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deanstead · 2 years

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Pieces (16): Altercation... or not

Chapter 16: Altercation… or not

Chapter Summary: Y/N takes Chloe to see her father and handles a patient she doesn’t want to have anything to do with. Meanwhile, Jay comes into Med to follow up on a case.

Word Count: 2,516

Warnings: canon-typical mentions of injuries

SERIES MASTERLIST || JAY HALSTEAD MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

You’d tried for another week to convince Chloe to spend some time with her father. It fell on deaf ears when you assured her that Vivian wasn’t going to be there. You tried telling her that you would go and she looked up at you almost like she was considering and then she shook her head.

“Not even if I’m there with you?”

Chloe shook her head without looking up. “Daddy makes you sad.”

You paused. You don’t know what you did right to ever deserve a daughter like Chloe. Sometimes it was hard to believe she was five. “Not anymore.”

Chloe looked up.

“I haven’t been sad recently, right?” You asked her, and she nodded so you continued. “Why don’t we try a lunch this weekend?”

Chloe looked like she was considering before she nodded. “Can Jay come?”

You smiled. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Of course, Jay came.

Jay slid into the seat next to Chloe, feeling considerably better now that his arm was finally out of the cast.

Caleb wasn’t happy about Jay’s presence but you’d told him he either accepted it or lunch was off. Those were Chloe’s terms.

That’s how Caleb found himself pausing at the entrance of the diner, watching from a distance as Jay gave Chloe his undivided attention, and Chloe smiled up at him before you leaned over to make Chloe take a sip from her drink. It was something about this image in front of him that hit him and he readjusted the expression on his face before he approached the table.

Chloe looked up, pausing before she looked back down at the paper she’d been drawing on.

Saying lunch was awkward was an understatement. Jay was kept occupied by Chloe, which was another way of saying that Chloe barely interacted with her father. The five-year-old aside, even Caleb seemed to have forgotten how to interact with his own daughter and you had absolutely nothing you wanted to say to Caleb except “what do you expect?” so you kept your mouth shut, reminding yourself of the promise you had made yourself when your marriage had fallen apart - to stay out of their father-daughter relationship.

At the end of lunch, Chloe was itching to get out of there, so Jay gave you a look but let Chloe drag him a little further down the street.

You glanced at Caleb. “You know this happened because your little girlfriend locked her outside right? You’re gonna have to win her trust back.”

Caleb glanced over towards Chloe and Jay, before he nodded. “Look, I’m sorry.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“For everything, Y/N. I… I saw the three of you today and I just… I get it. Jay seems like a good guy.” Caleb said.

That, you didn’t expect.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I was just worried about you.” Caleb said and you didn’t hide an eye-roll.

You held up a hand. “Caleb, I don’t need you to worry about me. You put me here, you don't get to worry about me. Don’t worry about me, don’t explain anything to me, it’s none of my business. The only reason I’m here today is because I’m not going to encourage my daughter to be estranged from her own father.”

You studied him. “Look, if you really want a relationship with her, you have to show her that you care. She’s five, she’s not stupid. We’ll try again this weekend, alright? I’ll call if Chloe’s up for it.”

You turned to head towards Jay and Chloe when she came out of nowhere, her hands pushing hard against your shoulders so you stumbled a few steps backwards. “So it was you.”

“What?” You asked, staring Vivian straight in the eye now.

“You seduced him so he’d break up with me.” The words coming out of Vivian’s mouth were scathing, and you stared at her, feeling the unbridled rage shoot through you once again and straight into your brain. Your body felt hot, the anger shooting to the forefront until you realized Chloe was running towards you now, with Jay close behind.

You swallowed down the anger, physically pursing your lips together to stop the choice words that were floating around in your brain to erupt in front of Chloe. Chloe scooted her way in between you and Vivian, before she pushed, her small hands barely reaching Vivian’s belly. “Leave my mum alone!” Chloe yelled, her voice echoing down the street as she glared up at Vivian.

“You okay?” Jay asked, a hand on your elbow now, his eyes flicking between you and Chloe.

You nodded, motioning towards Chloe, and Jay nodded before he reached over to pick Chloe into his arms and away from Vivian.

“Anyone can use that word but you.” You responded, your voice low. You turned back towards Caleb. “Your mess. We’re leaving.”

Jay took your hand with his free one, threading his fingers through yours before leading you and Chloe away, not even sparing a glance behind him.

“Treatment 5.” Maggie said, handing you your iPad.

You nodded, smiling and opening the curtain. “Hi, I’m Dr Y/L/N, how can I…”

Your voice trailed off as you recognized the patient.

Vivian’s face changed as well and you exhaled. “I want another doctor.”

You nodded, your expression unchanging as you opened the curtain again . “Mags, is there anyone else who can…” Your eyes followed as Connor and Ethan rushed across the ED, Will was working on an emergency patient, and the waiting room looked like it was about to explode.

“Sorry.” Maggie shrugged and you sighed, shaking your head at her to tell her it was fine.

You left the curtain open and April followed you in, closing the curtain behind her. It had been barely a week since you’d last come face to face with her in a less than friendly situation, so in an ideal situation, you’d hand her off to someone else if you could. Instead, you glanced at the iPad. “It says here you injured your wrist?”

Vivian kept silent, before she turned towards April. “Can I get another doctor?”

April glanced at you and you just nodded. “Sorry, we’re really backed up today.”

“Let me order the tests and the scans.” You said, already looking at her swollen wrist. “When the results are back, I’ll try to get another doctor in here.”

Vivian gave you a scathing look, which was lost on you because you’d already looked away from her. You gave the instructions to April, who nodded at you and you left the room.

“What are the chances of someone else freeing up?” You asked Maggie, leaning over the counter.

Maggie glanced over at the waiting room and then back at you. “What’s the problem?”

“April’s probably going to come out of there with some complaint or other against me. You just wait.” You said. True enough, April came out of the treatment room a minute later.

“She’s claiming that she wants another doctor because you’re going to let your personal feelings get in the way. She said you didn’t even examine her hand and claims she had an altercation with you outside the hospital because you stole her boyfriend.”

Maggie turned to you.

“An alter…” You rolled your eyes. “Can you get Ethan to do it? She’ll complain about Will too, once she finds out who he is.”

“I’m waiting.” Maggie said, and you smiled.

“Oh, that’s the woman that my husband, sorry, ex-husband dumped me and Chloe for.” You explained, sweeping your hands out. “She crashed Chloe’s lunch with him last week and shoved me, claiming I seduced her boyfriend.”

“Seduced…?” April asked in disbelief.

You shrugged. “So Chloe ran in and pushed her back. She had an altercation with a five year old.”

“She didn’t…”

You smiled. “Not a chance. Besides, Jay was there.”

Maggie nodded towards the stretcher that was being pushed in. “I’ll handle this. You go help Dr Rhodes.”

“Thanks Mags!” You called, snapping on the gloves and heading there just in time to catch the tail-end of what the paramedics were telling Connor.

You followed him into Baghdad, stabilizing the patient as much as possible, before the tech wheeled the x-ray machine in.

“Clear.”

You glanced at the image that now flashed on the screen. “I’m putting in a chest tube.” You told Connor, who nodded as he moved to intubate the patient.

“Alright, call the OR, we’re sending her up now.”

You took off your gloves, stepping out of the room. “Jay?”

“Hey, how is he?” Jay asked. You could see the stress lines on his forehead.

You glanced back at the patient who was heading towards the lifts and shook your head. “He’s got serious injuries, it’s touch and go, but they’re sending him up for surgery now. You taking this case?”

Jay nodded. “High speed car chase.”

“He’s a perp?” You asked, although you kept your voice low.

Jay nodded.

“Great. What a great day.” You muttered.

Jay reached out. “What’s wrong?”

You gave him a fake smile. “You will never guess who was the patient I was seeing before this.”

Jay raised his eyebrows but before you could say more, Ethan came by. “Hey, Y/N. Maggie said you needed my help?”

You glanced down at your iPad. “Yeah, can you take the patient in 5? Vivian Hall.”

Jay’s head snapped towards you and you rolled your eyes at him. “It looks like just a broken wrist.” You told Ethan. “But if I go in there, she’s probably going to accuse me of trying to kill her. And if she hears the name Halstead, she might flip.”

“I got you.” Ethan assured you. “You wanna come in anyway?”

You shrugged. “Why not?”

You looked at Jay and he nodded. “Go, I’ll see you later.”

You reached over to squeeze his hand. “Get a coffee. And some food. I’m not asking.”

Jay smiled and nodded before you headed off after Ethan.

You’d drawn up her discharge papers, handing them to April.

April shook her head. “Of all the hospitals?”

You gave her a small smile. “Come on, April, with my luck? I’m surprised she wasn’t in here sooner.”

You watched April disappear behind the curtain before the alarm rang from Treatment 5. “Dr Y/L/N!”

You were already halfway there by the time you heard April call you, pushing the curtain aside, your eyes sweeping across the monitor due to the change in her vitals. “She’s having a seizure. Push 5 of Ativan.”

“Meds are in.” April told you, looking up. “She was fine, she was about to get up.”

“She told Dr Choi she fell, didn’t she?” You asked.

April nodded.

“Get her up to CT. We need a brain scan.”

The CT scan had shown that Vivian had indeed taken an impact to her head and there were signs that she was bleeding into her brain so she’d been sent up for emergency surgery.

“Lucky for her you were available.” April commented.

You shrugged. “And that I’m a professional?” You asked, a smile playing on your lips.

April laughed. “Never doubted you for a second.”

“Hey, I heard about your patient.” Will said, jogging towards you. “Seriously?”

You smiled. “I mean, all I did was let Ethan do the talking and stop her seizure. Not sure if that qualifies her to be my patient since ‘I let my personal feelings get in the way’.” You made a face, drawing quotation marks in the air with your fingers.

Will laughed. “Yeah, I heard. Maggie asked me to check in on you.”

“I’m fine.” You told him. “More than fine, actually.”

Will nodded. “Good, now go kick my brother’s ass. I put him in the doctor’s lounge. Doesn’t look good.”

You frowned and turned towards the lounge.

It had been that kind of week, made worse by being that kind of day.

Jay leaned against the back of the chair he was sitting on. He hadn’t been in here much, not really. He usually just breezed in and out of Med, stopping to say hi to his brother. Things had been different for the past year or so since he’d met you again at Med but most of that year had been spent with Jay trying to give you space.

He looked up at the ceiling, the car chase playing in his mind again.

Maybe if they hadn’t given chase, if they’d just let it play out, they wouldn’t have found the dead girl in his trunk. Jay glanced down at his phone. He was still waiting for the call from the coroner’s office on the cause of death for the body they’d found in the perp’s car. It could just as well have been the impact of the crash, and if they hadn’t been following so closely…

The thought was driven out when the door opened and Jay exhaled when he saw you standing there.

“Hey.” Jay whispered, smiling but you could tell the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

You smiled but didn’t say anything, heading towards him and reaching for his hand and putting your arms around him silently.

Jay lay his head against your middle as you stood against him, running your fingers through his hair.

Jay had rarely shown you this side of him when the both of you were alone, let alone anywhere near Chloe. You’d reminded him that he wasn’t the only person in this relationship, that it was only fair that he let you in after he'd practically barged his way into yours.

So now you just stayed with him, not bothered by the fact that you were in the doctor’s lounge and that anyone could walk in at any moment. You didn’t move until he did, and it was only because his phone rang.

You watched his features shift as he spoke, from dread, to understanding, to a little flash of annoyance and anger.

“Everything okay?” You asked.

Jay nodded. “They think the victim was already dead before the crash.” He said quietly.

You just gave him a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Jay. I know these cases are the hardest.”

Jay just nodded. “I gotta check on him. Are you off shift?”

“Yeah, I’m just going to grab my things and go home so Kate can go.” You said.

“Alright, don’t wait up.” Jay said, pressing a kiss to your cheek quickly. Jay all but spent eighty percent of his time at your apartment.

Before he could leave, you grabbed his wrist and Jay turned back to look at you. “I need to recharge too.” You said quietly, leaning in to press yourself against him, your arms looping around his waist.

You knew he was smiling as he pressed you even deeper into his embrace. “Okay, you can go now.” You announced, stepping back.

Jay let out a small chuckle, leaning in to press his lips lightly to yours. “Thanks, babe.”

You smiled as you watched him leave, glad at least you could be of some comfort to him as well.

THANK YOU FOR READING!! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THIS!!

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Character taglist is open here

#resa.fics #resa.piecesfic #jay halstead #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead series #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead fic #jay halstead fanfic #chicago pd #chicago med #jay halstead x you #jay halstead x y/n

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monsterenergysimp · 4 years

Text

Permanence

corpse husband x fem!reader

summary: you meet corpse on a stream and you’re surprised when he reaches out to you

warnings: cursing, mentions of tattooing

word count: 1.9k

notes: This is proof read but could have missed some stuff. This is my first corpse fic and my first time writing fanfic since I posted that super cringey book on wattpad when I was like 12 or something. I’d appreciate feed back so please reach out to me :)

main blog @itsmysleepover

read part 2 here!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You were cleaning up your station so you can get home and stream. You loved your day job as a tattoo artist but you also really enjoyed streaming. It started as a way to promote yourself as an artist and the shop you worked at but it eventually became a really fun way to destress at the end of the week (or day if you were really itching to stream). “Hey Y/N was that your last client?” your boss, KC, asked as she walked to the front of the shop and put new flash drawings on the walls.

“Yes ma’am!” You said back excitedly. You finished cleaning your station and tossed your black gloves in the trash. “And you can’t trick me into staying and taking walk-ins,” you joked with her. She rolled her eyes and walked back into her office “It was one time,” she said as you slid on your jacket. As you walked out your phone buzzed in your pocket and you checked to see who had texted you. It was a message from Sean asking if you were free to play Among Us with him and some other streamers. You replied that you were on your way home right now and totally down. You were excited to see who was playing this time around since their Among Us streams are super entertaining and have gotten really popular.

On your way back you tweeted and posted to your Instagram story that you’d be streaming soon and set up all your stuff once you made it home. After a few minutes, you had a couple of thousand people watching. You entered the discord chat and Sean spoke up. “Everyone this is Y/N she’s sensitive so be gentle.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you guys and I’m not gentle, I'm ruthless,” You say into your mic and notice the chat calling you a liar. Everyone was in the lobby waiting for the game to start. “You sound way too sweet to be ruthless,” Corpse said. The countdown started and you were imposter with Charlie.

“This should be fun,” you told the stream. Yout tried playing strategically but after such a long shift your brain was mush. You saw Poki in nav and killed her then vented into shields. Not long after the body was reported and you were sure you were going to get voted out or at least sussed.

“Where was the body?” Felix asked. “Nav and I didn’t see anyone near there so whoever is imposter must have vented,” Corpse responded. Felix spoke up again. “I think I saw Y/N walk that way and I haven’t seen her since.”

Shit, shit, shit shit. “I’m in shield right now so-” you said trying to defend yourself but Charlie spoke up. “I was doing tasks with her earlier and I saw her walk into shields so she’s safe but I’m still not sure about Rae.” Everyone discussed a bit more and some people, including Corpse, voted for you but Rae got the majority vote and was ejected. You released your breath and kept playing being extra careful.

“Okay, guys that was super close. Corpse knows and is out to get me,” you said to the chat. You were eventually voted off but one round later victory was written across your screen with your ghost and Charlie’s avatar. “Good game guys,” Corpse said.

“I told you guys I was ruthless!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You sat at your station doing nothing because a client had canceled a four-hour session. You were listening to music and sketching some stuff but you were bored out of your mind and you didn’t want to leave in case you got a walk-in. The music got quiet as you received a twitter notification saying someone had messaged you. You reached for your phone and saw you had gotten a dm from Corpse.

C: hey :)

You didn’t know what to respond. You were mostly confused as to why he decided to message you out of the blue. Did he want something? But what would he want?

Y: Hii! This is sudden

C: was i bothering you?

shit sorry!

Y: Youre fine I wasn’t doing anything rn

C: how has your day been

i dont usually do stuff like this

Y: Im glad you did im doing better now I was so bored

C: what were you doing that was so terrible

Y: NOTHING! thats the problem :(

C: im sure youll find something to do

You stared at his message. Unsure what to respond.

Y: Im gonna give myself a tattoo

C: what?

NO!

You tossed the needles you used for your tattoo into the sharps box. “Oh my god you didn’t,” KC said. She noticed the wrap on your calve from the tattoo you just gave yourself out of boredom. “It’s not my fault I didn’t have anything else to do!” You said trying to defend yourself. She sighed and just shook her head. “Just go home business is slow today.” It was raining so the shop probably wasn’t going to get a walk-in anyway and you didn’t have any more clients for the day. It was only 2 pm but you drove home and after making lunch for yourself decided to stream. You weren’t expecting too many people so it was bound to be super chill. Your leg felt sore reminding you of the tattoo. You snapped a quick pic of the fresh jack-o-lantern on the side of your calve and messaged it to Corpse.

Y: [image] it came out nice!

C: thats super cool actually

i was concerned why you would just give yourself a tattoo but i found your instagram and youre super talented

Y: Thank you!

For some reason, it felt strange to just have that be the end of your response.

Y: Im about to start streaming if you wanted to watch

[link]

C: ill be watching ;)

What’s that supposed to mean?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You sat in your apartment watching tv, hand lost in a bag of Doritos, and scrolling through twitter. You had stopped paying attention to the anime playing on the screen since you’ve watched it a hundred times and knew you wouldn’t miss anything. It was Saturday and you usually take those days off. Take the time to do chores or meet up with some friends but today you felt like not doing any of those things. As you continue your endless scroll (not helping the twitter addiction you told yourself you’d try to get a handle on) you got a message from Corpse.

C: wanna talk?

You looked down at the message unsure of how to answer. It was a simple yes or no and the obvious answer was yes. You and Corpse had started talking more regularly. You still didn’t have each other’s phone numbers but it was fine. Your conversations weren’t too big-- just you sending him memes, tiktoks, and telling him how much you liked the songs he would drop. Or him complimenting a tattoo you did. Sometimes he’d message you during streams telling you funny stuff his fans would say in the chat and you’d do the same. You learned a bit about each other but nothing too deep or serious. Like how you two lived a few cities away and you both really liked Donnie Darko. When Sean first invited you to that game out of everyone else there you were most excited to meet Corpse. He’s just so sweet and funny. Of course, you’d love to talk to him but you were also itching to talk to him and the last thing you’d ever want to do was make him uncomfortable.

Y: Yeah id love to talk

Here goes nothing.

Y: Wanna facetime or something?

No pressure or anything it could even be a regular call

I think facetime is just my default lol

You sent those last two messages quickly after you had sent the first. You wished you could know what he was thinking. It was killing you to think you had turned him off from talking to you completely. You put your phone down on the couch and went to wash your hand of Dorito dust. When you got back from the kitchen you turned off the tv and tossed yourself onto the couch.

Still no message.

Why am I so fucking stupid?

Just as you were standing up to stretch from sitting on the couch all day your phone buzzed. You reached for it fast and looked to see that it was him. You became super excited still not even knowing what the message said. It could have told you to never talk to him again for all you knew.

C: sure lets facetime

xxx-xxx-xxxx

You had his phone number. You added him to your small but growing contact list and called. You sat on your couch waiting for a response when he finally picked up the screen was black. It didn’t upset you; you kind of expected it and didn’t care what he had to do to make himself more comfortable during this call.

“Hey,” he said. His voice was raspier than usual.

“Did you just wake up?” You asked and looked at the time. It was about a little past noon and you had only eaten Doritos all day. Shit, you should probably make a decent meal.

“Not that long ago but yeah,” he responded and giggled. That giggle.

“Well, I’ve eaten nothing but Doritos all day while rewatching Ouran High School Host Club, so you’re welcome to join me as I make myself something to eat.”

“Sounds like fun; what are we eating?”

“I don’t know yet,” You said as you stood up and made your way to the kitchen. You opened the pantry and looked. You noticed a can of diced tomatoes and reached for it then checked the expiration date. It was still good. On your counter were some onions and garlic. “How about some tomato soup?”

“Sounds delicious.” you smiled at Corpse and your phone screen not knowing if he was also looking at his screen or not. “You’re really pretty-- you know that?”

“Thanks, but you don’t have to--”

“I’ve already told you what an incredible artist you are so many times I bet you’re tired of hearing it, but you already know what a talented artist you are.”

“That is very kind of you Corpse,” you said to him bashfully as you chopped the onion and opened the can of tomatoes. “But once again you don’t have to reach so far to compliment me.”

“I’m not reaching you are talented and beautiful and--”

“I thought I was pretty.” You could hear him chuckle with a smile on his face. “You’re both,” he said. You could feel your face getting warm from blushing.

“Fuck you you’re making me blush. My face is all hot and stuff.”

He laughed at how flustered you got. “That’s the cutest thing ever.”

You didn’t know how to respond so you just put some olive oil in a pot and tossed in your onions. It became silent but it was a comfortable silence. You turned the stove on and watched the flame for a few seconds. “If it was dark we could pretend we were together and having a bonfire or something,” you said to the phone as you turned the camera to show him the flame (still not 100 percent sure if he was looking at you or not).

“I’ll put it on the list of things to do when you visit me someday.”

#corpse husband #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband imagines #corpse husband x y/n #youtubers #caffeinated ramblings

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snowbellewells · 3 years

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Happy Birthday to Stephanie!!!

It’s @thisonesatellite’s special day!!! And though I wish I were as thrilling and breathtaking a writer as she is in order to create a story gift for her - I’m sadly not. So instead, I’ve made a Favorite Stories list of her CaptainSwan ff works along with a couple of cover images I hope she will like. (It was meant to be a Top Five, but I couldn’t narrow it down even that far, so it’s a Top Six!)

Thank you Stephanie for your friendship, even from the other side of the world, for you lovely messages, humor and assurance that never fails to make me smile, and of course, your wonderfully written words! I hope it’s an exceptional birthday for you today!!!

~*~ TOP FIVE FAVORITE @THISONESATELLITE FICS ~*~

1) “break me”

This story began my obsession with Stephanie’s CS tales. I was drawn in from the very first scene, and somehow felt like I’d never read anything quite like it - particularly not as a CS fic. I loved the intensity, the supernatural elments and the spine-tingling danger, the friendships formed as they banded together to fight the evil preying on them, and of course this broken but beautiful version of Killian and Emma both. I could sing specific praises of this story all day, but I don’t want to give too much away if there are folks reading this who haven’t read the fic yet. I’m just so grateful I happened upon it, which led me to all the ones which came after...

2) “it’s our scars that give us character”

Once I had finished “break me”, I was itching to read everything Stephanie had written before. That led me to this lovely five chapter modern au. I loved Emma as a P.I. who had always managed to keep her work separate from her heart...until she ran into a subject who needed someone to care about them (even if it caused her to break all her own rules). Killian breaks my heart all over again in this one too, but I am captivated by how they put one another back together.

3) “Drift”

I can’t help but think this is one of the warmest, most healing, truly beautiful one shots I’ve ever read. I can’t even guess how many times I have returned to enjoy it again. The angst hurts, but the reward when they break through on the other side is completely amazing and worth it. Plus, I can’t resist a good use of the snowed in together trope - ever!

4) “Leaving Las Vegas”

I would say that no other one shot is worthy of the praise I just heaped on “Drift”, but that was before Stephanie wrote “Leaving Las Vegas”. This is another one shot that I keep returning to over and over again. I just don’t know how she continues to break our Emma and Killian and then lead them to each other to be stitched back together stronger, but she does it SO WELL, and I am completely in love with it each and every time.

5) “we kill the flame”

It’s funny that this one is even in my list of Stephanie favorites, because I normally shy away from dystopian fiction. Since it was her writing it though, I tried it anyway, and I’m so glad I did. I would have missed out on such an enthralling and inventive take on our beloved characters in a futuristic setting, in situations like I had never seen them before. I loved how Emma was characterized in this story - and how the minor characters were cast and worked in. Things looked so bleak for a while there, and yet that made the ending feel all the more earned. :)

6) “time is all the luck you need”

This little pandemic three shot crept right up on me and completely stole my heart. I love how it may have been chance which threw Killian and Emma together for a work project, but the way they end up beating back the loneliness and helping each other cope is priceless and feels like it must have been meant to be all along. I love their creative virtual conversations, the way Killian reads Emma (and she comes to read him as well), and Max -- of course and especially - MAX!!! (Just read it and you’ll see...;)

(There are so many more lovely gems in @thisonesatellite’s library, and I could sing even more praises, but I had to draw the line somewhere! Anyway, you can’t go wrong in checking them out. And Stephanie, again, I hope you have the loveliest of HAPPY BIRTHDAYS!!!)

#birthday gift #fandom shipmate birthday #@thisonesatellite birthday fic rec list #bday fic recs #happy birthday Stephanie!

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heximagines · 3 years

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Jealousy pt. 3 | Bo x GN! Reader x Vincent

Here it is! Part 3! Now to just decide who reader ends up with. Hmmm...

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2

Over the few days that followed your date with Bo, the twin had become increasingly touchy with you. It was becoming a common occurrence for him to press kisses to the top of your head when you walked past, rest his hand on your lower back, or pull you against his side on the couch. Gladly you leaned into every little touch, never noticing the pointed looks Bo would shoot Vincent whenever he was around. However you did notice that you were seeing Vincent less and less. You thought it was because he was busy at first but it had been a while since anyone came into town now.

Bo was at the station today and Vincent was still nowhere to be seen, leaving you alone in the house. You’d watched a movie, cleaned the kitchen, and patched some holes in the old walls but the day always crawled along when you were alone. When noon rolled around you decided to pay Vincent a visit. You fixed him something easy for him to eat for lunch before wrapping up the plate. You chose to take the main road through town on your way to the museum as opposed to going through the tunnels. You loved to stroll through town and admire the brothers’ work, especially when the sun was high in the sky making everything look vibrant and cheery. For just a moment you could pretend that you were a normal person living in a normal town. When you arrived on the steps of the museum you took one more look around before slipping inside. From where you stood you could hear Vincent’s music float up from between the floorboards, gentle and airy. Your lips curled up in a small smile and you took your time to weave through the exhibits, stopping to look at some of your favorite pieces and new ones. You guessed Vincent had been busy, while you didn’t notice any new figures there were more paintings and bits of furniture that hadn’t been there the last time. You paused at a portrait you thought was particularly beautiful. It featured a woman veiled in white, not quite like a bride but angelic. You tilted your head and your fingers itched to reach out and touch it but you held back. Finally you were jarred from your thoughts at the sound of footsteps coming up the hidden stairway in the next room. You turned your head to the door and waited for Vincent to appear. When he did he had another canvas cradled gently in his large hands. He started when he noticed you and fumbled with the piece but quickly regained his composure. “Sorry, Vin. Didn’t mean to scare you.” You gave him a shy smile and held up the plate. “I brought you lunch.”

Vincent had set down his newest creation and the two of you were now sitting on a Victorian style fainting couch he had recently fabricated, your knee just barely brushing his. The newest painting he brought up was very similar to the one you’d been admiring earlier and you motioned towards them. “They’re beautiful Vincent. You’re so talented.” You turned to smile at him, but Vincent wasn’t looking at you. His eye was trained firmly on the plate he was holding in his lap. You turned your whole body towards him and placed a hand on Vincent’s knee, making him jerk away. You yanked your hand back before looking up at him, confused. Sure Vincent was skittish at the best of times but he’d been acting so strange lately. He signed a quick, ‘Sorry, I need to get back to work’ before getting up to retreat back down there he’d come from. You frowned and looked at the painting he’d left abandoned where it sat. Something about it felt a bit familiar but you couldn’t quite place it.

That night when you sat at the dinner table across from Bo Vincent was still nowhere to be seen. You sat with your chin in your palm, pushing the food around your plate too lost in thought to eat. Bo’s hand slid across the table and he coaxed your’s from your chin into his own. “Somethin’ bothering ya sugar?” You gave him a half hearted smile and shrugged. “I don’t know. Do you think Vincent has been acting weird?” Bo scoffed a bit. “He’s probably just busy. He’ll come around.” Your lips twisted into a frown. “No, I don’t think that’s it... Today I went to bring him lunch and-” “Why?” He cut in, making you pause. “Huh?” Bo set his fork down and now he was frowning too. “Why did ya go and bring him lunch?” Your brows draw together and you shake your head. “I-I don’t know. I just hadn’t seen him in a while. I thought it’d be nice.” Suddenly you were nervous. All the sweetness Bo had shown you was absent now as he pushed away from the table and stood. His chair toppled to the ground as he grabbed his plate and tossed it into the sink, food still on it. “Vincent doesn’t need you to be nice to him. He’s fine.” Slowly you stood and moved across the room to place your hands on Bo’s shoulders, rubbing soothingly. You could see how they relaxed at your touch but the underlying tenseness was still there. “Bo...” He took a deep breath and his fingers, which were gripping the edge of the sink, flexed. You gently pushed on his shoulder, making him turn towards you. “What’s going on in your head?” You combed your hands though Bo’s hair before wrapping your arms around his neck. Instinctively his own hands came to your waist, holding you tightly. “Don’t worry about it okay? And don’t worry none about Vincent. He’s just...” He bobbed his head, trying to find what he wanted to say. “Throwing a damn tantrum.” Your eyebrows shot up. Vincent was never one for outbursts, not even when visitors entered town. He was always calm, calculated. Though you supposed if he were to throw a tantrum as Bo put it this would be the way he’d go about it. “Now why would he be doing that?” He snorted and shook his head. “Because he’s not gettin’ what he wants.” You really hated it when Bo was cryptic, and it happened much more frequently than you’d expect with someone so brash. Finally he kissed your forehead and pulled away. “Just don’t worry okay? He’ll get over it. He’s just gotta.” With that Bo playfully smacked your ass. “How about you go on and relax. I got the dishes.” You weren’t ready to let this go quite yet, but you knew better than to push Bo on a subject he didn’t wanna speak about. So you relented. Besides, you weren’t eager to fish his uneaten food out of the sink anyway.

That night as you laid in bed your thoughts lingered on Vincent. The way he’d jumped away from your touch, like your fingertips scalded him, it made your chest clench uncomfortably. You knew Bo wan’t going to tell you what was up. So you’d just have to find out yourself. Quiet as a mouse you tiptoed out of your room, eyeing Bo’s closed door just across the hall. From outside you could just barely hear his gentle snores, signaling that he was in a deep sleep. You slipped down the stairs and made a beeline for the hidden staircase that would bring you down into the tunnels. When you arrived at the door of Vincent’s workshop you lingered outside, listening to the calming melody of Vivaldi maybe? You weren’t as familiar with classical artists as Vincent. You weren’t sure what you were going to say but you’d already made up your mind. Finally, you knocked softly, so softly you thought he didn’t hear you. You almost turned around and went right back to bed when the door opened an inch. You gave Vincent a shy smile and he opened the door wider. He eyed your face before signing, ‘Y/n, what’s wrong?’ You chuckled and rubbed your cheek. “That obvious huh?” Vincent tilted his head at you before opening the door wider and ushering you into his workspace. Inside it was broiling hot and the molten wax cast an orange glow over everything. Vincent pulled up a comfortable looking chair for you, patting it. You sat down and watched as Vincent moved to lean against his worktable, keeping a physical distance from you. Anxiously you twiddled your thumbs. “Vincent I’ve been noticing that you’re acting... Well you’re just not around. And I’m just a little worried.” You looked up to watch Vincent. His shoulders hunched over and he seemed to want to look anywhere but at you. Now that you were thinking about it Vincent never avoided your gaze. If he wasn’t staring right back into your eyes while you spoke he was always sitting right in your line of sight, like he wanted you to see him. Now he looked like he wished he could disappear completely. “A-And Bo said that I should just, leave you alone and not bother you. And I don’t want to. Bother you that is. So I’m sorry if I am. I’m just... Worried... Like I said.” You wanted to kick yourself. You really should have figured out what you wanted to say and now you were just rambling on like a moron. Finally Vincent uncrossed hsi arms and lifted his hands. ‘What else did Bo say?’ You bit your lip, Vincent new his brother too well. “He, uh, he thinks you’re just... Upset. And he wouldn’t tell me why.” You phrased it as delicately as possible. Vincent nodded at that seeming to understand something that you just weren’t quite getting at yet. Slowly he came to kneel in frint of you and you smiled just a little. ‘I’m not upset with you. You know that right?’ You only gave a small shrug in response. Vincent exhaled through his nose before standing and crossing the room. He came to stop at his drawing desk, gathering up a sketchbook he flipped though the pages thoughtfully before closing it. He seemed to think for a moment before sighing again. Slowly he walked back over to you. He seemed to be dreading what was going to happen and he looked at you like he was trying to memorize every little detail. As if you were going to disappear. Vincent pulled up his own chair and sat down across from you this time. His fingers flexed around the notebook, similar to how Bo’s flexed when he was anxious. Finally he held the book out to you. You took it from him with care and waited until he nodded before you flipped it open to the first page. Your own image stared back up at you and for a moment you were awestruck. The attention to detail was amazing. As you slowly turned through the pages you could feel Vincent tensing. Until finally you found a familiar sketch. It was one of the new paintings. But now you can see the details underneath the veil he layered over them. It was your own face. Finally you closed the book and met Vincent’s eye. Everything clicked together in your head now and your heart ached for Vincent. “You made me look so... Beautiful.” ‘It’s not hard,’ his hands gestured. You smiled softly before leaning in to hug Vincent tightly. He hesitated for only a moment before pulling you in, practically crushing you in his embrace. You knew Vincent didn’t just fear rejection, he expected it. And Even though he hid it under ego and bravado Bo was exactly the same. You knew you needed to work something out soon but for now you just smoothed your hand over Vincent’s back and let him hold you until he was ready to let go.

#vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax #slasher imagines #slasher x reader

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secondhand-trash · 4 years

Text

Work of Art

A/N: Oh boy, here we go again with my tries at getting out of my comfort zone. The only reason why this is happening is because @lady-bakuhoe got me thirsting on main feeling things for Hawks after sending out something she wrote a while back and I was suddenly reminded of this idea that lurked behind my head.

Pairing: Takami Keigo x reader

Description: Your boyfriend had a beautiful body hiding beneath those layers, you could not be blamed that you wanted to trascript that sight into actual art.

Warning: nsfw below cut

Word count: 2932

“Can I tie you up?”

“What?” Keigo tensed up from where he was standing, couldn’t quite believe his own ears.

“Can I tie you up?” You repeated with such a casual tone that sounded more like you were asking him what he wanted for dinner than you were with your actual request.

Seeing the stunned look on his face, you realised that perhaps you had worded it too vaguely and not given enough details as to what you actually wanted him to do. “It’s for my sketching class, I need to practice my anatomies. I want to tie you up for...” you thought of what ways you could possibly rephrased it to get your point across, “...aesthetic purpose.”

“A sketch, huh?” He smirked as he walked closer to you, his wings leaning forward to circle around your frame, “You know, normally people have to pay me to model for them.”

You lifted an eyebrow at him, twirling the pencil in your hand. “So you’re saying?”

“Are you planning to pay me back in some sort of way for my contribution to your aesthetic research?” The suggestive look on his face did not falter at all even as you snickered at his teasing.

“That’d depend on how you behave in the process.” You lifted your hand and traced a finger along the sharp line of his jaw, “So what do you say, pretty bird? Are you gonna help me or what?”

You knew you had the answer you wanted when the corner of his lips lifted up.

With the white shirt he was wearing discarded on the floor, he kneeled down in front of the chair as you instructed him to. As you gently twisted his arms to his back and held his wrist together, he chuckled and earned him a playful glare from you. “I’m starting to think that the whole ‘do it for the arts’ thing was an excuse.”

“If I want to have you half naked and kneeled down, all I have to do is ask, isn’t it?.” You retaliated with an amused twinkle in your eye, “Now shush and let me do my thing.”

Pulling out the velvet rope that he didn’t know you own, you carefully wrapped it around his wrist and tied it with a knot. With one hand smoothing the restraint, you tugged at it to make sure that it sat snuggly around his skin as you pulled it to the front of his torso. You were no expert at this but you had done enough reearch to know just where each knot should be in order to get the image you wanted. With the rope travelling around the side of his arms and down his upper body, you tightened each trail and knot with attention, carefully setting the loops right above and below the base of his wings.

Facing him as you leaned back, you admired your handiwork. No matter how many times you had seen that body of his, you would never fail to be amazed at how much beauty there could be to the human body and the position he was in only heightened your admiration.

You were not lying when you said that this was intended for your venture into the arts, only now you were starting to have doubts on whether your skills could do justice to the view in front of you.

The red rope was a huge contrast to his skin, the colour an odd resemblance to the feathers behind his back. The way his arms were folded to his back gave his toned arms even more definition, pulling at the muscles of his forearm with a barely visible vein adorning it all the way up. Each breath he took, everything pulsation made him flex unintentionally, only adding to the defined curves of each muscle. It was a shame that his torso was usually hidden from the rest of the world, if only they knew what they were missing out on. You had carefully positioned the rope to hug every dip and dent of his chest, the way it pulled against his skin with each exhale of breath could only be described as utterly tempting. You had to resist the urge to run your hand down his toned pecs and traced the v that dipped all the way down to a much more sensitive parts of his body.

What a sight to witness, really. It was like he was carved out of marble but only there was life to each, his flushed skin under the chilly air together with his beautiful form making every piece of artwork pale in comparison. If art could come to life, you were sure what you were blessed to see in front you right now would be it.

“Is the rope too tight?” You asked, reaching out to touch the edge of the red restraint and fixed the places that were moved.

“No, just alright.” Keigo tried to maintain his usual chirpy tone, ignoring the itch he had started to feel ever since you put one hand on his lower waist to arch his back just a little just when you were about to finish with tying him up. Even with his greatest effort, he could not stop the goose bumps from forming on his skin as your fingertips nearly brushed against his skin when you went to slide it across the rope, every hair on him standing up at the mere contact that only made him sense more alerted. He was pretty sure that he would only get more sensitive as time passed by.

“How long do you think it’ll take you?” He asked tentatively as you got up to fetch your sketchbook from another room.

You tilted your head. “Not more than an hour, I assume.” You did not catch onto the faint groan your boyfriend let out when you turned around.

Staying still and pushing the discomfort he was feeling to the back of his head appeared to be more difficult than he had expected it to be. With each second passing by, Keigo was only feeling more and more tensed. The rope that was tied around him so snuggly did not help with his shiver as the cold air hit his skin, only tightening with even the slightest of movements. The rough material brushing against his already hardened nipples only made them more sensitive and feeling the friction of the rope to the fullest effect. It did not help that there was pleasure mixed into the pain he felt as nothing came in contact with him but each breeze of the ventilation of the room.

The rubbing of the velvet against his skin he could stand. The ridiculously low temperature of the air conditioning he could try to ignore. But what truly got to him was the way you studied his figure with such intensity. Keigo had always been aware of the appeal of his own physique and he would never shy away from the appreciative stares you sent his way whenever he undress, but it was nothing compared to how you were looking at him right now. It was like no corner of his body could escape your gaze as you took into each and every feature of him. He felt exposed, like he was completely under your control and one look was enough to put him in his place.

Dear god, was that look doing things to him.

He had to physically restraint the feathers at his back from standing up as he recognized a familiar twitch at his crotch. The desperate attempt at self-control only made the rope rubbed against him even more, sending yet another rush of blood down south.

“Don’t move.” You pursed your brows in disapproval at his movements and bent down to fix his posture. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry when the warmth of your palms came in contact will his skin that almost went numb from the chilliness and sensitivity.

“Are you near finish?” He managed to hide the choked whine at the back of his throat and forced the words out of his mouth in the most decent voice he could pull off in his current state.

“Kinda?” You said. If you had bothered to look up, you would be able to see the clear discomfort that was showing on his face. The redness at the tip of his ears was starting to spread to the rest of his face, his jaw clenched as he tried to hold onto the remaining calmness that was there in his mind. “Only the shading left, so just stay still.”

Forcing out a hum in response, his knuckles already turned white from how hard he had been fisting his hands to get more grasp on his own sanity, the pain he felt from his nails digging in wasn’t even that much of a bother to him anymore. Right now, his main focus was to ignore that dull ache in his pants and the shiver on his skin.

“You have been oddly quiet today.” You asked as you glided the lead across the paper one last time, being utterly content with what you had managed to create as you put the finished drawing up to your face.

It was when you put down your pen and was about to undo the tie on Keigo that you noticed just why your usually talkative lover had been in silence the whole time you were sketching him. You immediately picked up on how his breaths were heavier than usual with his lips pursed tightly together like he was trying to hold back whatever sounds were threatening to escape if he didn’t. His knees were trembling from kneeling for too long and as your eyes travelled upwards, there was no way you could pretend that you didn’t saw the bulge in between his legs.

So that’s what it was.

Keigo knew he was gone for the moment you sank down onto your knees to be eye-levelled with him and smirked. “I was going to untie you but now I’m having second thoughts.” You said, mockingly tilt your head as you pretended to ponder as you ran a finger along the rope, very barely touching the skin underneath.

He did not say anything but you could feel his breath getting more rigid at the contact. You leaned in closer and watched as his body shook once he could feel your warmth against his chest. He was holding back and you were determined to make him break.

“If I knew that you like being tied up so much I would have offered much sooner.” You whispered into his ear, your finger roaming dangerously close to his nipple and the spare hand holding onto his shoulder. The closer you traced to the sensitive, the more his was trying to squirm under your touch.

His back arched the moment you placed the first touch on his nipple and you immediately forced him back onto his previous position with your firm hold on his shoulder blade. Your lips lingered on his ear as you rolled the tip between your fingers, giving it a soft pinch. It only added to your amusement when you heard the heavy swallowing at his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as you did not slow down the movement at your hand for even the slightest.

Just your fingers, you were too cruel to even spare him the touch of your palm.

“You look so pretty all tied up like this, so pretty for me.” You cooed in his ear, sliding your palm down his chest to give some attention to the rest of his body that you had been aching to touch. Feeling each mound under your hand, you could feel your own arousal building up at just how his entire body was begging for you to give him more. But the tensing of his muscles were not enough, the quickening breath was not enough, the bite back whimpers you were only hearing because you had your face pressed to the side of his neck was not enough.

You would like to think that as an artist, you were naturally attracted to beautiful things. There was nothing more appealing to you than the lovely reactions he was capable of giving and you could never be ashamed of being greedy towards such beautiful things.

Keigo hissed when your hand stopped at the top of the fabric that was covering his bulge, his entire body heated up as you traced circles just above where he craved your touch the most. Peppering kisses up his neck, you grinned as he very eager closed the gap you had painfully left between your lips and his as your face hovered above him. Nothing could compare to the stir at the pit of your stomach as you heard him moan into the kiss when you had slowly undid the fly of his pants. Only pulling the band of his boxers low enough to release his hardened cock from the strain of fabric, his length slapped against his lower stomach and the sensitive skin around the area rubbing against the material of his pants only added to his desire for a relieve.

Running a finger along the vein at the underside of his shaft, you gently yanked at his hair to expose his neck and placed many wet kisses along his chin down to the valley where his neck met his collar bone. While your other hand slowly ghosted over the slit at his tip, the one that just gripped onto his blonde locks now travelled down the back of his neck to where his wings grew out.

Keeping up with the teasing at his length, what you would only consider as whimpers grew louder when your hand smoothed over the red feathers but you were yet to be satisfied. Feeling his uneven breath at your neck, you searched for the one spot that you knew would had him crumbling in an instant.

Where was it, where was it?

Ah, found it.

Your hand found its way to the much softer feathers at the base of his wings and the moment you scratched down, the last but of self-restraint in him snapped as he let out a loud, delicious moan.

Beautiful, exactly what you were looking for.

No longer holding back, you were satisfied with the loud noises that escaped from his flushed lips. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as your thumb toyed at his tip, collecting the pre-cum that was oozing out. You collected the droplet at the tip of your tongue when it slide down his jaw, the saltiness that spread in your mouth only elicited your own desire even more.

Slowly pumping his cock with the help of the sticky liquid on your hand, you pressed yourself against his chest as you sped up the movement of your hand. His hip bucked against your hand and you clicked your tongue in disapproval as his cock twitched. A loud whine slipped past his mouth when you suddenly paused whatever you were doing all while pushing him down from moving against you himself.

“I should really just leave you here like this,” you said as you pulled back, you chuckled as you were now looking right at his very flushed face, “my pretty bird that is tied up for me and under my mercy. Perhaps I can even make you sing for me.”

The skin underneath the rope was now much paler comparing to the rest of his body, lines of redness starting to show from how much he was tensed up. The corner of his eyes were tearing up from the stimulation and your denial of his release, the feathers at his back pulsating and the tip of his length in nearly the same shade of red.

Again, what a sight. But no matter how much you liked when you were seeing, you could never be so cruel as to keep your birdie in pain.

“As much as that thought tempts me,” you said as you leaned in close to him once again, "I guess you deserve a reward for being so well-behaved.”

He yelped when your hand circled around his shaft and started jerking him off. The loud sound of skin slapping echoed off the walls and the whiny sounds he was making was erotic to hear.

You knew he couldn’t last much longer when you felt the twitching in your hand. “Such a good little bird. Are you going to make a mess for me?” The way you licked the piercing at his ear lobe as you said such profanities was what gave him the final push as he reached his high.

Strings of warmth spurted out, covering your hand and stomach as you pulled away. He was still trying to catch his breath as you looked down at your shirt that was now covered with cum and scrunched your eyebrows together.

“When I said ‘making a mess for me’, I definitely didn’t mean it as ‘on me’.”

“Yeah, yeah, my apologies.” To think that mere seconds ago he was like putty in your hands. As he came down from his high, Keigo’s composure was quick to return as a slight smirk now graced his features.

“Now get me out of this.” He said as your hands went to tug at the knots against his torso, “I feel like you still haven’t fully repay me for all that posing I did for you.”

#hawks x reader #hawks smut #hawks imagine #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #bnha imagines #bnha imagine #bnha smut #bnha x reader #takami keigo smut #mha imagine #mha imagines #mha smut #mha x reader

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psychemeanscure · 3 years

Text

PART 27 {Uhm.. Still have audience for this? Surprise? 😌 guess another long days of next update as is. I miss you guys though.😩😙}

She needed to make sure, blinking number of times for she not need another ghosting.

But she’s not as there he is, Jang Taeyoung in his simple summer polo attentively approaching on her way from afar. The moment she least expected has finally come to light. The man she’s been looking forward to yet the very reason now she’s backing out. And yes, she is. Turning her way at the opposite side, denying things isn’t true like usual. Shutting eyes, clenching fist, interchanges she had to do. Strength she needed to overcome. Walking as far she can be.

He was abashed. For a while, he has to process his women’s behavior. Sung Eunyoung on her back, turning on the path opposite to him. He obliged to stop his tracks, prying the sight of her retreating figure from the glaring sun as he has to use a hand to protect his eyes.

“Sung Eunyoung!”

The voice that made halt her steps a bit till she continued. Stupidly scolding her own. “Mierda, Sung Eunyoung. What on earth are you doing? You’re running away, seriously?”

“Sung Eunyoung.”

He’s following, she can tell for his voice is getting nearer with her still whispering on her own, shaking head. “No. This isn’t true. He isn’t true. It’s alright. You’re doing the right thing, keep moving.”

But she wasn’t allowed to go further as the words of the man towing her finally make her stilled. “Don’t make me repeat myself woman, or you would not like what I’ll do next.”

Few more steps and she can already feel him behind her. Feeling the bazaar breath, she had not felt from the past three years. She’s tempted. “I’m here.”

His baritone vocal that had always fill the depth of her systems. She urged to be silent. She may not still see his actions yet she can picture his questioning look, tilting head, both hands intact in its pant pockets, waiting for her to turn to face him on her own accord. Suppressing himself not to give a single contact on her, but she didn’t for the only thing she did is to gulp an invisible lump in her throat, not even a peek was executed.

That’s how he decided. He’ll give in. Comprising their first touch after a long time. He missed her. Jerked by his sudden action, she can only stare of nowhere, riveting by the caress who had always given her goosebumps. Now, just a turn and will be meeting the reason again.

He longed for this. He realized that having the thought of feeling her tenderly, anticipates him like forever. His calloused hand that maneuvered the points of her elbow, he itched her to face him and she did.

She wanted to refuse but her body doesn’t want to. She’s moving how he wanted her to do. “There you are.”

Yet her consistence went through. Cannot attain to face him besides her lips parted in bewilderment, orbs staring so blankly at the expanse of his collarbone while gentle wind blowing the plain fabrics of his summer shirt. She ain’t still ready to look at him. “Hey, allow me to see you. Please?”

The drawing circles by her elbows and the softness of his plead isn’t helping either for she instantly became a hypnotize prey obliged to follow orders of her predator, not realizing how her actual reaction did to him.

“Why with that cold stare?”

By chuckling, he responded as anything doesn’t matter because she has always been the perfect image for him. An Aphrodite anyone cannot judge with flaws. That’s his girl. She is, well except that she’s not speaking to him still. “It’s me, Sung Eunyoung.”

Another try of pushing yet for another avoiding. She ignored his sight as she shifts by her side direction instead. “Talk to me, can’t you?” putting his most substantial voice which only made her gulp with no choice. “So you’re alive and flesh after all.”

Guessing her knowing words, he concludes. “You’re mad at me, I see.”

Feeling accused, she defended herself like a bulldozer instantly moving to its tracks stomping every rigid rocks that gets her way. So it did, the moment she finally faces him, word attack by words. Argument between arguments. They began each other’s impulsiveness.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Indeed, you didn’t but it seems you do.”

“Are you mocking me now, Jang Taeyoung?”

Straight as she wanted it, she felt proud all of a sudden. Even surprised by how she reacted, different to how she expected. Like the Sung Eunyoung he always knew, not the other way around. Not the vulnerable her now.

Yet for Jang Taeyoung, nothing was a defeat for it is accomplishment. Coy smile appearing as he was bestowed by the retort he’s been waiting with. “Finally. It’s been a while, Eunyoung-ah.”

There he expected air will go on light but seeing her unceasing coldness, he knew she’s being serious since. “If this was just all jokes for you Jang Taeyoung, then we should haven’t met all along. Everything about this meeting just became useless. “

In a snap, the coyness in him faded away as he watched her turning deportment. Passing by his sturdy stance, he decided to reveal swiftly.

“I was in coma.”

“What?”

Looking back like a flash, waiting by the shutters of facts she desired to hear right there and then. “Did I heard you right? Coma, you say?” shaking her head, she refused to believe. “I tell you Jang Taeyoung, if this is another of your schemes I swear I rather---“

“Left posterior cervical region of the neck, above and medial to the scapula.”

“W-what?”

Taken aback by how she has been given a quick medical terms, she urged to listen. Eyes which had bow down on the ground was now heading up to meet hers. “I was shot from that vital parts as it wasn’t surprising for my brain to be affected. I never intended to but except for your blur images, I can’t remember the rest of you Eunyoung.”

She was tongue-tied. Eaten by her own words, absorbing every details he inexplicably confessed. “I… I’m not following, loco.” Eyes bulge in more skepticism. “I have forgotten about you. That’s what I’m saying, Sung Eunyoung.”

Now she regrets everything she said. Wishing to withdraw even its already impossible. “I-I’m sorry… I didn’t know.” Words she can only utter almost unheard for it was her turn to meet the grounds. He comprehends. Tending the remaining steps between them, he softly lifts her chin up to face him again. Giving his very gentle response only for her to see. “Don’t be please. Hm, Sung Eunyoung?”

From her chin, he traces the side of her neck as she can only feel the warmth of his touch, friction of their frons. “I have never, once thought of you being sorry because of me.” She can only close her eyes to comprise the earnests of his every word. “You’re no fault. I want you to know that. You can, right?”

The curls of his brows, reassurance of his orbs. She knew, it will always be the death of her vulnerability. For only cascaded into her eyes was the blurry tears she wanted to show off since and when the trembles of her chest met his composed ones. The lenient embrace letting out each other’s yearnings at last.

“Guess, gathering back my memories of you wasn’t as bad after all. You were still stunning as I can still remember. My dazzling volatile bulldozer. I have missed you.”

A gentle peck by her eyes, a caress on her back. They stayed on that position before he finally decided to pull away, wiping her tears and cup her cheek. An eternal frustration of him back from the past years not given a chance to savor while a crazy dilemma she always been missing for. “S-stop it. I’m s-still mad at you.”

The airhead incoming smirk that had never failed to distort her, right then she knew. He has redeemed his coyness for she needed to find a best unfished excuse to hide her uncommonly embarrassment. “You’re blushing? Just like that, I’m not even half way of doing so?”

Being peeked by her obvious state anyway. Yes, she’s definitely hating herself right now. “Shut up.”

Crunched by her messed up terms, she walks out instead. Stomping through the fine smoothness of sands. She had finally manage to brought back her usual self even when the result isn’t what she pictured. Being followed by the overconfident loco who’s annoyingly laughing behind her.

“Stop. Teasing me, will you?”

Emphasizing her every word. She did mean all she said. Swiftly taking her wrist, he compromised. “Hey, I just miss doing it with you. I’m sorry? Forgive me, hm?”

There’s something different.

She can’t seem to figure it out well, except for one thing. She’s facing the soft Jang Taeyoung she had never imagine before. Giving up otherwise as she let him obtain what he wishes.

Funny how one moment they’re defending each other’s arguments but then here they are, ended lightly. He liked it. The feeling of their twist and turns, she opened the door for him. “C-Come in. Not a bit spacious like my usual though but anyway, soothe yourself well.”

Finally, her next word from the last compromising talk they went through. Indeed, they have been muted the whole time of their walks. The raging silence that field both them. She’s unable to create a topic except being quiet while he decided to go along. He waited and it did. Quite an interval but ‘whatever’ that’s how he thought, he doesn’t care anyway for her presence is simply enough for him. Not when their hands he hardly managed to intertwine would go in halt though.

Sighing, he halfheartedly let go, giving her intended nuance to get her keys and open her home. A by the shore abode he did not expect coming from her. Gone the luxury of a Sung Eunyoung for he has been introduced by the prim and modest today. Hurriedly stuffing things, she left disorganize. He urged to sit by a near settee, eyes cannot stop scanning her whole place, feeling new about everything.

For her, it was a disturbing one. She cannot even dare to meet his eyes which she knew he already notice as well. She can only thank him for not doing his usual teases. “Sorry, a bit messy. U-uhm. Want something though? Drinks in mind?”

He has a lot say actually, but he chose not to other than staring at her. She felt it, yet she can only act like heedless. She’s troubled. Or rather, she simply doesn’t know how to start over. “Anything will do.”

He took the simplest instead while swiftly answered by her nod. “O-okay. I’m going to get you one for a second then. You wouldn’t mind waiting?” as it was also his turn to nod over a small smile ahead. Palms starts to sweaty the moment she reaches her kitchen, becoming nervous all of a sudden.

“Mind if I look around?”

His permitting question from the living room, answered by her roaring dumbfoundment. “As… as you please!”

“Mierda. What the hell is happening with you, Sung Eunyoung.” For she can only share a pissing whisper on her own. Jang Taeyoung in the other hand, serenely let himself to look around just how he’s permitted as it did take a second for her to serve him refreshments. She found him standing by the displays of her achievements, putting off the tray on the living room table, she gets his attention clearing her voice.

A regarding look he has to show contemplating between something he wanted and what is needed. She notices, so she questions. “Is there something wrong?” A glint of diminishing response, he chose the latter. Simply moving to her pace instead, sitting back as he pay attention to the serve she offered. “Tea?”

Nodding, she answered. “Mint. Though I’m not quite sure if it’s one of your preference, knowing yo---“

“I’m learning. Thank you for this, Eunyoung.”

“—liquor has always been your best option. I’m pleased. Good for you then… Jang Taeyoung.”

Surprised indeed for she almost can’t hear her own words. Change. Time isn’t the only thing changes after all for it also the person she least expected. Talking with manners with a Jang Taeyoung never been on her list. She can swear on it.

But if not because of his chuckle and grip to her wrist, she could have still stuck in her position standing above him whose actually ready for his sensible bicker. “Guess my neck will definitely face his destined rigidity any minute. So will you sit for me now please, Eunyoung-ah?”

‘She’s spacing out.’

That’s the thought he could only think of. Even if he doesn’t like doing it so soon, he needed to. He has to give the time she seems requesting. Because from the moment she seated like what he wanted to, not a single flex conversion happened other than blandness, as if a simple questionnaire seeking for its straight answer which ends up in awkward silence instead.

It had never been a thing between them since, so why now? A kind of consequence from their releasing attraction, is that it? F*cking then. Yet even all of the cursing he wished to banter, he still chose to give it one more try. “Eunyoung, ask me anyth---“

Just to be halt by a phone call, yes. For that’s it! He’s close of deciding. Winced from the sudden call this time, it was her turn to be hesitant to ask for permission. “U-uhm. Would you mind if I take this call for a moment?”

He can only approve a nod on her. Standing up as she moves few steps away from him, she can only bite a lip by her own indicative excuse. To be honest, she can actually decline it easily, learning it was simply her nosy colleague Judy who called. But her retreating thought of chance avoiding him gave her the idea. Using it at least as a breathing break from their unhelping state. Screw herself for doing so!

“You’re leaving?”

She almost missed Jang Taeyoung quietly exiting without her knowledge. If not with her fast reflexes she surprisingly thanked afterwards. She had reached him by the steps of her porch, turning eyes glued by her gripping hand on his own shoulder. He looks up to her. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to---“

“I’ll give you time.”

“W-what?”

Facing her on the same match orbs this time, he repeated. “I said I’ll give you time.”

Not expecting the turns of event, she needed to retort abruptly. “But...” She swears. She doesn’t understand herself right now. A while ago she just wanted to avoid him. Now that he’s leaving to give her amply space, she doesn’t want him to. ‘Really, Sung Eunyoung?’

She can only scold herself once again. “How are you?”

It was a statement. She knew what he intended to comply. “Here, doing good.” Letting her remember how she actually behaving earlier. “I see you have become the educator like you dream of.” A big slap of her senselessness. Tucking in its both hands in his pockets, fixated eyes lock into her.

“And you only said thank you. Just by that fact Eunyoung, I can simply see you aren’t ready for this.”

“T-this?” Her degrading look on the ground can only let him convince of something. A blow through the air, he finally discharges his suppressing complains. “Yes, this. If you don’t want me to leave even, you should have talk to me in the first place Sung Eunyoung. You’re confusing me.”

Shutting eyes from the guilt she’s feeling, she admitted. “I really am so---“

“Enough of it please, woman. Apologies isn’t what I need anymore.” Crumbles of his brows starts to falter upon him.

“But it’s my fault! It was all my fault, Jang Tae---“

“Fuck this.”

Scoop by the raging man in front of her, brushing hers against his. She can no longer fight back for she also resigned. A savoring soul of fervor that always meant craving for him while a hidden plea for hers. The wilderness of his tongue that relentlessly a gasping for her and a tempting attempt throughout his by her silky ones. They truly equally banded. And with a last chaste by her plump lips, he opts to release. ‘For now.’

Yes, he thought otherwise. “Was that why you keep on pulling yourself away from me? Huh, Sung Eunyoung?” she chooses to answer in silence. And as if he understood what she meant behind the line, he nods by his sensing conclusion. “Dammit it is. I should have corrected you all the while about that f*cking faults!” Frowns of self-dismay pondered upon him.

“But I eventually did, Jang Taeyoung. I harmed you, can’t you see?”

“While you also heard me clearly that day.” Eyes laid onto her clutching hand of his shirt, she struck by her own words. “I did…”

“Then you expect me to blame the woman I confess my whole heart with? Bullsh*t. I didn’t even consider you one, and I will never be. Now, can’t you see?”

Eyes swiftly meeting his, she surrendered.

Towering Jang Taeyoung, taking her chin up for him to see whom he called his. “Jang.”

The word he’s been waiting for, finally uttered from her husky contralto he always admired. “God, how I missed that pet name of yours, woman. If you only knew.”

Hitch by her own breath as he brought her close to him. Nose touching the outline of hers. A hand to her neck while the other’s on the extremities of its forearm. He overjoyed. Invading another kiss saying, all of him. Dragged through the pillars of her porch, she can only get a hold by its banisters while free ones palpably clinging onto him. Bended by the intensity of their present. Hunger that had drought for a long time…

Has now flowing on its own.

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emily-strange · 4 years

Text

Frustration

I mean, I’ve not been subtle with the title....

This has come from @billybutchersbabe prompt game! Which I adore btw.

Warnings: Swearing (the C word pops up...twice I think), Spanking (bum and...other), Smut, Mutual Masturbation.

Leonard McCoy x reader/you

You’re so happy to be done for the day you don’t even remember the long walk back to your quarters. It all going by in a blur. As soon as you get back it’s straight into the shower before waiting on Leonard to finish his shift. You change into one of his old college shirts and throw yourself onto the bed. You’d had to go to Medbay earlier after taking a screwdriver to the head while standing under a Jefferey Tube…wasn’t really the poor Ensigns fault but he’d gotten a hell of a talking to from Scotty.

While being checked over in Medbay by Nurse Chapel, you saw (and heard) your boyfriend giving some new nurses a lecture on proper medical protocols. You could see the muscles in his jaw flex with his frustration and even though you felt bad for the newbies, a larger part of you wanted to drag him into his office and have him work through that anger with you.

But alas your ever professional Leonard would never indulge when the area was so busy….sometimes he could be convinced but you sensed today wouldn’t be that day. His hands clenched behind his back into fists and his posture was rigid. Whatever had happened must have been pretty bad, he hasn’t been that worked up by work for quite a while. The flaring of his nostrils and the way he raked his hand through his hair, tugging it a little, gave you all sorts of naughty images. So after being given the OK you’d walked back to work with thoroughly soaked underwear and a very insistent itch.

You lie back against the pillows and let your hand trail down your stomach. You close your eyes and picture Leonard in his natural habitat, ordering people around like he owns the place. Which he basically does. Your hand strokes through the sparse hair of your lips and you’re not shocked at all to find yourself dripping. You gather your wetness and rub tight circles around your clit, palming your breast through the shirt and moaning at the relief.

You know he’ll be home soon and you want to put on a show. You want him to still be frustrated. Ready to explode, before getting him to fuck you. Slow and gentle is heaven with Leonard, as is fast and rough. However frustrated Leonard isn’t something you get often, he’s too good at leaving it at the office when he finishes a shift. Not wanting to bring that energy home to you. But after seeing him today getting so wound up, you want the desperate grab of his hands on you. The tensing of his teeth in your face and the slackness of his body after his release finally comes.

“Now that’s not nice darlin’. Startin’ without me.”

You open your eyes to see Leonard leaning against the door frame, smug as anything. You smile and keep circling your aching clit as he begins to strip. When he’s naked and about to climb onto the bed, you stop him with a hand on his chest. He watches you, confused, as you get off the bed and walk into the living area, sitting on the sofa with your spread legs propped up on the coffee table. You point to the seat opposite.

“Sit.” You say before returning your hand to between your legs.

Leonard smirks and sits in the chair, curious about the little game you’re playing. His cock is already hard but you know it can get so much harder.

“I want you to touch yourself.” You say with glazed eyes.

You see the twinkle in Leonard’s as he fists his cock in his right hand, sighing from relief. He starts up a gentle pace but that’s not good enough for what you want.

“Faster.” You tell him before reaching down and slipping a finger easily into your cunt.

“Why don’t you let me come do that for you sweetheart?” Leonard drawls and starts to get up but immediately stops when you hold out your hand, saying firmly, “If you don’t do as I say Len, I’ll finish myself off and go to bed.”

You can’t help the sultry smile on your face as he sits back down, returning his hand to his now leaking cock. You can see the vein in his neck growing already as he clenches his jaw. Good, you think. But he can do better.

When you see his eyes glaring at the finger deep inside you, you remove it and give your clit a sharp little slap. Jumping and gasping at the contact. He groans and spreads his precum over the swollen head of his cock. Fisting it roughly.

“You love spanking my clit don’t you my love.” You ask mockingly and spank it again a bit harder, “When you’re fucking me raw. Those nights when all we want is hard…and rough.”

Leonard breathes harshly out of his nose and clenches the arm of the sofa until you hear fabric groaning against the force. You give your clit another hard tap as you enter two fingers into your soaked core.

“Be a good boy and answer me Leonard.” You say as you crook your fingers, trying to hit the spot your boyfriend finds so well. Your fingers aren’t quite up to par but you’re not going to tell him that.

Leonard pulls his eyes away from your soaked hand and meets your eyes, breathing heavily and groaning when you bite your bottom lip.

“You know I do.” He says bluntly, getting frustrated at the distance between you. His mouth flies open as you spank the inside of your thigh, making your cunt clench around your fingers, “Please darlin’, lemme…lemme make you cum. You know I’d make you cum so hard.”

As worked up as you’re getting, you’re enjoying the sight of Leonard way more. His teeth bared and his thighs tense.

“What would you do to me Len?” you ask, pulling your shirt up and lightly slapping your nipple, “Tell me what you’d do and maybe I’ll let you sink into me. I’m so wet for you.….don’t you dare stop touching yourself.”

Leonard groans and swears under his breath, his forehead furrowing as beads of sweat gather just under his hairline. With his non-slicked hand, he grasps the base of his cock and growls, “Please sweetheart….lemme fuck you. Spank that perfect ass of yours…I’ll fuck you so…” Leonard stutters and squeezes harder on the base of his cock to stave off his orgasm, “…so hard.”

You hum and pretend to think before tapping your clit hard again and speeding up your fingers, “Hmm….not yet.”

“FUCK.” Leonard shouts and throws his head back. You giggle to yourself, knowing he’s reaching his level of frustration. If his cock is anything to go by, the poor man is fit to burst any second. He grits his teeth and continues fucking his fist but you can see the strain it’s taking him not to cum. The sound of his fist, your slick fingers and both your heavy pants are the only sounds for a good, long minute before you say, “Please come fuck me Len, make me come.”

You jump slightly when your boyfriend hauls himself quickly out of the chair and all but throws the coffee table across the room. He removes your fingers and sucks them into his mouth, groaning. You quickly take off his shirt from your body and gasp loudly when he spanks the side of your bum.

“That wasn’t very nice darlin’. Teasing me like that.” He growls leaning over you as you wrap your legs around his waist. He spanks you again, just a bit harder and lines himself up with your soaked centre. His cock ridiculously stiff and throbbing from all the attention.

“Fuck me Doctor.” You say through clenched teeth, reeling from the spanks, before he thrusts into you. You groan in unison and it’s not long before you’re coming hard and fast on his pistoning cock. Sweat from Leonard’s brow drops onto your chest and he roughly palms a breast while supporting himself on the back of the sofa with his other hand.

You scream and swear through your orgasm and whimper with sensitivity but the look on his face is definitely worth the minor amount of discomfort. He’s almost sobbing he’s so worked up; his eyes having scrunched closed after you clenched around him.

“Come on Len, fuck your girl good. You always fuck me so good.” You ramble and grasp his face, feeling the tension in his jaw until he does exactly what you wanted.

With an earth-shattering roar, he comes harder than he has for a long time. Every muscle in his body straining until he collapses over you, but still ever so careful to not hurt you. No matter how lost in the moment he gets, Leonard would never allow himself to cause you any unwanted pain.

He slowly withdraws from you, wincing as he does and almost melts onto the floor. Placing his head in your lap as he goes. For a while you both sit quietly catching your breath as you stroke through his sweat soaked hair.

Eventually he starts kissing your thighs before getting to his knees. You open your legs and learn forward to kiss him, placing your arms around his neck. You kiss lazily for a few moments before he draws back and kisses your nose.

“Good day?” is all you manage to say before he’s throwing you over his shoulder and giving you a smack on the bum before hauling you into the shower.

#leonard mccoy love of my life #Leonard McCoy #leonard 'bones' mccoy #leonard mccoy fanfiction #leonard mccoy x reader #leonard mccoy x you #karl urban #star trek #aos star trek #star trek aos

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writesowhatnext · 4 years

Text

ninety-nine percent humidity // frank castle

Summary: mute!reader is a vigilante who takes a bit of a hit on a recent… mission – good job Frankie’s there to help out

Request: hi i hope i can make this request. could you write a punisher imagine, frank x reader where the reader is mute ( if thats alright with you) and he saves her one night after the reader gets attacked. he takes the reader to his place to take care of their wounds and asks about what happend but the reader doesnt respond. he comforts her for a bit and then lets her sleep. in the morning during breakfast when he tries to talk to her he finds out she is mute. hope this is alright :)

A/N: this was quite similar to something else I’ve done so I tried to switch it around a little

Reader: unspecified, mute, vigilante

Warnings: swearing, crime scene, dead bodies, gun, injury,

Frank was, for lack of a better word, fucking tired of the weather. Hell’s Kitchen had taken itself too seriously in the recent days: the stink of sweat clung to everything and the beat-up little fan he bought from the second-hand store did nothing but blow hot air around his room. The August heat was borderline unbearable, so much so that he found himself almost grateful that his job required a nocturnal approach. Not today, though. It was still early, thankfully, and the sun was low in the sky and whilst the hum of the city was close and almost claustrophobic, you couldn’t yet fry an egg on the sidewalk. A win, he supposed. His carefully collected intel, a string of nearly incomprehensible words dragged from the mouth of a low-level gang member at the threat of Frank’s fist, suggested that the morning would be the best time to dispose of the unwanted stain on the city.

As he drew closer to the bar, a little one-room joint tucked away behind a laundrette, he stopped, staring at the door. It looked like someone had beat him to it.

The door was wide open and, even from fifty feet away, he could see blood staining the bottom, something heavy preventing it from closing. Frank glanced around, making sure no one could see him, before jogging forward. He stopped at the door, looking down at the face of a man who’d been dead for a few hours now – he could tell by the smell. He grunted, fishing a piece of cloth from his pocket and holding it his nose, using his other hand to grab his gun from his waistband. He aimed it in front of him, stepping past the first dead body and into what looked like a massacre.

His eyebrows furrowed as he took in the scene around him, and with a sharp exhale into the scarf-material, he shoved the man out of the way with his foot and shut the door behind him, his stomach turning slightly. It wasn’t even that hot yet, but the bodies around him were already looking worse for wear. There was a distinct smell of decay lingering in the air and flies were already circling. It’d been a while since Frank had seen a crime scene like this. There must’ve been a dozen men spread out on the floor, riddled with bullets and drenched in their own blood. He recognised most of them as gang members, ones he’d been itching to bang up for a while before he’d been beaten to the punch. Quite literally. He was a man of precision and efficiency, not usually one to dwell in the morbidity of shit like this, but Frank had to admire the clean execution. Whoever had done this was talented and coordinated – he’d never seen anything like it.

Moving further in, he sidestepped past outstretched limbs and broken glass, the soles of his shoes sticking to the thickening blood on the floor. He’d expected twelve members but as he counted, from left to right and then right to left, there were too many. Sat up against the bar itself, was a decidedly less bloody body, though that was a relatively easy task given the state of the room, with a blood-stained shirt and a gun by their hand. He frowned and stalked closer; his gun trained on the unknown victim. He kicked the gun on the floor away with his foot before bending slowly down. He didn’t recognise the face at all – regardless, it definitely didn’t belong in a place like this. Dropping the cloth for a moment, Frank leant over to press his fingers to their wrist when, like a zombie from the dead, the body lurched to life and between shades of red, he could see the whites of someone’s eyes.

You heaved when you woke up, gasping for air. Your rib cage ached dully and your chest felt tight as you sat forward, wildly looking around you. Where were you? The only thing that had fully registered with you when you noticed the rugged man pointing a gun in your face, was how sticky your skin felt, a layer of sweat collecting between it and the humid air. You inhaled through your nose a few times before the pain in your stomach sent a wave of nausea over you. You pressed your hand into your side, head swimming as your palm came back bloody. You felt sick.

“Who are you?” the man asked, his voice serious. His gun was serious, too and he held it like a man who knew how to use it. You frowned, the two hazy images of him in your mind overlapping when you squinted.

“I said-“

Before he could finish, you jerked forward to see the bodies around you, your memory flooding back. The man didn’t flinch, but the grip on his gun tightened. You blinked a few times, breathing heavily as you remembered why you were there. Individually, you scanned over each of the bodies you could see, making sure they were dead. They had to be dead.

“Did you do that?” the man asked, tilting his head toward the pile of bodies you’d left in your wake. You nodded slowly, wincing as a rush of pain shot through your skull.

Frank clenched his jaw, unsure what exactly to make of it all. With a wound like that, you wouldn’t last very long and with weather like this, it wouldn’t be long until the smell of the mass grave you’d created drew some attention.

He relaxed and then clenched his jaw again before shoving his gun back in his waistband and turning to face you.

“I’m gonna take you back to my place and clean you up, okay?”

He moved to touch you and with fervent protest, you flinched away, causing another ebb of pain from your side. Where did you put your gun?

“Hey,” he said, raising his hands in surrender, drawing your attention from the floor. “If you stay here you die, or you get caught. You come with me, the only problem you have is dying.”

Not his finest reasoning, he’ll admit, but he didn’t have the time to convince you properly and he figured, with it only getting hotter and your blood leaking out, you didn’t really have a choice. He was right.

You frowned, biting your lip as you tried to push yourself up from the floor.

“Let me help,” the man suggested gruffly, watching your struggle. With a hard swallow, you nodded and his large hands slotted under your arms and lifted you to your feet; helpful, yet anything but smooth. Being upright made you feel light-headed and so, with less chagrin than you’d have had fully conscious, you leant into his side, your other hand pressed against your stomach. Each step felt like a game where the room was spinning and you were on roller skates. You didn’t even remember passing out.

Frank cursed his luck when before he’d even left the bar, you’d become dead weight against him. With an eye roll and a grunt, he picked you up and stepped over the actually dead bodies, out into the city. It had gotten even hotter and now with your extra weight to carry, sweat dripped from his forehead. He stalled behind corners and tried to muddy his bloody footprints and essentially sprinted to his apartment, not ready nor willing to answer questions about your bloodied shirt or the gaping bullet wound. Not this early in the morning. He carried you up the stairs and through his door and set your down as gently as he could onto his couch, leaving to fetch some supplies.

Waking up in a strange place never sat well for you, especially when you were bleeding heavily and sweating like a whore in church. You went to sit up, but could only grit your teeth when the pain in your side made you woozy. Black spots clouded the corner of your vision. But then, the man returned. You couldn’t help your suspicion at his kindness, or his presence at the bar. He didn’t look like a cop and he didn’t look like a gangbanger. So, why was he there? You must’ve dropped out of it again because when you woke up, the pain was blunter. Even your brain felt a little numb. And there he was, standing over you, your knight in shining Kevlar.

“Water’s there,” he said softly, pointing to a glass on the table next to your head.

You went to reach over, acutely aware of the pulling sensation in your side. You lifted up your bloodied shirt to see your waist bandaged, no blood leaking through the white material. As you looked over to him, he shifted his weight to the other leg.

“I have the bullet if you want to keep it.”

You couldn’t tell if he was joking; you drank the water anyway.

“There’s a cut on your back,” he came closer, something that didn’t thrill you in your current state. “I didn’t want to turn you over until you were awake.”

You nodded slowly. He hadn’t hurt you so far – actually, all he’d done was help you. That had to count for something, right?

You took your time sitting up and turning around to give him permission. He frowned and paused.

“You don’t talk much.”

Frank thought about it as he cleaned up your scratch with some antibacterial bullshit Karen had forced into his cupboard. He wasn’t a chatty person by any means, but he hadn’t heard you say a word. Not a single word. He thought maybe it was a safety thing, but he did find you lying on the floor of a bar, bleeding out. So, safety didn’t seem to be that high on your priority list.

“Name’s Frank,” he grunted, pressing a bandage over your shoulder and leaning back, surveying his handiwork. You didn’t know whether you wanted to give him your name yet.

“You can stay here tonight.”

The night was considerably less hot than the day, but it was sticky and wet and clingy all the same. You’d thrown off the thin comforter Frank had given you almost immediately and as you lay there on his couch, thinking about your mission, you debated leaving. It was obvious that nothing good would come from staying in Frank’s home. You guessed he’d been there to kill that gang and you’d just gotten there first and whilst it may have been hypocritical, you didn’t know how you felt about him, about that. Nothing was stopping him from killing you right there and then, but he didn’t, for some reason. Though you hadn’t meant to, you drifted to sleep thinking about Frank and whether you were making a mistake being there.

The smell of eggs woke you up and, without much of a thought process, you sat up to find the source. The wound on your side pulled horribly and you found yourself groaning a little at the sensation. From the couch, though, you could see the kitchen and you could see Frank. His back was turned to you as he stood at the hob, frying pan in hand. There was a knife on the table between you and you thought, for a brief second, how easy it would be to kill him. You didn’t entertain the thought, though. He heard the padding of your feet against the floor as you walked over and turned to face you standing next to an empty pizza-box he hadn’t gotten around to throwing out yet.

“Morning,” he said, snorting slightly as he remembered. “Right.”

You looked around for a moment, spotting a pen shoved into a box on the floor and nearly ripping your dressing again trying to retrieve it. Frank didn’t hear you scribbling on the box, too entranced with the heat and the sound of eggs sizzling. When he didn’t turn around, you frowned and knocked twice on the table, earning his attention and shoving the box toward him.

“Y/N, huh?”

You scribbled again.

“Mute,” he repeated, his brow creasing. He turned toward the hob, flipping the eggs over and humming. “So, you don’t speak.”

You only nodded at that. He found himself feeling protective over you, despite the mess you’d made at the bar.

“What happened yesterday?”

He watched you write in big capital letters, almost missing the eggs burning in the process. ‘I killed them’.

“I know,” he shoved the eggs onto a white plate, thrusting it onto the pizza box along with a fork. “Why?”

Your stomach grumbled at the sight of the eggs, but you started writing again anyway.

‘They killed my family’.

His chest tightened a little at the familiarity of your circumstances when he looked at your face. You weren’t looking at him, too concentrated on eating the eggs he’d given you.

“You did good, kid.”

Whatever you expected him to say, that was not it, and as you stood there, shovelling the eggs into your mouth as if you were possessed, you found yourself feeling particularly grateful he’d been the one to find you.

the punisher tag list:

@xinyourdreamsx

#the punisher imagine #the punisher #frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle imagine #writing #imagine

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seanfalco · 3 years

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Double Trouble | Misfits Timeline Anomaly’Verse

a/n: The next installment of my collab with @super-unpredictable98 💚 featuring our girls: Win and Lydia. Follows The Aftermath. I know I said I was gunna post this on Sunday, but I wanted to post something today to cheer me up and I’m having such a fun time writing with Flor. 💖

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Language, Mild sexual content, Alcohol (nothing too intense)

——

"Does she know about Barry?" Nathan whispered as he and Lydia arrived at the Community Centre.

"She knows everything," Lyddie laughed.

"Everything?"

"Well, almost everything... Calm down, it's gonna be alright." Lydia sat down and took a deep breath. She was just as nervous, but didn't want to show it.

Nathan hadn’t let go of Win’s hand the entire time as they walked to the Community Centre and she could feel his nerves radiating off him in waves, only serving to make her more anxious too. When they turned the corner however and Lydia and the other Nathan came into view he nearly stopped in his tracks.

“Holy shit, you weren’t jokin’. He looks exactly like me.”

“I told you,” Win hissed, giving his arm a gentle tug to get him moving again until they were standing face to face with the other couple.

Lydia's heart lept in her chest. Two Nathans... Yeah that was hot, but two Nathans and Win? That was a dream come true.

"Hey there!" Lyddie tried not to sound awkward, which was hard given the circumstances. "Nathan, this is Win. Win, this is Nathan, but I think you know that already."

"Jesus Christ..." Nathan mumbled, staring at his clone.

Win smiled hesitantly at Lydia while her Nathan’s mouth fell open. “I know we’re th’same an’ all, but I swear I’m slightly better lookin’,” he muttered with a twist of his lips before subtly eyeing Lydia.

“Nathan!” Win hissed, rolling her eyes.

"Better lookin'..." Nate scoffed. "How many girls traveled in time for you, huh?"

"Natty, I can't believe you're falling for your own wind-up," Lydia giggled as her cheeks flushed. Seemed like every Nathan had the same effect on her.

The other Nathan’s brows shot up at his comeback. “Yeah, well, how many girls have decided t’share your immortality with you and spend eternity t’gether?” he exclaimed, jabbing his finger in his look alike’s chest.

Win dragged her hand down her face before stepping between the two to split them up. “Can we stop with th’ dick measurin’, please?”

Her Nathan’s lips twisted. “Yeah well I bet mine’s bigger!”

“Nathan, what’re you doing?” she hissed, pulling him away a few paces. “This isn’t helping! You don’t have t’be jealous of him. He’s you!” she cried exasperatedly. “Now, behave,” she begged, giving him a pleading look.

Nathan’s smug grin dissipated as he looked at her. “‘m sorry, okay? I’ll... I’ll try.” Clearing his throat, he straightened and approached once more.

"Did you see the way that bastard was lookin' at'cha?" Nathan muttered angrily and Lydia rolled her eyes. "And you got all giggly for what?"

"Nats, stop being such a baby, of course he looked at me, he's you, and you’re attracted to me, so he must be as well. Just like you must be attracted to Win?"

"Well, she's cute, but he..."

"I love you, there's nothing to worry about," Lydia assured him as Win and her Nathan came back.

Nathan heaved an exasperated sigh, but thrust his hand out in front of the other Nathan, waiting for him to shake. “Guess I’ll play nice, for Win’s sake.”

"Oh really? 'Cause I was gonna..."

"Nathan!" Lydia cut him off, somehow knowing he was gonna try to keep bickering.

"Alright, but just because I love yeh." Nathan shook his clone's hand.

Win flashed Lyddie an apologetic smile, tucking her short hair behind her ear. For a moment she let her gaze linger before returning her attention to the two Nathans.

“Did you happen t’know about any of this?” Win’s Nathan was asking, giving Lydia a pointed look.

"Well, you see..." Lydia had to put a lot of effort into looking away from Win and her beautiful smile. "I found out recently. It might be my fault, but it might be Simon's, I don't really know."

Nathan still looked slightly confused but he shrugged. “Okay, I guess it doesn’t matter whose fault it is. But I was more talkin’ about, did yeh know about them,” he exclaimed pointing from Win to Lydia and back while raising his eyebrows pointedly.

"Well, yeah," Nathan smiled smugly. "Lyddie told me all about their little night out... Why? Ya didn't know?"

Nathan spluttered indignantly. “You’re tellin’ me you knew about it beforehand? And y’weren’t the least bit jealous? At all?” he demanded.

"Not beforehand, but... Y'know, I had a gut feelin'," he shrugged, surprised at the reaction. "I wasn't jealous as much as I was horny. Can you imagine these two?"

"Oh, God..." Lydia shook her head with a smile.

Win rolled her eyes, she could already see the differences in their two Nathans and she had to fight back a smirk. Her Nathan considered for a moment, looking between his girlfriend and Lydia appraisingly, as if imagining it for himself. “Okay, maybe y’have a point,” he admitted, a hint of a smile curling his lips.

"I'm glad you can see eye to eye on something, boys." Lydia raised one eyebrow, idly playing with her colorful hair. "Should we get a drink? Get to know each other better…?"

"Yeah, I wanna know about this sharin' your immortality thing, how does it work?" Nathan asked, seeming much more relaxed now.

“Sounds good t’me,” Win exclaimed, taking Nathan’s hand, while itching to reach out and take Lyddie’s in her other.

——

“So, Win’s basically a leech,” Nathan was explaining to his twin, yelping in pain as Win jabbed her fist into his bicep.

“I hate it when y’call me that!” she growled, turning her attention to the other Nathan.

“What he means is, I can borrow anyone in close proximity’s power, if they have one. I used to have t’touch them for it to work, but it’s getting more powerful. Simon thinks eventually I might even be able to like project the powers I’ve shared to other people in a similar way.”

"I think he's right, Si knows about this king of thing... I think your power is awesome, you're arguably the most powerful one." Lyddie let her chin rest on her fists, a silly smile tugging at her lips as she watched Win.

"Careful there, Lollipop," her Nathan teased. "You're droolin' a bit."

"You twat," Lydia leaned back, her cheeks burning from embarrassment.

Win cleared her throat, flushing a little at Lydia’s praise, flashing her a smile. “I dunno, I don’t feel all that powerful, but if it lets me stay with Nathan, then I’d never get rid of it.”

"I wouldn't either. If I'm being honest, that's the main reason why I bought my self-healing... but I never mention it because Nathan's already cocky enough. Both of them." Lydia looked between the two clones with a sigh.

“You got that right,” Win murmured, shooting a fond glance at the Nathan sitting next to her. “You guys want another round of beers?” she asked, noticing how low their glasses were, jumping up before anyone could answer and heading to the bar.

"I'll help you," Lydia exclaimed, eagerly following Win to the bar, leaving the two Nathans alone. "This is going better than I expected," she mused, flashing Win a smile.

"Hey, y'know what we gotta do, right?" Lyddie's Nathan smirked mischievously, making sure the girls were gone.

Win’s Nathan cocked an eyebrow at him, having the strangest feeling he knew what this other him was going to say. “A little switcharoo?” he asked, a mirror image of the other Nathan‘s grin spreading across his face.

"Wow, it's like we're the same person." Lydia's Nathan nodded. "D'you think they’ll notice?"

Lydia caught the two boys talking out of the corner of her eye, but she was too busy watching Win leaning over the counter to worry about them.

“I’d sure hope they would,” Win’s Nathan laughed. “It’ll be a little test to see how well they really know us. But hands off th’goods, yeah!” he added after a second thought, pointing meaningfully at the other him. Not exactly fond of the idea of him touching his girlfriend just yet.

"Hey, you too!" Lyddie's Nathan replied, almost offended. "Besides, Lyds would notice right away if y'did anythin', you don't know the tricks..."

“Oh, she would, would she? Maybe I’m just a better lover than you. Besides, whatever tricks you have I have too,” Win’s Nathan retorted, but the two quickly switched places while the girl’s backs were turned. “Maybe she’d like it better.”

"I think I finally understand why people call me a twat so often," Lyddie's Nathan mused. "I'd like t'see you try, but it would be too pathetic."

Before Win’s Nathan could make a comeback the girls were heading back to their booth, drinks in hand. “What did you guys talk about while we were gone?” Win asked sliding into the bench next to Lyddie’s Nathan, who promptly slipped his arm around her waist, drawing a dirty look from the Nathan across from him.

"Yeah, I'm curious too." Lydia handed Win's Nathan his beer, staring at him with an expression her fiance knew very well, so aptly named ‘her horny face’.

Win's Nathan swallowed his anger and smiled, draping his arm defiantly around Lyddie's shoulder. "Is something wrong?" she asked, noticed the lingering silence that seemed to eat them alive.

“No! No, nothing’s wrong,” the Nathan with his arm around Lydia answered quickly, flashing her his most charming grin. “We were just talkin’ bout... guy stuff. Y’know?”

"Interesting," Lydia mused distractedly as she watched as Win's Nathan take a long drink, his adam's apple moving slowly with each swallow, something her Nathan quickly noticed, twisting his lips disdainfully.

"I love to talk about guy stuff," she murmured as she looked around the table, her gaze sweeping over the two Nathans and Win. She couldn't help but imagine them all spoiling her at the same time, or even better... punishing her. Moving closer to the Nathan by her side, she placed her legs on his lap and leaned her head against his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his neck.

Win’s Nathan stiffened momentarily as he felt Lydia’s lips on him, his breath catching in his throat. This time it was Lydia’s Nathan’s turn to look sour, quickly turning in his seat to catch Win’s lips, surprising her with a rather heated kiss before directing a smug grin at the other Nathan while Win caught her breath.

“Not that I’m complaining,” she murmured, her hand still curled lightly in Lyddie’s Nathan’s shirt where it had wandered as he kissed her. “But what was that for?”

"Y'just look so sexy today, couldn't resist," Lydia's Nathan murmured in the pettiest way possible.

"Um... so, funny stor--" Lydia began awkwardly only to be cut off when Win's Nathan decided to retaliate, pulling Lydia close, trying to kiss her even more eagerly, his hand sliding down her back. She was already having the most unholy thoughts, so uninhibited, she kissed him back, one hand firmly squeezing his thigh.

Nathan couldn’t help but moan softly as her hand traveled upwards and the Nathan next to Win scowled. Not wanting to be outdone, he pulled Win closer as well, his tongue slipping between her parted lips as she clutched tighter at his shirt, nipping at his lip as she pulled back.

“Nathan, really, what are you doing?” she murmured, looking up at him. “What’s gotten into you?” At first she thought it was just more of the same competitiveness as earlier, each Nathan trying to outdo the other again.

"What? I thought we were all havin' fun." Lyddie's Nathan gave his look-alike a death glare.

"You two are so weird." Lydia didn’t wanna complain as the Nathan next to her started kissing her neck. In fact, she wanted to drag everyone home, but something felt off. "Are we really doing this in public, Nats?"

“Course, it just makes it more exciting doesn’t it?” he murmured against her skin.

“I dunno, this just feels like another competition,” Win mused, her breath hitching as Lyddie’s Nathan’s hand traveled to her hips, pressing her into the back of the booth.

Lyddie felt deep inside that something was wrong, but it was so hard to concentrate with Nathan fondling her and kissing her chest, however an idea came to her that could either fuck her over or solve the puzzle.

"Nats, why don't you tell Winnie about my little secret?" she asked, smiling coyly, while her fiance tried not to laugh, thinking 'good luck with that'.

The Nathan at her side lifted his face, panic filling him as he tried to think how to answer. "Which one, babe? You have so many," he exclaimed.

Damn it, he was right about that, Lydia thought. But he would know which one, right? "Y’know, that thing I don't let you say. You can say it, I trust everyone enough here," she pushed.

"Uhhh," Nathan hesitated and Win caught Lyddie's eye, understanding now what had felt off. Hadn't her Nathan been wearing a hoodie today? Not his flannel lined jacket.

"Now I'm interested," she mused, sitting up straighter and tilting her head as she fixed the Nathan across from her a curious look. "I wanna know Lyddie's little secret."

"Me too, man, I'm really curious!" Lyddie's Nathan flashed him a shit-eating grin, despite the fact they were about to both lose the game.

"So... why don't you spit it out?" Lydia twisted one of Win's Nathan's curls with her finger. "You did tell everyone back when we were in community service."

"I... I, pshhhh, that was so long ago, how d'you expect me t'remember that?" he blustered and Win narrowed her eyes at him.

"That's funny, you were talking about it just yesterday with me. Unless you hit your head really hard while we were gone, something isn't right here,” Lydia exclaimed, looking between the two guys.

"Hmmm, how about you, huh babe?" Win murmured, turning her eyes on the Nathan next to her, tracing her finger down the side of his face. "How about you tell Lyddie something about me that only you know?"

"You... you do that thing--" Lyddie's Nathan's grin disappeared, "--when you're feelin' a certain way, y'know, the thing."

Win tilted her head. Oh, it was quite obvious what was going on now, but she wanted to make them both sweat a little bit. "You'll hafta be a little more specific than that, Nathan baby," she purred, her finger falling from the side of his face to catch on the collar of his t-shirt, tugging it down. The way his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed was exactly the reaction she was hoping for.

"Well, you... you... like t'eat food and..." Nathan sputtered helplessly. "Hey, man, what was that secret you were about t'tell us? I don't wanna interrupt or anythin'," he exclaimed suddenly, trying to divert their attention.

Win turned to Lydia and cocked an eyebrow before turning her gaze on both Nathans. "Did you two think you were being clever?"

“What do’you mean--?” Win’s Nathan spluttered.

"We just wanted t'do a little prank," Lyddie's Nathan answered, looking down.

"You might look the same, and you're both wankers, but everything else is different," Lydia laughed. "Not gonna lie, you had me for a second there..."

"What was it? My stellar snoggin' skills?" Win's Nathan asked, sparing a wink for his girlfriend.

"If you knew me at all you'd know that I like my neck kisses a little more aggressive than that... you cocky bastard." Lyddie wrinkled her nose, though a small grin curled her lips.

"HEY! You only call ME that!" Lyddie's Nathan snapped.

"So, now that we've all snogged each other... well, with the exception of th'two of you," Win muttered, gesturing to both Nathans, "which would be kinda weird, are we good? Like ice broken and all that?"

"I'd say so, yeah," Lyddie's Nathan replied, rolling his eyes.

"I think the ice is melted at this point alright,” Lydia mused, “I hope you didn't mind the hands, Natty... I can call you Natty, right?" Lydia flashed him a teasing smile.

Win's Nathan's brows rose at the nickname, his gaze flicking to Win for a moment who looked strangely sullen before he focused on Lydia. "Uhh, sure, I guess?"

Win frowned at the Nathan next to her, but didn't say anything, instead grabbing her glass and chugging her beer suddenly.

Lydia's attention immediately switched back to Win and she tilted her head, a cryptic look on her face.

"Jesus, remind me t'never challenge you to a drinkin' game," Lyddie's Nathan exclaimed, quirking an eyebrow at her, looking impressed.

"Yup," she countered, "I'd drink you under the table," she muttered, setting her glass down harder than she meant to. She wasn't sure why she was so suddenly upset. Maybe it had something to do with the strange feeling she had that Lyddie's Nathan didn't like her much… and it was unsettling to feel that while looking at the face she loved more than anything.

"Hey," Lydia said softly, trying to ignore how much it turned her on to see Win chug her beer like that when she noticed her discomfort. "I gotta fix my lipstick, do you wanna come, Winnie?"

“Huh?” Win looked up at Lydia, grateful for the distraction, though it was obvious the other woman wanted to get her alone, no doubt to ask her what was wrong. “Yeah, sure,” she replied, making to stand.

“Winnie?” The Nathan next to Lydia yelped. “You never let me call you that!” he whined petulantly, watching the girls walk away.

As soon as the two of them walked into the bathroom, Lydia locked the door and took a deep breath. "What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?" she asked, taking Win's hands.

“It’s stupid,” Win muttered, turning her head.

"Oh, come on..." Lyddie pulled Win into her arms. "You can tell me, maybe I can help."

Lydia often considered herself the queen of overthinking, always fighting against her own awkwardness, it was odd to see Win like that.

“I don’t think your Nathan likes me very much. I could... feel it when he kissed me. Like there was nothing there, and it... I dunno, it’s fuckin’ with my head, Lyddie,” she muttered, sniffling softly.

"What do you mean, you didn't feel anything? I mean... I know he has the hots for you, he told me so." Lydia tucked Win's hair behind her ear.

Win rolled her eyes, but leaned into Lyddie’s touch. “Yeah, but it’s... I dunno, it’s not th’same is it? It didn’t feel like when I kiss you, or... my Nathan.” She sighed. “I told you it was stupid.”

"It felt off for me too, but it's nothing wrong with you or me, it's just so new and we're all getting used to it... it's not stupid," Lyddie insisted, kissing Win's forehead.

“You’re right, of course you’re right,” Win murmured, wrapping her arms around Lydia. “Thank you.”

"You can always talk to me,” Lydia exclaimed. “I'm not just here for the sex, even though it is some amazing sex..." she joked, pressing her forehead to Win's.

“Mmm,” Win hummed in agreement. “God, don’t get me thinking about that again or you’ll get me hot all over again,” she teased, brushing Lyddie’s hair from her face to tuck behind her ear as well. “How did I get so lucky to find you and Nathan?” she murmured, smiling softly.

"It serves you right for getting me all hot back there." Lydia grinned. "I think we're both just crazy lucky -- first, struck by lightning, then this."

“Wait, how did I turn you on back there?” Win exclaimed, pulling back slightly to look her in the eye.

"You know... the chugging, that's really sexy," Lydia admitted, blushing, looking down to avoid Win's eyes.

“Oh! Well, that’s certainly good t’know,” Win teased, a grin tugging at her lips. “Maybe I should challenge the boys to a drinking contest,” she laughed, poking Lydia’s steadily darkening cheeks.

Before she could say more a heavy knock at the door was followed by a familiar voice and somehow Win just knew it was her Nathan. “Hey? You okay in there? Win? Lydia? Don’t tell me you’re shaggin’ in there!”

"Oh! Oh, Win, please! I'm almost there!" Lydia moaned mockingly as she headed to the door to unlock it. "By the way, that sounds like the best idea anyone has ever had," she murmured in response to Win’s suggestion.

Win laughed harder, mussing up her hair to make it look like they’d been fooling around a little, her eyes instantly seeking Nathan as soon as Lydia pulled the door open. “Well, it doesn’t smell like sex in here,” he pointed out as he leaned in the door way, his gaze running over Lydia before finding Win. “Has Win told you how much she likes doin’ it in public toilets?”

"No, she hasn't." Lydia turned to look at Win. It was only fair she got to know one of her secrets as well. "Glad to know," she mused before frowning dramatically. “We weren’t having sex, just heavily snogging.”

Nathan leaned in closer, frowning thoughtfully. “Then how come your lipstick‘s not all smudged, huh?”

Suddenly the second Nathan appeared behind the first. “What’s goin’ on in here?” he asked impatiently, his eyes seeking Lydia first.

“Startin’ to get little crowded in here, huh Lyds?” Win asked pointedly.

"I agree, it's getting crowded..." Lydia nodded.

"Wait! If you're gonna shag you promised t'let me watch!" Lyddie's Nathan protested.

"Shag? We're just... Talking about girl stuff," she winked at Win, taking her hand.

“Yeah, th’shaggin’ll happen later,” Win said with a wink as she passed, grabbing her Nathan’s hand as well.

As they left the pub, her Nathan pulled Lydia to the side, wrapping both arms around her waist. "What happened?" she asked, taking her by surprise. "Y'know, this wasn't as traumatic as I thought it was gonna be..."

"I'm glad you think so." Lydia huffed a laugh. "Y'like her, don'tcha?" she asked, nodding toward Win.

"I guess I do…” he replied, chewing his lip. “But be honest now, I'm a better kisser than her Nathan, right?"

Lydide didn't miss the shadow of insecurity in his voice. "He doesn't know what I like, but you do. We've been snogging for over a year, that's a lot of practice."

"Good," Nathan smirked. "As long as I'm better than him..."

As Lydia and her Nathan moved off to the side, Win leaned against the side of the pub, distractedly fishing a cigarette from her jacket pocket.

"Hey, you okay?" Nathan asked softly, trying to catch a glimpse of her downturned face.

"Yeah, 'm fine," she murmured without looking up. At her answer Nathan frowned, snatching the cigarette from her lips to get her attention and she huffed in annoyance, reaching for another one until Nathan stopped her.

"Win," he insisted and she sighed, deflating. "Are y'mad about the prank we played? Or, or th'kiss? Because I admit, I might've wanted t'get back at you a little," he confessed.

Win rolled her eyes, but she managed a smile. "So does that mean you like Lyddie?" she asked.

Nathan grinned as he slung his arm over her shoulder, leaning against her side. "Yeah, she's cute. Never thought I'd meet a girl as handsy as you," he teased.

"Though... that other Nathan," he mused with a twist of his lips, "I dunno how I feel about you snoggin' him."

Win shrugged, looking up at him. "Yeah, well, if it's any consolation, I like kissing you more."

#misfits #nathan young #nathan young x oc #nathan x win #nathan x lyddie #otp: green apple lollipop #timeline anomaly verse #oc stuff #collaboration

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misomilk · 4 years

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the new game has been giving me so many stony feelings so i just HAD to write something!!!!

The Diary [AO3] Pairing: Steve Rogers x Tony Stark AU: Marvel’s Avengers Word Count: ~2.3k Summary: Steve wonders about Tony reading his diary. He couldn't really have read it...could he?

He didn’t really read his diary...did he?

To the others, it’s been five years, but to Steve it was just a few days ago that he had last written an entry on it. It’s not that he kept a diary to note down all the fluttery feelings he felt for his fellow Avenger. Most entries were akin to those he’d write on mission reports. Things he did well, things he should’ve done better. But few and far between, there would be glimpses of his feelings for Tony.

Steve can still remember what his entry about Tony’s jokes was.

Tony said more than a few jokes during today’s mission. I didn’t get them. Then he drew roses around the page, because Steve knew if he found the courage to speak his feelings, he’d be giving the genius a bouquet a day.

He drew flowers on the same pages he ever mentioned Tony. Blue violets, daisies, pansies. Thank God his drawings of Tony’s portraits were in a separate sketchbook and not in the diary. When the bean bag or mission reports weren’t enough to calm him down at night, it was thinking of Tony and etching his image on paper that helped soothe him through the night.

Then Steve remembered there were a few, more sentimental entries, too.

Like that night they spent together at the tower penthouse, gazing at the sky, watching planes go by, talking about the smallest things. Tony surprisingly didn’t drink a drop of alcohol, but he talked so much. About his life, about his father, about how much he wanted the world to be at peace. Steve wanted to take him in his arms then. Dance with him, maybe, if there was music. Steve wanted to tell him he was his world, but the sun had come up before he had summoned the courage to do so.

He drew tulips on that page.

God. It really was a love diary, wasn’t it? Masked with non-Tony entries, but it really was. And Tony read it? Tony read it? No way… He couldn’t have. What were the chances Tony went through his things, and got the hold of it? Unsure. What were the chances Tony read every single entry upon finding said diary? Highly likely. Tony’s curiosity led him to no bounds.

Did Tony find the diary? Did he read it? If it wasn’t 25 past two in the morning, Steve would strut down to Tony’s room and ask for answers now. But he’ll have to settle for doing that first thing in the morning. Instead, thoughts threatened to haunt Steve throughout the night. But he managed to keep them at bay as he drew Tony’s face on a new sketchbook-- his face when he found him.

The first face he saw since waking up. If Steve closed his eyes, he could still picture it. The worry in Tony’s eyes, mixed with a hint of relief, the way his eyes wouldn’t pull away from him. His arms around him when he caught him--hugged him. It was as if he was still dreaming. Being so close to Tony was the most surreal thing to have happened to him. Even more than finding out he was stuck in space for the past five years or so. Tony Stark had been the first thing he saw upon opening his eyes, and that has been a dream Steve has wished for since he realized his feelings for him.

And then thoughts about the diary filtered into his brain yet again. With a sigh, he set the sketchbook down beside him and got settled into bed, hoping sleep would claim him so morning would come faster.

***

“Looking a little stiff there, you feeling all right?”

Steve swallowed. It’s finally morning and here he’s found himself at Tony’s room, right before breakfast. “Sure. Never better.”

Tony smirks. “Uh-huh.” “I’m fine.” Steve hoped his response was less frigid than it felt.

“That was so convincing.” Tony turned back to what he was working on at the center of his room. It looked like a weapon. “Thanks for putting my mind at ease.”

Was that one of Tony’s jokes just now? Steve sighed, stepping in a little further into the room. It’s messy, but feels homey. A lot like Tony.

“Can I… help you, Cap?”

“Yes, well,” Steve gathered the courage to ask what he wanted. And that’s when he noticed it in the corner, hanging upon one of the closets. Wrinkled and old, but definitely once Steve’s. “Is that my jacket?”

“Uh, well… After you died, I wanted to… honor you.”

Don’t get your hopes up. Steve told himself, but his heart was already fluttering. “I was dead.”

“Hey, let me grieve at my own pace.”

Steve laughed softly, smiling at the jacket. That Tony would keep with him something Steve always used to wear to remember him by making his heart soar. Then he remembered again. The diary. If Tony managed to find this jacket, surely he would’ve found the diary. Ask him. Ask him. “Tony?”

“Yes?”

“Did you really read my diary?”

The screwing on of bolts halted. Steve turned to Tony to see that he’d stopped tinkering with the thing on his desk.

“Tony?”

Silence followed before Tony spoke. “Why do you wanna know?”

Steve lifted an eyebrow. “Why aren’t you answering the question?”

Tony’s eyes darted at Steve’s, then immediately looked away. And if Steve knew better, he’d realize Tony was actually blushing. “Look, Cap, I’m sorry, okay? I know it’s a breach of privacy, or whatever.” Now it was Steve’s turn to blush. He felt the heat down to the crane of his neck. “So you did.”

“I--”

It was rare to see Tony so out of words when he was always ready for the wittiest remark. Steve didn’t know what to make of it. Did Tony despise what he read in it that much? Or did he like it? What did he feel now, knowing Steve had written about him in his diary, and drew flowers around his name?

***

Read it? Tony basked in it. Every single day of his life since the day his world went away, he drowned himself in the world Steve saw through his eyes. And when Tony realized there were entries about him, entries about him with flowers etched along the edges for Christ’s sake, what was he to do? Grieve over the chance he missed, living a life full of love with the man who had his affections, that’s what. Because Steve was gone.

Steve was gone. But he came back, and he found him, and now he’s here. And what did Tony do? Run away with his tail between his legs, that’s what. How was he supposed to approach Steve? Hey, I read your diary. You have feelings for me? I have feelings for you, too. Let’s get together. Not exactly the best way to woo someone. But maybe Tony should’ve taken it, because then he wouldn’t have to be in this awkward conversation right now.

“I know I shouldn’t have read it.” Tony sighed, putting a hand on his head. He could swear it was starting to ache. “But I didn’t know what it was at first. It wasn’t like it had a label on it, you know? Steve’s Diary, do not read.”

“But you read it.” “Yes, Captain Obvious. I’ve only said it like, a million times.” Tony rolled his eyes and looked at Steve then. Steve. Steve was blushing . Even the tips of his ears were red, and he looked so adorable Tony’s reactor could leap out of his chest. “Steve? You okay, buddy?”

“I don’t know what to say, Tony.” Steve walked towards the wall, leaning against it for balance. “You… You know now, don’t you?”

Tony played coy. “Know what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know ,” Steve seemed to speak against his teeth. “What I wrote, how I-- and you--”

A moment of silence seemed to stretch on for eternity before Steve finally said the next word.

“What am I doing? How could I be so stupid?”

Tony blinked, wondering how Steve went from blushing to rushing out his door. “What? Steve? Hey, wait.” He immediately stood up and caught Steve by the arm before he could pass through the door. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t like me.” Steve looked into Tony’s eyes then, standing at the door to his room in his lounge pants and shirt, so much hurt, so much raw pain. It hurt Tony’s heart the same, itching static between his body and reactor. “Not the way I like you.”

Tony couldn’t correct him, even if he wanted to. His actions the past few days spoke louder for him than his true feelings.

“You know what you read in my diary. I like you, Tony. I really do. But you-- You just brush it off like you never read a word of it.” Though a few inches taller than Tony, Steve looked so small and so dejected. Steve shook his head and looked away. “I’m sorry. I never should’ve brought this up. I promise I’ll be professional when I see you at breakfast.”

“No, Steve, wait!” Tony’s hands latched onto Steve’s arms, making him turn towards him again. Tears started to run down Steve’s face, and Tony wished he could tear out his reactor right now so it would mend the pain. “Steve…”

Steve pushed Tony away lightly, rubbing his hands across his eyes. He laughed dryly. “Look at me, a grown man crying over a silly crush.”

“That’s not true, Steve…” Tony held the other’s hands in his then, looking into his eyes. “I-- Honestly, I don’t know what you see in me. I’m an idiot.”

“Do you or don’t you make a point of how smart you are every single day of your life?” Steve smirked, though it quickly disappeared as he sobbed. Tony led Steve away from the door and towards his bed where he let Steve cry out his feelings. Once Steve was a little calmer, Tony stood up and sat on the other’s lap. The other’s eyes quickly widened in surprise, jaw dropping in shock. “Uhm… Tony?”

Tony tried not to notice the flush of heat rising in his cheeks. “Look, I’m not so good at talking--”

That made Steve huff a laugh. “You? Not good at talking?” “I know, I know. I can barely keep my mouth shut. But I’m not good when it comes to, you know, talking about the real things.”

“Real things...?”

Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders then, drinking in the other’s clear blue eyes as he spoke his words slowly, with much certainty. “Like how I feel about you.”

Steve’s jaw dropped again, and Tony swore he could just lean down and kiss him right then and there. “Which is…?”

“I like you, too, Cap.” Tony leaned down to press their foreheads together. All he could see were Steve’s sweet eyes, and his world was a little brighter. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick and that I avoided talking to you about your diary. I just-- I wasn’t ready.”

“Hmm,” Steve mumbled, and Tony could swear he felt that rumble against his throat from how close they were. He felt hands settle themselves on Tony’s hips, and Tony decided then to sit a little higher on the other’s thighs. “And are you? Ready now?”

“Maybe?” Tony’s eyes fluttered, the warmth of Steve’s hands on his hips surreal. He could feel a finger or two slip underneath his shirt and he gave away a soft moan. “If you are?”

“I am.”

Their lips found each other barely a moment later. Steve’s lips were so much softer than Tony could ever imagine. He closed his eyes, mastering the feeling of Steve’s lips against his as they kissed over and over and over. He bit down on Steve’s lower lip, which caused the other to gasp loud. And with the other’s mouth open, he took the chance to slip his tongue into the other’s, kissing him gently, with all the love he felt.

“Tony…” Steve moaned against his lips, and it rang sweetly in his ears.

“Steve…”

“Hey, Tony. Have you seen Cap? Breakfast is r---WHOA MY GOSH!! I’m so sorry!!!” Kamala had come into Tony’s room, causing their kiss to abruptly end as the two stared at the door in horror. Kamala stood there, hands over her eyes. “So all the Stony fanfiction were right after all? That’s so rad!!”

“Weren’t you the one who said something about knocking, hmm?” Tony teased her as he reluctantly stood up from Steve’s lap. “You can open your eyes now, little one.”

“Right! Okay! Sorry!” Kamala had the brightest smile as she put her hands down. She pointed towards the kitchen area of the ship. “Anyways, it’s breakfast time. Come once you’re ready?”

“Will do.”

“Good morning, Cap!!”

“Good morning, Kamala.”

With that she was out of the room. “Hey Nat! You’ll never guess what I saw.”

“Oh, boy.” Tony laughed, seeing Natasha standing right outside his door with a smirk on her face. “I guess the cat’s outta the bag already. And here I was hoping we could keep it under wraps for at least… a few hours?” Tony was surprised when a pair of arms wrapped around his waist, and lips pressed against his neck. “Ooh… I--I think I really like this development.”

“So do I.” Steve smiled against his neck before pressing one more kiss. “You can’t take back what you said, Tony.”

“No worries. I had no plans to.”

“After breakfast, do you think we could..”

“Yeah?” “Continue from where we left off?”

Tony turned around to see Steve blushing to the tips of his ears yet again. He smiled, and pulled his lover down to kiss him on the lips. “Of course, love. Anything you want.”

#marvel's avengers #stony #stevetony #ma spoilers #spoilers #myfics #avengers video game

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joonsdiary · 4 years

Text

worth fighting for (05)

pairing: jungkook x female reader genre/warning: a pinch of fluff, a dash of angst / royalty au, historical au / tw: the constant yearning is ever omnipresent, oc/reader in constant denial, would probably consider this slowburn word count: 5,559

summary: fresh out of the perils of war, jungkook didn’t think that his task as the newly appointed general would be to look after you.

FIVE.

“No, you need to grip it harder.”

You roll your eyes at Jungkook’s command but follow his instructions anyway. Beads of sweat roll down the nape of your neck but you pay it no mind, focused on the task at hand — so to speak. Getting down and dirty is not a current concern for you; either way, you’re due for a bath soon. You lick your lips as you stare at him, eager to gauge his reaction. The general has proven to be hard to please, but you intend to impress. You did not want him to think you’re going into this blindly and without experience.

The anticipation in Jungkook’s eyes is palpable as he awaits your movement.

You charge towards him and swing deftly at his direction, which he dodges with unbridled swiftness. Clenching your jaw, you grip the sword’s handle as instructed seconds prior and turn to swing at him once more. Instead of avoiding it, he raises his right hand to block your sword with his. The unmistakable echo of clashing metals gains two pairs of eyes who look up from their task to witness the event.

“Good. You’re already getting better.” Jungkook pants as he lowers his weapon. You mirror his actions as a small grin creeps its way up to your lips. Not too far from where you stand, Jimin and Miyoung clap encouragingly. Jimin hollers for extra effect and you face to wave at them before bowing, earning a louder applause.

You chuckle at their antics and face Jungkook, curtsying towards him as you do. He knows it isn’t meant to be a serious gesture, so he waves you off, nodding his head with a look of encouragement apparent on his face.

It took several days of convincing before Jungkook agreed to teach you the basics of sword fighting. He wasn’t too keen on the idea — and you have a feeling he will never warm up to it despite agreeing — especially since he knows your father does not approve.

“But the king isn’t here to stop either one of us, is he?” You reasoned with him one morning when he had been busy embarking the carriage with extra supplies. You had all agreed to stop by a small village, taking precautions to conceal your true identity.

(It has been easy for Jimin and Miyoung, not so much for you and Jungkook. But you manage, nonetheless.)

“I just know he would not approve,” Jungkook murmurs, followed by a quiet, and how dare you speak of your father in that manner? He does not look at you, too focused on securing the blankets so they won’t fall as you continue trekking the bumpy roads.

“He had no problem when Hoseok taught me,” you attempt to reason with him. “Plus, it’s only been three days since your injury, and you’re still not at your full capability. You could use an extra hand.”

“But you’re supposed to be the one who needs protecting,” he seethes. You can tell he wishes for you to drop the matter.

You won’t budge, of course.

Stubborn as a mule, or so Jimin puts it. You’re aware he means it as a form of endearment but being compared to an animal never felt like a compliment.

He makes his way to the front of the carriage where the horses are and asks Jimin if he’s all settled. The older nods and grins, cheekbones protruding and eyes shifting to adorable tiny crescents. Jungkook turns to you once more.

“What happens if you’re the one who gets injured next time?”

You try not to read too much in the way his eyes gazed into yours, round and filled with worry. Ignoring the rapid thundering of your heart against your rib cage, you shrug. Feigning nonchalance always seems to work.

“I know I won’t be harmed if I learn from the best, right?”

The statement was untrue – Jungkook’s injuries are a testament that no matter how skilled one is in combat, they’re still human, and therefore vulnerable. But you figure boosting his ego will do the trick.

So, here you are on your second day of practice, trying to shake the rust off your joints. You still remember some of the moves Hoseok taught you; it’s just a matter of trusting your instinct as you continue sparring with Jungkook. Although he hasn’t made you learn anything too complicated yet, his reason being that he is technically still injured. He argues that moving around puts too much strain on himself.

Yet you see him carry loads of heavy items all the time. He sets up the tents, starts the fires, and occasionally tends the horses. You know he isn’t by any means holding you back – it’s just a matter of trying to coax him into teaching you more difficult movements. The man is easily swayed with words, after all.

“Your Highness!” Miyoung calls out and waves at you. “Are you ready?”

“I’ll be right there,” you shout back, before turning to Jungkook to hand him the sword. “Thank you for today.”

He grunts in response and motions for you to lean it against the rock as he carefully cleans his with a cloth. There is a sudden pause, more on your part, unsure which parting words to say to him.

Do you just leave? Or does the situation warrant some sort of goodbye? See you later, perhaps? The schedule for today did not guarantee that you’ll see him again in a one-on-one situation any time soon and saying see you later seemed way too informal. So, after thoroughly searching your brain for something, you come up with —

“I’m going to bathe now,” you announce aloud.

His expression morphs into a grin at your revelation and you berate yourself mentally. It’s not like you needed to declare it to him as if he already didn’t know. Now it just seems like you’re trying to invite him to go into the lake with you as if to say – ‘I’m going to bathe now; would you like to join me?’

Idiotic, pea brain, airhead —

His chuckle interrupts your thoughts, a deep rumble that comes from the back of his throat, sending your nerves in a frenzy for reasons unknown to yourself.

“I know.” Gods, you’re itching to smack the haughtiness out of his face. “Do you wish for me to join you?”

“I knew you would say that.” You roll your eyes despite the warmth creeping from your neck up to your cheeks. You are probably a whole tomato right about now. “I just said it because I wanted to make sure you’re aware, in case something terrible happens.”

Not quite. But you slipped up and you’ll rather make up a believable lie than admit otherwise.

“You didn’t say no.” He taunts you; the small grin now forms a smile that occupies his whole face. “I’ll take that as a go-ahead —”

“No, you degenerate.”

Jungkook grins as he watches you stomp away, grumbling to yourself about god knows what. He pinches his hot earlobes, hoping you didn’t notice their bright crimson tint.

“You seem to be having fun, Your Highness,” Miyoung drawls on the last two words, her tone teasing. Your stare is cold, but you realize you genuinely have no idea what she could be referring to, so your brows knit in confusion. She moves behind you, grabbing the strings of your dress before pulling it tight, drawing a hiss from you. Realizing she hasn’t answered your cause for confusion, you voice your concern.

“What do you mean?” You tug the damp strands of your short hair, twirling it absentmindedly between your fingers. Fun is not the word you should use to describe the events leading up to today. The conversation a few nights back after getting attacked — and you admitting that perhaps killing said attacker didn’t leave you feeling gratified — left Jungkook more distant than he usually is. It took plenty of coaxing and promises to let him teach you and although he’s hesitant to show you advanced movements, it’s infinitely better than nothing.

“I’m sorry I had to interrupt your alone time with the general,” she carefully loops the strings into a taut bow. You exhale out a scoff, hating how little room you had to breathe.

“It was hardly ‘alone time’, with you and Jimin so close,” the words are out of your mouth before you realize the weight of their meaning. “I didn’t mean –”

“Duly noted. If you were so privy to time spent with him, you should’ve let me know sooner.” She turns you around and you’re met with the playful glint in her eyes. You know she will not drop the subject despite your protests, as you’ve learned from her numerous taunting.

“It’s good that you’re releasing some of that tension, though,” Miyoung continues her one-woman monologue when you don’t respond. You tilt your head to one side as your eyebrows twitch. “You’re too tense around him even more than usual lately.”

“I’m not —”

“And who could blame you? With those massive shoulders of his. Don’t deny it, Your Grace. I saw how you looked at him the other day while dressing his wounds.”

“I wasn’t —”

“I mean, the man stands as if he’s a mountain daring to be climbed. Don’t mind if I do.”

“Miyoung!” Your voice is apprehensive, hoping it’s enough to chastise her. But it had been too late; the images you’ve been trying to push out have seared themselves into every nook and cranny of your brain. You’re reminded of the way his undershirt clung onto his sweat-clad body after hours of jousting. It had been particularly difficult to keep your eyes from trailing anywhere down south of his collarbone.

The short trip down the memory lane coloured your cheeks the slightest hue of crimson. It’s enough to warrant Miyoung’s descent to a fit of giggles.

“Speak of the devil,” her attention is caught by confident footsteps behind you and you don’t even have to think twice because who else could it be? “Your meal order has arrived.”

You give her an exasperated look before spinning on your heels. Your breath catches.

You hadn’t particularly noticed how much taller he is compared to you — there was never the need to point out such obvious discrepancies or make a big deal out of them. It was a simple fact of the matter. But now that Miyoung has pointed it out, it was tough to wedge it out of your system.

It hasn’t always been that way since you’ve grown immune to her taunts about Jungkook. It reminded you of your sheer inelegance more than a month ago — when he had discovered you traipsing in the middle of the night with Luna in a feeble attempt at liberation — and how warm and sturdy he felt underneath you. How strong arms helped you up your feet, regaining the balance you had lost. How far you need to lean upon your toes to be able to reach his lips with yours. A mountain daring to be climbed.

You gulp as he approaches, his figure easily towering yours.

Miyoung asks something behind you as soon as Jungkook is within earshot, but with all the blood rushing to your eardrums it’s quite a challenge to understand anything and everything going on around you.

“I just couldn’t turn down Her Highness’s invitation for a bath, could I? Although I suppose I’d arrive a little too late.” Jungkook taunts, eyes gleaming with playfulness. But you blink up at him, mouth slightly agape and throat dry. He swipes his hair away from his face, a look of confusion replacing his frisky demeanour. Oh, how must it feel to run your fingers through his soft locks?

“Are you alright?”

The worried look on his face is enough to return you down from whatever cloud you’d been in. Face flushed, you blink up at him before giving Miyoung a slanted gaze, who is studying you with the same distressed look. Surely, you’d have said something by now. That’s how it is with you and Jungkook and your back-and-forth banter.

“I, um,” your eyes are frantic, searching for something to land on other than him. His hand reaches for yours , but you flinch back—perhaps a little too excessive as the corner of his mouth turns to a frown at your reaction.

“I need a moment.” To breathe, first and foremost.

You didn’t wait for his reply, absolving yourself of his overwhelming presence, brushing ever so slightly against his forearm as you walked past him. You frown at your reaction.

“Your Highness —” Jimin comes bumbling by, but you quickly cut him off with a terse smile.

“Enjoy your bath.”

You are absolutely floored, the wind knocked out of your lungs and all. The realization couldn’t have come at more perfect timing. Of course, you like Jungkook. Your attraction to him is palpable; you aren’t fooling anybody by continuing to deny otherwise. Not Miyoung, at least, who probably saw this long before you had.

The question is: when did I not like him? It feels like I never stopped.

You groan at your thoughts and pause mid-walk to squat low on the ground, burying your face in your warm and sweaty palms. Denial is your middle name, and that has been your game since forever. Feigning ignorance of your feelings becomes your second language to the point where you’ve deluded yourself against any form of admiration towards the said general.

I’m fooling myself. Again. You can’t bear the thought of potentially embarrassing yourself like you did many moons ago trying to get Jungkook to watch that stupid play with you.

At least you’re not in denial any longer. Suppressing your feelings might be better in hindsight now that you’re aware of them.

…Or maybe not.

How naïve of you to think that pretending your feelings didn’t exist — despite being fully aware of them — is a better alternative to any other option. But you’re not one to back down from any challenge.

The next few days are not exactly breezy.

There’s the usual bit of travelling, the occasional settling down when the weather isn’t too great, then more travelling. You’re growing accustomed to the little schedule you have going on. Except Jungkook has increased your training hours. And even though it had been your goal to be taught by him, he hasn’t given you much to work with, either. It had been the same tiresome dance over and over again.

True to her word, both Miyoung and Jimin did not linger within earshot every time you practiced with Jungkook. Turns out being in close proximity to the very person you’re attracted to when you’re trying hard to close yourself off to those same feelings can backfire. Hard.

“You’re too tense,” Jungkook utters, seemingly out of the blue. But you know it’s not a random observation. He circles you, one hand clasped behind his back and the other holding a wooden sword. He insists that you practice with props recently, citing that you’ve been ‘too preoccupied in your daydreams recently’ and that ‘it’s too dangerous to spar with real swords if you’re distracted.’ Yeah. Whatever. You’re too tired, both physically and emotionally, to argue with anything Jungkook says, so you go along with what he decides for the sake of your inner peace.

“Why does everybody keep saying that?” You snap at him unintentionally. His eyebrows quirk up in interest and your heart hammers wildly in your chest.

“Oh, so it’s not just me that noticed.”

There’s a pause, and you watch him carefully from the corner of your eyes, gauging whether he’ll strike at the very moment or not. He doesn’t, and in your impatience, you attempt to take a jab on his torso which he dodges with finesse. He grabs your arm and twists it in a way that does not hurt so much as to unhand you of your weapon. You wince, nonetheless, and he quickly let go.

“You need to be patient. You’re going to get hurt attacking blindly like that.”

“I know,” you mumble, fingers skimming lightly over your wrist. They burn, not because his touch is painful, but because his hand feels soft, leaving lingering feelings in the pit of your stomach. That is something that has been happening a lot as well. Any sort of physical contact with him makes you feel inebriated as if you’d puke all the contents of your stomach from a mere touch.

“What is it that has you so wound up like a tight rope lately?” Jungkook attempts to circle back to the conversation as you pick up your wooden weapon.

You do, you almost say out loud. But you keep your lips sealed shut and get into position instead. You wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, to demand an explanation to how he has managed to pull your heart right out of your chest and dangle it teasingly in front of your face. Out of reach. Your poor, poor heart. Give it back, you thief.

“How cruel,” you find yourself muttering loud enough for Jungkook to hear.

“Hm?”

He straightens up as if he’s ready to soak in all you have to say. To be fair, you haven’t given the man much to work with, opting to shut him out completely. You don’t make a conversation when it’s not necessary and only spend time with him during practices. It’s not like there is a need to do so outside of it, anyway. Despite your current circumstance, you’ve attempted to the best of your ability to stay as far away from him as you possibly can.

Which makes your current situation laughable. Alone in the middle of a dense grassland, surrounded by the wind and the mountains that stretch miles and miles away. You and him.

“I said, you’re cruel for overworking me. I don’t remember agreeing to increased practice time.”

“I don’t remember you opposing it, either.” He wears an easy smile, which ticks you off even further.

You inhale between your gritted teeth and take another jab at his torso, this time accidentally hitting the wound that’s only beginning to heal. He grimaces in obvious pain and panic surges through your veins. You quickly drop your wooden sword as you approach him with caution, unsure of where to place your hands so you hover like a half-wit.

“I — Jungkook — I didn’t mean to, I swear.” You lower your hands, wringing them together as your head bows in shame. He exhales a short chuckle and your breath catches at your throat at his unexpected reaction. You expect to be reprimanded for being so careless.

“Good thing we opted for these rather than the real thing, huh? You would have had to stitch me up all over again.”

His placid attitude did nothing but put a wrench in your heart, squeezing it painfully. You almost wish he’d lash out at you, just so the task of pushing him away came easier. Why won’t you let me hate you?

“You’re doing that a lot lately, too.”

Startled by his words, you look up at him and meet gaze for the first time in a while, unwavering. Oh, how easy it is to lose all trails of thoughts as you navigate your way through the depths of his eyes.

“You’re distant — unfocused. You’re jittery and nervous all the time. You mumble a lot, which is frankly starting to become irritating.”

He closes the distance between the two of you, eyes scanning you with curiosity. His piercing gaze disarms you, rooting you to your spot.

“You haven’t been shy before when you berate me to my face, loud enough for all the world to hear. What’s stopping you now?”

Jungkook grins, teasing. He was trying to get a reaction out of you; picking your brain for some sort of response. Is that what he thought you’d been saying under your breath recently? That you’re badmouthing him? It’s not exactly your fault either that it turns out you’ve been mumbling some of your thoughts out loud.

But you do not dare give him the satisfaction of an answer, knowing that you’ll just continue circling one another. The only difference is he’ll leave unscathed, while you stay to pick up the pieces of your shattered feelings. So, no, you are not about to lay bare for him to step all over your poor feelings.

Lay bare.

You want to slap yourself at the image you’ve mentally drawn. Now is not the appropriate time for such scandalous thoughts. Or ever.

“I lost you again just now, didn’t I?”

You manage a tight smile. Guilty as charged. Jungkook doesn’t return the favour, however, his forehead creasing in confusion — or is it worry? You did not want to dwell on the thought for too long.

Jungkook shifts his weight between his legs, swaying back and forth slowly. It’s clear that he has a lot on his mind, so you wait for him to speak.

“Are you having second thoughts?”

Your eyebrows arched, eyes questioning. It seems like a running theme now — him talking while you refuse to say anything.

“About this whole,” Jungkook pauses, hands gesturing aimlessly like a mime, “…arrangement. We’ve only been travelling for a little more than a week. It’s not too late to return and ask your father to reconsider everything.”

You shake your head, letting out a breathy laugh.

“Tempting, but no. It’s not like I have a choice,” your tongue slips, not intending to say the last sentence out loud.

You pray he didn’t catch any of what you’ve said, but the devastated look on his face tells you otherwise. He steps close enough that you feel his warm breath on your forehead. The smell of firewood and soap intertwines, and you presume he’s wearing a freshly washed shirt. Your head begins to spin as your knees weaken, threatening to give out at that moment.

Be still, heart.

You clear your throat and gather your wits before taking a step back, the tall grass tickling the back of your legs.

“What I mean is that I’ve made up my mind. I can’t just back out now; the implications would be devastating. Not just for me, but the whole country.” For you, too.

The thought of Jungkook being swept away to another war was too much for your mind to wrap around. You couldn’t possibly do that. Not to him. The possibility of sacrificing more lives senselessly when you’re

Jungkook’s mouth opens like he’s about to say something, but you shake your head once more as if to say we’re done talking about this. You know Jungkook understands; he’s one of the few people whose sense of duty comes before anything and anybody else.

That’s why the next words that come out of his mouth knock you off balance.

“Would it hurt for you to be selfish and put your needs before others?”

* * *

Jungkook blinks back in surprise. He has no idea where that statement stems from. But it felt appropriate to say, courtesy be damned. He wasn’t speaking as a general giving advice to the princess, but rather from one friend to another.

Since when were we friends, anyway? The thought sends a funny feeling to Jungkook’s stomach.

He can tell that you’re just as surprised as him, and for a split second, he can sense your vulnerability. He hadn’t witnessed it when the king bore you the news of your demise, and you didn’t show flashes of weakness either when you were almost kidnapped. He had always known you to be strong-willed, independent, and resolutely stubborn. A force to be reckoned with.

The thought makes Jungkook chuckle, and you eye him with suspicion.

“What’s so funny, Jeon?” Any hint of weakness along with the heaviness of his statement vanishes as you snap at him. That particular conversation, it seems, will need to be shelved for another day.

Jungkook dips his chin, opting to answer your question with an inquisition of his own. He isn’t quite finished with you just yet.

“Is that all there is to it, though? You’re peeved about the increase in training hours?”

He’s unsure of what your answer will be. But even if you’d ask, he wouldn’t reveal that he was doing this with the intention of finding out why you’d been distant lately; more than what he’s used to, anyway. He hadn’t even noticed how much time you spent with him until you began avoiding him. Gone are the days of jabs and banter and are replaced with silence and brooding; a total opposite of that one moment you shared your aversion to violence and reluctance to hurt people. You had shared your concerns and broke down your defences only to build them back up again.

Is he wrong to assume that in the few weeks you’d spend together, some sort of friendship was formed? It appears so, seeing the way you expertly dodged his every attempt to close the gap — both literally and figuratively.

He tries to test his theory by stepping forward. As if on cue, you take one step back. The desire to keep you at arm’s length brews within him, the feeling intensifying at your every attempt to evade him. He wanted nothing more than to grab you by the arm and shake both your shoulders, demanding an answer to the question that had been driving him mad the past couple of days.

So, he does exactly that. You yelp in surprise, but his vice-like grip remains. He accepts your lack of protest as consent and doesn’t let go.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

As his eyes search your frantic ones, his mind wanders to a particular memory that sets this whole thing off. It evidently has something to do with whatever he’s said or done because he didn’t observe the same change in demeanour with Miyoung and Jimin. He’s the problem—that much he knows of. He comes up empty, however; there had been nothing he said or did you that stood out to him in particular.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jeon,” you croak, voice pitched and unnatural. “If I was avoiding you, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, but not physically. You’ve been out of it lately. Care to elaborate?”

Jungkook needs to know. If he had so much offended you in any capacity, he wants to make sure to do right by you. But apparently, you have other plans. With your mouth set in a straight line, your head shakes from one side to another. What was it about him admiring your tenacity for stubbornness? There are times he wishes for you to give in and not resist so much.

“Do you mind?”

Your voice is meek, a mere whisper, and it’s enough to snap him out of his stupor. Frowning, he retreats his hands, letting them fall nimbly on his side.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he sighs and his heart wrenches as he steps back. “If you really don’t want to share it, I won’t pry.”

You nod, visibly relaxing. He picks up the discarded wooden sword and continues. “But you have to stop being so…rigid. It’s not going to make it easier for you. Or for me.”

He grins, pointing at his lower torso. If you weren’t going to let him in on whatever secret you have, he at least hopes to smooth away some tension.

“You deserve it,�� your eyes glimmer with humour. She’s back.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm,” you nod fervently, grabbing the sword from him. “For overworking me. I’m still royalty, you know.”

“That you are,” he resists the urge to tousle your hair playfully. “But if I remember correctly, your exact words to me were: ‘Don’t treat me any differently than you would any other trainee.’”

Your lips purse, gaze scanning him dubiously. “You got me there.”

There’s a beat of silence before you speak again.

“I didn’t mean to, though.” Your eyes fill with worry as you eye his torso, and Jungkook fears you’d spiral once again and close off on him.

He shrugs in good nature and slips his hand underneath his shirt, feeling for the bandage. The worries which stemmed from that event that led him to believe he’s unqualified for this task are beginning to feel foreign and far away as the skin of his wound slowly heals.

Yet he couldn’t help but ask.

“Why the sudden interest in brandishing swords? Do you truly deem me unfit to protect you after I got hurt?”

He didn’t mean to sound defensive, but it does bruise his ego a lot more than he’d like to admit. He wants to save you the trouble of aching muscles and hours wasted on practice, but you somehow cannot accept ‘no’ for an answer. He feels almost cheated for being coaxed to coach you.

“I never said you were,” your tone is clipped. “I thought we’ve already gone over this. You need all the help you can get, especially if we come across something like that again.”

“You’re a better archer. It’s safer, too. It puts you at a distance from potential attackers.” Jungkook presses.

“Would it hurt to know about sword fighting?” You challenge him, and the air of friendliness vanishes once more.

“Yes, it would,” Jungkook deadpans, pointing to the spot where his injury is healing. “As I said, proximity when it comes to close combat proves to be more d—”

“You think arrows are any safer? In case you forgot, I killed somebody with it,” your voice rises as you get closer to him.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying! You need to play up to your strengths. Stick with what you’re good at,” he reasons, trying not to raise his voice out of respect. There’s a pause in the conversation, and Jungkook thinks you’ve dropped the subject.

Although the silence is short-lived. “Is that why you refuse to teach me anything beyond the basic skills?” your gaze is filled with anger, your every word laced with frustration.

“Yes,” Jungkook says earnestly, but fear pools in the pit of his stomach. It was the first time he felt that perhaps he should have opted to not tell the truth. But he can no longer take those three letters back, no matter how much he wants to. He’s starting to feel torn between his own decisions; making you angry had not been his intention.

“You’re not making any sense. You said I was brave.” Jungkook watches your lips move, but the words barely register in his brain.

“You are,” he says, almost exasperatedly. The back and forth dance between both of you is beginning to carve his patience thin. The air hums with intensity as neither one of you is willing to back down.

“You say that yet you won’t teach me advanced combat,” you assert defiantly.

His temper ignites as he grits his teeth as his jaw clenches with indignation. But he is teaching you. Maybe not in the way you wanted, but he’s still making the effort. What will it take for you to understand that he is merely trying to keep you from getting hurt?

“Either you trust me to be able to handle it, or you think I’m too delicate to be taught. It can’t be both, General Jeon.”

Oh, so you are back to being formal with him. Jungkook resists the urge to roll his eyes. “The answer is still going to be a no.”

He turns, wanting to leave the conversation, but your next words have him rooted to the ground.

“Hoseok wouldn’t have kept me from learning. I wish he was still here.”

“Yeah, well, I wish it had been me who died instead of him, too.” Jungkook answers without missing a beat, the phrase tasting rancid in his mouth.

Jungkook knows he will never eclipse his brother. Not in talent. Not in the outpour of attention he got from his parents. Not in his easy-going nature that has people enamoured by him. Most certainly not in your adoration for him.

How does one compete with a dead person? He chuckles bitterly at the thought.

He keeps his back to you, shielding you away from the storm brewing in his eyes. He attempts to blink back the tears pooling in his lashes as he focuses on the horizon.

“Jungkook, I —”

He begins to walk away before you can get another word in. Somewhere deep in the crevices of his mind, the thought of wanting to be held back swims without restraint. For you to reach out, hold him, and tell him it was going to be alright.

But the reality is much harsher than the tiny little daydreams in his head, and you make no attempt to stop him in his tracks. Each step he takes feels as if he’s being dragged deeper into quicksand; he simply can’t escape the dread that follows.

Given the choice between having his heart ripped out from his chest for the second time in his life or getting stabbed in the torso, Jungkook thinks he prefers the latter.

— prev ; next ; series masterlist

taglist: @apurpledheart @mygukandonly @fan-ati--c

#jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #bts scenarios #jeongguk scenarios #jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook #remember when this fic had a plot? ya me neither lmao #writing

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salandition · 4 years

Text

Wear it Like a Jacket

Raihan x Reader

A/N: This started off as a request that someone sent me, but i noticed i was straying very far away from the initial idea and prompt so I made it into it’s own post.

Word Count: 3,700+

---

Raihan wears a big, fluffy, comfortable hoodie over his gym uniform- and he almost always wears his gym uniform. The gym clothes don’t really suit him, and the shorts show off too much of his legs, in his opinion- but the fans love his legs, so he guesses there’s at least that.

But Galar is known for it’s fickle weather, and Hammerlocke is built smack-dab in the middle of the Wild Area- you know, the place with several different climates that rotate daily? Yeah.

So Raihan takes what he can get with his uniform- using the hoodie as his one solace during the cold weather as his legs shake from being so naked and bare during literal snowstorms.

That being said, at least the uniform is nice for when the sun is determined to blast literal heat rays onto the city that create a fuzzy haze in the air. That’s the only time that he takes off his big hood, tying the article around his hips instead. Still, the hoodie doesn’t leave him. It’s always on him.

A shame that it’s been used against him. He wore it at first because he didn’t like his clothes, and he didn’t like showing his skin, and he really didn’t like having so many eyes on him and admiring him. Despite the selfies, the attitude he showcases out there- there’s truth to it, of course, but only so much. It was nice, but stifling. Raihan brought the hoodie with him originally to feel more secure, to ground him with something familiar and something that belonged to him.

Raihan was ignorant when he did such a thing- he should have predicted that people would leech everything they could get. The hoodie became his staple- a part of his image. It was his uniform now, just as much as the collared shirt and shorts were. And he just had to live with that.

That’s fine. It’s comfortable, it’s soft, it’s snug. He’s not complaining.

But he doesn’t wear it outside of work anymore.

No one has ever commented on it, though. No one really pays attention to Raihan like that, honestly, so he’s not surprised. He hardly even realizes it himself- it’s not something noticeable. Not really.

You were different, though, apparently. His eyebrows raises in surprise and interest as you ask him one day-

“Why don’t you wear your jacket?”

His lips pull up as his brow furrows, just a bit confused as he looks down at you. “What do you mean? I wear it all the time.”

“At work,” you look away from him as you look ahead, shuffling on the bench you sit on. Your hand ruffles through a plastic bag, taking out a handful of crumbs before you throw it out on the grass and several bird Pokemon flock down to get a bite. “You never wear it out of the gym.”

Raihan hums, watching the birds and how they flap their wings and one of the bigger ones puffs out its chest as it tries to get more than the rest. “I guess. Never really thought about it. Does my current outfit not do it for you?”

“That’s not it,” you tell him, “I just noticed. I guess I wondered if there was a reason behind it. You used to wear it all the time- your dad gave it to you, right?”

He had no idea you would remember such a thing.

“...Yeah,” Raihan says. “That’s true.”

He doesn’t say anything else and neither do you. The two of you once again sit in silence, simply just being in each other's company as you spread out food for the wild Pokemon around the park. It’s a beautiful day out- the sun is shining but not in an overwhelming way, a breeze flits through the air and through his thick hair, leaving little bumps on his neck.

For once, he’s wearing pants, so he’s not as cold as he’d usually be. It’s pleasant.

“But you do look nice,” your voice cuts through the silence eventually and Raihan turns his head lazily to look at you. Surprisingly, you look him in the eye- something you tend to avoid doing, so it almost catches him off guard how confident you are and how your eyes shine so brightly with the sun behind your head. “You always do, but I like what you’re wearing now, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” Raihan smiles as he lets out a soft breath, his back slouching more as he relaxes against the hard bench. His head tilts just barely as he tries to look at you from another angle-

Hear your words from another angle. But he doesn’t see or hear anything except for everything that was already there.

“Thank you, then,” he says simply and you smile at him as you nod, your eyes squinting and nose scrunching in the cute way it does whenever you smile.

It’s not much longer after that when the two of you part, both having another thing to do while the day was bright and shining. You comment that you should do this again, and Raihan hums an agreement- and that was that. The walk back to Raihan’s home is relatively peaceful, besides the few times that a fan sees him and waves eagerly from across the street. But no one wants pictures today or conversation- it’s a rare day that happens, especially during such nice weather, so Raihan appreciates it. He appreciates the rare silence he’s given, especially when he’s busy trying to pull your words apart in his head.

When he opens his front door, closes it behind him, Raihan finds himself torn by how simple you are. Simplicity has never been so confusing. He shouldn’t really be wondering why you say the things you say- why you noticed such a trivial detail about him, that surely everyone else has noticed too, probably- it’s not a big deal.

Still, when Raihan wanders into his room and sees that same, familiar hoodie sitting clean and neat on it’s hanger in his closet- he can’t help but draw his eyebrows together and feel odd. He reaches forward without even realizing it, feels the material of something he’s felt hundreds of times between his fingers.

Your dad gave it to you, right?

Raihan hardly remembers telling you such a thing.

Frustrated, he lets the sleeve go and shuts his closet in an act of defiance, though Raihan has no idea what he’s even defying. A jacket is a jacket- and it’s hardly even that, anymore. It’s a uniform.

It wasn’t supposed to be a uniform.

---

Raihan’s been feeling stranger lately. It’s not bad- but it bothers him that his jacket feels itchy all of the sudden when he goes to work- and it bothers him that he doesn’t know why he feels strange in the first place. It’s irritating, honestly, but Raihan is a relaxed guy and he doesn’t get irritated.

So everyone hardly has anything to say besides what’s routine, because Raihan isn’t any different. Not really.

But when you come to visit him at work, you confuse him again. “What’s wrong?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed. He does the same as he looks down at you. Again. You’re really short.

“What do you mean? I feel fine.”

“You’re acting different,” your lips purse as you mumble and your arms cross across your chest. You look away as you ponder. “Maybe I’m wrong though,” you say, quickly taking it back- Raihan doesn’t know why you’re so quick to doubt yourself. “I guess I thought you were a bit tense. You’re itching your arms a lot.”

Raihan doesn’t know what to say to that. He looks at his arms- the sleeves of his jacket pulled up to his elbows- and he’s confused when he finds lines there. Lines his nails left from scratching too hard.

Why didn’t he notice that?

“Maybe I’m allergic to something,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets. Raihan knows he isn’t allergic to anything but soybeans.

You take the bait though, murmuring that maybe that was it, and the conversation moves on. The two of you talk about a variety of things, and then Raihan has to leave to work more with his gym trainers. You leave after you wrap an arm around his thin waist, pulling him into a side-hug and successfully confusing him further as you bid him goodbye and let him go.

You didn’t even let him hug you back- but that wasn’t it. You’ve never done that before. Hug him? No, not really. He’ll hug you sometimes, as much as he hugs everyone else. But Raihan remembers distinctly how you often shy away from affectionate things like that and you’ve told him that you don’t really feel comfortable initiating contact.

It’s flattering that you would hug him. That’s what he should be feeling. But instead he’s just...

He doesn’t know.

---

The next time the two of you meet, Raihan isn’t wearing his jacket. He wears a faded purple hoodie, a black collared shirt beneath it, and once again he hides his long legs behind some grey jeans. You invited him out for breakfast- of all meals.

Raihan didn’t even know people went out for breakfast. It was always lunch or dinner.

The morning air is refreshing though when he walked to your apartment and picked you up, and the conversation is equally as refreshing. He’s glad you invited him out since he’s been feeling odd ever since the last time you talked. Thankfully, he doesn’t feel that way anymore.

As you both eat your fruit and pancakes at the diner, Raihan feels light and relaxed. He breathes easy.

You confuse him sometimes, but he doesn’t think it’s really your fault. Nothing you do is wrong or weird- it’s just Raihan. He’s the weird one.

You’re the bright, beautiful one with the same shining eyes you had in the park. You haven’t changed, and that’s nice.

So when you ask him, “are you feeling better?” Raihan tries to keep breathing easy.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly and takes another bite of his fruit. “But I feel good right now.”

“I’m glad for that,” you smile. Raihan doesn’t try to hide his stare. “If you need to talk about something or vent, I can listen. I’m not nearly as busy as you, so I’m sure I have the time whenever you need me.”

Raihan hums as a reply.

---

It’s around six A.M. when he calls you. Raihan doesn’t expect you to answer, but you do, so he doesn’t take that for granted.

“Do you think gym leaders are allowed to play hooky?” He asks you. He sits on his bed, naked besides his boxers, and he’s staring at his closet.

Your voice is rough and groggy, probably from just waking up. “I don’t think so, but the Gym Challenge isn’t really happening right now...” You hum and Raihan can hear shuffling on the other end. “Why would you want to? You have a plan?”

“Not exactly,” Raihan says. “I guess I just don’t want to go.”

A few silent beats pass until you talk again. “...Do you want to come to my place?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” you grunt- Raihan thinks you’re proabably getting out of bed, “I’ll make some tea.”

---

When Raihan arrives at your place, he’s got a bag around his shoulder and skinny jeans on, which feels ridiculous because of how early it is, but skinny jeans are warm.

You let him in without question, though, letting him close the door behind him as you wander to the kitchen. He follows behind, lowering his head when the doorway to the kitchen gets in his way.

He’s too tall.

“You like black tea?” You smile and sit at the table where two glasses sit. You take your spot, and he takes his.

“Yup,” Raihan says, but when he looks down, it’s definitely not black tea that sits in his cup. He gives you a look, and you smile wider as you put a spoon in yours and stir.

“Everyone knows that about you,” you say. “But I know you like green tea, too. With a blend of white.” Your head makes a nod as you look at his bag, gesturing to it. “Are you going to put the bag down?”

Raihan slowly removes the strap from his shoulder, looking at you strangely as he puts the bag down to rest on his chair. “I didn’t realize you knew so much about me,” he says, selecting the words carefully.

“I don’t know anything you haven’t told me,” you tilt your head in curiosity, still stirring your tea. Raihan sighs and frowns, looking back at his cup.

“I guess I didn’t realize that, either.”

“Does it bother you?”

“I don’t know,” He frowns more. “I think I tell everyone the same things. My friends the same details. It’s never really brought up, though.” When he finally sips his tea, it’s full of flavor but burns his tongue.

Raihan drinks some more and he doesn’t even wince.

You hum as you take in what he’s told you. “What’s in the bag?” You ask him instead of questioning him on the other topic further. Raihan looks across the table at you, your face surprisingly calm.

“...I wanted to ask you something,” Raihan stands from the table, and you follow suit, waiting beside him as he ruffles in the bag and brings out his hoodie. The familiar, iconic one- clean and warm from the dryer. He hands it to you, waiting for you to take it as you stare at the article wide-eyed. “Could you put this on?”

You look at him, utterly confused.”Why?”

It’s six A.M. That fact is somehow really solidified in his head at this moment that he stands in your kitchen, feeling oddly desperate as he gives you something that is precious.

“I... Whenever I put it on,” his hand lowers, holding the jacket tightly between his fingers, “it feels weird. No matter how many times I wash it, it makes me itch. I checked for bugs, all that- but there’s nothing. So I want you to put it on and just- tell me if it itches.” He’s aware that the idea is weird, and Raihan is ready for you to call him crazy and that he needs to go to work-

Instead, you take the hoodie from his hands as you tell him, “okay.” Your head nodding in a resolute way.

...Okay.

Raihan can’t do much but watch as you unfold the jacket, shaking it out and then move it behind you as your arms slip through the sleeves. You fumble for the zipper and struggle to latch it and pull it up, because the hoodie goes all the way down to your knees- if Raihan wasn’t feeling like a bit of his soul was riding on this, he would have laughed.

But he doesn’t, and he thinks you noticed that.

“...Itchy?” He asks after a few moments, once the hoodie is zipped up and securely around you. You lick your lips and purse them, nose scrunching up as you think- cute- and then your arms fall to your sides as you look up at him.

“...Not really. It feels soft and comfortable- I’m not feeling anything itchy, besides maybe the tag on my neck.”

Raihan sighs- his body practically falling into your kitchen chair as he sits down and lays his head on the table. “What is it, then?” He groans, dragging the words longer than they need to be as he feels like he’s losing. Losing to what- he doesn’t know. But he’s losing.

Your hand places on his back, rubbing gently until eventually you ask, “why don’t you put it on?”

He looks at you as his head lies on the table, cheek squished, and he rolls his eyes. “You know, I hadn’t tried that.”

You snort and pinch his back. “Just do it for me. I want to see something, too. I did it for you, so do it for me.”

Clearly, you have an idea. So Raihan groans some more as he sits up, watching you with half lidded eyes as you take off his jacket and hand it over to him. Raihan shrugs it on as he does nearly every morning, the jacket fitting him the way it always does.

“How does it feel?” You ask.

He waits.

His face falls, and you fall down to squat beside him, a hand on his thigh as you balance on your toes.

“I don’t get it,” he says, “it’s been bothering me all week.”

“Okay,” you say, taking a breath as you look up at him from your spot on the floor. Your hand starts to rub his leg- not in a way that’s suggestive or crude. It’s comforting- at least, it’s supposed to be. Raihan’s not sure how he feels at all in this moment. “But let’s think about it. Usually, you only wear it at work, right?” Raihan nods. “Right now, you’re only with me.”

He purses his lips, eyebrows furrowing. “That still doesn’t make sense.” You give him a look.

“Raihan,” you sigh, “You’ve been acting off all week. Ever since we met at the park- do you think that’s just me? Or is it true?”

His silence is enough of an answer.

“I think there’s something bothering you, but I can’t tell you what it is. It’s impossible for me to know that,” Raihan almost scoffs. He’s not sure that’s true.

You seem to know more about him than Raihan himself does, these days.

Your hand around his knee, you shake him a bit. “So, do you think you can tell me?”

Raihan looks down at you again- and it’s odd. You’re odd- even if that goes against what he said yesterday. He doesn’t think that’s true anymore. Because here you are, squatting beside him and talking him through something- whatever this is- at six o’clock in the morning. With his favorite tea on the table- getting cold, if he might add.

Who does that?

He sighs, an elbow on the table as he sits up to prop his face in his palm. His fingers scratch at his cheek. “You mentioned how I never wear my jacket outside of work. And I guess I was thinking about how that’s true. And a variety of other things.”

You shake his leg again, and Raihan smiles as he huffs out a breathy chuckle.

“So many people stare at me,” he closes his eyes, “so many people are looking. The appreciation for it comes and goes. I like the attention, and I like my job. But it’s... it’s like my life is impersonally personal. Like no matter what I bring to the screen, to the people watching me- it’s Raihan, right? The great gym leader, Leon’s ultimate rival- Raihan who goes feral, Raihan who uses the weather, Raihan who takes a bunch of photos.”

“Who wears the sweater?” You add, and Raihan’s blue eyes open and stare ahead of him.

“...Yeah.” He snorts. “I’m not even making any sense, but yeah.”

You shrug from below him, but don’t offer him any words. You just keep looking at him- so Raihan guesses he isn’t done explaining himself.

“I guess...” Raihan starts, the words taking their time to come out as the gears in his brain process. “I like my job, but I don’t like... when the things important to me lose their meaning because of all the people looking at me,” his free hand wanders to his jacket then, once again feeling the material between his fingers.

Soft and warm. Unstained, despite everything it’s been through. Raihan made sure of that.

“I think I get what you mean. I can’t say I wholeheartedly understand, because I’m not in your position,” your other hand grabs his hoodie too, making Raihan once again put his focus on you as you smile so gently at him. “But I can make sense of it- I can tell why you’re feeling bothered. So do you know what I think?”

Raihan smiles back, raising an intrigued eyebrow. “What do you think?” He asks.

“I think you should wear this when we go out for breakfast again tomorrow,” you tell him. “And I think you should wear it when you go to work today.”

Finally, you stand- groaning a bit as you do and wiggling your toes. Raihan’s eyes follow you, lips forming a pout.

“You’re not letting me play hooky, after all?”

You laugh, eyes sparkling again when you do, “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,” you tell him.

And oddly enough, Raihan believes you. You haven’t given him a reason not to.

---

He does as he’s told. Raihan goes to work, wearing the jacket as he always does- and things go smoothly. No one knows what happened this morning, because Raihan acts the same as ever. When the day is over and Raihan is back home, he puts the jacket back on it’s same hanger, and the gym clothes back in their same drawer.

The next morning, he meets you at your apartment again. The hoodie wraps around him like a blanket, providing extra comfort against the chilly morning air. The break in his routine feels strange, but otherwise- not world shattering. You answer the door right away, and the two of you walk back to the diner you had gone to before.

Once again, in the middle of your meal, you ask him the same question. “Are you feeling better?”

This time, Raihan didn’t have any fruit on his plate- now it’s bacon, and the pancakes from before is replaced with a sweet chocolate crepe. The bacon crunches just how he likes it when he puts it in his mouth.

“You know?” Raihan starts, his long legs stretching under the table and bumping against yours as he leans back in his chair. “I think I feel fine.”

“Things feel a bit better when they’re put in a different context, don’t they?” You hum pleasantly with a smile, chewing on your own meal. “Not as suffocating.”

Ha. He gives you a squinty, wide smile as he shrugs. “Possibly,” he says.

When Raihan reaches forward to grab his drink, your arm darts out and grabs his. His eyes widen in surprise, and you lift his arm a bit before you let go. “Nearly got chocolate sauce stains. Can’t have that.” You gesture to the plate below him.

He’s never been so careless.

Raihan grins even bigger than before. “Thanks, mate.”

His father would never forgive him if he got it stained. Thankfully, though, Raihan has you to help look after it just as much as he does.

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captainjimothycarter · 3 years

Note

So it's a silly image but I like to imagine Steve realizing that Peggy was responsible for what's now one of New Yorks first gay bars, but back until the 90s it was an underground secret no one knew about. "Everyone needs a place to be themselves."

i don’t think this was silly at all. I love the HC so much and I hope I did it honor. Thank you for sharing it with me.

“What’s this?” Steve asked the second Natasha flung an old file down on top of his sketchbook. His nose wrinkled from the dust, fingers brushing over the frayed edges. This thing had to be decades old, but the same could apparently be said for him in this new century.

It was an old, unmarked file with the edges starting to yellow and fray. He was afraid if he picked it up by the edges or flicked it open, the thing would crumble apart in his hands. There wasn’t one single, distinguishing mark on this thing. It was odd, considering most of the files that Natasha had tossed his way recently were marked with some sort of SHIELD symbol or even the SSR. This one was null.

“What do you think it is?” Natasha huffed, sitting herself down across the table from him. She nearly blended into the gray walls with her outfit, the only part of her that stood out, as always was the bright, red hair. Her voice was kept down low, not in a this is a shared secret sort of way, but more of we’re in public and in a library so don’t you dare we loud.

Even if this was SHIELD’S library.

“I don’t know. Looks like a file.”

Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes, dropping it down so it laid on top of the book he was reading. Natasha complained he spent far too much time in the library but given the circumstances of waking up in some new century where everyone you knew was dead (including the love of your life), then you sort of became a shell of yourself and hid away in Shield’s library. One, to read all you can about missed events, and two, to hide away and distract yourself with the knowledge of the fact that you had to play catch-up of the last 60-something years.

“Just open it, Steve. I think you’ll find the contents interesting.”

His mouth opened but what could he say? Argue? Insist? Nothing. There would be nothing that he could say that would get Natasha to take this file away because she knew she’d won. She had plopped it in front of him, an unmarked file, and sat down and at him expectedly. Curiosity would get the better of him, even if Steve didn’t want to admit it.

Natasha’s eyebrow rose in a manner that reminded Steve of his mother, that insistingly asked him if he was really done with telling the whole story. Instead, she silently waited, arms crossed over her chest.

Steve reserved his sigh for another day when she might care more about his wants and just did the quickest thing that would get her to leave him alone. He opened the damn file and immediately wished he didn’t.

Front face and center was the love of his life. Or well, there was a photo of her. Actually, there were several photos of her. Photos that he wasn’t even aware that existed. Peggy must’ve been shortly after the war, standing next to who could’ve only been Angie. She was smilingly brightly despite the shiner and he could hear her laughter echoing in his head, see the red lips despite the black and white photo. They stood with a group of people he didn’t recognize either. People that she looked friendly or even close to given how one guy was holding onto her waist.

Steve wasn’t jealous, not by much. Maybe a small flicker of jealousy flared to life inside of him, but it instantly cooled down when he made the connection. Or, one connection. Just hidden between them, he could see the guy holding her waist was also holding hands with a gentleman that was smiling brightly at the camera.

Oh.

It reminded him of the gay clubs he and Bucky would risk visiting when Steve was in the better days of his illnesses when there wasn’t a risk of them being seen and ratted out by neighbors or when he wouldn’t risk coughing up a blood-clotted lung.

Sadly, there was nothing on the other side of the photo. Not that Steve expected much, Peggy had her manner of keeping things organized, and being a spy meant you left little untraced. So why she allowed herself to be photographed was beyond him.

No answer came with the next photo.

Even if in this one, he could make out the bruise under the makeup she tried to hide it with. He could see her eyes crinkling in the corners when she laughed and smiled at the camera. Her red lips instantly claiming his attention. Despite the crowd of men around her, some familiar to the old photo and some new, Steve didn’t look at them. He looked at her eyes, the warm, honey-coated eyes that were a sign to him that screamed welcomed home.

Natasha wouldn’t give these to him to stare at the photos of his beloved, she wanted him to see something, but what?

There were still men and women around her, some dressed in stylish outfits, some with funky-looking ones. Angie was still beside her and despite the closeness of the pair, one man each hung from their shoulders. The same two men who held hands in the photo before. They stood in front of a brick wall, one that looked familiar to him, but why?

It was an itch in the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite scratch.

There were more people in the next photo, more than enough to sit two photos side by side so he could cram them together to see the full photo. Still, nothing. Still, Peggy and Angie and a group of people. Men holding hands, a little braver to be outside the frame of the two women. And still that same brick wall, but why was that brick wall familiar? Why did that little notch right above Angie’s left ear hit him like, well, a stack of bricks?

And why did the next few photos, each following more, and more people, until Peggy stood by herself in front of the building, silver in her hair, a wedding band on her fingers, but pride radiating in those fierce eyes, frustrate him more?

Steve just wanted to slam these photos down and take a walk, take a breather. He doubts Natasha did this to be cruel, to throw his reminder that he had loved and lost into his face. He did that enough to himself.

Sighing, Steve ran a hand over his hair and dropped his hand beside the last photo of Peggy. Older. Shortly before she died of old age. Silver in her hair, wrinkles on her face but a fierce, determined look.

It hit him then, why those bricks frustrated him so much, why that notch in the brick made his heart drop.

That very notch was made from Bucky using a slingshot to scare off the bees because they terrified his baby sister.

Those red bricks belonged to the apartments that he and Bucky grew up in.

There was more in the file but Steve didn’t want to look. He wanted to shut the damn thing and turn away. Instead, he swallowed and picked up a newspaper article from the 1990s. Peggy was on the cover, holding onto a cane, looking dead in the cameras as if she was daring a soul to challenge her.

Peggy Carter: Fighting the Unseen Fight is what the title read.

“It was a gay bar,” Natasha murmured, drawing Steve from his thoughts. She must’ve seen how his hand was shaking around the article. “Peggy Carter assisted in running a few underground gay bars in New York, up until the 1990s where...the one she is standing in front of is one of the first public gay bars to open.”

“I…” Steve swallowed, his throat feeling dry. It felt like he took in a mouthful of dust. “I don’t know...why?”

“I think you know why,” she mused, giving him an almost loving look. “Because she wanted to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. I wonder where she got that from?”

“She’s always had that,” Steve snorted, forcing himself to let go of the files. “Always fiercely protective of her loved ones. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Yes, but you stirred the fires inside of her. She might not have done it because of you, but she did it in your name.”

Tapping the newspaper, the woman sat back and Steve sighed as he looked back down at it. He forced himself to read the last few questions and answers.

Why did you do it?

“Everyone needs a place to be themselves. If no one else was to protect the innocent, then I had to step up to the plate to do so. I’m only lucky that some of my connections had agreed to protect us when things got bad. During the movement, we became safe houses and safe havens for those who needed protection. Not once do I regret my actions.”

Why here? Why open the first gay bar here?

“I…could think of no place better. Steven Grant Rogers was an inspiration to me, the driving force as to how I actually met my wife. During the war, we’ve seen men, great men being sent back home for being in love with people of the same sex. I’ve seen Captain Rogers step up to the plate to put a stop to it, to take falls for kissing men and women when all of us knew that he was far from the situation at the time given the nature of the job. I’ve seen him lie straight to people’s faces, no matter their position in the government or war to keep our men’s feet on the ground. I’ve seen him harbor his best friend’s secrets until the day they both died. I protected those men and women before I met Captain Rogers again and even after he died, but Steven...gave me the courage to do more.”

“I…” Steve, this time had to open and close his mouth, to force his brain to think. “I don’t know what to say..”

“Don’t then,” Natasha breathed, reaching over to take Steve’s hand and give a gentle squeeze. “She knew you were bisexual before you even knew.”

“I think that can be said about a lot of things.”

Natasha’s lips twitched into a small smile before it disappeared. “Would you like to see the bar? It’s still functional to this day. I think it’s written into some post SSR, pre-SHIELD clause that it has to be protected and kept open. It’s still in the same spot.”

Sitting back, the blonde let out a long sigh and picked up his jacket. He might as well, he was getting nothing else done today. Not when his mind was on Peggy, on everything she’s done. “Sure. Just...what is it called?”

Natasha paused, leading them out of the empty library. Her head craned over her shoulder to watch Steve carefully tuck the file inside of his coat and follow after her. “Captain’s Commandos.”

#Steggy #StevePeggy #Cartinelli [mentioned]#AngiePeggy #Steve Rogers NEEDS A HUG #Someone hug him [and me] stat #Nonny Prompt #I hope its good

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dropsofletters · 4 years

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tales of a perfect rhyme

title: tales of a perfect rhyme pairing: son hyunwoo/reader genre: poet!au/painter!au/forbidden love!au/friends!au summary: Sometimes, you’re bad at exactly what you desire to become the most. That’s her case and it also is Hyunwoo’s when they realize that they are not exactly good at the arts they desire. Yet, their youthful personalities and their blossoming love seems enough to stay happy throughout their toughest times, until it is not enough. type: angst/fluff/romance/humor word count: 12,540 disclaimer: this is part of my august special called ‘the anti-love club’. each story can be read individually, however, you’d be getting a little bit more of backstory along with some easter eggs if you read each of them, as well as helping me with support. the masterlist can be found here.

Without the chirping tone of birds outside her window, what would be of her? Without the sunshine that gleams through it, the smell of fruits lingering in the air—too dulcet, yet too necessary, what would her life be like?

The question does not go through her head often, for her mind remains too busied by the beauty of the winery around her. Her house, on its own, is surrounded by fields and fields of fruits, green and blooming, the peak of existence. The oxygen in her lungs has always been easier to breathe, more lightweight, the reason as to why mischief is the first thing she thinks about when the ashes of sleep are dusted away from her face.

This room has seen her grow up into the woman she is today. With old paintings from her youthful days, running up to her uncle with paint-stained fingertips creating images of the rainbows she’d get to see after every ounce of rain. Some of them are newer—a portrait that said uncle, the owner of the winery, had gifted her for her seventeenth birthday, and clearly…some of her newest pieces of art. Nothing too excellent, mixes of colors a la Pollock, not quite looking for a shape or an imagery, but a feeling instead. One that she always dares to call normality—it may be happiness, just like it may be a routine, but in her thoughts, she knows that whichever way she decides to go, the winery will always be her home.

The paint on her walls is a contrast to her colorful sundress, yellow with daisies on top of it, but the length is not exactly what she is looking for. To anyone that has seen her walk through the streets, or simply riding on her bicycle, they’ve captured a glimpse of her style. The painted sneakers, the fixed dresses, the shirts that end up bleached or died or cut. The itch starts from her soul and ends up on the tips of her fingers, desiring to make a change in her life that can translate through her. She thinks that happiness shall be shown as long as it’s had, and it shall be prided on.

Perhaps, the reason of her happiness may be having breakfast right now and her gloss-coated lips press together while she looks at her reflection in the mirror. A pair of scissors is already going through the edge of the sundress—making it a tad bit shorter, a lesson that she learned when she had her second boyfriend and she felt more confident on her choices of clothing. The thing is…there are days in which she wants to exude the mentality that art is in herself, in a way, that as long as she can create something, her mind may never be dulled.

The fabric is shorter by the time she steps out of her room, not perfect, but sufficiently flowy for her to walk down the set of stairs and approach the cream-colored kitchen. The microwave is buzzing, her uncle’s shaggy head of hair covering the majority of the surface while he leans down to look at the coffee cup that is being heated inside the machine. The old man has done nothing but support her dream, that one memory of her youth that told her to be an artist…even when everyone else had told her that she’s not good at it.

Art is not about being good, she tries to tell herself. It’s about enjoying life in a different way. About feeling and letting others feel.

It will never pay the bills for her, but that’s why the winery exists.

Her attention is caught on someone else, sipping on a colder drink of coffee, then slurping from the spoon hovering over his rice bowl, so heated that a cloud forms on top of the breakfast. One of the winery workers, with golden skin and matted black hair, more often than not faintly moved away from his eyes, to show those small senses of gravity in their chocolate hues. His lips are plumped up, as if he’s always blowing on his meals to eat them—and that may be the case, for one of the few times in which she gets to see Hyunwoo open his mouth is when he is relishing on the taste of her Uncle’s infamous cooking.

Or that’s what the other workers at the winery say; that Hyunwoo is sweet, but too quiet. So eerily quiet that he seems to blend into any wall, any floor, any seat…though, she cannot see it that way. The moment Hyunwoo stepped into that winery, she was very well out of a relationship and promising to the world that love does not exist. She’d said she would never take any other man seriously, and he came in like a gentle breeze. Not a tornado. Not a tsunami, like the soft reminder of his laughter early in the morning, or the looks spared throughout a few months until a friendship started in between the two of them.

Her weight leans forward, staring at Hyunwoo’s eyes when he captures her gaze before jotting her chin forward. “Give me some of that,” She says, making sure that she crosses her arms under her chest, legs extending as a way of capturing his attention. And she has it, shredded glimpses of his interest in his eyes, in the way those lips quirk up and give her a foretaste of that soul that hides underneath his quiet nature. To some, he ruins the mood. For her, he creates it.

“Your uncle made you a plate.” He tells her, though his spoon is already balancing itself on the expanse of his hand, nearing her lips until they part and take a bite of the meal, paired with eggs. When the spoon is once again nearing his plate to scrape some contents off, her eyes trail to the notebook by his side, some words scribbled, others hidden under the blurred lines of a word he may not have liked…and still, Hyunwoo opts to use a pen.

“You got some writing done during the weekend?” And perhaps, a poet-to-be like Hyunwoo should really go for a laptop, and a Word Document at that, but his style is to keep it simple. Hyunwoo may not be the most profound, romantic of men—heck, he may not be one of those rooted poets that grow up to be stars every few years, creating a new wave to be remembered by textbooks, but the relaxed expressions on his features when finally having somewhere in which he can voice out his thoughts and concerns is more than she could ever ask for.

Hyunwoo nods, ready to spurt some knowledge of his endeavors back at home when her Uncle clears his throat, resting the expanse of her plate on the counter, the seat that she would be taking place in right beside her Uncle’s favorite worker. His strength has helped her Uncle endlessly, with carrying the wines, organizing them, making sure that his poor, old bones don’t struggle at the mere weight of his bent knees. “Pull your skirt down and stop fluttering your eyelashes like that.” Her Uncle says, giving her a pointed look when she simply shrugs her shoulders.

“Can’t pull it down, I already cut it.”

“One would think that once you became an adult, you wouldn’t be so…stubborn, but the older…the worse it becomes.” Though, the tiredness in his voice doesn’t dismiss the nostalgia on his tone. Days that were difficult, yet part of her growing-up process. The leather of the seat digs on the back of her thighs when she takes her spoon in between her fingers, her other hand already sneaking to reach for Hyunwoo’s notebook and read over his poems.

Something about him will always be tranquil. Just like wine, he makes her feel—sleepy, a bit heated, ready to embark in her biggest adventure but take it slow while in the process. He swirls on her tongue, intoxicates her, leaves a flutter on the pit of her stomach, a heartbeat against the other to race and see who wins, it brings her to the sky and puts her down on her feet in such a gentle, caring way. “Ah…I’ve heard that before. I’ll settle down eventually.”

Though, while munching on her meal and hearing the utensils on both men’s hands moving with precision to eat as fast as possible before getting to work, her fingers hook on the small, yellow, somewhat bitten pencil that rests in between the pages, scribbling down a note that only Hyunwoo could read.

“When will you write me a poem?” She writes first, on the last line of the one poem she read before drawing an arrow towards the piece of art itself. “Also, you’re improving.”

The pencil glides from her fingertips for him to take, and she swears she sees his expression lighten up, cheeks filled with food when he writes some words of his own. “What do you want me to write about?”

The action repeats itself, sparing one glance at her Uncle, too lost in the news displayed on the television to pay attention to her. “Whatever I make you feel.”

His response reads: “I can’t.”

She voices her thoughts out, speaking in a hushed voice while looking at him. Hyunwoo’s trembling expression turns towards her Uncle, but she knows that the old man is not what is stopping him—if anything, her Uncle would be over the moon if she got to date Hyunwoo, more seriously past this flirty relationship they hold. Instead, she basks on his presence, his manly scent, the way his white t-shirt hugs his body, jeans cladding his thick legs. “Why? Do I make you that speechless?” She counterparts, quirking an eyebrow when Hyunwoo chuckles and shakes his head.

“I just need time to think about it.” He whispers. “I’m not that good of a poet, yet.”

“You write about the winery, though. The trees, the fruits, the people here. Why not me?”

Why not her? Why not the woman that has promised herself that she’d capture his gaze and practically make it impossible to tear it away from her? To have Hyunwoo has always seemed holy, in a way, almost like getting an angel sent directly to her…all memories of the past few years merging into one single thought: that it has never happened. Without a lot of trying, and with a lot of work to do on the winery and on their preferred choices of art…it never happened. “It will happen someday.”

Though, she can only pucker her lips up, taking another bite of her meal before leaning back on her seat, arms crossed over her chest as a way to release the stress that is pent-up inside of her. Maybe, Hyunwoo would not see her a muse—that one person that takes every single breath away from his lungs, even in a place filled with trees. Or that one person who clouds his mind, even in his dreams, creating images of what-could-have-been’s that he can only fantasize about. “I won’t get younger at the pace you’re going.” The only sound she receives is his chuckle, shaking his head at her antics. This counts another day of a failed try of getting to be his muse, or simply to see more of a glimpse of interest from him. Not surprising, though somehow digging on her chest, she stands up from her seat after a few quick bites of her meal, doing her best to finish the rice before she continues on with her day.

Not without wrapping her fingers around his shoulder to speak into his ear:

“You’re lucky wine gets better with the passage of time.”

###

The trees wave against each other, dancing with the wind, singing their lonesome blues with every movement of their leaves. Instead, she finds the happiness in them—in the hope that the Sun glares down onto their existences, in the way animals seem to be happy around the winery and in the workers, too, not only Hyunwoo but everyone else, as well. Though, if she’s honest with herself, she wishes she could be a good artist, for painting Hyunwoo should be the best benefit for a person of artistic desire.

He’s far away, like he always is. So close, yet so far away when the day is welcomed into their lives. Another day in which she has to smile to hide the absolute adoration behind her eyes and another shrug of her shoulders when her uncle asks anything about Hyunwoo and herself. There’s nothing, she says, and it may be like that—if it was not for the way he smiles at her when he looks up from his position at picking up the sweetened violet grapes, because those eyes scream for her to finally settle down.

For him.

With him.

To have him.

The concept had always been foreign to her—settling down. There are too many beautiful people in this world; too many lips to taste; too many nights to remember. Plenty of times had she heard the words whore or slut used to describe her around the city, small in comparison to the ones in other countries…and she’d say that the concept is so…antique. Perhaps, she could image the word escaping the lips of a sexist man trying to sound remotely attractive while also demolishing the amount of things a woman can do…or, something easier, it’s the word that people use when they can’t understand the complexity of dating. Or maybe, she just sees it from the other end of the spectrum.

But Hyunwoo did not see her like some cheap woman who would much rather have her legs opened than her mind, because that’s not the case…and it will never be for him. The beige hat to shelter him from the sun moves a bit with the wind when his fingers stretch to wave at her, a gentle smile on his features—one that reads have a nice day, instead of the usual this is just a pleasantry before we have sex and have to pretend we don’t know each other after. And surely, with any other man she would have gotten tired…she would have simply said that not a lot of people are made for kissing and telling.

But this is Hyunwoo, the one man that saw her as an artist, as the glide of her brush against a canvas that reads…nonsensical matters. No one sees her art as worthy. No one but Hyunwoo.

When she stares back at the canvas, right after sending a wave back, she realizes that what she does is not art. If she had to conceptualize it, she’d go past Van Gogh or Pollock, past whatever The Louvre could show—that’s the history of art, but it happened way before all those people that crafted the popular side of art. Why is it that people had forgotten that they are art themselves? Art that when described, when coming to life, could be beautiful just like how it could be utterly disgusting. In her eyes, there will never be enough museums and art history books that would ever be able to help her become the artist that would showcase something to the world that matches what Hyunwoo makes her feel.

Her fingers hook around her sketchbook, moving away from the living room of the house while the flapping of wings dulls after two seconds of its initiation, her parrot resting on her shoulder. It may be a bit movie-esque, and Hyunwoo has compared her to a pirate countless times, but nature exists within her…and Hyunwoo is the tranquility that matches her softened heart. A heart that has prickled edges, too much intelligence for its own good, but that can become warm at the mere sight of him.

Art goes past colors—past the damned lines that she does in the name of showing what it is that goes through her head, past what she could ever comprehend, perhaps more understood by an expert…but she can give a name to what Hyunwoo makes her feel.

The caress of fingertips over someone’s back. Traced over lines, bumps, love handles, marks, reddened spots, moles—softly, gently, chilling, relaxing, yet so intimate. It can be done wrongly, when asking for a massage after a long day to someone who is not interested, for example; just like it can be the most miniscule of gestures that breathe out an ‘I love you’. Hyunwoo, with his voice alone, makes her feel like a teenager that has gotten her waist grabbed for the first time—not with a pull to make her feel uncomfortable, but with gentleness, the steps in between them taken far too slowly, too meticulously.

But…she’s not the type to get scared about what her uncle may think if Hyunwoo ends up dating her.

So, what is it that stops her?

Hyunwoo is kneeling down, the fabric of his pants dirtied by mud, his white tank top showing his glowing sweaty skin in the faintest golden color. With a raise of his eyebrow and a stare from the corner of his eye, he says: “Isn’t that my favorite pirate?”

Her fingers move at their own accord with her little pencil, too worn out that it creates the faintest of lines. She starts with the shape of his face—oval, with small eyes that glisten immensely, one more closed than the other as if deep in thought; his lips, plump, asking for a kiss, making her beg mentally to have him speak more. He doesn’t speak enough for how delicious his voice is to hear. “Depends. Jack Sparrow is not on your list?”

“Not when you exist.”

“Smooth.” She replies, looking at her sketch and furrowing her eyebrows. Realism is not her forte—but what is, really? Deep in this whole nonsensical heartbreaker stance that she has created for her, lost in a never-ending summer, she has tried to cover that insecure part of herself. The one woman that never grew up as a talented individual—that loved art, but was never good at it. Hyunwoo is the same with poetry, though he’s far more talented at other stuff around the winery, and an exquisite wine preparator. “I tried to draw you, but it looks like the lovechild of…a goblin and yourself, actually.”

“I wanna see.” He says, knees creaking when he stands up, nearing her body and making her pet parrot fly away. Sunny, an odd name for a parrot…but it just happened to stick around in between the staff at the winery.

Pressing the sketchbook to her chest, she looks into his eyes. “No. I’m shy.”

“You read my poems all the time—” Hyunwoo starts before squinting his eyes, smiling at her when tilting his head to the side to inspect her features. “Wait, did you just say that you are shy?”

For a woman who claims to love sex, casual dating and never getting too attached to anyone—for people are just that, equals, individuals supposed to coexist with each other to get to the end-line, she has definitely gotten attached to Hyunwoo. She’d say, even, he’s the cause of her abrupt stop in dating around. “I mean, I can be shy about things.” She starts, a shrug given by her shoulders. “Much more when those things look like shit.”

“Is it the first time that you’ve tried drawing me?” He asks, and she finds herself speechless.

“Depends.”

“Stop saying depends—”

“Would you think it’s silly of me if I had tried drawing you before?”

Twirling around after his response, a smile crept up on her features when she hears him say: “I’d think it’s sweet.” He tells her, the creaking of grass under his boots sounding behind her, holding her sketchbook to her chest, her dress moving with every movement she gives.

“I never do you justice, though.” She answers, trying to get away from him simply to tease—to have him chasing, following, at the edge of his seat for every word she says. Hyunwoo is a man that has, at least, a vast majority of the people in the city head over heels for him, and to see his quiet persona crumble into a bashful beam at her presence boosts her ego, truthfully—and gives her hope, if anything. For what? Only God would know.

“Don’t look down on your art.”

“We both know it’s not art.”

At that moment, he takes her by the wrist, turning her around until the expanse of his wide and toned chest connects with hers. Eyes to eyes, lips to lips, and when he breathes out an answer, she swears the air has sent her a kiss from him her way. “I’ll give you something and you give me your sketchbook to see how you drew me.”

Her eyes roam his features before scoffing. “Money?”

“I don’t have money, you know that.”

“Ah, a kiss?” Trying her luck, Hyunwoo raises an eyebrow, chuckling at her words.

“Not when all the workers are looking at us.”

“I’ve done worse—”

“I know,” Hyunwoo indicates. “But I’m not one of your worse moments.”

“Right, you’re the best.” She mumbles, knowing that losing him would probably hurt her as much as a blade digging into her sternum, towards her heart, dissipating to the rest of her body—electrifying her with one last breath. His fingers slip into the pocket of his baggy jeans, getting a small notepad out before putting it on her hold, snatching her sketchbook away from her hands just in time to open it.

Her eyes flicker towards the opened notepad, reading pages and pages of a supposed ‘her’. The poems are short, far too small for them to be thought-out pieces, but…they exude the kind of love that is simplistic, softened, all around a bit immature. “You know?” Hyunwoo answers, ripping the page away from her sketchbook before giving it back to her. “I’m going to keep this.”

“I’ll only keep this if the ‘her’ in the poems is me.”

Hyunwoo gives a few steps away from her, walking backwards as he speaks. “…Wouldn’t you want to know.”

The world shines brighter for a second, in the way it falls over his body and clads him in the shape of her daydreams. Where they stand will always be the reason of her reminiscing, something that shall never be taken away from her. “I do,” She adds, arms crossed, rushing towards where he is. “Because I’m the perfect rhyme for anything you think about.” She teases, knowing fully well that Hyunwoo’s mind will always be a mystery to her—but she knows there is attraction, this magnetism in between them that keeps them close, much more when he halters his steps, hands ending up on top of her uncovered arms.

A rhyme is more than tunes that sound the same. A rhyme needs profoundness, meaning, history after history behind syllables that match. “…You’re not wrong.” Hyunwoo breathes out, the wind blowing a bit on his hat, his hand reaching up to keep it in place. “Just, read the poems, don’t overthink it.”

“I won’t.”

And he leaves, blocking the noise of the birds with his steps, with the hum on his voice as he relishes on the sound of his favorite song of the week. For some reason, she feels like dancing when seeing his back depart from her and when her fingers feel the glide of the sheets of paper against her fingertips.

Her.

She’s ‘her’.

Unnamed, she shall remain—like a song that he heard on the radio, learned from one listen, and will never be able to find. But she’s there. Oh God, she’s there, settled, waiting for a smile from him, a rhyme to fit her, a moment that is not fleeting. For a chance to make Son Hyunwoo fall in love with her, and have a future with him.

But she’s not a woman to call a ‘forever’.

###

“Is this the apple wine you guys prepared this week?”

Hyunwoo has his hands crossed over his body, the light of the storage room of the winery barely powerful enough to cast down on his softened features. He quirks one of his eyebrows, a habit of his, and turns to look at her after humming. He has listened to her, she knows, but maybe he needs some confirmation, smiling at her before turning to the pristine shelves that showcase years and years of wines, all of different tastes. “Ah, yes,” He initiates. “It’s not fermented completely, well, not yet. I had to go over the recipe time and time again with your uncle—been a long time since he last prepared one of those.”

They’re not tipsy, but they’re alone. The sound of music is in the background, soft, steady, some jazz that relaxes them into—probably—sharing a drink or two. The door is locked, everyone is back at home and her uncle is certain that they’re adding the labelled stickers to the bottles to send them off to a store tomorrow. That, however, is only halfway done by the time she started to inspect the shelves. “Do you think it’s good?”

“It may taste a bit like cider, I believe.” But he doesn’t give much of an answer, instead taking another sticker and a bottle, lining it up perfectly before sighing. “Why?”

“Ooh, why must you think there is a reason behind me asking?”

“Because you’re you.”

“I’m the company’s publicist.” She defends herself—even when the title is not paired with a degree, it damn right fits her. She has done everything and anything to take the company to social media, exploiting it to getting more clients, more stores to buy their products—and of course, a few pictures that entice anyone to try their wines. “I need to know if what I’m selling is good.”

Hyunwoo chuckles, dragging a seat until he is seated in front of the spacious, glassed table where the newest bottles were placed, fresh out of fermentation. “So, you want to try the apple wine?”

“I want to try it with you.” She corrects, already looking for a switch to clear the room with more lights, smiling to herself at the sight of the city from the small windows. “It’s Friday night, Hyunwoo. And even on Friday nights, you’re always stuck here.”

Though, he can only give a soft answer. “I know.”

But why?

Why?

Why is someone like him just so given to the winery?

Her hand touches his shoulder, softly, gently, dragging her fingernails over the expanse of his t-shirt to ask: “Why?” Because she’s not one to stay with her curiousness, the questions that overtake her even at the peak of the night.

“Just because.”

“I don’t get it.” She skips the conversation, moving around until she is in front of him on the chair. His legs are extended, parted, fingers wrapped around a bottle of wine and she actually takes it from him and places it on the desk, getting lost in his eyes the more she speaks. He’d never see the poetry of him. “You’re a dancer, Hyunwoo. You’re meant to be in some club, dancing the night away with some girl—”

“I have you,” Hyunwoo replies, though they’re not a serious matter—much less have they voiced out their clear ministrations, what unites them. Their start had been simple, for Hyunwoo is a dancer, took years of classes just like her, artists that found love in some other shape of art…and ended up not being good at it. Their only choice was to get better together. “…And that wine really is calling for me.”

Slipping her fingertips on the bottle that had captured their attention, she uses a utensil to open it, grabbing two glasses with quickened movements. “I knew you’d end up trying it!”

“You always make me try new things.”

“Because you’re a boring grandpa, sometimes.” She answers, passing the glass down to him, surprised when his arm wraps around her waist, bringing her down to settle her weight down on his thigh, her knees pressed to his, his eyes staring directly into her soul after taking a sip of the wine. She follows his actions, sighing in delight. “This is good.”

“It is.” He answers, smiling at her with that glint behind his eyes. “At least, I’m good at something. Wines, you know.”

She blinks at that, letting her hands roam his face, learning every aspect of him—of the lips she has gotten to kiss a handful of times, never too profound, as if afraid of falling. But Hyunwoo is a ticking bomb, he’s waiting to grab her by the hand and drag her into the depths of bliss that is…being around him. “You’re good at everything, Hyunwoo.” She replies, leaning closer until her shoulder is against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. “Just because you weren’t good at poetry from the beginning doesn’t mean you’re bad at it.”

“I just don’t get it,” Hyunwoo mumbles. “Poetry? Someone like me shouldn’t even be rhyming stuff.”

“Oh yeah, sure, let yourself get carried away by the supposed stigma of society that says that buff men can’t be sensitive or have a braincell sometimes.” She huffs out her answer, looking into his eyes and seeing the adoration in them, his silent stance speaking more than his words ever could. “We’re dancers—of course you’d end up liking poetry. You’ve danced to poetry, without knowing,” And her smile expands in a grin when she remembers that one night in which they did go out to dance, the night of their first kiss, the reason as to why Hyunwoo never disappeared from her brain. Hips snug together, arms slotted in fitted ways; two souls conjoining. “It’s music. Hyunwoo, if there’s anyone that does music justice in this world it’s you.” She takes a sip of her drink just at the same time that he does, the dulcet taste sticking to her tongue, begging to be taken away by him. By his kiss. “The difference is that music sticks to our brains—the lyricism of it is meant to be remembered, but poetry sticks to the soul. Let your soul speak, if it’s about the winery or about me, just let it have a voice. It’s getting better, I promise.”

His arm tightens around her waist, leaning forward until his lips press to hers softly, carefully, as if he’s afraid he’ll be caught, and he may. When Hyunwoo pulls away, his legs parting even more in the process. “You’re a doll, you know that?”

“I try to be for gods on legs just like yourself.” She replies, leaning her weight back before closing her eyes at the warmth of him. “Hyunwoo…”

“Yes?”

“We’ll make it someday.” She says, trying to sway into his heart, surprised to feel his breathing stopping for a moment, as if taken off guard. “You, as a poet. Me, as an artist.”

“I don’t think so—”

“That’s what dreams are for, aren’t they?” She replies. “It’s not for thinking, it’s for imagining, dummy.”

And she may imagine that, someday, her fingers may hook around a brush just at the same time that he reads over a book. Just at the same time that they grow away from that winery and turn into the exact persona that no one would have ever imagined them to be. And more than that, together, to be exact.

But that’s what dreams are for.

###

“Do you like Hyunwoo?”

Taking care of children may probably be one of the things she likes the least—but someone at the winery had brought their daughter to work today, and having children close to alcoholic drinks may not be the best of ideas. Hence, while seated in front of her canvas, in front of the window that sometimes shows the figure of Son Hyunwoo—just like now—, she wonders why the child that could not even braid her hair a few minutes ago now is intelligent enough to guess that she likes Hyunwoo.

Seojin swings her legs back and forth, seated on a chair right beside her, and she turns to look at her briefly, a smile on her features. “Maybe,” She answers, earning a big beam from the seven-year-old child. Once returning to her painting, a mess of colors and emotions that she cannot explain—too much green and yellow, currently, perhaps inspired by Sunny, hanging around the living room, she voices more of her thoughts out. “Why do you think I like him?”

“Because you look at him like how my mom looks at my dada.” Seojin replies smartly, moving the little baby hairs away from her face to look at the man that is kneeling down in front of the greeneries to pick up some fruits. “Hyunwoo looks like a prince.”

“He does.”

Curiousness overtakes her. “Then, why isn’t he your prince?”

Simple, she believes, the answer slips her tongue just when she stares away from her canvas, twirling her brush in between her fingers when Hyunwoo becomes a clear shadow that passes through the window, embarking a trip towards her heart. She had been touched by too many people, in love plenty of those, she had gotten drunk far more than a princess could ever tell, made mistakes that were horrendous, tainted her soul in distrust. That’s not something a princess does, or a doll, like Hyunwoo calls her sometimes. “Because I’m not a princess.” She answers, shrugging her shoulders just when she creates another line of the canvas, quickened and interrupted by Seojin voicing out her concerns.

“But you like him…if you like the prince, that makes you a princess.” Seojin speaks quickly, standing up from her spot and getting in the way with her canvas, the tips of her messy hair—still in a braid—getting scattered with a bit of paint. She does her best to take the small towel that hangs from her shoulder to clear the brown strands, but Seojin is not paying attention. “Why don’t you make him your boyfriend?”

Because it may be a bit crazy—a bit too out of what she normally does, simply date around and wait until it is over. It may mean love and part of her just fears what that could mean, or if Hyunwoo would even want something like that, for he had not voiced it out either. “I’m afraid he’d say no.”

“You’re pretty, though.”

“It takes more than being pretty to get a man like him.” She tells her, only to widen her eyes when Seojin rushes towards the entrance of the house.

“Of course not, you’re nice and cute, what else does he want?!” Seojin fires back, too overexcited when she opens the door with swinging motions, not helped by the strong wind that almost closes it again. “I’m going to tell him—”

“Seojin, no!” But Seojin moves too fast, already running to the left to go to the field in which Hyunwoo is working at. Without knowing, she stands up quickly, letting her brush fall on the floor just as she feels her heart racing at the mere words that Seojin had brought to life innocently. Someone’s half, a story to tell, a tale to finish—a fairytale, one that she has never lived, never got the chance to have with the people that she liked.

The wind moves her hair, her dress, crazy just as she wonders through the fields, hearing the giggles that escape Seojin’s lips. Just when she picks up her steps, the heels of her boots digging deeper into the grass, she watches Hyunwoo kneel down in front of Seojin, putting his ear closer to her lips just when she mumbles something to him. Slowing down her steps as she nears them, she’s met by Hyunwoo’s stare that trails up her legs and towards her features, giving her a piece of his heart in a smile.

She has never been this nervous—not when seated on his lap, not when kissing him, not when she promises herself that Hyunwoo is the reason behind her solitude these past few months, afraid of getting her heart broken, but also needing more of him. Her fingers slot with each other, trying to look for leverage, just when Seojin lifts her hands in the air, happiness overflowing. “She likes you!”

“Seojin, I asked you not to go out running like that.” She scolds softly, letting out a sigh at her last word, only to watch Hyunwoo nearing her.

“She came here to tell me a secret.” He says.

“We both know it’s not a secret.” She replies, wary of the small eyes that are staring at them as they speak. Hyunwoo is having the time of his life with this, his broad chest shaking with laughter. “You’re not even good with children, stop pretending you are now—”

“I’m not.”

“Hyunwoo—”

His fingers go through his hair, the strands curving to cup his face softly, caressing it with the twirl of his bags. Parted, showcasing his forehead that creases a bit when he speaks. “But, I like you, too.” He tells her, speaking nonchalantly, albeit laughing a bit to himself. Perhaps, the people around—ahem, Seojin—may be the reason behind his nervousness. “What if we settle this with a date? Friday?”

“…As if you were not going to spend your Friday night with me already.” She answers, her voice cut short when a set of plucked, small flowers flies in the air and falls on top of them. The extended hands and the huff that came from Seojin is enough of a reason to showcase that she must have plucked some flowers, thrown it at them as some sort of celebration.

“You’re so cute together!”

“Ah, Seojin, don’t pluck the flowers like that. That hurts them.” Scolding, she starts, only to hear Hyunwoo muffling his laughter when she kneels down and picks Seojin up on her hands, the weight making her puff her cheeks out. “I’ll take her inside before she starts telling people that I like you.”

“No one knows?!” Seojin voices out, only to have her hand pressing down on her small mouth.

“And no one will know, Seojin.”

Turning around, she feels Hyunwoo’s eyes on her form and she swears she hears his laughter, the promise of an endless love and a date that may be the start of her doom.

###

Living in the moment, that had always been her mantra. And what a way to live in the moment, it is, to be held in Hyunwoo’s arms.

Never had anyone taken her breath away, in a way that her chest constricts and still, she can’t have enough oxygen inside of her. But he does. Of course, it is the man that is dancing the night away with her that is doing so—the only person in this entire town that could have her thinking of a house in a hill, with not so immaculate decorations but homely ones instead, of walking barefoot on the tiles to reach him, wrap her arms around him as he downs his first cup of coffee of the day. But he does. Son Hyunwoo does, absentmindedly perhaps, simply by smiling at her, by holding her closer and dipping her into the dance floor, as if she’s a feather and he’s a bird—meant to coexist together.

Because, once every few moons, someone like her falls in love…and it is so slow and calculated in its process that she is surprised by her patience, by her abstinence in having him, but Hyunwoo is worth it. He’s worth waiting a million years, the slow music around them in the romance themed Friday night, paired with lighted up hearts in pink shapes is everything she could have never imagined happening. But here’s Hyunwoo, a predicament, the one stone in her road that had her falling and she’d go back and do it again if she had to.

…She had never been one to learn from her mistakes, after all, and if Hyunwoo is one…

This is the greatest fucking mistake of her life.

Her fingers wrap around the edge of his collar, opened buttons welcoming his taut chest that she traces with the tip of her index finger. “Showing some cleavage here, I see.” She says, sending a toothy grin that she can’t imagine herself giving to anyone but him—one of those that show her gums, make her seem a bit childish, and yet speak of nothing but excitement. “We’re twinning, then.”

Hyunwoo’s smile falters, his eyes flickering down to the neckline of her dress before laughing at his own antics. His cheeks are tainted pink, or maybe the lights are deceiving her, but it’s a nice color to match his beige button down and that rosiness of his lips that she will probably dare test later on the night. Probably meaning…certainly, as long as he’s into it. “You talk a lot.”

“And you talk too little.”

“I’m not a man of words.”

“You’re an action man?”

“I don’t know, I’d have to show you.” And with that, he presses her body closer to his, her hands stopping her ministrations to expand on top of his chest, catching her footing quickly, learned from years of dancing. Her feet move with expertise, along with his, the lingering smell in between them of fruity drinks and dinner. His hand moves on her waist, rest along her hips and sighs heavily, as if nearing their bodies will end of suffocating them but also filling them up with attraction. Past attraction, even, whatever it is that flutters on her chest and has her thinking about the beauty of being held by him instead of simply voicing it out is some magic that she can’t quite explain.

“Ooh, Hyunwoo is talking big.” She wiggles her eyebrows, trying to regain some power and speaking because—damn, it’s what he does. He gets her tongue going, her mind railing, her heart aching simply to have a piece of him. Hyunwoo seems like her future, and she’d be disappointed if this is not some sign from life that the only man that she feels like falling in love for is anything but trouble. “Let me tell you something. I’ll recite a poem to you, Shownu.” The way she spits out the poet name he had come up with has him smiling, nodding along to her words. “Roses are red, violets are blue—”

“Aren’t violets supposed to be, well, violet?”

“Don’t go smart on me now.” She replies, resting her head against his shoulder and looking towards the other couples dancing; some older, some younger, some definitely together for a long time, some learning to fall in love. Where do they fall? Where do an artist and a poet fall more than together? “You know what? I forgot. Thank you. Now, I can’t tell you anything.”

Hyunwoo closes his eyes when he laughs, rubbing his thumbs against her hips before he lowers his head slightly, bending his body in a way in which he can capture her lips in a kiss, though fleeting and soft. “My pleasure to make you speechless, doll.”

She squints at him, taking him by the face with both hands to stare into his eyes. Well, he’s not wrong, for the tip of her tongue is trying to look for words to tell him, for flirtations to whisper in his ears, for more than simple actions to clarify her interest in him, one that is already as clear as water, as the sky, as a glassed window itself. Because…she has talked enough, to other people, to people who did not want her to speak but still pretended to listen, and who would think that someone like her could find love in something as silent as art, and Hyunwoo, himself?

“You’re something else.”

“Good thing?”

“Very good thing.” She complies, leaning forward to press her lips to his, relishing on the taste of him before humming, eyes still closed. “I wish I could tell everyone just how head over heels you have me.”

But she can’t. She can’t turn this relationship serious, because it would not benefit them in the work place—Hyunwoo has more to lose than she ever could, but also because the timing of them will never seem to be right. She has to hold back, not because Hyunwoo is slow in his movements to her heart, but because he’s so skilled in his way there that she’s afraid something else could happen. What if it doesn’t work out? What if he’s indeed a prince, and she ends up running away in fear of the constricting seriousness of the situation?

“I have you head over heels?” He asks, as if he likes to hear her saying such things…and damn, he probably does.

She gasps, contrary to what one would believe. “Of course. Hyunwoo, I’ve been practically into you for the past few months and you still think I’m not head over heels?”

“Why?”

“What?” She asks, watching the way he lowers his lips and kisses her softly, delicately running his tongue on top of her upper lip, her hands trailing down to his neck, grasping softly to feel the pulse in there, Hyunwoo’s arms wrapped around her body entirely by the time he speaks again.

Rare. Of course, it had to be something important if Hyunwoo dares voice it out. “Why don’t you just show me how head over heels you are?”

This is exactly how she finds herself in Hyunwoo’s apartment, how suddenly being friends flashes in the back of her eyelids and reminds her that it has not been months, but years since Hyunwoo has taken up the vast majority of her heart. In the couch that he lays her on to take off his shirt, lips latching to her pulse points, sucking the soul away from her with each flutter of the plumpness of his skin, she had told him about the eleven years she spent in ballet classes and in between chuckles, she had admitted to being kicked out for flirting with the instructor’s son too much. The shirt that is thrown on the floor by the time he leads her to his room, hands expanded on her thighs, reminds her of the night three years ago—New Years’ Eve, when Hyunwoo couldn’t go back home to his parents and his frown was evident. At the time, she had done her best to prepare a meal for everyone at the winery to enjoy, and it was called a coincidence when Hyunwoo’s favorite meals were served on the table.

Or that bed, the background noise of the sheets the one she listens to whenever he calls her, saying how much he misses her—listening to her and sometimes, telling stories of his own. The timing with him will always be off, because she’ll forever be scared of waiting for too long, even when his legs are parting her own, strong muscles resting on each side of her head, his heart pressed to hers, skin to skin. Everyone says that waiting…fuck, waiting is the key to love.

Like waiting for someone to wake up.

Or waiting for someone to come home.

Or waiting for the day in which she believes she’ll have earned his love.

Because Hyunwoo cannot be a love affair—she wouldn’t forgive herself if she gets to taste him once or fifty times, but never forever. It’d be tragic, just like the sighs that leave her lips, the way her nails cling to him, the smile on his face that reads adoration—that sees her as more than a line in his body count, more than a friend: he sees her as art, and that’s all she has ever wanted to be.

Art is complicated, and she finds herself being egotistic, like she has always been. Selfish, in a way. Her hands cling to him, her lips press to his skin, to his neck, wants him to be more of her own, wants for every crevice of his soul to belong to her. When her eyes connect to his, his hair is done a mess, ruffled and ruined just by her, the skin of his neck bathed in sin, Hyunwoo can only reciprocate the kiss that lands on his lips, fervent, needing to have the moment last for an eternity, the one eternity that she has never wished for.

In one kiss, she expects to have her confession be read. She expects Hyunwoo to listen to the silence, like she does with him, but maybe, he doesn’t understand…that one simplistic kiss is screaming at him that she’s falling in love—

No, that she is in love. And it feels like she is floating on the shore of a beach, the tingling sensation matching with the rays of sunshine making her forget that there is a world around her, that there will be repercussions like a broken heart or worse…a fired man.

With one last breath of his name, she hopes the confession fell into his ears, one that reads a single sentence:

I love you.

###

“Where is my book of poems?!”

“What?”

Pulling her gaze away from the break-up app showcased on her phone in between her fingertips, she looks at Hyunwoo practically turning the house upside down in his repertoire to find his notebook. When entering the kitchen, well overdue the time in which he goes back home, the trails of the night seek after him when he lifts whatever surface he can to find that notebook, that damned notebook that she knows means the world to him.

“My notebook. Did you take it?” Hyunwoo asks, eyes shaking, for she knows better than anyone else that, just like her sketchbook, his notebook includes motions of his being that no one should read, or have gotten to read other than herself. His hands are already resting on her arms, as if keeping her in place will resolve the predicament, they’re in, but she simply shakes her head. “Fuck, I swear I left it on this counter earlier—”

Scratching the back of her head, she watches as Hyunwoo moves with anxiousness, for the first time showing a sign on his face that screams…hopelessness. Perhaps, he’s afraid of losing what he had worked so hard for, or he’s afraid that tomorrow morning he’ll wake up to the sound of his poems being read to the daylight, to be showcased as a comedy, when all he has done is try to find a sense to that inner voice of his. “Let me help you.” She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, looking around the couches in the living room, under the mat, whichever bump in it inspected by her.

“This is it. I’ve lost it.” The hopelessness in his voice comes soon enough, throwing himself over one of the seats, slumping immediately with his hands softly bounded in front of him.

“You have not, Hyunwoo. I’m here to help you out—”

“It’s not here, and it’s definitely not in my car.” He answers, not even sparing her a glance when she nears him, arms outstretched to hold him in her arms. “Goodbye poetry, goodbye that stupid dream of mine—”

“Your poetry is not hidden in that notebook, it’s in you, Hyunwoo. Stop it.” She replies, taking his face in between her hands before letting her faded lipstick create a shadow on his lips with a gentle kiss. “Don’t say those things.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’ll shatter this earth if that means getting that notebook back.” After months of this relationship, unknown to the world, three months of absolute joy, she’d do everything to give him the world if she could. “Make that a promise. I won’t ever give up when it comes to you.”

And what’s with this…feeling that tells her that letting go of Hyunwoo will be impossible to her? That she has found it, that thing that her friends had always talked about. That love that goes past summer nights and the heat that comes with forgetfulness, or with winter and its need for warmth—a love that stands even when a train is nearing it, when saying goodbye could be easier than staying. But, she decided to stay—to stay for a long while, as long as he lets her, and so far…it has not been so bad.

If hiding in the storage room every Friday night as a date is excellence, then so be it. If hiding their romance to the eyes of everyone at the winery is what it takes to have Son Hyunwoo, so be it.

“Don’t be scared,” She tells him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and nearing his face to her face, rubbing soothing circles on his shoulders. “I’ll find it, I promise. I’ll find it.”

“No—”

“I said I’ll find it, and I will.”

Because she’d drop a star from the sky itself if it meant seeing him at peace, like he always is.

Which is why she almost turns the entire house upside down the next day, as if looking under the sofa will get her the precious notebook that her boyfriend is looking for. Sunny is somewhere, flapping its wings and resting on her shoulder as if to help her, and she even skips breakfast to favor finding a part of Hyunwoo’s soul. It’s only when she opens the door to her uncle’s office that she finally gets to see a glimpse of a notebook, seated on top of the mahogany desk her uncle is by, and it’s opened, shown to the world to bare Hyunwoo’s soul.

The weight of the flooring creaks under her, though it is not as loud as the thumping inside her chest when her eyebrows crease, moving with precision to reach for the notebook and plater her hand on top of the pages to cover the peeping eyes of her uncle.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She says in between a whisper, hearing how her uncle stops his typing away on the keyboard before continuing, fingertips ushering her hand away so he can look at one of the poetic pieces written by Hyunwoo.

“I’m doing Hyunwoo a favor.”

“He’s been seeking for this notebook since yesterday, Uncle. That’s not helping him—” She tries to grab the fabric away, only to be stopped by a hand that wraps itself around her wrist. The glisten of happiness behind her Uncle’s eyes is clear, the document in front of him bleeding the words of Hyunwoo’s soul—sweet, caring, silent. “Explain.”

Her uncle lowers his glasses, plopping some of the blueberries on a white plate inside his mouth, munching slowly, with precision, patiently like he lives his life when he speaks: “I happened to come across it yesterday afternoon and took the time to read it. My boy has talent.” Her uncle replies, but her mind can only worry about the poems there—the little notes that they had shared in their written conversations when her uncle is in the room, perhaps dusted over with some lines on top of it caused by Hyunwoo’s precaution or if they are easily shown for the world to read. “So, I looked for some poetry contests online and I am mass sending my favorite poems—or a variety of such. The only way I can pay Hyunwoo for the support he has given me the past few years is by letting him go to something bigger than what he has right now.”

Letting him go, why is it that he is the only man that she has never thought of letting go of? His fingers always spread when around them, trapping her hand as if meant to be together forever. Sometimes, she likes to believe she’ll reach older years by his side—that one day she’ll get to see Hyunwoo with gray hairs, and he’d let his fingertips trace her wrinkly cheeks, pinching them with his usual smile on his face. Letting him go to another place, a place in which he’d become a true poet, could mean that he is simply leaving the winery, just like it could mean that he’d have to go anywhere else. Around the world, probably. Somewhere where opportunities for writers are far more fruitful.

She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, speechless, watching as her uncle continues to type and he asks a question, one that she can’t give an answer to because she can’t listen to him. Her ears beep intensely at the mere reminder that Hyunwoo is not a forever, because the title doesn’t exist or perhaps, because it has never been meant for her. His arms will not always wrap around her waist, his sighs won’t always end up on her nape, leaving her with a trail of goosebumps that can only be intensified by a kiss.

Another muse could exist in the far future for him.

And her canvas may consist of darker colors once he is gone.

“I see,” She breathes softly, only to earn a pointed side-eye from her uncle.

“You alright?”

“Kind of.”

“I’m doing this for him. He’s always said how he wants to go somewhere else, travel the world, you know? It would be nice if he got accepted.”

That’s a promise that she has heard in their late-night conversations, a reminder that the tapping of water on the vase will sometime overflow and leave them with the taste of memories. Her fingers try to wrap around the notebook again, but she ponders on the options of badness and wellness, of destroying his future or keeping him to herself. Instead biting down on her tongue, she nods at whatever her uncle said.

“Don’t tell Hyunwoo.”

About what? About the opportunities that will surely start to appear like clouds on his days?

“I won’t.”

And with that, she slips away from the room with a saddened sigh leaving her lips. Positivism lingers with nostalgia, it seems as though there is a goodbye—a piece of her mind that reads with certainty the words:

One day, you will have to let go of him.

Because, if you love him, you let him go, huh?

###

“It’d be cute.”

“What would be?”

“If one day, when we live together, we could hold one of your paintings up as decoration.”

His arm is extended on top of his bed, knees digging onto the mattress, his hand interlocked with hers on top of her abdomen. His body is resting by her side, black sweater riding up his tanned skin, looking at her with a messy hairstyle right after the small nap he had taken the moment they had arrived to his apartment. Hyunwoo is staring at her, she realizes, cheek pressed to his taut muscles, eyes inspecting her reaction when she finally pulls her gaze away from that one movie they had been wanting to watch—the initiation of a good actor, that had both written the script with his best friend, just as he had starred in it. She can remember the name of the actor right now, but it’s not like she cares.

Weeks after Hyunwoo’s stolen notebook issue, she had been the one to deliver it back to him after her uncle had stopped signing up the poems for every contest that he could find online. The life had been returned to Hyunwoo’s gaze, and he seemed to be more tranquil, breathing normally after days of silence that meant no one had read his poetry book. Instead, she’d take up on more working around the winery, trying to distract herself from her muse and on the long run, stopping herself from thinking of the end of something she feels like has just started, even after years of mutual attraction.

She rubs her free hand against her face, a few bumpy stops that she had not tried to conceal with makeup the first thing she touches, and still Hyunwoo looks at her as if she’s the world itself. Her worries may be spurts of non-knowledgeable insecurities, maybe Hyunwoo is the one person that won’t leave her.

“You would want to live with me?” Her voice doesn’t drop flirtatiously, instead she brings their joined hands up to her lips, kissing his knuckles in hopes of one day seeing his finger glisten with a band that calls him her husband. It’s stupid to think in a long run, to imagine Hyunwoo as the man to settle down with her, but he’s the one talking about it.

“Of course.” He says, eyes twinkling when he smiles, his fingers expanding to caress her bottom lip.

“I don’t think my art would be beautiful enough to be in our future home, though.” She replies, voice going through the depths of what their home would like. Tranquil, homely, perhaps with woodened decorations and too many memories—pictures of the people they love, of themselves, perhaps with a pet going around, or some old wines decorating the shelves.

Still playing with her lips, he answers. “Stop it.”

“I mean it.”

“Your art is fine.”

“Ah, I’m not good at it. We both know.” She says, shaking her head before straightening her back, sitting up on the bed and letting her asleep legs crack at her extension. “But what is it that you see in me that has you wanting to live together? That’s a big step.”

Her boyfriend turns around until he is facing the ceiling, their hands pulled away when he crosses his own over his chest. He breathes in softly, a smile plastered on his features, almost dumbly, too many thoughts that he can only voice out in a few words. “Because I love you.”

Oh, that would make sense. For time has taken its sweet years for her to feel as though he’s the only man that will ever love her for who she truly is, past the summery dresses and the faux smiles. “What do you love about me?” She asks, in a mere whisper that has her coming closer to him, as if nearing him will make her remember every part of Hyunwoo, in case she ever dares to forget about him in any day of her life.

“Can I say everything?”

“Yes,” She laughs, trailing her fingers up and down his arm, pecking his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt before resting her nose against the material. “I love you, too.”

“I know.” Hyunwoo answers, sparing a glance at the movie before she captures his attention again.

“Your phone has gotten a few notifications. Aren’t you going to check them out?”

With his phone in vibration, he may have not noticed. “Oh yes, I hadn’t noticed.”

Hyunwoo stands up, his physique in clear view for her when he moves towards the bedside table, picking up his phone and squinting at the screen. For a moment, she inspects his room—the one piece of art that is hers and he had hung up there, in belief for her passion, and the little bits of him that rest in memories on every spot, even on the pillows that are now too uncomfortable in comparison to his body. She studies his expression, how a white light washes over his face and he reads, reads until his smile is permanently plastered on his face, until he checks his messages and whatever notification he had gotten before he wraps her up in the biggest of hugs.

Those that take her breath away, that has her chuckling at his strength, pressed down by the weight of his body, feeling every movement of his lips while they press down incessantly on different spots of her face. Her cheeks. Her neck. Up until when he decides that speaking is a necessity, that whatever has overjoyed his chest shall be shared with her.

She’ll never forget that smile—that smile that had warmed her, just like how it had turned her blood cold. Hyunwoo shows her the screen, but it is too close to her eyes for her to inspect more than the big letters. Not necessary to read more, because Hyunwoo speaks with excitement. “You didn’t tell me your uncle had sent my poetry out. I just got an offer of representation and a call to sell my book and get a contract!”

She wishes she could keep him, that she could trap him in her arms and simply tell him to stay there, to let the silence in between them fall into normality, into a sweetened lake that will take them to endless romantic bliss. Instead, she clasps her hands together, because his happiness is hers—and love is about that, giving more than receiving. “Fuck yes, I’m so proud of you! Is it for real?”

“Yes, your uncle just confirmed it!” And his lips slot with hers, in a way that tells her that he really does love her and maybe…he will stay. She will be the culprit of his poems, he will be the outline of the shadows in her paintings and their love shall remain like that. Two rhyming words, they are, joined together by a verse—and not another word could ever compare to the magic the two of them work.

“Let’s celebrate!” She cheers, wrapping her arms around his neck and squealing when he lifts her up from the bed, moving towards the kitchen to what is clearly a night filled with take-out and cheerful conversation.

Waiting for this, for Son Hyunwoo, is the best decision she has ever taken in her life. There is no regretting that.

###

That one hat that she had seen on Hyunwoo’s head plentiful of times is now on top of her hair, caging the memories to her brain the more she paints. Realism is not her forte, she will always say it, but a sigh leaves her lips when she finds herself painting the outline of him—past the muscles, the lips she dares to kiss, the eyes that look for her everywhere and anywhere, but in his soul. Hyunwoo will always be a soul in green—like the greeneries around the winery, where she met him, and the calmness of him is a representation of nature.

Love affairs are supposed to be red, passionate, they are supposed to feel like sex and carnality, they are supposed to be plenty of things…but Hyunwoo is not a love affair. If anything, he is the only man she has ever loved. The brush dimly moves against the canvas, her hair framing her face uncomfortably, but she doesn’t dare move the strands, because there is this vacant voice in the back of her head that is telling her something will happen. The twist of her gut, the taste on the back of her tongue, everything reads fear, like in any occasion she will be moved by her feet, dragged through the ground, given a piece of reality for falling in love.

Hyunwoo is somewhere around the winery, God knows where, speaking to the representative on the phone to state the conditions of the contract he will be signing with the company for the publication of his poems. This makes her nervous, but more so angry at herself.

What a fucking egotistic bitch, she can only tell herself, not because she is envious of what Hyunwoo will surely approach with his talent, but because she is afraid of losing him. Scared that one day Hyunwoo will look at his success and think of her as a loss more than a win. At some point, she lets the brush rest against the canvas for a second longer. A dot. A dot on the figure that is supposed to be her boyfriend…an ending, because dots can mean the finalization of an idea, just like how it can mean the end of a story.

She doesn’t hear footsteps, not even Sunny dares make a noise, tranquil on the windowsill when Hyunwoo lets out a sigh that speaks wonders. It has all the meaning of her world in one single breath that falls deafly, as if he knows there is something deep in her mind bothering her. His lips press to her temple, his eyes dare close to flutter his eyelashes against her skin and when he finally gives her an answer, there are undertones of happiness in his voice:

“They want me to move to New York for the publishing of three poetry books.”

And this is excellent—it’s the best of the best. It’s the opportunity Hyunwoo always wanted and the one that he deserves, but long distance is something that she doesn’t know if she could bear. She could always leave with him, live alongside him like they had always planned—but she’s tied to her uncle’s waist. The poor man, only getting older, needs to be thought about from time to time and the winery cannot be kept together without someone helping him.

So, this means that her dreams are crushed.

This means that leaving is not a choice.

“That’s good, Hyunwoo. Congratulations.” She tells him, putting the brush down and twirling around on her chair, not as excitedly as she used to whenever she wore a flowery dress. Instead, he inspects her features, a small smile grazing his features. The whiteness of the room contrasts his beam, the twinkle in his dark irises when he says:

“We could always leave together. You’d have huge opportunities as an artist there—”

“No, love. I can’t leave.”

“Why not?” His fingers stop playing with hers, trying to look for the certainty of a possibility that has been broken. That, once again, leaves her with the lack of a bound that will never be broken.

“My uncle is not getting older, and you know his health is not the best nowadays. I can’t—I’ve been selfish my own life, I can’t leave him like that.” The affection in her voice must have softened something within him, and Hyunwoo is about to drop the subject, leave the talk for later like he always does, but instead, she continues. “D—Do you think we should break up?”

“What?” Hyunwoo asks, his voice rushed, waiting for her to correct herself.

“You will go live to New York. I will stay here. I don’t know if—” She cuts herself off, looking up to the ceiling and biting down her bottom lip. She has always been the one to break relationships up, but with this one, she can’t do it. Her eyes flicker, her tongue twists and she has to grab his hands stronger for her to gain some power. “I don’t know if it will work, truthfully.”

“Is that what you think?” His eyes flutter with endless blinking, trying to process exactly what she is saying and she feels her heart being ripped when she realizes what is happening—

She is finally speechless.

And in the worst of ways.

“Tell me why.”

“I can’t…I can’t leave, you can’t stay.” She tells him, shaking her head. “And I will never forgive myself if I stop you from being the poet that you always wanted to be.”

And even then, when anger overtakes his features along with disappointment, Hyunwoo is the most beautiful man she has ever met—inside and out. Her fingers trail through his hair, her lips leaning forward to seek a kiss out of him but when they join in the sweet gesture, his lips capture her strongly, as if needing more of her, as if letting go hurts him as much as it hurts her. His soul is trying to engulf hers, to down her in the most gorgeous of memories that started with poems about her, spoken insecurities, healed hearts, too much time to waste and of course, an ending.

His arms wrap around her tightly, her lips unwrapping from his to breathe out against his shoulder, her eyes closing tightly when she repeats: “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Love isn’t enough in most situations. This is one of them.

###

Her uncle would have probably loved to see the scenery in front of her.

The bustling city, the flickering lights, the people that join and walk alongside each other, the cars passing by and the extreme comparison to the winery. Perhaps, he would have not liked it as much—but who is she to know. Instead, she tries to make her way towards the café near her hotel room, desperate for her caffeine intake before her visits to the endless museums that she had looked up online. It’s difficult to move, much more when people press to her side, but she manages.

What catches her attention is the old looking library that passes her by as she walks on the sidewalk. The windows are huge, perhaps more than one floor in the place, showcasing the newest of releases or the most classic of pieces. Her feet retract the slightest, smiling at the sign that reads poetry and looking for a certain pen-name that she knows better than her own. The simplistic cover is enough to have her eyes widening, looking around as if caught by destiny—because Hyunwoo is there, by his penname, of course, but he’s there.

With persistence, she moves inside the library, grabbing one of the copies of the book that had caught her attention—the first one, one that she had been too fearful to ever look for, but now blinks at her almost mockingly. Or proudly, really, this would not have happened if only she had been selfish and snatched the notebook away from her uncle’s hands.

Some decisions are good on the long run.

Her fingers flick through the pages, recognizing some of the poems, even tutting at the fact that some of them are edited but his being still is exuded in his art. A little bit after, however, she is surprised to see an outline that she recognizes immensely—that one drawing that she done of Hyunwoo, more of a sketch, that he had kept with him, now plastered on the edge of the first book he released. Years later, and she had never noticed this.

The poem surprises her, the words ‘her’ its title, reminiscent of how she had always wondered if it was her that he was referencing. The more she reads, the more her smile widens…because nothing has been edited, not even a single syllable, and that is enough to press the book to her chest, closing her eyes to match the tightness of her chest.

He will always be the best rhyme for her poems, but it’s time for her to start a new one.

It’s time to let go.

That doesn’t mean she lets go of the memories, buying the book and pressing it to the depths of her purse, pushing the door open to go have her caffeine intake.

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