. The party was full of weirdos.

It’s dark. The only light comes from the hazy, buzzing streetlights.

They’ll be so angry at you. They’ll want you to leave. And it’s all your own fault.

The shops you pass are all closed-up for the night. The curtains drawn in the houses.

You’ve drank too much. You feel sick. Your head is spinning. But you keep walking. Fast. Faster.

You can still hear the blaring police sirens, the blue lights flashing behind your eyes every time you blink.

It’s starting to rain. You’re cold. Didn’t you leave the house with a jacket? Probably. You’re not wearing it now. You wrap your arms around yourself. It doesn’t help.

You keep walking. You need to get home. Faster still.

Your ankle throbs. You can feel the warm stickiness of blood seeping into your shoe.

Someone shouts drunkenly somewhere further back down the street behind you. You’re not sure if they’re shouting at you or not. You don’t stop to find out. Faster.

The realisation that you don’t know where you are or where you’re going creeps up on you slowly.

There’s heavy, panting breaths. You quickly look around you. No one there. The panic is your own.

You would give anything to be tucked up in bed at home right now. Warm, unconcerned, safe.

You lost track of your bag around the same time as your jacket. It’s only when your back pocket buzzes that you remember. Your phone wasn’t in the bag.

You pull it out, but you don’t stop walking. You ignore the twitter notification. You go to your contacts. He is the first person you instinctively think of. You call him.

It’s past 2am when Robert finally shuts off the water and steps out of the shower to dry off. He pulls on his boxers and an old white t-shirt, and quickly towel dries his hair, eager to finally get into bed. The warm water had only done so much to ease the ache in his neck and shoulders from where he has been hunched over his laptop for hours, trying to untangle the mess that Jimmy had somehow made of the Home James accounts.

Robert knew that if Aaron was home he would have berated him for being a workaholic and dragged him to bed long before now. But Aaron is out on the lash in town with Adam, and Liv is sleeping over at Gabby’s, which left Robert with the rare and peaceful solitude of the Mill to get stuck into his work.

Robert hears his phone ringing from the bedroom, where he had left it on charge. He snorts softly and moves towards the room to answer it. Even though it was the early hours of the morning, Robert was half-expecting a call from Aaron, who had more than once drunk-dialled him from a bar or taxi during a night out, usually to say something soppy that he would then deny the next morning.

But Robert’s phone didn’t light up with it’s usual “Hubby x”. Instead it was Liv’s name that appeared, above a picture that Robert had taken of her when they were decorating the Mill, her smile full of mischief and a large streak of paint across her right cheek. He picks up on the last ring.

“Liv, what’s up? You okay?”

Liv’s answering voice is distant and shaky.

“Robert! Can you…. I’m sorry… can you come and get me?”

“Where are you, at Gabby’s house?” Robert demands quickly, worry rising. Since when does Liv ask for help?

“I’m…no I’m not at… I don’t know where I am… look please don’t be mad but I lied ok…” Liv pauses, Robert can hear her breathing heavily before she speaks again, like she’s been running.

“I didn’t really go to Gabby’s I went to a house party in Hotten with this lad from school, but it all kicked off so I left and…and now I don’t know where I am… Rob, what do I do?”.

By the time she stops speaking, Robert has already put his phone on loudspeaker and put the device down on the bed so he can grab the closest pair of jeans he owns from the wardrobe, and Aaron’s purple hoodie from the hook on the back of the door to throw on.

“You said you’re in Hotten? Where exactly?” he shouts towards his phone.

“I already said I don’t know!” Liv snaps back, indignance failing to mask her fear.

“Ok. Ok just… stay calm alright? I’m coming to look for you. Don’t hang up ok?”.

At that Robert dashes out of the room, phone in hand and down the stairs. He gets as far as the front door of the apartment before he dashes back to the kitchen table for his forgotten car keys.

As soon as he’s run through the rain, jumped in his car, and switched on the engine, all in record time, Robert places his phone in his lap so he can talk and drive. Shooting quickly out of the driveway, before he speaks.

“Liv, you still there?”

“Yeah, mmhere” she mumbles back.

“What can you see? Is there anything around you that might tell me where you are? Any road signs?”

“No… it’s just houses”

Robert runs his hand through his still damp hair, tries to quell his own rising panic. The last thing Liv needs is him losing the plot.

“Can you look it up on your phone? If you hang up for a couple of minutes, get google maps up and tell me what road you’re on. Then call me back, can you do that?”

“Erm…yeah I think so.”

“Ok. Do it. Then ring me straight back ok?”

“Yeah ok.”

Robert can’t help but sigh heavily when she hangs up. Wondering, not for the first time, how on earth he found himself co-parenting a troublesome teenage girl at 2:30 in the morning. But he also can’t deny the hard, sick feeling in his gut that he knows won’t go away until Liv is with him. Until she’s home.

Robert keeps driving towards Hotten, his foot hard on the accelerator. The rain coming down heavier now, his windscreen wipers squeaking, a chill in the air.

After what feels like an hour, but is probably no more than a couple of minutes, his phone rings, making him jump in the eerie quiet.

“Liv?”

“Yeah… um, it said I’m on Queen’s Road… I don’t know where that is but…” Liv stutters out, before Robert cuts across her.

“That’s ok, I do. Can you stay there and wait for me? Is it safe for you to wait where you are?”

“I think so. I can’t see anyone around.”

“Good, find the brightest part of the street and wait for me, I’m on my way.”

Liv squats down to sit on the low wall under the nearest streetlight. Her hands still shaking, wet hair plastered to her head as the rain refuses to let up, and now she’s stopped moving her ankle is hurting more. She focusses on the phone she’s holding by her ear to try and ignore the ache, listens to the sound of Robert shifting to change gear. But she can’t stop her head swivelling left and right, checking that the street is still deserted. She sees car lights in the distance, but they turn off far down the road.

“Are you gonna be long?” she can’t help but ask. She just wants to go home.

“2 minutes” Robert replies.

When he finally pulls up, Liv is so grateful to see his poncy car and dumb face, that the second he’s upright, she barrels into him and holds on to him with a death grip. The tears finally begin to fall now, mingling with the rain and falling onto Robert’s chest as she feels his hand come up to cradle the back of her head.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry!” She gasps.

“Shh shh, it’s ok, you’re ok… I’m here now”. Robert holds her close for several beats, before pulling back to get a good look at her. Eyes widening when his concerned gaze lands on her bloody foot.

“You’re hurt! Why didn’t you say so? What happened?” he demands in one breath.

“It’s fine, I just tripped, it’s not even that bad.” But before Liv has even finished speaking, Robert is pulling his – Aaron’s – hoodie off and is wrapping it around her frozen arms, before helping her round to the passenger side door.

She wants to tell him to knock it off, that she’s capable of getting into a car, that she’s not a baby. But she doesn’t.

Instead she lets him help her into the car before he doubles back round and gets in to the drivers’ seat, listens to his assurances that he’ll see to her foot once they get home, and focuses on the comforting warmth of the car that spreads through her in stark contrast to the frigid wind and rain outside. She slips her arms into the sleeves of the hoodie, even though they’re far too long for her and they drown her hands. She can’t resist pulling one sleeve up to her nose, inhaling the faint combined smell of Robert’s posh shower gel, and Aaron’s cheap body spray. She would later blame her wayward thoughts on the vodka she had drank, but in that moment Liv couldn’t help thinking that the old, ratty hoodie smells like home.

By the time Robert pulls up into the driveway of the Mill, Liv is fast asleep. She had stayed awake just long enough to tell him what had happened. How she had got Gabby to cover for her so she could get the bus into Hotten to meet some lad called Ben, whose older brother was throwing a house party while their parents were away. How she had regretted it when Ben spent the whole time getting smashed and leering at all the girls. How some of the older lads had got into fight with some guys who had tried to gatecrash the party, culminating in a large, drunken brawl on the front lawn and the neighbours calling the police. At which point, Liv had told him, she’d panicked and ran from the house and down the street, but not before stumbling on a loose paving stone and scraping her ankle.

She looks peaceful now, under the glow of the Mill’s porch light. Bundled up in the purple hoodie, head resting on the window, all bright pink cheeks and messy, slowly drying hair. Robert doesn’t want to wake her when she looks like this, but he knows he needs to. He might just be able to carry her into the house, but there was no way he could get her up the spiral staircase. Ignoring the voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Aaron saying “well you chose the damn thing, what’s wrong with a normal staircase?”, he reaches over to shake Liv’s shoulder gently, not wanting to scare her.

Once he’s guided a sleepy and unsteady Liv into the house, he instructs her to go up the bathroom and wait, and is surprised when she doesn’t argue. Robert stops by the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and the first aid kit from the cupboard by the sink, before following her upstairs.

He’s not surprised that as he reaches the half-open bathroom door, he hears Liv retching and enters to see her hunched over the toilet, pale and groaning. Robert crouches by her side, brushes her hair away from her face and keeps a hand between her shoulder blades until it stops. It takes a few minutes and several flushes of the toilet for her stomach to stop heaving enough that she can sit on the closed lid of the toilet and sip gingerly from the glass of water that Robert has brought her.

However, she has recovered enough that she is able to summon an eye-roll when Robert encourages her to lift her leg up into his lap, where he is perched on the edge of the bathtub, so that he can see to her foot.

“Ouch! Some nurse you’d be” Liv complains when he starts dabbing at her cut with a damp cloth to try and clean out any dirt.

“Well don’t drink so much next time, and you might find it easier to stay on your feet!” Robert retorts.

There’s no heat behind either of their comments, their eyes too understanding, but the bantering makes things feel more normal.

Thankfully once the smeared blood had been cleaned away, the cut isn’t too bad. Robert works quickly but thoroughly, adding antiseptic cream and dressing Liv’s foot.

“There! Should be fine, just keep it clean so if doesn’t get infected ok?” he tells her.

“Ok…. I’m gonna go to bed now I think” Liv says as she limps toward the door, leaving Robert to turn around and clean up.

He thinks she’s gone, so he jumps a little when she speaks again.

“Robert?” Liv says, voice small and quiet, hand still on the door handle.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for… this… everything. Look, I know I’m not your kid, so you didn’t have to turn out in the middle of the night to… you know…look after me… and stuff. Most people would have just shouted at me…” She trails off awkwardly, her tired face tinged with a blush that has nothing to do with the weather this time.

Watching the discomfort and uncertainty flit across Liv’s face makes something in Robert’s chest seize. Because he knows that feeling. The feeling that you’re too much trouble to be worth anyone’s time or effort, that you’re too much of a fuck-up and that everyone will leave you eventually. The feeling of not knowing where you belong, or who with. His heart aches with empathy.

“Liv. I meant what I said when Aaron was in prison – you deserve to be looked after properly. And besides, we’re family now, it’s what we do” Robert says softly.

“Although” he continues, less softly this time. “Don’t think this is the end of it. I’ll be telling Aaron about your little adventure, and you are so going to be grounded tomorrow!”

“Ugh!” Liv groans and rolls her eyes, but the whole sarcastic attitude is undermined by the grateful unshed tears in her eyes. Her mouth tugging up into a genuine smile, even as she turns and heads down the hall to her room to face-plant her bed.

It’s almost 4am by the time Robert’s cleaned up the first aid supplies and checked on a now passed out Liv. He leaves a fresh glass of water on her bedside table, tucks her duvet in around her, and makes sure that she is lying on her side with her bin nearby in case her stomach tries to rebel again. When he finally crashes into his own bed, his shoulders ache more than ever, and his eyes itch with tiredness.

Robert is seconds away from sleep, when he hears a car door slam, shortly followed by the creak of the front door and footsteps on the stairs.

Aaron.

Robert silently prays that his husband isn’t in as rough a state as his sister. One vomiting person is more than enough for one night.

“What time do ya call this then?” Robert can’t resist asking cheekily.

He can’t see Aaron in the darkness but he can tell that his husband jumps.

“Sorry, I thought you’d be asleep by now… didn’t wanna wake ya.” Thankfully he only sounds slightly tipsy.

“Ha! Chance would be a fine thing!” Robert mumbles into his pillow as he listens to Aaron strip down to his underwear, swearing as he stubs his toe on the dresser in the dark, before sliding into bed behind him.

“What’s up? Can’t sleep? I bet you were up late working again weren’t ya?” Aaron says, as he moves to wrap his arm around Robert, their legs tangling as he spoons Robert from behind.

“Long story. I’ll tell you in the morning.” Robert responds, deciding that there was no point getting Aaron worked up at 4am, now that Liv is home safe.

“Mmmkay” Aaron mumbles. Pressing a kiss to the back of Robert’s neck where his breath is gently tickling his skin. He smells vaguely of beer and kebab, but his mouth is gentle and his body is warm and comforting.

The last coherent thought Robert has is that everyone is now home, curled up safe and sound - right where they belong.

#robert x liv #roblivion #robron #robert sugden #liv flaherty #aaron dingle #robron fic #emmerdale fic #beth's writing #fic: faith

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