#four and a half hours of sleep for three nights in a row
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summary: in which moving in together is a herculean task and jungkook teaches you how to fold his underwear.
> est. relationship, fluff, angst lowkey / wc: 3.2k
> warnings: mention of h!ckeys and or/l s/x (f. receiving), allusion to c*ckwarming and s/x
> in which masterlist!
note: who else will drunkenly research about men’s underwear and scroll through calvin klein’s website at 2am to write this for shit and giggles and self-indulgence if not art <3 as always i love hearing your thoughts thru reblogs/comments/asks !! 🥺
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“pssst.”
“oh shit-”
jungkook looks up to find you standing by the doorframe of the walk-in closet, and the view instantly weaves a stupidly whipped grin on his handsome face. your hair is messy from sleep; your eyes are still half-lidded; and your lips are wrapped around the straw of the red water tumbler you’re clutching in your hands.
“baby! you scared me! what are you doing out of bed?”
“my bed escaped from me.” you mumble, padding across the wooden floor until you reach him. he watches in bewilderment as you fall to your knees and pull his arms out of your way. muscular body pliant underneath your dainty touches, he allows you to move him as you like.
“ahhh-” he produces a noise of enlightenment as you find a comfortable position between his legs, lying down across his lap. he’s forced to support the weight of your torso with his arm beneath your upper back, hand curled around your shoulder. “am i the bed?”
“mhmm, boo! i caught you. you’re stuck with me forever.” you go limp in his arms and dramatically press the back of your hand on your forehead like a damsel in distress, which elicits a chuckle from your boyfriend.
he bends down to pepper kisses along your jaw and exposed neck, plush lips brushing against the traces of love bites that blossomed on your skin this afternoon, courtesy of his friskiness. having always been extra sensitive there, the ticklish sensation makes you squirm. “that’s exactly what i signed up for.”
“oh?” you raise an eyebrow challengingly. “sure. let’s see if you can still say the same thing… three months from now.”
your fingers comb through his silky locks, taking a fistful and lightly yanking to pull him off you.
“as you were.”
a grunt tumbles out of his mouth when you change positions carelessly. in the end, you settle with straddling him, legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck, where you nuzzle your face and almost purr like a kitten due to the warmth that you’ve missed in his absence.
the process of transforming an apartment to a home together has been… exhausting, to say the least. you’ve had most of the furniture installed before you started bringing in your personal belongings, but how can a space feel so empty and so crowded at the same time? too many boxes, too many bags, too many things left to buy. the line between what’s yours and what’s his is blurring in your eyes, and this is only the beginning.
you thought dealing with jungkook’s self-admitted laziness would frustrate you at some point, well… which it did. however, it turns out that it is precisely what you need in this type of situation. yesterday morning, he successfully seduced you into letting him eat you out on the kitchen island. you reached the height of your pleasure twice in a row, nearly delirious as he was lost in untamed lust and moaned about how you taste, distracting you from planning out what goes in which kitchen cabinet based on dimensions and convenience. last night, he had to drag you back to bed at 5am because you ended up organizing your bookshelf for two hours instead of only getting a refill of water like you claimed.
“what are you even looking for?!” jungkook exclaims with a hand over his naked waist, clad only in his boxers, as he watches you rummage through four boxes in search for something.
“the easel!” you whimper, your calves breaking your fall as you slump back on the floor in despair.
“easel?” he squats down infront of a box beside you, scratching his cheek as his puffy and sleepy eyes scan the other boxes. “i don’t think an easel would’ve fit in here, baby.”
“it’s a mini one. the one i use to display my favorite book.” you pout to point at it standing in the second level of the shelf. he recognizes it as the limited edition book he bought you last year, and the flashbacks of him standing in line for hours to get it signed by the author are inescapable.
if hearing you say that it’s your favorite makes jungkook so ecstatic that he wants to break down into tears, he doesn’t show it. instead, he nonchalantly throws you over his shoulder, making a beeline to the bedroom. he yelps when you angrily pound at his back with balled fists.
“ugh, i hate you! put me down!”
he clicks his tongue. “bad!” he lightheartedly chides you, smacking your ass. “i’m cuffing you to myself! do you have any idea what time it is? you have class in three hours!”
“but, babe, i don’t want to attend!” you cry out, slumping as you grudgingly yield. “why do you have to be so strong?! stop lifting weights for fuck’s sake!”
at the time, you meant it when you said that you want to take the moving duties slowly since you have all the time in the world but… you can’t stand the clutter and disorganization for the life of you. at the same time, it pumps your veins with thrill, having an empty space and being responsible to breathe life into it with jungkook. out of all the life-altering decisions you had to make with your still developing brain, this is the biggest gamble yet.
you don’t know if you’re blinded by love, putting your trust in jungkook when he said that he wanted to build a life with you; or if it’s arrogance, having the trust in your ability to stand on your own feet again incase a match is thrown in a puddle of fuel on the floor. the latter is more painful to think about, quite frankly. just because you can, doesn’t mean that you want to. you have to. you have to. with bruised knees from praying for a little more time, you have to. the earth doesn’t stop orbiting the sun when your house burns down.
either way, it’s too late to succumb to your inner monologue. the stuffed toys you own, including ones you’ve dearly loved since childhood, are scattered across the living room. the journal you’ve been sadly neglecting for the past two weeks is just freely lying on your personal study space. you’re here, safe in his arms, and if there’s one thing you’ll always believe in, it’s this. and you intend to make the most out of each day the universe allows you the right to be here.
“you can fall asleep like this? while i keep moving?” he whispers, wide palm soothingly running up and down the expanse of your back.
only if it’s you, you say in the back of your mind. “you can see for yourself.”
“psh. always gotta keep me on my toes, don’t you?” he smooches your cheek, and then once more, lingering and refusing to part away. you feel his lips curling up against your skin.
jungkook reaches for the tumbler you left behind on the floor, capturing the straw between his lips and plentily sipping until he deems his thirst quenched. he sets it aside afterwards, returning his attention to the laundry basket he purposely laid on the floor so he can easily reach inside. he’s been happily working hard on the laundry after you both agreed to wash the clothes you haven’t worn in quite some time to keep your closet clean and fresh.
a little hiccup though.
quickly and unsurprisingly, you ran out of hangers between his long-sleeves and yours alone. therefore, he’s solely focusing on the to-be-folded for tonight, which mostly consists of shorts, casual pants, underwear, and socks.
he inserts his arm in the laundry basket to push out the articles of clothing closer to the edge, grabbing the nearest thing and proceeding to neatly fold it over his outstretched legs. his white sweatpants lands on top of its designated pile, and then the same goes for your tennis skirt, as well as his ripped jeans, and everything else after that.
jungkook being jungkook, singing comes naturally to him after breathing and more than blinking. he hums, chest vibrating against yours as he does so, occasionally singing the lyrics in between because he means them. a tattooed arm protectively wraps around you to keep you glued to his body each time he leans forward. his careful movements, along with his mellifluous voice, fool your senses into believing that you’re being carried out by the ocean waves to the shore of dreamland.
your boyfriend freezes when one of your arm slides down his shoulder, an irrefutable evidence that you’ve fallen asleep again. you finally tired yourself out, he breathes out a sigh of relief. he cups the back of your head as support, eyes shaping into crescent moons as he giggles as quietly as he can after seeing your face.
“so fucking cute.” he muses, rewarding your cheek with another kiss before securely tucking you back into his embrace.
he carries on with his task to allow you to dive further into unconsciousness. he spends the next fifteen minutes folding the boxers that were still stuck inside one of his suitcases, patiently operating with only an arm. his tattooed one is still preoccupied with maintaining a protective embrace around you. shortly after, he decides that it’s time for you to go back to bed.
“there we go.” he says quietly to himself as he succeeds to stand on his feet, carrying you with his hands hooked around your bare thighs. you unconsciously tighten your hold around his neck and release a deep sigh of contentment in your sleep.
he kicks the door open, walking with light, deliberate steps across the wooden floor. he climbs on the bed, knees sinking in the mattress as he gently lays you down. and there’s an inexplicable emotion stirring in his chest as he covers you with the blanket, accompanied by the epiphany that he is doing this at 2am not because time has arrived to daunt him and he needs to leave your bed to go home. not anymore. whatever this is, it feels so fucking good. oh my god, he looks forward to spending the rest of his life feeling you breathe next to him, getting lost in how peaceful you look asleep when he randomly wakes up in the middle of the night.
he tenderly squeezes your arms as he leans down to plant a goodnight kiss on your velvet lips, sweet and loving. slowly, and with the smallest movements possible, he gets out of the bed to return to the closet.
“love, you’re not sleeping yet?” your tiny voice barely reaches his ears but it pinches his heart, even more painfully when he sees that your hand only managed to seize three of his longest fingers to stop him from walking away.
he sits down beside you, intertwining his fingers with yours. “i will in a bit, baby. i only have the rest of my underwear left to put away.”
you blink at him hazily, silent as you digest his words in your clouded mind. “you’re folding them, too?”
“of course.”
and with that confirmation, you eagerly inch closer to him. “teach me.”
“huh?” his forehead creases, eyebrows knitting in a state of confusion.
“teach me.” you repeat yourself, bordering on a whine.
“how to fold my underwear?”
you innocently nod your head as a reply.
“why?” he asks, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth because of your unusual request. but then again, he can’t say he’s much that surprised. it’s such a you thing to do.
“i can’t?” your lips form an adorably small pout, and you sniffle as your eyes water with unshed tears of drowsiness. “but you’re my boyfriend.”
fuck fuck fuck, he curses inside his head. his heart flips and drops to his stomach. holy shit, yes he is. it’s infuriating, how it requires you little to no effort to have him wrapped around your finger. the endearing sight automatically tugs at his heartstrings, urging him to cradle your soft cheeks in between his large palms.
“i’m just curious.” he reassures you with a chuckle, leaning down to press one more sweet kiss to your lips.
“we do chores together…” you trail off, nose scrunching when his brushes yours. you smile sheepishly. you’re relishing in the mere inches between you — how you can see that his pupils are evidently dilated, his brown doe eyes appearing rounder and bigger than they already are. “so i just want to learn how to do it right.”
you swiftly throw aside the blanket enveloping you when he voices out his permission with an “it’s so easy!”, cheerfully jumping off the bed. captivated by your unique charm, jungkook allows himself to be dragged away as a breathing, walking picture of pure adoration.
—
he finds himself sitting on the same spot on the floor, back comfortably resting on the cabinets now that you’re beside him instead of on him. your drooping eyes follow the every movement of his dexterous hands as he folds a calvin klein trunk on his lap, black with a white waistband. wearing an orange beanie of his you found stuck underneath the laundry basket, you obediently bounce your head as he earnestly demonstrates it with instructions.
“so you take this side and fold it over to the middle, and then! you do the same with the other one, so they’re folded equally like this.”
he briefly picks it up to show it to you from rim of the waistband, the two parts stacked and perfectly aligned.
“after that, you take the bottom and roll it over like… halfway? whatever, i just kind of do it by feel- and the final step… so you also fold the waistband here so you can tuck the rolled up part inside. it ends up looking this neat and compact, see?”
your gaze only flickers at the finished product, having seen what it looks like about a thousand times in his backpacks and luggages. “so these are called trunks… and those are called boxers?”
your boyfriend follows the direction your index finger is pointing at, revealing a pile of folded boxers sitting inside of his opened suitcase. he winces with his full set of teeth before he cracks up in laughter, the genuine curiosity you radiate is making his brain overflow with love and happy chemicals.
“right! those are more comfortable and breathable so i wear them at home, while trunks provide more support for when i need it, you know?”
“snug fit or loose fit this, boxers or boxer briefs that. you strip them off all the time to put your dick in me anyway.” you scoff, picking up another calvin klein creation from the laundry basket immediately afterwards.
a string of ditzy giggles slip past your lips. the light blue trunk was standing out among the neutral colors like a firefly in the forest, practically begging to be chosen as your first piece of work.
“i’ll do this one! you wore it yesterday. i love the color.”
his lips part open in surprise at your lewd and unfiltered response, a hand flying to his face to conceal the rosy shade that has begun to tint his flushed honey skin, many earrings collectively swinging and belly aching as he chortles. it’s embarrassing, really, how he still blushes despite having done countless sinful things with you. can you really blame him for being incapable of keeping his hands to himself when he’s so helplessly and hopelessly attracted to you?
he clears his throat, crossing his legs and moving to his side so he’s facing you. “go on then.”
you flap it against the air to straighten out the fabric, placing it over your thighs and meticulously following your boyfriend’s instructions step-by-step. you’re quiet as you commit yourself to the chore, floating in your little bubble of tranquility and concentration.
and jungkook is intently watching you with as much self-control he can muster. the urge to grab your face and kiss you senselessly is palpable, wrapping itself around his limbs like vines that have a life of their own, desperate to dip into the sun for a taste. they say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and he can attest to that to a certain degree… but dear god, its lack thereof?
there’s no sensible reason why the both of you should be spending your late nights in your new apartment doing stuff like this when you have an entire 55-inch television set up on the floor because you haven’t found the time and energy to attach it to the bedroom wall yet… and not to mention that jungkook had to write more batteries all types of batteries, tongs, and curtains as CURTAINS!!! in your little notebook of to-buy checklists because somehow, they never crossed either of your minds the last two times you went shopping for your remaining home essentials. his new gaming chair arrived this afternoon and he has zero clue where he will insert assembly time into his busy schedule. one of these days, you’re also bound to discover the plant namjoon left as a gift three days ago. he placed it at the balcony, and it’s only surviving due to the fact that it’s been a relatively rainy month.
although, that’s precisely what makes this moment so priceless and so grounding. you smoothly finish the challenge and sing “ta-da!” with a beam that causes your eyes to twinkle with a tiny sense of achievement despite your apparent exhaustion.
“oh?! looks perfect. good job, baby. goob job.” he praises you with a grin, affectionately stroking your hair. “let’s work together so we can go to sleep.”
his thoughtful words and action make you keen, coaxing the giddiness in you to bubble over. you playfully nudge his side as you haul the laundry basket closer. “i want to play. let’s see who can fold the most in a minute!”
“play?” his shoulders deflate as he sighs, battery running low.
“no?” your lips pucker up in dismay. “too tired, love?”
his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he gives it some consideration. he shrugs. “what’s in it for me?”
oh, damn it.
“the winner also automatically wins the light fixture debate?”
in which you’re referring to your month-long dispute over which color of the cloud light you should purchase for your shared bedroom. he insists on the white cloud that has the white light because it looks like a thundercloud, and on the other hand, you’re fighting for the pink cloud with the yellow light because it looks like the sunrise or the sunset depending on its saturation and brightness.
“alright!” he blurts out, a surge of energy kickstarting his system. he snatches his phone, which he left in one of the empty shelves near him. “baby wants to play a dangerous game, huh? the stakes are incredibly high! too high! are you ready? to lose?”
your mood sours when he begins using his variety show hosting voice, confidence dwindling but determination fueled and burning brighter now that he’s in higher spirits.
you roll your eyes. “yeah, sure. ready to lose the white variation in my cart, bro.”
he smirks mischievously, his childish and devilish laughter echoing in the closet. “we’ll start the timer! in three…! one- go!”
“freeze, you cheater! i wasn’t ready! put that shit down!”
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note: soooo, are you team oc or team jungkook? i will be keeping score 👩💻
taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm to be added or removed :D
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#jungkook#jungkook fluff#jungkook drabble#jungkook scenario#jungkook imagine#jungkook one shot#jungkook fic#jungkook fanfic#jungkook au#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#bts fluff#bts reaction#jungkook angst#jungkook smut
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More ROTTMNT Headcanons:
The twins have been dramatic since birth
And Splinter has genuinely considered enrolling them in an acting class or drama group in the hidden city
If he didn’t know for a fact that it would make them more dramatic
When Mikey was six he heard a human say that tv rots your brain
And he freaked out and told all his siblings
The turtle tots knew that Splinter would never give up TV willingly
So they decided to write and perform little skits
And they were pretty good considering the fact that a bunch of kids wrote them
Splinter knew what they were doing but he never corrected them
Because he got to see his adorable little kids perform skits they wrote specifically for him
And really who could say no to that?
The whole group sits on the couch in very different ways
Raph tries to take up as little space as humanly possible
He’ll cross his legs he’ll have his hands on his lap and he still takes up half the couch
The twins will lay across the couch that or they’ll sit criss-cross applesauce like toddlers
And most of the time they end up kicking each other
Mikey will either sit on the armrest or he will lay across the backrest like a sloth
He always ends up falling asleep and he will fall off the couch or on one of his siblings
One time he broke his pinky and fractured Donnie’s leg
No one knows how he did it but he wasn’t allowed to lay on the backrest for a month after that incident
April usually ends up using the bean bag chairs
Because as much as she loves her brothers, she refuses to sit anywhere near Mikey when he’s on the couch
She can’t afford to buy another pair of glasses this year
When the twins hang out they either sit in total silence or they info dump for hours
There is no in between
Mikey is the only one who knows how to cook
Raph can make a pb&j but that’s about it
The twins and Splinter are banned from the kitchen
When Leo cooks he never follows a recipe he just picks what he thinks should go in it
And sometimes it turns out okay and sometimes his “food” has eyes and is breathing
Donnie will try and mess with the toaster or the oven whenever there is food inside
He thinks if he messes with the oven then the pizza will finish faster
And because of that, he burned three pizza’s in a row
And there are signs in the kitchen that say “this is a Donnie-free zone”
Splinter used to cook when he was younger
But after being pampered (and then being held prisoner) for a couple of years all that info flew out the window
And the last time he tried to cook Donnie had to make a new oven
The boys still have nightmares of that night
Raph has a terrible jaw
He used to have a massive overbite
And when he was sleeping he would grind his teeth so hard that his jaw would lock into place
It wasn't uncommon for him to dislocate his jaw when he was eating or playing
Leo would have to pop it back into place at least three times a week
He had to have braces for four years straight and he still has to sleep with a retainer
And the rest of the boys all have some issue with their teeth
Mikey has random gapping between teeth
And all of Donnie’s teeth grew in crooked
Leo has perfect teeth they’re all straight there’s no gapping
And no matter how much coffee he drinks they’re always bright white
He’s never even had a cavity before which is weird cause he eats the most sugar
He used to say that he got his superstar smile from Splinter
But Splinter’s teeth were an absolute nightmare when he was a child
For the longest time, they were jealous because Leo’s smile was picture perfect
But Leo admitted that one of the reasons he cracks so many jokes is because he loves making his siblings smile
#rottmnt#rise of the tmnt#Rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rottmnt leo#rottmnt donnie#rottmnt raph#rottmnt mikey#rottmnt splinter#disaster twins#save rottmnt
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MERCENARY PART THREE
Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Enhanced!Reader
Genre: angst, fluff
Summary: In which Hydra never seems to give Earth's Mightiest Heroes a break, and while dismantling every known base, they find a weapon. In which this weapon is a young woman whose known nothing but the life Hydra gave her, and a certain super soldier becomes protective of her from the first time they lock eyes. AU AWAY FROM IW&Endgame, ALSO THERE ARE X-MEN
Warnings: swearing, reference to scars
Song: Punching Bag by Palaye Royale
Words: 1.6K
MASTERLIST
feedback is always appreciated
"Stark Industries and and the Wakanda Outreach programme has helped thousands of mutants and inhumans, why don't we just hand her over to them and be done with it?" Kitty Pryde mulled over the idea, rolling her eyes as the clock ticked over into the third hour of bickering.
Y/N's sedation would wear off within the next half hour and the team were still yet to come to an unanimous decision on what to do with her. She was currently fast asleep on a comfy bed inside a room which restricted the use of her powers- but she didn't know that yet.
Bucky had tried his best to remain objective, but as he watched the large monitor streaming footage from her room, he couldn't help but be reminded of the girl he watched grow up into a woman and how he'd already missed four years of her life.
"I'll monster watch tonight, James." Y/N hummed, playing with a small flame at her fingertips. She looked over her shoulder and found him watching her with worried eyes, yet she just smiled, "You haven't slept for three nights in a row now. Trust me, they'd hurt you a lot more if you fail your mission tomorrow than they will if I'm a bit grouchy. Sleep, moya lyubov."
"She'd still be a great addition to the team," Tony sighed, standing up to stretch his legs, "and by team I mean the Avengers, I don't even know why you're here quite honestly."
Kitty flipped him off before storming out, probably going to find Charles or Raven to vent to them about how much Stark pissed her off.
Natasha leant over the table, eyes not moving from the tablet in front of her, "Is she like you were, Barnes?"
Bucky tensed and looked at the redhead, "In what way?" He asked slowly.
Nat glanced over at Tony before finding the super soldier waiting for her response, "Did they manipulate her mind and create triggers that'd turn her into a murder machine? Is she at all loyal to Hydra?"
"Come on, you saw her earlier, Nat, Y/N had tried to escape that many times they had to chain her up." Steve tried to reason as he saw Bucky's flesh hand clench up.
"We should consider every possible angle though, right?" Bruce spoke up from his seat towards the back of the room, propping his glasses on his nose and taking a better look at the security footage, "She seems harmless, but-"
"She is harmless." Bucky stressed, "Sure, when you look at her file you see a genetically engineered super-assassin with elemental powers, but not one day passed without trying to escape or planning our next escape. And okay, fine, she enjoys violence, but Hydra conditioned her to be that way and she's never had anyone to tell her otherwise. At the end of the day, she's scared- and I don't want her waking up alone."
The soldier felt Steve's hand squeezing his shoulder in comfort, but it felt cold and the sentiment felt short. Bucky watched each pair of eyes fall away from his sight and their voices stayed silent. He shook off Steve's hand and left the room, making his way down to the supervisory level. He looked down at the small piece of technology in his hand, matching the number to the cell like room and entering a six digit code into the keypad from memory. A single second later it pinged and the lights turned green.
The one armed man stood in the doorway for a moment, watching Y/N's healing figure peacefully sleeping. It was a sight to behold, even in tattered clothes and a thick layer of grime and dust covering her, she was anything but a weapon. She was soft and even delicate to the eye, resting as if her mind wasn't plagued with the tortured souls from her past.
Bucky sat down on the cool wooden floor, crossing his legs like he used to at the age of eight, playing tic tac toe with a small Steven Grant Rogers. Those memories didn't feel much like his own, more at peace with the ones of war he shared with Y/N.
"Stop pulling your punches, their hands are worse than yours." Nineteen year old Y/N warned James with a sharp whisper. His flesh knuckles were scorched from her most recent attack, goaded to use her powers by the watchful handlers. Metal collided with bone and he knew on impact two ribs had fractured, a further one would bloom with bruises soon enough. Training was often more taxing than the missions themselves, bored Hydra agents pulling on puppeteer strings to ensure they put on a good show.
Y/N estimated another ninety minutes had past before her handler pulled her away for healing observations, for research rather than well-being purposes. It wasn't long until she found herself flung back into the dingy cell with a kick to the back of her knees and an expired first aid kit thrown to the ground beside her.
Once the door cranked shut, James knelt beside the stoic woman he knew was hurting so deeply within. He collected any supplies for sterilisation and allowed Y/N to collapse under his touch. She curled into his chest as he cleaned the wounds he caused, burnt knuckles stung from the movements but that was numb compared to the torment of seeing her in pain.
James was past the point of blaming himself for any injuries Y/N incurred from training and vice versa, too much of their precious time had already been taken away in arguments of how much the other was not at fault. Hydra allowed them one hour a day together, usually after training, to decompress and recover and mostly hold each other. Y/N had a knack for sneaking out of her cell to be with the super soldier, it took more time stopping her, punishing her and hauling her back than their current routine. Teamwork on missions became more efficient, so they were allowed their hour of peace unless it became a weakness.
That was when Y/N was most aware of time passing by, fingers habitually running over the rigid scars between metal and soft flesh as a reminder James was entirely real. He watched between the fire dancing in her free hand and the peace within tired features, her own eyes burning bright at his constant touch. The hour would soon be up, and there was no fight to leave each other other than the lingering fingertips as they were pulled apart.
"You cut your hair-" Y/N's gravelly voice was cut off with a harsh array of coughs, spluttering dust from her cell's destruction stuck in her lungs. She squinted at the bright sterile lighting, everything in the room intensely white with the exception of Bucky and his all black clothing sat at the bottom of her vision.
He dialled the lights down noticing Y/N's discomfort and handed her an unopened bottle of mineral water. Her eyes carefully surveyed his movements, not considering him a threat as she chugged the liquid gratefully.
"Do you like it?" He asked after a few seconds of silence had filled the air, taking a seat at the side of the mattress apprehensively. Four years had passed and although he trusted the woman he thought was dead with his life, she was indeed alive and Hydra could do a lot of damage in much less time apart. He had so many questions, so many missed touches longed for and so little worry that she was no longer his Phoenix.
Even with grime covering her from head to toe, Bucky couldn't take his eyes away from her as she scrunched her nose playfully and answered, "I'll miss your long hair, but this suits you- you look like a person."
Unlike Bucky, whose memories were fuzzy around the edges, for better or worse Y/N held all of hers. She remembered cutting his hair short for a mission the once and wishing Hydra wouldn’t let it grow out again. But seeing him this time was immaculate- he was his own human, and she looked to the dirt and disheveled clothing on her person and knew she wasn’t. Purely what she was engineered to be and not a thing more, a biological weapon owned only by Hydra.
Bucky sensed the mental downward spiral as she scanned herself, brows knitting together and tears welling threatening to fall.
He corralled her away from those cataclysmic thoughts with a cool touch to her hot fingertips, metal thumb running across the back of her hand soothingly. “It took a bit more than a hair cut, but the days I feel like a person outweigh the days I don’t. And we’ll get you there too.”
“Can I start that tomorrow?” Y/N pouted and lay against the plush pillows behind her head, content with the sounds of metal whirring against her skin that only super soldier hearing could pick up on.
The team, fewer members left in the conference room, watched the interaction from the projection. A few more words were shared before Bucky lay down beside Y/N, both infinitely still but continuing the motions on their joint hands. Steve’s chair rolled back a few inches as he eyed Tony, “Listen, I can already see Bucky following if we send her off somewhere, we’ve got to at least try re-humanising her.”
“Great, we adopted another murder machine- when the first one gets lonely, at least now he’ll have company!” Tony held his hands up in defence when Steve didn’t appreciate his humour, “Alright, Cap. We’ll observe, give it a few days and get to work on project no murder and less machine.”
part four?
taglist: @kcd15 @killjoynotes
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#bucky x reader#Bucky x hydra!reader#bucky barnes imagine#bucky Barnes#bucky#bucky barnes x reader#masterlist#bucky barnes angst#bucky angst#fluff#angst#hydra#marvel#bucky x enhanced!reader
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Gorilla Mask
As Nina does my makeup–swivels the contour and punches the blush onto my cheeks, a star, she says, I’m gonna make you a star, don’t you worry baby you’ll knock ‘em dead, you see–I smoke a cigarette and check the time. I’ve got half an hour before the curtains split apart like the legs of a wonderful, beautiful slut. I imagine the audience packed into velvet seats, dressed in cocktail dresses and the suit he plans to be buried in. A Tuesday evening. While my manager insisted on Friday night, I insisted on the opposite. When is the best time to be transported? When you least expect it. After an eight-hour shift at some metal box downtown, moving papers and pushing phone calls. I know my people. I know what they need.
Nervous? Nina asks, meeting my gaze in the vanity. You’re quiet.
I shake my head.
I fuck up, I go home, I say. And that’s the end of it.
This is my first show in twenty three years. Last time I was on a stage, I was a young golden cat that people rubbed for luck. I could sing God to sleep. I feared nothing and wanted everything. Once, I kissed a girl for the first time twice.
But that’s the hard part, right? Nina asks. Going home?
I laugh a dry laugh.
That is true. That is always true.
At the height of what you could call my career–that never ending totem pole, that white flash of light in which I saw nothing but mercury and moon shrapnel, I wrapped my limo around a city block. And that began the descent into capsules and deadbeat girlfriends. I broke my neck in the accident. Then, the pain pills began to taste like dust. And I needed something stronger to tether myself to the earth.
It was always a good day when I was high. I could spend seven hours staring at the ceiling and it would feel as though I’d gone on Space Mountain a billion times. I had a sitting heart rate of one hundred and twenty three. I still did shows though they were more like human zoo exhibits. The public came to watch me die. I slurred through old gospels. I fainted during an encore. Once, I gave up. I sat on the stage unmoving and someone had to come remove me. After I went to rehab for the first time, I stopped doing shows. It was only supposed to be a year off. But I couldn’t stop going back. I got into all sorts of things. I huffed paint to watch the wall turn blue. I did coke off of someone’s wedding ring during the wedding recital. I chased some kids down the block for ten dollars.
Elaine left. And I moved to Memphis. I sat on the back porch smoking heroin, noticing the light ooze through the leaves and feeling every breath in my chest. And I tried again. And tried three more times. I went to a rehab in California where they served lobster rolls and where you had to soak in a hot tub for forty five minutes each evening. I went to a rehab in New York where you could see the skyline pressed against the dark coils of night and the nurses wore short skirts. I went to a rehab in Paris where I beat a lawyer at connect four three times in a row and couldn’t figure out the shower head. Then, I overdosed in South Dakota while visiting some cousins; thin, bare chested men who shoot pistols with one eye closed and drink moonshine for lunch. I died for an hour; saw nothing but a few abstract, pink lines. The rehab I was sent to there was the one that did it. Nothing glamorous. A cold turkey sandwich at noon. Librium in the mornings. After detox, you’re on your own. Gotta change the sheets. Gotta clean the bathrooms. Gotta set the tables. No television after nine. No phone calls in the morning. I was already old by then. And nobody knew my name anymore. What the hell is following the rules for a while? I called my mother halfway through my stay there, after a lunch of fried chicken with plenty of nerve and gallons of black tea. I told her where I was, and what happened. How I couldn’t apologize.
Are you sorry? She asked.
I could see her standing in the kitchen, backed into a slant of light, arms crossed.
If you’re sorry, you won’t do it again. When you get out, you’ll know. So, we’ll see.
Mama, I can’t do it again.
We’ll see, she said.
And hung up. I knew she was right. I had to be good. It wasn’t enough to want to be good. I had to be out there, doing good in the daylight. When I got out, I didn’t go back to the cousins. I went to Memphis and started going to meetings and church. I didn’t know what to believe but it needed to be huge, crucial. A giant cock to rub. A pleasure to be had. I read scripture on nights I couldn’t sleep. After months of this safety walk, the songs came. I was with my sister Diana; a spoiled eggnog of a girl, ten years younger than I am but we’re wired in the same ways. I can read her mind. I’d know her heart from look alone. It was summertime and we were at the fair together. It was the first time since getting out that I felt safe to be among the others, the extraterrestrials made of crazy glue and fireworks.
And we were on the Ferris wheel, a thousand feet above the ground, everybody like throngs of specks of dirt below us, the stars as close as they’d ever been. I got a melody in my head like a buzzing gnat. And started singing. Diana stared as I sang, the words mush but the melody there. And we celebrated when I quieted down. I didn’t think I’d ever write another song again.
But there it was–the massive, throbbing thing to believe in.
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Late night cravings
Summary: Midnights are the ideal time for Ginny to realize she loves brownies. And bananas. And the need for Harry to make her some. Pure fluff.
A/N: A short something I wrote after a highly stressful week. Plotline suggested by the all-wonderful @chef-hagrid.
...
“Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind
Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneaking in.”
...
This was the second night in a row, she couldn’t sleep. Midnights, she decided, were positively more tiresome than the mornings.
Ginny turned around again, careful not to roll over on her belly. She huffed, frowning as she felt the cold absence of her husband beside her on the bed.
She was hungry, she realised. Which was odd. It hadn’t been even three whole hours since she had eaten.
Ginny wasn’t even really hungry, she realised. She just…she was just hungry for brownies. And bananas. Especially bananas. Ginny groaned, then got up, her back cracking as she sat up on the bed.
“Fuck it,” she cursed, as she put on her slippers and headed towards the kitchen. She hated it when Harry was off on his night missions, leaving her all alone in the house. Especially now, when she was so satirically lonely. And hungry.
Come to think of it now, Harry really had been going on quite a few night missions lately. This week alone, he had not been home at all during the nights.
Ginny brought out a pan, turned on the oven, then left everything on the counter and gazed at the clock. Four more hours and he’d be back home. Before he’d have to leave again.
She huffed, then set to work. While she didn’t know, per say, how to make brownies, Ginny figured….it wouldn’t be that hard. Flour, eggs, cocoa, milk, how hard could it really be?
She had never even cracked eggs before though. Something about a glob of slimy things coming out of a cracked shell irked her. She’d seen Harry make eggs before, seen her mum too. Last time she was at Hermione and Ron’s, she’d helped Hermione make dinner, and Hermione had made eggs too. Eggs weren’t hard.
Obviously.
One and a half hours later, Ginny rethought her statement.
Eggs were hard. So was flour, cocoa, and the weird bitter tasting powder that Ginny had measured up in a small bowl and left aside.
She stepped back, her clothes lathered in egg whites and flour, frustration clouding all rational thoughts in her head.
“When the hell is he going to come back?” she muttered angrily, throwing her apron aside, as she switched off the now hot oven. In a fit of rage, she scooped up some cocoa into her mouth and then grabbed a banana, biting into it to lighten the bitter feeling in her mouth.
“Brownies can go to hell,” she muttered, stomping back into the bedroom, flinging the banana peel into the bin.
And as Ginny got back into the bed again, she glanced once again at the clock, noting the time until he’d be back beside her.
It wasn’t even something she tried to hide, but she missed him.
Terribly.
…
…
As luck would have it, as would the sun, when Ginny woke up, she was tucked against his side.
Even without opening her eyes, his mere scent comforted her, nearly lulling her back to sleep.
Ginny opened her eyes, looking up to see the sleeping form of her husband.
His hair lay messily on his forehead, his eyes crinkling once in a while as he slept. Ginny smiled, all her frustration towards him the previous night vanished in a trace.
“Staring’s considered rude, you know,” Harry said softly, and Ginny smiled, lightly brushing her hand through his hair.
“Well, excuse me for staring at my husband,” she quipped and Harry opened his eyes, gazing down at her with those bright green eyes.
“Three years and I still can’t believe it sometimes,” he softly said.
“Believe what?”
“That you call me husband.”
Ginny laughed, her laugh echoing through the room, the sunlight trickling in through the gap in the curtains. She placed her hand on her belly as if by instinct, then looked up at Harry, a smile on her face.
“So..” Harry smirked, “you want to tell me what happened in the kitchen last night?”
The smile vanished. Ginny made a face, and then frowned up at him. “I was hungry -”
“I figured.”
“- for brownies.”
Harry lightly chuckled, then grabbed his glasses from the bedside table, putting them on before turning to face his wife.
“It isn’t even just brownies,” she went on. “Bananas. I have an inhuman, unexplainable craving for bananas, and old me would just be.. borderline revolted, but I can’t stop thinking about banana puddings, and banana chips, and -”
“- bananas in general,” Harry finished. “You know there could be a dozen more interpretations of that,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow suggestively, laughing as Ginny lightly smacked him on the arm.
“Anyway,” Ginny rolled her eyes, “I, yes I, was trying to make banana brownies last night, but as you already saw, that went exactly as I wanted it to.”
Harry laughed, bringing Ginny closer to his face, before kissing her gently on the forehead. Then, as if deep in thought, he buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply.
“You want me to whip up a fresh batch?” he said, his voice muffled by her hair.
“Really?” Ginny grinned, her eyes lighting up almost immediately, “you up for that?”
“Always, madame,” Harry smiled, rolling out of bed, and bowing gallantly, smiling at Ginny’s laughing figure.
In the morning, she realised, all was well.
…
...
It clearly wasn’t, she thought, as she waddled over to the kitchen.
Harry hadn’t left for work. Which was odd. He hadn’t even jumped at the chance of getting in some more sleep, which was even odder. Yes, it was very Harry-like to get up in the morning and get to making brownies at Ginny’s request, but after a long night of work, she’d thought he’d at least get in a few extra hours in the morning.
In fact, she’d be the one to tell him to stay in bed, because even under the smiling face, and bright green eyes, Ginny knew that he was, to an extent, exhausted.
Except, he wasn’t now. Heck, he was even whistling some distinct tune she could swear she’d heard somewhere before.
Unlike her frenzied self last night, Harry held a natural control of the kitchen, whipping batter into bowls, mixing in the eggs, and also, weirdly using the bitter powder she’d left aside last night.
He stopped momentarily, looking up as Ginny entered the kitchen.
“You want them to be extra chocolatey, or just bananas and plain chocolate?” he asked.
“Umm.. just bananas and chocolate please,” Ginny said as she carefully sat herself beside the counter. She observed Harry manoeuvring swiftly around the kitchen, a little envious about the ease with which he was doing things she was struggling with last night, before she cleared her throat.
“You don’t have to go to work?” she asked hesitantly.
“I was wondering when you were going to ask that.” Harry turned around, a wide smile on his face.
Ginny wondered what was going to come next.
“Well,” Harry kept aside the bowl, wiping his hands on his shirt, “I’m taking a break.”
“What?” Ginny frowned.
“Not a break, saying, I’ll not go to work, not like that,” he said. “A break meaning, there will be no more night missions, no staying at work too late; I hope, even more days off. At least, until the baby comes.”
Ginny stared at him in disbelief. “Are you serious?” she said, voice full of hesitation. “I mean, it’s just been four months and -”
“I know, Gin. But, you might think I haven’t noticed, but I know I’m gone more than I should be.”
And it was true, he was. And she worried about him. Especially nowadays, as he left for his missions, it was as if she held in her breath before he returned again. So, she simply nodded at him, as Harry tucked in a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
“I mean, you’re pregnant,” he smiled. “In a few months, we’re going to be parents, and I have absolutely no idea how we’ll do that, but we’ll do that together too.”
He put his arms around her chair, pressing his lips on her forehead. “I know I’ve not been home much the last few months, but I will now. I promise.”
“I’m glad,” Ginny said, resting her forehead against Harry’s chest. “I really have been missing you tremendously the past few weeks.”
“I’ll make you banana brownies to cover up for it,” he whispered back.
“You better.”
Harry chuckled, bending down to kiss her. Then, he lightly placed his hand on her belly, looking up at her as she placed her hand over his.
Ginny gazed into his eyes, the warmth in them comforting her, in the same way she had always been comforted when she looked at him.
“I’ve been thinking of names,” she said.
“That’s dangerous,” Harry quipped, “the last time you named something, you named it after a pig.”
“I did not,” Ginny said indignantly.
And it was the little tell-tale signs that made her realise as they argued that everything was really going to be okay, even if she developed an unflinching love for brownies, even if they named their first child after something horrendous, everything was really going to be alright.
#hinny#domestic hinny#pregnancy fic#pregnant ginny#hinny fanfiction#hinny fic#fluff#romance#first child#moments#late nights#late night hinny#missing harry#family#to be parents#just a cute little fic#harry potter#ginny weasley
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HEART PIRATES WEEK 2024 - Part 4 of 9
I told myself last year that I was going to participate in Heart Pirates Week this year, and by thunder I'm going to participate in Heart Pirates Week!
Day Four: Ikkaku - Night
669 words; this is me pouring one out to the times I worked late shifts, especially the midnights; this one is very safe for work, actually, but does reference potentially disordered eating out of one (1) individual, so that’s a thing to watch for I guess; again: what is proofreading lol
-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Shift assignments were honestly not the worst thing in the world, but honestly… most of them had experienced much worse. Three sets of mandatory shifts, eight hours each; that would last for a month before everything was reassigned, four shifts of six hours. The months would cycle as such, with people getting shuffled back and forth with little care as to where they ended up. Things were always new and different that way. Besides, most people still hung out with one another even when they weren’t on their mandatory shift, making things somewhat different from the traditional sailing vessels.
Then again, when one rides in a submarine in a world of sail and paddle boats, everything is a little different, isn’t it?
The only thing that wasn’t different, Ikkaku knew, was the overnight shift. It was her sixth month in a row working the overnight detail and she was beginning to wonder if the goobers that drew the lots every month had it out for her. Uni had tagged her out of the boiler room for a break, allowing her the chance to head to the top deck and enjoy the breeze that they were afforded thanks to giving the engines a break and unfurling their own sail.
It was quiet, peaceful even, as she listened to the soft sound of the waves against the metal hull of the ship. They had already passed into the climate zone of an Autumn Island, the gentle currents guiding them the rest of the way to their destination. It was the sort of silence that was reassuring and calming for some and yet restless and loud for another. A thought of the Captain crossed her mind; he was likely pacing around his tiny cabin with no sleep, no dinner, and no plans to rectify either. She sighed heavily; might as well check.
Trying to not make too much noise, Ikkaku went back below deck to the mess hall, where she found the log where everyone who watched the Captain eat something. It was last updated by Bepo that morning (dry breakfast cereal, coffee, banana); the math wasn’t difficult. When she couldn’t find whichever idiot was supposed to be on kitchen duty, she scraped together what she could find (an apple, some carrots with salad dressing, a tin of herring) and brought it along with the herbal tea that Bepo instructed everyone how to make. She went to the Captain’s quarters with the tray in-hand and knocked on the door. Sure enough, Law opened it much faster than if he had been sleeping, and the stack of books and papers on his desk wasn’t helping any.
“What’s this?” He eyed the contents of the tray and scowled, realization slowly creeping onto his face. “I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“How do you know?”
“A birdie told me. Now are you going to eat or am I going to have a snack while I clean out the boilers?”
The Captain thought about that for half a second before taking the tray and closing the door behind him. Ikkaku stood there and waited for his brain to catch up, then his manners. In moments he was opening the door again with a cowed expression on his face.
“Thank you,” he mumbled. “I know you’re not my mom, or my maid. Mechanics have better things to do than watch over me.”
“That’s right,” she replied. “I will beat your ass if I catch you not eating on my shift when you’re up during it. You understand?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t make eye contact as they stood there, the doorway suddenly feeling rather small. “Can I go now?”
Ikkaku patted the Captain atop his head and smirked. “Yeah.” He then retreated quickly, which allowed her to head back to the mess hall and write down in the log that food was at least accepted before she got back to Uni and the boiler room.
At least she knew the rest of her sift would be quiet.
#One Piece#One Piece fan fiction#Heart Pirates Week#Heart Pirates Week 2024#HeartPiratesWeek#HeartPiratesWeek2024#Ikkaku#Ikkaku (One Piece)#Trafalgar Law#part of why I love staying up late is bc fewer people to interrupt me historically speaking#(living at home until your mid-thirties does that)#and I did used to work some late shifts both in retail and manufacturing#in fact at the latter I'd be done early but my ride wouldn't be up for another three hours so I'd write fic in the meantime lol#I think I'll upload one more for today but it might not be until late
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Maxwell Lord x reader. Din Djarin x ofc. Oberyn Martell x Dieter Bravo.
Set in The 'And It Just Keeps Getting Better' Universe.
Warnings: Smut! M/F, M/M.
Summary: The inhabitants of the motel celebrate Christmas.
Author's note: not proofread because it's already Christmas, and I just finished it.
Merry Christmas
“It's the most wonderful time of the year!” Maxwell exclaims, stamping his snow covered boots on the welcome mat just inside the reception door. Fairy lights and garland adorning the front window shake as he shut the door firmly behind him to keep out the bitter December wind.
Mrs Lord can't help but smile at her husband's child-like joy. Speaking of child-like. “So you'll be back with Alastair around four?”
“Yes, my love.” Maxwell confirms with a press of his cold lips against her cheek. Even through the cold she still leans into his affection. His cinnamon sweet aftershave fills her senses. It's so consuming that she can taste it on her tongue and it's splashed on that oh so biteable neck. Her indecent train of thought is interrupted by the Christmas bells on the door tinkling.
“Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt.” Din casts his eyes away almost shyly.
Mrs Lord is still taken by how small the hulk of man can make himself seem.
“It's fine, Din. Are those Grogu's presents?” Mrs Lord makes her way around the counter to take the large hessian sack.
“Thank you again for suggesting this. Grogu hasn't stopped talking about it.” A broad smile lights up Din's handsome face. His brown eyes that can be so intense shine with warmth.
“Neither has Alastair. They will have a wonderful time.” Maxwell can barely contain his own excitement. “Alastair will be here at four but you are welcome to come over earlier to settle in. We always love to see Grogu.”
“He loves to see you, too.” Din smiles at how close they have gotten. Grogu has now got so many aunts, uncles and cousins. It warms Din's heart to see the boy finally surrounded by family.
“Dinner is at two tomorrow. Santos is cooking an amazing feast. Everyone is coming down around half an hour before so we can get everyone seated. There are so many of us.” Mrs Lord laughs.
Who knew that her hiring some company for the night would lead to her having all the company she could wish for?
Alastair wasted no time in throwing himself into Mrs Lord's arms as soon as he saw her she couldn't help affectionately chuckling into his hair. “Hi, Sweetheart!”
“Hi, Mrs Mom.” Alastair thought his nickname was hilarious since everyone calls her Mrs Lord.
It was the ‘mom’ part that stuck with her. Even though she still had no desire to have a child of her own she loved Alastair like he was her own.
“Do you want to see where you will be sleeping?” Maxwell picks up his son's overnight bag already knowing what his response will be. Alastair has been talking about this for weeks.
The three rooms they would be using were on a row of four set back from the rest of the motel. They were once used for staff and their families. They were the lastest rooms to be completely remodelled. The middle one was where Grogu and Alastair would be sleeping. The room to the left had an adjoining door. Din and his girlfriend would be in that one. Grogu had come a long way but Din didn't want him to feel alone. He had explained that he can come through the door at any time to get his father. Grogu had insisted that he would be having too much fun to need him. A thought that warmed and slightly broke Din's heart. That little boy he rescued was growing bigger everyday. As proud as he was, a tiny part of him missed being needed with Grogu's every step towards independence.
Mr and Mrs Lord would sleep in a room on the other side. It was thought it best that the boys couldn't just walk into their room at any time. They had very little restraint when it came to each other.
“Wow!” Alastair’s eyes lit up at the sight before him. There was a Christmas tree in the corner with some presents already wrapped underneath it. Stockings with their names on hung from the bottom of each bed. There were snacks and fixings for hot chocolate set up for them. Board games were stacked on the bedside cabinet. “This is amazing! Thank you, Daddy.”
As much as Maxwell loved his new life, having his son there just made it complete. “You are so welcome!” Maxwell scopes his son up into his arms. “Now shall we go pick something for dinner? We thought we would order pizza.”
“Yes!” Alastair matched his father’s joyful mood.
When an order comes in from the motel in the woods it always causes a stir. Everyone knows the rumours. Satan worshippers. Some sort of religious cult. Sex maniacs. Serial killers. It wasn't the rumours that caused a stir though. Everyone with half a brain that visited knew exactly what was going on there. As they were regular customers, everyone in the pizza place knew. The stir was caused to be the one that delivered the order because they tipped big. Luckily for Jun he was the only one there when the order came in. Unluckily for him, it was a big one.
Reaching into the back seat, he began to pull out the order. Not wanting to make too many trips in the snow, he tried to carry as many things as possible. The garlic knots balanced on top of a stack of pizzas almost tipped over only to be caught by a beautiful woman. “I can take those.”
Before Jun could answer, a parade of men followed her to help take the food in while two excited children weaved in and out of them. Before Jun could form any questions of the set up in his mind, a man with swept back, honey blond hair pushed a wad of cash into his hand. “Keep the change. Happy Holidays!”
Once all the people had retreated Jun blinked back to the cash in his hand to find that it was almost four times the amount of the food. “Er, thank you!” He called to the closing door.
In Reception the pizza was handed out for everyone to take back to their rooms. The boys and their little families retreated to the boys’ sleepover room. They ate their fill sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor.
“Slow down, kid.” Din had to remind Grogu. Even after all the months living comfortably with Din, the child's survival instincts still kicked in. Once upon a time he never knew when or if he'd get to each again.
“Sorry, Dad.” Grogu grinned. Before the boy would have hung his head in shame. He used to take everything, even the smallest, slightly negative comment, to heart. Din's own heart swells at the realisation that Grogu now genuinely feels at ease and the kid is just enjoying the food on offer.
Din puts his hand on Grogu's shoulder. “It's okay, Son.”
Grogu happily leans into his father as he finishes off the piece of stuffed crust in his hand. Mrs Lord snaps a quick candid picture on the camera Maxwell bought her for Christmas. Din mouths a heartfelt ‘thank you’. It's for more than the photo. It's for giving him the opportunity that set him on the path to have his found family.
Mrs Lord mouths back ‘you're welcome’ with tears in her eyes, knowing how the motel has changed so many lives in so many wonderful ways. Before they can get too caught up in their emotions, Maxwell, who is practically vibrating with excitement, loudly excuses himself. Both Din and Mrs Lord know what he's up to so their smiles grow into suppressed laughter.
All the adults tidy up the remnants of the pizza feast while the boys chat animatedly back and forth on their beds. Not before long the sound of jingling sleigh bells fills the air outside. Din and Mrs Lord exchange an eye roll. Thankfully Din's partner goes into full teacher mode. “Boys. Can you hear that?”
Both Alastair and Grogu kneel up on their beds excitedly looking at the door. The bells grow louder until they stop outside the door. The children squeal with excitement as the door opens.
“Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas!” Comes a deep voice with a very generic American accent. The door opens wider to reveal ‘Santa’ in a very stylish suit, with a small sack swung over his shoulder.
“I hear you boys are on the nice list!”
“Dad!” Alastair giggles.
“Dad? Oh, I just passed your father. He had to go make a phone call. He said you are a very good boy. He also said that Grogu is too and he loves you both very much.” Santa informs them.
The air is nearly knocked out of Santa as Grogu runs over to hug him. His head of curls pressed against Santa’s more streamlined tummy, his arms tightly around his waist. “I love you, too.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “I mean, thank you Santa.” He adds louder grinning up at Maxwell.
Maxwell is just about keeping it together as he slips back into character. “You are very welcome. Now I came here to make a special early visit. I have one present each for you. I will bring the rest tonight when I visit each and every child.”
As Grogu runs off to sit back in his bed and wait for his gift, Max moves after him, catching the eye of Din who is trying to hide his tear streaked face in his partner's hair. Maxwell gives him a nod as his own lip trembles.
Placing the sack on the end of Alastair’s bed, he puts out two identical presents. Each one immaculately wrapped in green paper with a red ribbon wrapped around and tied into a bow. The only difference was the glittery tag with their names on in a fancy gold scrawl.
“Here you go.” He hands both boys their presents. When they don't open them immediately, Maxwell urges them. “Well, go on. Open them!”
Both boys take this as permission to tear into the wrapper. Inside they find a plain white box. Excitement building they pull off the lid to both find a set of Mickey Mouse ears. Both of them look perplexed at Santa.
Santa's accent cracks with excitement as he exclaims “You boys are going to Disneyland!”
It took a good hour and a half to calm the boys down and get them to bed. When it finally looked like they would finally go asleep the adults piled out the main door. Mrs Lord turned swiftly to to Din. “Can you watch the boys? Maxwell and I have some business in the motel. Thank you.”
Without giving him time to answer she leaves dragging her husband behind her. Din grins as they disappear from view. He knew exactly what business they had to conduct. He'd conducted the same business with his girlfriend earlier in the day, twice, in the hopes that an urgent business matter wouldn't pop up as he lay pressed into her sleeping form that night with the boys in the other room. Din thought it a very wise decision that the Lords be on the other side of the motel right now. Having heard their business dealings in the past.
When the door to their room closed behind them Maxwell starts pulling off the Santa outfit.
“Max? Could you…?” For the first time in their relationship Maxwell saw his wife look timid.
It took a moment for him to work it out. “Oh! You want me to keep it on?” His surprised tone made Mrs Lord want the ground to swallow her up.
“Would it be too weird? I don't know why you just look…sexy.” Mrs Lord was talking exclusively to her feet now.
Maxwell doesn't answer at first, his fingers are busy doing up a button and fixing his long white beard back in place. When he does it's with the same deep voiced generic American accent from before. “You have been such a good girl this year you deserve a treat. Why don't you sit on my lap and tell me what you would like?”
‘Santa’ sits on the edge of the bed with his legs spread wide. His semi hard cock was already bulging against the red fabric. A white gloved hand patting his firm thigh invitation. Mrs Lord goes to delicately sit on his leg only for him to stop her.
“Not like that, my dear.” Thin cotton strokes the back on her thighs as he encourages her to straddle his thigh. As soon as she sits down he can feel her wetness through the velvet suit.
“There that's better. Now tell Santa what you want.” His large hands guide her hips to start grinding against him.
“Fuck. I wanna come.” Mrs Lord grits out.
Santa tuts at her. “Now, now. No bad language. I don't want to put you on the naughty list. What do you want for Christmas?” His hands grip her harder, dragging her back and forth over his muscular thigh.
“I want….nothing. For once I have it all.” her breathing is picking up as the crushed velvet bunched against her clit through her thin, soaked panties and leggings.
“Really?” Santa smirks clenching his thigh and moving her faster.
“Really. I've always been well off materially. Now I have the love of my life too. What more could I want? Oh, shit. I'm coming.” her fingers dig into the plush fabric of his lapel as she rides out her release.
“What did I say about the bad language? I'm afraid you are on the naughty list.” A gloved hand threads into her hair pulling deliciously at the roots. Using it as leverage he forces her down to her knees.
“I'm sorry, Santa. Can I do something to get back on the nice list?” The fluttering of her eyelashes from between his legs makes Santa’s cock full hard.
“You can be a good girl and help Santa empty his sack.” the hand that isn't in her hair works at pulling out his length.
As soon as it's free, Mrs Lord sucks it like a candy cane, causing Santa to tug on her hair sharply. “Slowly. Santa wants to enjoy this.”
The second his wife's eager mouth engulfed him Maxwell had to think of the worst things he could think of to keep from spilling his sack early. As she slowly takes him, pushing the tight O of his lips down to the base he makes a note to keep the Santa suit in his closet, after he has her cum dry cleaned from the pants.
“Such a good girl. I think you can be back on the nice list. You can even have an early present. You say you couldn't want anything else but I think you do. I think you want the greedy little hole filling. You want Santa to warm your walls with his cum.”
A hum from his wife vibrates right down to his balls and brings Maxwell right to the edge. “Stop. Santa wants to blow his load in that tight cunt.”
Ignoring him, she suckes hard, hollowing her cheeks completely and is rewarded by the salty sweet tang of his cum on her tongue. Santa shudders through his orgasm. A breathy whine leaves him then he is silent for a moment as he catches his breath. When he does, he drags Mrs Lord up by her hair and forces her face down on the bed. “Naughty girl. Now you have to earn your place on the nice list again.”
One large hand keeps her pinned as the other strips away her leggings. Her ass cheeks are exposed to him in her thong. Her flesh stings as Santa delivers a hard slap to the plump flesh of her cheek. The pain shoots to her clit, engorging it further.
“Oh, Santa!” She screams.
Seeing his wife completely lost in the fantasy gets Maxwell half hard in record time. A couple more spanks have him almost all the way there. He loves how much his wife now trusts him to fully let go of her control. It has awoke something inside of him that he never knew was there.
“You know what. I don't think I will put you back on the nice list. I think you will stay on Santa's naughty list and every year I will visit you. I will take out the stress of the night on your body. I will pour it all into your wet pussy.” As he finishes he notches the cum soaked head of his cock at her entrance. He moans deeply as every inch is welcomed by her body. “Touch yourself. Make yourself come on my cock. Soak me while I used your hole for my pleasure, you little fucking slut.”
It's not long before she comes around him. A combination of Santa's words and fat cock, along with her knowing her own body. Santa actually loses count of how many times she comes as he concentrates on filling her as deeply as possible, on having every inch of his cock feel her pussy's kiss. At one point he barely pulls out, just stuffs himself in further and further, harder and faster. His wife's free hand claws the bed as she practically sings ‘oh, god’ like a Christmas carol.
As he nears his peak he finally snaps out of his pussy drunk haze to find that his wife is practically curled up into a ball, shoved right up against the headboard while he had one leg on the floor and one spread across the bed. His hips move impossibly fast as he slams into her. The vulgar sound of his cock filling her sopping channel fills the air along with their moans. “Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Fuck, Baby. I'm gonna come. Fuck. Do you want it? You want my come in your pussy?”
“Fuck, yes. Max!” She gasps.
“What's my name?” Max grits out. “I wanna hear you scream it, you filthy bitch.”
“Santa. I want you to shoot your cum into my greedy hole, Santa. I want to feel it drip out. Come on, Santa, you always have so much for me.” Her own dirty talk pushes her over the edge one more time. She clamps down so hard on Santa's cock that he has no other choice but to fill her. He works himself through it milking as much cum as his can out to plough it deeper into her. He doesn't stop until his cock is completely soft. Once his soft cock slips out of her, she is on him, licking it clean.
Santa puts her on her back to return the favour. Licking up every bit of their cum that has escaped onto her folds before plunging his tongue inside. A ripple of aftershocks runs through her before she pushes him away.
“Merry Christmas, Santa!” Mrs Lord laughs.
Maxwell joins in with her laughter. “If it always ends like that we can have Christmas every month. I'll buy a whole wardrobe of Santa outfits.”
Mrs Lord suddenly stops laughing and Maxwell worries he's said something wrong.
“Was it super weird..that I…you know…got turned on by Santa?”
Maxwell finally pulls off his bread to kiss his wife's forehead. “We all have something that is a little embarrassing.”
“Oh, yeah? So you have some kinky fantasy about an innocent childhood favourite?”
It was Maxwell's turn to look timid. “Oh, you do! I'm sorry I didn't mean…”
“No. It's okay. I told you it was fine so I don't mind.” Maxwell takes a deep breath and releases it. “Tinkerbell.”
“Tinkerbell? From Peter Pan?”
“Her thighs and hips are so full and that tiny little skirt. Plus she's very head strong. I like that in a woman.” Maxwell's hand that was absently stroking her back gave her arm a pointed squeeze.
Mrs Lord turned her head to beam up at him. “Well, thank you for sharing. Maybe Tinkerbell and Santa can team up and make a little magic sometime?”
“Hmm. I like that.” Maxwell practically growled before kissing her deeply.
“Wait. Does this mean I have to keep an eye on you at Disneyland?” Maxwell answered her question by playfully swatting her ass.
The two of them dissolved into giggles.
The Lord's laughter floated up to the second floor where another set of lovers were wrapped in each other's arms.
“They are pretty cute together. Huh? They have something special.” Dieter comments.
“They are not the only ones. They are just more open about it.” Oberyn stares at the curls forming at the nape of Dieter's sweat soaked neck intently waiting for his response.
Dieter knows his paramour all too well. He can feel those intense brown eyes willing him to see him how he sees him. Not how he thinks the world does. Some drugged up, washed up actor. A loser.
“Don't.” Oberyn can practically hear the negative thoughts in Dieter's tousled head. “Don't go there. Stay with me.” Dieter shudders as Oberyn kisses that spot on his neck.
Everyone in the motel knew that there was something between the two of them. None of them knew the depth of it. None of them knew for the first time in either man's life that they actually felt like they knew what true love was. Neither of them had been looking for it the night they stumped back to Oberyn's room. Dieter just wanted to suck the hot Dom's cock. Oberyn just wanted to use those pretty lips while he held onto that soft hair. After that they met up regularly and the sex was electric. If a client didn't scratch their itch completely they'd seek each other out and fuck until they were spent. Then came the pillow talk. Both of them lowered their defences and would talk about anything and everything until the early hours. Slowly they became more to each other. It all went unspoken until Dieter suggested a new position. When Oberyn had an earth shattering orgasm with his face hovering over Dieter's he couldn't help the words that came out. “I love you.”
When Dieter froze like a deer in headlights, Oberyn moved to pull out and nurse his broken heart.
He stopped when Dieter grabbed his hand. “Ryn...” his voice failed him, choked back with all the emotion. “...I…I love you, too.”
From then on they were even more inseparable.
“I know what you think but I promise you no one else thinks that.” Oberyn pulled Dieter tighter into his arms as if he could squeeze the truth into him.
“No one else knows that you are a prince.” Dieter huffed.
“Mi rey, I am the illegitimate bastard child of a disgraced member of the Royal family. Hardly a prince.” Oberyn scoffs, continuing his trail of kisses down his lover's back.
“Technically you are.” Dieter pouts knowing he is losing the argument and with Oberyn's attention on him, the will to even argue.
“Mi rey, they already know we are together. They are happy for us. I would just like to hold your hand at dinner tomorrow like the Lords will be. Is that too much to ask?” While he spoke Oberyn gently turned Dieter in his arms. His full lips were now making a path across Dieter's chest.
Oberyn taking an eager nipple in his mouth and sucking is all it takes to get the answers he desires. “Fuck. Okay. Fine. You win, Ryn. We'll hold hands. Now just fuck me please!”
Oberyn's well groomed moustache twitches as he hides a smirk. “With pleasure, my love.”
The Lords stare up at the ceiling that may actually be in danger of caving in from the way the light fixture is shaking above their heads. Deep guttural groans fill the air as the bed slams into the wall and the bed springs squeak.
“I can't believe they really think we don't know about them.” Mrs Lord laughs.
“There is a big difference between sex and love, Mi Amor.”
“That's true but the sex is even better with a connection. That's why we were always so good together. I swear I knew I was going to love you before I did.”
Din thinks to himself. ‘The best laid plans…’ With the boys asleep and the door between their rooms firmly shut. He found his cock buried inside his girlfriend, his large hand suppressing her moans as he whispers in her ear. “Keep quiet for me, Baby.”, “That's it, just take it nice and slow.”, “Can you come for me like this? Or do you need my fingers?”
Turns out she did need his fingers but only to suck on to keep her quiet as she came around him. Din whimpered as he pulled out to finish himself off. He needed it hard and fast to finish and he couldn't guarantee that the bed wouldn't make a noise if he fucked her like he needed.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He breathes against his fist he gets closer. His girlfriend covering the tip with her warm, pretty mouth is the last straw as he gives her the cum she's waiting for, his teeth firmly in his fist to hold back his ecstatic groans.
After the adults all thoroughly enjoy Christmas eve, it's time for the kids to enjoy Christmas morning. The presents that Din snuck in in the night sat under the tree signalling that Santa had been. The boys ran to wake up their respective grown ups with eager chants of ‘It's Christmas!”
Four tired but happy adults filed into the room to watch their boys open their gifts. They were so appreciative of each one and complemented each other on their cool gifts.
“We are very lucky men indeed.” Maxwell nudges Din with his shoulder as they watch on.
Din, who feels like he's finally found everything that he'd been searching for just nods in agreement, not trusting his voice in the moment.
Dinner time rolls around and everyone starts arriving at the reception hall. The new maitre d’,Paul, is there to welcome and seat them. The round table had all been pushed into a circle for everyone to sit around the outside. Each table was festively decorated with sparkling silver and white decorations. Lights hung from the ceiling rippled in various patterns.
Jack and his girlfriend arrive first, with the news that Jack has asked her to move into his ranch home with him. Silva and his husband Jake are next. There are a few questioning looks as they arrive as Jake hadn't visited the motel before.
Silva formally introduces everyone before Jake steps forward to address the Lords. “Thank you so much. Without this job Silva and I would have lost our home.” When they look puzzled he continues “I was injured at work a while back. My insurance did cover all of the medical bills plus Silva had to take some time off work to nurse me back to health. Without the generous pay from here, I don't know where we would be. Thank you.”
Maxwell takes Jake's outstretched hand. “You are most welcome. I'm glad we could help you both.”
The handshake moves to a shoulder slapping hug before Paul seats them.
Moreno and Pike arrive together. Moreno is followed by an excited tween. Her head full of curls bounces with each skip she takes closer. She is introduced as Missy with a proud smile on his father's face. Pike is next to introduce his companion. The Lords know he is nervous about bringing her here. Pike doesn't have the best track record when it comes to women. He swears this one is different, he can feel it. The Lords make sure to be extra welcoming to his guest. They see a relieved Pike relax into his chair when he clearly happy date sits and chats to more of the guests. (If only Marcus knew that he'd be telling their twelve grandchildren that story one day after decades of blissful married life.)
Even though they are the ones that lived closest, Dieter and Oberyn arrived last. Even after Joel who didn't have the best time keeping. They walked in, hand in hand and took their seats with the others all exchanged amused glances.
Santos outdoes himself with the festive feast he puts on. The smell alone could keep you fed. Rich gravies, aromatic meat and seasoned veg make everyone's mouth water as they are set out on the long table for everyone to help themselves. After everyone is thoroughly satisfied, in a different way than usual at the motel, the atmosphere is relaxed and happy. People chat in groups and pairs. Laughter fills the air from adults and children alike. Couples, new and more established, hold hands and cuddle into each other. Families, both by blood and found, embraced and celebrated. Love filled the space.
The motel was created to fulfil the wishes of those that visited. It was only fitting that it also fulfilled the ones of those who found a home there. By the end of the night, much to Mrs Lord's delight, Santa made another appearance. After over indulging in a little too much Christmas spirit he was helped to his room by Joel and Din. As he was carried out of sight he exclaimed “Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!”
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“In the 43 years that I’ve spent in a small cell at San Quentin, I’ve felt grass under my feet only five times.
The first time was after I had spent seven years in the isolation unit because I refused to cut my hair. I’m Monache and Cherokee. They punished me despite the fact that it’s my tradition and spiritual belief as a Native American to grow my hair long.
But outside the isolation unit there was a row of grass that they really took care of. As the guards led me out of that building, I stepped off the concrete path so I could feel the grass and dirt under my feet. The smell and feel of grass is still part of me.
I'm sure most free people don’t even realize that they take something like that for granted, but it’s the little things that I cherish the most. I often think back to growing up at Big Sandy — the coyotes and foxes, the geese and deer and wild turkeys. There were 17 of us living together in three cabins, and it only cost about $80 a month to feed us. We ate venison, rabbit and turkey, and we had a garden. We always had homemade biscuits, tortillas, frybread and cornbread, and there were always beans cooking on the back of the potbellied stove. Those thoughts, along with the self-discipline I’ve developed in here, have helped sustain me.
I can say that conditions in the isolation unit have changed since 1980, when I was there for the first time. Back then, there was a hole in the floor for a toilet. The toilets were supposed to be flushed once every 24 hours, but they rarely were.
We were supposed to get 1,500 calories a day. But we got one meatball in the morning and one at night with half a slice of bread. Anytime people acted up, the guards would pepper spray them. Sometimes, guards would spray people just to see how they’d react.
Guards would also take our mattresses in the morning and give them back at night — presumably because they didn’t want inmates destroying them. But nine times out of 10 you wouldn’t get your mattress back. It would be someone else’s, and there might be feces on it or urine on it. After five times, I told them, “No, I don’t want a mattress anymore.” I haven’t had one since then. I just fold a blanket in half and sleep on it. I also haven’t had a pillow — I use a roll of toilet paper, and I’m comfortable with that.
In the death-row cells where I’ve spent most of my time, I’m still in isolation — it’s just not as bad. My current cell is roughly 4 1/2 feet by 10 feet. Along with my toilet, bed and sink, I’ve got a shelf, two lights and a typewriter. I have some CDs and a CD player with a radio. I also have some photos and eight posters of Harley Davidsons. My dad was a biker.
But I’m still locked up all the time, and I don’t come out unless I’m handcuffed. I go to the shower, I’m handcuffed. I go to medical or the yard, I’m handcuffed. A guard is always watching. It’s like I’m in a zoo.
We do have Native worship services at San Quentin, but our religious adviser doesn’t do it right. He has a sacred pipe that he allows everybody to touch, and that’s bad medicine. You’re not supposed to touch the pipe or anything sacred like that if you have blood on your hands. If you’ve killed someone in self-defense or to protect your family or your property, that’s one thing. But if you kill somebody just to kill, it’s called having blood on your hands. That’s why I go to other worship services, so I can absorb other teachings and learn about different religions.
We used to have four powwows a year. Tribes from the Bay Area and all the way up north would offer buffalo, elk, venison and fish. Now we’re lucky if we have one powwow per year. The reason is that the religious adviser would tell the tribes we were going to have a powwow on a certain date and after the tribes caught fish and deer for it, he’d say, “Well, now we’re going to have it next month.” You can’t do that.
When we did have a powwow, we’d get a two-ounce serving of salmon and everything else would be prison food. The prison wouldn’t allow people to bring in buffalo meat because they said bones were a security risk. They could just take the meat off the bone and then bring it in, but they won’t do that. You’ve got these brothers and sisters in the free world going out and getting it for us, and we can’t have it.
Meanwhile, my daily routine is the same as it has been for decades. I wash up, make sure my cell is clean, then I say my prayers and I meditate for 20 minutes to an hour. After that, I turn on the radio, exercise, maybe type a letter and get my breakfast. I work on my case for about three hours a day. We have a law library, but you have to get on a list, so you might go once a month. Every week, we can put in requests for a law book we need. You may be placed on a waiting list for the book, but it's better than nothing.
I go to the yard with other people twice a week for a total of six hours — unless it’s foggy or there’s been an incident and we’re in lockdown. I get to shower for 15 minutes every other day with a guard standing by. Otherwise, I’m in my cell.
Since my sentence was reduced to life without possibility of parole in 2019, I have the option of transferring to a cell in the general population. But I’d have to go to a Level 4 maximum security unit where there’s a lot of violence. Other inmates would want to test me because I’ve been on death row.
I also have the option of moving to a different prison, but my legal team is in this area. I might end up 500 miles away; that would make it harder for them to come and see me when they have to.
And so, I await a court date. It could be in a month, it could be in six months. We don’t know. Meanwhile, I just try to be the best person I can be so that I’m content with myself and can go to sleep at night and say, “Well, I did a good day. I didn’t do anybody wrong, I didn’t lie to anybody.”
People have asked me, “How did you make it through 43 years in prison?” And I say, “By being Native.” Being Native gives me the strength to overcome all of this — not just for me, but for all our brothers and sisters. Society cannot break our spirit.”
- DOUGLAS RAY STANKEWITZ as told to RICHARD ARLIN WALKER, “California’s Longest Serving Death-Row Prisoner On Pain, Survival and Native Identity.” The Marshall Project. March 18, 2022.
#san quentin#san quentin prison#life inside#words from the inside#life prisoner#life sentence#solitary confinement#monache#cherokee#indigenous people#life in prison#california prisons#american prison system#crime and punishment#death row#american indians
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So Good [0.1]
Masterlist
A/N: Hello, this is another new project I've had lurking in the scenes for a while. It's meant to serve as a sequel to Yoü & I, though it works as a definite stand alone. I have this vice where I love putting a lot of angst in my stories -- mostly the "will they won't they" plot line tangled with challenging personal comforts or societal expectations and this story will have a lot of that. I hope you all like it, and any new readers I can bring to my platform are more than welcome to hang out, come chat, pop open a soda if you like :)
Summary: When BTS made their American debut, Namjoon was expecting throngs of screaming fans swarming the stadiums; he was expecting intense media coverage, three or four hours of sleep per night, and his boys’ endless shenanigans. He wasn't expecting to become captivated by Kimberly Rothstein on stage, the bassist for the then up-and-coming girl band taking the world by storm.
Purple text is Korean
Warnings: none yet, future spoilers for Yoü & I
November 19th, 2017
Namjoon was seriously beginning to regret wearing his leather jacket.
It was still light outside as they posed for pictures on the carpet and the sun was burning more intensely than he had prepared for. He was left feeling stifled and uncomfortable, a sharp contrast to the cool dressing room he was getting ready in an hour ago. Namjoon was grateful at least he'd remembered to wear a pair of comfortable shoes for the carpet photos, the band had already been standing out there for well over thirty minutes, shuffling between flashing cameras to three-minute interviews.
Stepping inside was an instant cooling relief. He puffed his hair off his forehead by the time they were in the venue, annoyed as his hair product wasn't holding like it should've. He wondered what he'd look like if he buzzed all of his hair off or changed his style completely. As they were ushered over to their seats, Namjoon was considering their upcoming performance, mentally making notes off all his own weak points to ensure everything ran smoothly. This was their American debut after all, everything had to be just perfect.
"Do they serve snacks?" Jungkook asked, gazing around the room at the throngs of people filing in. Namjoon wasn't sure if he was looking for a particular celebrity or a concession stand.
Taehyung bumped him, "What, you think we're at the movies?" he scolded.
Jimin piped in, "They serve 'em at sports arenas!"
"This isn't a sports arena, guys!" Namjoon scolded them, "Besides, we already ate at the hotel, and we can eat after the show,"
"But --!" Jungkook began, though he relented when Namjoon gave him the look. The look that reminded him that he, all of them, had to be professional. Jungkook sat back in his seat.
Hobi nudged the younger boy, pulling a bag of trail mix out of his pocket, "Don't worry, I got us covered," he smiled as Jungkook's face lit up.
Namjoon couldn't help but snigger at them, lifting his gaze back to the stage, his knee was bouncing as he was eager to see the show proceed on. More people were filing in in front of them, some more famous faces he recognized, some he didn't.
In the row before them a group of four girls shuffled their way in, their chatter lost in the buzz around them. The first was a striking Latina, Namjoon could assume she was the leader of the group from the way she carried herself, slipped past people to make a trail for her girls. Behind her was a mousy brunette, slender and unassuming, she appeared quite shy as she held herself whilst following the first girl. Her friend in behind had brightly dyed hair, half neon green half fiery pink, holding hands with the last girl behind her. Namjoon swallowed hard when he got a look at her.
He knew it could have only lasted for a few seconds, that there was no way in which the consistency of time could have altered for him and his own sudden and ridiculous infatuation, he could have sworn then, just for a moment, as he laid eyes on her for the first time, that all the chaos fell deadly still around him and begged him to notice her.
And notice her he did.
Her captivating smile and the tiny creases around her eyes as she laughed at her friend's joke drew him in instantly. Her thick burnt chestnut curls bounced loosely around her shoulders, the strobing purple lights were complimented against her dark complexion.
The girls came to a stop right in front of them and took their seats. As if she could feel the way in which he took her in, she slowly turned to face him, catching Namjoon off guard. He blinked once or twice, just to have something to do besides marvel at her and bit the inside of his cheek to confirm he wasn't dreaming, but now certain that she was looking at him, that her smile was for him -- he just about melted.
He studied the details of her heart-shaped face. Her brown eyes held a particular glimmer to them, her lips full, naturally deep pink in color and her delicate nose piercing twinkled under the light. She had a button nose and thin but smart eyebrows which framed her face perfectly. She wore a little black dress, the material of the skirt hugged her shape perfectly, the top half of her covered by a cropped leather jacket with big, clunky pinned adorning the right sleeve.
There was an abundant softness about her that made him inhale sharply, a gentility that made him feel as if he'd damage her from the intensity of his stare though she still gave off an ember of effervescent vibrance when she turned the corners of her lips up in a soft smile, his heart thudding against his ribcage just from the bravery in the way she held his gaze.
"Woah!" the girl in front of her suddenly gaped, breaking Namjoon out of his spell, "You guys are BTS, right?" the two girls in front of her turned around as well.
She was speaking in front of Suga, the shyer blonde looked both ways before nodding sheepishly, "Uh... yes! Yes," he then looked to Namjoon.
Clearing his throat, Namjoon spoke, "Sorry, they don't speak much English. Yeah, that's us," he nodded to the four of them.
The neon girl shook her other friend's shoulder, "Girl, remember I told you about these guys? They're the big boyband from Korea!"
The mousy brunette lit up, "Oh, right! Nice to meet you guys!"
Jimin looked up at her, leaning forward in his seat, " -- You too," he nodded, beaming with his big, toothy grin at her, "... You are... very... beautiful,"
The brunette giggled, flattered and taken aback, clinging to the back of her seat so she could face him properly, "Thank you. So are you," she awed. Jimin exclaimed happily, thanking her bashfully.
Neon girl turned back to Namjoon, "Is this your first time in America?" she asked.
"No, but this'll be our first performance on a big --" he waved his hands at the stage, "TV show like this,"
"I bet you guys will do great," the last girl finally spoke, her voice crisp and honeyed as she continued to smile at him.
"Thank you," he smiled back, forcing as much confidence into his voice as he could, holding out his hand, "Namjoon,"
"Kimberly," she reached forward to shake his hand, then looked to her friends, "And this is Chloe, Charlotte, and Maria," she listed her girls off by order. Maria was at the end, already piecing together some conversation with Jungkook and Taehyung.
He introduced his bandmates as well, he was hit with the sudden awareness that he was experiencing one of those grand moments which you were supposed to fully absorb and remember every detail of, pay attention to every sense so that you could recall or retell it when you were nostalgic, when you missed it, longed for the time and place of that situation instead, but he couldn't focus properly.
"You guys are a band?" he asked.
Hobi awed at him as the words barely left his mouth, "Of course they're a band! They're Catch the Caper you dummy!" he scolded.
Namjoon glowered at him, "Well, I don't know that, I'm just making conversation," he replied, "You wanna' try?"
Hobi looked at Kimberly and Chloe, but he shook his head, laughing bashfully, "No. My English not good,"
"I think you're doing just swell," Chloe replied, turning to Namjoon, "How do you say 'good job' in Korean?"
Namjoon simpered, "Jalhaess-eoyo,"
Chloe opened her mouth but closed it swiftly, shaking her head, "Mm, nope. I'm gonna' insult somebody," she chuckled as she pulled out her phone and swiped for the translate app, "Here, we'll do this instead,"
Kimberly turned back to Namjoon, smiling bashfully, "You're lucky. You missed out on her Rosetta Stone phase when we were in Japan," she said, leaning forward against her chair back, "And to answer your previous question: we are Catch the Caper. Perhaps you've heard of us?"
"I'm ashamed to say I have not. But I guess we'll fix that, right?" he didn't mean to come off so cocky, it had just sort of slipped out as a defence mechanism against the nervous knotting in his stomach, but he admired a firm nod to show that he was happy in his choice, ignored Suga's snigger from the left and tried to keep up the act of being unfazed by her.
Kimberly raised her eyebrows and suppressed a giggle that was fighting to make it easy out at the way he drawled his words, every syllable touched by confidence and a slight hint of his accent. His lips pulled into a challenging smirk; his bravado was undeniable, but she couldn't help but think he was contrastingly soft at the same time, each consuming feature of him seemingly met with a delicate counterpart.
"I hope so,"
She knew who he was as Chloe had gone on and on about him and the rest of BTS, she knew what to expect, though he still managed to take her completely by surprise, his voice and presence she found exciting all at once. His hair was perfectly messy, buzzed shorter in the back and dyed honey blonde given his dark roots, the longer strands falling over his sharp brown eyes that were inquisitive and clearly studying her back. He wore a black t-shirt that was cut just below his collar bones, black jeans and a leather jacket, and a simple silver ring on his finger. She had felt it, the cool of the metal pressing against her palm when she shook his hand.
"Anybody you hoping to meet tonight?" he asked her.
Kimberly tilted her head as she thought about it, "If I can muster the courage... Diana Ross. But if I can't, I'll settle for Selena Gomez,"
Namjoon's eyes went wide, "Wait, Diana Ross is here?" he glanced around at the front of the stage.
She glanced behind her momentarily, "They're honouring her tonight. I wanna' go say 'hi' later but I'm not sure..." she shrugged sheepishly, turning her attention back to Namjoon with a flick of her head and tried not to get caught up in his eyes.
"I'll go with you later, if you like," he offered, the words left him before he could even reason with himself.
Kimberly chuckled, "Maybe, sure," she couldn't tell whether he was kidding with her or he was serious, nevertheless decided that it was simply wishful thinking.
"So, I know this one's a fan," he nodded to Chloe, who was wrapped up in a google translate conversation with Hobi, "Do you know our music?" Kimberly titled her head into her palm to respond.
"Well, Chlo's been playing your record almost every second of every day," she replied, "And she showed me a few videos. Do you really dance that fast?"
"You don't think we can?" he raised a brow, his tone coming off teasing.
"I never said that," she chuckled back, "But she showed me some of the moves for... oh gosh, what was it? There was a lot of like --" she started bouncing her shoulders and moving her arms up and down, not quite as stiffly as a robot.
Namjoon knew he could never perform Not Today the same way after seeing the enthusiasm in her eyes, could picture her in the crowd or at the side of the stage, her hips moving to the beat. He wondered then if he'd be able to see her from the stage tonight, if she'd keep that fearless eye contact that was slowly driving him crazy.
"I think that's the dance for Not Today," he nodded.
"Yeah, that was it!" she replied, her lips twitching with playfulness, "And I think I did not too bad of a job,"
"Not bad at all," he chuckled, "Maybe you could come do back up for us one of these days?"
Kimberly's cheeks were still burning but she gave him a tentative smile. She could tell from the corner of her eye that Maria and Charlotte were watching her, likely smirking to themselves.
"Well, I'll be here if you ever need to call out, Namjoon," she replied.
He was convinced his heart was going to crack his ribs just from the way it pounded in his chest when she said his name, the way it rolled off of her tongue and sounded more interesting that he'd ever considered it to be.
"I like that you don't know everything, though," he marvelled softly, clearing his throat again, "Means the show will be a bit of a surprise,"
She nodded back like she understood him, about to tell him she was excited to watch him perform when the lights began to dim and the ushers called out for everyone to take their seats. The show was about to start. Nevertheless, Kimberly leaned further over the chair backing to mutter quickly to him;
"I can't wait to see it," she turned around properly in her seat, as did the rest of the girls, and sat back as the opener was about to hit the stage. Namjoon tried to relax in his chair, flinching as he felt Hobi elbow him.
"She likes you," he whispered hoarsely.
Namjoon refrained from rolling his eyes, "Shut up,"
In between performances and acceptance speeches, Kimberly would turn and strike up another conversation with Namjoon, trying to keep her enthusiasm subtle. And he prayed he could keep his own elation at bay, tried to keep his composure calm but every new little thing he learned about her his fascination for her only grew.
Noticing things about Kimberly became an activity of immense enjoyment and fulfilment. There were freckles peaking out under her makeup, and tiny, almost unnoticeable indents around her nose and her lip where piercings used to be. Her fingers were slender, decorated with a series of thin gold rings which matched those in her ears and her nails were painted in a periwinkle silver that reminded him of the clouds he'd complained about before, and decided he would never complain about again.
And then there were tattoos, placed sporadically in places he could just make out. Once she took her jacket off they became much more visible, and while she didn't have as many as Charlotte clearly had, Namjoon couldn't help but take interest in them.
"I like your tattoos," he said.
"Thanks," she nodded, "You got any?"
"Just one," he lifted his knee and rested his foot on the edge of his seat, lifting his pant leg to reveal the crisp 7 on his ankle.
"Cool. You want another one?"
"Not right now. What about you?"
"Maybe. I got too many ideas and that's dangerous," she laughed. One of the most curious she had was a collection of very detailed flowers wrapped around her forearm.
"This flower one is cool," he said, leaning forward and suddenly touching her arm.
He hadn't intended to get that close, or strike over the tattoo with his fingertip even but he was now, following the trail of ink of the petals. He licked his lips as he suddenly realized what he was doing, driven crazy by the realization that he was touching her, could feel the tension of the moment lining his gut and he blinked and swallowed a couple of times. Being so close to her, he could inhale her scent finally, there were notes of sandalwood, jasmine, and vanilla and he couldn't help but lose his mind in the bliss of it.
Kimberly couldn't breathe, didn't understand what he was doing or if he even know what he was doing, but her heart was pounding faster than what should've been possible. His fingertip was slightly calloused and she curious to know why, wondering about whether he was good with his hands and she suddenly had the craving for a strong drink.
"They're asters," she mumbled suddenly, her breath caught in her throat.
"What?" he asked, lifting his eyes slowly back to hers after staring at the tattoo for so long.
His eyes were incredible.
Namjoon's eyes were darker now but the light was still there, shining and indicative. She sat back on her knees so that his hand dropped and smoothed her hair behind her ears to cover up her fluster.
As the moment slipped away, Namjoon could feel his ears turning red with embarrassment, heard the small snigger from Jin, felt Maria's eyes on him. He sat back in his seat.
"Aster flowers. They're are representative of wisdom and royalty," Kimberly nodded, "It's the birth flower for September,"
"No way," he marvelled, "My birthday's in September!" he was both excited by the prospect of changing the subject and at the coincidence she had a tattoo that was linked to him.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jin, who was clearly having fun watching his friend struggle, could read from the way he was acting just how enamoured he was with Kimberly and could see she'd been affected by him too. But Jin kept his mouth shut, nodding enthusiastically to Namjoon to help him out a little.
"Yeah, well, so's my mom's..." Kimberly responded, the corners of her lips turned up at his excitement.
"Well, what would be the odds?" he chuckled back, the light shining in Kimberly's eyes reflecting at him and making him feel flustered. Across the row Taehyung had called for his attention, wanting him to translate something for him and Maria.
With Namjoon distracted, Kimberly found the courage to meet Charlotte's stare at last, look her best friend in the eyes and have one of their telepathic conversations.
She gazed knowingly at the bassist, he likes you.
She rolled her eyes, stop it.
The judgement and intrigue in Charlotte's expression wasn't hard to read and Kimberly knew that she had been watching her the entire time, had seen her flinch when he came close, had seen the bright flush of her face, watched her turn giddy and giggly like a school-girl, but she shook her head back at her to brush off anything more she could suggest.
Namjoon came back a moment later, smiling politely, his eyes crinkled and narrowed and his hand narrowly missed the arm rest as he sat down. Kimberly giggled at his clumsy. His eyes traced the outline of the tattoo again as he made his way back to her eyes.
"So..." he mumbled.
"So..." she smiled back.
"What's your birth flower, Kimberly?" he drawled, wrinkling his sharp nose at her, "Maybe I get yours tattooed on me and we'll match,"
The laugh.
He watched her shoulders shake, her hair bounce as creases appeared around her eyes, the giggle that turned into exuberant laughter, her tiny snort of amusement at the end flushing her cheeks all over again and he was consumed. He knew he wasn't in love exactly, but he loved the feeling of seeing happiness coursing through her, couldn't shake the way it him illogically happy.
"Red geranium," she chuckled at last.
"What month's that?"
"November 4th, 1996," she replied with a grin. She knew he'd want every detail eventually and found herself simultaneously wanting him to know.
"Happy birthday," he nodded, making a mental note, "What's the word again, when you wish someone a late birthday?"
"Belated,"
"Right. Thank you,"
Kimberly's face ached from smiling. When she looked back into those brown eyes, the word dreamy was the first that came to mind and he was charming, handsome too, so ridiculously handsome it made her stomach knot. Every word he spoke she found herself paying attention to each syllable, a sense of warmth and comfort in the natural timbre of his drawl, a hint of intelligence in the way he spoke. She wonder if it was obvious that she was hooked on knowing him, on the suspense of what if.
"So... your tour's been good?" she asked. There was something about him that provided a deeper level of interest and intrigue than she was used to, his Tony movements and the way his eyes lit up when he spoke exciting. She crossed her heels behind her.
"So far. I mean, I'm tired..." he mumbled, laughing at himself, "But I enjoy it a lot,"
"Me too," she tutted, "We must be insane,"
"But the travelling is the biggest perk for me," he noted.
"Oh, for sure. But... I also value my sleep," she chuckled.
"Not a morning person?" he asked.
"Not at all," she shook her head, "You?"
"I've kind of had to become one with these guys. But I prefer to get naps in," he told her, flicking his eyebrows up, "... a lot,"
She laughed, picturing his lumbering figure curled up in a tour bus or small couch while everyone else was wide awake, or him with his head lolling onto someone's shoulder. She wondering if he snored, if he was a peaceful sleeper, if he tossed and turned in the night.
"But I love putting on a good show for everybody -- how tired I get doesn't matter when I'm up there, you know?"
She nodded, but he internally scolded himself. Of course she had to know, but then he couldn't wrap his head around how this tiny, humble girl could transform into a rockstar and give stunning performances when she had a bass guitar and people were screaming for her. Of course she had to appreciate the energy and the passion they both had for music.
"Oh, absolutely. Some of our fanbase is still pretty young, but seeing them get so passionate and inspired at our shows... it's all worth it," she mired, "Where are you off to after this?"
"To my hotel, probably,"
She simpered, "I mean where are you traveling next?"
Namjoon scratched at his nose in thought.
"Uhh... we got some more shows across Europe and then we head back home for the holidays for a couple weeks. After that we tour back through Asia..."
"What part's your favourite?" she asked.
"Singapore for sure. So friggin' beautiful," he smiled.
"Oh, yeah! Darius went last year!" Kimberly chirped, glancing peripherally at Charlotte, "He wouldn't stop going on about it,"
Darius?
"Wait, I might've missed something," he chuckled awkwardly, glancing at the other faces in the aisle than raising his brows in confusion, "Who's Darius?"
"Right -- sorry. My boyfriend,"
He flinched.
No.
No way.
Namjoon felt his heart sink, his jaw drop a little and he tensed to stop himself from overreacting.
"Oh, you got a boyfriend?" he nearly sputtered in shock.
He could feel all the eyes in the room seemingly burning into him. Jin, not really able to keep up with their conversation, could nevertheless recognize the defeat in Namjoon's face, and he seemed just as surprised and almost as heartbroken as he was. Charlotte was suddenly attentive to their conversation, Chloe and Maria were still attempting to keep the rest of the guys' attention occupied. But worst of all was Kimberly's expression, blinking brightly like her words hand't just cursed him entirely.
"... Do I not look like I have a boyfriend?" she laughed. There was a hint of feigned insult in her voice but he could tell she was only joking.
"I didn't mean it like that," he clamoured hastily, holding his hands up in defence, "It's just... you took me off guard, is all..."
"Right..." she continued slowly, trying to read his reaction. HIs head dipped a little now, that fearless eye contact broken and she felt bad for a split second that she hadn't clarified the detail the had obviously upset him, panicked at the thought she'd accidentally given him the wrong idea somewhere amongst their conversation, "I'm sorry, I should've said something..."
"No, it's okay," he muttered, fiddling with his ring anxiously before he found the courage to meet her gaze again, "You said he had a good time? In Singapore?"
"Yeah," Kimberly nodded back, forcing a smile through the lull in conversation.
A silence filled the air and she tried to think of something, anything to say that would ease the tension she was sure she'd unintentionally created. The tension was clear to both bands, awkward and still. Chloe and Hobi just looked blankly at each other, Suga and Taehyung were confused as they tried to figure out what was happening, Charlotte had averted her gaze from Jimin to the ground and Maria and Jungkook were still trying to have some sort of conversation to keep the spirit up. Right on cue, one of the venue ushers approached the girl band, letting them know it was time for them to hit the stage.
"Okay, let's go girls," Maria called, patting Charlotte on the back.
Jungkook cleared his throat, "Good luck," he said, scratching at his neck awkwardly as he looked to Namjoon. Charlotte, Chloe and Kimberly stood up and began to file after Maria. Kimberly gave Namjoon one last fleeting glance, guilt clouding her gaze. Nevertheless he smiled at her, wishing her well.
"Break a leg," he said, trying to keep his shaky composure together.
He couldn't decide what he wanted now, thought that her watching his set and vice versa would be too agonizing now that the prospect of having her fully to himself was off the table. However, she was still full of vivacity and warmth, she still smiled at him like she'd known him her entire life, he still needed to be close to her, to know her.
"Thanks. You too," she nodded back confidently.
As they filed out of the row, Maria took Kimberly's arm and leant in close to her, dropping her voice so nobody else would hear.
"Babe, I think you just broke his heart,"
"Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, this is Catch the Caper,"
Only a few of the boys had heard of Catch the Caper, thanks to Hobi of course. They were all fascinated as the staging lights flickered white, illuminating the girls' silhouettes as the dimming lifted. A peaking guitar melody was the set up for Charlotte's heavy and heavenly voice as she opened the verse for their newest hit, 'Airhead'. Maria's guitar played heavily against the reverberation of Kimberly's bass. It was a different song that stood out from the performance line up, extremely reminiscent of the 2000s pop punk scene though nevertheless, it was clear that the self-depricaing banger had everyone by their necks.
There was no doubt in Namjoon's mind why the girls were garnering so much love and hype, their new rock sound pulled from influences like Bush and Amy Winehouse. Charlotte was a powerful singer, she could give whiplash from how quickly she switched from being soft and moody to bombastically powerful and direct in her lyrics. Maria was a passionate guitarist, hyping up the crowd before her while hitting zinging chords, all the while Chloe's pink and green hair flew wild as she drummed away, ardent but precise in every beat. And then there was Kimberly, off to stage right but involved nonetheless as she played, moving on the stage almost as much as Charlotte was.
He was transfixed by her yet again, her curls bounced fervently, her slim fingers picking away in her detailed harmonic rhythm. The lights began to flash from black to white, nearly blinding him, and he knew there was no way she could find him from up there. Nevertheless from the way she looked out into the crowd, her eyes darted across the audience as though she was doing just that. Namjoon diverted his gaze as much as he could, focusing on Charlotte hammering a high note in the chorus.
The electricity in the air was contagious. Jimin was the first in the band to jump out of his seat and start cheering them on. He and the rest of the venue had been infected with the darker pop rock energy the girls brought to a show, traditionally having been made up of performances of EDM pop hits or hip hop bangers. Not that the mashup with Khalid and Imagine Dragons wasn't great, because it was, but Catch the Caper had this spark of an element that had been missing from the music charts for a while.
The set closed out with Maria's electric guitar solo, paired with an enthusiastic drum solo from Chloe; the girl nearly knocked over her drum kit from how hard she was rocking out. Charlotte's outro was peppy and sizzling, a brutal admission of self destructive behaviour and bad habits that had to be kicked for her own good.
The adrenaline pumping through Namjoon for his own show, paired with his rapid-beating heart after their performance sat unwell with the nervousness he felt watching Kimberly. He marvelled at her talent, he never would've figured such a rock icon would be hiding within her sweet girl persona.
He wondered if it was wrong to still appreciate her even though he was broken over not being able to have her, if her boyfriend was the jealous and possessive type, if she even knew how deeply affected by her he was.
The girls took their bow and ran off stage, and no sooner did BTS have time to recover from that shock to their adrenaline when another usher approached, letting them know it was their time to get ready.
There was a brief lull whilst equipment was being swapped around and the stage was being reset for the next artist. The boys were in the green room, swapping out their black and white ensembles for something more colourful and eye catching. The energy was paralleling excitement and anxiety, the pressure of having to put on a good show for the Americans was weighing heavy on all of them.
Jin however was curious. As he loosely knotted his neck tie he strolled over to Namjoon while he sprayed some holding product in his hair.
"You look like you're about to be sick," he said.
Namjoon shook his head, "Nah, I'm good," to make his point, he set the can of hair product down and jumped up and down a few times, "I'm hyped. I'm ready,"
Jin chuckled under his breath, "Are you sure? I saw your face with Kimberly earlier,"
Namjoon scoffed, "Yeah, I think everybody did,"
Jin huffed, bringing a hand down on the younger boy's shoulder, giving him a small, rough squeeze.
"Joon, do you like her?"
"I don't know..." he shrugged off Jin's hand, "Not like I can do anything about it,"
"Because of her boyfriend?" he asked.
"And our contracts," he huffed back, checking his appearance in the mirror, popping his jacket collar, "No public dating,"
It was a sad, but in some cases, necessary truth. Dating in the idol world was considered a big no-no, for branding and investment reasons. While it sounded a little barbaric to some, the numbers for the record labels held true that BTS' public image of being 'single and available' was great for income. Namjoon had had a few relationships in his life nonetheless, some serious, some not so serious, but all of that came to a halt when the band really took off at the beginning of the year.
Jin tutted, muttering quietly to him, "Namjoon, do you like Kimberly?" he asked again.
"... I guess I do," he replied.
"Well, there's no harm in getting to know her... on a basic level," he nodded, winking at Namjoon encouragingly, "Not that you heard it from me," his glance switched to their tour manager who was thick in conversation with Suga, not paying either of the other boys any mind.
Namjoon raised his eyebrows, tugging nervously at the collar of his shirt. He too took a glance at their manager, knowing the scolding they'd get if he got wind of what they were talking about. A grin pulled into his lips as he looked back to Jin, smacking him in the arm.
The production manager for the show popped his head in, letting the band know they had ten minutes until show time. The boys made their final touches to their appearances, had one quick pep round together, and filed out accordingly.
In the chaos of production engineers, crackling radios, and an overall dark backstage, Namjoon spotted another band, The Chainsmokers, rehearsing their intro for BTS. Beside them was Catch the Caper, hurriedly packing up their instruments. Kimberly looked up in time to catch his eye, taking a tentative glance at her girls before jogging over.
"Hey,"
"Hey,"
Jin stopped mid stride, glancing curiously at the pair while the other boys went on ahead.
"You feeling good?" she asked him, sounding solid and calm as though she hadn't just rocked out to well over a thousand people.
"I am. I'm excited," he nodded, "Your set was incredible,"
"Thanks," she smiled back, "I'm excited to see yours,"
Something in him wanted to reach out to her again, see if she flinched or relented into his touch, but he knew he couldn't and he shoved his fists into his coat pockets, fighting with his own self-control. Kimberly watched as his eyebrows knotted together, a deep crease between them which she'd never noticed before.
He chuckled nervously, "It's been really cool getting you to know you, tonight,"
"Yeah," she agreed, smiling, "You're not so bad, either,"
He glanced at the ground, licking his lips and nodding to himself as if reassuring himself of something.
"Would it be alright if I messaged you sometime?" he asked, bordering on a nervous mumble.
Her smile grew and she threw her hands over her chest.
"Shut up. You mean the great RM of BTS wants to text me? Somebody pinch me!" she gaped teasingly.
"The honour is more mine," he replied.
Namjoon simpered; he'd reasoned with himself and had come to terms with the fact that anything more than a friendship was off limits, but he wanted that at least, wanted to see her again.
It was too dark for Namjoon to notice the flush in Kimberly's cheeks but she bit the inside of her cheek anxiously knowing her face was heating up. She studied his own, the timid scrunch of his nose and the way his eyes curled up like half moons and knew there was no suggestion or flotation in his voice or in the action, so she took a look around. A tech with a clipboard was walking by.
"Excuse me, can I borrow your pen?" she asked. The tech obliged her, not batting an eye at the pair. Kimblery turned to Namjoon, "Gimme' your hand,"
He anxiously looked towards the boys waiting for him, ready to go on at their cue but he obliged Kimberly anyway. She pulled up his jacket sleeve and scribbled her number on his arm, the cap was firmly clamped between her teeth. As if he needed another reason to find her adorable.
"There," she beamed once she'd finished, "I assume you have WhatsApp?"
"I do," he nodded, "You guys should come to our show next week, you know, if you like this one,"
"I'll check with the girls," she agreed.
Maria looked up when she realized Kimberly had disappeared, turning around and finding her talking to Namjoon again. She smacked Charlotte's arm to get her and Chloe's attention, the three of them watched -- curious and anxious -- as Kimberly appeared to be breaming at his attention.
Namjoon jumped when he heard his name being hollered, his manager was waving him down. The music started up again and The Chainsmokers were gone, it was their cue.
"Break a leg, Namjoon," Kimberly smiled.
"Thanks. I'll catch ya later," he gave her a sly wink.
With a twitch in his lips that put her at ease, she watched him run off, Jin patting his back and whispering something into his ear as they went to take their spots.
Despite the obvious connection she felt with Namjoon, the way they clicked, she had told herself not to get too attached to him, that they were strangers passing and that tonight was probably the only time they would ever meet. But when she watched him on stage, she observed him in his element, she forgot all about that.
He truly could dance that fast, so clean and precise, the whole group moved as though they were one conscious being. There was so much to explore in the swagger, the charisma, the effortlessness of his performance that accentuated his raw talent, his fluffy hair in his face and eyes, the look of pure dedication and a cocky smirk on his lips, how his face lit up when the audience lost their mind for them. He was incredible, a dynamite performer that Kimberly had never experienced before. Something in her, some deeper conviction to always trust her gut told her that it wasn't over, that she would see him again because she had to.
#bts#bts namjoon#kim namjoon#namjoon x reader#bts x reader#bts fanfic#bts jin#bts jimin#bts taehyung#bts jhope#bts suga#bts jungkook#original story#original female character#band blog#band imagine blog#band imagines#kimberly rothstein
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Strawberries Don’t Have Thorns
Synopsis: A trip to the strawberry field to find your hyperactive skeleton dog leads to more than you expect. Or, an introspective afternoon of strawberry picking with Jisung.
Warning: mentions of swords and sword fighting
Word Count: 2.4k
Pairing: son of Demeter!Jisung x child of Hades!reader
Camp Half-Blood AU Masterlist
The day you arrived at Camp Half-Blood and subsequently the day you were claimed by Hades was the most confusing day of your life, which was saying a lot since you discovered you could summon skeleton animals when you were six. For so many years, ostracized by kids your age for being weird, you only had reanimated skeletons for friends. But here at this strange new place with other “demigods” like you, people were suddenly nice, even the pretty girls and the scary-looking boys. Someone named Mark helped you into Cabin 11, where you would be staying until you were claimed by your godly parent, and gave you a tour of the camp. For a few hours, you forgot about your old friends and wandered behind him as you took in the sights of your new summer home.
Then at the campfire sing along that night, a symbol of a three-headed dog appeared over your head, and the welcoming niceties were interspersed with some apprehension. A hush fell over, and you had the unwanted and undivided attention of the entire camp. The camp activities director Chiron formally introduced you as a child of the king of the Underworld, the god of death and riches. Everyone bowed—bowed! Even Mark, who had been treating you like a younger sibling, lowered himself to the floor. Fully embarrassed, you awkwardly stood in place and stared at the campfire until you saw white. Afterwards, someone named Chan came up to you and said he was also a kid of one of the Big Three, Poseidon. He was one of the handful who acted normal, no uneasiness or mild deference. Years later, he explained that you radiated even more fear and death than usual immediately after you had been claimed.
You moved into lonely Cabin 13 with your paltry items and tried to sleep, but your sleep was fraught with bewildering dreams of Hades and Cerberus and hellhounds. Hades—you don’t think you can ever bring yourself to call him Dad—promised that you were safe at Camp Half-Blood now and that he left you some presents to help you settle in. When you woke up, there was a black sword on the jewel-studded shrine and a large skeletal dog lying beside your bed. Not a dead hellhound, you noted, but just a really, really big dog who apparently liked gnawing on gems. She barked at you and wagged her tail and dropped the red gem in front of you to throw. So you named her Ruby.
Four years later, the situation is better. No one bows to you anymore, and if they do, it’s usually because they’re a new camper who thinks that being the child of a king means something in Camp Half-Blood. Over the summers, you learn how to fight with the Stygian Iron sword you received from Hades and how to talk to people without scaring them off. Now you have three friends in the form of Chan, Jeongin from Dionysus’ Cabin, and Jisung from Demeter’s Cabin, one enemy by the name of Persephone, and one hyperactive pet who loves anything red. Apparently, dead dogs aren’t colorblind.
Under the afternoon sun, you traipse through the strawberry field looking for Ruby, who didn’t come running back to you when you called for her. The only reason why Jisung and Jeongin are friends with you is because of Ruby’s tendencies to hide in the field. Jisung tripped over her once and scattered her bones around, which made her very sad.
The satyrs, who are familiar with you, continue playing on their reed pipes as you whistle for your dog. You don’t see any members from Dionysus’ Cabin, but a few members of Demeter’s Cabin tending to the strawberries point you in the right direction. Jeongyeon, head counselor of Cabin 4, kindly asks that you hurry since Ruby dug up a whole row of berries last time. The memory flusters you. Mr. D made you replant them all by hand, no Ruby and no powers whatsoever. You swear he made the temperature hotter that day as additional punishment.
You take off running, shouting Ruby’s name whenever you have enough breath. You try to summon her, pulling her from where she is and through the ground until she reaches you, but since she was a gift from Hades, she has a life of her own. Down the sixteenth row, you spot Jisung waving a stick at Ruby and neglecting his gardening duties. When she notices you, she tries to hide behind Jisung.
“She just wanted to play,” he explains before you can say anything. He pats her skull and feeds her a freshly-picked strawberry, which stains her already red teeth with more red juice. “Good girl.”
You sigh. Maybe you should conjure some friends for her. Sword fighting training takes up a lot of your day since not a lot of people want to spar against a weapon that can consume their souls.
“I’ll let you get back to work,” you say. “Let’s go, girl. I gotta give you a scrubbing now.”
“No, stay,” Jisung blurts out. He holds out a plastic bucket with the words “Delphi Strawberry Service” stamped across in red. “You don’t have anything else to do, right? You can help me pick strawberries. I’m a little behind anyway since Ruby kept distracting me,” he teases. He tosses the stick far away, and Ruby starts chasing, leaving you and him alone on this isolated patch of strawberry field. “C’mon.”
“I’ve never picked strawberries before. How do you do it?”
Unsure if you’re being serious or not, he kneels to the ground, pulls a strawberry from its stem, and drops it in the bucket. He hands the bucket to you. “Ta-da. That’s it, you just… pick them. How have you not done this before?”
You squat beside him and start scanning the plants for any bright red ones. They’re like rubies, only edible. “Plants don’t like me.”
“I thought it was people.”
“Yeah, but I’m sure plants feel the same way.” You can’t actually kill anything with your powers alone, but you’ve always had a sneaking suspicion that anything alive usually avoids you in fear that you can. “I tried to grow some asphodel to make my cabin look nicer and ended up killing them all. Too much water, I think.”
Jisung nods and puts his ear to the nearest plant. After a moment, he reports, “You’re right. They do hate you.” When you look at him with concern, he groans. “I’m kidding. Besides, even if they did, I’m right here. I can kill them just as easily.”
You almost put your hand over his mouth. “Don’t threaten them!”
“I can also revive them. I worry about you sometimes.”
Ruby comes hurtling back with her prize, leaping over the many rows with ease. She drops it in front of you, so you must have been forgiven for abandoning her earlier. When you throw the stick, she happily bounds after it. Meanwhile, Jisung has collected more strawberries, all with his bare hands, you observe.
“Doesn’t it hurt?” you ask as you closely inspect the stems, trying not to pitch forward onto them. That would be embarrassing, not to mention painful. “Or are you used to the thorns by now?”
Silence. Did you do something wrong? When your dog comes back, you don’t immediately throw the stick again but have her wait with you for Jisung’s answer.
“Gods, you really don’t know anything about plants. Cabin 4 needs to start a plant school or something,” he chuckles, and then it grows into a full blown laugh. “Strawberries don’t have thorns.”
Heat creeps up your cheeks and down your neck. The roses crawling up Cabin 4’s had thorns, so you assumed that the important plants had them. You wore thick gloves while replanting too and were also more focused on getting shoveling the soil than on the strawberries themselves. “Well, maybe they should. Plants have thorns to protect themselves, and since strawberries get eaten, it makes sense that they would.”
“Those are called brambles, and they do not include strawberries. Strawberries won’t hurt you.” To prove his point even further, he pulls a ripe one off the stem and pops it into his mouth. “Safe and delicious.”
“Mr. D’s gonna be mad that you’re ‘interfering with camp profits,’” you tease.
“We’ve always interfered with camp profits,” he smiles. “No one else grows them like we do. C’mon, you haven’t even picked one yet.”
You cautiously pluck a strawberry, and finding yourself uninjured, continue gathering more for the buckets. It turns out Jisung has seven with him, and they all need to be filled before sundown when the delivery truck leaves to make deliveries to restaurants in the city. In the meantime, you also play fetch with Ruby until she gets too uninterested and decides to wander around the fields. Jisung keeps her in check by making plant tendrils wrap around her legs when she starts going off too far. Occasionally, he lures her back with a trail of ripe strawberries dangling in front of her.
“If I get a friend for her, do you think that will be better or worse?” you muse as you watch her beg one of Jisung’s sisters, Chaeryeong, for food. Ruby can’t actually eat anything, so she chews until they turn into mush, but her mannerisms remain the same.
“Does your dad just have skeletons lying around? Actually, don’t answer that. He probably does, so yeah, friend for Ruby. She’s lonely when you’re away.”
Jisung forgets that you have control over bones sometimes because Ruby acts like a real dog. While he searches through the strawberries, you place your hand on the ground instead to see if there are any good-sized animals buried beneath. You pass over a couple of humans and land on a deer. Only small antlers, so no one will be gored too badly in case it gets too wild with Ruby.
The earth faintly trembles and cracks open, revealing a spry, young skeleton deer leaping out. It stands proudly in front of you and bows its head, waiting for orders. Meanwhile, Jisung gapes at its bent hind legs and spindly bones.
“Play with Ruby and don’t get into trouble. Don’t ruin the plants,” you say, and the deer lifts its head and starts in Ruby’s direction.
Moments later, Jisung finds his voice again. “Well, that was cool. No dogs in the ground though?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t look that hard. It was either humans or deer, and I thought it would be less creepy to have a deer running around.”
“Human skeletons would be creepy,” he nods sagely. “Wait, so the field has been fertilized with dead people?”
“And dead animals too, but they all died a long time ago. There’s only old bones here.” You wipe your palm of dirt and join him in strawberry picking again. He has stopped and is staring contemplatively in the distance, so you nudge him. “It’s not haunted, if that’s what you’re worried about. All of the souls have moved on already.”
“No, I was just thinking that it’s nice that I’ll always be on Earth. Your dad will have my soul eventually, but at least my bones will be here, with Mom. I mean, I already knew that, but you just reminded me about it again.”
You swallow thickly. “That’s a really sweet way to think about dying.”
He smiles. “It’s part of the harvest cycle. I see it every year, so death doesn’t scare me.”
If only everyone else saw it like he did. You go back to picking strawberries, letting the silence take over the conversation. Death is always a mood-killer, and so are you.
When all seven buckets are heavy with ripe strawberries, you whistle for Ruby and the deer to come help carry them to the delivery truck waiting outside the camp borders. You hadn’t been keeping an eye on them, counting on the deer to follow your instructions thoroughly, so you are pleasantly surprised to find that both of them have been decorated with flowers and vines. While the deer looks indifferent to it, Ruby adores it so much that she’s chewed everything she can reach on her bones.
“Probably Chaeryeong’s idea,” Jisung says as he walks beside you. Your animals are trotting ahead, following the trail of Demeter’s children. “She’s the one who decorates the cabin the most.”
“I like it. They look friendly now.”
To your confusion, he laughs. “Have you seen Ruby? She always looks friendly, wagging her tail and trying to get people to pet her. Everyone loves her. Except for maybe Mr. D, but he doesn’t count since he hates everything.”
You let yourself smile. “She doesn’t like him either. I doubt she cares.”
When you both reach the truck, Jisung takes the buckets from you and loads them into the back while you handle the ones from the animals. Jeongyeon and Chaeryeong are tallying the numbers, so when you pass by them, you awkwardly thank them for putting flowers on Ruby and the deer. They exchange glances with each other, and your stomach twists into knots. You shouldn’t have said anything.
“Can I play with her next time?” Chaeryeong blurts out. Her face goes pink as she promises to take good care of Ruby, that she’ll even give her a bath afterwards.
“Yeah,” you say after a moment of shock. “I’ll drop her off at your cabin in the afternoon tomorrow, and I’ll take her back after dinner. Or if that’s too late, then you can—”
“No, that’s perfect! Thank you!”
She gives you a quick hug before returning back to work, and Jisung suppresses a chuckle at your surprised face. He follows you and Ruby, still in full floral regalia, to the nearby pegasus stables where he insists on helping you scrub her stained skull. You’ve sent the deer away already, so Ruby tries to munch on its forgotten plants while you hold her squirming bones in place as Jisung pours soap on her.
“How did you like strawberry picking?” he asks. “Fun?”
“Better than I expected. Ruby was a good girl”—she happily barks when she hears your praise—“and I didn’t get pricked, so yeah, I guess it was fun.”
“I hope you know, I’m telling all of Cabin 4 how you thought strawberries had thorns. If Chaeryeong gives you a lesson on strawberries tomorrow, don’t be surprised. They’re never gonna let you live it down. I’m never gonna let you live it down.”
“It’s alright,” you slowly say, and it truly is alright. You pry open Ruby’s mouth and let Jisung brush out the strawberry mush stuck between her teeth. There are a few flower petals as well. “You’ll make sure I never forget.”
#stray kids#skz#han jisung#han#stray kids imagines#skz imagines#han jisung imagines#han imagines#stray kids scenarios#skz scenarios#han jisung scenarios#han scenarios#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#han jisung x reader#han x reader#jisung imagines#jisung scenarios#jisung x reader#stray kids fluff#skz fluff#han jisung fluff#han fluff#jisung fluff#stray kids au#skz au#pjo au#demigod au#camp half blood au#20220804
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♡ dear diary… ✁࿓ (010)
dear diary,
toge is pregnant.
wait, let me explain: we fucked. it was good, we beat our previous record and went up to nineteen rounds (not in a row, though). i came at least three or four times deep inside him, twice on his pussy, only once in his ass, and i lost count for his face and stomach.
that was a month and a half ago.
just a few hours ago, he woke me up and told me he was late. at first i didn't understand. i thought he was talking about homework. then he told me "i should have gotten my periods already". so i went back to sleep. and then, i realised.
so i asked him, you know, how long it'd been. he said "more than a month". so i got up, put one boot and one converse on, some boxers, and told him to wait there and drink a lot so he'd be ready to piss. then, i ran to the drugstore.
we were in the middle of the night (i know that because on the way back i saw yuuji, who was leaving a party with the basketball team. he looked worried after seeing the plastic bag from the drugstore, but i didn't have time, so i yelled at him).
toge pissed on a few tests (i think i bought almost the entire aisle). he didn't want me to be with him in the bathroom, so i waited next to the door. he was taking some time, so i knocked and asked him if he needed anything, and he opened the door. he didn't say anything, he just opened the mini-fridge, grabbed two big bottles of water, and went back inside the bathroom.
i thought "that can't be good", so i started playing with my thumbs, trying to not bite my nails, while he was pissing like the niagara falls on the other side of the door.
i don't know how long i waited, but it was long for sure. or maybe it was short but felt long, i lost track of time so i don't really know.
then, i realised he might be dehydrated with the niagara falls and all, so i knocked again and asked him if he needed more water— and he opened the door, and threw lots of tests at my face. usually i would have yelled at him for doing that, even though i like piss and i press on his bladder sometimes— anyway, that's not what we're here to talk about.
he threw tests at me and laid down on the bed. so i looked at the tests: they were all positive. all of them. no exception.
toge is pregnant. i'm going to be a dad.. or not, depending on his choice.
it reminded me of my own dad, who left. he left because of mom, and i don't think he's as much to blame as she is, but still, i said:
"i'm staying. i'm here."
i said that to toge, and i looked at him and he looked at me, so i did our usual sign (like 🤟, it's sign language for "i love you"). but then i saw his hand twitch, and that's when i knew: he was too confused and upset to think rationally, and usually that means he thinks violence is the answer (self-harm, in this case).
so i jumped at him and grabbed his wrists in my hand before he could hit his stomach. he cried in my arms.
i think he freaked out because he's only 22, and that's when his mom got him. i don't know much about his dad, but i do know we don't talk about him. he's taboo. he left, too.
i held toge against me while he cried. i don't know how long i held him, but it was short for sure. or maybe it was long but felt short, i lost track of time so i don't really know.
when he stopped crying, i told him "no matter your decision, i'm staying". i didn't want him to feel like he had to choose our relationship over anything, you know. but that made him cry more, and he said between two hiccups: "i can't— i can't, i just can't— i don't know—" and then he stopped because he was crying too much to talk.
it's something like 8AM now, dear diary. we're having an emergency meeting with shoko, the nurse who's also a doctor who's also toge's medical help. she's a lot of things.
toge is showering and he told me he was better, that's why i'm talking to you right now; i asked him to let the door open though, so i can watch him. he knows i'm asking because he's in a fragile state of mind, and i don't want him to hurt himself. he takes care of me, i take care of him. that's the deal.
i don't know if i want to be a dad. i don't know if you choose that. it's probably a luxury most people don't have... i don't know. maybe we're just unlucky bastards.
✩ ✩ ✩
dear diary, i'm back.
toge isn't pregnant, he just has shit luck: he's anxious about exams and life in general, so he stopped eating (i try to make him eat but he's stubborn), so he's late because of the stress and weight loss. and the tests came back positive because of his meds... and because he has shit luck.
he's reassured, when he hugged me i could feel he was breathing better. he felt small against me, more than usual; i hugged him back, tightly, like we always do.
i think shoko hates us. it's the first time the situation is this bad, but it's maybe the fourth time this year we're asking her for help because of pregnancy scares.
✩ ✩ ✩
toge wanted to celebrate.
he asked for a creampie.
i said no.
#sorry i'm late!!! was busy all day :(#fwb.txt#fwb.nsfw#sukutoge#fwb.dear-diary#this one is interesting to say the least#shoko is here!!! i love her#she hates sukutoge but she loves them individually#you get the dynamic#cw. pregnancy#cw. piss#cw. self harm
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Dawn
Rowaelin Month, Day 5: A Trip to the Hospital
@rowaelinscourt
Words: 2.1k
I promise that nothing bad will happen to either of them in any of the Rowaelin month fics... I’ll actually be nice for once!
Warnings: None
~~~
Aelin should have been used to the constant stream of injured people, the cries of pain and the sobs of family members. She should have been used to the long days and nights working non-stop to try and help as many people as she could… but there was something about today.
It was her third night shift in a row and she was running on coffee, canteen food and about five hours sleep. She hadn’t even managed to get home at the end of her previous shift, instead crawling into the beds reserved for the doctors working in A&E.
Before she had found sleep she had sent a text to Rowan telling him she would be at the hospital and she’d see him tomorrow. He’d responded with an I love you, be safe and she had promptly fallen asleep. It had felt like mere minutes when she was rudely awoken by the alarm on her phone and then another doctor telling her to turn that shit off.
Four hours later it was coming onto two o’clock in the morning and she was frantically chugging an energy drink and giving herself a breather as the first lull of the evening came and she was finally able to take a breath.
“You look like death, Galathynius.” One of the nurses chuckled as they took their seat at the computer.
Aelin grinned. “Nothing like three night shifts in a row. I think my body is ninety percent coffee and vending machine chocolate at this point.”
The nurse laughed and shook their head. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we have three people about to arrive in ambulances. Car accident.”
Aelin groaned. She loved her job, she really did. But there were times when she wished she had chosen the GP route— sitting in an office all day just seeing to old people and babies all day.
“How bad?’
The nurse scanned the screen and made a face that indicated it was bad. Bad enough that two of the doctors who were on-call came sauntering in and paused beside her.
“Three patients. Two male, one female. Looks like a head on collision— two patients in relatively stable conditions, the third is touch and go. I’ve called surgery to prep a room in case.” They all nodded and Aelin felt her heart sink.
There was a commotion behind them and Aelin turned to see the drunk woman who she had just managed to calm down, trying to rip the IV from her arm and stumble about her bed, knocking over a chair and then cursing loudly. Aelin rolled her eyes and went over to her.
“Mrs Hartly—“ Aelin gripped her arm and lifted the woman up, taking her weight. “I need you to get back into bed. The medication needs some time to work. I promise you can go home soon.” She said gently.
“I—“ Mrs Hartly slurred, “I need,” she coughed loudly and held a hand to her mouth as Aelin managed to anticipate the vomit that was about to come out— grabbing a bowl in the nick of time.
“Let’s get you back into bed.”
As she helped her patient into bed, there was a rush of feet and shouting behind her and she managed to catch site of three gurneys being wheeled in, one of them going straight through to the main hospital, the second and third being taken into the spare spot in the corner and the curtain promptly closed. She needed to get over to them.
“You have very pretty eyes, did ya know that?” Mrs Hartley said.
Aelin half smiled and continued to re-do the IV. “Thank you.”
“I bet you have,” a hiccup, “aaall the boys chasin’ after you.”
Aelin didn’t reply as she checked over her vitals one last time.
“Do ya have someone waiting for ya?”
She sighed, “I have a husband.”
“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be settlin’ down. When I was—“ Mrs Hartly’s head went into the bowl and Aelin just rubbed circles on her back as she got it out. Her attention going to the corner bed where the excitement was. When the patient was finally finished and was half asleep in the bed, she closed the curtain part the way and went over to the nurses station to get an update.
The nurse from earlier was scribbling away on a notepad and when she noticed Aelin, her eyes went wide.
“Aelin.”
She responded with a smile. “Do they need help?”
“Actually…” The nurse swallowed.
Aelin was losing patience. It was late, she was tired and she didn’t have time for nurses who didn’t know what they were doing. She had always prided herself on being the kind and understanding doctor, but right now she needed something interesting and challenging to ensure she didn’t just sit down and fall asleep against a wall.
“What is it? I don’t really have time—“
“It’s your husband.”
Aelin froze.
“We just got confirmation of the identities.”
Aelin’s heart sped up and she could feel the room begin to spin. “Where is he?”
The nurse handed Aelin the chart. “He’s been taken to the operating theatre. They suspect internal bleeding and some broken bones. He regained consciousness for a moment in the ambulance,”
“Can they manage without me?” Aelin said sternly, gesturing to the corner where the other two patients were being seen to.
The nurse nodded.
“Which operating room?”
“Three. They told me not to let you go in…”
Aelin laughed hollowly, “they can go to hell.”
She ran through the doors into the hospital and followed the signs down to the operating theatres. Everything was quiet as she raced through the white, sterile halls. No one stopped her as she rammed through doors and finally came to an abrupt halt as the double doors to the operating room were before her.
“Aelin they’re doing what they can.”
Vaughan stood before her, his large frame almost as tall as the doors. His arms were crossed across his chest and his face was harsh as he prevented her from moving further into the room.
“I can help.” She said breathlessly.
“You have vomit down your scrubs, you’re in shock and haven’t slept properly in three days. You’d be more of a hindrance in there.”
She hadn’t noticed the vomit. “I need to do something. That’s my husband. I can’t just sit here.” Her words slightly choked.
Vaughan seemed to ease his posture. “You can find a room and get it ready for when he’s out of theatre. And wait in there until it’s done.”
Aelin tried to get a glance into the operating room, even as Vaughan ushered her back down the corridor and onto the ward. They walked in silence even though Aelin could swear her heart was beating loud enough to wake all the patients. Vaughan merely held his hand on her shoulder in an act of kindness and then walked away.
She was left to find the only empty private room that was left and she busied herself preparing it for when Rowan would arrive. She must have made the bed and then remade it several times, shooing away anyone who tried to come in and help. When she had exhausted herself doing that, she turned to checking the machines and then to pacing by the window.
She eventually curled herself into a chair and watched as the sun begun to turn the sky into the early morning purple hues, the stars blinking out one by one. Her stomach was doing flips as the time went on. No one seemed to come in to check on her… and no news was better than bad news.
It wasn’t much longer until her eyes went droopy and her head fell into her arms. The hum of the machines lulling her into a sleep.
“Aelin?” The soft voice spoke quietly beside her, a hand going to her shoulder to lightly wake her. “Aelin, you need to wake up.”
Her eyes opened slowly and she blinked a few times, unsure of exactly where she was. The room was lighter now, the fluorescent bulbs shining harshly down on them and the sun high in the sky. She looked around the room quickly and then jolted from the chair. It only took her a moment to see the figure in the bed, and then only a moment after that to realise he was awake and smiling at her.
“Rowan,” she breathed out.
“Hey.” He replied, his own voice raspy.
She tried to contain the sob that was creeping up on her. Even as he held out his hand to her and let her climb onto the bed next to him.
“I’m sorry I scared you.” He whispered whilst placing a kiss on her head.
“You are never allowed to drive again.” She cried out, tears escaping as she held onto him and buried her head in the crook of his arm. “How are you feeling?”
Rowan laughed lightly and then winced. Aelin immediately withdrew her head and then examined him, noticing the scratches on his face and the cast on his other arm.
“I’m okay. It wasn’t as bad as they thought.”
“I don’t— what were you doing out?”
Rowan rolled his eyes. “I was coming to you. I was bringing you proper food.”
Aelin wanted to hit him. But she refrained due to the fact he was in a hospital bed.
“You work so hard and I wanted to make sure you were okay. I guess I was just too tired and lost control of the car.”
Aelin wanted to be annoyed, but he had her best interests at heart. So she squeezed his hand and said, “I promise that I will eat properly if it means you never get in a car at night again.” She half laughed.
“You worry too much. I’m really fine.”
She gave him an incredulous look, but relaxed a little. “Did they tell you what was wrong?”
He nodded. “A few broken bones, they thought I had some internal bleeding but turns out I just passed out because of shock.”
She pressed her head into his arm again and shook it lightly. “Jesus, Ro.”
“I’m fine. I’m still here, aren’t I?”
She huffed. “They made it sound like you weren’t going to make it. Half of me was sure Vaughan was just distracting me until he could confirm the bad news.”
Rowan laughed again, “they know what you’re like.”
“I am only like this when it comes to you.” Her face dropped and she cleared her throat. “I don’t know what I would have done if—“ she couldn’t even finish the sentence.
Rowan stroked a hand down her hair. “I’m right here, Fireheart. I’m not going anywhere.” He promised.
“I want to go first. Okay?” She asked seriously.
Rowan nodded, a smile breaking out. “When the time comes, we can go together. How about that?”
Aelin shook her head and moved away. “I’m being deadly serious. I cannot live in this world without you.”
Rowan smiled gently. “I’m being serious too.”
Aelin gave him a look.
“I promise you, Aelin, that I will let you go before I do. Even though the thought of it fills me with utter despair.”
She met his gaze and then wiped a tear from her face. “I love you, Rowan. More than anything in this entire world. You are literally my everything and I am begging you to take care of yourself.”
Rowan’s face softened and wrapped his arm around her. “I love you, too. I’m sorry I scared you.” He left a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m sorry.”
“I can’t lose you.” She whispered.
“I know. You won’t. I’ll be here until we’re old and grey and we’re sitting on our porch complaining about the youth of the day”
She laughed, the weight of worry lifting from her slightly more. “Our children will be telling us off as we do.”
Rowan kissed her again and she gently lowered herself further into his embrace. “They’ll be so embarrassed of us.”
Aelin laughed. “Exactly how I plan it to be.”
They fell into silence and Aelin was more than grateful to feel the rise and fall of his chest and the warmth in his body. She couldn’t bare to part from him, even as a new doctor came in to do some checks and informed them that he would be fine to go home tomorrow.
And even as they both fell in and out of sleep, their hands remained entwined and Aelin’s head tucked into the crook of his neck. There was nowhere else she would rather be than in the arms of the man she loved. She would relish this feeling for her entire life and be thankful to whatever Gods were out there, that they had protected her soulmate— granting her the time she so desperately wanted with him.
~~~
Tags:
@morganofthewildfire @tomtenadia @fredweasleyhasadhd @luckyrunawaycheesecake @live-the-fangirl-life @fireheart-violet @charlizeed @scarblx @xo-fangirl-xo @wordsafterhours @jesstargaryenqueen @sailorsassley @sjmships @endlessdaydream @aflickeringsoul @tillyrubes10 @rowaelin-cressworth @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @rowaelinismyotp @rosegoldannie @maryberry @viajandosinalas @becarefuloflove @allthebooksunderthemoon @sheharahu @swankii-art-teacher @superspiritfestival @becarefuloflove @tanvee1231 @viajandosinalas @backtobl4ck @emily-gsh @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @becarefuloflove @goddess-aelin @thegreyj
#rowaelinscourt#rowaelin month#rowaelins court#rowaelinmonth#rowan x aelin#aelin x rowan#rowaelin#rowan whitethorn#rowan#aelin#aelin ashryver#aelin galathynius#aelin ashryver galathynius
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December 4th: Buffaloes
“From ocean to ocean”—so say the Americans; and these four words compose the general designation of the “great trunk line” which crosses the entire width of the United States. The Pacific Railroad is, however, really divided into two distinct lines: the Central Pacific, between San Francisco and Ogden, and the Union Pacific, between Ogden and Omaha. Five main lines connect Omaha with New York.
New York and San Francisco are thus united by an uninterrupted metal ribbon, which measures no less than three thousand seven hundred and eighty-six miles. Between Omaha and the Pacific the railway crosses a territory which is still infested by Indians and wild beasts, and a large tract which the Mormons, after they were driven from Illinois in 1845, began to colonise.
The journey from New York to San Francisco consumed, formerly, under the most favourable conditions, at least six months. It is now accomplished in seven days.
It was in 1862 that, in spite of the Southern Members of Congress, who wished a more southerly route, it was decided to lay the road between the forty-first and forty-second parallels. President Lincoln himself fixed the end of the line at Omaha, in Nebraska. The work was at once commenced, and pursued with true American energy; nor did the rapidity with which it went on injuriously affect its good execution. The road grew, on the prairies, a mile and a half a day. A locomotive, running on the rails laid down the evening before, brought the rails to be laid on the morrow, and advanced upon them as fast as they were put in position.
The Pacific Railroad is joined by several branches in Iowa, Kansas, Colorado, and Oregon. On leaving Omaha, it passes along the left bank of the Platte River as far as the junction of its northern branch, follows its southern branch, crosses the Laramie territory and the Wahsatch Mountains, turns the Great Salt Lake, and reaches Salt Lake City, the Mormon capital, plunges into the Tuilla Valley, across the American Desert, Cedar and Humboldt Mountains, the Sierra Nevada, and descends, viâ Sacramento, to the Pacific—its grade, even on the Rocky Mountains, never exceeding one hundred and twelve feet to the mile.
Such was the road to be traversed in seven days, which would enable Phileas Fogg—at least, so he hoped—to take the Atlantic steamer at New York on the 11th for Liverpool.
The car which he occupied was a sort of long omnibus on eight wheels, and with no compartments in the interior. It was supplied with two rows of seats, perpendicular to the direction of the train on either side of an aisle which conducted to the front and rear platforms. These platforms were found throughout the train, and the passengers were able to pass from one end of the train to the other. It was supplied with saloon cars, balcony cars, restaurants, and smoking-cars; theatre cars alone were wanting, and they will have these some day.
Book and news dealers, sellers of edibles, drinkables, and cigars, who seemed to have plenty of customers, were continually circulating in the aisles.
The train left Oakland station at six o’clock. It was already night, cold and cheerless, the heavens being overcast with clouds which seemed to threaten snow. The train did not proceed rapidly; counting the stoppages, it did not run more than twenty miles an hour, which was a sufficient speed, however, to enable it to reach Omaha within its designated time.
There was but little conversation in the car, and soon many of the passengers were overcome with sleep. Passepartout found himself beside the detective; but he did not talk to him. After recent events, their relations with each other had grown somewhat cold; there could no longer be mutual sympathy or intimacy between them. Fix’s manner had not changed; but Passepartout was very reserved, and ready to strangle his former friend on the slightest provocation.
Snow began to fall an hour after they started, a fine snow, however, which happily could not obstruct the train; nothing could be seen from the windows but a vast, white sheet, against which the smoke of the locomotive had a greyish aspect.
At eight o’clock a steward entered the car and announced that the time for going to bed had arrived; and in a few minutes the car was transformed into a dormitory. The backs of the seats were thrown back, bedsteads carefully packed were rolled out by an ingenious system, berths were suddenly improvised, and each traveller had soon at his disposition a comfortable bed, protected from curious eyes by thick curtains. The sheets were clean and the pillows soft. It only remained to go to bed and sleep which everybody did—while the train sped on across the State of California.
The country between San Francisco and Sacramento is not very hilly. The Central Pacific, taking Sacramento for its starting-point, extends eastward to meet the road from Omaha. The line from San Francisco to Sacramento runs in a north-easterly direction, along the American River, which empties into San Pablo Bay. The one hundred and twenty miles between these cities were accomplished in six hours, and towards midnight, while fast asleep, the travellers passed through Sacramento; so that they saw nothing of that important place, the seat of the State government, with its fine quays, its broad streets, its noble hotels, squares, and churches.
The train, on leaving Sacramento, and passing the junction, Roclin, Auburn, and Colfax, entered the range of the Sierra Nevada. ’Cisco was reached at seven in the morning; and an hour later the dormitory was transformed into an ordinary car, and the travellers could observe the picturesque beauties of the mountain region through which they were steaming. The railway track wound in and out among the passes, now approaching the mountain-sides, now suspended over precipices, avoiding abrupt angles by bold curves, plunging into narrow defiles, which seemed to have no outlet. The locomotive, its great funnel emitting a weird light, with its sharp bell, and its cow-catcher extended like a spur, mingled its shrieks and bellowings with the noise of torrents and cascades, and twined its smoke among the branches of the gigantic pines.
There were few or no bridges or tunnels on the route. The railway turned around the sides of the mountains, and did not attempt to violate nature by taking the shortest cut from one point to another.
The train entered the State of Nevada through the Carson Valley about nine o’clock, going always northeasterly; and at midday reached Reno, where there was a delay of twenty minutes for breakfast.
From this point the road, running along Humboldt River, passed northward for several miles by its banks; then it turned eastward, and kept by the river until it reached the Humboldt Range, nearly at the extreme eastern limit of Nevada.
Having breakfasted, Mr. Fogg and his companions resumed their places in the car, and observed the varied landscape which unfolded itself as they passed along the vast prairies, the mountains lining the horizon, and the creeks, with their frothy, foaming streams. Sometimes a great herd of buffaloes, massing together in the distance, seemed like a moveable dam. These innumerable multitudes of ruminating beasts often form an insurmountable obstacle to the passage of the trains; thousands of them have been seen passing over the track for hours together, in compact ranks. The locomotive is then forced to stop and wait till the road is once more clear.
This happened, indeed, to the train in which Mr. Fogg was travelling. About twelve o’clock a troop of ten or twelve thousand head of buffalo encumbered the track. The locomotive, slackening its speed, tried to clear the way with its cow-catcher; but the mass of animals was too great. The buffaloes marched along with a tranquil gait, uttering now and then deafening bellowings. There was no use of interrupting them, for, having taken a particular direction, nothing can moderate and change their course; it is a torrent of living flesh which no dam could contain.
The travellers gazed on this curious spectacle from the platforms; but Phileas Fogg, who had the most reason of all to be in a hurry, remained in his seat, and waited philosophically until it should please the buffaloes to get out of the way.
Passepartout was furious at the delay they occasioned, and longed to discharge his arsenal of revolvers upon them.
“What a country!” cried he. “Mere cattle stop the trains, and go by in a procession, just as if they were not impeding travel! Parbleu! I should like to know if Mr. Fogg foresaw this mishap in his programme! And here’s an engineer who doesn’t dare to run the locomotive into this herd of beasts!”
The engineer did not try to overcome the obstacle, and he was wise. He would have crushed the first buffaloes, no doubt, with the cow-catcher; but the locomotive, however powerful, would soon have been checked, the train would inevitably have been thrown off the track, and would then have been helpless.
The best course was to wait patiently, and regain the lost time by greater speed when the obstacle was removed. The procession of buffaloes lasted three full hours, and it was night before the track was clear. The last ranks of the herd were now passing over the rails, while the first had already disappeared below the southern horizon.
It was eight o’clock when the train passed through the defiles of the Humboldt Range, and half-past nine when it penetrated Utah, the region of the Great Salt Lake, the singular colony of the Mormons.
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Lucky Penny - Chapter Thirteen
A/N okay I lied. Angst is still here with us babes. 🤷♀️ my fucking bad.
A week after she woke up, Lucky was medically cleared to head home on the condition that someone was home with her all around the clock.
That would be no problem with everyone rallied around her. Her mom and Dulce had gotten a hotel room nearby, and it's not like base was very far from the cottage either.
----
A burden.
That's how everyone had described it when William started dating a woman with a child. A burden he didn't need in his life.
Sometimes she felt like those people were right, he had totally changed his life practically overnight to be a father figure to a child that wasnt his own. He never complained out loud, but sometimes she wondered if he hated her. If he wished she wasn't there at all, that Delilah hadn't come with baggage in the shape of a child.
Had he hated her all those years?
-----
Nobody was letting her do a damn thing herself. She couldn't even walk to the bathroom without someone following her in case she fainted. She knew they meant well, but it was starting to really irritate her.
She couldn't remember the last time her mother even babied her like this, probably before William had died. The woman was cooking up a storm using the cottages small kitchen to her full advantage. Soups, casseroles, baked goods, it didn't matter what it was Delilah was cooking. Then she'd practically force the food down her daughter's throat. Hoping that the homemade meals would help her feel better.
And as much as I loved her mother's cooking, she was starting to resent it. All she wanted was a burger and fries from the Hard Deck. She stopped eating most of what her mother brought to her. She hid just enough to fool the older woman, then threw it away later.
If her mother knew about it, she never said a word.
-----
A burden.
That's what her biological father had thought of her, why he left before her first birthday. He had tried for the first ten months,but he was young and wasn't ready to be weighed down by a child.
Lucky never met the man, but once she got curious and looked him up on social media. He'd been married to some woman for fifteen years and they had four kids. Four half-siblings who probably had no idea they had an older sister.
She had cried herself to sleep that night.
They weren't burdens, so why was she?
-----
She knew he was trying his best, but Fanboy was the worst offender of not letting her be independent. Anything she needed? He grabbed it. She mentioned being uncomfortable? Here comes Mickey with another pillow and blanket.
She stopped saying it out loud, because she didn't want him to think she couldn't do things.
"Cariño, are you okay?" He had asked one night and Lucky couldnt decide to laugh or cry.
"I'm okay babe."
"Are you sure? You've been a little distant recently. I just want to make sure you're okay."
She shrugged "I'm just fine Mickey, but I have a headache so I'm going to take one of those migraine meds and go to bed."
He watched as she walked away, he had no idea how to help her get through this funk, but he wasn't going to give up on her.
-----
A burden.
Wasn't that why her and Mickey had snuck around for years? They didn't want their relationship to sabotage their Naval careers. For it to be used against them. Hadn't that made her a burden to him for all these years?
Maybe he still felt that way about her sometimes, a dirty little secret who could ruin his life.
-----
Even Hangman was getting on her nerves, and not like he usually did. He'd come in and sit on the bed and just talk for HOURS. Lucky swear she's learned more about Jake Seresin than she ever wanted to know.
She was happy they had become closer, but this was too much. She knew about his first girlfriend, that he went as a cowboy for three Halloweens in a row, and far too many more facts.
She stopped listening, stopped giving her input. She simply rolled to face away from him and if he didn't notice her indifference that was on him.
-----
A burden.
She often wonders if Katie and her would still be friends or if Katie would have finally wisened up and dumped her troublemaker best friend.
Katie had been patient and kind, able to get Baylie out of whatever shenanigans she could get into.
Perhaps the burden of being the perfect friend had made Katie want to die so badly.
If only Baylie could have been a better friend, maybe the world would still have Katie.
-----
Coyote felt guilty, he was the reason Lucky had turned back in the first place. The reason her jet had exploded, and the reason she had nearly died out there.
He brought her little trinkets, knowing damn well her mother was making her enough food to feed the small army of Daggers.
He apologized profusely, despite her placating him by saying she didn't have regrets.
He didn't get it.
She didn't need any fucking reminders of her condition, of what had caused it. She wanted to move past it, but everyone kept holding her back.
One night it all came to a head, most of the group was in the living room. Lucky walked out and immediately Delilah, Mickey, Jake, and Javy all jumped up to help her to the couch. She brushed them all off and bypassed the couch entirely and went into the kitchen to grab her Ben & Jerry's from the freezer but her hands fumbled and she dropped it on the floor.
They all fussed over her, and then Coyote finally said the straw that broke her.
"I'm so sorry Lucky."
"Stop fucking apologizing Javy." She snapped. The most words they had heard her say in days, they all just stared. "In fact all of you just fucking stop. I don't need to be babied."
Then the flood gates fully opened.
"Mom, I love you but you don't have to cook all the time. I haven't even been eating lately and you haven't even noticed. So much for caring for your kid."
She pointed at Mickey "and you, I love how much you care about me but for fuck sake I can get things for myself. I'm just on neurological watch I'm not a fucking invalid."
"Jake." The blonde opened his mouth then decided against it. "I can't listen to another one of your stupid fucking stories. I don't care that Amanda broke your heart in third grade when she kissed Logan right in front of you. Or that you had zero creativity as a child and had to re-use Halloween costumes."
"And you Javy "I can't stop apologizing" Machado. If I hear the word sorry out of your mouth one more time I will punch your lights out. I don't give a fuck that you're sorry. I would have done it for anyone on that mission. You aren't fucking special."
A beat of silence then
"I'm going back to bed, and I don't want to see any of you anytime soon. I will text Nix or Bob if I need anything."
She stomped her way down the hallway completely abandoning the ice cream and leaving the people who cared the most about her in the dust. The slam of the bedroom door shook all the walls in the cottage.
Baylie "Lucky" Steele sure as fuck felt like a burden as she slid down the door and sobbed.
Maybe she always had been a damn burden.
-----
A/N: WHEEEEEEE THE ANGST RIDE IS STILL GOING ON.
#top gun#top gun maverick#bradley rooster bradshaw#robert bob floyd#mickey fanboy garcia#jake hangman seresin#natasha phoenix trace#lucky x fanboy#bob top gun#hangman#fanboy x lucky#mickey garcia#mickey fanboy garcia x oc#fanboy top gun#baylie lucky steele#callsign lucky
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A pretty decent Wednesday.
Plenty of physical activity, including these workouts of course. But also just movement throughout the first half of the day in general. My active job plus a load of washing and vacuuming all upstairs at home. I also made soup for lunch for the next couple of days. I love homemade soup from veggies we grow ourselves!
Soup making doesn't exactly burn calories, lol, but it's still an activity that keeps you off the couch!
My first day for a while without my bulletproof coffee. No big deal. Because I saved a couple of hundred calories with that, I could justify treating myself to one of my occasional indulgences. A small tub of cheese and onion mayo "sandwich filler". A 200g tub lasts me three or four days. I just put a dollop on with my lunch. I'm still good for food intake. If I hadn't added that, I'd be at about 1,800.
Basic 16hr fast. I mentioned on an earlier post that I wished I'd waited until after getting home and doing my workout. But it really doesn't matter. I'll maybe throw one of those in once every week or two.
Another average night's sleep, with the second morning in a row waking up at a decent time rather than up to an hour too early.
Wednesday has been good. It's 3pm now which means time to put my feet up and read for a bit. It's nice doing that, knowing I've had an active, positive day.
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invisible string (15/18)
summary: modern soulmate birthmark au; After Omera lost her soulmate, she lost hope she’d ever find love again. Then, a short time before Earth’s first colony ship will be sent to a place they call the Outer Rim, she meets a Mandalorian whose touch makes her Soul Mark burn. (Mandomera!)
rating: hard T
word count: ~4.4k
prev. chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen
read chapter 15 down below or on ao3!
an: Quick reminder that I'm updating every day now so don't miss yesterday's update! :) Thanks for reading!!
-
Chapter 15: Departure Day
“To illustrate just how much time passed from the day they took their detour until The Razor Crest’s departure day, Omera shows me a physical diary she kept. It’s a leather-bound book with wrinkled pages that fray at the edges as she flips through page upon page of meticulous note taking.
‘I hid this beneath my bed so Winta wouldn’t find it. I wrote in it every day. I wanted to remember how I felt- how my soul felt- in case when I got here, our Bond was broken.’
There are tears in her eyes as she reads the entries aloud to me. Sometimes it feels like a scientist doing daily record keeping, but there are a few that make me see their Bond as Omera does: good even on the worst days.
‘I never hated him,’ she tells me. ‘Even when it hurt the worst, I could never hate him. He’s part of me.’” - Soulmates and the Outer Rim: Real Stories About Soulmates Who Went the Distance
-
Omera had dreamed about the end of the project for a very long time.
In the weeks that preceded the final deadlines, she’d been absolutely swamped; going to work on a moment’s notice, sleeping in her office while Cara stayed with Winta, missing meals and wearing the same clothes for days on end.
Finally, the Razor Crest was ready. Every colonist had been given their instructional packets, schedules, and the skin-tight suits they’d have to wear in cryo. Every crew member had been briefed, outfitted, and were well-versed in the mission goals.
The ship itself was gorgeous and had done even better than they imagined it would when they brought her into the Milky Way for several test runs of varying lengths and purposes.
The final test, the crew had gone for a week-long real world emergency run to test their knowledge and strengths. It was chaotic and relentless, but they bonded in ways that were vital to their upcoming journey.
Departure day was hours away and then the ship would be off, sent to the Outer Rim at a breakneck speed that would land them there in twenty years’ time.
Then, the exploration would begin.
The next colony ship was already being built and she’d given her blessing to Fennec, who was the next project lead. About half of the crew that had worked on the Razor Crest would be transferred over to it while the other half went to the Outer Rim.
Omera had done hundreds of walkthroughs of the ship in her time as the project director. She’d done most of those walkthroughs with partners and crew members at her side. One night, she and Din brought Grogu and Winta. She’d never forget the giggles that bounced off the walls of the bridge when Din helped Grogu pretend to fly.
Tonight, though, it was just her.
She wandered through the cryo bay and counted the rows of pods that would contain each of the souls that had committed ever so joyously to their mission.
She visited the living spaces for the crew that would wake up in cycles. They’d spend a day awake every six months so they would be able to verify that the journey was still proceeding as it was meant to. And of course, there would be times they’d have to wake up for emergencies.
There were chairs set out around a table in the kitchen where crew members might eat something light before they’d return to cryo sleep. A couch was built into the wall where a crew member might sit to reattach his boots after stretching out his once frozen muscles.
In the event of a low-level emergency on board the ship, there was a protocol that dictated that the crew would be required to remain on call, which meant they would need a safe place to sleep.
Just down the hall from the kitchen, there were twelve bedrooms, all outfitted with the same bed and comforts that would remind them of home.
She made sure to leave each crew member a personalized note of encouragement in their locker, should they need to feel a little less lonely when they woke from cryo to work.
Satisfied with her tour, she ended on the bridge, where she counted and checked each of the bridge crew pods. On the front of each pod were the names of who would occupy them. To her disappointment and grief, Din’s name was not among them.
He’d withdrawn his name from the list after the final list of bridge crew was drafted. To his vocalized surprise, there had been a one hundred percent success rate on the final simulator run, including during Omera’s. It meant that a segment of the fully trained crew would be used only in the event of a ship-wide emergency.
Din’s soul was calm. She rarely felt any change in it. There were plenty of reasons he could’ve felt this way, but she sourly attributed it to the fact that he’d found peace in regards to his choice to stay on Earth with Grogu while she left him behind.
It was unfair to wish he’d change his mind and go. It was unfair to change her mind and stay behind.
As much as they both cared for each other- loved each other- their relationship had died that afternoon in her office.
She didn’t give herself any time to mourn it. In a way, it was like it had never ended because she could still feel him with her in their Bond. Would it still be like this when she was in the Outer Rim?
“Taking one last tour?”
Omera looked up at the sound of Leia’s voice and smiled at her boss happily. “Yes. I’m just admiring how beautiful everything is.”
Leia hummed peacefully. She entered from the door that came from the crew’s quarters.
“Are you excited?” she asked. “Nervous?”
Omera gauged her emotions and nodded. “Yes and yes.”
They both chuckled. Leia joined her where she stood at the main bridge console. They looked out the main windows, out at the sunset that covered the land just outside.
“I noticed that Din Djarin is no longer listed on the manifest,” Leia said gently. “Do you know if everything is alright? I’ve asked around and nobody seems to know what happened. He’s very quiet.”
Omera swallowed. She looked away from the sunset and at her boss instead. “We… ended things. We Bonded too quickly and it was too much for us. I guess he must have decided that going to the Outer Rim would make things worse.”
Leia was unsurprised by what she had to say. “The same thing happened when Han and I Bonded.” She smiled a little. “He drove me crazy. Still does. But… we love each other, and that’s worth fighting for.”
The problem with what Leia had to say was that as far as Omera knew, Din didn’t want to fight for them.
He chose the Mandalorians and Grogu. She couldn’t be upset with that choice. She knew how much he loved Grogu and how much Grogu loved Din. As long as he was at peace, and it seemed that he was, she was okay with the way things had ended.
That didn’t mean she didn’t miss him constantly. She sometimes laid in bed, exhausted but unable to sleep, staring at his pillow wishing he was there to talk to. He had a way of making it better- easier- that she missed so much it hurt.
She loved him with everything she had. She knew he’d done the same. For what little time they shared together, they both walked away as better people because of that love.
“Sometimes it isn’t that simple,” Omera replied.
Leia nodded. She studied Omera for a few seconds before she asked, “Do you still love him?”
Omera’s eyes closed and she dropped her chin toward her chest.
Leia gave her a sympathetic smile and touched her arm. “Don’t give up hope. It’s the strongest weapon you have.”
She wanted to reply that there were mere hours left before she’d lose him forever, but Leia walked away to continue her own private tour of the ship.
Omera breathed out a sigh and made her way off of the Razor Crest. As she walked, she looked around at the hangar one last time. They’d move the ship overnight to the airfield where departure was scheduled to take place.
It was almost surprisingly quiet, but she wasn’t alone. Just to her right, she spotted an old friend: Boba Fett, who wore a soft smile on his lips at the sight of her.
“How does she look?”
Omera approached him and they instantly embraced, something that gave her comfort in a way she hadn’t felt since things fell apart with Din.
“She’s gorgeous, Boba,” Omera murmured. She stepped back from him. “You and your team did great work.”
Boba looked at the ship and he nodded slowly. “And we were a week ahead of schedule, thanks to you. How does it feel to be finished?”
She chuckled and shrugged her shoulders. “I’m so relieved. Now I just have to worry about getting her off the ground.”
He hummed. “Test flights went well. I don’t think we have anything to fear.”
Omera noticed Boba’s eyes on her left wrist, where her Mark sat uncovered. She had an immediate instinct to protect it, to hide the truth from him, but when he looked into her eyes there was something she hadn’t expected to see: understanding.
“How long?”
She took a deep breath. “About four months.”
Boba tilted his head toward the elevators and they began to walk slowly toward them. “Has he been good to you, or do I need to sit him down and straighten him out?”
Omera pulled on a brave face and laughed under her breath. “No, you don’t need to do that.”
For a few seconds, he was silent. “Do I know him?”
Her heart flipped. She ran her fingers against her Mark and avoided his eyes. “Yes. He’s… on the project, actually.”
They stopped in front of the lift and Boba pressed the call button. “You’ll both be on the mission to the Outer Rim, then?”
She shut her eyes when a pang of sorrow filled her. She shook her head, unable to voice the response, and her companion huffed in anger.
“I’ll sit him down. Who is it? Is it one of my guys?”
“It’s okay,” she assured him. “It just didn’t… we decided to end things.”
Boba searched her eyes. “You decided to end things.”
Omera forced herself to smile as she nodded. She entered the lift and watched Boba join her. He pressed the button that would take them to her office.
“There were things keeping us apart,” she explained slowly. “And those things eventually added up to be too much, so we decided that it should be over between us.”
He didn’t seem very happy about her choice. His scowl was hard to hide.
“You don’t deserve to have this happen again.”
Omera’s heart squeezed. “It’s not happening again. We’re still Bonded.”
His brow lifted. “For now. What happens in twenty years when you wake up from cryo and suddenly, it’s over?”
The lift doors opened, but before she could step outside, Boba put his hand on her arm gently.
“Is it Djarin?”
Omera’s breath caught in surprise. How did he know? She stared at him, unwilling to let the truth out, and chose not to respond. Instead, she smiled at him.
“I’ll be okay. No matter what happens. I survived it before, I can survive it again.”
He followed her out of the elevator. “My father was never the same after he severed his Bond. You know the story.”
Omera nodded. “I know.”
“He mourned her every day, just as you did before.” Boba gently turned her to face him in the middle of the hall. “You must really care for this guy if you’re willing to walk away like this.”
She looked down. “I do.”
Boba was silent. He slid his hand against her arm to soothe her. “You and Winta won’t be alone out there.”
Her smile was soft. “I know. We have each other.”
When she met his eyes, he frowned sorrowfully. “I’m gonna talk to Djarin. Try to see if I can get him back onto this ship.”
Omera opened her mouth to argue, but before she could, Boba’s phone rang loudly in his pocket. He grabbed it and gestured to the device when he saw who it was.
“That’ll be the princess,” he sighed. He nodded at her. “If I don’t see you again until the Outer Rim… I’ll miss you. Be good.”
She laughed gently. “I’ll miss you too. See you soon.”
Boba’s grin was warm as he lifted his phone to his ear. “Good afternoon, Miss Organa.”
-
Omera and Winta had made plans weeks ago with Cara and Peli for a goodbye party.
They’d meet again in what would only feel like a year, but in reality would be twenty, so they wanted to part ways with as much fun as they could muster.
When Omera arrived home, she was greeted by Winta in a party hat and what must have been an endless supply of balloons and confetti strewn all over every surface and taped on every wall.
Cara and Peli both had party hats, too, and noisemakers that they blew into noisily when they saw her.
“Congratulations, Mama!” Winta yelled. “You did it! You finished your ship!”
Omera laughed happily. “Wow! Thank you.”
Cara snapped a party hat onto Omera’s head and pulled the noisemaker from between her lips.
“It’s gonna be twenty years until we see you guys again,” Cara teased. “We thought we’d go out in style.”
Peli chuckled from her seat at the kitchen island. “We got cake, cookies, brownies…”
“Ice cream,” Winta sang. “And there’s pizza and there’s all your favorite snacks, too.”
Omera admired the spread of food that they’d prepared, set out all over the kitchen and on the dining table.
“Amazing,” Omera replied with a smile. “Is there also music to dance to?”
“Of course.”
Cara flipped on the music of choice from the tablet on the counter and music began to play at a mild level across the living area.
“Now it’s a party.”
They ate until they were full and then went back for seconds. There would be foods like these one day when they got to the Outer Rim, but they would have to prepare it all themselves, and the supplies would be quite limited until they were able to start up a manufacturing industry.
When they were completely stuffed, they all laid out on the living room floor surrounded by a fortress of pillows and blankets and watched one of Winta’s favorite movies. She fell asleep about a quarter of the way into it, which made Omera smile before she kissed the top of her head where it rested just beneath her arm.
Cara looked at them with a little grin that slowly faded. “So you’re really gonna go, huh?”
Omera took a deep, steadying breath and nodded. “Yeah. We’re gonna go.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
She knew the answer without having to think. “A week ago at the final mission meeting. He didn’t look at me once.”
Cara shook her head, annoyed. “I know you love him, but I hate what he did to you guys.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” Omera defended him. “We always knew that what we were doing was against his beliefs, and we knew that it meant things might end.”
“And you’re okay with that? You’re happy to have, what, three weeks with the guy you’re crazy about? Your soulmate? And just never see him again?”
Omera was quiet. No. She wasn’t okay with it. She missed him more than she could ever admit out loud.
“I have to be okay with it. He chose his son. I would have done the same.”
Cara sighed. “I’m sorry. I was rooting for you to get the happy ending. You deserve it more than anyone I know.”
Omera looked down at Winta, still sound asleep, and smiled at the sight of her. “All I need is my girl.”
Once Cara drifted off to sleep, Omera looked around the room, grateful for what had led her to get to this place: surrounded by people who cared for her, warm and safe.
They would have one another in a year, when Peli and Cara arrived on their colonist ship to the Outer Rim. It was tantalizing to daydream about what life would look like then. Would she and Winta have a home of their own? Would they have found new friends? Would she love her job? Would she be a teacher then, or would she find something she liked more?
The one thing that brought those questions away from her mind were the dreams she and Din had shared. Their home on the water- Ocean Plot C- with four bedrooms and a garden.
She still wanted that life. It killed her that she couldn’t just set those dreams aside, even after they had ended things.
“Mind I ask you something?” Peli’s voice lifted her out of her thoughts.
She turned to face her friend who sat upright on the floor, her back pressed against the front of a living room chair with her knees drawn up to her chest.
Omera nodded. “Anything.”
“Would you have Bonded with the Mandalorian if you knew how it would turn out in the end?”
Her lips pressed together in a frown and she looked down at Winta, soothing her with a gentle touch of her palm against her arm.
“If I knew how it would turn out, I would have tried to Bond with him sooner,” she replied. Looking into Peli’s eyes, she managed a smile. “He changed our lives for the better. I don’t regret it.”
The author nodded slowly. “Does it give you peace knowing part of him will be with you when you leave?”
Omera’s eyes unexpectedly began to burn with tears. She hadn’t given it very much thought- a soulmate Bond wrapped two souls together and never gave any qualms about distance.
“Yes,” she said, her voice breathless. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’ll be with him for the rest of his life. I’ll be able to mourn his passing even if no one else will. I don’t want him to be alone.”
Peli frowned compassionately. “I don’t think it’s fair.”
“It’s all we can do,” Omera sighed. “He can’t leave. I can’t stay. We’ve both made our peace with it. I can feel it in my soul.”
Her friend was quiet for a little while. “You know, the statistical probability of having two Matches within your lifetime is less than a fraction of a percent. There have only been a few of them.”
Omera nodded. “I had a feeling it was rare.”
“Do you know how special it is to meet your Match? Even with databases and all that… there still has to be perfect timing and circumstances.”
“How rare is it?”
“Less than half of the population is Bonded or Matched,” the stat rolled off of Peli’s tongue easily. She suddenly smiled, full of a bright and contagious hope. “With statistics like those, there must be a reason you found him when you did.”
Omera thought back to what Leia had told her on the bridge and her smile spread. “It doesn’t hurt to have a little hope that somehow it will work out in the end. Does it?”
-
On departure day, Omera and Winta were both up incredibly early. Their arrival window was one of the earliest, with the rest of the crew and the passengers that the crew would bring along with them to the Outer Rim.
It was dark when they arrived, but there were big lights set up all over the airfield where the Razor Crest awaited boarding.
Winta was excited. She held Omera’s hand and bounced happily as they made their way through the small line to the intake handler.
They were each permitted to bring two large cases of their belongings, which had been difficult to pack in the days leading up to the departure. They brought clothes, blankets, and pillows. Favorite movies and games. Little trinkets that would remind them of Cara and Peli. Books and notes from other friends. All of them were touches of home on Earth that they would incorporate into their new life.
As they stepped up to the ship that loomed tall and vast over them, Omera was reminded of her husband’s discovery and the promises he’d made to himself- and to her- that one day he’d be among the first to voyage out to the place he’d discovered.
Pride swelled in her chest. They would be there soon.
“Mama, will it hurt?” Winta asked as they entered the cryo bay.
She shook her head and knelt down in front of her daughter, holding onto her arms. “No, my love. It’s just going to be really cold, but you’ll be asleep before you feel any of that. And when you wake up, we’ll be there.”
Winta smiled widely. “I’m so excited.”
“I know,” Omera smiled back. She squeezed her arms. “Come here. Give me a big hug.”
Winta did as she was asked and wrapped her arms around Omera’s neck. She held on as tight as she could, already missing her, and left kisses to the side of her head until her daughter giggled.
“I love you so much,” Omera murmured. “I’ll be right here when you wake up. I promise.”
Winta nodded back at her. “I love you too.”
She smiled with encouragement and waited at Winta’s side while the cryo specialists tucked her into her pod. They were both kind and made a game out of it, which made Omera feel a hundred times better about what little pain she might feel.
Once she was in cryo sleep, one of the specialists turned to her and gave her a comforting nod.
“She did beautifully. You can rest easy now.”
“Thank you.”
Now, it was her turn. She made her way out of the cryo bay and found the members of the crew all gathered together on the bridge.
For takeoff, they would only require the Primary Team: a group of six of the higher performing crew members whose abilities were specialized for takeoff.
The Secondary Team, which Omera was part of, would be put into cryo ahead of time, and when the ship was a full six hours into its mission, just two crew members from the Primary Team would remain awake for a full week’s time.
The goal of it was that if anything were to go wrong, they would be able to address it well before the computer would have to wake anybody up on its own.
There was a hum around the bridge. Nerves and excitement, mostly, but then she heard something strange.
One of the members of the Secondary Team asked, “What is the protocol for a missing pilot?”
“A missing pilot?” she asked, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“The lead pilot for the Primary Team hasn’t shown up. It’s beyond the call window.”
Omera blinked. She ran through the protocols in her mind. There wasn’t any need to panic. It was obvious what would need to be done.
“Leia knows,” she told them. “She’ll bring one of the members from the Reserve Team onto the bridge and Ahsoka will probably be moved up from Secondary.”
She eyed the cryo pods on the wall. Overhead, the radio connection from the mission control tower quieted them, “Secondary Team, you’re cleared for cryo. Your lead pilot is on the way.”
Relief covered the members of the bridge crew. Omera turned to the group of her team nearby and tilted her head toward the pods.
“It’s time.”
The crew pods operated differently from the colonist’s in that they were primarily computer operated, whereas the colonist’s were supplementarily computer operated. This would prevent the computer from waking everyone on board should something go wrong. Their doses of the sleeping agent were different as well, to help encourage fast wakeup times on short notice.
Omera entered her pod with a spectacular sense of calm about the mission ahead. It would have been natural to feel uneasy, or to have concerns, but all she felt was an eagerness for her new life to begin.
When her cryo door closed, the lights inside turned off and she heard the computer explain the process.
“In ten seconds, you will be injected with a temporary dosage of a sleep-inducing drug. Do not panic or move around. You will then be given twenty seconds to fall asleep before the cryo stasis process begins.”
“Ten. Nine. Eight.”
There was a little window that peered out at the bridge and Omera saw movement from a few of the Primary Team members. Smiles and relief. The pilot must have finally arrived. Good.
“Three. Two. One.”
The injection of the drug stung in her arm. Almost immediately, she began to feel the effects, just as she did when they ran a test a few weeks ago.
She gazed out her pod window and allowed her breathing to even out.
Suddenly, pure joy filled her soul from top to bottom- a never-ending burst of light that made her want to laugh out loud.
She wasn’t sure where it came from. Maybe it was elation over the mission. Maybe it was just joy.
“Ten.”
And then she saw him right in front of her pod window. His brown eyes shined as he stared back at her. She’d recognize that face anywhere, even with glassed over eyes as sleep threatened to pull her under.
Din?
She felt her eyes sag heavily and was unable to open them again to verify if she’d dreamed him or if he was real.
She hoped with everything in her that he was real.
-
Read Chapter 16
#mandomera#din x omera#the mandalorian#my writing#invisible string fic#lowkey want to post 16 today too but i won't LOL
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