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hanjizung · 3 years

Text

♡ Dreamy Welcome. ♡

Lee Minho x Reader.

Word count: 4.4K

♡ Warnings ♡: SMUT; (mentions of) orgasm control, fingering, masturbation, (a bit of) exhibitionism, creampie, breeding kink, basically just love making, pet names.

Hello! im back with another request from when i reblogged this promp list ! [8) “If you’re going to act like a little brat then I’m going to treat you like a little brat.”] hope you enjoy!

You had been missing Minho a lot since he went on tour, missed everything about him; his voice, his laugh, his smile, the way he called your name, how he hugged you and kissed you on the forehead after teasing you… His whole absence felt weird, it wasn’t killing you but you missed him a lot, you needed him back as soon as possible.

There was an unwritten list of things you wanted to do with him once he was back; first you had to hug him, tell him how much you had missed him while kissing his face and making him feel a little shy from all the affection you were giving him in front of his members, then you would steal him and take him to your house for a movie night where the only thing you would actually focus on is going to be take care of him, massage him if he wants, play with his hair and cuddle with him on your couch until he fell asleep, and the last thing on your list was to make him fuck you senseless.

Of course the two of you had the occasional phone sex, it was mostly him hiding in the bathroom between practices and telling you to touch yourself for him, moaning his name but never cumming, because he said that he wanted you to cum on his cock, he wanted to be the one to give you an orgasm that would have you seeing stars.

That was the promise he made during one of those calls late at night that had you feeling needy and in not a very good mood for the next day, it made you feel frustrated that you stayed always at the edge, but you were equally proud that you hadn’t broken his one rule.

The day he called you and told you with a happy voice that his last concert was in 3 more nights and that in two days after that you would be able to see him, you exploded. When you went to work you got asked multiple times what had happened that you couldn't stop smiling, making you laugh and lie to them that you were just excited for something that happened to one of your cousins or something like that.

It was a more contrastive mood than how you behaved last week, bags under your eyes, eyes semi closed from how tired you were and not so happy because your beautiful boyfriend required a session of self love where he got to edge you multiple times. Twice, to be more precise, the sudden change surprised everyone at your workplace. You seemed more energetic and focused, you did all your work with a smile on your face and you sang during your break when you ate.

You asked your boss if you could leave earlier one day, and seeing how competent you were behaving he accepted, wishing you good luck and telling you that he expected you to stay working as efficiently as possible and that he was happy with your work pace. You simply nodded, not hearing much of his speech because everything that was in your mind was your beautiful boyfriend.

Days passed quickly and you found yourself showering at 4 am to be able to go and receive your boyfriend and the rest of your friends in time. You would be done getting ready at 5, then had to get a taxi to the airport and then you would be able to spend the day with all of them, just like you wanted.

The early morning was cold, and you were thankful that you decided to wear an appropriate coat to protect yourself from the weather. You placed your hands together out of nervousness, anticipating the moment that all of them would arrive, walking through their fans and following the staff to where their vans were parked.

True… you couldn't run to Minho and wrap your arms around him. You had to keep the black mask above your nose and the dark glasses to avoid raising suspicion and pretend to be another staff member. Your relationship was a secret…

Sighing, a plane finally landed and the giant bodyguards that you sometimes brought candies to started walking towards it, you running not too far from them and breathing in to try and control your excitement, failing momentarily when you saw a group of men walk out followed by some other people close behind them. You recognized each one of your friends as soon as they walked out, they wore comfortable clothes and they seemed to be needing some more rest.

The real staff instructed them to go to the previously prepared cars, and you rushed to find your dance machine boyfriend.

You waited for Changbin, Jisung and Seungmin to get inside the car, Minho noticed you and he got in, waiting for you to close the door after you hopped in to hug you and pull you close to him in a loving manner. In the front seats, there was one of the bodyguards and the designated driver. You snuggled closer to Minho, he whispered "I missed you a lot" for you to hear only and he kissed your forehead gently, making you feel incredibly happy.

Not even 10 minutes inside the car, and soft snores could be heard, Minho's weight felt heavy in your side, but you didn't care, you were happy knowing that from that day he would get to rest for a long period of time, and you expected to spend a lot of time with him.

The stillness of the car made you open your eyes, rubbing them to get accustomed to the sun rays filters through the clear front window and you realized that you had finally arrived at the dorms. The bodyguard opened the door for you, giving you his hand to help you out. You shook Minho gently to help him wake up, yawning when he looked at you with disoriented eyes, and then you took the waiting hand to wait for them outside.

When all of them were outside the car, you helped them walk to their corresponding dorm, helping Minho walk with closed eyes because he wasn't fully awake, and when you finally got to your destination, the door was unlocked and there was a mountain of baggage and bags ready to unpack, but that would be a problem for later. In the kitchen, sitting with his laptop in front of him was Chan, he gave a low "good mornin" when he saw who had arrived, continuing to do whatever it was that he had on display in the screen in front of him. You nodded, silently greeting him and then walked to Minho's shared room. He plopped down on his bed, moving and patting the side next to him for you to lay down next to him, and you did.

"I missed you" you whispered, burying your face in his chest and hugging him tightly, making him chuckle quietly.

"I missed you too, hot stuff" he whispered back, looking down at you and patting your back gently.

The two of you stayed like that, there was no need to speak any more words, you were finally holding him, you were finally in his arms and you felt so loved. This was your safe place.

With those thoughts in your head, you dozed off again, your breathing almost syncing with Minho's steady one.

You had a beautiful dream with him, it started with you sitting on the porch of your childhood home observing the street until a younger looking Minho appeared and took your hand. He guided you to the insides of the place that used to be your home. He kissed you playfully at first, then he took your face with his hand and held you in place as the heat of the kiss increased and moments later he was eating you out in the kitchen aisle.

You were enjoying the dream probably a little too much, because you were woken up suddenly by your boyfriend's hands on your shoulder, moving you gently to bring you back to the real world.

"Seems like you had an interesting dream, didn't you?" he said. You blushed, hitting him gently on his chest and groaning.

"Maybe I wouldn't dream such things if someone," you shoot him a glare "didn't get me all worked up and then didn't allow me to cum" you complained, making him laugh. You were daring him, and you knew that, but you needed to know how much he would wait until he finally gave you what you wanted and fucked you hard like he'd done before he left.

"Oh, really, baby? It's my fault, then?" he asked. You pouted and nodded, looking at him with needy eyes. "Then I must do something to reward you for being so good, right?" his hand snaked on your tummy, getting to the edge of your shirt and going under it until it reached your breast.

His hand squeezed you, gaining a sigh from you. Two of his fingers played with your nub moment later, he shifted so he would be on his side and able to play with you, his lips finding a home in your neck and kissing you lazily, the caress of his lips against your skin and the sensation of him teasing your nipoles felt amazing, it was enough for you to start getting wet and your breathing to turn irregular, but all that ended when Jisung shamelessly opened the door.

"Hey guys, who's awake already? Does anyone wanna watch a movie?" he asked no one in particular, Minho's movement stopped and his arm quickly moved to wrap around your waist, his head fell against his pillow and you closed your eyes again to pretend to still be asleep. It was almost as if nothing between the two of you had happened, which would actually seem like it were true if both your hearts weren't racing from almost being caught.

You heard movement from the other side of the room, you recognized Hyunjin's steps passing through the door accompanied with a humm and later Seungmin's voice was heard, answering Jisung who was still standing by the entrance.

"I'm kinda hungry. I'll join if we order something to eat" he said, the sound of feet against the floor letting you know he was ready to leave the room.

"Sure, let's try to convince Chan to pay," Jisung responded, waiting for Seungmin to walk with him to the living room, but when Seungmin reached him, Jisung didn't move. "Shouldn't we wake Minho and ask him if he wants something as well?"

"Nah, he stayed up the whole flight I think, and besides, he's with Y/N. Let's order something for them and let them sleep," Seungmin said, his tired voice making it clear that he didn't want to deal with trying to wake Minho up.

The answer seemed to be enough for Jisung, and the two of them left, closing the door behind them. Just then, you allowed yourself to sigh in relief.

Next to you, Minho rolled on his side, his back now at you making you confused. "What are you doing?" you asked.

"You heard them, they think we're asleep, so we might go back to sleep again, don't you think?" he responded, his tone still low. You whined, hugging his whole body as best as you could, your mouth reaching his ear to whisper to him:

"But I'm so wet… are you really going back to sleep and leave me like this?" you cried to him, you knew he could feel you putting on the tone of voice you decided to use, but he didn't say anything, so you tried your luck again.

"Please, if you're not going to fuck me at least finger me, I've missed you so much… I've been waiting for you to use me for so long" you continued, begging with a low voice and pressing your lips against the shell of his ear, starting a trail of kisses down all the uncovered skin you could see, high diving yourself in your mind when you felt him shiver under your touch.

Minho finally sighed, giving in and turning so now he would be facing you, your eyes almost shone when his right hand went to your hip and his face got closer to yours to steal a passionate kiss that you now would end up making you feel like the world was spinning.

You couldn't help the giggle that escaped your lips when both of you tried to recuperate your normal breathing, drawing a raised eyebrow from your boyfriend. You simply took his face with both of your hands and started kissing him again, suddenly one of your hands leaving his cheek to guide the hand resting on your hip to where you needed him most. If he noticed, he had been nice enough to not say anything.

Or that's what you thought, because then he broke the kiss and growled quietly, his fingers playing with the button of your jeans until he was able to open them and he wasted no more time, his slender digit slipping past your underwear and feeling all the wetness between your legs.

"Oh, Y/N, you're so fucking wet, kitten" he muttered. His hand moved away from where you wanted it to be, making you complain and furrow your eyebrows while he showed you his glistening finger before guiding it to your lips for you to lick it clean yourself. Minho rolled his eyes when you grabbed his hand and made it touch you again, you didn't care how needy you seemed, everything you could think of was how much you'd love for him to rail you.

His fingers started working on you, slowly caressing your clit and gathering your essence before he entered you, making you sigh. He was staring at you, silently admiring your features that showed just how good he was making you feel. You weren't looking at him, your eyes closed as you tried to focus on the way he was making you feel, but you didn't need to see him to know how much he was grinning, proud to have you biting your lip to not moan too loud. At some point your breathing got heavier and your legs started to tremble, the last signal meaning that you were close was when your walls embraced his fingers, your mouth opened as you found home in the ecstasy-like sensation, Minho tried to prolong it by over stimulating you.

After a moment, he finally removed his fingers from your inside and licked it clean from your juices while you recovered.

"Was that better?" he asked, gaining a humming from you as an answer.

"It was good, but I still want you to fuck me" you finally said, pouting. He opened his eyes wide, as if he was actually surprised, and said:

"You're so greedy, my needy baby wants something else besides my fingers, huh? Go clean yourself and let's go to your house then. I'll give you the best welcome back fuck of your life" he kissed your forehead, waiting for you to stand up after you heard what he said.

"Really?" you asked, full of hope. He nodded, and you almost jumped from the bed to run to the bathroom, standing in front of the door fixing your jeans before walking out the room, remembering that you weren't alone.

You made your way silently to the bathroom, saving your hand at Jeongin who apparently had gone to his room for something and happened to find you on his journey to go back to the living room. He seemed tired, as if he hadn't fully tested, but his memory worked just fine because before you entered the bathroom he told you that they were going to watch a movie and had called for some takeout food for everyone. You thanked him and got inside to do what you had to do.

An hour later, you found yourself cuddling Mingo on the only individual couch after eating and watching a comedy with the rest of the members. Some were on their phone, some still eating and others were cuddling just like you were. It was a relaxed night, and you were having a good time, but the words Minho had told you earlier resonated in your head and your pussy was louder than your heart, screaming at you to act out and make Minho take you home to complete his promise.

Covered with a blanket, your hand snaked down his form and entered his joggers, feeling up his cock. You weren't looking at him to know his reaction, but he quickly squeezed you as a warning to not continue your devilish plans.

You didn't care, continuing to tease him until he got hard enough and that's when you pressed yourself against him. He sighed, but pushed himself against you almost as if encouraging you to keep going.

"Stop, Y/N. We'll leave after the movie is over" he whispered, trying to get you to reason with him.

The answer he got was you pulling his joggers and boxers down with one hand carefully, freeing his hardened cock from its prison and wrapping your hand around him, making him hiss. One of his hands went to your neck, pulling your head back to tell you one last thing.

“Kitten, if you’re going to act like a little brat then I’m going to treat you like a little brat when we get to your house" he murmured, quiet enough for you to listen to his words only.

If you were going to be punished, you might as well continue what you started.

Minho's hold on you tightened when he realized that you had set your mind on torturing him, you knew the risk of possibly getting caught was high and that it made everything way more exciting, but all your tries at being subtle and not drag any attention to the both of you were affecting him horribly. He hated how you ceased all movement when someone shifted or how you tensed when everyone stopped talking was like pure hell for Minho.

His cock twitched, and he faked a yawn to hide the noise that came out of him. You took advantage of it, and played along with it.

"Oh, you're still tired? We should go back to your room so you can sleep, don't you think?" you whispered, long enough for the rest of the members to hear.

Minho caught up with what you were doing, faking another yawn and hugging your body as if you were a plushie. He nodded, and you fixed his clothes quickly so the two of you could stand up.

Minho had other plans, and stood up with you in his arms, the blanket covering his boner. Everyone's eyes were on you two, so you said goodnight and entered the shared room again. Once inside, he didn't even turn the light on, walking straight to the bed after closing the door and dropping you there.

"I can't believe you're making me break Chan's 'no fucking in the dorms' rule" he said, taking his shirt off. You laughed, starting to undress as well.

"As if you really cared about rules" you said, opening your arms for him when you and him were finally fully naked.

"You're right, I only care about you and fucking you. You'll get your punishment later" he replied, hovering over you and positioning his member at your entrance, pressing your foreheads together as he slowly entered you. He kissed you before he started slamming into you, trying to maintain your moans to a minimum so the whole 'going to sleep' act could still be believable to your friends.

With your arms thrown around his neck and your legs hugging his waist, you felt the happiest, like you were in heaven. Finally, Minho was filling you with his cock, making you feel like he was the missing piece in your life that left a hole in your constant day to day with his sole absence, but now he was back, fucking you, kissing you; loving you, and it made your head and your heart swim with happiness, because he was back and you would have him like before he left.

He was thrusting you carefully, slowly but not too much to make you feel bored or annoy you, it was almost the right speed to make the moment last longer, a try to be more passionate with you. Minho's grunts and your heavy breathing were all you cared about, you forgot about everything outside the door, but the way your reasonable side made you moan quietly still brought a sense of reality to you, you whimpered and opened your mouth to exhale, his own breathing on your face making you open your eyes to look at him while he kept working, rocking his hips against yours and trying to make you cum for the second time of the day.

"I love you" you told him quietly, looking up at his sweaty face and pulling him in by his neck to kiss him lovingly like you meant to do when you saw him coming out of the plane.

Minho smiled against your lips, allowing his weight to fall on you and support himself on his left elbow, using his right hand to caress your cheek and move a strand of your hair that had gotten on your face so he could admire you better. When he finished the kiss, you thought he would return to the old position, supporting himself with both arms, but he didn't and instead he started kissing your whole face, making you giggle and close your eyes, with each kiss he left on your face you could say he tried to speed up to finally make you reach your well deserved orgasm, everything in that moment felt so intimate, and the addition of the kisses on your face and him gently cupping your cheek let you know this wasn't simple fucking anymore.

You would make a disgusted face at how cheesy it sounded, but in that very moment you couldn't describe the intimate activity as anything else than love making.

It wouldn't be the first time that Minho treats you as gentle as this, but something… felt different. You couldn't quite tell what it was, maybe because it had been months since you were with him, or because you missed him so much, but the ambient felt more mature in the aspect that you knew that his sweet whispers praising you and reminding you that he loved you as well and that you meant so much to him were not just words.

You wanted to cry, but you knew this wasn't the moment, your quiet moans mixed with giggles and adoring smiles disappeared when the new hard thrusting made your walls tighten around Minho's cock, and without any advice you came. You knew that there was a high percentage that the boys already knew what the two of you were up to thanks to the cracking of the bed and the specific noise of skin slapping sounds, but you still wanted to try and drown your moans to simulate that you were sleeping.

"Ah, baby…" Minho grunted, his face hiding in the crook of your neck to then whisper to you "I'm gonna cum…" followed by the twitching of his cock inside you.

"C-cum inside me, fill me up" you said back, your broken voice and tucked out features when he moved to see you being all he needed to release his seed inside you.

The warm sensation of his semen flowing in you made you smile, and your panting boyfriend pulled out of you to take the tissues box he hid under his bed for all occasions.

You looked at him when he kneeled in front of you to clean you, knowing how tired he actually was by the way his eyes were closing, and you appreciated how he still worried to clean you and not let you all sticky, very sweet of him.

The two of you dressed up lazily, this time laying in bed to sleep like you had said that you would do some time ago.

"I'm so happy you're back, I really missed you" you whispered, your hand resting flat on his chest as you listened to his heart beating under you.

"I'm glad to be back as well, kitten. I thought I would go crazy if I spent more days without seeing you" he joked, patting your head with his hand.

"Let's not think about it now, I had a hard time without cumming when you weren't here" he laughed at your words responding by squeezing you a bit.

"Well, if you're going to be this needy every time I come back, I don't mind leaving you as much" he said back, tone so serious that it scared you.

"You're not being serious, right?" you moved, looking at his face. He had his eyes closed, but the faint shadow of a smile creeping on his lips. He opened them to look at you before he answered you.

"Of course not, kitten. The last thing I want is to be away from you, it's so hard to be far from you when I love you this much" he finally said, making you sigh in relief and your heart throb inside your chest.

"It's not my fault that you love me so much, you're only guilty for making me love you so bad" you smiled, going back to resting on his chest.

"Shhh, you know, that I'm the best that's happened in your life, but we can talk about how awesome I am later, now sleep. I promise I'll be here when you wake up" he moved, shifting to press a kiss on your forehead.

"I hope so, you promised me the fuck of my life when we go to my house and I can't wait for that" you laughed, poking his side.

"We'll see when tomorrow comes, but sleep first. Good night, baby, I love you."

#skz smut #skz fanfiction #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfiction #lee know smut #lee know x reader #skz lee know smut #lee know x you #minho smut #minho x reader #skz minho smut #skz minho #original content #mine #by me #scheduled post

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perhapsthanatos · 3 years

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06:01 am with sungchan ♡

nct's sungchan x fem!reader (ok do u guys know that one vine where its in a party & a girl is vaping & a dude says “wow”? yeah, thats where i got my inspo from)

alternate title: after the afterparty

genre: fluff. pinning. non idol au. party!au (is that a thing?).

word count: 1250~

playlist: melodrama (the whole album) by lorde.

warnings: mentions of some of the nct dream members as well as some mentions of the loona members (not really a warning though). this is set before corona was a thing (pls dont do this now). it is set in a house party (with tension). mentions of drugs (weed), alcohol & smoking. mild swearing. making out perhaps? lower case intended.

a/n: this has been on my mind for awhile now & im really excited to put this out there! it also has more tension compared to the other works so yay :)) i also just wanna take a moment to thank the lovely @nct99 for helping me out with this plot & giving some prompts & ideas too?? :(( she is such a sweetheart & pls she is so talented too ugh im so glad we r mutuals & fellow lorde stans :(( give her love rn or else i will eat ur shower curtains (& nae i hope it was worth the wait! i wish i added more references tho lmaoo)

another graceless night and another house party. this time, it was chenle’s birthday. he is a friend of yours, known for having a huge mansion and known for throwing the best parties regardless of the occasion. come to think of it though, it could easily be the 7th one this week and it’s barely wednesday. the evening passes fast as golden rays already start to gently peek through the thin curtains of the tall windows near the living room, as bodies of wasters are sprawled all over the house.

you lean back on the couch further, a curtain of haze taking up your vision as you inhaled another hit of the fresh blunt. even with the sun rising, you still make most of what you can get before everyone (and everything) starts leaving. you never were a party person until your friends dragged you into it. since that day you found it to be a fun way to get rid of your problems and worries (even if it was just for a few hours). partying (as gross as it sounds) became a routine, even becoming its own cycle. you come, you leave and you have everything in between be a complete blur, maybe even staying completely jaded until the daylight returns. some nights it feels good to kiss and keep busy rather than face the constant harsh reality.

you turn your head to see sungchan, the back of his head resting on the top of the couch right next to you. his leather jacket rubbing against your bare arm. his eyes are closed showing off his long lashes and his pink lips are chapped and parted. he looks seraphic in this light.

to be honest, you didn’t know much about sungchan. all you knew was that he’s the new kid who started getting close with jisung barely a month ago. that led jisung to introduce him to the group and him getting welcomed in with open arms by everyone, except you. it’s not that you hate him or have anything against him, if anything he seems like the most charming people out there. you just have trouble opening up to new people especially when you’re already so comfortable with the others (which he could kind of guess already). but since he joined, he was also dragged into the party scene and often played the role as the designated driver and part-time babysitter (a role that he takes seriously along with jeno). it isn’t an uncommon occurrence for him to be seen wrestling the bottle of gin away from hyejoo, strapping in renjun’s seat belt for him, cleaning up yerim’s vomit or carrying an unconscious donghyuck over his shoulder. come to think of it, he fits in just fine. you have often found yourself near him during parties. just kicking back and sitting in a comfortable silence with you drinking and smoking from time to time. he is the one that notices when you’ve had enough and wanted to leave. maybe you’re more alike than you think?

“feeling good?” he asks, smelling the fresh smoke. he turns his head to you and opens one of his eyes.

you only nod and sigh, turning your head back to the ceiling. waves of calmness hit your head, forcing every burden out. you were about to offer him a hit but you remembered that he would only reject it. but you take another for yourself and he can only stare, completely enamored. we watches the smoke escape your lips in slow.

the thing is, he always had some sort of thing for you. a crush? a person he found cool and therefore admired? a person who he found so damn gorgeous all the time? god knows. all he knew was that there was something in you that was so addictive. on the nights where he’d stay sober, he’d watch you sit by his side, quietly drinking up your little movements and habits. even if he hates the taste of alcohol or the smell of gasoline, he loved how your teeth would close around the liquor-wet lime slices that would sit on the side of your cup and how your smoke always finds a way to leave him stained. he would constantly be falling into this fixation of you. you are etched into his mind as the embodiment of perfection even if you have multiple flaws just like he does. his mind constantly lays restless during the most ungodly hours while all of his dreams show you and him in different dimensions. it hurts him to violently like you like this but how can he not resist when the heartache came from you?

“sungchan,” you quietly call out, turning your head back to him, only to see him already staring.

“hm?” he takes one of your hands, in case you wanted to get up and couldn’t walk.

“may i try something?” you ask him, curiously with your hooded eyes barely holding on to consciousness.

“what is it?” he sits up, trying to help.

you gently push him back into the couch and straddle his hips. his eyes slightly widen and his cheeks turn a rosy red.

“ah, y/n, you’re fucking high.” he warns, stroking your hair and leaning further back.

you only giggle. your finger lifts his chin up, making him look directly at you. his shaky eyes are too irresistible.

“tell me when you wanna stop.”

you take the blunt, inhaling deeply. he continues to hold you, admiring the view while he’s at it.

you then gently pulled him closer by the neck (quite slowly incase he wanted to oppose) to leave an open-mouthed kiss on his plum lips to transfer the smoke into his mouth. he does not fight the feeling, how can he when your lips are the softest thing he has ever felt? the smoke began to seep through as he started to move his lips, eliciting a groan from you. is this what euphoria feels like? his grip on your waist tightens as your arms wrap around his neck, prompting him to go further.

sungchan, almost breathless pulls on your bottom lip, bruising them to then pull away to work at your neck, licking and leaving kisses all over. butterflies filled your stomach for the first time in awhile. you never felt this way towards another person in too long. is it love or desperation? you watch the smoke flow away so gracefully around your bodies, despite what just happened. sungchan pulls away and looks at you, his eyes holding the world. you pray that you didn’t frighten him away.

“you do not know how long i’ve been wanting to do that,” he whispers, his forehead against yours. you smile in return, pulling away to place a small kiss on his jaw which clenches from the sudden contact. you rest your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes as his head rests on yours and his cold hands trace patterns against the skin of your back.

“know i think you’re fucking awesome, right?” you hum, making him smile like an idiot.

“hm, no. but i think you should know that i think you’re really fucking awesome, right?” he says holding you tighter and gently swaying from side to side.

“you wanna leave here and get some mcdonalds or something?”

“ooo, what ever happened to the babysitter and designated driver, hm? so what, you plan to leave them here hungover and defenseless?”

“shut up, it’s already dawn. they can take an uber. i just wanna spend time with you right now.”

“alright.”

#efa writes!#nct 2020 #nct #nct u #nct dream #nct 127 #sungchan #sungchan imagines #sungchan drabbles #sungchan fluff #nct sungchan #nct imagines #nct u imagines #nct dream imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct timestamps #sungchan timestamps #i wanna jump off a bridge these tags better work

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gukeobi · 4 years

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home is where the heart is

pairing: werewolf!jeongguk x reader

genre: fluff, slight angst (jeongguk really wants pups 😔)

words: 1.5k

an: i finally finished the last of my finals!! im so glad to be back to writing again and hope this tiny nb drabble makes up for my absence lol

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The sun was warm on your skin as it blazed from above, the absence of the shaded treeline you had grown used to in the time that has passed proved itself a bigger nuisance that you had initially anticipated. It left your already thin shirt sticking uncomfortably against the growing dampness coating your flesh, the obnoxious heat of the body currently crowded around you not doing much to help combat the discomfort.

“Guk,” you whispered, threading your fingers through the sweaty tresses of his midnight hair. The man in question hummed lowly against your throat in response to your sudden acknowledgement, continuing his combination of biting and kissing at the exposed skin as the taste of salt clouded his senses. “we have to get back to work.”

Despite your words you tilted your head to give the lycan more room to venture, the occasional feeling of his extended incisors peeking past the softness of his lips and scraping the sensitive expanse of your throat making you shiver in delight. You knew the both of you were only wasting time by getting inadvertently sidetracked -- the unfinished structure behind you proving that statement true -- though once he started, it was difficult to break free from his intoxicating and comforting hold.

Tightening your fingers in Jeongguk’s hair, you pulled him away from your bruised flesh, albeit reluctantly on both of your parts, ignoring the whines of dissatisfaction and protest coming from his mouth as you pulled him up to view. You could finally see the dazed look shrouding the glowing red hue of his lidded eyes and the thin sheen of sweat coating his flushed face, a soft pout tugging at the seams of his lips that tugged at your heart almost painfully.

“Mmm,” Jeongguk responded quietly, closing his eyes once again as he captured your mouth with his. It was a distraction tactic, you knew it was, but that didn’t stop you from giving into his advances for your own selfish desire. “Just a bit longer, y/n.”

“You said that five minutes ago,” you chuckled against him, a soft smile working its way onto your face as you attempted to reason with the lycan. “If we keep taking breaks, we’ll never finish on time.”

Jeongguk’s face dropped as he took in your words, his hands moving to rest on your hips as he leaned into the warmth of your palm cupping his cheek gently. He knew you were right, the two of you have been working on this project for far too long because of his tendency to get distracted by the feeling of your skin beneath his claws and the taste of your skin on his tongue, his mind filled with nothing but thoughts of you and the pleasant lingering feeling it left behind.

“I know.” the lycan responded, closing his eyes briefly at the feeling of your thumb stroking the slightly sunken skin of the scar that was there. It made his stomach feel fluttery, an overwhelming feeling of love and adoration filling his chest as he gazed at you smiling back at him. “You know i can’t help it.”

With a sigh you moved to run your hand down Jeongguk’s back soothingly, the exposed flesh soft beneath your touch as your fingers dipped with his flexed shoulder blades before traveling to the curve of his lower back. His head dropped into the crook of your neck in response, sighs of pleasure leaving his lips before it shifted to the gentle caress of lips on the raised scar marring your skin.

Mating season was fastly approaching, the months shifting from the sweltering warmth of summer to the frigid embrace of winter quicker than you had time to prepare for. In the years before, you and Jeongguk would spend the entire duration in the pack house without much consequence or disturbance, but this year, after many long conversations both in the depths of night and under the early morning sky, plans have changed.

The home both of you were currently building was placed near the shoreline of the lake Jeongguk used to take you to every morning at the beginnings of your relationship, relatively secluded for the sake of your privacy but not too far from the pack house or your cabin. It was going to be for the both of you, for your future family.

Although you weren’t surprised by his desire to conceive pups, something he had no issue with expressing to you in the heat of the moment, what startled you the most was the gentle hand he’d rest on your stomach each night and the longing looks to other pack’s young on the rare occasion you would visit for territorial and alliance discussions.

It terrified you more than you like to admit.

The feeling of Jeongguk’s hand creeping beneath your shirt brought you out of your thoughts, a wide palm resting just below your navel and rubbing the soft skin there gently. It was somehow comforting and wrong at the same time, the implications of such a miniscule action making you shift in uneasiness.

“Come on, Guk,” you whispered with a small smile, wrapping your hand around his wrist to tug it back from where it managed to snake itself under your clothes. “back to work, my love.”

With a soft groan Jeongguk complied, pulling back enough to let you hop down from where you were previously seated on what will eventually be the porch of your future home. The warmth of his palms was welcomed as he held your hands in his own much larger ones, a wide smile tugging at his cheeks as he tugged you forward to walk with him.

“What would I do without you, my little wolf?” Jeongguk beamed, a playful tone coating his words. He was still walking backwards and pulling you forward by the grip on your hands, the softness of the overgrown fauna brushing at your bare ankles and making you giggle at the ticklish sensation.

His hair was slightly overgrown and falling into his eyes, muscles shining with sweat underneath the afternoon sun and rippling with each movement as he gazed at you with so much love you weren’t even sure this was real, if he was real.

You never knew it was possible to love someone as much as you did Jeongguk.

-----

With the sun finally setting back into the horizon it was significantly more cool than it was earlier, a gentle breeze traveling past you and making the flora you were currently lying in sway and tickle against your exposed skin. The sky above you was currently painted a quiet shade of pink and blue, the pastels bleeding into each other until they blended at the seams.

You could hear the scurry of tiny animals behind you as they sought cover in the forest, the crunch of fallen leaves and quickly approaching heavy breathing the only real disturbance in the quickly fading night. What welcomed you was a cold, wet touch on your cheek, a large mass of black entering your vision as the wolf rubbed his face against yours in greeting.

Jeongguk had left into the forest a few hours prior to cool off and blow off some steam, his movements lethargic and slow all day while he worked as his body was not designed to handle such high temperatures. You imagined he felt much better under the brisk night cover, the wind rustling his inky coat and his body less weighed down than it was before.

“Hey,” you spoke quietly, lifting a hand to comb through the fur of what would be his cheek, slightly cold to the touch. The wolf pushed his head further into your touch in response, a low rumble sounding deep in his chest as he moved to rest his forehead against yours briefly.

You watched with lidded eyes as the lycan shifted to lay partially on top of you, the weight heavy and nearly winding you in the process before it settled into a comfortable blanket of warmth. Jeongguk’s large head was resting on your stomach, snout pressed in the space between your breasts as he stared at you with lidded red eyes.

“Feel better?” The wolf huffed in response to your question, closing his eyes and relaxing as the soft fur of his tail brushed against your hoodie covered arm. Your hand was dwarfed impressively in comparison to his frame, fingers getting lost in the inky darkness of the fur on his back as you pet him gently.

Jeongguk let out one last long sigh before nestling further into you, content enough as the cool night sky brushed through his coat. There was a nagging thought in the back of his mind as he nuzzled your stomach, a whine getting caught in his throat as he attempted to suppress the feeling of disappointment he could sense was beginning to brew in his chest.

If he concentrates hard enough, he almost believes he can hear the gentle heartbeat of his pups growing inside of you.

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years

Text

when your love reaches me (iii)

summary: 1978 is decidedly not 2020. nor is your life ever the same when you meet a guitarist, curly haired, soft spoken, and true.

word count: 7.5k

warnings: angst, language, yearning for a man in his 70s (c’est la vie, i guess), over-describing a moment i’m very passionate about (sorry, not sorry! ten points to the person who can tell me what moment it is LOL)

a/n: wow—this gif? yeah, match made in heaven. thank you all so much for indulging me in this mini-series. i really am very proud of this silly little thing & i’m sad that it’s over because i enjoyed writing it so much. thank you to @im-an-adult-ish & @deacyblues for helping me work out the rough spots in this one. would love to hear everyone’s thoughts because i’m very ~emotional~ about this mini-series!! xoxo.

part i, part ii

in this final chapter: you must adjust because it’s not in your cards to be with him, is it?

you run your hands down your face, feel the ring on your finger catch along the end of your nose, and sigh. two months—two months without him. two months to adjust to world you once knew but happily left behind. two months to gather the pieces of the life which cruelly slipped through your fingers like water.

each day is the same. you rise early and take your coffee on the postage stamp terrace outside your flat. you watch the sun climb higher in the sky with each passing moment and let the warmth of your drink soothe the ache in your soul. you wash your breakfast dishes, mumble a good morning to rachel when she exits her bedroom to make her way to the shower, and dress for the day. you walk to campus if you have a class or take the underground to the museum if you have a shift. you come home, eat dinner, go to bed. repeat.

if rachel notices a change in you, she doesn’t say anything. in her mind, no time has passed between the morning where she asked you to come to the pub and the same evening you tumbled into the flat, drenched and sobbing.

but you—you’ve lost a year of your life. there’s no getting it back, and the only thing that proves it really truly happened is the ring on your middle finger, the necklace hanging by your heart, and the undeveloped rolls of film in your bedside table.

there are few words to describe the unbearable pain in your chest. anything and everything reminds you of brian: the whisper of the breeze in the autumn-heavy trees; the feeling of your warmest cardigan around your shoulders; the sound of someone laughing in the museum.

but there’s more:

the scent of cigarette smoke reminds you of roger. the sight of two friends ribbing one another in a grocery store reminds you of crystal. a colorful jacket makes you think of freddie, a whispered snide remark takes you back to john, and two girls giggling reminds you of giddy moments with anna.

around every corner you turn there’s a memory you cannot avoid, and it hurts—desperately, keenly, deeply.

so you push it all away and soldier on, quiet and downtrodden. it’s easier that way. maybe, if you forget, you can move on and make it through life without him.

six months after you’ve left brian behind, you’re approached by your boss at the museum with an opportunity you’d only ever dreamed of: the chance to create and prepare your own exhibit.

monica is firm when she offers you the south wing to reshape as your own. “blow this out of the water, [y/n], and there will be a job as assistant curator waiting for you after graduation. i want something fresh and exciting. think you can manage?”

you agree without hesitation.

for the first time in a long time, you can’t help but smile to yourself. this is your chance to put everything you’ve learned to good use, to put something tangible in your portfolio, to make a name for yourself.

you’re buzzing with excitement and have to practically hold rachel hostage as you spout your myriad of thoughts and ideas. she’s your sounding board, even if she doesn’t want to be, but she’s honest where it counts most, and you’re grateful for that.

she glances over the kitchen table, laden with open magazines, cutout photos, and history books. her brow puckers. “this is... really boring, [y/n],” she says with a cringe, looking up with her blue eyes and freckled face.

your shoulder droop. “that’s it? that’s all you have to say?”

she shrugs and reaches for a photo, inspecting it with a critical gaze. “i mean, ancient textiles might be interesting to you and maybe five other people, but it isn’t exactly blowing me out of the water.”

dropping to the seat across the table, you huff. “well, we’re a photography museum, rachel. it’s not like i can whip up a few outfits and put them on mannequins.”

“excuse me, but fashion design is just as artistic as curating a museum—if not more so.” she sighs and puts the photo of a thirteenth century chinese table linen on the table. “there must be something else you’re interested in? something that other people will like just as much?”

you don’t mean to, but you let your eyes trail to the camera sitting on on the tv stand. you’d left it there after your return, uncertain where to put it. sometimes you catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of your eye and then you remember the tubes of film in your bedroom, undeveloped and unseen.

rachel follows your gaze. “you know, you never told me where you got that.”

“it was a gift.”

“oh really? from who?”

you’re slow to answer. the truth sits on the tip of your tongue—the man i love, the man i was going to marry—but you bite it back. “my great-aunt. she left it to me... in her will.”

you aren’t sure what compels you to retrieve the six rolls of film from your bedroom, but you do. the tubes feel heavy in your palm and clang against the table as you put them down. rachel looks at them then back at you, waiting.

“she gave me these, too.”

“i didn’t know you had a great-aunt.”

“we weren’t close.”

“obviously you were close enough to get these things.” rachel lifts one of the tubes, turning it over in her palm. “wonder what the pictures are.”

“i’m not sure,” you lie. “maybe they could make an exhibit.”

“i think you’d have to develop them first then make that decision.” she rises from the table and shrugs on her coat. “i’ve got a date, so don’t wait up. and try not to let this consume you too much? you’ve been down and out lately. i think the work will do you good, but don’t let it take over, yeah?”

you nod and wish her well on her date. she leaves the flat in a flourish, leaves you to the tubes of film and the growing curiosity in your stomach.

you really should get them developed. if not for an exhibit, then for yourself. an entire year of your life is in those tubes, and you deserve to see the photos you’d taken to preserve that time.

it’s been six months. you’ve purposefully distanced yourself from anything and everything related to queen, be it a simple news story, a song on the radio, or any of roger or brian’s social media posts. it hurts to see them, to know that they’re so close yet so far away, that they have no idea what became of you all those years ago in japan.

still, it’s been six months. developing the film might be your first step toward a sense of closure. you don’t want to stay in your rut forever. though you’re comfortable with the idea that brian might be your great love and you’ll never find another, you know you can’t stay as you are, sullen and despondent. it’s like a break-up, really. you’re sad, heartbroken over the loss, but you know it’s time to step out of the hurt and into something different.

before you can stop yourself, you grab the rolls of film, your purse, and your jacket, and you head for the nearest photo shop.

a few hours later, you return with a heavy packet of freshly-printed photographs and a usb drive full of digital scans. there’s over two hundred photos to sort through, and you’ve yet to see one.

flipping on the light to your living room, you sit down beside the coffee table, a glass of wine at your side, the table cleared of any lingering books or empty teacups. before you open the packet of photos, you open your laptop and type your search into the search bar. if you’re going to quell your curiosity tonight, you might as well quell all of it, and you’re dying to know what happened after you left.

a simple internet search confirms what you already know: your presence within the group on the jazz tour did not alter any significant events. freddie still passed away, john still retired. a further search yields at least one previously nonexistent queen song written by brian may: “into thin air.” it was released in the album following jazz. you can’t bring yourself to listen to it, not yet. a deeper search unearths an interview brian gave a year or so after you left. the interview was published in a magazine editorial covering of each of queen’s band members and their lives when not on tour or recording. after freddie’s bit, there’s a photograph of brian at the top of a new page. he’s smiling, but he looks weary and he mentions you only once: “i was engaged for awhile, but that ended in an unfortunate circumstance, so to answer your question: no, i’m not looking for love. not right now, anyway.”

you close the laptop and lean back against the sofa. the ring on your finger feels heavy. your eyes fill with unshed tears, and you decide the photos can wait to be seen until tomorrow.

the packet of photos ends up sitting on the coffee table for two weeks before you invite your co-worker, shamik, over for wine and cheese and museum gossip. shamik is kind, a first-generation immigrant from india with personality to spare and an exuberance for all things american. he claims it’s his greatest curse that his parents brought him to britain as a baby instead of america, and it’s something he can never forgive them for. you’ve only interacted with shamik at work, but when you mention your exhibit project, he’s eager to offer his help. with no new ideas outside ancient textiles, you’re willing to take whatever advice or ideas he has.

sitting beside him on the couch, you spread your collection of papers and pictures on the table to explain your vision. he listens dutifully, nodding along, his eyes scanning the 3-d projection you’ve made of what the exhibit might look like once completed. when you’ve finished your spiel, he sets his wine glass down and nods to the packet of unopened photographs on the edge of the table.

“what’s that?”

you frown, shaking your head at the sudden turn in conversation. “sorry?”

he reaches for the manilla envelope. “oh, it’s hefty! what’s in here?”

you sigh and take the packet from his hands. it feels solid in your lap, like a brick. “photos from my great-aunt.”

he points to the sealed flap. “it’s unopened.”

“i haven’t gotten the chance to look through it yet.” setting the packet to the side, you raise your eyebrows. “well, what do you think? about the exhibit?”

“honestly? it’s dull. monica won’t be impressed.”

you throw yourself back against the couch with a groan. “what the hell,” you whisper. “i’ve got no ideas then.”

you know ancient textile photography would not be the most enticing exhibit, but it’s been an interest of yours for some time and would be easy enough to complete. shamik and rachel’s reactions do not bode well, you have to admit. having a job as an assistant curator right out of the gate would be beyond marvelous, and you desperately don’t want to screw it up with a boring first exhibit.

“let’s have a look at these pictures from your aunt!” before you can stop him, shamik reaches across your lap for the photo packet and rips open the top. “maybe that will spark some ideas?”

you lean forward, blush already rising to your cheeks as he pulls out the first picture. “oh no, shamik, i don’t know if—”

“holy shit!”

you shut your eyes, wincing.

“that’s fucking freddie mercury!” shamik grabs your shoulder, his fingers digging into your flesh. “did you know about this, [y/n]? that’s your aunt with freddie mercury!”

forcing your eyes open, you look at the photo trembling between his fingers. it’s a picture of you sitting beside freddie on the tour bus. (you think john took the photo in an effort to get you to stop taking photos of him when he was asleep while roger and crystal placed as many items on his head as they could before he fully awoke.) your head is against freddie’s shoulder, your eyes droopy with sleep. a lump rises in your throat, and all you can do is shake your head in feigned disbelief as shamik continues to shuffle through the photos.

“oh my god, your aunt was a groupie,” he cries, passing you another photo.

“i guess—” you clear your throat. “i guess she was.”

“you know”—shamik sets the pile of photos down and spreads them across the table, obscuring your vision of an ancient textiles display—“this would make a great exhibit.”

“shamik—” your voice is a warning, a sudden surge of anger rising in your chest, but he continues.

“no, really, [y/n]! there are so many photos here that tell such a cutesy little story. i mean, come on? freddie and this cat?” he lifts the photo in question. “it’s stuff people have never seen before from a totally different side of queen. it’s a fucking goldmine!”

“absolutely not,” you say. “i will not put my aunt’s personal affairs on display.”

“think of monica, [y/n]! think of the job!”

“no, shamik!” you stand from the table and drop your plates in the kitchen sink with a resolute clatter. “i barely knew my aunt, but i know enough to gather that her time with queen was private. she didn’t say anything about it until she died. that’s got to mean something, and i don’t want to air it all out for everyone to see and speculate and gossip about just for my own personal gain.”

you’re shouting, fists clenched at your sides, by the time you finish. shamik just stares at you, his face blank and unreadable. he glances down at a photo.

“she looks a lot like you,” he says, his voice even.

you huff and take the wine glasses from the table. “we’ve got strong family genes. now, please, i’d appreciate it if you just drop the whole queen thing. we can find some other idea.”

you gather the photos, shove them back in the folder, and toss the envelope in the nearest drawer you can find. the drawer slams shut, and you leave the photos there to gather dust.

you mull over shamik’s idea of an exhibit based on your photos for a month before you finally relent. monica’s riding your ass daily with questions about your progress. you need to get something down on paper for her to give to the contractors, so you begrudgingly type out a response to her most recent email:

monica,

i’ve landed on an exhibit topic at last. took me long enough, right?

i’ve recently come into possession of a series of photographs taken by my late great-aunt. turns out she was a groupie with the band queen in the ‘70s. my exhibit will be centered around those photos. i’m thinking the exhibit will be titled “queen: unfiltered.” do with that what you will. :)

monica, much to your dismay, loves the idea and sends you right to work on gathering and laying out your vision while she begins the necessary promotion.

it hurts at first—looking at all the photos you took, remembering the way you felt so unearthly happy during that year. you cry each time you sit down to sort out the best of the pictures. the ones which capture a moment of levity amongst the band or are particularly well-shot go in a pile on the left. the ones which didn’t develop well or are too intimate for you to ever consider putting on display go in a pile on the right. your bedroom floor is a mess of drafted captions written on slips of printer paper, photographs with notes scrawled along the back, and used tissues. more than anything, you wish you could step into the world behind those photographs. you want to be back there—with him, with them—until you grow old and gray. knowing you can’t, that you won’t ever see him again, tears you apart inside.

but it helps. the exhibit forces you to acknowledge the time you spent with brian, with queen. instead of leaving the photos in a drawer, they confront you everyday as you sit down to work, and everyday it gets a little bit easier to face your past. as the tears subside, you find yourself laughing whenever you find a new photo of roger’s antics. your heart doesn’t clench as much when you run across another photo of you and brian. you can smile now when you look at his face. he really was so handsome...

you go so far as to frame your favorite photograph of your time together and place it on your dresser. he’s got his arms wrapped around you from behind, his chin settled on the top of your head. you’re laughing, your hands folded on his arms, legs crossed as you tilt to the side. he’s making a face, his tongue stuck out at the camera, and every time you pass by the picture, you can’t help but chuckle.

you love him still. you’ll love him always.

with three weeks before the opening of the exhibit, the stress is starting to get the better of you. you’ve bitten your nails down to the quick, there’s heavy bags under your eyes from lack of sleep, and you can’t remember the last time you consumed something other than coffee. despite the stress, you feel lighter. working through the photos, laying them out in order, writing the captions, pouring over the faces of the ones you love so dearly—it’s all helped ease the burden in your heart. for the first time in a long time, you slip out of bed in the mornings with a newfound sense of energy and purpose.

life will go on. just as you did when you fell into the past, you will find a new future.

arms laden with exhibit proposals and mock-ups, you brush into your local coffee shop—pretty bird—intent on getting some real work done on choosing the final photographs before you send them off to be printed. you order your usual and take a seat by the front. the air which wafts through the open window at your side is warm with spring and rebirth, and you breathe deep, cracking open the lid of your laptop. you manage to pick a total of twelve of the seventy-six needed photographs before you’re interrupted.

“whatcha workin’ on?” matthew, barista extraordinaire and casual acquaintance, sits down on the bench across from you. he has his own cup of cold brew poised between his lips, and the piercing in his eyebrow wiggles as he moves his brow up and down.

“an exhibit for the museum,” you say, pausing to roll your tight shoulders. “it’s my first.”

“do tell!”

you explain, briefly, how to came to acquire your dead aunt’s photographs and the general theme of the showcase. he nods in approval then snaps as if he’s remembered something.

“hold on. stay right there. i’ll be right back.” he puts his coffee down, scoots off of the bench, and darts to the back of the coffee shop. you wait and listen to the sound of the birds twittering outside before he returns with a framed picture in hand. “i just learned about this,” he says, taking his seat again. “this building used to be a disco back in the 70s.” he hands you the frame and points to a collection of people in the middle of a disco bar. “that’s queen. they came here once and somebody had the smarts to take a picture.”

your hands shake around the photograph, eyes darting from one corner of the picture to another.

matthew keeps talking. “the place was called climax. can you believe that? the 70s were fuckin’ wild, mate.”

you nod, lips parted, and skim your fingers over the incredibly tall and recognizable form of brian in the center of the photo. you can see your shoulder, jammed between freddie and crystal, but the rest of your body is obscured. you lift your eyes from the frame and glance around the coffee shop, at the exposed metal beams and vaulted ceilings, at the disco ball still hanging in the center of the room.

makes sense now. why the building had felt so eerily familiar back then.

handing matthew the picture frame, you sit back in your chair. “wonder if my aunt ever came,” you say.

“maybe? sounds like she was in pretty tight. you know who you could ask?” you shake your head, uncertain of matthew’s question. “chris taylor. he was a roadie back then. he’s a regular here. comes in at least twice at week.”

you can’t stop the hand that flies to your mouth in surprise. you try to smother your gasp with a cough, but matthew still stares at you like you’ve sprouted another head.

“you okay?” he asks warily.

nodding, you take a sip of your drink. “yeah, yeah, sorry! wrong pipe.”

“so, do you want to meet him and ask about your aunt?”

everything in you screams to say no. it’s too dangerous. you will surely break the moment you see him. crystal became your lifeline apart from brian during that year. he was your brother, your partner in crime, the one who kept you grounded when things got too wild. just knowing that he’s frequented the same coffee shop as you for the last six months brings tears to your eyes. you could have run into him. hell, you might’ve already. still, you aren’t sure if you’d be able to make it through a proper meeting without spilling your guts and apologizing for the way you left.

“[y/n]?” matthew pulls you from your thoughts. “what do you think?”

you hesitate before shrugging. you speak before you can stop yourself, before the rational and reasonable part of you can take over. god, you need this. if it’s your only opportunity for true closure, you’ll take it. “if he’s up to it then... sure.”

matthew grins. “come in tomorrow. i’ll introduce you!”

that night you toss and turn. you’re plagued with anxiety. will crystal recognize you? if he does, what will he say? will he be angry? what if he tells brian and then—

your bedside alarm goes off just as you fall asleep. it’s a struggle to drag yourself out of bed, but you must. there’s closure somewhere around the corner, and if you just move your ass, you’ll find it. you have one class this morning then your meeting with crystal. you’re jittery by the time you leave class, but you chalk that up to drinking two cups of coffee before leaving your flat and one in class.

it’s drizzling as you make your way to the coffee shop. you hasten your steps, head bent against the rain and fingers curled around the strap of your bag. when you enter the shop, it’s nearly empty aside from a few lonesome students studying in far off corners. you can hear the faint thrill of music over the loudspeakers, but the blood that’s rushing to your ears blocks out most of the melody.

crystal’s already here, leaning against the counter, in conversation with matthew.

you stop in your tracks. he’s bald now, slightly pudgier with age, but he looks every bit as devilish as you remember.

you swallow past the fear in your throat and the anxiety in your veins and step forward. you voice wobbles when you speak. “matthew?” you direct your entrance to your friend because if you come right out and say crystal’s name, you will surely fall over in a puddle of emotion.

“there you are!” matthew jumps over the counter in one easy leap and lands to the floor beside you. he drapes his arm around your shoulders and motions to crystal. “[y/n], i’d like you to meet chris taylor. chris, this is [y/n], the girl i was telling you about.”

crystal’s staring at you through his blue-tinted glasses like he’s seen a ghost. his jaw has gone slack, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to formulate a sentence.

you shove your hand into the space between you. “nice to meet you, mr. taylor.”

looking between matthew and yourself, he gathers himself, clearing his throat, and shakes your hand. “you too.”

“should we sit?” you motion to the same table you occupied the day before. “i can buy you a coffee for your troubles.”

he shakes his head and lifts his cup. “already got mine.”

“all right, well...” you glance at matthew.

“do you want your regular?” he asks.

“yes, please.”

“comin’ right up.”

crystal follows you to the table and sits down, his movements slow. for a moment, you sit in silence and allow his eyes to roam your face. you can’t tell if he knows it’s you or if he thinks it’s just a coincidence. you want to reach out and take the hand he rubs across the bridge of his nose, but you fold your fingers in your lap.

“thank you for agreeing to talk with me,” you finally say.

“you aunt,” he starts.

“yes, my aunt.” you pull a photograph out of your bag. it’s one of the few you took with crystal all those years ago. he’s got you in a headlock, his opposite fist grinding into the top of your skull. you slide the picture across the table. “you knew her?”

crystal lifts the photo, inspects it, before putting it down. he sighs, shaking his head. “i loved that woman. broke my heart when she left.” his gaze lifts from the table. “you look like her, have her name too.”

you look away, out the window at the side. there’s bird fluttering in a puddle on the sidewalk, and you watch it for a moment before turning back to him. “i think my mother loved her a great deal. i didn’t get the chance to know her, though. we only just found these pictures recently.”

his eyes narrow. “i mean, you really look like her.”

you force a smile. “thank you. that’s kind of you.” shifting, you tap your finger on the table. “i know her leaving wasn’t exactly...” you struggle to find the proper word, but he jumps to assist.

“natural?”

“well, i was going to say easy, but—”

“she fuckin’ disappeared! excuse my language.” huffing, he drops back against his chair. “one minute she was there, the next minute she was gone. i swear, i’ve never seen anyone skip town that fast.”

“she didn’t say anything about leaving?”

“why would she? she was engaged! she had no reason to leave that i know of.”

“was she happy?”

“hell yes. her and brian—i’ve never seen two people more fit for one another. brian just about lost his mind trying to find her, but it was like she never existed. strangest thing.” he pauses to take a sip of his coffee, looking askance, before his eyes whiz back to yours. “oh my fucking god.”

you look up, fear sparking in your belly. “what?”

“[y/n]?”

you blink. your head feels dizzy with the way he’s looking at you, like he’s about to jump across the table and throttle you or hug you so tight your insides might squeeze out of your body.

“fuck,” he breathes. “it is you.”

“i don’t know know what you’re—”

“don’t play dumb with me!” he leans across the table and lowers his voice. “i was the one who got you that phony passport, remember? i always wondered why i couldn’t find your credentials. had to lie my way through it until i got the damn thing. you’re lucky everything was so lax in the 70s.” he shakes his head. “how’d you do it?”

there’s part of you that wants to deny, deny, deny.

but it’s crystal. you can’t lie to him any more than you already have.

“i had no choice in the matter,” you say plainly. “one minute i was here, the next minute i was there, and the next minute i was here again.”

his jaw works back and forth as he processes the information. “does brian know?”

“no—and i’d like to keep it that way.”

“i thought we might lose him after you left.”

you twist the ring on your finger. “if i’d had the choice, i would have stayed. i hope you know that.”

crystal nods. “yeah, i do.” he holds your gaze then motions to your bag. “so, this exhibit matthew told me about. you’re publishing all those photos you took?”

“yes. there are some pictures i’ve saved for myself, but my boss, monica, she got permission from the record label to go ahead with the others. it opens in three weeks.”

“i’ll be there if i can. i’d like to see those pictures.”

you smile, your first earnest smile of the day. “you feature many times.”

he ducks his head like an embarrassed schoolboy. “we were thick as thieves, weren’t we?”

“you and roger were thicker, but i’d like to think i had a part to play some of the time.”

he lifts his head and heaves a heavy sigh. “you know, when i said i loved you, i meant it. not in the way brian did. you were like a kid sister to me. i cared for you a great deal.”

before you can stop yourself, you slip your hand across the table to grasp his worn fingers. his shoulders shake on another sigh, and he lifts his opposite hand to wipe at his eyes beneath his glasses.

“oh, crystal. i’m so sorry,” you whisper. it hurts to see him cry, to know that you’re the cause behind his pain.

he waves your apology away, sniffing hard. “i’m just glad to know you’re okay. we thought you might’ve gotten picked up or—” he shakes his head and pats your hand over his, meeting your eyes. “you’re okay, though. that’s what matters.”

“will you really come to my exhibit?”

“anything for you, kid.” he thumbs the underside of your chin with a lopsided grin. “even after all this time, i’m putty in your hands.”

you grin and hand him a business card, which he tucks in the folds of his wallet. rising from his seat, he opens his arms and you practically trip into his hug. he holds you tight for the briefest of moments before pulling back. he pats your cheek.

“i’ll see you in three weeks, yeah? if i stay any longer i’ll end up a sobbin’ mess on the floor.”

you nod. “yeah. and, crystal?” he turns at the door. “don’t tell brian. please.”

he leaves without another word.

the day of the exhibit opening you are equal parts thrilled and a nervous wreck. everyone’s here—your family, rachel, shamik, even matthew. you haven’t seen crystal amidst the crowd mingling in the lobby, but you trust him to show. he’s always been reliable, and you doubt he’ll fail you now.

monica squeezes your shoulder as she passes you by in the staff hallway. “it looks wonderful, [y/n]. consider yourself hired,” she says and hands you a keycard. “i’m going to give you a piece of advice i got when i completed my first exhibit: go have a moment by yourself. look at your work, be proud of it. you deserve it.”

with trembling fingers and a racing heart, you make your way down the corridor to the south exhibit hall. due to a celebratory lunch with rachel the day before, you hadn’t gotten the chance to see the room in its final state. in retrospect, you’re thankful for the chance to see it for the first time alone. at least this way, if you cry, no one will have to know.

the door beeps as it unlocks, and you slip inside the room. you descend the handful of stairs which lead into the showroom floor and suck in a deep breath.

before entering the exhibit, there’s a wall to the side with a simple explanation written in a white font:

queen: unfiltered — this exhibit preserves and presents never-before-seen images of the popular band, queen, through the eyes of an unnamed woman who spent a year traveling the world on queen’s jazz album tour. her images are intimate yet distinctive and offer a personal glimpse into the lives of one of britain’s most well-known bands.

at the far end of the room hang four banners spanning floor to ceiling. the banners wave gently in the air blowing throughout the room, illuminated from lights on the ceiling and floor. each banner hosts an oversized photo of one of the band’s members in an image that best captures their personality. it took you hours to find the right photo for each man, but you stand by your choice for each one.

there’s john on the far left, head bent as he strums the bass across his knee. his lips are pursed in thought, a line of concentration on his brow.

there’s freddie next to him. he stands in a spanish alley way, cradling a stray cat in his arms. he looks serenely on at the camera, a rare moment of simplicity.

there’s brian sat in an overstuffed armchair, his gangly legs crossed, a book open on his lap. he has the corner of his thumb in his mouth, and if you squint you can see the edge of his tongue.

there’s roger on the far right. he’s smiling at the camera, his eyes bright with mischief and joy. there’s a party hat snug on the crown of his head, pulling the skin of his forehead taut.

on opposite sides of the room, two parallel rows of twelve photos hang in neat order. you decided to have every photograph in the exhibit printed in black-and-white and, in all, you painstakingly picked the forty-eight photos featured in their simple white frames. you walk along the wall, hands clasped at your waist, eyes running over the memories you hold so dear.

the afternoon crystal taught you ride a bike in barcelona: you’re sat on the handlebars after a hard fall, mouth open in a squeal of delight as crystal whips toward the camera.

roger and john tossing an apple back and forth in an ottawa grocery store: john’s smile is broad, the apple caught on film midair.

brian sitting on the floor of your hotel suite: there’s a tray of sushi at his feet, and he’s smiling at you, his hair wet from a shower.

freddie playing the piano in the airport in yugoslavia: he’d been so excited to see one, his shoes had slipped on the slick floor as he ran to it. he’d played dramatically, conducting those around him in a horrible rendition of “god save the queen.”

your eyes sting with tears as you glance about the room. you’re proud of your work. it looks good, professional and elegant, but more than that, you’re proud of yourself for the work you’ve done in mending your broken heart. though you will never live the life you’d once dreamed of, you will always have the memories—and that’s got to count for something.

when the double-doors open and monica ushers the first of the patrons in, you slip into the closest bathroom to wipe at the makeup smudged under your eyes. you’re happy, truly so, and you want to celebrate—celebrate both of your lives as they finally come together.

the room is crowded when you reenter, conversation and gentle laughter mingling in the air. you accept a tight hug from rachel when you see her and the congratulations of your parents. you can’t stop smiling, and you’re sure your face will hurt come morning, but it doesn’t really matter, does it?

your parents float away, hand in hand, and you find yourself alone in the center of the room, watching in awe as people you’ve never met look at your photos, at your memories, and nod in appreciation. your chest swells with an emotion you can’t place.

“i think this calls for a congratulations. you’ve outdone yourself, dove.”

you whirl on your heel, lip caught between your teeth in a poorly-concealed smile. “you came.”

crystal grins. the tie of his suit is rumbled and askew, and you reach out to straighten it. old habits die hard. “i said i would.”

“what do you think?”

“i think it’s fantastic. the lads would be proud.”

“maybe.” you shrug. “guess we’ll never know.”

“are you really so intent on staying hidden forever?”

you nod. “yes. it took everything in me to even talk to you. i don’t want to ruin their lives again by popping back up, especially because i’m not exactly old, am i?”

crystal laughs, shaking his head. “you must think you’re hot stuff if a simple hello could ruin a life.” his laughter fades into a simple smile. “now, i know you’re going to hate me and i’m willing to take that, but i did tell a certain someone about the exhibit.”

you can feel the blood drain from your face. “crystal, you didn’t.”

he winces. “i might’ve.”

you slap his arm and curl your fingers into his bicep. “you bastard!”

he holds up his hands in defense, decent enough to plaster a look of contrition on his face. “look, i didn’t tell him the context or what tipped me off. i just told him there was a new exhibit about queen and he was eager to come see. that’s all!”

you swallow hard, uncertain how to respond. “i—” your head twists back and forth in utter confusion. “i don’t know what to do.”

crystal’s face softens, and he nudges your shoulder. “go talk to him. he deserves that much, doesn’t he?”

you can’t argue with that.

giving crystal’s arm a grateful squeeze, your legs shake beneath you as you turn and see him—brian—across the room.

you don’t know how you didn’t see him before. even now, forty years later, he’s still unmistakeable: still tall, still gangly, but his hair has gone white and his strides are slower. the overwhelming urge to tear across the room and curl yourself around his back nearly overpowers you, but you shove it down and manage to cross the floor in slow, even steps. you keep your eyes glued to his back, your hands twitching at your sides. when you reach him and catch a faint whiff of his cologne, the same he wore all those years ago, you have to push back the tears that rise unbidden to your eyes.

you tap his shoulder. “dr. may?”

he circles around, as does his wife anita, her arm snug in his elbow.

brian blinks hard, his brow furrowed in confusion. for a moment, you let him stare at you as you stare right back. his eyes are the same. you’d thought they’d be different, but they aren’t. the realization stuns you silent.

anita glances between you both before smiling sweetly. “good evening, sweetheart,” she says, and her voice is so kind you can’t even summon the slightest bit of jealousy. “i’m afraid i didn’t catch your name.”

“oh, i’m sorry!” you laugh and find that smiling at anita isn’t hard. “my name’s [y/n] [y/l/n]. i created the exhibit. i thought i might come and introduce myself.”

“oh, how lovely!” anita claps her hands together. “what you’ve done is so beautiful, [y/n]. it’s nearly brought a tear to my eye.”

“that’s very kind of you, ma’am.”

“brian likes it too. don’t you, brian?”

he still can’t seem to formulate any sort of response. he’s frozen in place, and your heart lurches for him. to see the woman he’d once asked to marry him, the one so cruelly ripped away, while standing next to his wife... precisely why you never wanted to meddle in his current affairs.

finally, he seems to collect himself. he sucks in a deep breath and nods in agreement. “yes, i do. very much.”

“that means a lot,” you say, easing your smile back into place. “thank you.”

“i’ll leave you two to talk to for a moment. i see crystal hovering in the corner over there, and i’m sure you both have many questions for one another.” anita presses her hand on your arm as she passes. “lovely job, dear.”

she leaves, and you’re left alone with the greatest love of your life.

you wait for him to speak.

“you’re... alive?” it’s a question, not a statement.

“yes.”

“you’re the same age?”

“yes.”

“how did—” he shakes his head. “i don’t understand.”

“neither do i.”

his chin quivers slightly, and he looks away. “i thought you’d been taken or decided to—”

you dare to touch his arm. a spark jolts through your fingers at the slightest touch, but you hold firm. “nothing happened,” you explain. “other than nature righting her mistake.”

“i think—i think i need to sit down.”

“yes, of course. my office is down the hall. it’s quiet there.”

he nods and leans against your arm as you lead him down the hall. in the silence of your dimly lit office, he collapses to the loveseat beneath the window and drops his face to his hands. you hesitate in the doorway until he looks up. tears shimmer in his eyes, and you swallow hard, your smile wavering around the edges.

he stands then, crosses the floor, and cradles your face in his hands. “my god,” he breathes. “it really is you.”

with a laugh, you hold his wrists. “in the flesh.”

“how long’s it been?” his thumb works over your cheekbone and, though you know he should stop, you can’t bring yourself to step away from his touch.

“about seven months.”

he snorts. “try forty years.”

“you seem like you did well for yourself, though.”

he shrugs. “i suppose.”

“you’re happy?”

there’s a heavy pause before he says, “yes.”

“that’s all i want to hear.”

slipping out of his grasp, you put a modicum of space between you both. the air is thick with emotion, and your heart beats wildly against your chest. the love you thought you’d put to bed flares at the mere sight of him, even after all this time.

you drift your finger through the sand of your tabletop zen garden. “i told crystal not to tell you about me,” you admit.

“he didn’t—not in so many words.”

“i know. i’m glad he said something, though.” you pause, meet his gaze. “it’s so good to see you, bri.”

quiet falls over the room as he stares at you. you don’t squirm. you’re comfortable under his gaze, always have been.

“i hope you know i never stop looking,” he says. “even after anita, i kept trying to find you. just to know.”

“and i hope you know that i would do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant i got to be with you even for a time.”

your phone vibrates on the desk, skidding across your oversized calendar. you reach for the phone and flip it over before slipping it in the purse hung over your desk chair.

“i’ve got to go,” you admit, crossing to his side. “i’ve actually got a date.”

to your surprise, his eyes crinkle with amusement. “i’m happy to hear it.” he lifts a hand and smooths back the hair from the side of your face. he looks at you with all the love he did forty years ago, and you wish you could take a picture to remember forever.

but then you remember: you have dozens of photos at home, and it doesn’t seem too hard to let him go now. not after the work you’ve put into mending your heart. you can face this, face saying goodbye for good. you have to, for his sake and your own.

rising to your tiptoes, you place a hand on his shoulder and kiss the corner of his mouth—one last touch, for you both. you wind your arm around his neck and whisper in his ear, “i love you, brian may. i always will.”

he squeezes you hard against his body, sucking in a ragged breath. “i love you too, [y/n].”

dropping back to your heels, you huff a breath and smile wide. “well, i’d better go.”

“yes, you’d better. don’t keep the lad waiting.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, your hand lingering on his. “okay, well... goodbye, brian.”

he smiles, and it’s the loveliest sight you’ve ever seen. he brushes you cheek with the back of his hand, whispering, “see you later, love.”

dipping out the back of the museum, you walk down the street, purse slung over your shoulders. you think you’ll be able to sleep well for the first time in a long time tonight.

you hope he can, too.

~*~*~*

taglist: @bhmay @grigorlee @teenagepeterpan @just-my-sickly-pride @perriwiinkle @ubernoxa @anunknownnebula @coincidence-ithinknots-blog @captvinswaan @ineloqueent

#brian may #brian may x reader #brian may fic #brian may x you #queen #queen fic #queen x reader #j writes

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descendantofthesparrow · 4 years

Text

Encore - Part of your World - Harry Hook x Reader - part 18 - quiet

suuuch a fluffy chapter lol

You slowly woke up as beams of sunlight hit your face, you cracked open your yees and groaned, sitting up slightly to avoid the sun.

You yawned and rubbed your eyes, smacking your lips together and dropping your hands on the sheets covering your legs.

Glancing at the clock you sighed.

7:37 am.

You hated waking up early on your days off, but you were still exhausted from the night before so you hopped out of bed, closed the shades to the window, and walked back over to your bed. flopping back down into the mattress and curling up underneath the sheets, turning your back to the window.

You fell back to sleep, face buried into Harry's pillow.

Harry stepped into the room minutes later, taking off his hat and tossing it onto the chair in the corner of the room.

He sighed, shaking his head and running his head through his sweat-soaked hair.

He was glad Uma had enchanted the lost revenge 2.0 with a constant temperature of 70°, so no matter how hot it was outside the ship, it was always comfortable.

A smile broke out on Harry's face as he spotted your sleeping form on the bed, the blankets curled around your form. He took tentative steps towards the bed and leaned over you, pressing a kiss to your exposed forehead.

He stood up straight and walked over to the bathroom, stripping out of his sweat-soaked clothes and tossed them into the hamper.

You woke up to the sound of the shower and sat up, blearily looking around the room.

You noticed Harry's shirt hanging halfway out of the hamper and his boots just outside of the bathroom door.

‘Harrys back from dock work’ you thought, stretching your arms, groaning as your back popped and hopped out of bed, walking over to your dresser and getting out some clothes for the day.

You stopped as the light from the reopened window hit your new ring, the ruby shining in your face. You smiled and brought your hand close to your face, biting your lip as you remembered Harry's sweet proposal.

Deciding to dress comfortably for the day, you grabbed one of Harry's tank tops and a pair of black leggings.

You tossed them on the bed and opened the top drawer, digging out a red sports bra and some socks, tossing those on the bed.

Mentally deciding on your black converse you turned and walked over to the bathroom, knocking on the door.

“come in!” Harrys muffled voice echoed back. You opened the door and stepped in, closing it behind you. “hi love” Harry purred, poking his head out from behind the shower curtain.

“hi~” you chirped, tiptoeing over to him and pressing a kiss to his lips “you’re wet”

“im takin’ a shower” Harry chuckled, slicking his long bangs back and shaking his head at you. He dipped back behind the curtain and continued to wash his hair.

You turned to the sink and did your morning routine.

A couple of minutes later the shower stopped, harry stepping out of the shower, and standing behind you, he leaned over you and kissed your cheek, giggling as you squeaked and smacked his shoulder.

He backed up and grabbed a towel drying off his hair before wrapping it around his waist. “thought yeh were gonna sleep in?” Harry asked, raising his brow at you as you tried to talk with toothpaste in your mouth.

“ughgh” you spit the paste out into the sink, turning to pout at Harry. “you woke me up”

“aw im sorry love” Harry chuckled, walking out of the bathroom and over to your shared dresser. As he got his clothes out you finished your routine, patting your face with a towel and walking out of the bathroom, a smirk growing on your lips as you passed by Harry who was leaning over the dresser.

*SMACK*

Harry stood straight, a small yelp ripping from his lips as he spun around, his cheeks a blazing red “(y/n)!!” he yelled, mouth gaping open in shock as he watched you giggle to yourself.

“i-im sorry!” you looked back at him, scrunching your nose “I couldn’t resist~ you just got too good of a butt to not smack it!”

Harry pouted at you and shook his head, turning back to his dresser and grabbed the rest of his clothes for the day.

You bit your lip as he dropped his towel and pulled out a pair of boxer-briefs, covering up that sculpted butt of his “yer staring” Harry chuckled, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, his now too long bangs hanging over his eyes.

“im your fiancée” you snorted, rolling your ryes “I have a right to stare at your butt and you need a hair cut, hey that rhymed!” Harry blew his bangs out of his eyes and sighed.

“aye right,” he muttered, turning to you and walking over to the bed, setting his clothes next to yours. “ so what's the plan fer today?” Harry asked, shrugging on a tight white t-shirt, accenting his biceps.

“well, you already filled your quota for today for Uma and it's my day off, soooooo…..date day?”

“date day” Harry confirmed, leaning over and pecking your cheek, hopping into his pants and sitting down next to you to get his socks and shoes on.

Harry tied off his shoes and turned to you, raising his brow as he looked at your still pajama-wearing self “uh, yeh gonna get dressed?”

You perked up, looking down at your clothes “oh, I was just going to go like this? Problem?”

Harry chuckled and shook his head “well I wouldn’t have a problem” he eyed your exposed thighs “buuuut-“

“Alright alright,” you snorted, pushing his face away, breaking his eye contact with you “im getting dressed.”

Harry swung your hands between the two of you as you walked the path of the enchanted forest, his other hand holding his chocolate shake.

The two of you decided on a simple date for the day, get breakfast, hang out at the lost revenge watching movies, get lunch, go to the enchanted lake through the forest and just chill watching videos on your phone.

To you, it was perfect, just spending a day with the love of your life.

You finished off your shake as you arrived at the lake, you released Harry's hand and skipped down into the grotto, hearing Harry chuckle behind you as he followed.

Harry set down the fast-food bag on the ground, settling down next to it and pulling off his backpack, he took out a root beer and (fav soda/drink) and set them down next to the bag.

He watched you as you took off your shoes, rolled up your leggings, and wadded into the water, starting to dig around the rocks.

“yee” you grinned, standing up with a nice shiny black and clear crystal rock “I think it's obsidian and quarts!” Harry tilted his head at you as you wadded towards the grotto “yeh sure?”

“I said I think, not that it is” you snarked, lifting yourself onto the grotto platform and shaking your legs to rid of the excess water “you sure you got your hearing ears on?”

“ouch” Harry snorted, grabbing the food bag and clutching his chest “no food fer yeh then”

“bitch I paid for it! give me my food!” you dropped to your knees next to harry, reaching for the bag as he cackled and leaned away from you, lifting the bag in the air.

“no~” he sang, yelping as you lifted your leg and placed your knee in his hip, halfway straddling him and grabbing the bag “hey!” you mocked his laugh and kissed him on the nose, turning around and sitting on his thigh.

Harry let out a small huff and buried his face in the crook of your neck, watching as you took out the food from the bag.

You set down Harry's burger and took out your (preferred fast food item) and started to eat, rearranging yourself to let Harry eat.

It was quiet as you ate and listened to the music coming from Harry’s phone and the waterfall in the distance.

You finished your food and crumbled the wrapper and tossed it in the bag, sipping at your drink as you leaned back against Harry.

“so,” Harry started, licking his lips “when’s an appropriate time ta talk ‘bout weddin’ stuff?”

“anytime really” you muttered, closing your eyes and resting your head on Harry's shoulder.

“soooo” Harry hummed, letting his cheek rest against your head “um, cake?”

“my aunts already on it” you chuckled “she offered to do it free of charge but I said we would pay her”

“of course” Harry smirked “she's a damn good baker, can't let her efforts going unpaid”

“Yep yep” you laughed “Evie offered to make my dress, and im gonna let her do that but im designing it mainly” you muttered with a slight tone of nonchalance.

“Is this about those Mal and Ben wedding stuff from yer world?” Harry asked, glancing down at you.

“yeah” you groaned “those designs were not Disneys best, nor were they Evie’s, so im designing and Evies making”

Harry nodded, grabbing his root beer and taking a sip “um, is she also-“ “yeah” you interrupted, glancing up at harry “shes also making yours”

“alright that takes care of tha’” Harry muttered, “where?”

“mmmm” you went deep in thought, tapping your chin “well we could to a beach wedding, a forest wedding, a classic cathedral wedding, we could get married on the revenge, anywhere really, im not picky as long as I get to marry you” Harry felt his face flush and he buried his burning face into your neck. “fuuuck I love yeh” he muttered, feeling your hand reach up and run through his hair.

“I love you too harry” you giggled, tuning and kissing his forehead. You relaxed back against him and closed your eyes, smiling as you felt harry grab your left hand and start to mess with your fingers and ring.

“still hard ta believe that this is all real” he muttered, you snorted.

“consider what it's like for me, im from a world where yall are fictional characters, how do I know this isn’t my dream” you hummed, squeaking as harry wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into further into his lap.

“if it was I would scavenge the multiverse to find you” he muttered in your ear.

You felt tears burn at your eyes and you hurriedly wiped your eyes “gosh your such a sap” you sniffed, turning in his lap and pressing your lips to his.

Harry hummed into the kiss and tilted his head, hands trailing up your back and landing on your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.

You groaned into the kiss as your phone suddenly went off, you leaned out of the kiss and almost fell out of Harry's lap reaching for your phone, if not for Harry's arms falling to your waist to hold you.

You picked up the phone and rose your brow at the id.

-AUNTIE

You pressed the answer button and set it on speakerphone.

“Hey what's up,” you said aloud, leaning back into Harry and tucking under his chin

‘hi hon, just a quick question, and I was busy so that’s why I didn’t just text you, im making some test batches for your cake and I was wondering what your favorite flavors are?’

“Ummm” you glanced up at Harry who nodded at his almost empty shake “harry likes chocolate, you know what I like, ummmm, maybe something light too? Like angel food?”

‘oooh~ angel food, okay thanks hon!’

“bye” you clicked off your phone as the dial tone sounded and set it back down on the ground. You leaned back and rose your brow as harry stared at you “you good?”

“mmhm” he hummed, bumping his forehead into yours and closing his eyes. You smiled at him, closing your eyes and once more relaxed against him.

It was a quiet date, just leaning against each other and watching videos as you spent the next two hours at the enchanted lake.

Around 3 pm you both decided to pack up and head back to the ship, Harry picking up his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder, tossing his arm over your shoulder, and walking out of the grotto with you.

“that was nice” you hummed, tossing the black and clear crystal rock in your hands “we should do that more often”

“aye,” Harry nodded, messing with his phone and pocketing it as music started to play. “I have next Tuesday off?”

“same here, then its set, day date next Tuesday!” you cheered, grabbing Harry's hand and swinging it in the air.

Harry chuckled and smiled at you, holding onto your hand and bringing it to his lips. “I can't wait ta be yers”

Your face burned and you let out a nervous snicker, sidestepping into Harry's side and rubbing your cheek into his arm “same”

“same?” Harry laughed, scrunching his nose “that’s all yeh have to say? Same?”

“shhhhhuuut up” you rolled your eyes, pushing away from him and upturning your nose “if you’re gonna make fun of me you can walk on your own” you speed-walked to make some distance.

“noooo” Harry pouted, running after you, a smile breaking on his face as you started to run. “hey!”

You cackled as you ran, “race you back to the ship!” “yer on!”

-end of part 18-

permtaglist

@queer-cosette @sephiralorange

@lunanight2012 @daughter-of-the-stars11

@musicarose @rintheemolion

@random-thoughts-003 @remembered-license

@imtryingthisout @verboetoperee

taglist that i forgot existed im sorry

@dpaccione

@Ibuck121

#disney descendants #descendants #Descendents #harry hook #harry hook descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook imagine #encore #reprise #rewrite #part of your world

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pressedinthepages · 4 years

Text

Anodyne

noun. latin. serving to lessen pain; soothing.

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Eskel/Reader

Word Count: 1126

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n: Reader Request [ I was wondering if you could do a gender neutral Eskel/Reader where one is hurt and the other is fussing over them? Your choice on who is who] I love a good hurt/comfort, and i went back and forth with who i wanted in which role, but im happy with how it turned out :)

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: a little bit of language, hurt/comfort, fluff for daysssss, eskel is a softe boi

Eskel patches you up after an injury, leading to an interesting conversation.

“So, exactly how many times have I told you NOT to follow me into a monster den?” Eskel asks, looking up from where he is carefully running a wet rag over the wound in your arm. His voice is dripping with disappointment, but his eyes shine with barely restrained worry.

“I think I may have lost count, love.”

“And yet?”

“And yet, here we are.” Your voice grows taut when Eskel begins to stitch along the gash in your arm. Godsdamned foglets, you think as each stitch pulls into your skin, Eskel’s fingers delicate where they rest.

Eskel is quiet while he works, tying off the final knot with well-practiced dexterity. He turns and fishes in his pack for a moment, emerging with a small potion bottle. You crook an eyebrow and shift a little ways away, not trusting any of his potions for a damn minute. You know that even just a sniff of some of them could kill you, let alone drinking one straight down your gullet.

“Relax,” Eskel murmurs, placing his free hand along your thigh, squeezing gently. “It’s just vodka. It’ll help keep the wound clean.” He looks up at you, the twin golden suns of his eyes mesmerizing as they hold your gaze. You scoot back close to him, letting him pour the clear liquid generously over your arm.

“Ah, fuck!” you hiss, tears welling in your eyes as the vodka burns down the length of the wound. Your hand finds Eskel’s on your thigh and grips onto it like a vice, your nails digging into his skin as you grit your teeth, trying to will the pain away.

Eskel won’t let himself look into your eyes, focusing only on the task at hand. As the vodka runs clear he gently pats a clean cloth over the length of the cut. The foglet had tried to grab you, but you had turned at the last second, its claw digging into the meat of your arm rather than your heart. The look that had been in your eyes would haunt Eskel for the rest of his days, the instant pain and terror that spilled into your spirit sending an instant wave of adrenaline through him. He had missed the way you had turned to him, seeking him in your most vulnerable moment. Instead, he had dispatched the beasts with cold precision, his movements fuelled by the natural instinct to protect you.

Eskel had closed himself off then, just as he is doing now. Emotions won’t help in the middle of a fight, and they won’t help him now. His hands are slow and calculated, wrapping another clean scrap of cloth around the wound to staunch the flow of blood. The scent overwhelms Eskel’s nose, the metallic tang settling over your natural scent, one that typically calms his heart and his mind.

“You don’t have to do this,” you whisper, startling him from his spiraling thoughts. “There’s no need to fuss over me…”

“What else would you have me do?” Eskel tilts his head as he narrows his eyes, “Would you have me watch as you bleed out, or leave you here to die?”

“I just don’t want you to feel like you have to watch my back as well as your own, you’ve already got so much on your shoulders-”

“Please,” Eskel cuts you off, rising on his knees between your thighs so his eyes are level with yours. “I-hmm. Watching after you, keeping you safe, it feels like a second nature to me. I can’t bear to see you hurt, especially not because of me. I know my life, and I know the danger that comes along with it. You,” he brushes your hair back behind your ear, reveling in the soft way that your eyes flutter and your cheeks flush, “are worth every scar that I have ever earned. I only wish that I could take this pain from you, and I hate that there is not a damn thing that I can do to help you.”

Eskel is close enough to you to share a breath, his nose brushing lightly against yours with every swell of the breeze. You cannot help the smile that pulls at your lips as you raise your uninjured arm to rest your hand against the rough planes of the scar on his cheek. “I can think of one thing that may help me,” you whisper, your voice as light as a feather drifting through a cool summer evening.

Eskel’s brow furrows in confusion, his eyes betraying how desperately he wishes to rid you of your pain. “And what would that be?”

“Kiss me.”

Eskel blinks, his mind immediately ceasing the circles that it had been running up until this point. He hears your heart skip a beat as it thrums loudly in his ears and notices the way that your pupils have dilated, despite being in almost full sun. Your lips look plush and soft when he glances down to them, and he can feel his own heart thumping hard under his skin. He leans forward just the slightest bit, carefully offering you an opportunity to change your mind.

You, however, have no such designs. You close the distance between you, pressing your lips to Eskel’s as your eyes fall closed. Eskel’s hands squeeze where they rest on your thighs and you feel him sink into the kiss. You pull back from him, worried that you had pushed too far, but he surges forward to catch your lips once more.

You moan into his mouth as he gently parts your lips. As your tongue carefully traces along the shape of Eskel’s lips it catches in the little notch that his scar has pulled taut he growls, a low promise of storms in the night. The sound settles deep in your core, your hands moving to tangle in his hair.

Your body moves too quickly for your mind though, a sharp pain surging up your arm at the sudden change in position. You gasp, unprepared for the stinging needles of pain that now have made their way back to the forefront of your mind. Eskel immediately stands and scoops you up into his arms, chuckling when you wrap your uninjured arm around his shoulder. He deposits you onto Scorpion’s back before taking the reins in his hand, leading you back to town to find a proper healer.

“Thank you, Eskel,” you whisper, just barely loud enough for him to hear over the wind and the clopping of Scorpion’s hooves on the dirt path.

Eskel only hums, but by the way that the tips of his ears redden and his lip pulls at the corner, you know that he will always be there, by your side.

#eskel x reader #fluff #hurt/comfort #blood

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shiftynightshade · 3 years

Text

How Half Of Class 1-A Gained A Crush On Iida At 5 AM

It was at 5 AM that class 1-A learned how hot Tenya Iida actually was.

Now it was granted that the class already considered Iida ‘good looking’, but between his constantly uptight attitude and rather comical gestures, Iida was a rather funny person to look at. But it wasn’t until one rather inconspicuous morning that their ‘holy shit Iida’s hot’ revelation actually smacked them in the face out of left field.

Only a little over half of the class was awake, some were already wide awake and dressed like Aoyama, Todoroki and Jirou. Some were half awake with their pyjamas still on like Bakugou, Tokoyami, Yaoyorozu, Kirishima and Uraraka. The rest had stumbled down only a few moments before, eyes barely cracked open and barely coherent. Kaminari was half babbling over his mug of coffee while Ashido and Midoriya were blinking away sleep from their eyes slowly, bags prominent in the early morning.

It was pretty peaceful, if not slightly disconcerting to not hear or see Iida’s frankly, endearing hand chops and rambles.

As if he had been summoned Iida ever so slightly stumbled down the stairs, glasses in one hand as he let out a yawn that interrupted his “Pardon me” and ran another through his hair, blues strands becoming mussed and undercut on full display.

As he delicately placed his glasses on his face (perfectly of course, Iida doesn’t do anything in half spades) the rest of them could just picture the rosy background and sparkles around him as if they were in a cheesy anime, before his eyes blinked open to reveal ruby red eyes that positively shone as he peacefully smiled at them, surprisingly calm for once compared to usual loud way of speech.

“Good morning all!”

Everyone that was in the room had quickly spreading blushes across their faces, all dumbstruck except for Aoyama who simply squeaked out “Magnifique!”

Hell even Bakugou was blushing even if he was still frowning, which was probably his default expression. (Don’t worry though, everyone knew he was a big softie.)

Thankfully Iida didn’t notice his classmates blushing as he walked into the kitchen, presumably to make himself breakfast.

“What the fuck” Bakugou sounded so startled that somehow didn’t even begin to match what they were all feeling at that moment.

They all though that it was a onetime thing but nope, the universe hated them.

When they arrived to class Iida greeted them with a blinding smile and energetic hand chops.

And much to the amusement and confusion of their other classmates, whenever Iida either glanced in their direction or talked to them they would furiously blush and stammer like underclassmen around their crushes.

Whenever he would see their expressions, Iida would his head to the side in concern and frown (but that only worsen the blushing and stammering as it him look like a curious puppy-)

“Are you alright? You’re bright red! Are you sick?”

The concern in his eyes would make them melt and it would be physically be painful to try and not collapse into a puddle of goo on the floor.

Midoriya would be frantically texting Shinsou in a bi panic whenever Iida would smile at him (so ninety-five percent of the time) while the rest would scream with their friends in a blubbering mess. Midoriya basically spent most of his time with Iida so this was pure torture.

Of course it got worse as the week dragged on. When they decided to use the pool Iida just had to forego a swimming cap dammit. His head shone in the sun from where it was plastered to his forehead and poor Kaminari was subjected to seeing a shirtless and soaked Iida in a new light.

Kaminari, being the chaotic dumbass he was, nearly short-circuited and electrocuted everyone in the pool, but thankfully was splashed out of his stupor by Yaoyorozu, who was blushing just as hard as him, but they all managed to pass their blushing off as simply being hot from the sun, which earned them a small lecture about sun safety.

Oh and don’t even get them started on heroics class with All Might. Tokoyami and Iida had been paired up for the exercise, which some of the others both were grateful for and lamented the fact that they weren’t with the class president.

They had agreed to split up and search the two buildings beside each other, only for Tokoyami to be thrown through one of the top windows by one of Bakugou’s more aggressive blasts, which had stunned Tokoyami enough that he wasn’t able to be prepared enough for the fall that came right after.

All Might was seconds away from stepping in only for Iida sans his helmet to burst through one of the other windows opposite of the building and catch Tokoyami by wrapping his arms around the smaller male, and essentially wrap his entire body around him before crashing through another window, allowing his body to take the brunt of the fall.

Tokoyami had thankfully walked away from the fall with only a few bruises while Iida had gained a slightly dislocated shoulder from the impact, some bruising all along his right side, arm, neck and a small graze along cheek.

Tokoyami had been apologising profusely for Iida’s injuries at the end of the lesson in Recovery Girl’s infirmary while Dark Shadow crowed sadly, but Iida had simply waved his apologies off with a smile and a “Do not worry about it at all Tokoyami-kun! Bakugou-kun is a strong person, and I am pleased that I managed to catch you in time!”

Later that night Tokoyami had screamed into the recently made group chat that the eleven had made, which was aptly named Tenya Iida Simps™, which had only existed for roughly two nearly three days, but had already gained just shy of two thousand messages.

Funnily enough,most of it was just key smashes.

Tenya Iida Simps™

Bananabeak: UHBWDCIDEIEPEI

Assid: couldn’t have said better myself toko

Peppermint Bastard: Is this about what happened earlier Tokoyami?

Bananabeak: WHAT ELSE WOULD YOU THINK????

God Herself: It’s okay Tokoyami, get it all out of your system.

Bananabeak: I- he’s just so soft!?!? He cradled me so gently I felt so safe an grateful that he caught me because I certaintly wouldn’t have walked away from a fall like that uninjured like I did today and just jkhuhlehlhdf he so kind because even though he was hurt and took nearly all the damage form that fall be still asked me if I was alright like excuse me sir you are BLEEDING AND YOU ARE ASKING ME IF IM ALRIGHT!?

JackJack is jacked: oof I feel ya there Tokoyami

Voltboi: yeah! Just like when Iida has helping me and ashido do some revision before a test but I could barely even concentrate cause his eyes are just so fucking pretty

Voltboi: I mean how are his eyes such a nice shade of red wtf

Bakugou? More Like BakuBITCH: Normally I would yell at you lot for that, but honestly?

Bakugou? More Like BakuBITCH: Valid

Of course even though they would all scream into the void at some point (The void being the chat) it didn’t help things in the slightest.

Aoyama had been asking Iida about different outfit designs that he would create (Of course everyone in the class knew about his designing hobby, but Iida was one of the only people who he shared the process with) and the class president was ecstatic when he was asked for his input.

Aoyama had confessed to Iida at one point that he had doubts about his work, only for Iida to smile and offer to be a model for his designs at some point, which only made Aoyama nearly burst into tears while hugging him.

While most of the groups interactions with Iida were soft and heart-warming, Bakugou and Kirishima had both agreed that training with Iida was both annoying and fun because one; Iida was so attractive that they kept getting distracted and two; Iida fought ruthlessly and wasn’t afraid to play dirty.

Todoroki of course enjoyed spending time with his friend, (when they weren’t plotting Endeavour’s murder that was) except when he had to make sure that hadn’t caught fire or anything.

And of course Uraraka couldn’t stop blushing whenever she and Iida were out about the city with the rest of the squad, and without fail she would nearly burst into tears and nearly start to blubber whenever they would be out to get food. Iida would ask them what they want, and every time she would say “S-sorry Iida but I don’t have any money” he would simply narrow his eyes at her and say “I didn’t ask you if you had any money, I asked what you wanted.”

Of course Tsu would send all three of them knowing looks whenever Iida’s back was turned.

Yaoyorozu and Jirou both loved that whenever Mineta was trying to creep up on the girls or feel them up that Iida would immediately call him out on it, and even that one time he dragged him outside and used recipro burst to kick Mineta into the principal’s office via an open window and yet somehow didn’t get any punishment for.

Of course when the week came to a close Iida happened to be visiting his family for the weekend, so he waved a cheerful goodbye and left a warm fluttery feeling in their chests.

Ojiro watched as the small group quickly dispersed to their respective rooms, Shoji, Tsuyu and Sero all having knowing smirks, (or a knowing glint in his eye in Shoji’s case.) “Man, they’re in deep aren’t they?” His comment drew snickers from the other three.

*Bonus*

“So Tenya, got anything to tell us?”

Tenya looked up from his food to look at Tensei, only to smirk.

“What, you mean that all of a sudden just over half of my classmates have suddenly gained a crush on me?” Kayama let out a cackle. “Looks like the Iida genes strike again!”

Shouta smirked. “So that’s why half of my problem children were a blushing, stuttering mess all week?”

Tenya laughed. “Oh most definitely.”

“Wait wait wait, hold up!” Hitoshi pointed his fork at his cousin. “You’re telling me that you were aware of everything? So Midoriya was texting me about how oblivious you were, only for him to be completely fucking wrong!?”

Tenya nodded. “Absolutely, even their ‘secret group chat’ which is honestly barely even a secret.”

Hitoshi sat back in his chair with a small “huh”.

Hizashi leant over the table eagerly. “What’s the name of the chat?”

Both boys snorted. “You sure you wanna know?” Hitoshi cackled.

Kayama laughed. “Okay, now you have to tell us.”

Tenya smirked. “Tenya Iida Simps Trade Marked.”

A brief bout of silence- then Tensei slammed his head against the table with shaking shoulders while the rest of them let out loud shrieks of laughter that echoed throughout the house.

“THEY CALL THEMSELVES SIMPS, OH MY GOD”

Shouta leaned over to look at Tenya. “You gonna make next week absolute hell for them, aren’t you?”

Tenya laughed. “Oh, absolutely.”

A small crash then pained laughter came up from the floor. “H-HELP, I’VE FALLEN AND I CAN’T GET UUUP!”

Tenya laughed. “Looks like Hitoshi’s died.”

Another small crash and Hizashi’s head disappeared from his seat as he slid to the ground, squeaky wheezes escaping his lungs.

“Aaaand there goes Hizashi-nii.”

Shouta snorted. “Welp, looks like both my husband and son are dead, best get more cats to fill up the now empty space in the house.”

“W-WOW LOOK AT THAT DAD, WE’RE GETTING REPLACED BY F-FUCKING CATS.”

Hizashi wheezed from his place on the carpet.

Tenya smirked. God he loved fucking with his classmates, and if a video was taken of the other three laughing their asses off and stored in the blackmail folder in one of the darker spots of his phones storage, well that was a fact that Tenya would keep to himself with a small smile.

#Based on lanabanana.art's art on insta #my hero academia #bnha #iida tenya #iida appreciation #yes i simp for iida watchya gonna do?

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lovebug5151 · 4 years

Text

Family Bonding (With a hint of Angst) Robodad Grian Au

(Yes, unless y'all have better ideas for the name of this Au, this is what i’m going with lmao. If you do have any, go ahead and say em! If i like it and it fits, ill rename it and say it was your idea in the next chapter.)

So this is about 2040 words, and i’m quite happy with it. I don’t think I made this one as sad as the first one, but im not sure. I actually have a story line for up to ch 5 of this story, and I hope that this is one of the last true sad chapters (Though I might spice some things up, dont want things too happy, do ya :D

This is also about a week or so after the events of the first chapter.

Grian sat on top of his mansion, just watching and listening to the wind, breathing in, and out. He needed to clear his head. Earlier Mumbo had made a offhand comment about how Grumbots heart was missing, and ‘maybe it fell into the ocean’ before laughing.

While Grian knew Mumbo didn’t have the same background as he did with considering Aware AI’s ‘just robots’, he had called Grumbot son, even if it was awkwardly. It hurt Grian, to know that Mumbo might hurt Grumbot, even unintentionally, if he did see him. And Jrumbot… he was just a child, his dad saying hurtful things would hurt him so much more.

Grian had to quickly finish up what he was doing, and rush back to his base to breath. He couldn’t work beside Mumbo at the moment, couldn’t explain how Mumbo had hurt him, and so had run off.

Grian leaned forward slightly to look down. It was a far drop. Grian had never truly been afraid of heights, he loved climbing high in the air.

It was joked that it was because he was short, that he liked to be tall, but he just liked feeling the wind rush around him, and the feeling of falling and pulling up right before hitting the ground. It was elating, and whenever he was feeling bad he just took a leap off a roof and fell, before swooping up using his elytra.

He wondered if Grumbot would like flying, he could fix up some Jet boots for him, maybe mechanical wings? Yeah, he’ll make some wings for Grumbot and if he liked them, maybe some for himself. He liked the idea of being able to mostly hover in one place.

He let out a breath and looked at the sun. It was nearing lunch, and if he didn’t come inside Grumbot would come looking for him.

Grian swooped down, landing in front of the door, before heading inside.

--------

Grumbot hummed as he finished cooking some steak. He and Jrumbot were able to eat regular food, and no one knew how, but neither Grumbot or Grian really wanted to question it so they let it be.

He put the steak on plates and turned around just as his Dad walked in. He smiled and said hi to him while bringing the plates to the table. Jrumbot was already there and they sat on chairs to eat.

It was quiet for a moment before Grian yawned. “Have you two ever wanted to fly?”

Grumbot looked at him weirdly for a second before nodding. “Yeah, kinda, but I'm way too heavy for an elytra.”

Jrumbot paused with his steak halfway in his mouth

“If fould fe fun fu fly” He said, still chewing his food.

Grian sighed slightly and smiled at Jrumbot

“Jrumbot, dont talk with your mouth full.”

Jrumbot finished his mouthful and squirmed slightly. “Sorry.”

“|Its alright. Its just something to that we dont make a mess okay?” Grian told him.

“Okay.” Jrumbot muttered, before continuing “But yeah! It would be so fun to fly!”

Grian smiled “I have an idea then, but let's finish eating, yeah?” Both of them nodded at him before starting to eat their steak again.

After dinner, Jrumbot went to go mess with some of the blocks Grian had given him, and Grian and Grumbot went down to the Lab. They called it a Lab, but it was just a basement with too many tech pieces in it.

Grumbot sat down in a chair before waiting for Grian to talk, while Grian went over to look at something on a table.

“Dad,” Grumbot started, when it was obvious Grian wasn't gonna start talking “What was with the questions about flying?”

Grian glanced back at him. “Not much, I was just thinking about something. You both know how you're too heavy for elytras, but I was thinking, if we remade some of your body into lighter but still strong metals, and used,” His talking stopped as he walked towards a wall. Grumbot was confused until suddenly a Shulker Box opened.

Grumbot stared for a second before laughing. “How did i not know that was there?” He got out between giggles.

Grian smiled at him. “I havent opened it around you, and you haven't snooped. I'm not surprised you haven't found it. I keep my old ideas in there, old blueprints, old mechanical pieces I just couldn't throw away, those sort of things.” Grian started unrolling a big piece of paper “And I remembered I had a blueprint of these old things.”

Grumbot stood up to look at the paper, and after taking a moment to understand it, froze with excitement. He glances up at Grian with a giant smile, and Grian smiled back.

---------

Grian let out a oof as Grumbot collided with him. Grumbot was giggling uncontrollably, and Grian was happy that Grumbot was happy. Grumbot let go to look at the blueprint again and looked up with eyes so full of excitement that Grian felt excited too.

“Can we actually make these?” Grumbot asked, almost bouncing up and down.

Grian laughed and nodded. “Yeah, we'll have to test them out, but there's no reason we can't. It will take a while.” He warned Grumbot “And I will test out the wings first when we think they're ready.”

He saw Grumbot take a breath, to say something when Grian continued. “I haven't tested these designs yet. I would rather, if something goes wrong, to have me gone for a couple days respawning, and you safe, instead of you-” Grian couldn't even finish the sentence before he had to take a deep breath before the tears started coming. “Instead of you getting hurt.” He ended quietly, putting his hand on Grumbots shoulder. Grumbot looked down for a moment, before looking up at Grian with sadness.

“I understand Dad, but please don't get hurt, Don’t d-die and have to respawn, I don't know what I'd tell Jrumbot.”

Grian looked at him and smiled sadly. “I wasn't planning on dying anytime soon kid. Let's start figuring out what we need to get for the wings, yeah?” Grumbot nodded excitedly, and bolted for the metals cabinet. Grian laughed as he followed along.

--------

Grian Yawned and stretched out his arms. They were all sitting in front of a fireplace, enjoying tea and Jrumbot was cuddling with Maui.

The good feeling couldn't last forever though, because eventually Jrumbot looked up and over at Grian. “Dad,” He started “Why haven't we seen Papa?”

Grian froze for a second before closing his eyes. He didnt wanna talk about this to them, he didn't want to hurt them.

“Dad?” Grumbot questioned, seeing his Dad freeze up and look on the verge of tears.

Grian sighed and rubbed his face. “Both of you come here.” He murmured finally, patting the couch he was sitting on either side of him.

Grumbot and Jrumbot quickly came over to sit beside him, and Grian put both his arms on their shoulders.

Grian took a deep breath. “You have not seen mumbo, and have not been able to explore outside of my mansion area, for a couple reasons. One of these is that I'm not too sure how mobs will react to you, and How you'd react with being hurt by a mob. The other,...” Grian took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, letting his chin drop to his chest. “The other,” Grian continued, “Is because I'm not too sure of how the other Hermits would react to you.” He finally looked up and saw both of them staring at him in confusion. Grian tried to explain. “I'm one of the only ones who have experience with actually aware AI’s, I believe, and when some people are scared of something, they decide that they should hurt it before it hurts them.” He took another deep breath and looked into Grumbot and Jrumbots eyes, one after the other. “I do not believe that many of the Hermits would react this way, but I don't know exactly how they would react, and I don't want them to hurt you, either unknowingly or not.”

He saw Grumbots eyes widen and Jrumbots eyes narrow slightly. “I understand that reasoning dad,” Jrumbot started “But why haven't we seen papa?”

Grian sighed again. “Do you two remember yesterday morning, when I came back early and stayed on the roof for a bit?” they both nodded and Grian continued. “I did that, because Mum- Papa, upset me with his words.” He said, before taking a pause. He didn't look at either of his boys, but rather the ceiling as he said “He made some not nice jokes about Grumbot. Both of you must know however,” Grian started saying immediately when they both froze “That Mumbo doesn't know much about Aware AI’s. He believed Grumbot was an unaware aware AI, and that he was killed when he broke down. He did not know you had actual feelings, instead of manufactured ones. Mumbo often has issues figuring out other people's emotions, and most of the time redstone doesn't have emotions. Mumbo doesn't know about you two, and you haven't seen him,” Grian was starting to slow as he tried to find the words he needed. “Because, Because I am afraid. He murmured quietly. I am afraid he will unwittingly hurt you with his words, and I didnt want that to happen before you were aware it could happen. I'm sorry I kept this from you, but I wasn't aware of how to say it, or if you were ready for it, and decided to let one of you bring the topic up.”

There was silence for a moment before both of his boys hugged him. “I understand Dad,” Grumbot murmured into his shirt. “You didn't want us to get hurt, but thank you for telling us now.” Jrumbot nodded in agreement and Grian let out a wet laugh. Sounding on the edge of tears he said “What did I ever do without you boys?”

Grumbot pulled away and giggled as he said “Forgot about eating dinner.”

Grian paused before letting out a loud laugh which made Grumbot and Jrumbot start giggling.

“I can't say you're wrong.” Grian laughed, running a hand through his hair.

Grian then yawned, and stood up to stretch. “However nice this bonding session has been.” Grian started, turning toward his boys. “I believe it is bedtime. No buts!” he smiled at them as he said that, both of them having opened their mouths to deny it. It is nighttime, and very dark, and both of you need sleep.”

“Will you read to me dad,” Jrumbot murmured, fidgeting on the couch.

Grian smiled at him. “Of course, you only need ask.” He smirked at Jrumbot before saying “However, the first one to get to your room gets to pick the book, and oh look, Grumbots already at the hallway-” Jrumbot shrieked out a laugh as a sudden race took place in the hallway, and Grian smiled as he tidied the place up, talking the mugs to the kitchen to wash tomorrow.

He then walked to the boys bedroom, to find Jrumbot pouting as Grumbot sat on his bed.

“What will the story be?” Grian asked them, and Grumbot smiled before saying, “what about the one about the Dragons saving the world?”

Jrumbot glanced up with wide eyes and Grian grinned. Even though Grumbot had obviously won, he had also chosen his brother's favorite book to read.

Grian walked over to the bookshelf and found the book, “A Warrior's Tail” before walking to Jrumbots bed. He started reading to them, and within the third chapter, they were both asleep.

Grian smiled and leaned over both of them to kiss their foreheads, before whispering ‘night’ and leaving the room. He walked toward his own bedroom and climbed into bed. Grian looked at the ceiling and felt Maui joined him, purring as he curled up around Grians head. He reached up to scratch Maui under the chin, before yawning and turning off his lamp.

That talk was one he had been dreading, and it went over quite well. Grians last thought before sleeping was ‘Maybe I should introduce them to another Hermit.’

-----------

For whatever reason, Autocorrect really hates all names. Anyways, I know who the Hermit is, But do any of you? I want to see who you think the hermit is!

Also, if you liked this story, please comment! I loved reading all of your comments on the last one! They helped me make this chapter as quick as possible! (I may also be procrastinating on other stories with a Grumbot Fix-it Fic but, oh well)

#grian #hermitcraft #Grumbot #Jrumbot #hermitcraft season 7 #Mumbo Jumbo #I love this family so much #The best family is a man and his 2 robot sons #I hope i made it clear how much Grian loves his boys #and how much he doesnt want to see them hurt #>:)#robodad Grian Au

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mulletcal · 4 years

Text

when did you first know? -- a calum hood one shot

a/n: okay so i was hit with inspo for this like 8 hours ago and here we are. it’s the origin story for cal & mama from my twin universe, but you don’t need to have read those to know what’s going on here!! pls enjoy

words: 3.9k

warnings: cavity inducing fluff mb???

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Soulmate was always a word that Calum heard, and while he believed that they existed, he was never certain that a soulmate would be something he’d find in his lifetime. He saw his friends pair off with their respective partners, and it warmed his heart to see the people he loved so happy. Calum grew content with the fact that he was meant for platonic soulmates, already having found those in his best friends.

The fans never let the idea go that Calum was preparing for his soulmate though - citing his quitting smoking, and in general cleaning up his act as the source. That was never consciously what Calum was doing though, rather just choosing to better himself for himself.

It was a Tuesday when he first met her - the sky was clear and the moon full, the air was warm, and he was surrounded by his best friends as they shared stories from their past. Why Michael had decided to have a party on a Tuesday, he’d never know; but he knew that he would one day need to thank the man.

Andy had brought her along, saying how she was an old friend from his hometown who just moved to L.A. and had zero friends there other than him. Maybe it would be Andy he’d need to thank - in all the years he’d been alive, he had never met someone so beautiful. The night carried on in similar fashion to previous nights, most of them crashing in various rooms in Michael’s house rather than heading home. She went home, though, without Calum being able to say goodbye, or get her number - she was gone.

For days thoughts of her clouded his mind; the sound of her voice, her laugh, how she danced with his friends as if she’d known them for years. It tugged at his heart how well she fit in with them, and he wished he knew her well enough to invite her along to things they had plans for.

In a vague attempt to rid his mind of her, he thought he’d distract himself with the one thing that always seemed to cheer him up - dogs. Duke enjoyed wandering the dog park, even if he didn’t interact much with other dogs, Calum was always there to toss a ball or two for his old baby.

Pressing a kiss to the side of Duke’s head, he set him down onto the grass and took his leash in his hand, at least till they got away from the busy parking lot. Letting him begin to sniff around, Calum’s eyes scanned around the park - it wasn’t a particular busy day for a Friday, they may be able to have a wider range for Duke to roam.

He froze, though, when he saw an oddly familiar face underneath a nearby tree - it was her. This had to be some form of serendipity, right? There was no way she knew he would be there, at that time, on that day, so maybe this was his chance.

Calum’s feet took over before he got much of a chance to overthink it, stopping when he and Duke reached a few feet away, “Hey, didn’t expect to see you here!” Oof, lame line. He could’ve done better than that, truly.

She looked up, lifting the sunglasses off of her head as she met his eyes, a bright smile spreading across her lips, “Calum, hey! How are yo- Is this your dog?” Her eyes were wide as she looked at Duke, whose head was cocked to the side as his dad interacted with this woman he never met.

“It is, his name’s Duke. He’s wary of people, so maybe just approach with caution. It’s not his fault, he’s old and grumpy. I feel as though he should be back at home readin’ the dailies.” Calum was rambling, and he knew it - but his comment made her laugh, so it counted as a win to him.

“Me too man, you have no idea,” She shook her head as she spoke to Duke, as if he could understand her. She held out her hand and Calum waited with baited breath while his dog gave it a sniff, usually Duke would huff and walk away from the offending person - but after what felt like an eternity, Duke’s tail began to wag as he looked at her expectantly.

“That absolutely never happens,” Calum stated, stunned; and the responding smile that he got was brighter than the sun that was high in the sky that day. “D’you wanna come toss a ball for ‘im? He seems to like you,” While Calum had been deep in his own thoughts, Duke had taken to putting his front paws on her legs so she could have better access to behind his ears.

“Really? Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude on a quiet day at the dog park.”

“It seems as though if anything, we’re intruding on you,” Calum motioned to the tablet and pen beside her and she responded with a wave of her hand, standing up to dust off her pants.

“Thinkin’ bout it now, I was very likely sitting in dog pee, wasn’t I?” She pouted, continuing to brush off the back of her pants. Gathering her things, she slid them into her bag before turning to the pair, “We ready boys?”

The rest of Calum’s afternoon was spent exchanging stories of their pasts, and how they came to be where they were today. He found out that she was a graphic designer, working on animation as well, and she moved to L.A. because she was offered an amazing job she couldn’t turn down. The more he learned about her, the more infatuated he became; and when his phone went off to remind him of a time slot they had at the studio.

If Calum didn’t act now, he knew he’d miss his chance - he could sense it deep down that the universe had given him the perfect opportunity and he couldn’t waste it.

“Hey, d’you have plans for tomorrow night?” Tomorrow night? What an incredible way to sound desperate.

“I don’t actually, I was supposed to go for coffee with Andy but something came up!” She grinned, adjusting the bag on her shoulder, “Why what’s up?”

“Would you want to go out tomorrow? On a date, maybe?” Calum swallowed thickly, running his fingers through his hair, avoiding any and all eye contact with her.

“I’d love to, actually.”

Calum’s heart soared, breaking into a toothy grin that brought out the crinkles by his eyes. She said yes, and it wasn’t just him imagining things. He tried to prevent his hands from shaking while they exchanged phones and phone numbers, the promise of the next day hanging from their lips when they departed.

***

Calum had been pacing through his house for the last hour, the anticipation leading him to sweat through the first shirt he had picked for the night. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so nervous for something, even crowds of people watching them perform.

He could be vulnerable, he could be himself, but what if she rejected him? What if he opened a door as an insight to himself, and once he did he couldn’t close it again?

The drive to her apartment was shorter than he would have liked. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t have been left alone with his thoughts for too much longer or he may have backed out.

Calum wanted to be a gentleman, but the whole process of buzzing up to her apartment and her waiting at her door to be picked up seemed a little awkward - so instead he waited by the passenger side door of his car, a small bouquet of wildflowers in hand. He almost started to pace again while he waited, but then his eyes landed on her.

Her silk, navy blue dress swayed as she walked towards him, tucking her keys and phone into her purse but her eyes never left Calum’s. He couldn’t help to notice that the dress hugged her upper half in all the best ways, flaring out to stop just above her knees.

“Hi,” She breathed, standing up on her tippy toes to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

A spark radiated from Calum’s cheek, causing goosebumps to raise on his skin, “You look absolutely stunning,” he spoke softly, extending the flowers to her. “These are for you.”

The expression on her face softened ever so slightly when she saw the flowers, a smile present on her lips while she thanked him with another kiss to his cheek. Calum opened the car door for her, assuring she was in before rounding to the other side.

Conversation flowed easily between the two, and Calum’s cheeks were beginning to ache from the amount he was smiling- he genuinely couldn’t remember the last time he ached because he was so happy. It continued well through dinner, her even offering up a forkful to him of her meal.

Once dinner was finished, Calum paid and escorted her again out to his car, grabbing the door even though she insisted she was fine before they headed to the second part of their date. This part was met with confusion from her, a teasing smile quirking at her lips.

“Ah, I see. The infamous Calum Hood shows a gal a good time, and then takes her out to the beach late at night to kill her, is it?” She asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

It wasn’t an entirely unfair assumption - the only light illuminating the road ahead was his own headlights, and those of the occasional car that would pass by. She had guessed right about the beach, though, and Calum faked an incredulous gasp.

“How could you think I’m a murderer? I know we’ve been driving down a dark road for half an hour, but that’s irrelevant to the matter.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve sent Andy my location, in case you do choose to kill me. At the very least he could come locate my body.” She was biting her tongue to keep from laughing, but ultimately failed and she squeezed Calum’s hand in an attempt to let him know she was kidding - but also possibly a poorly veiled attempt at wanting to hold his hand.

Thankfully, Calum took the hint and laced their fingers together, bringing their joined hands up to his lips, grazing against the back of hers. He heard her breath stop, and he quickly glanced at her with a hint of a smile.

The rest of the drive was silent, only the faint sound of Louis Armstrong playing in the background. The lights of their destination came into view, and Calum chewed on his lower lip while he tried to gauge her reaction. It would be impossible to tell what it was just from a glance, but the smile that came across her face was enough for Calum.

While the sound of Louis Armstrong was now gone, the sounds of a vibrant jazz band filled her ears, and her smile went from soft to ear to ear within seconds.

“What is this, Cal?” She asked softly, reaching for his hand when he had met her at the front of the car.

The first thought at the forefront of his mind was how he could get used to the feeling of her hand in his, but the next thought he had was that he should probably answer her question. “Well…” He began, tugging her hand gently so she could follow, “There’s this jazz band I’ve come across that plays here once a month and I love to come and watch them. They’ve even let me play for them a handful of times.”

Her eyes scanned the people, wide with wonder as she did so. She saw couples of all ages milling about, and much to her delight some were dancing. You often heard about things like this, but she never could have dreamed that this beautiful man standing beside her would have taken her here.

“Wanna dance, doll?” Calum asked, looking down at her expectantly, giggling softly at how quickly her gaze snapped up to him.

He didn’t need to say anymore to her before he was dragged out to the ‘dance floor’, proceeding to sway and spin to the music.

After a few songs, they decided to take a break, sitting down at a table beside this elderly couple Calum appeared to know, excusing himself to go get you both a drink.

“You don’t see that often, do ya Ruby?” The man spoke up, clearly trying to the attention of his wife, as well as the young lady that sat beside them.

“What’s that darlin’?” The woman, Ruby, said to the man, leaning her chin onto her hand.

“Calum seems to have brought a special lady with him tonight. Don’t think he’s ever done that before.”

Now he had her attention, turning her head to look at Ruby and her husband, chewing on her lip before she asked, “He hasn’t?”

The couple shook their head practically in unison, knowing smiles on their lips, “He must really care about you.”

It took her off guard when Calum came back, setting down waters for them. Sipping it absentmindedly while their words echoed through her head. If Calum truly had never brought anyone there before her, this place must have been special to him; and what lead him to want to bring her there? Her chest was warm with the implication that she, too, could be special to Calum in the same way this place was.

Not much longer later, they made their decision to leave. She had been making her rounds, getting to know the regulars of the area, and them doing the same for her. It didn’t take her very long to be invited back by the regulars, all of them kissing her and Calum’s cheeks before they finally departed.

Arriving back at her apartment, there was a sense of hesitation in the air, neither of them wanting their night to end. It needed to though, if only to let the night continue on and they could venture into the future together.

“Walk me to my door?” She asked, glancing over at him with a hopeful expression in her eyes.

“It would be my pleasure,” He answered honestly, hopping out of the drivers side, quickly making his way to her side to offer his hand to her.

The nerves from earlier returned while they made the short trek upstairs to her apartment. Calum knew before he reached the door that he wanted to kiss her, but the thought of it being the typical awkward first date kiss hurt his chest while it constricted in panic.

He could tell she was nervous too when he saw her fumble with her keys, and it made him breathe a little easier. When they stopped in front of her door, she spun around to face him, stumbling back despite the lack of alcohol either of them drank that night.

“I had an amazing time,” She began, licking her lips when she finally met his eyes. “I’d love to do it again sometime, if you’d like.”

“Trust me, I’d like nothing more.” Oh, so he was back to desperate, that’s good.

“Good, good…” Her words died in her throat when Calum stepped closer to her, bringing his hand up to brush against her cheek. Their eyes seemed to take turns glancing from their lips, back to each others eyes - a wordless request for a kiss. It was just a matter of who would move first.

Calum couldn’t wait any longer, the anticipation enough to kill him, so he closed the gap, capturing her lips in the most breathtaking kiss she had ever received. His lips were so gentle and soft against hers, and she couldn’t help but to tangled her fingers in the front of his shirt, desperate to have him closer.

A long moment later, they pulled apart, both slightly gasping for air and sharing breathless giggles.

“Alright, so I’ll talk to you later then?” Calum teased, his fingers still dancing along her waist, enjoying the feeling of the soft silk under his touch.

“You’d fucking better honestly.”

With that half threat, they shared one more kiss before she slipped inside, pressing her back against the door with her hand against her head. The whole night had been a whirlwind, and it was difficult to believe that it was her real life - every series of events felt movie like, and it was the last thing she expected when she moved to the City of Angels.

Calum had begun the walk back to his car, waiting until he was fully inside before he rested his head against the steering wheel and laughing softly to himself. He had never felt such a strong connection to anyone before, his heart was racing at the fact that maybe he had just met his soulmate.

Taking his phone out of his pocket for the first time that night, he noticed the group chat was blowing up with questions of his date, shaking his head before he sent a simple reply:

[9:54pm]: She’s perfect. I’m gonna marry her.

Once that was sent, he silenced his phone again and headed home, proceeding to write the same words down in his journal with a date, almost as a manifestation of his future.

***

Their relationship only blossomed from there - In ways they were completely inseparable, but both knew the times when to step back, letting one another have alone time, or time with their friends.

It made the boys so happy to see their best friend completely and totally in love, excited that he had met someone who matched him on different levels. It was rare to see them argue, and when they did, it was resolved almost as quickly as an issue came up - it was almost then that everyone realized that the two really were meant to be together, knowing how much Calum despised conflict.

At the year and a half mark, Calum began to plan his proposal. Their friends demanded to be in on it, but being in on it revealed the only thing he ever kept from his friends - the one thing that was just for them.

In the end, it was worth showing them if it meant she said yes to him, and the promise of their future together was more set in stone.

When the day of the proposal finally arrived, Calum was a nervous wreck all day - he had to call Andy to help get her out of the house so he could panic in private. Ashton showed up at one point in the day so someone could force him into the shower, so he’d be ready for the night.

Calum lost count of how many times he was told to relax by his friends via text, after his shower Ashton was long since gone, not wanting to be there when she got home in an attempt to not give away the surprise - as if him being there was anything out of the ordinary.

When she arrived back home, she got ready for their typical once a month Saturday night date, still seemingly unaware about what was in store for the night. It put Calum at ease a little, to see her go through her routine of getting ready without the knowledge that he was going to ask her to spend the rest of her life with him.

“Ready baby?” She asked softly, smoothing out her skirt, cocking her head to the side while she waited for an answer.

“Yeah, love, let’s go,” Calum smiled, lacing his fingers with hers as they headed out to their destination.

The familiar lights were a welcome sight to Calum, further easing his nerves for the night. It helped knowing that everyone that was there loved them, and only wanting what was best for them. When he wrapped his arm around her waist, she shivered slightly and curled into him.

“We gonna dance, angel?” Calum whispered, his lips lingering near her ear, leading her to the dance floor regardless. His eyes scanned the room, not giving her much time to look around before he pulled her close to him.

Over her head, he saw Luke getting into position behind the mic, smiling at Calum. ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me’ by Louis Armstrong began to play, Calum continuing to move her to the music with him until Luke began singing.

‘Stars shining bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"

Birds singing in the sycamore trees

Dream a little dream of me…’

The moment she recognized the familiar voice, she spun around, a bright smile on her face. She started to suspect something was up, especially considering that at any given chance, Calum would never be able to turn down playing with his best friends. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, swaying from side to side as she watched the boys play the song.

As it came to an end, Calum felt her take a deep breath before turning to face him, suspecting what was about to happen.

Calum took his arms from around her, rubbing his hands on his pants to wipe the sweat that was forming, taking the small box from his pocket. “I know you can kind of guess what I’m about to say, you’re too smart for your own good - but at least I managed to keep this a surprise this far. Anyways… Before I met you, I wasn’t quite sure that a soulmate existed out there for me. I watched my friends pair off and meet their amazing significant others, leaving just me usually. But then you came, and my world turned upside down. I didn’t know what to do with myself, but I knew I had to be near you. You simultaneously stole the air from my lungs, but breathed a new life into me I didn’t know I was capable of. I’ve become a better man because of you, and for you. So, I need to ask…” He finally got down on one knee, opening the ring box with tears in his eyes, “Will you marry me?”

She couldn’t contain the tears streaming down her cheeks any longer, nodding fervently as she dipped down to his level to kiss him, nearly knocking him over, “A million times yes. In every universe, in every lifetime, yes.”

She hadn’t realized that all their close friends and family were there, and it caused more tears to flow when she saw them. Never in her life had she felt more loved, and it was all thanks to the beautiful boy who brought her to a jazz bar on the beach.

Despite having a lot of friends and family, they kept their wedding small. They wanted it to be intimate and sweet, and everything about it spoke to who they were as people, and it represented their relationship perfectly. Growing up, she never had brothers, but as she swayed with Michael to the song playing, she couldn’t resist the urge to rest her head on his shoulder and tell him how they’re all the brothers she’s always wanted.

Later in the night, the newly wedded couple decided to exchange gifts. Hers was a set of shadow boxes, with pressed and dried flowers from their first date that she had kept for the now almost three years. His gift to her was a simple frame, but in it was the paper he wrote after their first date.

“Baby, this isn’t the day of our first date.”

“You’re absolutely right, my love, it’s the day I realized I wanted to marry you.”

tag list: @cals-wildflower @talkfastromance4 @softbabiestan @roseycal @calum-uncrowned @boyfriend-cal @wildflowerirwin @irwindoll @gosh-im-short @atlcalm @thesubtweeter @heavenisapeach @ridingcthood @loveroflrh @wokeupinjapanisabop

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fanfiction #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fanfiction #this is pure fluff

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years

Text

Reconciliation - Part 5 (Final)

Pairing: Im Jaebum x reader

Genre: ex-lovers au / angst / romance / business au

Warnings: unprotected sex, mature content.

Reconciliation will be shared daily at 10am NZST.

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

This was how you had originally imagined this trip. Waking up in Jaebum’s arms the following morning was sweeter than you could remember. And after spending a little too long in the shower cleaning up from last night, you both happily went into the breakfast buffet where you laughed and shared food. The light atmosphere continued throughout the day, as did the kisses, the hand-holding, and much later, the endless rides to Nirvana.

It was what you had hoped for all along. And with your trip closing tomorrow, you were satisfied that when you had first thought to come here, the things on your list had been checked off with today’s efforts.

However, those desires came from a time where you were happy to just follow Jaebum around. Since finding your independence, you had moments throughout the day and night where you were bothered, and a cold sense of dread would wash over you.

The dream had to end here, with the sand and sun.

You woke before Jaebum did the next morning and spent the time taking in every detail of the man you loved. Even with him showering you in all the affection that you had ever wished for, and knowing how deeply his own feelings ran for you, this time, it would be you who broke his heart first.

You wanted to memorise every inch of him, right down to his freckles and imperfections in case you never saw them up close like this again.

Eventually, the man holding you stirred out of his slumber, Jaebum blearily squinting at you and letting out a breath of relief. It pained you to think that he was counting his blessings to truly find you here at his side and no longer a dream as he had told you about.

“Why are you awake first?” he huskily asked, moving to catch your shoulders with his lips. He kissed your bare skin a couple of times before resting back onto his pillow. “I wanted to watch you instead.”

“Should’ve woken up earlier then,” you teased, taking his hand in yours and linking it together.

You felt the words you need to say at the back of your throat and you smiled, hoping that would ease your nerves.

Jaebum watched you and after frowning, he sat up a little. “You’re going to finally say it, aren’t you?”

“You knew?”

He nodded. “I kind of guessed. I mean, we fell back into one another as if the three months never passed us by. And I know that I’ve said some things that might lend you hope that it could improve between us.”

“It’s not even that I don’t want this, because I do. I want to be with you, wholeheartedly. You said that I was it for you. Well, I’m pretty sure it’s the same for me.”

“Then what is it?” he wondered, and you shifted so you could sit up as well. Once settled at his side, you began to play with his fingers, trying to find the right words. “You need time?”

“I need to find who I am. Things are scary but really good right now for me. I’m starting my new business and I’m looking forward to running it. And it’s not a being busy reason either, even though I know I’m going to be super busy.”

Jaebum nodded listlessly, and you could tell he was genuinely listening to you, though he face was devoid of emotion. He was simply closing himself off to help with the pain.

You pressed on. “I don’t want to fall back into you. I don’t want either of us to rely on the other the way we used to. I thought I only needed your validation and you felt you only needed me to comfort you. We’re both more than that.”

“So this is it for us? For good?” he breathed, and you blinked when you noticed how watery his eyes had become. “We leave the confessions, the feelings here in these sheets?”

“We’re ending it better this time around, don’t you think?” you bartered and Jaebum rubbed at his face. “I need to focus on myself. If I can’t even do that, then there’s no point in me trying to rediscover us.”

“I get it,” he answered, taking you in his arms right when you began to cry. “I don’t want to but I do. Just remember to find me when the time is right.”

“Maybe we’ll find each other when we least expect it, just like we did here.”

Time seemed to fly by once you were back to reality. You left the ground running and after a solid year of hard work, you could slowly reap the rewards. You were acknowledged as a bright, new CEO and your company was definitely catching heads from all around. By your second year of business, you could loosen off the steam you were moving with. Your products were making consistent sales and you had taken on your first overseas client.

Everything seemed to be working like a well-oiled machine.

Not only had you discovered your own style as a CEO, you excelled at it. You liked being able to support your team and motivate them to strive for bigger goals.

Much as you were doing with your personal life. You had taken up online courses alongside your job and although you were exhausted from time to time, you had developed a love for photography and passion for interior design. You already had future aspirations to branch out into design in the following year.

Right now though, you wanted to enjoy life at a slower speed and not watch it pass on by in the blink of an eye.

And there was no one else you would rather do that with than Jaebum.

It hadn’t been complete radio silence between you both. You had each compromised to emails, sending each other messages at least twice a month. You had learned through them that he had fostered some cats and was passionate about raising them, and his latest investor had backed him over the company you had once lost out to. He’d also started cooking lessons, opting to make it home in the evening to eat there instead of ordering to his office each night.

Neither of you talked of what more you wanted from each other and about relationships. You had on several occasions almost emailed him asking him if he was seeing anyone but each time you chided yourself for seeking out information that could lead to complicating things. And you really didn’t want to do that if you weren’t ready to commit.

Standing near the gate for your impending flight, you focused on snapping the sunset out the large windows that was casting brilliant light over the aeroplanes nearby, the land behind it looking magical just like the sky did. You were ready to feel the freedom that came with travelling and taste the delicious foods that your destination had in store for you. As you watched the sky change its colours right before you, it was hard to not get lost in the thought of your self-development. Standing here right now, you couldn’t be prouder of who you had become if you tried.

Still, the nagging voice that wanted to share your accomplishments with someone else pulled you back to reality and you gasped when you realised boarding had commenced. As you walked onto the plane, you tried not to get too excited about the impending trip and looked out for your seat number. You grinned when you found it and after pulling your bag strap over your head and putting your bag under your seat, you sat down, fussing with your seatbelt for a moment. The person travelling next to you was already seated and you sighed when you realised your belt was linked with theirs.

Tapping him on the shoulder, you waited until he turned to look at you, ignoring the way he stared at you. “Uh, my belt is trapped in yours somehow.”

“Y/N,” Jaebum breathed, sitting up properly as his eyes continued to remain wide. He didn’t react as you reached to undo the belt across him so you could get yours free, still staring at you until you waved a hand in front of his face.

“You okay?”

“I just… I’m not dreaming, right? The plane hasn’t taken off and crashed somewhere and this is the afterlife?” he blurted out and you gave him a look, aghast by his assumption.

“No, we’re very much so alive and we better stay that way!”

“Then, it’s happened again. Just like you said when we parted last time!” he continued, shaking his head with disbelief.

You tried not to laugh. “Oh yeah?”

“Well, I was invited to go on this trip, were you too?”

“I guess you could say that,” you mused, amazed that he hadn’t clicked onto it yet.

“Wait,” he finally said, pointing at you. “How come you’re not amazed to see me?”

“Maybe because I was not about to wait until fate would have us cross paths again and booked this trip for us,” you announced and Jaebum slowly grinned.

“Really? You want to spend time with me?”

“Should I go spend it with someone else?” you offered and Jaebum disagreed almost immediately, taking your hand in his. You shifted closer, smiling at him as he rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand affectionately.

“You know, when this trip is over, I’m not going to agree about parting ways again,” he told you and you grinned, leaning in so you could kiss his lips.

“Fate might have been late in bringing us back together but I’m not going to let anything – or one – pull us apart again.”

_________________

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satoruvt · 4 years

Text

the color of you - green (3)

i feel like in terms of the patterns im tryna leave this chapter wasnt that good but its ok i like it anyways and i hope u do too

pairing → keigo takami x bakery owner!reader

word count → 2072

summary → you’re not really dating, so you can’t really be in love with him… right?

song inspo → xo by eden

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

The grass is so bright.

You don’t know why it looks particularly vibrant today - maybe it’s the sun. It dots the grass under the trees in unusual polygons, the rays lighting up the green in their early-summer light. Your eyes trace the landscape, starting at the ground before moving up. Brown bark of a tree, then the token green of summer again, and finally blue sky. It’s a good day for a walk.

Keigo squeezes your hand gently and you’re moved back to real-time, no longer focused on the colors of the world.

You’re still surprised this is so easy - of all of the things you thought this relationship would be, easy wasn’t one of the words that came to mind. But it is, Keigo makes it easy, somehow. The first few days, you went home every night from hanging out, going on “dates” just to scream into your pillow that it was you with pro-hero Hawks - albeit fake, it was you.

And his publicist was right about you gaining business - the bakery was flourishing more than ever before, supportive fans coming to try their beloved hero’s girlfriend’s pastries. The money you were getting as a positive consequence was enough for you to actually have money leftover after groceries and bills, not to mention the few employees you had were getting paid what they deserved.

“Hey, stop spacing out,” Keigo says, stopping in the pathway. When you turn to him with a raised eyebrow, he’s pouting playfully. “You’re supposed to be focused on me.”

“Oh, right, of course,” you keen, placing a hand over your heart. “I’m so sorry, my love! Forgive my incompetence…”

He grins. “All is forgiven if you agree to sit with me under the mighty oak tree over yonder.”

His medieval speak makes you cringe (though you’re sure yours isn’t any better) but you let him lead you to the tree he had in mind. He sits down at its base, under the shade of its leaves, and you follow. You lay so your head is on his lap, resting on your back.

It’s not a designated date today - Keigo had a day off (a “day off”) and called to see if you had one as well. You didn’t have to be to the bakery until later into the afternoon, so you figured it couldn’t hurt to spend some time with him (after all, he is your boyfriend now).

He’s talking about Endeavor, how the two of them are best friends, but the Number One hero just doesn’t know it yet. You’re not really focusing on his words, because it’s hitting you hard that he’s fucking pretty. It’s not like you hadn’t noticed it before - you were (are?) a fan, you noticed that he was attractive, but Lord, if it doesn’t show in the sunlight right now. With his perfectly-unruly hair, light and intelligent eyes -

“Oh!” Keigo says, looking down at you. “I just remembered. We should take some pictures.”

It takes you a moment to recover. “Uh - for what?”

“Social media.” He pulls out his phone from his pocket, and you sit up from his lap. You’re sure the two of you look pathetic, taking selfies in the middle of a park, but then again, what’s the harm?

Keigo taps on the photo app, turns his phone sideways, and you brush down your hair that’s sticking in a million different directions once you see yourself in the frame. It doesn’t take long - Keigo sends you an impatient look anyways and you tell him to shut up - and you scoot behind him, resting your head on his shoulder cutely.

That’s the first photo, gentle smiles and green grass. The second one involves you kissing his cheek, and the third one something stupid with both of you sticking your tongues out at the camera. Once he sends them to you, you save them to your phone before putting it back into your pocket.

They’re cute pictures, and for a moment it almost seems like the whole thing is real.

The grass is soothing against your skin, but eventually it’s time for you to get back to the bakery.

The walk back to the main entrance of the park is softer from when the two of you came in, conversation more serious than playful (not to say that Keigo doesn’t tease you when the opportunity arises, because he does).

“Are there any big events coming up?” You ask him, swinging your intertwined hands between the two of you. “Like, that we have to go to?”

“Yeah, there’s a hero awards ceremony,” Keigo says, then grimaces slightly.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at an awards ceremony before. Or any hero meetings, aside from maybe two.”

“That’s because they suck and take too much energy.”

“Then why are we going to this one? Isn’t it weird for you to suddenly go now?”

“That’s a good question,” Keigo says, and you noticed you’ve reached the front gate. “I’ve got no fucking clue.”

The chuckle that escapes your lips is genuine, and your hand leaves his with a gentle, “I’ll see you later, Kei,” but he pulls you back suddenly. You’re closer than before, and you furrow your brows at him.

“What -”

“There’s some paparazzi behind you,” Keigo says.

Oh.

“I’m gonna kiss you, okay?”

Oh.

You nod, still reeling from when he pulled you to him, and he leans forward. But wait, why is your heart beating so fast -

Keigo’s lips meet yours in a soft kiss, something only meant to convey feeling to the outside world. It’s innocent, an “I-love-you” kiss, and it takes you half a second to reciprocate. But you do, smiling onto his lips - let’s give ‘em a show, you think to yourself - and he places a hand on your cheek. You cover it with your own, and when he pulls away you lean into his palm on instinct.

“Not gonna lie, hero,” you breathe, “you’re really good at that.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Keigo grins, obviously smug, but you snort.

“Whore.”

“Hey!”

With a laugh, you walk out of the main gate, to the subway station. You can’t help but reminisce about the feeling of Keigo’s lips as you do.

The bakery’s having a slow day by the time you walk in, the inside seats only occupied by a few people. The chatter is quiet, barely there, and it reminds you of mid-spring days, sitting outside with friends to catch up. You head back to the kitchen with a greeting to each of your employees, but you barely get started on some cookie dough when you’re called out to the front of the restaurant.

“Y/N, there’s a delivery person here for you,” one of your employees says, and you sigh, thinking about what to do, given that your hands are covered in flour.

“Can you handle it? It’s probably just this week’s dairy,” you respond, working the dough through your fingers. Your employee shakes his head, and he’s got a small smile on his face.

“It’s not that,” he says. “The guy’s got flowers.”

What?

You furrow your brows - “tell him to wait for a minute” - before washing your hands off, wiping the excess water on your apron. When you walk out to the cash register, sure enough, there’s a man waiting with a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

“Are you Y/N?” He asks when you get close enough, and you nod. “From Hawks.”

You take the bouquet in your hands and you hear a camera snap as you do. When you turn your head to the noise, none of the customers in the bakery show any signs of it being them, but you’re sure it’s one of Keigo’s fans who heard his name. The delivery guy walks out of the bakery and you roll your eyes, laughing to yourself. There’s a tag tied around the stems and you pull on it to read it.

Couldn’t help but notice how you looked at the flowers earlier, so I got you some of your own. If I don’t see them on the counter the next time I’m at the bakery, we’re gonna have some problems.

The note is signed with a loopy scribble of Keigo’s name, and then a heart. It makes you smile and you take out your phone to send a picture of the tag to him, along with a message that reads “received loud and clear.” He responds quickly; “good, they better be in the best vase you can find.”

“Why are my flowers in a pot?”

You look up from wiping down the counter, brain thoughtlessly telling you to tell whoever it is at the door that the bakery’s closed, but you’re met with a familiar pair of red wings and golden eyes.

You tuck the damp rag into a pocket in your apron, shrugging as Keigo walks closer to the counter. “It’s a bakery, that’s the best vase I can find,” you say, then pout, “besides, it’s rustic, leave it alone.”

He laughs, and you motion for him to follow you back to the kitchen. “So, what brings you here?”

“My flowers.”

You feign offense, draping the back of your hand over your forehead. “Really? Only the flowers? Not to see little old me, your very own girlfriend?”

Keigo hums, dipping his finger into a mostly-empty tub of icing to taste it. “Mm, I take it back. Not the flowers. It was for this kick-ass icing.”

“You like it?” You ask, and he nods, going in for another finger-ful. “You should try the donuts I just made.”

“Holy shit, can I?”

You giggle at his eagerness, then pull out two donuts from the cooling rack nearby. You hand one to Keigo - a classic glazed - before taking your personal favorite off the rack and taking a bite yourself. When Keigo sees you do it, he does too, and you’re immediately overwhelmed in compliments.

“Jesus, Y/N, I think I’m calling it,” he says, mouth full of pastry. “I’m completely in love with you. How the hell did you get this good?”

You feel the flush in your cheeks before it shows, and you shrug, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly. “I’ve just always had a thing for baking, I guess,” you murmur, placing your half-eaten donut on the counter as you lean against it. “That’s how I got this whole place started.”

Keigo looks at you funny and you realize you haven’t told him too much about your career, so you keep talking. “I started the bakery, like, right out of high school. I already knew that I wanted to bake my whole life, so I never thought about using my quirk to become a hero or going to college or any of that stuff.”

He nods, finishing off his donut in another few bites. The silence is weird, not being filled, and it feels good to talk to him about this, so you keep going, playing with the hem of your apron out of habit. “I know my parents are super proud of me for starting my own business so young, but… I did it so fast, and I worry that they think I’m gonna do everything at that same speed. It just puts a lot of pressure on me, you know?”

When you look at Keigo again, he’s got a certain look in his eyes, and you don’t know what it is. You realize that he probably didn’t want to hear about all of your fears with having your own business and panic flushes through your veins at the sudden thought.

“Oh, sorry, you probably didn’t wanna hear about all that,” you rush out, and Keigo’s quick to respond.

“No, it’s just…” he pauses, tapping his fingers on the counter once, twice. “You just summed up my entire career.”

It’s your turn to look at him funny, and it’s his turn to tell you his sob story. “I was chosen to be a hero when I was, like, ten or eleven or something, and I started my own agency when I was eighteen. I like being known as the hero with speed, as someone who can get shit done, but… it’s a lot, sometimes.”

He meets your eyes, and you’re very aware of the new understanding the two of you share. There’s something different in the way he looks at you, now.

And it’s good.

#EJKHFJKDF FIRST KISS!!!! FIRST KISS FIRST KISS FIRST KISS -#ANYWASY #im tired its late ajsdhfjks #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia imagine #my hero academia imagine #keigo takami x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks x reader #bnha hawks x reader #hawks bnha x reader #x reader #reader insert #imagine #tcoy #the color of you

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dropsofletters · 4 years

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split-ends and break-ups

title: split-ends and break-ups pairing: park chanyeol/reader genre: band!au/ex-boyfriend!au/enemies to lovers!au summary: when participating in a battle of the bands to earn a position in some discography, she realizes that one of the contestants is none other than her ex. musically and physically blessed, as well as extremely sweet chanyeol is there to compete, though it falls upon his shoulders to let his competitive blood destroy his past love’s chance at success…or he could simply remember all that happened before their fall out. type: fluff/angst/romance word count: 9,688

No plethora of convincing quotes, astonishing inspirational speeches and phrases along the lines of ‘it will be alright’ could make her believe in hope. Such a harsh mindset is the necklace that hangs around her neck, digging into her skin uncomfortably, glowing in the dark when she sees the flickering lights of her apartment casting its power down on to the living room. Somewhere, her bandmate must be sleeping, specifically the guitarist, but instead of seeking for her flat pillow and her rusty bedsheets, she opts to stay up late once again, pen moving against her old notebook, writing down lyrics while her bass peacefully rests on her lap.

Not that it is any closer to sounding in its heavy tune, considering that her brain is completely dried from inspiration, wondering why musicians must suffer in order to be big. The best bands did it—she has tried to convince herself for the past two years in which they are played small gigs in local bars—, but they are truly getting nowhere. Once her apartment was only shared with herself and now, looking to save some more money to record a few songs, she had to share it with her deep sleeper of a guitarist. Somewhere in between reaching her dreams, she has lost herself. Refrigerator void of food. Soul void of happiness. Mind void of ideas.

It’s a cycle as of now.

Everything burns. The ache of her legs, seated atop a couch that can only pain her so much, cheap to its core. Her heart, it burns, simply because she doesn’t know what to do anymore—if being a secretary is even an option now that a bassist didn’t work, if people were right when they said that she should have simply stuck to something simpler. Her fingers push her bass down, trying to find a rhyme that isn’t ‘love’, for she is tired to writing songs about loving for one night and forgetting in the other. Tired is what she is, of everything and anything, of wishing for stardom but not even being able to look up at the stars in her own goddamned apartment, too tiny and closed to even have proper, wide windows.

Brand new is not her bass when she comes up with a brief hook, one that does not make her happy, the corners of her mouth turning down when anger finally lifts her off the couch. Her legs creak under her weight, putting her bass down and placing her hands on each side of her temples, fingers caressing over the skin around her parietal bones. Everything seems to be falling down for her, flashing back to the times in which people had told her that she was good—but not outstanding enough to be a musician, a well-known at that.

It’s too hard to forget when all she has ever dreamed of is to be on a stage and play the bass.

Three in the morning and the moonlight is testing her when she turns off the lights and can’t even reach for her keys, wanting nothing more to get out and look for some snacks to have in that twenty-four-hour convenience store a few blocks away. Scared, she is not, as if the world and all the bad in it paralyzed because of her disdain. Her steps are quickened, bag tossed over her shoulder and crossing her waist, a t-shirt falling halfway on her thighs, her leggings with a few holes here and there—clear notification that she was probably wearing her pajamas. Trying is not in her vocabulary anymore.

Not when the moon looks just as hopeless as she is, the wind barely blowing in such a damned place. The butts of cigarettes rest on the streets, the music is far too distant to even be pleasurable, broken glass shatters under the weight of anyone’s shoes, the drinking habits of the city toxic in its vast meaning. A deep sigh is enough to make her feel like this city doesn’t even hold oxygen anymore, simply living off monoxide. Some people are sleeping on the streets, highlight of the poverty that no one does anything to fight for, and she closes her eyes while quickening her steps.

Musicians are never fully happy, someone once told her, or maybe she read it in a magazine. What a curse that comes with the most beautiful of unions—through tunes and melodies, comes saddening memories of never reaching the dream she wished for.

On behalf of destiny, something stops her, a rock on the way that almost has her tripping over her own feet. Flip-flops are definitely not a good idea to go out in, but it is enough of a distraction to have her rolling her eyes. Leaning her hand against the brick wall by her side, she takes the rock out of her shoes, looking to the side simply to catch a glimpse of the harsh surface, covered by something that she can’t quite describe. A pamphlet, she realizes soon after, folding it in between her hands to bring it closer to her face.

A few guitars, the typical, half-assed job graphic designers do in most occasions when describing music. What catches her attention is the price of this competition, a battle of the bands with the chance of signing with a discography and some money with a few zeroes added to it. It’s enticing, glorious, enough of a push and put in such a place for her to save the pamphlet inside her pocket.

In the future, this will only be a flashback for her memoir, when everything was difficult before that battle of the bands turns her and her band into stars.

Or she sure hopes her future reads out that way.

🥁

“Maybe, we should get a band tattoo in commemoration of this moment.”

Slipping the yellow straw in between her lips to take a sip of her smoothie, she lifts her eyebrows at one of her bandmates, the vocalist to be exact. “I don’t believe your choices in tattoos, Hee Young.” She adds, looking at Hee Young as she picks from the variety of noodles in the gas station little convenience store. Maybe, this is part of the rock lifestyle, simply living off whatever snack is easier to pop in some boiling water or in the microwave. Not caring is the new black, some may say if you ask them. “Someone with a butterfly tattoo with the name of her ex on her left ass-cheek is definitely not a person to be trusted.”

Hee Young lifts her gaze, puffy and frizzy hair short and resting under her earlobes, pierced from top to bottom. Her voice is sweet compared to how tough she looks, tall and long, unapproachable at its finest. “Says the bassist with the bright yellow pants. Learn how to dress and then we can talk aesthetics.”

The only male in the group, and the drummer, pops his head from behind a rack of sunglasses, sporting ones with hearts on them. Andrew’s softened heart is too big to even be in a group with three of the most complicated, least understanding women in the world. The youngest simply wants to have fun, he says, loving the process of learning more than the success lifestyle. “Don’t cause a fuss.” He says, embarrassment coating his words. “You two are always fighting.”

“She’s the Paul to my John, let us be.” She argues, taking another sip of her smoothie before nodding her head towards the bathrooms outside the shop. “Should I go check up on Seong Im? She hasn’t gotten out in a while.”

“That’s why our diet should not only consist of noodles and salty, greasy snacks.” The youngest and yet wisest Andrew indicates, pulling the pink sunglasses down his slim nose. “It causes diarrhea.”

“Gross.” Hee Young whispers, putting the noodle packs back down on their spots. “What would you buy for a normal dinner? I think we deserve it after getting accepted in the battle of the bands.”

Andrew bites down on his bottom lip, quirking the corner of them up soon after. “…Salad sounds healthy.”

“I doubt we’re going to find vegetables in some gas station, Drew.” She argues, only to earn a shrug from Andrew.

“It may be about time for us to stop buying stuff in the gas station, then.”

“We have one hour of being a casted band in some contest and we’re already speaking as we can afford that.” Her voice is uneven when a smile appears on her face, patting her hand against Andrew’s shoulder. “But if it makes you happy, buy whatever. I’ll go look for Seong Im and wait in the car.”

What she hears in the background is the sound of Hee Young trying to convince Andrew of getting some snacks, to what he can simply deny her offers. The air fills her lungs when she opens the door, looking around the half-empty gas station at this hour of the night, some of the workers having dinner by the pavement. Her movements are slow when her fingers look in the pockets of the yellow pants that Hee Young always curses, reaching for the keys and twirling it in between her skilled bassist fingers.

Yellow is a color of happiness. The sun. Her first guitar and maybe, even the color of the dress she wore when she had her first kiss. When things were easier, definitely so, when musicians seemed cool instead of troublesome and filled with worries. The straw brings her happiness, too, her greens inserted in a drink that has her sighing at the precious coldness, the color seeping from her body now that her band got accepted after their audition. They are going to be able to compete for a contract with a discography, something that any musician is fighting and thriving for, to be treated like royalty in a world of warriors.

Her knuckles knock against the bathroom door, hearing a loud: “What?!” coming from the inside. That voice, definitely a bit obstinate, belongs to her guitarist perfectly.

“Are you okay in there?”

“Yep. Having the time of my life!”

“What happened? Indigestion?”

“…Don’t wanna talk about it.”

With a smile playing on her features, she nods her head. “I’ll be in the car when you get out.”

Near the shared car between her guitarist and herself, however, there is another car parked, a man standing beside it to fuel it. His back is turned to the workers, his profile clear to her and oh lord, does she know those features. A tall man with a nice profile, plush lips matching his slightly wide nose, big eyes innocent when he is doing most tasks, determined when playing the drums and a haze when he used to look at her. Those big hands, one resting on the windows of the car, had wrapped around her waist, rested on her thighs and explored all of her once or a hundred times of her life, in that damned car of his, with the music blasting just like it does right now, the people inside it the bandmates that she had once shared spots with.

A bassist for another band—Park Chanyeol’s band—she had once been. At the time, she was dating him, like the poor, oblivious woman that had fallen in love with him simply to break it off thanks to musical differences. Chanyeol wanted to experiment, while she wanted to continue to grow in the punk and rock spectrum of music, leaving them more separated than they had ever been. Three years later and she is in a new group, while he continues to shine in his beauty, unaware of her existence and yet, so close to her.

Something tells her that this is not the last time she is going to see him, much more when she gets closer and tries to get inside her car from the back doors, not wanting to be noticed by him, only to see a name-tag just like the one resting on top of her white tank top, reading his name and the title of the battle of the bangs competition.

No way.

No fucking way.

She was going against the band that had created her as an artist.

When Chanyeol lifts his gaze, she plops her body down in the backseat, looking up at the ceiling in hopes of not being caught by him. What she needs right now is to figure out the reason of her nervousness, why competitiveness settles inside her body in pure revenge for having him break-up with her thanks to the constant arguments about music. What he was once said was ‘great music’ could never compare to hers, she tries to argue with herself, though her mind tells her that Chanyeol’s group is fully capable of winning, too—

But no.

They are not.

Not when this is her chance of finally showing that ex-boyfriend of hers that her vision was right. Pride, oh such a damned thing, and the reason why she sits up to look at Chanyeol’s old car drive by. Pride has become her best friend just now.

🥁

When on stage, she feels like a different woman.

People are told what to do eighty percent of their lives; some understandable, some mere stigmas, some simply because of the individuals they surround themselves with. In her opinion, though, her bass gives her rules that adjust to her. She is not broke and misunderstood when on top of the stage, rehearsing in that same place in which they are going to perform just a month from them. She is not the girl-next-door turned into a nightmare when the bass pumps from her veins and her arteries to the crowd, musicians that equally appreciate and envy, all rats seeking to thrive from the same source of food. Some are behind the stage, others are resting on some of the seats, other seated in the floor but when she turns around and shares a smile with Andrew, she feels like she belongs.

Women are expected to be a million things, straight-up perfect. They are expected to be or not to be, never in between, never able to show that they are weak or if they are, they should cry for everything and anything, unable to help themselves in the eyes of the world. In her silence, people would think her troublesome personality comes from a space of clear trust issues, but that is not the case. She found other people just like her, who lifted her up when they needed to fight together. The joyful Andrew, too sweet to even be true, kicked out of his high school for bad grades back in the day and still fighting for a happy ending. The comedic Seong Im, definitely gorgeous enough to be a model and still, releasing some of the best guitar solos she has ever heard. Hee Young, the one that put them together, her middle school enemy and now, her best friend. People who had given their life out to craft music and now were fighting for a chance to be alive.

To be a band.

Her foot rests on the side of Andrew’s drum-set, smiling to him when she moves her fingers on her bass with tranquility, not missing a single tempo, the two in charge of making a song much more understood. Much to her disappointment, however, there is a point when she can’t even listen to her bass, the amplifier releasing an elongated, high, shrilling noise before her bass comes to a halt, though her movements don’t. her eyes widen, turning around and trying to turn the device on with her foot, only to see the lack of a flickering light that either shined green or red. Her eyes look for her guitarist, Seong Im losing her tempo thanks to the lack of the bass, the song falling flat when all they can hear are Seong Im’s late chords and Hee Young’s booming voice.

The crowd suddenly starts laughing, because life is a fucking sitcom and everyone needs to play along to their roles. People like them are meant to follow the stigma that is expected from them—to fail. Her fingers hook around her bass, settling it down as she rushes down the set of stairs that led down to the crowd’s spots. Thus she rushes around them, walking towards the backstage area, watching a lot of people get ready, either look-wise or in the music spectrum, though at the depths of musicians, mostly guitarists, she gets to see the big amount of cables that connected to the amplifiers and microphones, pushing a few people out of the way with her rushing, the pink beret on her head almost falling off it from the commotion.

By the cables and amplifiers, there are two men seated. One of them shorter than the other, bulkier, a cigarette falling from between his lips, the slit on his eyebrow and the rounded cheeks clearly making out the figure of the vocalist of Chanyeol’s band. Sam, the precious Sam that had been the one to put the two together, the first person to put a cigarette in between her lips, the friend that would accompany her to their first gigs, the songwriter of their group before Chanyeol and herself took the lead. Sam has always bled music, just like the past lovers do, yet he seems to be so passive about it, peaceful even.

Chanyeol and her could never do that.

By Sam’s side, however, much more obstinate and ambitious comes the magician that always captures her heart when he stares up at her, reminder of the days in which he made her feel like a goddess by pressing his lips to the spaces in her knuckles only to profess a passionate love for her, deep and profound. He would always look at her with wide eyes then, and to see him exchange that glance with her once again is nostalgia at its finest. It brings the food she had eaten earlier up her throat, the ache of her chest suddenly making her realize just how much she had changed from when she had started her path to music stardom.

Her closed-off shoes kick his knee, making him hiss when he holds it close to his chest. “So is this how we’re playing now? Are you sabotaging me?” The Chanyeol from the past would never be able to do such thing, too filled with softness inside the broadness of him to ever sabotage her. His legs lift him up from the floor simply to shake his head.

“I would never do that! I did not even know you were competing until I saw you up the stage!” Chanyeol argues, his voice a bit lifted in tone thanks to the ache in his knee, eyebrows moving with every word that escape his plush lips. A part of her, deep inside her brain, is telling her that she has got it twisted. Chanyeol is not one of those crazy men in the industry, and yet, she is here doubting him.

“You’re the only person here, though.” She argues, watching as people surround them in needs of hearing something more. “It would not surprise me. It was always about competition in between us two—”

Chanyeol releases a soft breath, reaching over to where she is simply to place a hand over her babbling mouth. “It was never like that. You were the one that saw it like that.”

Her tongue sticks out to get him off, though it works fairly soon, having his big palm running across his dark tee to get the saliva off. “Okay, so who did it? My amplifier is clearly disconnected and it was not like that before!”

Apart from being her ex-boyfriend, Chanyeol had once been her best friend. It’s shrilling to see such a tight bond of when they were younger, sharing anecdotes over bass solos and drum-kits, turn to dust now that they are older. Maybe, that is what love does—it destroys people, leaving them like a shell of what they used to be, or simply turning good memories into bitter ones. There are hundreds of songs she can’t sing anymore in fear of remembering him, the only man she has ever truly loved, the one person who has slowed down her world and turned it into beauty before they decided to shoot it down.

The sound of sweet laughter has her turning around, the warmth of Chanyeol’s body seeping through her skin when her back is turned to him. “We were just playing around with the cables. Chill.” One of the member of the duos competing adds, shrugging her tanned shoulders and crossing her arms over her chest.

“…So you were the one to do it?”

“We were trying to connect our amplifier and fucked it up. There are too many wires there, honey. I’m a bassist, not an engineer.”

Something about the woman with the orange hair, definitely bleached to utter lifelessness, speaks about the world as it is today. When people suddenly became swords instead of the battlers, wanting nothing more than to hurt those who got close to them or entered their territory. People cannot age, they cannot be better, they have to remain mediocre just like them. The world is all about surviving, but how can one survive when its entire population wants to slaughter each other? “I’m not playing games with you. You can’t do that type of shit. It’s not a game to me. My entire band looked bad because of you.”

“With a name like that, I doubt I did much work.” The woman says, her lips parting to retort to her comment, though the tall man behind her speaks before she could.

“Hey, calm down. You don’t have to talk to her like that.”

“It’s a competition. It’s what people do.”

Her fists bawl together, nails clinging to her skin when she pushes her body forward, ready to launch a punch on this woman’s face, a side of her that she had never seen suddenly growing inside her. They are fighting for a spot in a discography, only to be manufactured versions of who they really are, their friendships highlighted for the crowd to eat up like candy. That is as good as it gets, she imagines, stress taking the best of her when she nears the other bassist, only to be stopped by a pair of long and skinny arms wrapped around her, familiar to her skin when his booming voice can only whisper to her to lay off.

Not in those words, exactly, Chanyeol is intelligent enough to tell her that everything is going to be okay.

All force leaves her body, this demon that overtakes her when realizing that her dream is only a few fingers away and yet, she can’t grasp it. The sabotaging woman is angry, as it seems, placing one hand over her chest and cursing her out. Her name rolls off her tongue easily, like she knows her, the only thing this bassist is capable of seeing is her mistakes. Instead, she gives a glimpse of her back, turning round to see the long column of Chanyeol’s neck, his Adam’s apple prominent, the neck in which she used to hide her face in her toughest times and now, she feels like if she tried, she wouldn’t recognize the man in front of her.

“Hey, just ignore her. You’ll get disqualified if you fight. You’re not like this.” He tells her, as if repeating what she already knows.

She’s not like this.

But she has to for the dream.

“I will. I just—I—” Her voice is cut off when she finally catches a glimpse of her bandmates, all waiting for her. There are moments in life in which she feels lost, suddenly wondering what happened to the sweeter side of life. One of those memories come from them; those three people that see her every day, Sam and Chanyeol…all definitely a reminder of the golden woman she used to be, now desperate, clawing to the bits of dreaming that are left for her. “I’m sorry I blamed you.”

“Hey—”

Without much due, she goes over to her bandmates, welcomed in arms that wrap around her and make her feel safe. She doesn’t know the person she used to be in the past or the one that hopes in the future, but she wants to better this version of her. Of now. And she wants to do it as peacefully as possible.

On the stage, she is not her split-ends or her cheap clothing, she is not the roughness of her fingertips or the troubled financial status she is going through. On stage, she is an artist. On stage, she feels like she can breathe.

And no one can get through her path to the spotlight, that is for damn sure.

🥁

Her feet barely touch the ground, preparations for the big night of performance taking the best of her, sleep ridden body resting against a comfortable seat, trying to ease the ache on her limbs. Her fingers carefully play the bass, a little bit softer than normally, coming up with whatever is going on through her brain as she wonders if she should go back home, wrap herself in the blankets on her bed and lay her back on a grainy mattress. That, or she could stay here, being one with the empty practice room, getting used to the lights on her, finding inspiration on the beautiful notebooks they were gifted thanks to the competition and practicing a bit more with this equipment she can’t get enough of.

Over anything, she is a music freak. The type of person that sat down during her recess at school simply to read the old music books in the library, the one that had fallen in love with another musician when she really felt like dating. The type of person who would only stop her crying if she listened to music when she was younger, or the type of person that does not bleed disappointment in her lyrics or tunes, but instead focuses on showcasing the million parts of her heart that connect with a note. Be it D or E or even B, whatever she feels is painted in hues of colors.

Sometimes, the words in the paper do more than talk to her. Sometimes, they get to be alive, as well.

But she is not a singer. Damn her and her voice, she has always thought she is a bit too rough, for she doesn’t have that angelic nature that comes with a singer, that charisma that connects a person and brings them to tears. Perhaps, the sound of her bass would never be the tranquility to a person’s hearts, but the lyrics behind her own band are her own. Someone out there would learn to breathe with happiness again with her own hopefulness, coming from the depths of her still innocent soul that asks for a happy ending.

Or a happy development. A happy beginning never happened, either way.

But it will happen, it sure will.

The sound of a person’s voice in the otherwise empty practice room captured her attention, making her halter her movements as she turns her face to the side, almost poetically. The music is what bounds people for life; a dedicated song, a handwritten piece, anything can be a reminder of the most atrocious or beautiful moments of life. In this case, a deep voice fills the air with the sound of words she had written years ago—stupid, lovesick, the type of song that would have made her giggle and now has her rolling her eyes while some kind of feeling settles in her gut.

Besides all memories that she shares with Chanyeol, songwriting is one of them. It is as if they are one and the same, like someone copied and pasted their artistic soul into the same person. Though, they are not quite like soulmates, breaking up with Park Chanyeol felt like the worst moment of her life, being ripped apart in half with what they had become. Second chances never came, too bitter because of the one thing that connected them. What had once been the reason behind their ‘hey, you like that song too?!’ became the end of their relationship.

Funny, considering Chanyeol was the first one to tell her nothing would happen to the band they dated…and he kept his promise, until she decided to leave for something ‘more of her own’. His own heartbreak heightened then, telling her if their friendship and the future of their group was meaningless to her. At the time, it was, and now that she is older she wonders just how much things could have changed if only they stopped competing against each other. Or, for the matter, trying to push their own beliefs on the other when they just wanted to change.

People grow…they can’t ever stay the same, and to expect that from someone is deadly for any type of relationship. Platonic or romantic.

That song he is singing is the first song they ever composed together. The tune? A mess. The lyrics? Too full of love. The memory? Enchanting.

She swears she can see the Chanyeol in their old apartment, shared with two other people, when she enters the practice room and immediately realizes her existence. An entire week has passed and yet, she cannot keep herself by his side for more than a second. She doesn’t want him to ask how she is doing, or ponder why she is obstinate and short-tempered now. It only comes to show that she is the same person that had left the group three years ago. However, his eyes soften, half-covered by the bucket hat on his head when his lips pout out to speak to her.

“It’s midnight. What are you doing here so late?”

She plays another note in her bass, throwing her head back and looking up at the sky. “Answer that same question first.”

“I was…uh…” He clears his throat after trailing his voice. “The equipment here is good and I wanted to try out some of the instruments without getting weird looks from anyone.”

Oh, right, how not to expect such a thing from the ever-talented Park Chanyeol, guitar player, bass player and singer, also leaving some trail of him in pianos and whatever he touches. Her life, included. She looks at him, then, pondering if she should comment about the song he was just singing. “I was here practicing.” She whispers, watching as he nods his head and trots over to the stage, pushing his backpack down on the floor before reaching over for the guitar. “Why don’t you take the microphone first?”

Chanyeol’s cheeks lift up in a smile at that, that infamous dimple appearing out of nowhere. “Why? Do you want me to?”

“You’re a singer hidden behind a drum-kit.” She tells him, stopping her motions on her bass before giving him a smile of her own. “I always told you, you should have been a back-up vocalist.”

His long fingers wrap around the microphone, as if pondering, and this is the way he is. He listens to people, to criticism, curiosity is just one of his traits. “…Ah, no, I’m not fitted for that position.” He tells her, looking ahead as if a crowd was in there, only to break his gaze and turn back to her. “I was meaning to tell you earlier this week that your music is sounding a whole lot better. Your technique has improved.”

“…I have had time to practice.” She confesses, aware of how her life has only revolved around music lately. For better or for worse. “I maintain my ground by saying I will only be fully pleased when I see you as a vocalist.”

“Oh, come on, you’ve heard me sing. I’m not that special.”

Like the hug of a person that smells just like them, not like perfume, not like body-wash, not like sweat or anything of the like. They smell like skin, soft and warm, like the place you belong in. That is how Chanyeol singing feels like. He never noticed it then, how all the anxiety she could have felt for the future was healed with just the sound of his voice, singing or not. “You are special.” She admits, standing up from her spot and cracking her knuckles. The common ache of a bassist. “I mean, you’re my ex, but I’m not stupid. I know talent when I know it. I sing like a dying rat, and you were the one to help me out with songs when we composed together.”

“You remember?”

“Of course I do!” She answers, pushing her hands in the depths of her pocket. “Sometimes I think of a rhyme and I am like: “Shit, this is so good” and then I realize I used it for our songs.”

Chanyeol chuckles at that, shaking his head and his whole body, like he does when he is extremely happy. “I do that, too.”

“Do you remember our first song?”

“…It’s cringe, though.”

“I know,” She answers, aware of how she would have expected him to simply press his mouth to the microphone and sing the words out. She sits by the edge of the stage by then, jumping down before shrugging. “I just wanted to remind you.”

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Alone?”

Reaching for her bag in one of the seats, she nods. “I have my pepper spray, my taxi number and a few punches if someone tries to try me.” Chanyeol’s lips quirk up at that, as if he is always amused by her, or perhaps he knows her enough to acknowledge that she is, indeed, one of the strongest yet softest people he knows. “Go home safe, Chanyeol.”

“You, too.” He says in the microphone, earning a laugh from her that she tries to muffle, pushing the entrance doors open before being welcomed by the elongated hallway.

The best part is when she hears Chanyeol humming to himself, the tune of their first song together clear, solid, like he has never quite forgotten it.

She is not Chanyeol’s first love, she believes, but she is surely one of his most astonishing ones.

🥁

The commotion of the city is loud in the background, but she can’t bring herself to care when the entire world rotates around the fact that there is a Rolling Stone magazine editor in the room, a journalist, the best of the best, looking for a band to interview before the grand event. Seong Im had insisted on wearing a dress for that party near the beach, the big flowers on the fabric contrasting with her dark skin, but she was against prepping herself too much for the party. Maybe, she should’ve. It could have caused more of an impression on the dress-cladded journalist that was inspecting the talents around the party, their appearances and how they seem to act in such a spot after their brief performances.

For a moment, she pretends to concentrate on the scenery outside of the wide windows, though her eyes catch a glimpse of the journalist every once in a while. The sand is almost crystal clear, the waves moving with one another, glistening under the rounded and full moon. The sky is almost black, she realizes, the same shade of her ripped jeans, something just to keep in mind. However, when she looks towards the journalist’s table, she realizes Chanyeol is nearing her, looking far more put together than she does, with a black button down that shines—perhaps, glitter is the new fashion for him—and a tight pair of pants, perfect on his legs and his calves.

Her feet pick up their speed, as fast as she tries to live through life, moving to his side before wrapping her hands around his arm. Well, it was meant to be his arm, the one with the house and the rose tattooed on it, she recalls, remembering the time she held his hand when he got them done. Nonetheless, that is what she is holding—his hand, warm, soft, delicate, like he is used to wrapping his fingertips around hers, barely slotted together and yet, imminently there. Chanyeol brings back all the memories in a simple touch, like she forgot how safe she felt when they walked together, hand in hand, instead of walking alone in separate ways. The tattoos on his knuckles match well with her skin, with the bracelet around her wrist that he may have given her in the past and when she looks at him, she can only babble an apology.

“I—I’m sorry.”

“Why are we holding hands?” Chanyeol asks, quirking his eyebrow up at their slotted hands, but the brief smile on his face speaks otherwise.

“I need you not to talk to the Rolling Stone journalist.” She tells him, placing her hands behind her back and she may as well tie them behind her back because there is no way in hell that by rushing to Chanyeol, she had held his hand. Some fish just don’t swim too far from the ocean. “…I have rehearsed my interview with her for the past week and I am about to approach her. I need to get that article. Please, just don’t.”

Chanyeol crosses his arms over his chest then, like he is trapping all his feelings in his chest. “I also want to be interviewed, silly.” He tells her, soon after rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Don’t look at his forearms, she tells herself, but she partially wonders if their couple tattoo is still written in his skin. An emptied, outlined heart in half, the one that unites with her left arm, while his is on his right arm. It’s still there, like it is too hard to forget the mess they had made. “It’s the Rolling Stone magazine. Anyone wants to be there in an article.”

“…You already have a bit of fame around the city. I don’t.”

“What’s a little bit more of fame?”

Pushing her lips upwards, she tries to cover the half of her tattooed heart on her arm. Had he noticed? “You start to sound like me.” She tells him, aware of how star-struck and thirsty for fame she can be. “You never did it for the fame.”

“I could’ve changed.” He prompts.

“I hope you didn’t.”

“Why?” Chanyeol questions and she tries not to think about the amount of times she held on to him, and suddenly wrapping her arms around him and talk about their lives sounds like the best idea. She hasn’t realized that not a single person has ever made her feel like Chanyeol, not pre-him, not past-him. Everything would have been better for them if only music had not gotten in the way and now, music is what unites them again.

It’s easier to lie, but there she is, being truthful because Chanyeol’s eyes are enough to capture her. Brown, lord, so brown that she feels lost in the forest that is him. His skin glistens, his youth radiates even through aging, like he will always be Chanyeol, but not hers. “Because you are what the music industry needs.” She reassures. “Hookers, alcohol and drugs are overrated, they are an aesthetic. Music shouldn’t be about the visual; it should be a lifestyle.”

“That’s the type of visual you liked, though.” He tells her, pointy in his words like he is trying to prove that she was half of the reason why they broke up. The rest is his fault, as well. “You wanted the rock lifestyle. Why can’t I have it now?”

“Is this your way of telling me you like hookers?” She tries not to get him too close, changing the subject while staring at him and Chanyeol’s smile quirks up, embarrassed in the way his cheeks tint.

“Why? Do you care?”

“I do.”

But he doesn’t let go. “Why?”

“Because you aren’t like what you’re trying to make yourself to be,” She tells him. “You are one of the few hopes I have in society, actually.”

Chanyeol smiles at that, half hiding into himself but he is unable to. Too tall, too elongated, misguided body-wise, like he holds this skeleton simply to protect his softened heart. Maybe, making a mistake with her had made him a better man. She likes to believe so. “All props to hookers, don’t get me wrong, but I got out of a romantic situation not too long ago and I realized I’m more of that type of person. I’m tired of casual dating and hook-ups.”

So, he had dated. It’s expected; handsome and charming. She shouldn’t be mad, but she would be lying if she said there isn’t a ghost of jealousy inside her. “I see,”

“What about you?”

“I have never been with a hooker, if that’s what you’re asking.” She answers, bringing a laugh out of him.

“I’m asking if you have dated after…” His words trail after that, trying to find his place to ask that question. Their mistake, as she likes to call it. “After us.”

Say you did. Say you did. Lie to him and say you did. “I went out on dates, but…nothing serious.”

“I imagined you would have gotten someone by now.”

“I don’t need anyone, let’s start there.”

“Oh, I know.” Chanyeol tells her, looking down at his hands before chuckling. “Rather, I think people would need you.”

She scoffs at that. “I’m a mess,” She admits, because this is Chanyeol she is talking to. His hands could never hurt her heart, at least not intentionally. “I doubt I’d be any help for someone.”

“You helped me.”

“With what?” She asks, aware that Chanyeol had helped her grow more than he realized, before and after their relationship.

“Finding my place in music. You leaving the group had me devastated, but it gave me direction.” And that is the beauty of Chanyeol, how he stands up and dusts himself off as he travels endlessly. Maybe, that is why he helped her so much, just like she helped him. He showed her that one bad song isn’t a bad album; a painful memory isn’t a lifetime worth of sadness. Some people have to move on, for their sake, for their happiness, to find the light and the will in the world.

“Chanyeol—”

The man looks to the side, as if ashamed, pointing at the direction of the journalist as he sighs. “Someone took our spot already.”

Another band is seated with the journalist, as if they belong there, as if they are the new legendary small group. Somehow, she doesn’t care. “I don’t care.” She says. “Fame isn’t for me anyways.”

“You think so?”

“It drained away my light in my hunt for it. I can only imagine what it will do if I reach it.” She answers, licking the inside of her cheek before humming. “Have you eaten?”

“I was thinking of ordering something just now,” He replies. “Want to join me?”

“Sure, we can catch up.”

His eyes, brown and deep, a forest that starts to clear, light up at that. “I would love that.”

🥁

With a lollipop placed inside her mouth, Seong Im is seated on the hood of their old car, in front of the venue in which they are going to play in. The night is packed, only a small group of people—friends and relatives alike—gathering to see the stars. Well, as rock-star as it can get to battle for a position in a discography. Instead, her band is much too occupied in talking about the other individuals in the competition. “I don’t know. He’s nice and all, but Chanyeol looks like the type of dude who fucks in front of a mirror just because he thinks he’s hot. He probably flexes, too.”

She presses her lips together, looking inside her box of guitar picks before sighing. “He isn’t.”

And she should have shut her mouth entirely and sincerely, simply because there is a moment of dull silence before she realizes that she has just confirmed that she has a way of knowing. She doesn’t look up, however, pretending to be torn in deciding between two picks before Seong Im kicks her side softly. “Hey, how would you know that?”

Hee Young is the next one to speak, braiding her hair and interrupting her voice warm-ups to reiterate. “She definitely knows. They dated for like two years.”

Two years and eight months, to be exact. Not that long now that she thinks about it, it could have gone for longer if only they had put themselves first, even before music. The reminder is definitely not soothing and now that she gets to hear Seong Im gasp with one arm wrapped around Andrew’s uninterested persona, she speaks up. “Why didn’t you tell us that? We thought you hated him!”

“I don’t,” She announces, shrugging her shoulders soon after at the memory of the nights in which pressing her forehead to his was the only moment in which her headaches would stop. That being poor with him was what had pushed her to want to be rich and successful. That diamond rings only seemed to shine bright if he was there. “I could never hate him.” She has tried to, and for a while when they were dating she thought she hated him, but the fire from his soul would always be eased by the rain of her. There would never be anything more comforting than knowing she really tried with him.

“…So…that’s the band you were in before.” Seong Im finishes, blinking rapidly before resting her palm against her forehead. “Why did you leave?”

“We didn’t break up in good terms, I guess.”

“And why don’t you hate him? You should, if you ended up badly.” Her roommate continues, making her roll her eyes and close the lid of her woodened box.

“Because I was different back then. I let everything take the best of me, we fought too much…” She replies, wondering if things would have been different had she not being so closed up in her taste of music and had Chanyeol been more connected to his roots, not as experimental as he wanted to be. One too risky, the other too safe. “But it happened because it had to happen. I am here with you guys because of it.”

Hee Young chuckles. “You were heartbroken for a few months; dare I say a year.”

“Well, music put me back on track.”

“And music made you lost the love of your life.” Hee Young retorts, earning a sigh from her.

“I’d lose that and much more to music. I’m sure he thinks the same.”

Seong Im pushes her weight off the car, taking her by the arm and looking around the street before pushing her towards the car nearby, coated in layers of water and soap, all indicator of someone washing it. The car is not as old as hers, but she has definitely seen it before—and has been in it, as well—, and just when she looks in front of her after watching the smile on Seong Im’s face, she realizes who is washing this car.

It is a good look, too.

His sweater is wrapped around his waist, leaving him in a tank top even through the cold night. He must be freezing, too, with his hands rubbing furiously at the window. Chanyeol seems to be having a hard time, a pool of water by his feet settling him down. His eyes turn back at the sound of heavy steps and a squeal, both coming from her, and when he notices her, his frown seems to erase slightly. He calls out her name in such a way that seems like a song, enough to take the oxygen away from her lungs and she realizes then that music has really taken her life away. This man could have easily been by her side, she could be wrapped in his arms in this cold night, but they are too far away from each other, exes at their finest.

He is still kneeling, trying to get that spot in the window when she speaks up. “Did a bird poop on your car?”

“You’re saying it as if it didn’t happen,” Chanyeol comments, bringing laughter up in her when she kneels by his side, taking the other cloth bathed in soap to help him clean whatever content is on the window. “I had to go get some water inside and clean it. Just how embarrassing would it be if the journalists here saw my car with some bird shit on it.”

“It’s iconic.”

“It isn’t.” Chanyeol argues, his body shivering, the goosebumps over his arms noticeable. It is then that she realizes she is staring at his profile, his recently dyed red hair a reminder of that conversation they had after practice one of these days, in which he asked her for tips on how he could dye his hair on his own. It looked good, actually. She pushes her body closer to his, in a position in which their arms are placed together, earning a gasp from him. “…You…”

She looks down at their arms, realizing that the heart had formed, making her hiss softly. “Yeah…”

“You didn’t get it covered.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Do you really want to know?” She questions, watching as Chanyeol places one hand on the side of his face, his elbow resting against his strong knee, staring at her as if he can’t believe it and with amusement he chuckles. He really can’t, as it seems.

“I didn’t cover it because I love you too much. You were my best friend before we dated, I can’t simply erase you like that.” He whispers, like he doesn’t even want the wind to know. The rivers inside her become troublesome, reminder of how she had always tried to push him out of her body, saying that they would have never worked out and that he was the one at fault for never understanding her. The toxicity of them came when they decided to work together…or when they became obsessed with growing. “Truth is that I didn’t expect you to keep it on.”

So, this is why she fell in love with him, because he is sentimental above anything else. Chanyeol had once told her he loved her, a thousand times at that, but the first one is special. Seated by a window, looking out at the snow, he said the warmest thing there could ever exist. He spoke about his demons, the insecurities that ate at him, how he tried to move on too fast…to be faster than life itself, and how that kept biting at him. What dresses him in toughness is unable to keep him from her, show the real colors of the man she has loved. Continues to love in the depths of her heart, too. “…It’s part of me by now.” She tells him. “If I covered it, I was afraid I would lose me.”

“You wouldn’t,” He tells her. “Because you’re not my half. You are more than that.”

“…I know.” She replies. “I wish I had known that sooner.”

Her knees are about to give in, just in time for Chanyeol to stand up and take a dry cloth, rubbing at the windows with ease. “I guess it happens to the best of us.”

“Being friends, dating, breaking up and one of them leaving the group because they couldn’t even stand the other?” She asks, making a smile appear on his face. “That’s not very common.”

“But it’s our story.”

“So?”

“That makes it better.”

The sound of her band name being called makes her turn around, albeit hesitantly, because she doesn’t want this moment to end. She is being called to get ready, earning a sigh from her when she stares back at Chanyeol, only to see him stare at her like he wants to learn her. Study her. He needs to keep her in his memories for when he is old and he is bound to forget. “I have to go now.” She says, walking backwards just in time to see him lift a thumb up.

“Good luck in there.”

But the toughest of lucks was losing a man like him.

🥁

The skies above mock her, shining with city lights and clouds and stars, all too bright for her, a reminder that success is not knocking at her door. The thick yellow jacket on top of her white hoodie is supposed to make her feel more at ease, even remotely happy, but giving her best on stage only to come up on third place was definitely a low blow for them. Andrew took it the best, celebrating getting such a spot, but the women in the group were devastated. The victory goes to Chanyeol’s band, she tries to process, happy yet a bit puzzled.

What would her group do now?

Sam had taught her how to smoke and she doesn’t do it at all, but right now it sounds like a great idea, going for a drive and stopping at the usual gas station simply to pick up some snacks. Much to her delight, however, the same man that she has been watching for the past month, talking and reconnecting like they will earn something from it, is fueling his car just at that moment. Just like her, he is wrapped in cozy clothing, the tips of his ears red, bringing a smile to her face when she pushes the box of cigarettes to the depth of her coat. Now, she doesn’t need them.

“What’s up winner?” She asks him, making him widen his eyes and press a hand to his chest. Chanyeol turns around to look at her, smiling at the sight of her, though a bit nostalgic.

“Doing great.”

“I’m glad.”

“What are you doing here?” He is the first to ask, leaning his body against his car. His arms are crossed over his chest and she still feels giddy at the reminder that under those clothing, a tattoo keeps them connected.

“I’m going to grab some snacks, you know.” She tells him, clicking her tongue soon after and nodding, as if nothing is wrong. Actually, she is healthy and she got some recognition from her hard work. Her band may not be fine, but the future may be brighter, with less debt and more fame.

“Good,” He says. “Actually, I was planning on asking you something.”

She nears him, copying his position against his car. “What would that be?”

His lips part majestically, though a bit confused in their approach. “Sam and I were talking, along with our groupmates, and we figured we could have two bassists. You could join us before we sign our contract with the new discography.”

Chanyeol may be her past and god, he was one hell of a good past, the ignition of her dream of music…but her friends were there for her when they had broken up, she created a new world and discovered that her story with Chanyeol was mistaken when they added another lover to their sheets and their hearts. Music. “I’m going to say no.” She denies. “I am happy with my guys. Nothing against you…or your band, but I am not betraying my own.”

“I expected you to say that.” The wind blows near them, moving the strands of his red hair, his cheeks getting touched by the gentlest of pink touches. Chanyeol rarely blushes but the wind serves to caress his tan skin. “You were always too loyal.”

“That’s a good thing. We dated, after all.”

“We did.” Chanyeol comments, hearing the sound of his car getting completely fueled before paying attention to the task at hand. “I wanted to ask you something else—”

“What would that be?” She quirks one eyebrow, aware of how Chanyeol’s deep voice is doing its best to look for her joints and her bones, drag her back into the beauty of him.

“Since we won’t be able to see each other almost every day from now on, I thought I could take you out on a date.” For old time’s sakes, and to mend what was once broken. Like split-ends, their split will never end, for they will always come back together. “…Not that you have to say yes.”

On the tip of her toes, she reaches forward to shorten the distance between the two, her lips touching his in one of those brief ‘good morning’ kisses she gave him when they just woke up. At the time, Chanyeol was not much of a morning person, but he must have lit up this entire night with the taste of coffee-brewed kisses. She smiles, showing a big part of her teeth when she says: “Did you really think I was going to say no?”

Caught red handed, Chanyeol wraps his arms around her waist, leaving his mouth slightly ajar to kiss her softly, like he wants to serve every night they spent alone in just one try, bring warmth to every corner of their souls. He wants the ‘us’ they crafted back, the one before music could get in between them. “No.” He whispers. “I missed you so much.”

For the first time in over three years, she can wrap her arms around his shoulders, rest her cold nose against his neck and breathe in his scent when she promises herself they can get through this, they can love each other again, not like they ever did, with one heart palpitating to connect them, creating music that they could only share with each other.

“Not more than how much I missed you.”

#chanyeol scenarios #chanyeol #exo scenarios #exo #kpop scenarios #writing #exo au #exo fluff #exo angst #chanyeol au #chanyeol fluff #chanyeol angst #drummer!chanyeol #tell me what you guys think please!

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talkfastromance4 · 4 years

Text

You’re a Carnival-- Ashton Irwin oneshot

Copyright talkfastromance4 © All works is intellectual property of the author. All rights reserved. Any redistribution or reproduction or any part or all contents in any form is prohibited. You may not, without written expression and consent from the author, distribute works amongst other social media platforms

Word count: 1201, on the shorter side

Warnings: fluffy and soft!boyfriend Ashton, hints at implied smut near the end

donate to my ko-fi here :)

Masterlist

• • • •

Your morning started off with soft kisses from Ashton, his morning voice made you smile and feel warm inside. While you were making breakfast together--he’s in charge of the pancakes and you do the scrambled eggs-- he suggested going to the carnival that’s in town.

The spatula clattered to the floor in your excitement as you jumped up and down like a child at the notion. You’ve always loved carnivals and fairs, you enjoyed trying all of the different foods, perusing the small shops and riding a few of the attractions.

“Let’s eat our breakfast and shower and then we can go,” Ashton smiled at you before retrieving the fallen spatula.

Feeding off your excitement, Ashton ate quickly and to save even more time you showered together. His fingers are gentle in your hair, taking careful care not to get shampoo in your eyes. He lets you wash his face and contort his cheeks in every which way just because it makes you giggle. Then he holds you close under the water so it can get any excess soap and bubbles off your bodies.

“What do you think you’re going to wear today?” he asks, kissing your forehead once you’re both toweled off and brushed your teeth.

“Mm, probably a cute romper,” you shrug then eye him up. “Why?”

“Thought it’d be cute if we matched,” he winks then exits the bathroom.

You do end up matching in black and white. He has on a white tank top with a black short sleeved shirt, rings adorning his fingers and a silver chain around his neck. He’s styling his hair while you’re applying a little bit of make-up. Once you’re both set, you practically yank him out the door to the car.

Stepping out onto the fairgrounds, the summer sun heating you already but the smell of fried food wafts to your nose. Children’s laughter and the collection of carnival music from the rides fills your ears and you feel at home in a strange way.

“Got our tickets and some cash, ready angel?” Ashton asks you, handing you a perforated piece of paper.

“Let’s go!”

The day is spent walking up and down the small vendors that have their own creations on display ranging from purses, clothes, and jewelry which was your favorite. Ashton offers his opinions on necklaces, bracelets and rings that catch your eye and holds polite conversation with the vendor.

“We should get matching bracelets,” you suggest as he looks at a leather band. It’s woven together with some red thread to create an intricate design. “Do you like that one?”

“Yeah, it’s cool. Should we get the same color or do you want one of these?” he points to the other leather bracelets on display but you scrunch your nose.

“No, those are too bright. I like the red, let’s get those,” you say, picking up another one and snatching his. “I’ll buy them.”

“Baby--”

“Shush,” you scold lightly, stretching up on your tiptoes to kiss his lips gently.

After you pay for the bracelets, you help each other fasten them on your wrists. Yours is on your right while his is on his left and he snaps a picture of them while holding your hand. After your shopping, it’s time for food testing.

Funnel cakes, fried ice cream, pizza, chicken on a stick with homemade sauces, cream puffs, and so much more is shared between you. Ashton wants to try the funky foods and you refuse to even try them.

“Please, angel, for me?” he asks holding up a beef stick dipped in chocolate, your nose is turned away immediately.

“I don’t even like beef sticks on a normal day,” you shake your head.

“If you eat this for me I’ll win you a prize from one of the games,” he promises.

Knowing your weakness, you give in and take the smallest bite then exclaim at how spicy the beef stick is. It’s truly disgusting but Ashton kisses your cheek affectionately and buys you a slushie to combat the spiciness.

The day wanes on faster than you’d like to admit, so when the sun has set and the lights of every ride are turned on it turns into a different world. Ashton insists on buying the ticket stubs for the games and rides, even though he bought all the food as well.

“I can pay too, you know.”

“I know,” he rests his arm around your shoulders, “but I want to spoil you today.”

You cheer him on at the games he plays and when you get to the booth that has the water guns, it’s a race against each other.

“Let’s make this interesting,” he says before the game starts.

“What’s your wager?” you raise your eyebrows.

“Whoever wins, gets whatever they want done to them in the bedroom tonight,” he smirks and you giggle.

“That sounds fair,” you nod. “Kiss on it to seal the deal?”

You both lean forward to kiss each other lightly and then the bell screams for you to start. You both point your water guns at the center of the target while it moves in circles as it moves up the pole. You’re both shouting at each other and your guns to stay in the same spot but Ashton is the one to come out victorious.

You’re pouting when he requests for the rainbow colored bear to give to you and he hugs you gently.

“You did very well, angel,” he commends and you smile at his kindness. “This is for you.”

“Thank you,” you smile shyly, taking the bear from him. It’s soft and squishy in your hand.

“How about we go on the Ferris Wheel before heading home?” he asks, kissing your hair.

“I like that idea.”

Sitting down in the seat of the Ferris Wheel after a long day of walking feels amazing, but you can feel the soreness in your feet. With your bear clutched in your lap and your small bags of treasures squished to the sides, you nestle into Ashton.

“Did you have fun today?” he asks quietly as you go around.

“I had a blast,” you nod then sigh. “I want to feel like this forever.”

“Like what?”

“In love and carefree,” you turn your cheek on his shoulder so you can look up at him. He’s smiling down at you, tucks his fingers under your chin and pulls your lips on his.

You remain kissing until you make it all the way to the top and the carrier swings lightly at the pause in the ride.

“You’ve made me feel like that since day one, angel,” he mumbles on your lips and you’re kissing him again until it’s time to get off the Ferris Wheel.

“So, what do you want me to do to you tonight, mister?” you ask, your fingers linked and swinging between you two as you walk back to the car.

“Hmm,” he pretends to think then twirls you until you’re pressed to his front, his arms caging you against him. His eyes dance as they flicker between yours, a smile on his lips, dimples showing and all. “I want you to do whatever you want to me.”

• • • •

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**if your url has a strike through it’s because your blog didn’t show up as a tag! :(

#ashton irwin fluff #boyfriend!ash #boyfriend!ashton #ashton irwin writing #ashton irwin oneshot #5sos writing #5sos fluff #ashton oneshot #ashton fluff #ashton 5sos writing #ashton 5sos fluff

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stovetuna · 4 years

Note

Imagine Steve/Avengers walking in to Tony entertaining two soldiers in the common room and being really confused because Tony??? Despises the military??? But then find out that those two soldiers are actually from the “fun-vee” way back in IM 1 and Tony’s fitting them with prosthetics.

ahhh this has been stuck in my head for DAYS anon! I don’t necessarily agree with the assessment that Tony hates the military, per se (doing business with the military and the military industrial complex, however, and all that that toxic shit entails, definitely yes), BUT it’s such a heartbreaking/warming concept I had to run with it! I think I got it right with Air Force vs Army, but the movie was kinda vague—I’m going off of the fact that the driver said “I’m an airman,” which you would not say if you were in the Army.

and since the airmen (and woman) Tony was traveling with in the Fun-Vee are canonically deceased, I thought I’d have Tony do something…well, Extremely Tony™ to compensate…

(::whispers:: also we’re just gonna pretend that the Bucky-killed-Tony’s-parents-revelations of Cap 2/3 aren’t a thing in this vaguely alternate MCU universe. la-di-da, la-di-da…)

***

It’s not surprising to walk into the Avengers common area and see Tony Stark working on something no one can quite comprehend. That’s par for the course, really, as commonplace as days that end in Y. Machines, phones, tablets, watches, the toaster after Hulk pressed the cancel button a little too hard—they’ve seen Tony futzing with just about everything that exists in the Tower (and some things that don’t—couldn’t—exist anywhere else except where Tony is).

What the team isn’t expecting when the elevator doors open onto the communal floor that sunny Tuesday afternoon is a living room scattered with men and women in various states of modest undress, all of whom immediately pivot in place to take stock of the new arrivals. Three men, one woman, and in the middle of their protective circle is Tony, eyes blazing with the same thrill of invention he often gets in the lab, a pair of needle-nose pliers clenched in his teeth.

Steve in particular notices the way Tony looks, because he’s developed a bad habit of doing that over the past year and change, and he’s kind of helpless at this point. Tony’s backlit by the afternoon sun, preoccupied with whatever he’s doing with the strange woman’s arm to distraction, and Steve can’t be judged too harshly—anyone with eyes would drag theirs over the exposed muscles of Tony’s arms, the shift and flex of his shoulders, the firm taper of his waist, the pronounced curve of his a—

“Are we, uh, interrupting something?” Clint has to shout to be heard above the music blasting from all corners of the room.

Tony looks up from his work and waves his free hand, the one that isn’t wrist-deep in what looks remarkably like a prosthetic arm. He makes a ‘cut it off’ motion to his neck before taking the pliers out of his mouth while FRIDAY lowers the rock music to a dull background hum.

“Hey! Sorry, I tried to keep it to the lab, but these guys wanted to see where the Avengers hang out, and I couldn’t say no.”

Steve tears his eyes away from Tony (who should really work the sweaty-and-disheveled-mechanic look more often) to take in the others in the room with him. It’s a panorama of people, and the first thing Steve notices, besides their more obvious differences, is how comfortable they all are with each other, to the point that walking in on this moment feels invasive, almost rude.

The four are all of remarkably different builds and backgrounds, not a similarity between them: an African American man, no taller than Steve was before the serum, sits on the couch; a white man, thin as a rake and twice as tall, is reaching for a glass of water on the coffee table; an Asian American man, whose shoulders are somehow even broader than Steve’s, stands rigidly next to Tony, arms folded across his chest; and the lone woman, whose glossy black hair is wound tightly in a bun at the back of her head. Steve notes the beautifully elaborate Native American tattoo covering the expanse of her shoulders and upper back.

Then Steve notices the high-and-tights, the form-fitting, drab beige shirts they’re all wearing, the combat boots lined up behind the loveseat, and he realizes, much like he did with Sam that morning in DC, oh—these are my people.

“Ah, well, welcome to the octagon!” Clint says with an easy smile, stepping forward to shake hands and say hello like a normal human being. Natasha gives Steve one of her looks before she and Sam follow him into the living room—I don’t know any more than you do.

Bruce, Wanda, and Vision stay behind with Steve to let the first wave through. Steve watches his teammates greet the airmen without fanfare, welcoming strangers into their private midst like it’s routine.

“Didn’t know y’all would be around, else we would’ve stayed outta sight.”

Sam laughs, clapping the sitting man on the shoulder. “Dude, if Tony told us you were here, I would have come downstairs and bugged you, myself.”

“Sure, PJ—you just wanted to see what real Air Force muscle looks like,” the man grins, flexing his barrel chest hard enough to strain his shirt. Sam guffaws and gives him a friendly punch to the shoulder, which the man returns in kind with a fist to the kidney.

Clint is already deep in conversation with the redheaded beanpole, who talks so fast it’s dizzying; Natasha is standing next to the third man, keeping her eyes forward, and together they watch Tony disappear back into his work, muttering things back and forth to each other, so quiet even Steve can’t hear.

“I think all is clear,” Vision says smoothly, drifting forward with Wanda, who is visibly fascinated by the woman’s tattoo until she steps into the throng and sees something that makes her face fall.

Steve moves forward, curious and worried in equal measure. Bruce is hot on his heels.

“—I mean it’s crazy right? It’s crazy, Tony Stark, Tony Stark calls us up out of the blue one day and says ‘You’ll be waiting six months to a year for a decent repair job, let alone a complete replacement, and I owe you guys, come on by Avengers Tower—”

Redhead is gabbing excitedly, gesticulating like Tony does when he’s in the mad depths of an invention binge. Steve sees the glint of metal and hears the whir of mechanisms working smoothly together in tandem and realizes both of the man’s hands are prosthetic.

“Oh man! Oh, man! Captain, sir, wow, it’s—fuck, shit, my mama would kill me for swearing in front of you, fucking—shit, sorry, fuck—ah, damn it!”

Steve smiles and introduces himself—Corporal Bill Levee, apparently, is just as talkative up close. For all that his hand is made of metal, his grip feels remarkably, tangibly real.

While Bill goes back to talking compound bows with Hawkeye, Steve looks at the man on the couch. Sam and Vision are now sitting on either side of him: both of his legs end at mid-thigh, and in their place are what look like brand-new metal limbs, designed to match his proportions exactly. The metal is dark, shiny, beautiful. He looks thrilled. He looks even more excited when Steve approaches, leaps to his feet and doesn’t even balk at the fact that Steve is a head and change taller than him and a superhero—he just steps right up to Steve and jabs him once in the shoulder with a grin.

“Captain Rogers,” he says, and sticks out his hand. Steve shakes it. The man points a thumb at himself: “Captain Freddy Harrison. A little after your time, sir, but an honor to meet you regardless.”

Bill is still talking a mile a minute behind him; Freddy sits back down on the couch and lets Steve continue his “Captain America Meet-and-Greet” but makes him promise to come back and swap stories, which Steve does, happily, even as his mind whirls. How does Tony know these people? Why are they here? Where did these prosthetics come from?

Bruce has joined Natasha, standing apart from the rest to talk to her and her new friend. Steve stops to say hello, as is only right, waiting until he’s entered the man’s line of sight to do so. Only then does he realize that the man has no line of sight, because both of his eyes are prosthetic.

“I’m not completely blind, Captain,” he says, voice low but good-humored. Next to him, Natasha smothers a smile behind her hand.

“Steve, this is Sergeant Daniel Kwon,” Bruce offers. The sergeant smirks and extends a hand—the eyes in his sockets look incredibly lifelike, but don’t move even a fraction of a millimeter. They gleam, still, with an uncanny sense of knowing. Steve has a sneaking suspicion they see more than enough and match his original eyes perfectly.

“I’ll still make an exception in your case, Sergeant Kwon,” Steve replies, shaking his hand, “for not saluting a ranking officer.”

Dan chuckles under his breath.

“Let’s see your battlefield commission and then we’ll talk rank, sir,” he says.

“Ugh, men.”

Steve turns around, and there’s Tony, flipping shut a panel high on the woman’s left arm with a smile. He pockets the pliers and drags the back of his forearm across his glistening forehead. Somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind, a saxophone is blaring.

Honestly, the intrusive thoughts he could deal with, but the fact that Tony looks this good after hours of hard labor really isn’t fair.

“Seriously, barely two minutes in and you military guys are at it like frat bros at a kegger.” Tony looks sidelong at the woman, who rolls her shoulders with a pop and a groan. “How do you manage?”

“Easy,” she says, “I let them drink until they pass out and then I run back to the women’s barracks with all their clothes so they have to walk across the TOC butt-naked.”

“I think we need to compare our respective strategies,” Natasha says, taking Wanda’s arm on her way to greet the other woman. “This is Wanda; I’m Natasha.”

The woman turns to face them. Her features are striking in a way that makes Steve think of old friends from the war, men he met on those rare occasions he had leave. He’d listen to Native American Code Talkers tell stories of land and legacy and home, stories older than anything Steve had ever known. He’d never been so humbled.

“Delores,” she replies, shaking their hands. “But please, call me Del, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Steve looks at Tony, who giggles—giggles—and mouths ‘Umbridge.’ Del must have ears like a bat, because she smacks him smartly with her prosthetic arm and Tony yelps before devolving into outright laughter. Steve could watch and listen to Tony laugh—that big, gut-wrenching cackle Tony thinks is unattractive but Steve thinks makes Tony look like happiness personified—all day.

The conversation devolves quickly from there, and within a couple of excitable minutes, the airmen are eager to get a look at the Avengers’ game room. They pile into the elevator, talking animatedly over each others’ heads, placing bets and picking teams as the doors close.

In their wake, Steve’s ears are buzzing, and he realizes with a jolt that he’s now alone. With Tony.

It happens often enough that the fact itself isn’t jarring, but something about being alone with disheveled-frazzled-happy-sweaty Tony sets Steve’s nerves on high alert. Tony is loose-limbed and relaxed, moving in and out of Steve’s space as he picks his way around the living room barefoot, looking for discarded tools.

“There you are,” he coos at a tiny device that looks remarkably like a laser pointer. Knowing Tony, it’s probably a real laser. He pockets it, assumably to put away later (or fish out of the laundry at the last minute).

“Who are those people, Tony?”

“Friends of friends,” Tony replies. Steve also knows Tony well enough to recognize his I am being deliberately vague voice when he hears it.

“Uh-huh.” Steve sits on the arm of the sofa, legs stretched out in front of him. “And who are they really?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Me,” Steve says gently, scratching his palms with dulled fingernails. “They’re strangers, and they’re in our home. I think if you were in my shoes you’d want to know.”

Tony stoops to pick up and pocket what looks like a dissected nine-volt battery. Steve kind of wants to ask, but he’s too distracted by Tony’s ass in those black Levis to ask any cogent questions. Seriously, he wonders, are those painted on?

Only when Tony sighs, and quite heavily, that Steve realizes this was more than just a friendly house call (of sorts) on Tony’s part. He watches Tony stand up, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows bright with the glow of sunset, and admires the way Tony suits the view so perfectly. He looks good all the time, but like this—skin burnished gold, brown eyes honeyed by the light—he’s something else. Someone Steve wants, desperately, but like most things in his life, knows he’s not allowed to have. Tony Stark is beyond him in so many ways. Reaching for him seems futile, so Steve stays on the ground, and looks.

Tony fidgets nervously with a mini Phillips Head screwdriver, twiddling it in his long, clever fingers as he stares out the windows at the city sprawled out beneath them.

“They’re from the same company as the guys in the convoy I was with when I—when they—” his voice sputters out before he can say the words. Steve doesn’t push. He doesn’t say anything. He just waits for Tony to gather himself. It’s one of the hardest lessons he’s had to learn about Tony Stark—sometimes it’s better to let him get a handle on himself, rather than jump in and try to handle Tony for him. It doesn’t change the fact that Steve wants nothing more than to hold his hand, now that it’s hanging at his side like its string was just cut. “A while back I dug into Air Force records, talked to Rhodey, got some names. Five people died in the hit that was meant for me. I figured, the least I could do was find five of their closest buddies who needed help.”

Tony glances back at Steve—the little smile on his lips could break Steve’s heart if he let it.

“And I’ve heard you talk about how convoluted the VA is when it comes to services and benefits and whatnot. I figured, my tech probably took their limbs, I should cut out the middle man and give them new ones, myself.”

Something in Steve’s heart shifts irrevocably before kicking into a whole new gear. By the end of the sentence, Steve knows he’s going to do something incredibly rash, the only question is when.

Funny—ten minutes ago he was coming back from a team exercise, prepared to give Tony a friendly but firm talking-to about missing it, and instead here he is, breathless, heart racing, sitting and listening to Tony talk humbly about fixing people because he knows it’s the right thing to do. Because it’s the least he can do. And isn’t that the wildest understatement Steve’s ever heard?

As if anything about Tony Stark could ever possibly be least.

“You built them all those prosthetics?”

“Top of the line!” Tony smirks, saluting Steve with his Phillips Head. “Nothing more high tech in any of them than a heart rate monitor and some other odds and ends—no rocket launcher eyes, don’t worry. I kept my baser urges in check with these.”

“It’s good,” Steve blurts out, too loud and too fast. Tony inhales sharply, fingers clenching around the screwdriver hard enough his knuckles go white. Steve feels his face go hot and groans. “I mean, what you did—what you’re doing—is good, Tony. It’s really generous of you to do that for those guys.”

Steve crosses his arms across his chest to make himself feel safer, more contained. If he doesn’t, who knows where these ridiculous feelings might go. He feels silly enough as it is, blushing and stammering while dressed in his uniform, sans helmet. Even Tony’s probably wondering why he’s wasting his time talking to a red-white-and-blue fossil when he could be downstairs destroying Clint and the others at pool or showing the airmen around the tower, giving them the bells-and-whistles tour.

Tony looks at the floor, away from Steve. Steve feels it like a physical thing, Tony pulling away, retreating, wanting to hide. Amazing, how a man who almost literally wears his heart on his sleeve still thinks he doesn’t have one.

“Yeah, well,” Tony mutters, “it’s good practice, anyways.”

Steve’s thoughts grind to a halt.

“Practice for what?”

Tony starts moving around, shuffling back and forth across the living room floor, looking for something that probably isn’t there. Steve knows when Tony is avoiding eye contact with him—it happens often enough.

“Just a pet project, nothing major. Hey, have you seen my cable knife anywhere?”

“Did you leave it on the floor? Tony…”

“I know, I know, the only thing worse is Legos, but I was busy! You can’t blame me for—OW FUCK!”

Like a shot, Steve is up and holding on to Tony so he doesn’t hop backwards into the glass coffee table. One arm wrapped around his back and the other hand on his bicep, Steve steadies Tony as Tony searches underfoot for whatever hurt him.

He comes up with a magnet the size of a dime.

“Ha,” Tony wheezes. “Speaking of Legos.” He drops it into his pocket along with the laser pointer and whatever else is in there and hangs his head. Rubbing his brow, Tony says: “God. I could sleep for a week after today.”

Steve keeps holding Tony. He should let go, but opportunities like this so rarely present themselves. Plus, Tony feels so good under his hands, strong and warm and just small enough to envelope in a hug if Steve let himself, if Tony wanted him to, and Tony does look dead on his (adorable, bare) feet…

“What else have you been working on today? This pet project?”

“Hah?” Tony breathes, still wincing slightly from stepping on the magnet. “Oh yeah. For Bucky, when you find him. Ow, motherfucker, that hurt…”

The thing about being in Tony Stark’s presence is, it’s so easy to lose the plot. Tony’s mind moves faster than Steve could ever hope to match, mentally or physically; he’s always one pace behind, catching up. It’s fine, though; he actually kind of likes it, being challenged the way Tony challenges him, delighting in the push-pull of their banter and debates, the way Tony teaches him about science and tech and the 21st century without being condescending. Steve gets to a point where he thinks he knows Tony, how he operates, how his brain works—then moments like this happen, and it’s like he’s sprinted smack into a brick wall.

“What?”

“Bucky, you said—are you designing a new arm? For Bucky?”

Tony seems to notice their position at that exact moment. Steve feels him blaze with heat where his hands are touching Tony’s bare skin.

“Uh. Maybe?” At Steve’s look, Tony bites his lip and sighs. “Fine. Yeah, I am. Can you blame me? The thought of Sputnik wandering around the tower with that Cold War-era paperweight hanging off him when I’ve got brand-spanking-new, finely-tuned StarkTech all but ready to go? Perish, Steve, perish the thought.”

Tony is smiling up at him from his place in Steve’s arms, relaxed now, almost leaning into him, and all Steve can think is, he belongs here.

“What’s that face?” Tony asks, curious but still smiling. He pokes Steve in the middle of the forehead with a cheeky grin. “Keep frowning like that, your face’ll stick.”

When, apparently, is right now.

When Steve reaches up and takes Tony’s hand, he gets to watch Tony’s thoughts run into the wall, for once.

When he weaves their fingers together, he gets to watch Tony’s mouth click shut and his eyes go wide. Super-hearing means he can count the beats of Tony’s racing heart without having to feel them. Steve’s telegraphing every movement, every feeling, as much as he possibly can now that words seem to have escaped him.

He must manage okay, because the look that passes over Tony’s face is the same one Steve’s seen in the mirror a thousand times since the day he realized he was halfway in love with Tony Stark: wonder, one part lost, one part found.

When he leans down, slowly, Steve gets to watch Tony’s beautiful eyes flicker and shut. He counts the dark lashes where they rest on Tony’s high cheekbones, breathes in his smell and listens to the shudder in his exhale before drawing him in for a kiss that draws everything else to a quiet, blissful blank.

When Tony pushes his fingers up into Steve’s hair, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck, Steve drops his arms around Tony’s waist and pulls him in close with a soft groan. He’s warm and messy and still holding that damn screwdriver, but he kisses Steve soft and eager like it’s the only thing he wants to do for the rest of his life, folds himself into Steve’s embrace like he wants to build a home right there in his arms.

One day Steve will tell him he already did, a long time ago, and it wasn’t the least of anything.

***

more fics on AO3!

#rachel writes fic #I really should slow it down but this one would NOT leave me alone!#tony stark #steve rogers #stevetony #superhusbands #stony #stony fic #stovetuna #prompt fill #this is EXTREMELY SOFT #hopefully it makes up for the angst of the last one ;____;#also lol @ myself thinking ‘this one will be shorter’!!#UGH I FORGOT AIR FORCE RANKS ARE DIFFERENT DAMN IT!#blame my late night brain

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abloomntime · 3 years

Text

A Bloom In Time Ch25 Poppy’s Day Out P2

"WHAT?!" The loud shout from the red head staring at Mr. Grooves didn't even make the penguin flinch as he only smiled calmly at her still. Poppy gestured to herself with wide panicked eyes. "I-I CAN'T BE IN A PICTURE!! I'VE BARELY EVEN SEEN A TELEVISION BACK IN MY DAY!!"

Again DJ Grooves held his flippers up in an attempt to calm the frazzled woman down. "Now, Darling. I DID get you out of a pickle now. Conductor would've most likely made you do some hard chores in the hot sun, but no!" He held out a flipper to her and coralled her a few steps away from the mess of broken glass and metal soaking in foam. "I may have only known you for a mere twenty minutes, Darling, but any diva who can say it how it is to Conductor and have a good taste in movies might I add, is a diva I can get behind! Darling, I could really use your help!"

"HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO HELP!? I CAN'T ACT?!" She insisted back looking a bit more panicked. "L-Look! I'll work it off. I PROMISE that, but I can NOT act in front of thousands of people!!"

The penguin looked sad for a moment then sighed. "Alright. Alright. Maybe I was a bit too forceful to jump on the chance for the princess?"

".......Princess?," Poppy asked raising a brow and Grooves nodded.

"Yes. Do you by chance know the Starella Children's Book?" ...Poppy slowly nodded to answer his question. The three children and her watched as he reached a flipper into his coat and pulled out a colorful piece of paper, and held it out to Poppy who after a moment, took it with her other hand that wasn't holding a bill. "You see this story right now is insanely popular right now with the masses especially the young ones." He patted Bow on the head as she smiled and Poppy looked back to the paper in her hand. It was a poster. It was EXACTLY like the Starella book cover with the Orange-red silhouette of Starella and the dark blue Prince. Except it had a few words and advertisment like things on it as well. Like the words 'Coming To The Big Screen Near You: Starella LIVE!! Real people. Real action. And all based on the beloved New Bird TImes' Bestselling Hit Children's Book! Come see us live Feburary 11th! Limited supply Book now for reservations!' Poppy rose a brow and looked back to him. "You see? I wanted to try something ....FRESH!! Lately I've been on a terrible, terrible losing streak! So I asked myself DJ Grooves, you are the most well known penguin director? You need something that can wow the masses and topple Conductor! Something he'd never expect! So I thought up with grand idea for this new live action play! People love the drama and suspense seeing it in person! But there was a problem setting me back. Poppy, Darling, I'm limited on actors here."

''But...wouldn't there be actors here already to fill these r-roles?"

He chuckled. "Well yes you would think that, but you see I'm staying true to the source material. Which means I need human actors, and frankly you're the perfect match for the main role!" Her panicked face went back to him but again he tried to be reassuring. "Now I don't mean to force the role onto you. That's not what Im saying at all. But I promise if you help make this a success, the profits from it will be MORE than enough to cover that. If you don't want to, I'm sure we can find you a job in storage or dress design or...Something?"

Poppy only looked at him with a wide eyed look before staring back down at the two papers in her hands. It felt like she was making a choice. A choice between one hundred thirteen thousand seven hundred fifty pons, and being the center of attention for thousands of people in some famous director's play. HOW WAS THIS FAIR?! STUPID FATE!! DID YOU JUST LIKE MESSING WITH HER FOR NO REASON?! Well there was good n bad with both. On one hand she didn't even have HALF of what these birds were saying she owed, and she wasn't sure she wanted to mess with any law makers. But working off this high of a debt could take YEARS!! She was already forced to work as a babysitter for some ghost's help(she wasn't even sure how long that contract stated she'd be staying) and she still had NO idea what he was up to, staying her paying off ANOTHER problem she caused was really not ideal. Poppy wanted to save what pons she had left, and she still had plans on leading out her own life again. Somewhere far from her cursed home and start over. The only good thing about that option was that she wouldn't be in the public eye. Blue eyes shifted over from the bill to the shiny poster. On the other hand, one play doesn't sound like a big deal when you say it outload, but there's still going to be hundreds of people watching and she'd NEVER forgive herself if she messed up in front of all those people and it might even ruin her new reputation before she even made it. WHO'D WANT TO BUY FLOWERS FROM HER THEN?!....But. A few months sounded WAY better than a few years, and she wouldn't have to spend any pons really, which would both save time and money literally but....GAH!! She couldn't decide!

Sucking in a breath through her teeth, Poppy looked down at the ever calm penguin who still politely smiled at him. "What exactly would I have to do in this ...play of yours?"

He seemed to brighten up as he explained. "Well, exactly as it sounds. We're staying clear and true to the source book material, which means I need human actors like yourself to fill in some roles I or my penguins unfortunately cannot. And you're just the spitting image of that Starella beauty! That beautiful red hair, that fiery passion. Darling you are the PERFECT fit for it!"

"POPPY'S GONNA BE STARELLA!! NO WAY!!," Hattie's eyes were suddenly wide with wonder as the other's gawks around at her.

"YOU! No way!" "THAT'S SO COOL!!"

"Now hold on!," Poppy held up her hands to stop the tirade of excitement from the girls as they all smiled up at her. "I never said I was gonna do this crazy thing."

"But you'd be a great princess,Poppy!," Bow beamed brightly up at her with wonder.

"Yeah! I know, but-"

"So you'll do it?," Mu asked crossing her arms, "If you know you'll do a good job, why not?"

She stuttered over her words. "W-Well, I didn't mean-...I-it's not like that-...I-.....*sigh*" Looking back down to the two papers in her hand and all the choices slapping her in the face made her grip the papers tighter...before loosening it with a sigh closing her eyes. ".....Fine. I'll be the princess."

What followed was a chorus of 'YAY!' from the three girls, and Mr. Grooves smiling like he won a million pons. "OH! Thank you, Darling! Thank you! You won't regret it I SWEAR!! Here. Let me just take care of my end of the agreement right now." From her hand he grabbed the large bill and in a swift moment the paper was torn completely in half. "There! Nothing to worry about now!" Well....Seeing she no longer had a large bill on her shoulders made her sigh in half relief but there was still butterflies in her stomach from the dread that was to come as she watched the paper fall to the floor and sighed. Looking back to the glamorous poster she got even more nervous feelings in her stomach.

"Great. W-When do we start?"

"Not until I have the other four remaining roles filled. To be perfectly honest, the hardest part of making a film is finding good people for the job. Not to put down the staff, but my penguins are quite frankly terrible actors."

She found herself breathing a sigh of relief at that, her feelings going somewhat back to normal. "I'm....I-I'm really sorry for all the trouble I caused all ya, Mr. Grooves. I promise to work hard for it."

He waved a hand. "Darling! You don't have to apologize for anything. It was a simple mistake no one saw coming. If fact, I should be thanking you! Thanks to you I have one less thing to worry about!"

She chuckled nervously but inside she was still nervous as if she was already standing on stage. "Well....I guess I should start practicin'."

"The best way you can practice is by memorizing that story, Darlin'. I'll send notice once the other roles are filled."

She was about to ask something else when the door behind them opened and they all turned to FINALLY a relieving sight for sore eyes. The metal door creaked open and at last Cookie returned, a small white purse thrown over one of her shoulders as she smiled and the door closed behind her with another loud creaking noise as she walked in. Smiling as her eyes landed on the kids and two adults. Stepping closer the cat paused seeing the now sweeping owls who at some point in Mr. Grooves's and Poppy's conversation had gotten out brooms to clean up the giant mess she had caused. Blinking Cookie looked back up to them with a raised brow.

"...Did I miss somethin'?," she asked pointing to the mess behind her.

"Only the most hilarious talk back the old geezer's gotten! HAHA!!" Mu looked up to Poppy with a smile. "You know what? I like her now! The old wind bag needed to hear something like that for a long time!"

"Muriel!" Mu froze at the scowl Cookie was giving her, giving the famous 'Mom' pose of one hand on her hip and tapping her foot staring her down. "I HOPE you're not referrin' to Conductor now. I'd hate to be the one who grounds ya."

"He was acting rude...But I guess it's a little bit of my fault too." Poppy turned her gaze over to the mess behind them and Cookie looked at her as she nudged away a piece of metal by her foot. "I accidentally knocked over and destroyed this.....camera did ya'll call it? I'd be pretty angry too if someone ruined somethin' like this of mine....But he was still being quite rude."

Cookie stared at her a bit, then at the mess, seeming to quickly put two and two together in figuring out what must've happened while she was gone and groaned. Reaching a paw up to facepalm herself. ''I leave for JUST a few minutes and ya'll are in trouble. What am I going to do with all of ya?" ....A low rumble from Poppy's stomach answered that as she looked suddenly embarrased. Cookie gave a small chuckle and shook her head. "Well I guess there's mah answer. I still owe you all that lunch I promised huh? Well, now that I have this we can grab a bite from my resturaunt across the studio here." Another chorus of Yay! came from the children at the promise of free food from Cookie and Poppy gave a sigh of relief. At least one thing was looking up for her situation. Cookie turned her gaze to Mr. Grooves. "Would ya care to join us, Mr. Grooves? Of course it'll be on the house."

DJ Grooves held up his flipper. "I would LOVE nothing more than to accompany all you darlings, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline you're little offer. I still have too much to do and so little time with the costumes, and interviews, and over seeing the scenes being built by the production team. Lately there was an accident on set and we have to rebuild two and a half of the scenes and props."

"Oh my. That does sound really busy. Tell ya what, stop by on your break and order ya some fish on the house. Just tell 'em I sent ya."

"Thank you, Darling. Truely you are an angel in the fur!"

Poppy was glad to grab all her heavy tools and bags again off the floor and follow Cookie out, but not before apologizing again to Mr. Grooves for the embarrassing incident and back out into the hot afternoon sun they went. It was farther along in the sky now meaning it must've been later in the afternoon than she thought. Probably 4:00 or 5:00 p.m.. But she didn't care right now. She had worries in her brain, butterflies inside her empty stomach, and not enough water in her whole body. She was hungry, and thirsty. So take care of one easily problem first before thinking thing's over on the other problem she had gotten herself into for now. Most of the owls they originally saw on their way there were probably already home considering how long it had been since they had arrived but it was until 10:00 until they could go back home on the train, and she was NOT really ready for those transporting umbrellas. The building Cookie lead them too was really just across the studios, and from the outside looked like any of the other plain buildings but only bigger as if two of the regular buildings were smooshed together. Cookie explained this was her long time dream resturaunt and she modeled it after her old home so she could visit it without any of the danger that came with Nyakuza City. Bow seemed REALLY excited at it and Poppy soon found out why. The inside of the resturant looked EXACTLY like the metro room except for the flying tvs, pile of money, and weird moving thing. But the city part yes. But honestly she could care less, Poppy's amazement was overtaken by her hunger and thirst, plus the cool air washing over her again was a great relief again from the hot outside. It looked like a typical resturaunt with tables, chairs, (besides the metro theme) decor, and two double doors that lead to the kitchen she assumed since that's where all the mouth watering smells were coming from. Her stomach grumbled again and Cookie chuckled at it making her more embarrassed at it. there was another counter with a register and yet another owl who lit up at the sight of her boss.

"Good afternoon, Ma'am. Wasn't expecting you today! Eating with friends today I see. We'll have a waiter right out to you."

Well she was very polite. And they were the only ones there apparently as the children were free to run in and choose a random large table in the middle. Cookie gave her the alright to leave her things on the bench by the door and THIS time Poppy made sure to lay them in a position that didn't pose any threat unless some numbskull sat on it without looking. The two adults joined the three children at the table and sat down at the round table. Odd they would be literally the only ones there in this part of the day. When voicing this to the cat, Cookie explained since this was modeled after her old home all she sold here was the food from the city, and not a lot of penguins or owls liked the dishes other than the teas, coffes, and fish appitizer. Which in Poppy's eyes was valid since everyone had different tastes, it was totally acceptable different species would too. Not long after they were greeted like a waiter who said 'Hi!' and passed out these things called Menu's which Cookie explained listed the dishes and the catagories they were under. Assuming 'swamp people' didn't get out much since she hadn't seen a TV before coming into Hattie's ship. Poppy took a look at it and it read:

Deserts:

Cake: A sweet baked desert, usually reserved for special occasions like birthdays, weddings, or 2 A.M. Ice Cream Sandwhich: ice cream served between two biscuits or wafers. Sandwich only by name, this desert has mastered the art if disguise. Triple Scoop: Vanilla cream frozen at the right temperature then shaped into a ball, then put in a cone. Many scoops in your cone will impress your scoopless peers and get you that promotion. Meals

Hamburger: Meat, lettace, and buns grilled and served with condaments. While some may prefer meat alternatives and some skip the lettece, all greatly prefer the prescence of the buns.

Katsu Curry: A tasty pork cutlet cut into stripes served with the rich flavorful curry and usually rice. While the pun is irristdable given you're in a cat metro it will not be appreciated.

Shoyu Ramen: A warm chicken and vegistable broth, served with toppings of your choice. The perfect comfort food of the cold night after you miss the last train of the day.

The Metro Special: A big bowl of rice with fried fish, egg, and chips. A meal of everything, proving that little care can have delicious results.

Rice: Rice is one of the most consumed foods on the planet. It's easy to prepare and cheap, and the savior of wet cellphones.

Side Dishes

Meatballs: Grounded meat rolled into a small ball. To reach true enlightenment you must understand as meatballs go in hair balls go out.

French Fries: sliced and deep fried potatoes. An important reminder that when are alone we are all small fry but together we're delicious.

Fish: Battered and fried fish, usually cod or poloc. Most cats love being able to buy it fried since there's no fish tanks in the metro to steal from.

Soup Dumplings: Steamed dough buns filled with meat and soup. You won't know exactly what taste hides beneath the dough until you build up the courage to bite into the unknown.

Spring Roll: A wide variety of rolled appetizers often filled with meat or veggistables. A tasty snack whatever the season.

Drinks

Hot Chocolate: A sweet, hot drink made from shaved or melted chocolate powder. Enjoy with a sprinkling of mini marshmallows and a swirl of cream if you wanted to visit your dentist soon.

Tea: A hot drink made from boiling water and leaves of plants. Great for getting warmed up on a cold day, either when you drink it or when someone bumps into you

Large Soda: A carbonated drink in a large container. The large soda remains the unsung hero of moderation. An acceptable pick in the eyes of your peers, just one size short of gluttony.

Coffee: A warm brewed drink prepared from coffee beans. Consuming this drink on a regular basis transforms a kitten into a cat and a cat to a nervous wreck.

Kitten Meals

Drinks The Juice Box: Pressed from fruit and put into a box. Premium juice often shows chunky pulp showing the hypocracy in mankind's unwillingness to drink spoiled milk.

Mini Soda: Small enough parents can't complain to us about a sugar rush.

Meals Pizza Slice: A round dough base topped with tomato, cheese, and other toppings. Most chefs are reduced to tears by witnessing such triangular beauty. Mini Hamburger an Fries: Like the adult meals but much smaller.

Deserts:

Cookies: Small baked biscuits usually filled with chocolate chips, raisins, or something else. Great for a quick snack or dropping crumbs everywhere.

Wow. So much detail. It was pretty impressive, this must be what it was like to eat rich. She jumped when the waiter owl came back with a smile.

"Are you ladies ready to order?," he asked with a smile and paper 'n pencil in wing.

"PIZZA!," the three children yelled in unison throwing their hands up in a rather cute way.

"And this extra large soda!," Hattie added much to the other two's agreement.

"Soda?....As in Soda pop?" Hattie nodded in agreement and Poppy shook her head. "Oh no ya don't! I don't need another long night of trying to wrestle you two to sleep!....This fruit juice sounds nice."

The girls awed but Cookie agreed with her. "Absolutely. I don't need Mu hyped up either but if you're all good you all can have some cookies and hot coco." The kids quickly agreed and she purred happily with herself before looking back at the waiter. "Well you heard them."

The waiter nodded and wrote something on the notepad. "Alright. Pizza and juices for the chicklings. And you lovely ladies?"

"Some Shoyu would be nice. Haven't had it in a month, and bring me a plate of that fish will you." She glanced at Mu for a moment and sighed. "And some coffee...I'm going to need it."

The waiter nodded again and looked directly at Poppy. ''And you Miss?"

"Oh.....Uh.." Her eyes glazed over the strange items for sale on the paper and went silent for a few seconds. "I- Uh-....D-Don't really know what a lot of this is actually."

"That's alright. Do you want me to order for you?"

She sighed. "That'd actually be great thanks."

So Cookie just told the owl waiter to bring Poppy some Katsu Curry and some tea, what ever the heck Katsu Curry was. The menu did saw it was supposed to have pork and rice with sounded delicious. The waiter nodded and soon disappeared through those double doors on the far side of the room and it would be a couple moments. Until then Cookie asked Poppy to fill her in on what exactly happened while she was gone inside the studios. And quite embarrassed the children jumped in to excitedly tell Cookie all about how Poppy's leaned her tools against the giant camera and Conductor coming in, and how the camera fell and Poppy took the blame like a hero and put Conductor in his place. Cookie actually looked quite surprised at the mention of the exchange between Poppy and Conductor, and Poppy sunk into her seat a bit from the embarrassment she was feeling especially then Hattie excitedly announced that Poppy agreed to play the princess in her favorite book for Mr. Grooves.

"Well......It certainly looks like someone has quite the stubborn attitude."

THANK PECK!! The food came out just as she was starting to get nervous again and her stomach rumbled again at the smell of food as it came over to them. The large tray the waiter was carrying was placed in the middle of the table and the first person to receive their food was Cookie. Placed in front of her was a bowl of long noodles with two pieces of chicken, a sliced egg, and a few spices making the seasoned chicken smell all the more better, and next to it came a small plate of white paper and on it was five pieces of bread covered fish. Which also smelt good. The kids cheered as they were handed their pizza and juice boxes. Poppy never even heard of pizza but by the looks of it it looked like some kind of baked bread with seasoning and toppings. How peculiar. The pink juiceboxes were adorable though, with the cat print holding a fake strawberry. Her's looked and smelt just as delicious! What was placed in front of her was a bowl of rice, chopped fried pork, beans, and what looked like lettace! But either way it smelt delicious! Next to it was a small wrapped burrito like thing that she looked at curiously.

"It's an spring roll," Cookie explained noticing her confused expression, "It's usually served with that dish. Sorta like an eggroll but made slightly differently."

And then there was her tea which was served in the cutest coffee cup she'd ever seen! It was shaped just like a cat with a painted face. While the children dug into their well deserved lunch followed by Cookie, Poppy took a moment to admire the well put together dish and the smell it radiated before slowly grabbing her fork and digging it. Shoving a piece of that pork into her mouth........H O L Y P E C K!!!! IT WAS DELICIOUS!!! It was even better that that cheese omlet thing Cookie had given to her hours ago for breakfast. The seasoning, the juicy pork. The fluffy rice!! It was so GOOD!! In a moment she was eating as eagerly as the kids and Cookie watched with a patient smile as the hungry girls ate. She didn't seem fazed a bit or anything as they did so. Probably used to seeing people with healthy appitites. Fair enough the kids finished before her and understandably begged for more. That's how it went. All for about an hour it was pretty peaceful. The food was good. She had never had such pork or rice before and the tea was quite refreshing from the hot sun and to her dry throat. And Cookie true to her name, decided to let the still hungry children have more food like they begged and out came some cute cat shapes cookies and coco like she promised. Which amazed her because back in her day chocolate was a delicacy that only the rich and wealthy could afford and yet here they were eating it like it was an everyday item. When offered by Cookie if she'd want anything like that too of course she accepted! When was she gonna get a second chance at eating chocolate! The cake she ate was the BEST THING SHE HAD EVER TASTED!! Even better than the wild honey she'd sometimes stumble across in the forest. Her only real slip up was jolting and dropping her fork when something red flashed across the corner of her eyes but relaxed when it was only a red bird sitting outside the window. It tilted it's head looking inside for a moment before flying off again. Something was definately off about her. She could feel it. Poppy just didn't know what. But for the rest of the time she spent out she tried to bury her worries for her own sake. She just felt really drained right now for now real reason.

But all good things must come to an end. Hours passed and soon enough it was time for all of them to go home. Poppy could barely remember the long ride back up to the moon city and then again back to Hattie's ship. All she really did was smile and politely agree and tried to not make anymore embarrasing mistakes. Even as Cookie and Mu bid them all a good night and Poppy thanked her for the wonderful day out and the take out she had let them take back with them before they disappeared back presumably to take the night train back before they missed it. It was still a blur when she just flopped onto the cold floor completely physically and mentally exhausted and falling into the world of dreams and red eyes.

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