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#it’s not shouting but it’s enough to make me feel really self-conscious and I have the most stupid reason for being extra self-conscious
skzwaves · 10 days
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❝No Prejudice❞ (bc x fem!reader) [18+]
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༘♡WHOSE LOVE ➖ "to lovers" trope series
Whose Love Masterlist
♡ strangers to lovers ♡
4,4k words
🏨plot: a stranger at the bar brings you the comfort and attention you always craved for after dumping your ex
🏨genre/warnings: vanilla smut with plot, mentions of weed dealing, yet only consumption of alcohol, dj!chan, 69, protected sex, mentions of breeding, infidelity of an ex, bad friends, rebound theme, fingering, doggy, cringe ending (sry)
🏨a/n: this took me so long. I'm so sorry. At some point I rewrote the whole outline twice cause I wasn't satisfied. there might be some errors. I just wanted to finish this quickly (you can probably tell) >.< // Recently my passion for this blog is lacking so I'm gonna be on hiatus for awhile. xoxo
🏨taglist: @chartrucewhore
Friday - 02:17 pm You've never felt more betrayed. Some men really think if they get bored with you, they can stick their dick into whoever they like without facing any consequences. All these months you have been saving money from your income for his project of self-employment after he resented his reseller business. Always acting like the loyal boyfriend as if you wouldn’t find out about his secret escapades. You don’t take his bullshit.
This morning you make yourself clear that he can pack his bags and leave as soon he comes back from another meeting with a ‘potential venture partner’. He doesn’t talk back at you or asks questions, since he figures you made out the truth. Not even a “Sorry” passed his dry lips, proving the fact that he gave on you both already.
Staring out of the bus window, the scene replays in your head. Zoned out as your thoughts wander about how fucked up this whole situation is. Apparently you weren’t enough for him. You never were for anyone.
You need time for yourself now, making your way to the beach area by your most hated public transportation but at least you don’t have to experience the road rage from other people. The plan Is to spend a bit of your savings on yourself for the weekend. You want to try to forget about the years you wasted with your ex, having to witness his up and downs and staying with him, because he begged you to. - Your pride was hurt.
Coming back to the real world as you reach the last bus stop, you cradle your weekender bag and make your way out the bus door. There is this four star beach hotel just down the street from the bus depot that you choose as the best option for the weekend away from midtown. Even though you normally check in at more cheaper hostels, you force yourself to stick to your treat-yourself mindset for once.
You take out your phone, wanting to let at least let your friends know where you are. However, as you try to text while walking you inevitably bump into some stranger in the lobby. You mumble an apology immediately, being too embarrassed to look at the face of the man for more than one second. “Better watch where you’re going dollface!” you hear the man shout back at you while you flee from the scene with the door of the lift closing shortly after you get in.
After you store your belongings in your rented room, you make your out of the hotel again with your first stop being the shopping mile of course. Some new make up and few fancy looking clothes for future nights out partying sounds pretty good to start over with all the mess.
About to get back to the hotel to dress up, you have to stop in your tracks as your eyes fall on pretty silver jewelery.
“No rules for today,” you remind yourself, swiping your credit card.
Friday - 06:48 pm
As you return back to the hotel, you spot a nice bar on the opposite road. You decide to spend more money freely on alcohol for the night, even if it looks a bit flashy, it seems to be pretty busy.
Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you can’t get used to your different looks after getting ready. Even though showing off your new belongings sounds pretty nice, you weren’t feeling confident. The more self-conscious you got, you begin to undress again and pull out your favorite dress from your bag. It’s what you usually wear when going out and it makes your ass look great as a bonus. Your new jewelery makes it into the final look eventually.
Two hours later you finally make your way to the bar. Red LED lights were adorning the counters and shelves. Music playing from hidden speakers, accentuating the conversations from all the little groups of people at the tables. While looking for an empty seat you spot a handsome young man, tapping the rhythm of the song being played with his fingers on the wooden counter. You swear you had eye contact with this stranger for a few seconds and you are already mesmerized by him. He surely stands out the most with his loosely fitting top, showing off his muscular physique, that you could drool over. The lights in the bar did their job too. Just wow - you need to talk to him.
Remember, no rules for today.
He notices you strutting towards him but some woman was faster than you, sitting down next to him and stealing your chosen seat. So you have to grab the stool two seats away from them in the front, taking the cocktail card from the frame and skimming over the pages. You try to spy on their conversation, yet the chattering of the people around you and the music in addition drown out their voices.
Concentrating on choosing a drink, you suddenly notice someone shifting beside you. The woman walks back to her friends sitting at another table, letting out a frustrating groan while her friends just laughed at her. You wonder what just happened but the man keeps his gaze on his drink, his facial expression unreadable. She is conventionally attractive so it baffles you that he has most likely turned her down.
"Mind joining me for drinks instead of just staring?" He asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. After a few seconds waiting for your response he finally looks in your direction, showing off his bright smile. "Yeah, would be a pleasure," you make your way over to him, sitting down on the stool next to him. His eyes wander all over your body with a smirk adorning his face. He orders two shots for both of you before he starts eyeing the hem of your dress barely covering your thighs. "I like your dress. It's really…cute" he licks his lips. "Yeah? Thanks. It's very short but I love it." The way he begins to mentally undress you, makes your head imagine filthy scenarios. “Yeah that's what I like about it too,” he laughs shyly, his nose crinkling cutely along with his shiny nose ring. Three sentences from him and you are already under his spell. You giggle again, hitting his biceps absentmindedly. Then your hand finds comfort on his big arms and stays there for a bit too long. Suddenly his mouth was near your ear whispering, "Look, I got nothing on me right now. Maybe I can get something for you tomorrow."
"Pardon?" you back off wide eyed and brows furrowed. He seems to be confused as well. “You didn’t want to ask me for pot?" He cocks his head to the side. You breath in deeply., “Do I look like-;” you scoff offended because of his assumption. However, you stop, not believing what was happening right now. You put your head into your hands, leaning on your elbows on the counter for support. “I'm sorry. Didn't want to be rude, but every conversation I had with anyone since I got here, was because of them wanting drugs,” he explains, his voice thin as he tries suppress a laugh. “Are you the famous dealer in the beach area or what?" You taunt him, still embarrassed. His hand moves your hair out of your face, startling you so you looked back at him. ”Some guy caught me smoking after a concert yesterday and it spread like wildfire around here." “Tragic,” you mumble, grabbing the cocktail card again. “Why were you staring at me then?” he asks curiously. “Cause you look pretty hot,” you tell him honestly, “And I wanted to join you for drinks to get to know you,” you added sulky. “Oh,” he smiles feeling flattered, “Sorry, I don’t usually hear this…I’m Chan by the way,” he grabs his shot glass to clink it with yours. You join him by telling him your name before you gulp down the alcohol simultaneously.
“Are you from here?”, he asks, “This district, I mean,” he adds right after. “Oh, no. I’m from midtown, actually.” “From the deep concrete jungle?” he laughs. “Yeah, it’s way prettier out here.” “Therefore, it appears that the women in your area are more beautiful,” he retorts, looking at you up and down. You blush and smile at his words, “The men not so much,” you answer. “Well, the beach district has to offer more than just the view of the sunset above the ocean horizon for it to be that popular.” “You’re right. I definitely like the view right now,” you try to sound as confident as you could, realizing your flirting skills are a bit rusty as you avoid his gaze right after. Your comment makes him smile as well.
The other people’s chatter and the music playing drowns their voices out. You just hope the scene doesn’t escalate.
And luckily it doesn’t. Chan joins you again and apologizes on the behalf of his friend, who still gives you weird looks as you check up on him.
“As much as he is an absolute douche, he is the reason why I could play a set at the festival yesterday. It’s more thanks to his rich and influential parents here on the coast side but you know.” “He really is, and I mean that wholeheartedly, a fucking cunt,” you curse, making both you laugh.
“So back to you - You make music?” you change the topic. “Yes. I’m mostly DJ’ing right now. But I also produce for other artists though.” “That’s a really cool job if you ask me,” “Nah, I mean it has it perks, yet days like this are pretty rare. Rest days, I mean.” “So I can call myself lucky,” you smirk. “Mhm, I guess so,” he mimics you.
You both are absorbed in your conversation as the hours go by. It’s been awhile since you found a guy as interesting as him. Most of your life you have been attracting guys like his friend but Chan gives off a different vibe. He reminds you of your first love and it makes your heart warm again after cooling down to freezing temperatures the last days.
Saturday - 00:28 am
Past midnight, you don’t hesitate to invite him to go to your hotel after you find out that you’re both night owls and if you would be going back to the hotel on your own, you would be ending up messaging him till three in the morning anyway.
"So… the woman, who spoke to you before me, just asked you for weed?" you start to question him out of the blue, while laying your key card on the lock. "Yup, her words were ‘with a good time for an exchange’," he laughs cringing at the image. "Oh!” you exclaim, taken aback by the scenario. For some reason you think, that’s how your ex boyfriend’s meetings with “business partners” would go like.
"But I'm not like that," he quickly adds, waving his hands in x-motions. "I told her to fuck off." You scoff instantly as you hear his words, unbuttoning your coat in the entrance of your room. He looks at you confused, questioning your reaction while taking your coat off your shoulders. "Remember you told me you'd get me some dope tomorrow when you started to flirt with me,” turning around again, you watch him getting rid off his jeans jacket and shoes. "Was I flirting?” he looks at you with squinted eyes, getting comfortable on the edge of the big bed in the middle of the room. You just rolled your eyes, “We wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.” “You’re right," he smirks.
You straddle him, letting your arms rest softly on his shoulders. He looses himself in your eyes, leaning closer towards you, “Your eyes are really pretty,” he compliments you, breathing out nervously before he smiles at you again. “That’s funny, ‘cause I could swear you’ve been looking at something else the whole evening,” you tease him further. “You mean these gorgeous legs?” he bites his lips as his hand wanders around your thighs, “But you’re wrong. I’ve been staring at your pretty lips as well the whole time we were talking,” he retorts.
You couldn’t resist him any longer, leaning in to capture his soft lips with yours. Starting off slow, enjoying each other in the moment before these little kisses increase in pace and hunger for each other. His hands run all over your body, grabbing and tearing at your clothes hastily, tracing up the zipper of your dress to take it off. His tongue explores your mouth eagerly before you have to break away, taking off your dress completely and getting rid of your bra. Your hot skin comes into contact with cool air of the air conditioner. He discards his muscle top to the floor. You don’t know where to look first. His chest, his abs or the massive tent in his black jeans.
“Come here,” he reaches for your hand to pull you towards him again. His thumb circles your thin covered clit. “Already so wet…” he hums, leaving a kiss on your mound before he pulls down your thin thong. “Why don’t you sit on my face, baby? Let me get a taste of you,” he adds in a low voice. Leaning back down on the mattress, his hand guides yours to pull you up on the bed.
“Wait lemme-,” you turn around to face his lower body, unfortunately still covered in clothes. Maybe the alcohol in your system makes you this bold to finally make the experiences you always wanted to make. He grabs your hips to push you down, tongue lapping at your pussy. You whimper his name, unbuckling his belt with shaky hands. He lifts his hips up to make it easier for you to free his cock from his tight jeans. Groaning against your pussy as you feel him up, dick throbbing through his boxers. Your small hands keep caressing his hard length, while your hips moved against his flattened tongue.
Slowly revealing his hard cock, slapping against his toned abs. He moans when he feels your lips engulfing his tip. You don’t waste much time to take him all the way down your throat. Trying not to choke on him, your spit drips down his cock and lubricates him just right to jerk the rest of his length with your hand. His arms embrace your thighs, trying to support your trembling legs. Groaning and cursing, every time he dives into your cunt, you won’t last much longer.
You pull away to get up and turn around again. His honey colored skin glistening with sweat. You're about to position yourself over his leaking cock mindlessly but he stops you.
"Wait a second," he gets back up, lifting you up from the bed with him. He takes you to the big beanbag chair in the other corner of your hotel room, “Just a sec-“ he breathes out, positioning you in the chair before he gets back to his jeans to grab a condom. He spreads your legs with his cock resting on your pussy. Leaning down he sucks an your neck, leaving kisses down your sternum, then moving to your breasts.
“You ready for me, baby?” he grabs the base around his shaft to push his tip against your entrance. “Yes,” you moan out, when you feel him stretching out your hole.
Chan is slow with you, teasing you just with his tip at first. Then he switches to shallow thrusts, going deeper with only seconds passing. “Oh, you’re doing so good,” he groans, pressing his skin against yours, getting lost in the pleasure. “Chan! Fuck! So big- so deep.” You keep moaning in pleasure. “You feel fucking amazing…” he slurs, “I usually last longer- shit” "Oh Channie," you giggle, muffling your moans, “Already folding for me?” you grin at him. With sharp thrusts, he wipes the grin of your face, “I knew there would be little brat in you.” “As if you aren’t into it.” “You’re reading me like an open book huh?” He uses his fingers to circle your clit while his dick keeps pumping into you. A tingly feeling consumes your body and he brings you right over the edge. You try to keep the volume down from your moans until you come down from your high.
You notice how he almost lost his self control as your walls contract around his shaft but with a curse he pulls out in time, laughing at himself embarrassed.
"Wow, that was close," he says and lifts you up to ride him right after. “Oh to fill this perfect pussy of yours, fuck.” He keeps mumbling. "You'd love to cum inside of me?" you question him, acting like you couldn’t hear him properly the first time. He clicks his tongue, "Mhm. Being able to fill you up to the brim. Over and over again." "Oh fuck-" “Gonna make you mine,” he mutters and you don’t know if you have just imagined it. He slaps your ass hard, before he guides your hips in a fast rhythm, “Just like this. Yes. Fuck. Guess you were right after all.” “Yeah. You’re gonna come for me?” “Babe-“ “I’m almost there too. Just a bit more- Ah!,” you try to keep it down as your orgasm washes over you. Chan keeps fucking you, spilling his seed into the condom as you. He holds you tight against him.
You experience this tingly feeling again. Now in your chest and you instantly start to hate it.
“Try to get some sleep. We can spend some more time tomorrow, alright?” his sweet voice rings in your ears.
Is your heart really that easy to conquer? The connection is there, clearly. However, you can't do this to yourself again. Trusting him so easily would be a mistake. You have learned this stuff the hard way. This is just another sick test from universe, you think as you feel your eyes tearing up.
Nevertheless, you are too embarrassed with yourself, “I’m going home tomorrow,” you state, getting up to go to the small bathroom. “Oh. Okay. That’s fine. Maybe we can see each other again,” he forces a smile, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Yeah.” You mumble.
You can’t just fall for a guy you just met. How can you even consider it after what had happened? Just because it feel different with him?
Even though you think love might be the biggest lie of a concept ever invented, your heart makes your brain mushy and not functioning. Even as he leaves, you suppress the urge to run after him.
You have to remind your yourself that all you have wanted was to have a good time tonight and that’s it. You should forget about his stupid smile and muscular body and soft voice but even your brain betrays you now with pictures of his beautiful face looking at you fondly as you try to fall asleep.
Saturday - 11:28 am
You’re alomost done with packing your suitcase as you hear someone knock on your door. You think it’s the room cleaning service, shouting an “Almost ready,” you hurry to grab all your stuff before you leave the room. However, it is another familiar face smiling at you brightly.
“Chan? What are you doing here?”
“I thought I could drive you home ‘cause I got a last-minute gig in midtown so it's basically on the way. I mean you can also sit in a packed bus, if you want to. But I wouldn’t deny a pretty girl my passenger seat."
His offer is too tempting, so you have to accept it. The ride in his car is quite relaxing even though the thoughts of what is waiting for you in your apartment makes your mind wander again.
“Where do you play today?” you ask him to distract you from the anxiety forming in your head. “It’s called ‘Blue Cat’. I’ve heard it’s pretty popular. Have you been there?” “Oh yeah. A few times actually. It’s cool,” you don’t notice that your tone keeps being monotonous. “You don’t sound very convincing,” he snickers. “Sorry,” you force a smile, “I’m just not feeling well right now,” you scratch at your neck. “Are you getting sick? Should I pull over?” he slightly panics. “No. It’s alright. It’s just that I don’t really wanna go home right now.” “Did something happen?” he asks cautiously, his eyes switching between you and the road in front of him. “Yeah… Before I traveled to the coast, I broke up with my boyfriend.” “Oh. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-“ “No. I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.” “Nah, you’re not obliged to do that.” He smiles, shaking his head. “But I should have been honest,” you tell him, looking over to him and noticing his smile slightly faltering. “It’s alright,” he retorts calmly, turning into your street.
As you arrive at your building, he gets out of the car with you. “I’ll help you with your bags,” he says not waiting for any objections from you.
Coming home to your prior shared apartment, you notice that the stuff from ex is missing. Then you find a sticky note on the drawer from him which you don’t even bother to read, throwing it into the trash. “Is everything okay?” he asks. “Yeah,” you smile at him and thank him for carrying up your bags. He notices that you’re not telling the truth, “Okay. Then I’ll have to go to prepare for tonight.” Chan hates the way your face looks even sadder now, after he said that. “If you need some distraction again, you know where to find me.”
Saturday - 08:39 pm
You don’t quite know yet what the universe is planning for you but you try to rely on your heart for now. As the sun starts set, you’re in front of your bathroom mirror, putting on some make-up to get ready to meet Chan again.
In the club, you don’t recognize him at first as he keeps hiding his beautiful face behind his black Vetements cap. Seeing him as a DJ having fun and playing his music, warms your heart. You wait at the bar for his set to end, drowning a few shots to pass the time.
Another song transitions in and as you glance over to the stage, you don't see him anymore.
You keep looking around the venue until you hear his cute chuckle beside you, “Looking for someone in particular?”
Way too eager, you pull him in to kiss his soft lips, “Come with me,” you say and he beams at you.
Pulling him towards the restrooms, searching for an unoccupied bathroom stall. You kiss him again as his hands caress your thighs, pushing up the hem of your new dress.
His fingers rub up and down your covered clit. “So fucking cute when you whimper. I knew you would come back to me again. We weren’t done after we just met. It has to be more than a one night thing.” He leaves open mouth kisses on your cleavage before two of his fingers move against your walls, slowly at first, stretching you out. “Your pussy tasted so fucking good - felt even better. I was definitely craving more after that night.”
“I’m craving more, now,” you moan.
His fingers slip out of you and you kiss down his neck, finding his sweet spot in an instant. He smirks, “We could go to my hotel room.” “Why not here? We can be quick,” you try to convince him, sucking on his fingers covered in your essence. “But I want to take my time with you,” he whispers against your neck, his warms scent engulfing you. “You can still do that afterwards.” You keep leaving faint lipstick stains at the column of his neck, “I need you now, Chan. Please tell me you brought condoms with you," you breath heavily.
"Maybe," he grins, pulling some out of his back pocket.
Your hand wanders down to his crotch, “What are you waiting for?”
He turns you around to position himself right behind you.
"Need you so bad," you whimper.
He fills you up just seconds after, thrusting into you more harshly than your first time. His hand finds its way around your throat “Look at you,” he holds your chin up with one hand, “Fucking gorgeous with this greedy pussy of yours. Ah- and so tight. Shit!”
Your head starts to spin, heavy breaths fill the small stall. He fucks you harder and faster. The pleasure is overwhelming for you.
You only notice that you reach your high first before his thrusts become more sloppy with every groan he lets out.
After coming down from your orgasm, you turn back around to face him.
“You know, I'm very happy that I’ve met you,” you whisper, feeling an urgent need to tell him this.
He gulps, knowing that he had fallen way too hard for you already, making his head cloudy with just thoughts of you since he had met you.
“And you’re more than just a distraction to me. I wish we could be something more but I don't want another boyfriend who is gone for most nights and days"
He blushes at the implication of you both starting a real relationship and not simply being a hook up. "Yeah you're right,” he sighs in defeat, “But is there something I could do to win your trust?” You start kissing him again, “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just need some more time.”
“I won't disappoint you… If you promise me, that you'll come back to me.”
“Of course. It wouldn't be easy for me to forget you in the first place.”
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beachylupin · 7 months
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I'd Have You Anytime || Remus Lupin x Muggle!Fem!Reader
i've risen from the dead just to finish and post this! i'm sorry for such the long wait everyone! but here it is! i'm hoping this is sufficient, but i personally love muggle!fem!reader, so she might make a comeback eventually. feedback is welcomed and appreciated! to preface: this part takes place near the first half/middle-ish of november part one (mb), part two (mb), moodboard for this part word count: 3.1k warnings: fluff!!!!!, pining, depression mess, maybe like three swear words
Not working for a week after the pub incident was a blessing in disguise. You were able to break down in silence with nobody secretly judging you. You stayed mainly in your bed, ignoring every phone call and worried message from Lily, James, and even Sirius. Some calls never came with a message, and you feared that it was Remus trying to reach you, so you decided to answer no calls at all.
It was quiet, but it was necessary.
By the end of the week, all your thoughts led to the same conclusion: you were horribly in love with Remus.
As stupid as it may seem, you had fallen for him, and you weren’t getting up anytime soon.
That’s why you acted rashly and left the pub crying. That’s why you shouted at him. You were terrified. Loving someone was a terrifying thing to do, especially when you didn’t really know them. You’d seen Remus twice, and surely that wasn't enough times to truly love someone.
But it strangely was, and you loved him.You knew it because he’s all you could think about. He plagued your thoughts. His face, his eyes, the scars: every part of him was constantly on your mind. Even his voice filled your mind even though you’ve talked to him maybe twice, and one of those times was yelling.
From the chill that ran down your spine when you first saw him, you knew he was the one. There was no doubting that.
Journaling seemed to help, and you spent most of that week doing just that. You wrote pages and pages and ink stained your fingers as you tried to figure out the answer on how you could salvage things, but the answer never really turned up. The only real answer you found is how desperate you were for true love.
A pound on your door caught you by surprise the day before you were supposed to go back to work. You paused your seventh watch through of Romeo and Juliet and walked to the door. You opened it, seeing a crazed-eyed Lily.
“I thought you were dead!” She exclaimed, pushing past you into your flat. “Why didn’t you answer?!”
“Because-”
“When was the last time you cleaned?” She asked, picking up a discarded pizza box from the couch and tossing it on the counter.
You looked around your apartment, suddenly feeling self conscious about its current state. It was a disaster. Pizza boxes, crisp bags, and soda cans lined every surface, and dishes were piled up in the sink. Clothes were strewn everywhere even though you stayed in one outfit for the past week.
“When was the last time you showered?” Lily asked, more concerned than put off by your noticeably greasy appearance.
You shrugged, genuinely not knowing. You knew it had to be at least a week ago.
“Babes,” Lily cooed, holding your hands in hers. “Pull yourself together. He’s just a guy-”
You sighed heavily, shaking your head. “He’s not just-”
“-who still very much would like to see you again,” she finished over you, a spark evident in her eyes. “Especially if you showered,” she mumbled, smiling as you turned red.
You dropped her hands as you threw her a playful glare. “I take it that you’d enjoy seeing me better if I was showered too?”
Lily shrugged, smiling coyly as she mumbled, “I won’t say yes, but it’d be preferred.”
You loosed a sigh. “Fine,” you said, making your way to the bathroom. “Just for you.”
Showering felt nice, and you hadn’t realized what you were missing until you were under the hot water. Because of that, your shower was longer intended, and the water ran cold by the time you were done cleaning yourself off.
You didn’t bother dressing yet since you knew Lily wouldn’t judge you, so you slipped on your robe, making your way to the living room, where she had conquered the mess the trash bags.
“Thought you might’ve died in there,” Lily said from the kitchen, her hands lost in dirty dishwater.
“I had to get clean,” you sighed, your shoulders slumping forward. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know I didn’t,” she replied, putting yet another clean dish on the drying rack. “You’re my friend, and I care about you so I wanted to.”
You hugged her from behind, your cheek pressing into her back as she washed another dish.
“I love you,” you mumbled, and she shut off the tap, turning to give you a proper hug.
“I love you too,” she said, squeezing you tighter before letting go. “Which is why-” she sang, a smile growing on her face. “You’ll come to my holiday party next week, won’t you?”
“Isn’t it a bit early?” You asked, realizing it wasn’t even December.
“Everyone does something different for holidays,” she sighed dramatically. “This is the only time that everyone will be together, and I don’t want you to miss it.” You didn’t say anything, so Lily continued. “I know the whole Remus thing didn’t work out, but I can say for certain that he still would love to see you, okay? Just talk to him. Invite him over or something whenever you see him next.”
You sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
Instead of protesting like normal, Lily nodded, smiling softly. “Come on. Let’s go watch movies like we did when we were girls.”
Lily was gone before you woke up, leaving you a note and a scone.
“Have a great day back! Xoxo Lily,” the note read. You took a bite of the scone, getting dressed for work, and began your walk to the cafe down the road.
Melanie was incoherently swearing at the oven when you came in through the back, dropping a pan of what looked like charcoal on the countertop.
She was your co-worker, and you considered her a friend, but she was horrible at her job. You feared for anyone who had to drink her chunky coffee, eat her blackened pastries, and listen to her swear in Gaelic in the week you were gone.
“There’s a guy waiting out there for you,” Melanie huffed, watching you as you tied a clean apron around your waist. “Been here since this mornin’.”
“Oh, really?” You asked, rolling your eyes. “Is it Ed?” You smiled, thinking of the old man with kind eyes who always asked for you to make his drinks. You missed him dearly.
“No, he’s a younger guy… Like our age,” she replied, chucking the burnt pastries in the trash. “He’s been here every day for a week lookin’ specifically for you. Had to ask him to leave by noon so he wasn’t takin’ up a table.” She glanced up at the time, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “I left him today because I knew you’d be here. Didn’t order anything yet, though. ‘M sure he’ll do that once he sees you.”
“Oh.” You felt your face flush, and you suddenly started toying with your hair. You should be creeped out by this, but your heart soars. Somebody is here to see you. “Is he cute?”
“Decent, I guess,” Melanie said with a sigh, glancing at your nervous hands. “You look fine. Just go get his order before he sits here all day looking sad again.”
You rolled your eyes, dropping your hands. “Are you sure-”
“Just go,” Melanie laughed, giving you a playful push out of the kitchen.
He was standing at the counter, his neck hardly craned to see the menu above him. Your heart dropped to your stomach, the sour ache in your chest coming back with a vengeance.
“Remus,” you tried to say, breathier than you wanted. Shit.
“Hiya,” he said. He hardly looked at you, his eyes focused on the menu. “I’m having trouble picking something to order...”
He was so nonchalant, it made your heart ache. His hair was slicked back, like he had just woken up and showered, which was a high possibility since it was only noon. A leather bomber jacket hid a green button up and brown corduroys. He was smiling at you as he stuck his hands in his pockets.
“What’s your favorite drink?” He asked, bringing you back into the conversation. “The other girl just kept giving me black coffee.”
“Melanie has poor taste,” you mumbled, flushing as you looked away from him. “Chocolate?”
“Huh?”
“Do you like chocolate?” You asked.
“I love chocolate,” he said, smiling.
You nodded, silently turning on your heel to start working on his drink.
Your mind, however, was anything but. You were racking your brain on what to say to him. Do you bring it up? Do you invite him over? You could tell Melanie that you needed to take a break, but you just got there, and she would flip her lid. You knew you were going to need the break after the lunch rush. Prepping a conversation failed you last time, and this time, you just needed to wing it. 
You sighed, losing a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding in, as you shaved chocolate over top of the whipped cream topping. You turned around, presenting the drink with a smile, ignoring the way your hands started shaking.
“Sweet lord,” Remus mumbled, his hand outstretched. “How much do I owe you?”
You handed him the cup, your fingers brushing as he busied his other hand with cash.
“‘S on the house,” you said quietly, your eyes not leaving where his fingers grazed yours. “Don’t tell me that you’ve been paying for Melanie’s black coffee all week.”
“Ahh, so she told you?” Remus asked, his brow quirked. “You probably think I’m creepy-”
“Endearing?” You finished his sentence before his lips even formed the ‘c,’ “Look, Remus-” Your heartbeat quickened. This was it. It’s happening.
“I’m all ears,” he said, grabbing your hand lightly before the bell ringing above the door distracted you.
“Hi! I’ll be right with you!” You greeted the old woman before locking eyes with Remus. “I’m off at eight,” you said, your voice wavering with nerves
A ding of the bell at the counter this time caught Remus’ attention now, making him glance over.
“Just a second, alright?” You tried to sound sweet, tightly smiling at her. You looked back at Remus, squeezing his hand lightly. “Come back-”
The woman dinged the bell impatiently, and Remus huffed, looking at her. “We’re in the middle of a conversation! Just wait a second!” He snapped, his attention back on you immediately. “I’ll walk you home, yeah?”
Your heart skipped a beat as you nodded. “I’ll see you then.”
“I’ll be here at eight sharp,” he said as the bell rang again. “Better deal with her,” he mumbled, dropping your hand as he backed away from the counter.
“Right,” you half laughed, rolling your eyes with a smile. “Work.” They dinged the bell again, clearing their throat. “I’m coming!” You huffed, throwing a brief smile to Remus before attending to the impatient customer.
“Sorry, we’re closed!” You called, your back turned toward the dinging door as you wiped down the counter.
“Damnit,” you heard him hiss. “I wanted one of those… whatever you made me this morning.”
You turned around, finding Remus at the counter clutching a bouquet of sunflowers.
“A cafe mocha.” Your voice was breathy just like this morning, and your cheeks turned pink as he set the sunflowers down on the counter.
“Should probably get those in some water,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “They didn’t like the cold.”
You grabbed the bouquet, plucking off a dried petal. “Where’d you get them?”
Remus shrugged, a smile playing at his lips. “I know a really good florist.”
You nodded quietly, understanding what he meant as you grabbed a large coffee cup, filling it with water. “Make yourself at home,” you said, busying yourself with the bouquet. “I still have to put a few things away… Wipe down a few surfaces. It’ll take me five minutes tops.”
Remus nodded, his hands still in his pockets as he turned on his heel, perusing his way toward the bookshelves near the front of the cafe.
Rather than getting to the work that you had, you watched him.
His long, slender fingers grazed the books as he looked at them, taking his time to look at each spine. He gasped quietly to himself, pulling the book from the shelf.
“Do you mind?” He asked as if he knew you were looking at him, holding up a book.
“As long as you bring it back,” you replied, instantly getting back to work to hide your reddened cheeks.
“I’ll probably be back here tomorrow,” he said, slipping the book in his pocket. “If you’ll have me.”
“Oh, I’d have you anytime,” you replied, glancing up at him to catch him staring and smiling softly. Your heart clenched as you cleared your throat. “What book did you pick?”
“The Shining by Stephen King.” Remus made his way back to the counter, watching you as you put dishes away. “Have you read it?” You nodded, finishing up. “Was it any good?”
“Do you want to know what it’s about?” You asked, facing him as he nodded. You smiled, undoing your apron. “Alright. I’ll tell you all about it.”
“So Danny can see these people?” Remus asked, clutching the book to his chest as he kept up with you on the quick walk.
“Well, they’re ghosts,” you laughed at his reaction. “They aren’t real-”
“Ghosts are very much real,” he said, his eyebrows raised. “I’ve seen them.”
“Well in this case, Danny sees them in his head,” you explained. “It’s the shine.”
“Ahh, I love it when the book title works its way into the story,” Remus sighed, smiling as you slowed. “Is this you?”
You nodded. “This is me,” you confirmed, looking down at the cup of flowers. “You uh-”
“I’ll see you around,” he said quietly, squeezing your elbow.
“You can come up.” You swallowed the nervous lump in your throat. “Uh- If you want?”
Remus seemed to stand straighter. “I would love that.”
You smiled, pushing open the complex door, holding it for him to duck inside.
He followed you closely up the stairs, his hands in his pockets. You focused on your feet, knowing that if you didn’t, you’d surely trip. Your brain was screaming, but you kept quiet, the burning in your chest coming back.
You made it to your flat, and you fumbled with the keys, unlocking your door and shuffled inside, Remus in tow.
Closing the door you sighed. “Did you give me a love potion?” You asked candidly, setting the flowers on the counter.
“What?” Remus was still at the door, toeing off his shoes.
“At the wedding?” You could feel your face flushing, feeling stupid, but continuing on anyway. “You gave me a potion you called a sober-up potion… Was it actually-”
“Love potions are very unstable,” he said quietly. “Why would you think that I’d give you one?”
You shrugged. “It’s an easier explanation than what’s really going on.”
“And that is?”
“I think I’ve fallen in love with you,” you admitted quietly. “That’s stupid, right?”
“I don��t think that’s stupid,” Remus quietly cooed. “I really like you,” he started, his hand now on your shoulder. “I don’t reckon you heard that at the pub even though I told you thrice.”
“Still?” You guffawed when he nodded matter-of-factly. “Remus, I don’t think if you’re remembering right, but I was a c-”
“You should really listen,” he reminded you, his tone lilting. You stopped, crossing your arms over your chest. He took a step away from you, leaning on the counter across from you. “You were looking at the moon. Saying how you preferred the sun more because without it, the moon would just be another dark rock. That made me think, you know? Would I be just a dark rock without you someday? Could I ever get so lucky?”
Your heart clenched at his words, but he continued, ignoring the way your eyebrows pinched together as you nodded.
“Sunflowers,” he said, nodding at the bouquet in its coffee cup vase. “They reminded me of you. They represent sunshine, you know.”
You felt like crying. You felt like kissing him and never stopping. Nobody had ever been this kind, this open, with you before. You swallowed, looking away from him.
“I got full body chills when I caught you looking at me at Lily’s wedding. I thought, ‘I need to buck up and talk to him.’ Then you talked to me while I was reeling over how handsome you are,” you said quietly.
Remus shook his head softly. “You’re just saying-”
“No,” you said, cutting him off. “It’s your turn to listen.”
He conceded, hands going up in quiet allowance for you to continue. You sighed, tucking your hair behind your ears.
“I regretted going to the pub because you were there, and you felt different. Like… like the one that got away.” It was like word-vomit. Once you started, you just couldn’t stop, so you continued. “The one that didn’t want me, and I’m so desperate for someone to want me that I start to get angry. I want to be wanted, you know? And I was terrified, Remus, because I love you, and it seemed like you wanted nothing to do with me. A-and now, I just can’t believe that someone like you would want something like me.
“Someone who yelled at you for a misunderstanding. Someone who opens her stupid mouth and ruins absolutely everything.” You hadn’t realized that you started crying until you paused to take a breath, sniffling up tears instead. “Someone who isn’t magic- God, I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, hey,” he said, crossing to where you were standing. Slightly crouching, he held your arms, thumbs brushing your biceps lightly. “None of that matters,” he cooed. “I was never mad. A little confused, but hey, aren’t we all?”
You let out a wet chuckle, shrugging. “I suppose.”
“I want you, okay?” He said, cupping your cheeks. “I want you.”
Remus leaned in, eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes as if waiting for your approval. You met him halfway, capturing his lips in yours in a soft kiss. Your heart clenched as you pushed closer to him, hands meeting his stubbly jaw before he pulled away.
“I love you, and you are wanted, alright? Don’t you ever forget that,” he reassured you, smiling.
You nodded. “Okay,” your voice came out raspy, causing you to flush. “Could we do that again?”
“Oh, I’d have you anytime, love,” he said. “Anytime.”
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prettypiscesgal · 1 year
Text
Just call my name - Din Djarin
Summary: After Mando suffers a head injury, you’re quick to go help, even though he denies he needs it
Warnings: none
Listen while reading:
Ain’t no mountain high enough - Marvin Gaye, Tammi Terrell
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“Mando!” You shout, watching him lay on the ground, groaning in pain, his head was lolling back and forth as if trying to keep himself conscious.
He managed to take down the bounty, but not without taking a few blows. You watched as he collapsed on the floor once he completed the bounty. Now, you were sprinting towards him.
“Mando.” You say, collapsing on your knees beside him and shaking his shoulders. “Come on, time to get up. The kid has been whining for you.” You say, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and helping him up.
He groans as you bring him to his feet before he pushes away from you, “M’fine.” He gruffly replies, straightening himself out.
You scoff at him. He always just wants to seem so tough. You know he took a hard blow to the head, you only hope it’s not too bad. You don’t know how to treat it when you couldn’t take off his helmet. “Mando.. You’re stumbling around. Just let me help.”
“N-no, it’s fine.” He stutters out, stumbling towards the ship. “Just need to take a lil nap..”
He sounds drunk and you’re nervous. Why’d he always have to be so stubborn? “Mando, you’re not fine. And you can’t go to sleep, you could have a concussion.”
“Pfft. Concussion? Nuh-uh” You almost want to laugh at how he tipsy he sounds. He turns around to look at you, motioning to himself, “I’m in perfect condition.”
“Really?” You cross your arms, raising your eyebrows.
“Yes. Watch.” He does a couple spins, as if that is supposed to prove anything. Then, he begins to fall toward, catching himself as you reach out, ready to catch him.
He giggles to himself and now you’re really concerned. Tired of his antics, you grab his hand and drag him towards the ship. He stumbles messily behind you, trying to keep up as you drag him.
Stepping onto the ship, you throw him into a chair and go search through the medicine cabinet. The most you can do is find some pills for him to take. You hear a soft cooing and turn around to find Mando on his stomach, feet kicking in the air and he plays with the kid.
“Aww, you’re so cute aren’t you?” He whispers to the little child, rubbing his ears as it happily coos.
You smile to yourself, pulling Mando up by his cape and plopping him back into the chair. Him and the child both whine at the fact you have broken them apart.
“Okay, I found some medicine I need you to take. It’s our best option. Do you have any other injuries?” You asks, wanting know if there is something you can treat without breaking his creed.
“No, ma’am.” He replies, you can hear the smile in his voice and if makes you flush.
“I’ll leave you alone to take it then. Do not fall asleep.” You point a stern finger at him. He nods once in reply.
You pick up the child on your way out, glancing back one more time before climbing into the cockpit. You hear him mutter what sounded like, “Night, mesh’la.”
-
“Mando?” You call out. No response.
You curse as you climb down from the cockpit. You hope he isn’t asleep, but you know deep down he probably is. You just hope his helmet is still on.
You thank Maker when you find him passed out, helmet still on, but at least the medicine is gone. You smile softly, walking over and shaking him.
“Mando?” You whisper, “C’mon, time to get up.”
He groans, shaking his head in protest before turning to look at you. You give him a soft smile, thankful that he isn’t dead.
“How’re you feeling?” You ask.
“Better.” He grumbles, seeming like his old self again, “Sorry about..”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s quite funny to see the big bad Mandalorian giggling and spinning around.”
He lets out an embarrassed chuckle and you know if you could see his face he would be beet red. “Yeah..”
“I’ll go get you some water.” You say, starting to walk away before a hand grabs onto you.
“Thank you.” He says softly, the softest you’ve ever heard him say anything. Your whole face flushes at the sudden intimacy.
“You’re welcome, Mando.” You mutter back at him sheepishly, eyes trained on his helmet as if you could see his eyes from underneath it.
“Din.” He replies.
“Gesundheit.” You reply, turning to leave again and he chuckles.
“No. Din. That’s my name.” You turn back to him in shock.
“What?” You gasp, running back over to him as he stands up on wobbly knees.
“Mando, why would you tell me that?” You rush out nervously, “Is that breaking your creed-”
“Shh.” He replies, cutting you off as he holds your arms, trying to calm you down. “Don’t worry about it, mesh’la”
“You said that last night.”
“Said what?”
“Mesh’la.” You murmur, looking up at his helmet and seeing your reflection in it, “What does it mean?”
He goes silent, just staring down at you. The only sense you have that he hasn’t knocked out again is his hands, which are now brushing down your arm to hold your hands in his. You look down at the gesture with a blushing face.
“Beautiful.” He finally speaks and it catches you offguard.
“Huh?”
“It means beautiful.” He admits, bringing your hand up to his helmet and holding it against where his cheek would be, sighing as if he could feel the touch.
“Are you sure you’re not shitting me and it actually means dickwad or something?” You whisper and smile brightly when you’re met with a deep chuckle.
“I would never lie about something like that.” He whispers in reply and you feel your face heat up. “You’re a little red. You alright?”
You can hear the teasing in his voice and you roll your eyes at him, “Fuck you, Din.”
“Not what I expected to hear when you first said my name, but it still sounds so good coming from you.” He admits and you’re not sure you could get anymore red.
“You know, you should get a concussion more often. It makes you such a romantic.” You tease him and he laughs, bringing his forehead to rest against yours, the cool metal a harsh contrast against your burning skin.
“As long as you take care of me after.”
“You know I always will. Just call my name, Din.”
“I always will, Y/N.”
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Would I be the asshole if I didn't take my girlfriend to a family christening because of her tourettes?
My girlfriend and I are both 19F.
My brother's new baby is being christened next week. Everyone's partners are invited and after the actual christening itself there's going to be a reception that's essentially just a normal family party. My family aren't homophobic, they love my girlfriend and have no problems with me dating girls. There's no question about her being invited to the after party, she is 100% invited to that, it's just the actual christening that's what I'm worried about.
The problem is that my girlfriend has a specific tic that would really disrupt the christening. Essentially, the tic is that she shouts "Jesus is a pedophile" and smacks her chest hard just below her left collar bone. It's a very unpleasant tic for her both because she's in a lot of pain from it (she's really bruised in the area it makes her smack), and because we live in quite a religious area and it has not gone down well in public.
I know my sister-in-law wants to have the baptism on film and I don't know what her reaction would be if my girlfriend ticced like that during the actual baptism, but she has a short temper and I don't think it would be a good reaction. I know my girlfriend would die of embarrassment if that tic was forever caught in the video of the christening too.
However, I feel really uncomfortable with the idea of leaving her out over her uncontrollable disability. Like that's really shitty, and I don't want to be another person to treat her differently because of the tourettes. She's self conscious enough about them without adding this. Plus, this isn't her only tic. Her most common tic doesn't involve speaking, so we could risk it and just hope the pedophile tic doesn't come up.
I really don't know what to do
What are these acronyms?
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ash-says · 20 days
Text
Hello dear ladies. I am back in the town with my rants again cause where's a girl gonna go in this patriarchy world to shout her opinions. Plus can't run the risk of letting them in on the game. What's the fun in that??
Anyways, first of all Happy Women's Day!!!!
Happy Mahashivratri ✨✨✨
As today is an auspicious day both internationally and personally for me religiously maybe I will talk about some deep stuff.
Let's get into it. Shall we??
1) Get a belief system. I can't stress enough on this for the love of God. I was listening to a podcast this morning and the host made a really nice analogy that I would like to share with you all. He said that we all have an immense amount of love in us that we want to shower and that's one of the reasons why we so desperately look for partnerships especially romantic ones and we are highly affected by break-up. But when you submit all your love and pain to god the equation changes. Because it's difficult to have earthly expectations towards God and the shift starts there.
Story time ->
I personally found it way easier to love God. Once you start turning in to him you realize how selfless your love can be. But the main reason that struck me was when you love people you are restricted. Let's be honest today's dating scene is the worst you can't express how you feel and for a person like me who has intense emotions it's suffocating and that's where God comes in picture because I just submit my love, struggles and suffocation to him and he is there all the while with me silently witnessing the upheaval without any judgement. That allows me to tap deeper into my issues, understand the roots, look at them from both emotional and logical angles and then detach from it as the supreme being is now in control of the situation.
So on this occasion I beg you ladies to fix your relationship with God. You will thank me later for sure.
2) Be Loud. Be Bold. Be Audacious. Take up space. Unapologetically. Don't let other people feel comfortable in making you uncomfortable. Nope. We do it the other way around here. They should know better than making you uncomfortable.
If there's something I am really proud of myself for at least 90% times is that I never let anyone make me uncomfortable. I have time and again consciously worked on it to make it a second nature to me.
Nobody is born outspoken. It's the situation and the person's decision, self will that makes them like that. So when anyone tries to put me down subtly even if it isn't registered in my conscious brain my subconscious answers it befittingly without my notice. Then I realise what actually happened.
Strive to make offense your second nature. Defense is first mixed in with kindness. Practise it consciously until it becomes a muscle memory.
Ending note: Be insufferable in public and a soft girl in private. That's how you even it out. Wail like a child in front of God but move like a queen among humans.
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archer-fb · 9 months
Text
I promise to be there through thick and thin
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Bakugou hurt/comfort fic
A/N - sorry guys if this is bad I haven't written in a while, but in a bad headspace so here we are
tw - please read the warnings <3 - suicidal thoughts, self-conscious, self-harm, negative thoughts, tons of crying, depression, self-hatred, body issues, self-doubt, the feeling of never being good enough/useless/hopeless, I think that's it? but please proceed with some caution. also established relationship with Bakugou
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You don't know if this day can get any worse, you missed your alarm, you were late to class, you did horrible in training, and your grades were dropping.
"Y/n", Aizawa said, "your grades are slipping. I know you can do better, is there something happening with your home life? You know you can talk to me. Whatever is going on, try and get it together."
"Yes, sensei," you said. You bowed and left to head back to the dorms. It's been like this for the past month, no one really notices. It hurts. You don't know what to do anymore. You just feel so hopeless and useless, like you're doing enough for the people around you.
Once you reach the dorms Mina greets, "Hey Y/n! You want some of the soba the Todoroki made? I can warm you up-" You cut her off and say, "No thanks, I'm feeling really tired. I think I'm just gonna head to my room. You dashed to the elevator before you could say anything.
Bakugou saw you running to the elevator nearly in tears, he could tell you were breaking during your conversation with Pinky. He makes a mental note to check on you before he goes to bed.
By the time you get to your room you're already in tears and on the verge of breaking down. "Why can't I just be good enough!" you say to yourself. "Why am I so useless, I'm not doing nearly enough anymore. My grades are slipping, I'm on the verge of relapsing, and you can't do anything right!"
You stare at yourself in the mirror feeling disgusted with yourself, you say your thighs are too fat, you have a muffin top, you're fully of ugly acne, and think you'll never be as pretty as the other girls in your class. The more you look at yourself, the bigger the urge you're starting to get to cut yourself. You swore you would never go back to this, but you can't do it anymore.
You sit on the floor leaning against your bed crying so much, you found your old razor. It still has some dried blood on it from long ago. You look at your thighs seeing your old scars. You somehow start to cry even more as you start to make light cuts on your inner thighs, not enough to cause severe harm, but enough to bleed quite a bit.
Just as you're about to make another cut you hear Katsuki knocking on your door. "Sparks? You on there? You didn't eat dinner and came back late. Are you okay?" You stay silent, you then realize you forgot to lock your door, before you have the time to panic you hear Katsuki shout, "Y/n! I'm coming in there, I'm worried about you, Sparks."
He barges in seeing you on the floor crying as you cut your thighs, you break down even more as you start to see Katsuki tear up. "Y/n... Little Spark, what happened? Are you okay? Please talk to me," he says.
"I- I-it's so hard Katsuki, I can barely make it out of bed in the morning. My grades are slipping, I'm getting worse in a training, I look so ugly, and I'm not a good enough partner," you say through tears and hiccups.
He dashes over to you and holds you saying, "Little Spark, you're more than enough in my eyes, you're prettiest person I have ever laid eyes on. You are better than any partner I could hope for, you're so strong and smart, you are such a kind person always helping when you can. It's another reason I fell in love you, Y/n. You're the best thing that has ever happened to me." As he says this he starts crying and petting your head and rocking you.
"Suki, I don't know if I can do this anymore, it's so hard and beginning to be too much. Everyday I'm hurting and dreading the next day, I feel like everyone would be better off if I was never hear," you say through broken sobs.
"Little Spark," he starts to say, "I know I speak for everyone in our class when I say we'd be miserable without you. You're always there for me and everyone else. I'm always here for you always, all of class 1a is."
"You mean that?" I say as I finally stop crying. "Of course I mean that, with my whole heart. And you already know I don't say things I don't mean," he says staring into my eyes like we're we're the only two people to exist.
"I'm sorry I'm like this, and I'm sorry I'm broken..." You saying staring at the floor. "Spark," he says grabbing your chin so you are looking at him, "You don't need to apologize for any of that, no matter what you're like I will always love you and be here for you. Now why don't we bandage you up and snuggle together.
You sigh and say, "Okay, I'd like that, I love you so much suki." I know you do Little Spark, I love you more though," with a big smirk plastered on his face.
after Katsuki helps you clean up and bandages up your thighs
While cuddling Katsuki starts saying, "I promise to be there through thick and thin for you, Little Spark. Forever and always." "You really mean that?" I say looking up at it. "Of course I mean I promise with my whole heart, he says staring back at you.
"Pinky promise?" you ask him.
"I pinky promise. Now sleep, Little Spark, I'll stay with you all night. You asleep in his arms with a smile on your face feeling so much better.
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I hope you guys liked this! and if not I'm sorry <3 But thanks for reading everyone!
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anonymityisfunwriter · 9 months
Note
I'm so in love with your stories, especially the Grumpy Sunshine Series got me🤩 so I got a request for it, hope like it.
Could you write a sick Sunshine fic, with Bucky being his grumpy self :D after a mission went not as good as planed, leaving Sunshine being thrown into a nearly frozen lake, they are now back at home. Bucky is pissed making Sunshine responsible for the difficulties they had at the mission, when in fact he's only pissed that got thrown into thr cold lake being hurt. Sunshine is slowly feeling ill, getting worse with the hours. Deathly pale with a raging fever she stumbles out of her bedroom searching for help in her semi conscious state...
She ends up having a severe pneumonia and Bucky and the guys worriedly taking care of her. Bucky regretting is cruel behavior towards to and not noticing you feeling this sick.
I really hope you like it, you wonderful writer
If I had a nickel for every time that Sunshine gets hypothermia in this series, I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but it is strange that it happened twice. 😂
Listen, I love this. I love this so much. I'm very sorry that this took so long, but I wanted to get it right. I hope you love it and thank you so, so much for the request! 💛
(seriously guys, never stop sending me requests, they're so much fun)
Pairing: Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader Part of The Grumpy x Sunshine Series
Bleeding Time
Hours.
Minutes.
Seconds.
Bucky knew how important every one of them was.
Time was a commodity, the most valuable of resources. A luxury not offered to many.
It was so fleeting.
He knew that. He knew it well.
Bleeding time was the most fatal of injuries. Hemorrhaging seconds was lethal. Allowing minutes to slip through your fingers like the sands of time was deadly.
So there he stands, raking through his mind, trying to figure out how long he'd left you to bleed?
As he stands in a hospital room, listening to the doctor talk and overwhelm him with questions, he can't help but wonder how he squandered so much of that precious time.
"Mr. Barnes?"
"Yes," Bucky immediately responds, his eyes snapping back to the doctor. "Yes, I was with her the whole day. I can tell you what happened."
"The more we know, the better we can determine what course of action to take."
"Of course," Bucky agrees, a hollow look on his face as he stands at the foot of your hospital bed. "I remember every minute of it."
He remembers every hour, every minute, every second of it.
And he remembers wasting every single one of them.
--
The first minute was probably the most terrifying minute of his life. He'd faced life and death before, but this wasn't his life hanging in the balance.
It was yours.
"I regret everything!" you shout, holding onto the landing bar of the helicopter for dear life. "I regret it all!"
"Tell me you are not on that helicopter!" Bucky demands, hearing the commotion from your unmuted comms.
"Joke's on you, I'm not on the helicopter!" you triumphantly exclaim, dangling from the landing bar hundreds of feet in the air.
Before Bucky can breathe a sigh of relief that you weren't aboard an enemy helicopter, you finish your sentence, "I'm hanging from the helicopter."
"What?" Bucky bellows. "That was not part of the plan! What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking, hey, the files that we needed are on the helicopter. I'm watching it take off," you audibly walk him through your impulsive thought process. "Hey, I should go after it. And now, I'm winging everything else."
From there, all Bucky can hear is a chaotic cacophony of sounds. He assumes it's a general struggle as you try to pull yourself aboard a helicopter full of HYDRA agents who probably wouldn't be the most welcoming to you.
"Sam? Do you have visual?" Bucky curtly asks.
"Every time I try I keep getting coming under heavy fire. Can't get up there long enough to see what's happening," Sam explains, doing his best to weave through the thick forest surrounding the HYDRA base. Every time he soared high, bullets were immediately trying to shoot him down.
"I need someone to take out those guns," Bucky orders whatever available SHIELD agent is closest. "We need to see what's happening!"
"On it, Sergeant," an agent whose name keeps evading Bucky's mind responds.
"She's on the helicopter, Buck!" Sam calls, only able to pop up from the tree line for a short moment before he has to duck back down for cover.
Bucky hears your muffled voice come through the comms again, "If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me!"
"I'm trying to get down to the shoreline as quickly as I can," Bucky states, sprinting as quickly as he can from the base.
It was five miles, but even as a super soldier, that meant it would take at least another five minutes before anyone could even try to help you.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!" you prattle to the HYDRA agent. "Did not mean to do -"
"Doll?" Bucky shouts when your voice cuts out.
Sam, without much regard for his own safety, pops up from the tree line again, "Oh my God..."
"What?" Bucky frantically demands.
"They're both hanging now. She's holding on and he's got her leg," Sam quickly rattles off. Before whispering in horror, "He's gonna take her down with him."
"Let go," you yell, your words punctuated by desperate thrashing of your legs as you once again dangle from the helicopter. "I don't have the upper body strength for this!"
"Just hang on!" Sam shouts, dodging the bullets that rain down on him. "I'm on my way!"
"I'm trying!" you cry.
Sam immediately sees that you're fighting a losing battle. Your grip is slipping from the landing bar, your fingertips straining to hold both yourself and a tenacious HYDRA agent up.
Bucky didn't really know what it was from: Sam getting clipped in the arm from another flurry of bullets or the fact that Sam had a front row seat to his best friend fall hundreds of feet into a icy lake, but Bucky had never heard such a bloodcurdling scream come from Sam until the moment your grip failed you and you fell.
Minute 1
"What just happened?!" Bucky desperately screams. "Sam, what just happened?!"
"She fell, they both fell into the lake," Sam panics, still soaring through the sky to get to you as quickly as he can.
"Do you see her? Sam, tell me you see her!" Bucky demands.
"No! No! I can't see anything. The water isn't clear enough, there's ice everywhere!" Sam scans over the lake, looking through the general area of where you fell as quickly as you can.
The dark blue, murky waters are unforgiving.
Thin sheets of ice float along the restless waves.
There's no sign of you anywhere.
"Sam!" Bucky screams.
Minute 2
That second minute started much like the first one. His heart raced as ice flowed through his veins. He pushed himself to run even faster, faster than he'd ever ran in his life and it still wasn't enough.
"Sam!"
"I'm trying! I can't see anything!"
Bucky feels like he can't breathe, his heart aches, yet races faster than he's ever felt it.
He couldn't imagine this being the end for you. He wouldn't accept that. He'd search every inch of that lake until you were found if he had to.
This couldn't be it.
He can almost see the shoreline through the forest. He's almost there.
But it's been over a minute. You've gone more than an entire minute without oxygen. That's the average a person could last underwater, he knows.
He pushes himself even harder, his muscles on fire as he forces himself to run faster and faster.
Just as you hit that two minute mark, Sam shouts, "She broke through. I see her!"
Minute 4
There was so much commotion happening over the next two minutes that it all just felt like static in Bucky's ear.
"I've got her," Sam exhaustedly pants, "She's alright. I got her."
Bucky clutches his chest, practically doubling over in relief. He stands on the shoreline, watching as Sam fishes you from an icy lake.
"She's okay," Sam repeats, wincing as you violently cough and sputter out lake water. "I got her."
It didn't take much more than the visual of Sam pulling you out of a frozen lake for Bucky to call this mission an epic failure.
The flash drive containing the names of HYDRA operatives was gone with the man who'd fallen into the lake with you.
The computers were all destroyed.
The base was in ruins with any and all records completely destroyed.
The love of his life had almost died for nothing, a life nearly thrown away in complete vain.
It was a disaster.
It was his disaster.
As mission leader, this was Bucky's mess.
The warm relief that overtook him, steeled itself, burning to a degree far beyond comfort, boiling over into white hot rage.
Minute 14
It took an almost ten minute trek in the icy Siberian forest to get back to the Quinjet.
In that time, Bucky's rage took over.
With each passing minute, he ruminated, allowing his anger to stew just above a raging boil. You always were so careless with your life. So willing to push past your limits, so willing to put yourself in danger.
But this, this was too much. This time you'd gone too far.
How long before your antics became more than even you could handle?
And what was he supposed to do when that day came? How could he ever come to accept a world without you because of you? What would he ever do if he had to live in a world where there was no you? You weren't tempting fate in Bucky's mind, you were taunting it, begging fate to take you away from him.
Bucky doesn't stop to remind himself that you're okay or that he was working himself into a blind rage over hypotheticals and worse case scenarios.
He barked orders at anyone that had the displeasure of getting in his way.
You kept quiet, still soaking wet in your mission gear. You and Sam walked side by side, uncharacteristically quiet as you fled the enemy territory without a single victory.
A part of you felt awful, you knew you were part of the reason things became so chaotic with the way you strayed so far from the plan.
"I cannot fucking believe this!" Bucky fumes in the Quinjet, pacing back and forth as your team, batter, bruised, and some pretty seriously injured, slink up the ramp. "What the hell happened out there?"
Everyone remains quiet, tensed and ready for the ugly lecture you were all going to get for today's disaster.
It was always difficult when a mission went awry, but with Bucky acting as mission leader today, you knew he was going to be even more upset.
You knew this assignment meant a lot to him. This one was high risk, but also high reward.
The names of old HYDRA operatives that were allegedly living amongst the general population.
It meant a lot to him, still, you really didn't expect him to take it out on everyone aboard.
Especially not when everyone was still tending to their wounds, not while everyone was still rattled, battered and bruised.
Apparently, that didn't matter.
Apparently, it didn't change that Bucky was on a warpath.
Minute 16
"Here, let me wrap this for you. It looks pretty bad," you offer to Sam, sitting down on the seat next to him to fix the nasty bullet graze down his arm.
"Maybe you should change first," Sam suggests, shying away from the frosty feeling of your fingertips on his skin, "It was a long walk back, you've got to be freezing."
You were, but as you look around the jet to your other team mates, you decide that you're the least injured of everyone.
At least, the least visibly injured.
After all, what were some wet clothes when your best friend was clipped by a bullet, when your team mates were nursing broken bones, knife wounds, and other awful injuries.
"I didn't bring a change of clothes, I wasn't exactly planning on going for a swim today," you dryly remark, opening the first aid kit.
"You really should go change out of those wet clothes," Sam insists.
"I'm fine, Sam. You're the one dripping blood everywhere," you remind him, a hint of a chuckle threaded in your words, ignoring the involuntary shivers now wracking up and down your arms.
"Don't even get me started on you two," Bucky suddenly lectures you and Sam, startling both of you. You mostly ignore Bucky as you wry to clean Sam's wound. You tried not to take his anger personally, he had every right to be upset. You just never thought he would be so casually cruel about it, "You were both irresponsible, reckless, impulsive. I don't have enough adjectives to describe the shit you two pulled today- "
"Will you ease up?" you shoot back, fed up with the name calling. "We did our best!"
"Your best?" Bucky dismissively scoffs. He angrily fumes, "That was your best? Getting dumped into a freezing lake and needing Sam to rescue you is your best?"
There was often this misconception about you and Bucky. It wasn't entirely unfounded and not entirely untrue.
The misconception was that you didn't fight.
It was somewhat true.
In your personal lives, you two rarely fought. You were both very well suited to each other. You both balanced each other out.
But working with your significant other was hard.
And working with your significant other when you were both working high risk missions and assignments that constantly put your lives on the line, paired with completely different personalities was even harder.
There was an agreement between the two of you that your work and personal lives had to remain separate.
Your work and personal lives were neatly compartmentalized and mostly left at the door.
But, that also meant, that on an occasion or two, you and Bucky would get into a fight or two at work.
Sometimes, you felt like Bucky was too harsh, too abrasive, too unwilling to compromise or make amendments to his stringent plans.
Sometimes, Bucky thought that you were too impulsive, too willing to march to the beat of your own drum.
Unlike some of your team mates, you weren't scared of Bucky. You weren't afraid to stand up to him when you felt like his temper was getting the best of him. Sometimes, it worked and it would snap Bucky out of his mood.
Today, it made things much worse. 
"Oh, no," Sam worriedly sighs.
You abruptly stand up, bitterly chuckling in disbelief, "Are you implying that what happened was my fault?"
"Maybe we should all just -" Sam tries to interject, holding the gauze to his arm.
"Stay out of it!" you both shout at Sam.
With wide eyes, Sam slumps down in his seat, "Alrighty, then."
"I wasn't implying it," Bucky snarks back.
You scoff, "Please tell me you're joking!"
"If the shoe fits," Bucky retorts. "Funny, how you're the only one that didn't stick to the plan."
"Don't say it, don't say it,' Sam whispers to himself.
"Maybe if you hadn't rushed into today, we would have known what was waiting for us!" you accuse. 
"And you said it," Sam quietly groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as he further shrinks down in his seat.
"I'm done with this conversation," Bucky seethes. "You can take it up with Tony and Fury."
"Fine!"
"Fine," Bucky grimaces, storming away from you.
Minute 18
"You're shaking," Sam worriedly comments as you finish bandaging up the gash on his arm.
"With rage."
Sam rolls his eyes as you glare at the back of Bucky's head, "I'm serious. That lake was practically frozen. It's been almost twenty minutes, you're gonna get sick."
"I'm fine, Sam."
"If you're not going to go change, can you at least go sit with Bucky? He's like a human furnace."
You cross your arms over your chest, "I'm not sitting with him after he blamed me for today."
"You're being stubborn," Sam points out. "Please don't make me call him back here."
"Just let me finish this bandage and I'll go find something to change into."
It takes less than a minute for you to finish tying the bandage around Sam's bullet wound.
Minute 20
"You don't look so good," Sam warns when you amble back over to the seat beside him, "I thought you went to go find clothes!"
"I did. I only found this - this thermal blanket," you explain through chattering teeth.
"Those only work if you're still producing body heat!" Sam frantically states. He snatches your hand taking note of the blueish hue forming on the very tips of your fingers and the purplish hue of your lips. "Bucky!"
"Wha-" Bucky's word falters as he watches you huddled up under the thermal blanket. "Jesus, why haven't you changed yet?"
Your breath catches in your throat as you try to speak. The words he's saying go over your head.
You blink up at him, confused.
You keen at the feeling of Bucky's searing hand on your pulse point. You shake your head, trying to focus on why he looks so distressed. You don't like the look on his face. Your eyebrows pull together, upset that you can't pinpoint why he's so upset. 
"Why didn't you say anything?"
Suddenly, it feels like you're back in that lake. With water encasing your ears, you can hardly hear Bucky's frantic pleas to you. As you sink further and further, the light slowly fades away.
His warm hands grip your chin, once again, you sink into his touch, smiling up at him. Your eyelids flutter shut at the comforting feeling surrounding you. He gently shakes your head, tapping at your cheek, "Hey, hey, your heart rate is slowing down, whatever you do, I need you to keep your eyes open, okay?"
Each time you reach out for the surface, it slips just out of your grasp. Bucky's voice pleads with you, but you just keep sinking. Further and further until it's nothing more than a distant echo.
The darkness wraps around you life a warm blanket, it feels so good, so right.
It doesn't matter how much you fight it, it was always a losing battle.
There's no escape as it all goes dark.
Hour 94
The whole time, he refuses to leave your side. His comfort, his well being, it all takes a backseat.
Not because he feels himself drowning in guilt, though that was very much the case, but because fear had not loosened its grip on his heart.
He uses this time sitting beside your motionless body as an opportunity to torment himself. He thinks about all the mistakes he made, all the things he said.
All he can think is that if this was really it, if you didn't make it, his last real words to you would be him shouting at you, blaming you for what happened.
You must've been scared out of your mind. Falling out of a helicopter like that, you must've been terrified. Getting trapped underneath the ice for two minutes. On the trek back to the jet.
And he didn't once ask you if you were okay.
He didn't make sure that you'd changed out of your soaked clothing. He didn't check to make sure you were properly warming up. What kind of partner was that, he asks himself. What kind of boyfriend would let his concern turn into rage and frustration aimed at the person he almost lost?
And now, now, he really was losing you.
You lie there, he holds your hand. It's been that way for almost four days. It felt like his entire world, his entire heart had been torn to shreds.
Your temperature was finally back to normal. When they first brought you in, it was too low. Then, once they'd brought it up, a respiratory infection sent your temperature soaring.
Now, it was back to normal. Bucky could hold your hand and feel your normal warmth. The nurses mostly left him alone, usually tip toeing around him as they checked your vitals over and over again. 
The nurses keep looking at him with a growing pity in their eyes. It's been four days, you've yet to wake up.
Bucky knows what they're thinking. He knows that they see him as the delusional boyfriend convinced that you'll make a miraculous recovery.
He reconciles that there was some truth to that. He did think there was going to be a miraculous recovery.
Those nurses didn't know you. He did. He knew you were a fighter. He internally curses himself for that cliche. He can't bring himself to care. If cliches were all he had, then he would take it.
So he tends to you, all in anticipation for the moment that you wake. Because you will, you will wake up. You'll wake up and he'll beg for forgiveness. He'll beg forever if that's what you want, he just needs you to wake up. 
So he does it all, everything he can and more.
Reads you that book that you've been trying to finish for weeks now.
Fresh flowers by your bedside.
Plays your favorite songs over and over again.
He even made Sam go get your lucky shirt from the Compound. He's never believed that an inanimate object could be lucky, but you did, so he will for you too.
His head rests in your lap, slowly dozing off with your book in his hand, still unfinished.
After days without sleep, he drifts off quickly to a dreamland where you are awake, where you're still holding him, laughing with him. It's a nice reprieve after four days of hell. 
Hour 95
You eyelids flutter, still heavy from exhaustion. Your eyes still closed, you take a breath though your aching lungs beg you not to. You creak open a bleary eye at the incessant beeping from beside you.
The fluorescent lights above you startle you, forcing both eyes open. You immediately look down to Bucky, fast asleep with his light snores filling the room. You smile down at him, resting your head back down on your pillow to avoid waking him. 
Sore muscles and exhaustion still bog you down, but you can't resist gently carding your fingers through Bucky's unruly hair. You quietly chuckle as he keens at the affection, sleepily groaning with a tired smile, "Hmm..."
His eyes whirl open at the sound of your laugh. His head snaps up off your lap and he just stares at you for a moment, not entirely convinced that he isn't still dreaming.
You sleepily sigh, head still back against your pillow, "Are you still mad?"
"Oh my God," he whispers. He surprises you by immediately standing up, sending the backwards. He bends down, carefully avoiding your IV, he kisses your temple, murmuring against your skin, "You're awake. Thank God, you're awake. I'm sorry, so, so, sorry."
You raise your hand, running it over Bucky's stubbly jaw, "Hi."
A laugh of relief bubbles out of his mouth, relishing in the feeling of your warm hand caressing his face, "Hi."
"How long was I out?" you wonder, surprised at Bucky's reaction. 
"Four days."
"Four days?" you squawk.
"You hit the water pretty hard according to the doctor," Bucky begins to explain. "There was some bruising on your ribs and lungs. By the time we got you here, you were severely hypothermic and for the last few days they've been treating you for a respiratory infection."
You humorously snort, "Well, now no one can ever say that I never took one for the team."
"That's not funny," Bucky deadpans, a frown pulling at the corner of his mouth. "You could've died out there. I - You - You almost died out there."
You take his hand, pressing the palm of his hand to your lips, "It's alright. I'm okay."
"No, it's not alright." He fervently shakes his head, anger once again seeps into his words. This time, he's careful to direct that anger at the person that deserves it: himself. He was to blame for this whole mess. "You got hurt, which is bad enough. Even worse, it was all for nothing. You got hurt for nothing."
"It wasn't for nothing," you interject.
Bucky's eyebrows furrow, "What?"
"Do you have the sweater I was wearing?"
"It's right here," Bucky grabs the sweater, all your mission gear in a bag set beside him. "Are you cold? I can get you another blanket, or I can call the nurse - I should call the nurse actually."
You grab his hand, halting him. "I'm fine. Promise."
He hands you your jacket with a puzzled expression, "Then, why-"
You stick your hand in your pocket, fumbling around for a moment, "Here it is."
"What?"
You take your hand out of your pocket, revealing the flash drive to Bucky, "It wasn't for nothing, James."
You truly never ceased to surprise him, Bucky softly gasps, "How did you get that?"
"The HYDRA agent, he dropped it when we hit the water," you sheepishly shrug. "I saw it sinking so I swam down to get it."
Bucky can hardly fathom it.
From what the doctor said, the way you hit the water was enough to do incredible amounts of physical damage. From the amount of time you were down there, they deduced that you'd gotten stuck under a sheet of ice or the hit had rendered you momentarily unconscious. 
Then, there was the icy lake, he knew every second of swimming in that water must've felt like daggers against your skin.
Risking getting caught underneath thick ice, you swam down to save the mission. He can't believe that you actually swam down, “You swam down?”
“I knew how much it meant to you. I saw it and I went for it.”
You extend the thumb drive out to him, “I didn't say anything because I didn’t want to get your hopes up if it didn’t work anymore, but it wasn't for nothing. It was for you.”
He pushes your extended hand away. Instead, pulling you into his crushing embrace, “You mean more to me. So much more.”
Grumpy Sunshine Series AnonymityIsFun Masterlist
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jojojoy1 · 1 year
Note
Hi!! Could you possibly do a Kent X reader where the reader is feeling insecure and Kent helps them?
Kent Fisher x reader
Everyone was going swimming in the lake at the weekend, it's all your friends could talk about. But you weren't as excited. Lately you've been feeling really insecure. Am I as skinny as the other girls? Do I need to work out more? Do I deserve Kent? Those were the questions you asked yourself everyday.
You were sat eating lunch quietly as Enid talked about the new pink swim suit she got.
"Y/N, you okay?" Divina asked, making everyone at the table go silent.
"I'm fine, why?"
"Your just unusually quiet."
You didn't want to lie to your friends, but you also didn't want to talk about how you don't feel like your good or pretty enough to be dating Kent.
"I'm fine, really." No one believed you, but they didn't want to make you uncomfortable by asking more questions.
As everyone went back to their conversations, Kent just watched you quietly picked at your food. His heart broke knowing that you felt like shit and didn't talk to him about it. But he decided to wait for you to be comfortable to tell him how you were feeling.
...
It was Friday, so all of your friends were excited to be going down to the lake tonight. You were sat in class with Divina, Bianca and Yoko.
"I'm probably just gonna were my blue bikini top." Bianca said. You weren't really paying attention as you doodled in your note book.
"Y/N!" You jumped when you heard your name. "What are you gonna wear tonight?" Yoko asked.
"Oh, I'm not going." You said as you went back to your doodling.
"Hold on!" Bianca said as she snatched your notebook away, "What do you mean you're not coming?"
"I'm just not feeling it, y'know" The truth was, you didn't want to wear a swim suit in front of everyone.
"You're coming girl! You've got to!" Bianca said.
"I don't think I even have a swim suit." That was a lie.
"You do." Divina jumped in. "Remember when we went swimming on that week off last term."
"I'll think about it." You said to get them to back off.
...
You were sat in your dorm when you heard a knock. You expected it to be Divina and Bianca wanting to drag you down to the lake.
"GUYS, I REALLY DON'T WANNA GO DOWN TO THE LAKE!" You shouted through the door.
"BABY!" Your heart stopped. You'd been avoiding Kent, feeling like your not pretty enough for him.
You stood up and opened the door. "Babe, what're you doing here?" Kent walked into your dorm and closed the door with his back.
"I wanted to check on you. Divina said you didn't want to come tonight. Are you okay?" He wrapped his hands around your waist, making you feel self-conscious, flinching slightly from the action. You hoped Kent didn't notice, but he did. His hands dropped from your waist. "What's going on, Y/N? Talk to me, please."
"I don't want wear a swim suit in front of everyone." You couldn't look at him. You were too embarrassed and scared of what he was going to say.
"Why? You're beautiful, Y/N." His hands rested on your waist again, this time you didn't flinch away.
"I'm not. I'm ugly and fat."
"You're the most beautiful girl I have even seen, don't forget that. And you are definitely not fat."
"Really?" You stare into his eyes, questioning if he means what he is saying.
"Really." Kent pulled you into a loving kiss, full of sincerity. It was sweet and delicate and his lips were soft against your own. "Now get changed. Everyone's waiting." His forehead rested against yours.
"Okay, fine. I just need to find my swim suit."
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Stray Kids Scenario - You Have No Right ~ Christopher Bang
Post Date: 1st December Content: Angst/Fluff - Chan x Reader Word Count: 2.1K TW?: Best friends to lovers/ Mentions of a toxic relationship/ Mentions of abuse  Summary: Being in a toxic relationship, you’re always in a constant battle. That is until Chan breaks you out of it, but not in the way you’d expect.
~ Scenario Mobile Masterlist                                     Prompt List If you like my stuff and wanna tip, just buy me a coffee!
Prompts: 45 - “Please don’t cry” 118 - “Is this love?” 140 - “I’m not going to leave your side”
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“Where are you going?” Your boyfriend asks you, bitterness on his tongue as you grab your bag, being stopped at the door by him putting his arm out, eyes on you like a hawk as he bites his tongue. 
With a sigh, you pause though you really wanted to push past him and leave him for good. But how could you? You love him, why else would you be in a relationship with him? But you had to admit, the thought of leaving him comes often, more every day. You were tired of being shouted at, controlled, and belittled by the guy. It wasn’t love. It was past that, he was great at the beginning of the relationship but now? You couldn’t even go to sleep without crying to yourself as he scolds you for not even doing his laundry, raising a hand a few times at you. 
Forcing a smile, you look at him, trying to hold back from shouting at him as you don’t want to drop to his level, “I’m going over to the boys’ flat, they’ve invited me over for pizza night. I shouldn’t be too long, I promise.” You hesitate to tell him, hands shaking with pure anxiety, that he would force you to stay home. He didn’t look pleased, to say the least.
“I don’t want you going,” He growls, going to grab your bag but you move quickly enough, out of reach of him. Looking him dead in the eye, you let yourself bite at him, “I’m going over, I haven’t seen them in ages. They’re my best friends, Han and Felix since childhood for goodness sake. You know this”. 
With an ounce of confidence, you push past him, reaching for your keys as you go to walk out of the door, being stopped in your tracks when a hand is placed on your back. “I’m coming, can’t have anyone taking their chances on you,” His tone stayed the same, making you shiver as you smile and nod just to avoid the conflict. He knows they wouldn’t do anything to you, but he would not let you out of his sight, he always has to be with you to make sure that you’re not doing anything you shouldn’t. 
Self-conscious, controlling, and manipulative, that’s what he was, and you couldn’t wait to find a way out when you could. Though the thought of leaving him scared you - wondering what length he would go to make sure you suffer even after cutting him off - you couldn’t cope another moment with him. 
For the entire car ride, his hand’s glued to yours, his hand never leaves yours. If he wasn’t holding your hand, he has an arm around your shoulders or around your waist. Even when you’re walking up to their apartment, being let in. He’s always got his hand on you in some shape or form.
“Hey Y/N, I didn’t know you were going to bring Jake along?” Felix lets you in, smiling at you, and goes to give you a hug but Jake gets in the way, offering to shake his hand. Trying to think on the spot in a panic, you smile at Jake and then at Felix, “I thought it would be a good chance that you guys properly meet him since you haven’t yet”. 
Felix already doesn’t like him, but smiles at him anyway, shaking his reached-out hand and directing you to the living room. There’s an uproar of cheering when the others see you, welcoming you in then there’s silence. Complete silence when Jake also comes into view. Felix instantly breaks the ice, taking a step in front of him to introduce him, rolling his eyes, and telepathically telling them that he doesn’t trust him at all.
“It’s nice to meet you! Y/N has talked so much about you!” Chan offers his hand to Jake, shaking hands with him as his throat burns with distaste, feeling like he’s been kicked in the stomach since you seemingly looked so happy with him. 
Seeing you with Jake, Chan’s hopes of ever being with you crumble apart, his heart breaking into two. Wishing that it was him in the guy's place. Everyone else knew how much he loves you, and would do anything for you, and the fact that Felix already doesn’t approve, it just makes Chan angry, you deserve so much better. Though he has no clue about what’s going on behind closed doors, he can’t help but get an extremely bad vibe from the guy. 
“We’ve ordered pizza, and don’t worry we’ve got your favourite,” Changbin sings as he does a little dance, holding the pizza place menu in his hands, “Why don’t you guys get comfortable?”. 
With that, Jake pulls you to the two-seater, on purpose. Not wanting to let anyone else sit next to you, arm hanging around you as you force a smile, looking at Felix with pleading eyes. That gets broken off by the sudden kiss that Jake places on your lips, trying too quickly to get him to stop as you didn’t feel comfortable with the affection in front of your friends.
Whilst everyone's trying to make conversation, Chan slips into the kitchen to give himself a moment, ready to smash something but is stopped by Changbin who pulls his attention away from his overthinking mind. Changbin puts a gentle hand on his shoulder before tapping it lightly.
“I don’t like him either, okay? But she seems happy, so we have to be happy for her,” Changbin whispers, trying to be discreet about it but the way Felix walks in, shaking his head and sighing harshly, “What’s going on?”.
Felix closes the door behind him and then gets close to his older friends, worry in his eyes. “I’ve known her since childhood, she doesn’t seem right. She’s crying for him on the inside,” He tears up a little, the two pulling him in for a hug as Chan’s fists ball up, rage hitting him completely. 
“Bro, don’t,” Felix pleads as he watches Chan’s face go red with anger, Changbin helps Felix to calm Chan down but that doesn’t last for long when they hear sobbing in the next room. 
Chan’s the first one back in the living room, noticing you’re standing in the hallway out of view, but not unheard, sobbing into your hands, Jake getting all up in your face. Jake raises his voice. “So now you wanna act up? Embarrass yourself in front of your so-called friends?” The hissing in his voice makes you cry even more.
“They’re my friends! You didn’t need to get all stupidly possessive and kiss me every two seconds to show that I’m with you?!” Biting back, you roll your eyes as you knew that there was no point in arguing with him. Trying to walk back into the living room, Jake grabs your arm harshly and you yelp in pain, being caught by the boys who are all standing up, pure anger racing through their veins.
“We’re going home!” Jake tries to order as you go to obey, shaking your head as you go to grab your bag but get stopped by Chan, pulling you into a hug, Changbin, and Minho standing in front of you both.
Noticing how you fall into comfort in Chan’s arms, Jake shakes his head with a psychotic laugh, “Oh, so there was something going on here, huh?”. Changbin goes to get up in his face but Chan stops him, stepping in front as the others keep you in their little circle. 
“No. There was never anything going on here, not until you made it an issue. Now you should leave,” Attempting to stay calm, Chan only gives him one chance, looking back at you to make sure that you’re okay. 
“Or what?” Jake's ego gets to him, daring to take a step closer to you as Chan puts a hand on his chest to stop him, “You don’t want to know. But she’s done with you, you’re done. Ever try come near her again, you will regret it”. 
Jake stands there, glaring down at Chan, reaching his hand out for you but Changbin and Minho stand in his way too. Felix and Han keep you by their side, holding your hand to help calm your nerves down and attend to you to make sure you were okay too.
“Is this love? Is this what you really call love? Treating your girlfriend terribly because you think you’re too perfect to actually treat her like a human being, like the love of your life?” Chan mumbles, directing his comment at Jake who’s seething, fists at ready to take a swing at chan.
“She’s nothing without me, she would never have anything without me. Why do you even care for her?” With his head directed at you, Jake’s eyes are glued on Chan, words also directed to him. 
“I care because she’s everything. She’s everything a man could ever dream for, she’s what I dream for. She’s my everything. If you can’t show her how she’s supposed to be loved...” Chan pauses, looking over at you, wide-eyed as tear stream down your face, stars in his eyes when he looks at you. “Then I’ll show her if she gives me the chance”.
“Now you really should leave,” Minho adds, cracking his knuckles, and giving Jake an evil glare as he’s given no choice but to be forced out of the apartment, leaving you behind. 
As soon as they hear the door slam, Chan rushes over to you, pulling you into a hug as you let all your emotions loose, crying into his chest as he only hugs you tighter. The others gave you the space that you needed, to talk - if you wanted to. 
“It’s okay. You’re okay now, I’m not going to leave your side. I promise,” He whispers, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head as you slowly pull away. With his sleeve, he gently wipes away your tears, heartbreaking from seeing you so broken like this. 
For a few moments, you sit there without a word being spoken. It was nice to be out from under Jake’s control and you’re able to breathe. Chan’s hands grasp onto yours as you tighten the grip, smiling at him. The moment you looked into Chan’s eyes, you realise how safe you were actually going to be, but you couldn’t shake what he said.
“What was that about? Me giving you the chance to show me how I’m supposed to be loved?” You ask slowly, shuffling closer to him as you lay your head on his shoulder. Chan giggles from nerves, not realizing that you would actually ask him as he panics that you would shoot him down - and rightfully so. But he didn’t want to blow any chance he could’ve had.
“I, uhm. I just wanted him to leave, I could see you weren’t happy with him,” He partially lies through his teeth, looking anywhere but at you. With the soft nudge of your hand on his face to look at you, you caress his cheek, “It’s okay Channie, tell me”.
“I love you, Y/N. I love you so much, it broke me to see you with him. I wanted to be him, in his place to call you mine,” He stutters but manages to get his sentences out, smiling shyly at you, blushing when a bright smile appears on your face. 
Kissing his cheek, you throw your arms around him, and his arms snake around your waist, pulling you in for a tight hug. Tears start to pool in your eyes again, sniffling on his shoulder, “Hey, please don’t cry,” he whispers softly. 
“Thank you, thank you for saving me. I just wish I could’ve been with you instead of him. But now I need time, but I love you too,” You breathe heavily, trying to stifle your cries. You couldn’t be more grateful for him.
He understands you need time, and he’s more than willing to give it to you. He wants nothing more than for you to find yourself again. But you couldn’t deny, you’d give anything to be shown what love really feels like, what to be treated well feels like.
“Can we move slowly? I don’t want to jump straight into a relationship and ruin it between us?” You ask, and he nods instantly, smiling as he tries his best to hold back cheering for himself. “I want to enjoy this,” You add, laying on him as you already feel like you're at home. Chan’s heart races out of his chest as he peppers your head with kisses, “Anything for you, anything at all”. 
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204 notes · View notes
corruptimles · 10 months
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Anime North 2023 💀👍
More highlights and photos under read-more
I originally was going to have my Spamton plush with the ‘CRIMINAL’ sign but his head was too big and would make him fall
scene punk Rainbow Dash cosplayer passing by as I was strapping Reigen to my chest and saying I look amazing
people yelling ‘criminal!’ when seeing the Reigen plush
the two tabling that specifically said ‘Reigen in jail!’ (I bought a Mob pin from them)
the person who only took of photo of Reigen plushie, not me
migraine and forgot ibuprofen but Im so so strong and brave (my vision was going in and out all day)
seeing a golden guard Hunter cosplayer and we both pointed as a first reaction
another Hunter cosplayer who was a photographer so they asked for different poses
accidentally approached a table thinking the person was talking to me (they weren’t)
buying mp100 merch from a table and letting them know I was changing to Reigen later so they asked me to come back when I do
coming back and a lot of pointing and thumbs ups
being thankful I decided to bring two cosplays to switch between because wearing the coven scout cosplay meant 2-3 layers on my legs and I was melting
I walked HOW MUCH?
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being in a different cosplay so it doesnt feel as weird circling the same tables over as I do
uu-chan!!!
I even thought to myself earlier that day “I wish I had an uu-chan”
people that specifically took selfies with me rather than just me (I find it endearing)
someone complimented my cosplay then asked to punch my Reigen plushie whoever you are, I felt that punch in my hand, I hope you had a good day
my eyesight is bad, and the sun made seeing my phone harder, so I kept accidentally taking videos instead of photos
didn’t want to keep the cosplayer waiting though so I opted to just screencap the videos later
two at a table called my attention for my Reigen cosplay, said I was the only Reigen they saw I said “well there’s TWO here” and pointing/posing with the plush they lamented that their Mob pins sold out just before I arrived it’s the Mob pin I bought earlier too so I let them know I actually bought it before in a different cosplay the recognition at the Reigen plushie and yelling “Reigen in jail!!” “yes, but he’s been freed!” just some silly cheering about it
anyway shout-out to @warddraws​​ because I think I’ll be using this Mob pin often
the guy that accidentally hit my shoulder:
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this Miku
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debating buying a poster I was staring at for a solid minute, coming back for it later and the artists being like “Reigen’s back :)”
seeing a sans and reigen magnet parody poster, panicking when ppl behind me started talking about it and heard “..he looks like-”, and sped-walked away
forgot to come back to that table.... I didnt get to actually look at their merch im sorry
I really don’t know why I felt so self-conscious there cuz I thought the poster was hilarious??
also lamenting a beautiful MP100 print I saw that was sold out, and pretty Hanzo merch because I have enough Hanzo
watched people playing DDR and being impressed and afraid of ppl that are good at it
someone who was cosplaying Mob but changed before we met (which is still :() but called my cosplay ‘crisp’
scribbled down requests from my friends when waiting (reigen kicked out of walmart) (reigen as a coven scout)
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reigen gets burger king
is burger king
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now scrolling through the Anime North tags and yelling at merch I didn’t see what I was there that I would’ve bought
alas
my legs are still dead but this was one of the most fun AN trips I’ve had actually
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disaster-theysbian · 7 months
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Because @morningsolitude has specifically requested it, here is the rest of the Useless Lesbian Story of how my partner and I got together.
Quick backstory, we'd been friends for a year or so before having a platonic cuddle at a party. Then we realised our feelings weren't very platonic at all, and proceeded to dance around the issue for the next two months because... well, useless lesbians.
It started with me popping round to use her printer. Then it was popping round for cups of tea. Cooking dinner together. That kind of thing. We had a movie night where we shared our Favourite Stupid Films from our childhood, and it ended with a Very Awkward Handshake (story here )
Anyway, the following night was a Christmas movie night with all of our friends, including her brother and brother-in-law. All of them were getting ready to knock our heads together. Whereas the night before we'd had a sort-of cuddle under a blanket, we were so conscious of people watching us that we were sitting bolt upright and not touching.
Then our phones start pinging. A few of our friends started posting cute animal cuddle gifs in the group chat. We were smoking at the ears by this point. I went to the loo and actually heard her voice from upstairs (she never shouts, ever) calling her brother in law a twat!
She gave me a lift home that night and it was excruciatingly awkward as ever. But we both knew something was there, and we both knew that neither of us were going to be brave enough to say it.
So I decided I didn't have to say anything at all.
That week was Christmas, so I made her a card. A silver elephant wearing a Santa hat on a dark forest green background, bordered with holly and ivy, holding a single sprig of mistletoe in its trunk.
She came round for a cup of tea before giving me a lift to our craft group's Christmas party. I gave her the envelope. And promptly hid behind a cushion as she opened it and read what was inside: "Shall we address the elephant in the room?"
The next thing I knew she gently took the cushion away from me and pulled me into the gentlest, warmest, most comforting hug I'd ever had. I let myself melt in her arms.
I had come to realise, and realised over and over during the first year of our relationship, that I'd never known love before I knew her. Attraction? Yes. Desire? Yes. Infatuation? Yes. Codepedency? Trauma bonding? An innate, unmet need for validation that was preyed upon by multiple people? Yep yep yep.
Before I confessed my feelings to her, I didn't really care if she didn't share them. I just loved being with her. I loved watching her smile and laugh, and infodump about her favourite things. I just wanted to be around her. And the way she made me feel.
She made me feel like I was worthy of care and respect, without me doing anything in particular or saying anything in particular, or liking the same things as her, or looking a certain way. This was something I'd rarely felt, not just with romantic partners but among friends and family. As friends, she never treated me like I was extra special, never said anything cheesy like "you're perfect just the way you are". But I felt special just being around her. Just sitting there having cups of tea or eating dinner, folding laundry, doing normal shit. I'm not the only person who feels this way around her. She is so well loved among our friends because she so quietly, innocuously, makes you feel like you matter, without love-bombing you or putting you on a pedestal. She doesn't even know she's doing it.
She has given me back so much of my faith in humanity, in kindness, in patience, and optimism. She has given me back my own self, that I hid under layers and layers of people-pleasing cultivated by 25 years of toxic environments.
On Valentine's day just gone, I asked her to be my wife.
And she said yes.
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traumadumpwriter · 19 days
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I do update more frequently and there r already more chapters on my Wattpad @/slowlychanging!
Heavy trigger warning for abuse, SA, assault, violence, self harm, mentions of r*pe
If you enjoy please don’t forget to like, repost, comment. Give me feedback! I love to hear it!
Check out the other chapters by going to the Freedom tag on my page!
Freedom: A John Shelby Mini Fic
Chapter Eight: 2764 words
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The next day, Alice awoke first, momentarily confused by her surroundings until she felt the comforting warmth surrounding her and smelt that familiar scent of tobacco and cinnamon. As she remembered the previous night, a grin formed upon her pink lips and a giddiness in her stomach. John's muscular arms were loosely laid across her body and his handsome head rested on the pillow beside hers.
A pale beam of early morning sunlight peaked through the curtains and illuminated his chiseled physique, bringing a grin to Alice's face and she almost let out an elated giggle, completely awe struck by the man.
Gently, she tried to remove his arm in order to go downstairs and make breakfast, but he groaned and held her tighter, half opening his eyes for a second and murmuring something before closing them again.
"I was gonna make us breakfast, I should probably get going soon." Alice whispered, unsure if John was actually conscious enough to understand her.
Another groan left his mouth before his eyes opened again, this time fully, and almost instantly a smile formed at the corners of his lips as he looked up at the woman beside him. Her hair was messy as was the loosely fitting pyjama top he'd lent her; the white cloth hanging from her chest revealing the outline of her breasts very clearly - especially in the cold morning air.
"Heavenly." He thought to himself before squeezing her tightly again and pulling her under the covers.
"No breakfast. Stay here." He grumbled, burying his face into her side.
Butterflies were going crazy in Alice's stomach as an involuntary blush formed on her face.
"I'm so lucky." She thought before sliding back down in the bed to face him.
His expression was still sleepy and she laughed quietly at that, warming back into his arms. She'd never felt so safe and comfortable beside a man before, let alone loved, and it almost felt too good to be true.
"Okay. But not for long. I have to get to work." She quietly responded, interlocking her fingers with John's before closing her eyes again.
"Nah you don't. I'll tell Arthur to fuck off." He smirked slightly, his eyes still open and watching Alice intently as she smiled at his response, sleepily sinking into the pillow.
She wasn't going to argue with that after all, who could resist a day off work spent in the arms of John Shelby?
So, she snuggled tightly into his chest with a happy sigh and drifted back to sleep again whilst John silently watched her for a while, feeling really hopeful for the first time in a long time.
The previous night couldn't have gone more perfect. From her carefree dancing; the gleam it gave her eyes and how it made his stomach whirl, to the romantic confessions and subsequent expression of love. He hadn't experienced bliss with a woman like that before, even continuing into the morning after - usually he had no interest in there even being a morning after.
The bliss didn't last for much longer though.
An hour later, just as John had drifted off to sleep again, the front door slammed open and in stormed Arthur.
"Ain't you been told to lock that door!" He shouted through the house, shocking Alice awake too.
John quickly pulled the blanket up to her neck as Arthur made his way upstairs - knowing he would also just storm into the bedroom without any consideration as he had into the house. His brother sounded angry which was a bad sign, so John rolled out of the bed in preparation for some immediate action.
"What's happening?" Alice whispered but Arthur's shout cut her off.
"Wake up John! And where's Alice-" his loudness was also cut off when he walked into the room, doing a double take and half smiling for a second before returning to his serious expression.
"Both of you needed now, Tommy's called a meeting. We're dealing with the Turks today." He spoke quickly and went to leave the room before John responded.
"What do you mean both of us? She ain't involved." John scowled at his brother as he buttoned up his shirt.
"You tell that to Tommy." Arthur scoffed before turning to Alice with an awkward nod and then leaving.
She too rolled out of bed and began getting dressed, matching John's speed as she sensed the urgency despite her confusion. A big part of her was excited, interested in the secrets of the family business and the lives they lived. Only a small part was nervous.
John on the other hand was full of dread, his blissful morning now becoming a potentially hellish one. His silence alerted Alice to his worry and she moved to comfort him, interlocking her fingers with his before heading out the front door.
"I'm sure it'll be okay John." She softly spoke before placing a gentle kiss on his lips "I have faith in you."
A small smile began to tease at the corners, but her beautiful, innocent eyes soon brought them back down as he thought about the horrors they'd already seen and now the new horrors his desensitised brother potentially wanted to introduce.
With a heavy sigh, he planted a kiss on the top of her head before mumbling "Just don't agree to anything stupid" and opening the heavy wooden door.
The walk to the family home was swift and silent, only being a road away, and the air was thick when they arrived.
Polly sat at the table, smoking a cigarette and impatiently tapping her fingers against the varnish whilst Tommy and Arthur were stood still, leant against their chairs. All eyes landed on Alice and the silence was becoming unbearable as she realised things might be more serious than she'd thought.
"What's going on then?" John took a sharp intake of breath and stared at his brother with thin eyes, drawing the stares from Alice to him.
"Ergin was at that club last night. Saw the two of you having a great time." Tommy answered with an equally unfriendly gaze.
"Well I didn't see him. Didn't see any Turks in fact. And what's it matter if I did? Weren't their territory."
Tommy was silent for a moment, a million thoughts going through his head as he looked at his younger brother - projected through his icy glare - and then he turned to face Alice.
"One of his men recognised you. They know your husband, Jones Buckley; said they started business recently."
Instantly, the heavy feeling in John's gut doubled and Alice's tripled, her hands starting to shake slightly even at the mention of the man. God, it had been a long time since she heard the last name he'd forced onto her, and it made her feel sick. She wondered how Jones could've even come into conversation, how a man associated with the Turks would've ever even have seen her with him before.
But then a painful memory of a tanned man visiting the campsite in search for a cheap whore struck her, and she realised that there had been a man at the club last night who had seen her at her most vulnerable - and she hadn't even noticed him.
That made her feel more sick, even more scared, although those feelings quickly deflected into anger.
"So this is kind of a two birds with one stone situation, if you agree of course." Tommy continued, grounding her to reality again.
"What do you mean, Tommy? Agree to what?" Alice quickly spoke in an uncertain tone.
He took a sharp drag on his cigarette before continuing, not looking at all at his younger brother despite the intense glare he was sending his way. John's mind was also racing; the reveal of the secret last name making him feel even worse than he thought it would. That and the fact that Tommy found it out before he did.
"You distract Ergin and his closer men while we take care of his soldiers. He wants you to dance and fuck. I told him he could for a night-"
"Are you fucking mad!" John finally snapped and shouted, cutting Tommy off and storming towards him, much to Alice's shock. Arthur quickly stepped between the two as John's fists started to ball and Tommy resumed his standard, unamused face.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me Tommy. You're taking the fucking piss-"
"Let him finish!" Polly loudly interrupted John and put the room into silence again.
Tommy cleared his throat, turning back to Alice before continuing. "You wouldn't actually have to sleep with him, or anyone, he just thinks you will. I've got something for you to put in their drinks, it'll take fifteen minutes to kick in, if he tries to have you in that time I've got a gun you'll be able to hide in a handbag but the blinders should be in the room before anything happens-"
"So you want me to potentially murder multiple men for you, at a relatively high risk to myself?" Alice interrupted him with a raised eyebrow, sensing how bad Tommy wanted - maybe even needed - her to do this task and enjoying the power it gave her over him. The part about her husband gave her an intense pang of anxiety again though, what did he have to do with all of this? It couldn't be good.
"What do I gain from this? What does my husband have to do with anything?" Her voice sounded cool now despite the anxiety she really felt.
Everyone was slightly taken aback to hear her call him her husband - everyone except for John. She'd never spoken about her time away to anyone in the room other than him and it remained somewhat of a mystery to everyone else. All they knew was that he was a bad man - a bad man that John was desperate to kill - and certainly hadn't earned the title of 'husband'.
Of course, Tommy showed no reaction though and continued talking calmly - as if he wasn't actually mentally praying for her to agree to the plan. He and Arthur had worked out the initial part of catching Ergin's attention, they just weren't counting on her and John's revenge plan falling into the mix - although it potentially made the plan even more perfect.
John on the other hand, completely uninformed, was horrified, angrier at his brother than he'd ever been and terrified of something happening to Alice. He stood in silence though, waiting for her to refuse Tommy's offer and put his mind at ease. Slight ease. There were still a million questions he had to ask his brother, most regarding the identity of Jones Buckley - the full name that he hadn't even coaxed out of Alice yet.
"Cut off the original supplier, Jones will return to see them eventually, have no choice but to come to us. Then we can-"
"Then we can kill him too." She cut him off, everything finally clicking into place.
The two stared intensely at each other, Alice thinking over his words and Tommy hoping he'd said the right ones. Their dominant stares - their distrustful bargaining, it felt uncomfortably similar to that night in The Garrison with David. Getting Alice involved in Peaky business wasn't something Tommy felt great about, but in the long run it would surely be worth it as this was the perfect opportunity to get to the Turks and Jones.
"How much you paying me for this?" She finally spoke, much to John's immense but silent annoyance. He wished he could be shocked that she was so willing to put herself in danger, but he wasn't. Instead, he was irritated at both her and Tommy - mentally cursing his brother. Then he looked around the room and saw the lack of shock on Arthur and Polly's faces.
"Bloody bastards, they're in on it too. Arthur purposely sent me to that bar last night. And Pol, how could she support this?"
"Eight pounds if it all goes right." Tommy replied.
"Where and when?"
"Their hotel, seven o'clock, today."
She only thought for a second before responding "Deal."
At that word, a white hot rush of dread and rage surged through John's body and a heavy exhale left his nostrils as he thinned his eyes at everybody in the room, except for Alice. He couldn't even look at Alice; so disappointed in her decision but knowing he had no right to stop her and that trying to would just make her more determined.
So instead, he said nothing and walked out of the house, his hand going straight into his pocket for a cigarette and lighter. He felt betrayed by his family and worried sick for his lover; tutting and shaking his head at the ground as he kicked at the small rocks around him.
"Arthur purposely recommended that bar to me. They knew the Turks would be there. They somehow knew that Ergin would want Alice." His furious trail of thoughts didn't last long as he heard Alice exiting the family home.
She called his name as she caught up to him but his gaze remained on the rocks below.
"John! I'll be fine! You needn't stress!" She smiled once she reached his side, looking up at his face as he purposefully didn't look at hers.
"We've still got hours. Why don't I make us some breakfast?" Her tone remained cheerful, desperately hanging on to that morning's bliss despite John's evident drastic mood change.
A heavy sigh left his lips before he finally spoke, still staring straight ahead.
"I told you not to agree to anything stupid." He muttered bitterly.
"Well I don't think I have." Her tone was still soft although her hope for a happy breakfast with John had dwindled.  "Can I have a cigarette?"
Promptly, he handed her the box, finally making eye contact before exhaling a plume of smoke and tutting.
"Tommy's a cunt for putting you up to this. Ergin's a dangerous man, it's not gonna be as simple as you think it is." His voice was low and his expression stoic.
"All I've ever known is dangerous men. Yourself included."
"Not like this you haven't. I'm serious, Alice. If he catches on to the plan he will kill you.. And even if he don't, who's to say you're able to kill him before he gets his way with you? Why would you even agree to risk that?"
"I don't know." She scoffed lightly. "Maybe because this is the path to my husband that we need. This is what you wanted last night. And besides, I'm confident that I can kill Ergin-"
"You've never killed anyone before! Let alone a gang boss! Or atleast I don't think you have but who fucking knows!" John erupted with sudden volume, earning another unimpressed scoff from the woman. "If you had any fucking sense you would've told Tommy to fuck off, fuck off Jones, fuck off the money! You cannot do this Alice-"
"Oh I can't, can't I?" She cut him off with volume to match his own, thinning her eyes and putting her left hand on her hip as she sucked down the cigarette with the right one. "I'm not some kind of delicate fucking victim, John! Nor am I your wife. So think twice before telling me what I can and can't fucking do! I'm just trying to help your family whilst getting my own revenge too. Like Tommy said, two birds one stone.. I thought you'd appreciate it."
John threw his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it, resuming his previous stare into the stoney backstreet of Watery Lane instead of Alice's pale face.
"Why would I ever appreciate you putting yourself in danger? It's like you want bad stuff to happen to you.. I don't bloody get it." He muttered.
"But last night, you said I could kill Jones. Isn't this just a step to that?"
"I might've said it but I didn't mean it! No more blood needs to be on your hands! Only mine!"
Alice stood in silence for a few seconds, more irritated with John than she'd ever been. There were so many things she wanted to angrily spew but she didn't have the energy. Her mind was focused on the task before her now and so she decided to walk away - ignoring John's rude tut.
"I'll see you later." She spoke in a flat tone as she went back into the family house, where Arthur was waiting to give her every detail necessary for the plan to work.
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stitch1830 · 7 months
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Those two angsty pieces put me in the mood for something a little more light-hearted, so Misc #16 for Toko?
LJF, hello! Thanks for the ask :D I seem to have the bug for writing today, and so I figured I'd write this up and post it right away haha. Hope the this is hits the light-hearted Toko spot!
......
Toko - Misc - #16 - “YOU SAID TO BE HONEST STOP HITTING ME!”
“Ugh!”
Zuko looked up from his scroll, setting his morning tea down to look across the bedroom. The sound was undoubtedly coming from the closet, and he had a feeling he knew what was up.
Still, Zuko found himself asking his wife, “Everything okay?”
Toph let out a loud sigh, hollering back. “I feel like I look stupid.” 
“What?”
“I feel ginormous and I feel like if I walk out of this closet I’m going to appear as big as a platypus bear.”
A faint smile played at Zuko’s lips, but he quickly wiped it away as he stood up and walked toward the closet. “I’m sure that’s not true, Toph. Besides, no one is going to care. And if they do, you’ll just throw a boulder at them.”
“Still! Everyone’s coming to the palace today, and you know one of the dunderheads is gonna say something.”
“Aang and Sokka know better than to say something, Toph,” Zuko said. “Remember when they came here before Kaede was born? They definitely learned their lesson.” 
He remembered that particular day fondly, for it felt like the perfect storm of comedic and chaotic timing how both Sokka and Aang opened their big mouths at the same time. They just had to let Toph know how big she looked just a week before she was due. If Toph hadn’t skyrocketed them in the air with her earth pillars, Zuko probably would’ve lit their pants on fire. Now, of course, they could laugh at the memory. At the time, though, Toph’s wrath was not so funny to the boys. Now, Zuko hope for their sake that they knew better than to speak on the appearance of a pregnant woman, especially if that woman was Toph Beifong.
And yet, Toph still felt self-conscious enough to feel that Aang and Sokka hadn’t learned their lesson. “Yes,” she began, “but I wasn’t pregnant with twins then. I look twice as big now!”
With crossed arms, Zuko replied, “Okay, well let me see, and I’ll be the judge of that.” 
Toph let out a sigh, then emerged from the closet with the biggest pout on her face. “Tell me I don’t look huge. You can’t.”
Every time he saw Toph’s glowing, growing figure, his heart skipped a beat. She wore a loose-fitting Fire Nation robe, and while Zuko truly thought she was stunning, the garment didn’t really do her any favors. It draped over her round belly, and, well…
It made her appear rather tent-like.
The man began to sweat. How on earth was he supposed to tell her that even though she was the most beautiful woman in the world that this particular robe made her look bigger than she actually was?
Zuko swallowed the lump in his throat, beginning the conversation by peppering her with compliments. “You look beautiful, Toph.”
“That’s not saying I don’t look fat.”
“Toph, come on. You’re pregnant with twins. No one really cares what you look like or what you’re wearing. They’re all just coming here to celebrate!”
“Zuko. I will call up every single one of our friends right now if you don’t tell me the truth. Do. I. Look. Fat.”
This was a lose-lose situation for the firebender. To lie and say she didn’t look fat would earn him a one way trip to the polar-bear-dog house, for she would certainly catch him in the lie. 
If he was honest? Well, that was bound to end in disaster, too.
Spirits help Zuko.
He let out a sigh, and mumbled, “You—the robes make you look a little big—”
Zuko was immediately attacked Toph’s tiny but mighty fist, causing him to shout and yell, “Ow! Qu—Toph! Cut it out! I was just telling the truth—”
“You said I look fat!”
“You said be honest! Stop hitting me!!” he hissed.
“No!”
“Toph—what was I supposed to do? Lie?”
“Yes!”
“You would’ve caught me in the lie!”
Toph paused for half a second, then continued to smack his shoulder. “That—that’s not the point! You should know better!”
“I tried to steer you a different direction—”
“Steer?! Am I more like a cow? Is that it?”
“No! No, nothing close to a cow—Toph. You really are beautiful.”
“Just not right now, is that it?” “I never said that—” “Oh, save it. I’m calling Katara right now so she’s ready to kick your ass into the next Sozin Comet.”
Spirits help Zuko. This was going to be a long day.
......
Send me writing asks if you don't mind waiting a bit! Lol
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forgivemeforgetmenot · 5 months
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Unwritten
(Cloud x Aerith Fanfic)
Cloud awakened to a world tinted blue. It was early enough to slink back to camp before the others noticed his and Aerith's absence. Realizing he was holding her, he jolted his bare arm upward like a fire had seared his skin. The spasm must've stirred her awake; she sat up and stretched, her extended yawn shattering the lulling silence of the dawn.
"Mm…I slept great! How about you, Cloud?" She smiled down at him, prompting him to shift his eyes away. 
"We should head back to camp," he deflected dryly.
Aerith giggled, "Hope I didn't get any drool on you. You're super comfy…soft, actually. Like a cloud!"
He snorted, rising to his feet, before starting the hike back. "Heyy! Wait for me!" She called after him. 
Much to his dismay, the two returned to find Barret, Tifa, and Red already having breakfast. "Ohh," shouted Barret first, "Nice of y'all to join us! Bet ya worked up an appetite."
Red chuckled, "Hopefully, not too much of one. It's cup noodles. Again."
"Yum, anything sounds great right about now; I'm starving," replied Aerith, seemingly unphased by the blatant taunting. 
Cloud, on the other hand, felt his face turning rosy. There wasn't anything to be embarrassed about. Why did he suddenly feel so… self-conscious? 
Aerith sat beside Red and began slurping up her noodles. Wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and her, Cloud chose a spot between Tifa and Barret. Tifa handed him his breakfast, which he took sheepishly, avoiding everyone's faces as he ate. "Alright, we got a long day before gettin' back to Sector 5. Hope you two didn't stay up too late," Barret chuckled while extinguishing the fire.
Cloud sighed, feeling pressured to explain their disappearance, but Aerith spoke up before he could formulate a reason. "I wanted to get a better view of the stars," she started, "y'know, away from the trees. Cloud caught me trying to sneak off, and like the dutiful bodyguard he is, he joined me to keep me safe from all the big bad monsters. Isn't that right, Cloud?"
Cloud fumbled over his words, caught off guard by Aerith's lie, "Mm."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever y'all say," Barret winked just before putting his shades on. 
Red smirked, "I think if the interrogation is finished, we best be on our way. This is the first lead on Sephiroth we've encountered in quite some time—if he is lurking around the slums, we don't want to miss him."
Tifa spoke up, "True, but…why would he be hanging around Sector 5? It could just be another dead end; I mean, it doesn't really make sense, does it?" 
"No, but it's all we have to go on as of right now," remarked Cloud, "we don't know what his endgame is or what exactly he needs to do to execute it."
"Feels like we're on a wild Chocobo chase…" Barret muttered. "At least I'll get to spend some time with my baby girl."
Tifa glowed, "That's right. And I can get a nice, hot shower in."
Aerith smiled, clasping her hands, "Okay then, let's get going!"
The group traveled well into the afternoon, exterminating dozens of Hedgehog Pies and Wererats. Barret led the lineup while Aerith, Red XIII, and Tifa chatted together. Cloud lingered a couple feet behind. 
During the day's travels, he noticed Tifa eyeing him periodically. He caught her staring again before she slowed her pace to match his. 
They walked silently beside each other for a brief period. "What's up," he eventually posed, sensing something plagued her. 
She hesitated. "...You know you can talk to me, right Cloud?"
Tifa gazed at him, sincerity softening her face. 
"What do you mean?" he asked, face forward. 
"You can talk to me about anything. I…just want you to know that."
Cloud eyed her curiously, "Same goes for you."
She blushed, looking downward. "Right."
"Is there… something you want to talk about?"
Tifa opened her mouth to answer, but before she could say anything, Barret cursed from up ahead. "Goddammit, don't these motherfuckers have anything better to do!"
A pack of snarling Wrath Hounds blocked their path. Instinctively, Cloud unsheathed the Buster Sword and rushed past Aerith, Red, and Barret. He slashed through a duo, Barret fired a barrage of bullets into one, and Red went toe-to-toe with another. Tifa blocked a bite, eager to sink its fangs into Cloud's shoulder. From afar, Aerith cast a flurry of ice spells, causing multiple hounds to stagger, which gave the rest of the party a collective opening to wipe them out. 
As Cloud sliced through what he thought was the last of them, a bloodcurdling scream seized his heart. He whipped his head around to discover a straggler clamped down on Aerith. Cloud lunged for the monster, ripping it off of her. Then Red pounced, sinking his teeth into the rabid beast's throat to finish it off. 
"Is she alright?!" Barret asked as he and Tifa sprinted over to join them. Cloud clutched Aerith tightly in his arms, studying her unconscious face.
"Oh God, Aerith," Tifa cried. 
"Check her pulse," Red urgently advised. 
Cloud did so. "She's breathing." Everyone shared a sigh of relief. 
"Cloud…" Aerith slowly opened her eyes, "You're kind of…hurting me."
He instantly loosened his grip, "Sorry."
She laughed weakly, "Aw. Were you worried about me?"
"We all were," Tifa smiled.
"Not me," Barret professed, "Girl's a badass. Ain't no dumb dog gonna take her out. I knew you'd be fine." Aerith giggled.
"Are you in any pain?" Red asked. 
"Somewhat," she answered truthfully.
"Can you walk?"
"I think so."
Cloud helped Aerith to her feet, his hand lingering beneath her elbow in case she couldn't. "You worry too much," she assured him, "I'm fine!"
She winced, stepping away from Cloud. Tifa swooped in to steady her, "I think we better set up camp for the night; you need to rest, Aerith." 
"I agree," added Red. 
"There's an inn just down the road, as a matter of fact," Barret suggested, "if Aerith can make it."
"Of course I can!" Aerith limped forward, grimacing in pain. 
Tifa wrapped an arm around her waist, "Let me help."
"We'll want to get there before it gets dark," Cloud interjected, approaching the two girls. Before Aerith could protest, Cloud swept her off her feet.
"Cloud!" She yelped in surprise.
"It'll be quicker this way," he decided, already pushing forward. 
The group soon made their way to the Quartz Inn, where they paid for two rooms—one for the guys and one for the girls. Cloud, Barret, and Red settled into their respective suite. Barret exhaled, flopping on one of the beds, while Red XIII curled beside the crackling fireplace; Cloud sat at the edge of the other bed. "Man, it does feel damn good to lay in a bed," Barret sighed.
"Speak for yourself," Red muttered.
"You can have this one," Cloud offered, "I'm going to check on Aerith and Tifa."
Barret chuckled, "When did you get so considerate, soldier boy?" 
"Cloud's quite the gentleman," Red commented, "especially regarding the girls." Uncomfortable with being the topic of conversation, Cloud grumbled and departed from his two taunting friends. 
He crossed the hall and knocked on the girls' door. Tifa answered, her face brightening at the sight of his. "Hey, everything okay?"
"Yeah. Just wanted to check on the both of you." 
The sweet smile slipped away, and her eyes dropped, "You mean Aerith."
Something about her tone felt less like an assumption and more like an accusation. There was truth in what Tifa said; Aerith had been wounded earlier, so naturally, she was more of a concern at the moment. 
Aerith wasn't feeble by any sense of the word, but there was always something more delicate about the flower merchant, something that ignited a passion to protect. His determination to do so only intensified after his vision—the one he'd been having nightmares about for months. On the other hand, Tifa was a powerhouse—he knew she could take care of herself. "I wanted to finish our conversation, too," Cloud added.
Tifa lighted up some, "Aerith took a nice shower, I helped tend to her scrapes, and now she's resting. I'm sure she'll feel a lot better after a good night's sleep." Relief washed over Cloud, easing the tension in his muscles. 
"Can I meet you outside, in front of the entrance? There's a patio where we can sit and talk. But I'm dying for a shower first," she laughed.
Cloud nodded, "See you in a bit."
20 minutes later, Tifa appeared. She greeted Cloud with a warm smile, sitting in the patio chair next to his. "Better?" he asked.
"Much."
Cloud waited for her to talk, but when she didn't, he began, "So, what is it?"
"Hm?"
"What you wanted to say earlier before the Wrath Hounds showed up."
"Oh," Tifa paused, "Well…"
"Tifa," Cloud groaned impatiently.
"Sorry...I just feel like it's not my place to ask."
"Ask what?" 
"How do you...feel about Aerith?"
"What?" he questioned, puzzled.
"Do you...have feelings for her?"
Cloud looked away. Why was she asking this all of a sudden? "What's it matter?"
Tifa's ruby-colored eyes glistened, "I guess it doesn't."
He shifted in his chair uncomfortably, "Do you not like her?" 
"What? No, no! I love Aerith," Tifa exclaimed. "She's become one of my closest friends."
"She's...my friend too," Cloud struggled to spit out.
"But...do you wish she was more than that?" Tifa pressed.
Agitation furrowed his brow, "That crap isn't for me."
"Right…" her voice cracked. 
Cloud examined her; Tifa's head was angled away from him. She slouched in her seat, wrapping her arms around herself. "You okay?" he asked, concerned by her body language and bizarre questions.
"Y-yeah," she sniveled, wiping at her face, "I think I better sleep." She started speed walking to the inn.
"Tifa," he called after her, but she didn't stop.
Cloud sighed, rolling his head back to take in the starry sky. What had he done wrong? Was it something he said? Should he follow her? Maybe she needed space. Space. 
He gazed up at it until his eyelids grew heavy.
The water was cold. He was cold. 
She was cold. 
Wake up, he tried to say. Wake up, wake up, wake up. But no sound bubbled from his throat. He shook her gently.
Wake up, wake up, wake up.
"Wake up. Cloud, wake up."
He obeyed and locked eyes with Aerith; her face seemed troubled. "Were you having another nightmare?"
Cloud sat up; she took her hand off his shoulder.
"Alright, alright, I get it. You don't want to talk about it."
He changed the subject, "What are you doing out here?" 
She beamed, raising her eyes toward the sky, "I wanted to see the stars again."
"You're supposed to be resting," he rebuked.
"It's not like I've been doing squats."
"Aerith."
"You're not my mommy. And what about you, mister? Why are you out here?" Cloud fell silent, recalling his earlier conversation with Tifa.
"Is...Tifa okay?" he asked.
"She was before I fell asleep earlier. I only woke up a little while ago, and when I did, she was resting. Did something happen?" Aerith asked, concern saturating her voice. 
"No," Cloud answered quickly. "I was just curious."
Aerith leaned in; Cloud's pulse quickened. "You're lying to me," she deduced.
He grunted, locking eyes with her, "Nothing happened."
"Cloud!"
He caved under the pressure of her emerald-colored daggers. "I don't know. I think I upset her or something."
"What did you do?"
"I told you, I don't know."
"You know more than you're telling me."
Cloud clenched his jaw, refusing to speak anymore on the matter. Aerith sighed, refocusing on the sky. Learn to talk to her, he had advised the flowers in her garden back when they first met. What a hypocrite. 
Cloud admired how the starlight from above twinkled in her eyes. 
"I've been having nightmares about Sephiroth," he whispered begrudgingly. Aerith faced him and offered a small smile. She slid her dainty hand into his.
"Whatever the future holds, we'll get through it together."
Her touch soothed him; the idea of defeating Sephiroth once and for all seemed utterly believable at this moment. But the sense of comfort was swiftly plowed aside by the recollection of the other nightmare plaguing him—the gruesome vision of Aerith's murder. He pulled his hand away from hers. "I've been having ones about you, too."
"They're just bad dreams, but they aren't real. And they're not premonitions," Aerith reassured.
"This one was, at one point."
She shook her head, "Not anymore."
He stayed silent, absorbing her words. "Is that why you've been acting so weird with me?" she questioned.
He gave her a slight nod. "Oh, Cloud," she sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. 
"What?"
"You should talk more. I like listening to you."
His hands felt hot; he considered slipping his gloves off. "I talk when it's necessary." 
"Actually, you don't," she argued, "you spent months bottling that up. You shouldn't live life like that."
"I talked. Big whoop. Nothing's changed."
"That's not true either," she contested, lifting her head to gaze into his eyes. 
He stared back, briefly glancing at her mouth as she spoke. 
"I feel closer to you." 
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Chapter 2 repost with revisions!
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the-boy-meets-evil · 1 year
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tell me how it got this way | ch.5
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pairing: jungkook x f.reader, hoseok x f.reader genre: fwb to lovers/friends to lovers, love triangle | angst, smut, fluff | non-idol!au chapter rating: mature, minors dni warnings: drinking, mentions of sex (nothing explicit), jimin is a little shit (affectionate), swearing, i think that's it word count: ~6k a/n: other idols pop up in this chapter (ateez & seventeen), they're really just used as names. ages aren't relevant and you can assume they're all generally around the same age. the final part (at least for what i have planned) is also finished and i'm going to post that next week! prev | masterlist | next
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When Namjoon had initially pitched the idea of selling the movie rights for your books, your answer was immediate. No. Movies rarely, actually, came out as good as the books and you felt like you lost so much of the finer detail. If you had wanted to see your work on the big screen, you would be writing screenplays instead of full-length novels. Which, okay, that sounded pretentious even in your head, but whatever. Namjoon got the picture and the conversation was tabled temporarily.
About two months after that, Namjoon had found what he called a compromise. You weren’t sure how it was a compromise since it was your work and you didn’t want to sell the rights. Until Namjoon reminded you that the publishing company also had a stake. Point: Namjoon. It was a good point, though, because a streaming service wanted to pick up the rights to just the first book as a test and do a limited-run series as opposed to a movie. Namjoon was very clear on the differences here. The budget, in some ways, would definitely be smaller, you aren’t looking at big superstar names, and, most importantly, you have to either sign on as a co-writer for the screenplays or fully sign the rights over. They were fine with either option, they just knew that there wasn’t enough in your book for the standard 8-10 episodes.
And that answer was just as immediate. Yes. These were the kinds of chances that authors hoped for. Yes, it will still be different from the book. This just gives you much more leeway to include the important details and even flush characters out more in a way that’s just too much for a book. You’re not Stephen King over here releasing his “unedited” version of The Stand, which, if you’re being honest, was kind of (read: insanely) self-indulgent. Not that you’re comparing yourself to Stephen King, either. To each their own and all that.
So, with Namjoon’s guidance, you signed a deal where you’d co-write the episodes with a team who actually have a lot of experience doing just that. Really, you know you’re just there to keep everything true to the world that’s lived in your head for years. That’s why they want you. Some people will stumble onto this show never having heard of the books (and Namjoon hopes it’ll make them buy a copy), but others will tune in expecting it to come off the same way they’ve been imagining, for characters to make decisions that feel authentic. 
You actually kind of loved the writing sessions. It was really amazing to see how things came together and to be in a room where you didn’t need to shout to be heard. Everyone there was genuinely interested in your feedback, and you tried to be conscious of when to just let the process unfold. It was collaborative in the best way. The only hard thing was keeping it all under wraps from almost everyone. The whole team had decided that they wouldn’t announce the news until the rough copies of the scripts were finished enough to move on to casting.
Now, that you’re having to sit through casting auditions, you’re rethinking your entire life that has led to this moment. No, that is not dramatic. You gave the casting team literal pages on pages for every character that needed to have any sort of significant role in the show and had even worked with someone for fucking *mood boards* for the main characters. There were days when you barely slept because you had to churn things out for casting. All so you could turn the rough scripts into final copies. What else did they want from you? 
To sit through casting calls, apparently. So fine. You can eat craft services with the best of them.
After a few days, you do start to see the point in it all, see the times when the casting team liked two people for a particular part and looked to you as the deciding factor. While it felt like a lot of pressure, it also allowed you to make sure everything felt right. It was never just about physical appearance, that was always fluid. You also didn’t want Kristen Stewart in the Twilight movies with one damn expression the entire time. (No shade to Kristen Stewart, it just wasn’t anyone’s best look in those movies).
The one positive is that you’ve managed to meet a few people you actually kind of like. And, okay, yeah, they’re mostly assistants to some of the more important people in the process, but those people are stuffy and very unlikely to gossip with you around the water cooler. Since you’ve never had a normal office job, this is a very important part of actually getting to work with people. Namjoon scoffs a lot at this, says that it’s probably good that you haven’t had a normal office job. He spends a lot of time letting you know actual office jobs aren’t anything like sitcoms, which is funny considering the office where he works. Maybe he doesn’t gossip around the water cooler, but you’ve definitely seen the assistants gathering. Even heard his name come up a time or two. Heard how attractive they all seem to think he is. They’re not wrong.
Your new friends are also the type of people who insist that you absolutely have to join them when they decide happy hour is the perfect way to end the day. As San points out, you have the morning off tomorrow anyway. When you ask why it would matter if it was just happy hour, Wooyoung promptly elbows San hard in the ribs and says it doesn’t. You don’t miss the conspiratorial look on their faces, but fuck it. Happy hour sounds good.
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Your head is pounding and it feels like you got hit by a freight train. You don’t even remember getting that drunk the night before. The whole evening is kind of a blur of shots and bright lights and off-key karaoke. It was just supposed to be happy hour, which you learned quickly was your first mistake. There was no such thing as just happy hour with San, Wooyoung, and their insanely chaotic group of friends. And as the sleep is wearing off, something else creeps in. There is an arm draped over you. You’re not alone in your bed. Peeking one eye open, you’re immediately struck with the fact that these aren’t your walls, not your sheets, this isn’t your bed. You’re praying on everything that you don’t believe in that the arm belongs to one of the other people you’d gone out with the night before. You remember thinking one of Wooyoung’s friends was cute and tall and smiley, a little flirty and a little shy too. And then you see the hands. And the rings. With a careful glance back, you confirm it’s Hoseok, shirtless (you don’t need to check if it’s wearing anything else).
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
It’s rushing back. You quickly learned San and Wooyoung had no intention of letting you go after just happy hour. They were all convinced you were too stressed and that what you really needed was a patented WooSan (yes, they had a couple name, despite not actually being in a relationship) night of fun. You briefly considered protesting, but really, what was the point? And fuck, they weren’t wrong.
So happy hour turned into multiple stops. Wooyoung was on a karaoke mission and although you had never heard him sing, you instinctively thought drunken karaoke was never a good idea. (You were wrong, he had the voice of an angel to match his personality of the devil.) Karaoke meant meeting up with more of their friends. And somehow, because fate was cruel, one of their friends had brought along his friend Hoseok. You remember staring at him like a deer in headlights before declaring everything was fine and hitting the shots. There also may have been a lot of flirting with Wooyoung’s tall friend with the shy smile whose name you couldn’t remember.
Now, in the light of day, it was not fine. You gingerly slide out from underneath his arm and carefully get out of the bed, tiptoeing over to what you can only hope and assume is a bathroom, phone snatched off the nightstand on the way. You’re thanking drunk you for not making it harder to find.
Once you’re in the safety of the bathroom, you sink down to the floor and take a couple of breaths. You’re not sure if it’s the hangover rearing its ugly head or just the situation you’ve found yourself in.
You: Yoongi are you up? You: Please be up, I need you! You: This is important! Like one of those most important things in the world.
Yoongi isn’t answering and you’re starting to panic. You need someone to talk you through this. So you call him, knowing that it might get his attention. The first call goes to voicemail and so you try again. This time after the second ring you hear him grunt a frustrated “what?” and then hang up.
Yoongi: What the fuck? You call twice and hang up on me? You: Because I need you
Missed call from Yoongi
Yoongi: Then answer the fucking phone You: I *can’t* You: Yoongi, I fucked up, like really fucked up Yoongi: What’s going on? You: I went out drinking last night and ugh I did something really fucking stupid Yoongi: Whatever it is, it’s not that serious You: I just woke up next to Hobi… You: Like I’m in fucking university again Yoongi: … Yoongi: I’m going back to bed, you’re being dramatic You: I’m *not* this is SERIOUS Yoongi: It’s not that serious You: I’ve spent 5 years trying to get over the way he treated me, so yeah it’s a big deal Yoongi: it’s just drunken sex and I’m tired You: oh my god, give the phone to Jimin Yoongi: Just text him You: Yoongi, please
You stare at the phone and try to figure out what else to say when the screen lights up again.
Yoongi: I have a very grumpy boyfriend You: Jimin, thank god Yoongi (Jimin): what is it my little problem child? You: Just read up Yoongi (Jimin): You bitch, you went out and got drunk and didn’t invite me? You: Jimin can we focus please? Yoongi (Jimin): Who did you go out with? You: Is this really the time? Yoongi (Jimin): I’m waiting You: Fuck Jimin, just some people that are working on the show You: Now can we please talk about this colossal mistake? Yoongi (Jimin): I’ll be there to pick you up and take your hungover ass to get breakfast, which is more than you deserve since you went out WITHOUT ME You: Thank you and I will never go out without inviting you again Yoongi (Jimin): Better
You’ve taken way too long in the bathroom and you know there’s a chance Hoseok will be awake now. But you can’t bring yourself to leave the bathroom until you get the text from Jimin that he’s downstairs. Bless him for being an absolute angel, even when it’s his horns keeping the halo upright. 
Despite being a colossal pain in the ass about nearly everything in life, Jimin does actually come through and take you to one of the best meals you’ve ever had. Or maybe you’re just that hungover. You don’t really know. He’s also somehow managed to bring you a change of clothes (which, you’re not really sure if they’re actually yours or where they came from, but the outfit looks remarkably put together) and makeup so you don’t have to go all the way home. You try to ask why he’s so prepared and he only gives a vague answer about how you didn’t know him before Yoongi and smirks. You’re immediately filing that away for another day when you do remember to invite Jimin out to drink with you and whatever group you’ve been dragged into. 
When Jimin drops you off at the studio (another point to Jimin) where your car is still conveniently parked from the night before, you’re feeling and looking significantly more human. You know you owe him, he doesn’t have to say it. But he’s Park Jimin so he says it anyway and you just smile.
The auditions feel a little less tedious with a stomach full of greasy food the day after a much-needed night out (where you will be pretending that you did not fuck Hoseok again). You’re looking for some more minor characters today. If things go well and you end up doing a second season based on the second book, they could play a much bigger role. For now, though, it’s still small.
Realistically, you’re not hungry because Jimin really did hook you up. Then again, the food is there and it’s free, so you’re looking over to decide what you might actually want to try. Someone approaches the other side of the table, looking tentative. You immediately recognize him as one of the guys you pointed out as fitting the right look for one of your characters. He was sweet, kind of endearing, but with really striking features.
“Hey, I just wanted to introduce myself,” he says and you look up. “I’m Chan.”
“I remember,” you say and you’re being honest. You were insistent that he be kept around to audition.
“Wow, I didn’t think…well that’s great. I’m excited to get the chance. Thank you so much,” Chan says and you realize this might be a big deal for him.
“No problem, you just remind me of him,” you say.
“I was talking to my dance teacher before the first audition,” Chan starts and you raise an eyebrow. “Oh, I know this isn’t a dancing part, I just like to take the classes.”
“That’s fair,” you say.
“And I was really worried about the audition and how it would go,” Chan says. “But my dance teacher, he’s awesome, he said he had gone to school with you and used to be friends with you and all that and that you were really nice.”
That one statement brought you up completely short. What the fuck?
“Who’s your dance teacher?” You already know the answer because really, who else could it be? Still, you need to hear him say it.
“Oh, Jung Hoseok,” Chan says quickly and you force a smile. “Do you remember him? He gave me all this great advice about the audition and said he’d try to reach out to you if it made me feel better. He’s so nice.”
“Yeah, he was. It’s been ages since I’ve spoken to him though,” you say, hoping that you succeed in the attempt at nonchalance. 
“Yeah, he said that. I think he was just trying to help me feel better, offering to reach out,” Chan agrees. “I get it though. You’ve had so much success as a writer, so it makes sense you wouldn’t still talk to everyone from college. It’s so cool they’re turning your book into a series and you’re so young!”
“I feel like I’ve been writing for like 20 years with how much it ages me sometimes,” you say to distract yourself from thinking of Hoseok.
“I actually…read all the books when they came out, I’m a big fan,” Chan says and blushes like it’s embarrassing to admit. You think it’s sweet. One of the PAs calls out for you, though.
“Good luck today, Chan. It’s been really great speaking to you,” you say and excuse yourself.
Honestly, you can’t believe the audacity of fucking Jung Hoseok to say what he had to this poor kid. Playing it off like he knows you, making it seem like you just used to be friends. And what was he thinking, offering to reach out to you on behalf of this kid?
That’s when a truly sickening thought settles into your brain. Takes root in a way that you know you can’t shake it. One of those intrusive thoughts that shouldn’t ever exist. Was that what this all was? Is this why he reached out? Does he just want to help one of his dancers get a role in your new series? That would be seriously fucked up if that was the case. And you hate thinking he could be capable of something like that. The reality is that you used to know Hoseok, while the guy who wrecked you was a complete stranger and there’s no way of knowing which one had shown up now.
The rest of the day is kind of a wash from a concentration standpoint. You’re a million miles away and thankfully, nobody seems to call you on it. You’re not sure if it’s because they’ve worked with writers before that had their heads in the clouds or because you’re still answering all the questions asked of you. Either way, you’re not really there at all. 
Over the next day or so, you decide the best way forward is to continue ignoring Hoseok (despite him texting you multiple times wanting to talk about what happened after karaoke). Instead of talking to Hoseok, you do the completely rational thing and talk to every other person you trust. How can you decide on the next move without multiple opinions? 
You can’t.
Yoongi is first up and he’s exceptionally grumpy since you woke him up before he was ready to be a person. It may not have been that early by normal human standards, but Yoongi is only part human and part gremlin, you think, so he’s never really followed normal hours. Once he’s done being grumpy, he takes his time being thoughtful. As far as he sees it, this was just some drunken sex. It isn’t like Hoseok actually asked for anything, that you remember. And you insist you remember everything from the night.  For all you know, it was just stress relief for both of you. No point in getting worked up.
Since Jimin is there and incapable of being ignored, he also gets to weigh in. Which is welcome, actually, because Jimin can be really calculating when he wants to be. He asks a lot of questions, both about the guy you were friends with and the fight that ended it all. You’re just about ready to call this conversation a day when Jimin says he doesn’t think it sounds like something malicious. There’s only one way to know for sure, though, and he suggests that you just talk to Hoseok like an adult with multiple published books and a streaming deal. There’s Park Jimin for you.
Part of you wants to ask Namjoon, but thinks better of it. The Affair incident is fresh in your mind and you really don’t need to give him another reason to question your sanity. There are enough of those just in everyday life. And you just had to relive the entire fight with Jimin so you’re not too eager to explain all the backstory to Namjoon.
Which makes the final person you ask Jungkook. His opinion is so incredibly important to you, yet it’s the one that you’re least excited about getting. It means you also have to tell him about sleeping with Hoseok, a fact that you have carefully avoided. Not that you owe Jungkook every detail of your life, because you’re not actually in a relationship. It’s just that, sometimes, with how much you depend on each other, it feels like something more. Feels like it’s much more than just some friends-with-benefits type situation. 
In true Jungkook fashion, he takes the news in stride and doesn’t linger on you fucking this stranger that reappeared at the Gala and hasn’t seemed to go away since then. He’s thoughtful, Hoseok has come up a lot in your conversations lately, so he doesn’t have to ask questions like Jimin. And you tell him how frustrating it was to answer them, anyway. There’s no escaping it when Jungkook comes to the same conclusion, though. 
“Just talk to him,” Jungkook urges, “you’ll feel so much better being able to gauge his answer.”
“I’m really sorry,” you say and Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow at that. 
“For what?” he asks.
“Getting drunk and making a stupid fucking mistake by fucking him,” you answer, avoiding his eyes. 
“It’s really not a big deal for you and me,” Jungkook says.
“Are you sure?” you ask. You hate how small your voice sounds.
Jungkook closes the space between you and kisses the top of your head. “I’m sure. I’m here for whatever you need.”
This brings you to texting Hoseok.
And that brings you to sit down in a coffee shop with him, because apparently you can’t just text or go to each other’s apartment, like normal people. Which is nice too, actually, because it gives you a chance to see more of the city than just your apartment or the studio where you’ve been working. It allows you to people watch, see those rushing by in a haze mingled with those taking their time. Let’s your overactive imagination come up with a story for each of them. 
You still aren’t even sure if you want to forgive Hoseok for everything that happened all those years ago. And with all the writing sessions and casting calls, you haven’t exactly had a lot of time to even think, let alone talk to anyone outside of your small circle. Which isn’t totally out of character, you’ve never been one for a huge circle of friends or social engagements. It just makes everything a little more complicated now as you’re trying to sort out feelings. 
Hoseok beat you to the coffee shop this time, seemingly by a bit since he’s going to get his second cup just after you sit down. You spare a passing thought that maybe he’s nervous about talking to you. He certainly seems like he is. Weirdly it makes you less nervous. It makes you feel somehow more in control of the situation because you do know what you want to say.
“So,” Hoseok begins after he sits back down, “about the other night…”
“Actually, that isn’t exactly what I wanted to talk to you about,” you say, watching his eyes go wide.
“What?” he stutters out.
“I mean, I guess it’s kind of related? But also not,” you say. “I met Lee Chan at a casting call the other day.”
Whatever Hoseok was expecting, it’s not this. He tries to connect the dots for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “Okay? He’s a great kid, I’m glad he decided to go to the auditions after all.”
“That’s it?” You’re watching him for a reaction that just isn’t there. Maybe, despite The Fight, he’s still more or less the person you were friends with.
“I’m not sure what else to say about him,” Hoseok admits.
“Okay, cards on the table,” you say with a confidence you don’t entirely feel. “Did you show back up in my life to help your student get a part in my series?”
Hoseok chokes on his drink when the question comes out, turns into a coughing mess and takes a minute to clear his throat. “What the fuck? Is that what you think? Come on, you know me…”
“I don’t though, do I? Not anymore,” you disagree and there’s finally an emotion on his face that you can place: hurt. He’s hurt and you’re not sure how to feel about that. Your feelings about him are still so mixed up. A big part of you wants to comfort him, though. Which isn’t exactly the response you’d expected.
“Maybe I deserve that, but it still hurts,” Hoseok says. You chew your bottom lip while you think.
“It hurt to have the thought it was possible too, trust me,” you say. “But it was weird timing, you know? Chan introduced himself during his second audition, later the same day I woke up in your bed.”
“I would never sleep with you to help a student get something out of it,” Hoseok says earnestly. “I’d never sleep with you to get anything out of it.”
“I want to believe that,” you admit.
“I had no idea that you’d be there. Another guy from the studio who teaches but also takes my master classes is friends with your friends that invited you out. He asked if I wanted to come out, I wasn’t busy, so I figured why not?” Hoseok explains. “And then I wake up and you’re gone.”
“Hoseok,” you say, a quiet warning.
“Actually, I wake up and you’re sneaking out without saying anything,” he amends. 
“I needed to not be there,” you say because it’s all you can say.
“I get that, I know you’re seeing someone, but we needed to talk about it,” Hoseok says.
“Yeah, Jungkook knows,” you say and feel your heart constrict a bit at the way Hoseok pales.
“What?” Hoseok asks. When you don’t say anything, he continues. “Please tell me you’re kidding, he looks like he could kick my ass and barely break a sweat.”
“He would never,” you disagree. “My…relationship, if you wanna call it that, with Jungkook isn’t exactly what you think? Like he’s not my boyfriend, we’re not exclusive or anything like that.”
“But you let me think you were?” He doesn’t look upset, just confused if anything.
“Yeah, I know,” you say and he’s still watching you carefully. “It was just easier and honestly, I didn’t feel like I owed you an explanation for my personal life after all these years.”
“I - yeah, okay, I guess I have to respect that,” Hoseok agrees. “But we still need to talk.”
“I’m not ready,” you say immediately, try not to feel anything when he deflates. 
“I guess I just thought…since you asked to meet me,” Hoseok says, trailing off.
“I needed to know if you really just did that for a student,” you offer.
“You believe that I didn’t, right? That I wouldn’t?” Hoseok asks with so much hope that you’re not sure you can take it.
“I do, yeah,” you say. You’ve barely had time to process, but you know you do believe he wouldn’t do that. It’s about all you know when it comes to him now.
“I really do need you to know how sorry I am,” Hoseok says and you start to open your mouth, but he’s quicker. “Please, you don’t have to say anything, just let me say this? Please?”
He looks so much younger, so vulnerable for a moment. All you do is nod.
“I know sorry isn’t what you need to hear, I get that. I know that I can’t go back and change that fight and all the fucking stupid shit that I said. Stuff that I didn’t mean. And I do hear you that you’re not ready. I just want you to know that I’m so sorry,” Hoseok says.
You let out your breath. “I do know that Hobi, at least on some level.” 
“I’ve, well I’ve done a lot of thinking about that day. I talked to a lot of people, both friends and a therapist, actually. There aren’t any excuses for what I did, no matter what was going on in my head. If I’ve learned anything over the past few years, it’s definitely that. So I want to make sure you know that when you are ready, if you’re ever ready, I won’t make any excuses. What happened was entirely my fault and I completely acknowledge that,” he says, so earnestly. 
“I appreciate that,” you say because it’s all you really can think up.
This was supposed to clear your head up, which it has in some ways. You feel a little silly for even thinking that Hoseok would do something like sleep with you to help get someone he only kind of knows a role in a TV series. And you’re also questioning your friends since none of them pointed out you were having a full breakdown over a man. Not your finest moment. 
But with that one, small thing cleared up, your mind immediately goes back to the bigger issue: Hoseok has reappeared in your life and you really need to figure out how you feel about that. You’ve missed him, of course. You’re not going to deny that very obvious truth. On top of that, you also very clearly have some sort of feelings for him. After all, you’re not stupid college kids anymore. It’s not like you can pretend the sex was meaningless. 
Hoseok, showing some definite growth from your college days, accepts it when you say that you just can’t talk about all the very real things you need to right now. Accepts it when you say that you believe him but you have to go. Accepts that you’re running late for something. The only problem is that you’re not running late. It’s not like you actually planned for after your talk with him. It was too much to even think about how the conversation was going to go.
Now it’s over, though, and you don’t really want to go home to be alone with your thoughts. One of the few times that you don’t like that you live alone. Don’t like that you don’t have a built-in person that can just be there without you having to explain what you’re feeling or that you don’t want to be alone. Which is when your brain goes to Jungkook. He’s become that person that you go to when you don’t want to be alone or when you need to get out of your own head.
Except you’re not really sure that’s fair to him. Not really sure if seeing him right now is going to help you. Since the Gala, he’s been nothing but supportive and understanding. This is too much, though, isn’t it? Sure, you and he have never really wanted to bother labeling things, both just happy with the way things are. Things have naturally kind of evolved, but you haven’t stopped to talk about any of it. Sure, Jungkook always assures you that it’s fine, that he’s happy to be there whenever you need him. 
The healthiest thing to do is go home and actually try to sort out your feelings. The second healthiest thing to do would be to call Yoongi and tell him that you actually need to talk to him (which you do, desperately, need his help). 
None of the healthy options include texting Wooyoung to see if he’s got any plans that night. The healthy ways to process definitely don’t include agreeing to go out for happy hour knowing full well what that means with Wooyoung. At least this time, you invite Jimin to avoid one disaster.
(Jimin agrees to come and agrees to your terms that he’s not allowed to ask if you’re okay or if you want to talk. Agrees that he won’t tell Yoongi even if he thinks you’re making reckless decisions. He also finds a way to tell Wooyoung’s friend not to invite Hoseok this time without outing you. When you’re sober, you’ll probably thank Jimin. Maybe. There is always his ego to consider.)
“I feel like I’ve seen you around somewhere,” San muses, looking at Jimin.
Jimin just smiles his most mischievous smile and shrugs, taking a sip of his drink. “Probably.”
“Jimin is one of my best friends, he’s been by the studio a few times,” you say when it’s clear Jimin isn’t going to provide any more context. He sighs and rolls his eyes dramatically.
“I’m also dating her platonic soulmate, so she’s stuck with me,” Jimin adds and you snort.
“Is that what we’re calling Yoongi these days?” you ask. Jimin smiles a real smile, eyes crinkling. 
“Honestly, yes, your friendship with him is so sweet, it makes me sick,” Jimin says with nothing but affection. 
San seems satisfied and Wooyoung just looks enamored by anything Jimin says. Which is actually kind of cute because you can tell he’s not even interested in Jimin like that, just genuinely wants to be his friend. And you definitely get that. Jimin is one of the sweetest, most charismatic people that you know. Yes, he can be a devious little shit, but when he’s like this, it’s impossible to not like him. 
That’s just kind of how the night goes. Thankfully, it’s not quite as crazy as the last time you went out with this group. You learn the tall guy’s name is Mingi and for some reason, he seems weirdly shy around you. It’s cute and he’s incredibly sweet. Jimin fits in seamlessly, which isn’t a surprise to you with how many times you’ve seen him like this. 
What is a surprise, though, is that Jimin keeps demanding you get up and dance with him. Since, of course, happy hour turned into going someplace else. It wasn’t just Jimin that wanted to dance and now you were just along for the ride. He also insisted that you were a safe choice to dance with and also gave you a sob story about how Yoongi would never dance with him at the club. 
(Probably true, crowds and people and this kind of thing were definitely not Yoongi’s first or second or even last choice. It’s also true that Jimin is a really amazing dancer and you’re a little intimidated by him. You’re also, thankfully, just buzzed enough to not really care.)
It’s the early hours of the morning when you finally head home, feeling a lot lighter than you had after leaving Hoseok. In fact, you haven’t checked your messages since meeting up with Jimin, Wooyoung, San, and the others. There’s something freeing about just putting everything on Do Not Disturb and enjoying the moment. 
By the time you get out of the car at your apartment, the alcohol haze is already wearing off. Which ends up being a good thing when you open your door to see someone sitting on your couch. There’s a half second of panic, of your brain calculating fight or flight, before you realize that it’s just Jungkook. Sitting on your couch, watching TV like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“Jesus Christ, Jungkook,” you say, hand on your chest like you’re about to die. A little overdramatic, maybe, but your brain is still a little hazy around the edges. 
“Sorry,” he says, eyes immediately going comically wide. “I didn’t mean to scare you!” 
“No, it’s fine,” you say as you toe off your shoes and drop your keys and bag on the table by the door. 
“I really am sorry,” he says. It’s easy to believe when he looks that bashful. “I don’t even know why I came over. I just, well I texted you after I got out of my shoot to see how things went and you didn’t answer.”
“Oh yeah, I went out for drinks with Jimin and some friends from the set,” you say and Jungkook nods. 
“Yeah, he actually texted me,” Jungkook admits and you just chuckle. Of course he did, you think. “But I was already on my way over here and your apartment is more comfortable than mine. I can leave though?” 
“No, it’s fine, it’s late,” you say as you collapse on the couch with him. “One rule, though.” 
“What?” he asks.
“I don’t wanna talk about the conversation with Hobi right now,” you say quietly as you nestle into Jungkook’s side.
You miss the way that he tenses for a minute at the way the old nickname falls so easily from your lips. Miss the way it takes his arms a minute to wrap around you. Miss the way his face falls a little at you not wanting to talk to him about something. 
“Of course, whatever you need,” Jungkook says. 
You don’t hear the way his voice sounds a little hollow, a little less animated than it usually does. He wants to mean it, wants to keep being there for you however you need him. It’ll be fine, he tells himself. He can do this. 
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all of them are kinda going through it right now, but please let me know your thoughts <3
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standfucker · 1 year
Text
Sunrises; part 2: Days Three and Four
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​Read Part 1 Here!
@rogerpirateswk​
Word Count: 6,357
CW: Depiction of a panic attack during Day Four
Ao3 Link
Day Three.
Some of the crewmates talk to you here and there, and you decide you preferred it when they ignored you. It’s not quite disdain they speak with, but it’s certainly not respect. You don’t have the guts to stand up for yourself, but you end up not having to. Every time you get talked down to, Scopper appears over your shoulder, telling the offending crewmate to get bent. You don’t know how he always seems to know when it’s happening, or how he finds you wherever you are on the ship. All you know is that Scopper’s way of ‘making it up to you’ seems to be by assigning himself as your bodyguard.
It’s a bit embarrassing, but does wonders for your sanity. His once-nerve-wracking presence rapidly becomes comforting, although there’s still a skip in your heartbeat when he’s close by that you can’t chalk up to anxiety alone. He’s attractive, not just in the physical sense, but in the way he grins at you, and in the sound of his voice when he tells you not to fret over something (a sweet, if not pointless, reassurance.) He probably mistakes your apprehension around him for fear, which is fine; you really don’t need him to know how he makes you feel. That would be another layer of stress on this trip you’d rather not have.
A sizable group of men are hanging out in the mess room late in the afternoon, some playing cards. The captain, first mate, and Scopper are all present, so you don’t feel nearly as antsy, though you still politely decline to join the game. It turns out to be a wise decision: A crewmate named Doringo is caught cheating, and the one sitting next to him, Erio, becomes so enraged that he pulls a knife, attempting to stab Doringo’s hand to the table. Thankfully, he misses, but that plus the ensuing shouting match has your blood pressure soaring. You shrink back in your chair, hands shaking as more men join the argument.
Scopper, sitting next to you, nudges your arm. “Hey, it’s okay. They won’t hurt you.”
You shove your hands under your thighs to still them and acknowledge Scopper with a curt nod. Verbal consolation has never done much against the staggering intensity that is your nerves, so all you can do is wait it out. Leaving the room is an option, but you feel safer around the captain and Rayleigh and Scopper, even with the conflict currently taking place.
It reminds you of an incident on the Marine ship, the day before the pirate attack. Two young Marines got into a fistfight, and you had been similarly alarmed. Except those two had been separated by the crew and then disciplined by their superiors. Roger just lets the crew duke it out, not even looking up from his conversation with Rayleigh.
“Fuck this!” Spencer slams his fists on the table and stands abruptly. “I’m going to start dinner. You dumbass bastards can keep fighting, for all I care.”
Spencer heads for the galley, his path taking him past your seat, and he pauses before you. “Y/n, right?”
You look at him owlishly. This is the first time he’s spoken to you. “Yeah…?”
“What’s your favorite food?” 
Around you, the crew gets suspiciously quiet.
There’s a gleam in Spencer’s eye you can’t figure out. Your thoughts start racing: Why does he care? Is he offering to make it? What are the odds he’ll even have the right ingredients on hand? What was with this change of heart?
“Oh, don’t–it’s fine,” you say. “You don’t need to–”
“Just tell me,” he presses. “Your favorite food is…?”
You scramble to think of an answer, social anxiety somehow bad enough that you instantly forget what your own favorite is due to the stress of expectation. You pick something random. “Sesame chicken?”
Spencer smiles impishly. “Well, you’re getting grilled cheese.”
The room erupts into laughter, leaving you confused and self-conscious. Did you miss something? When you can’t figure it out after a minute, you realize it must be an inside joke. It doesn’t stop you from feeling embarrassed, though.
“It's an inside joke,” Scopper helps.
"Yeah, I figured that out," you say dryly.
It’s a really stupid one. Your unimpressed expression must make that thought clear. A crewmate–Bankuro, you think his name was–takes one look at you and laughs harder. "Come on! They don't got jokes in the Marines?"
"They do," you grumble. And they actually make sense.
“Good ones?”
“Doubtful,” another crewmate interjects. You haven’t been formally introduced to everyone, so you’ve had to pick up names as you overhear them, and you’ve had yet to learn them all.
You shrug. "Marine jokes are usually related to command efficiency. How long it takes for an order to go through. Dad says that they call it ‘Justice, Eventually.’ There’s some others, though."
“Like what?”
“Like…” You think for a moment. “Did you hear about the Marine who enlisted out of spite? He wanted to become a Petty Officer.”
Silence. Just total silence from the entire room, complete with blank stares.
“It’s a rank,” you add.
“I know that. It’s just not funny.”
“Yes, it is!” You’re a little insulted. That was your favorite Marine joke.
“What do you expect from the Marines? Wit?” Taro chimes in from his spot a few seats over. You assume it’s Taro, anyway–he’s wearing a shirt with his name on it, so it’s either him or a big fan of his. “That’s why ‘Marine’ stands for ‘Muscles Are Required; Intelligence Not Essential.’”
The crew bursts into laughter. Harsh, but not surprising. They were natural enemies, after all. That doesn’t bother you. Neither does someone saying, “Ain’t that the truth! It’s a miracle they get anything done.”
What comes next, however.
What comes next crosses the line.
“It’s no wonder they died.”
You don’t know the name of the crewmate who said it–don’t care, either. The effect is immediate; a chill, at first, that runs through your body. Then the temperature spikes in the opposite direction. You’re not really the type to get explosively angry. But the crew’s laughter strikes against your memories of hearing the Marines die like a match. The resulting flame billows through your being, dwarfing any sense of nervousness. A rage like you’ve never felt before, burning up your heart.
“Shut up!” You roar, jumping to your feet. “Shut the fuck up!” 
The room falls quiet, all eyes on you now. You’re trembling, fists balled up. “They were good men. They didn’t deserve to die like that. Thirty men, slaughtered like animals. Thirty families, broken forever! Thirty!”
Those two young Marines who quarreled that day were dead, never to grow up. And the pirates before you lived on. They had no right to speak ill of them, enemies or not. You glare at the speechless crew.
“Maybe they weren’t all shining examples of humanity,” you yelled, “but they were nice to me! They greeted me every morning. They made sure I was comfortable. They complimented my music!” Angry tears prick the corners of your eyes. “So don’t speak badly about them! Not in front of me and not behind my back! Keep it to yourself!”
You’re panting by the time you’re done with the outburst. The crew is astonished, varied expressions of surprise that you were even capable of such fury. You’re so livid that you’re not even scared of them at that moment. And then…
“Alright,” says the pirate who made the initial comment, “I’m sorry.”
The sincerity of his tone cuts through the haze of anger and straight into your chest. Entirely caught off guard, you can only stare. An apology was the very last thing you expected. “...What?”
“I said I’m sorry,” he says. “I went too far.”
You blink, the tears running down your cheeks. You take a deep, shuddering breath. And then you sink back into your chair. The anger fizzles out at his genuine acknowledgment, and with its recession, anxiety sets in. You’ve just shouted at a bunch of pirates. And instead of killing you, you got an apology.
No one back home will ever believe you.
You glance around the table, but none of them seem particularly upset. When your gaze lands on Roger, you see that he’s watching you back. He’s wearing a small smile, and you can see approval shining in his eyes.
You wipe your face on your scarf–that is, Scopper’s sash–and rest against folded arms, now tired from the surge of emotion.
A few minutes later, a crewmate you’ve never talked to slides into the empty seat next to you, making you tense. Tall and lanky, he has a sort of eccentric look, even for the crew. Lots of pink hair beneath a strange cap, wearing a striped short-sleeved shirt over a solid-colored long-sleeved one. You remember his name–the others called him Mr. Momora (and the ‘Mr’ seemed to be required.) He’s looking at you like he wants something.
Unsure if he’s about to get mad, you lean back to the other side a little, toward Scopper. “C-Can I help you?”
“You play music?” Mr. Momora asks.
The question startles you for a moment–how did he know?–until you remember that you mentioned it during your fit of rage. “...Yeah.”
“What do you play?” His gaze is piercing and expectant.
“Ukulele,” you say, and sigh wistfully. “I had this beautiful tenor ukulele… A real fancy one, deep red wood with gold trim. Like the colors of the Oro Jackson. It was a gift...” A friend had brought it back with them from their trip to the North Blue. Your face falls as you recall its fate. “It was looted off the Marine ship by those pirates. I guess they could tell it was worth something.”
“Ukulele,” Mr. Momora repeats. You’re not sure that he heard anything else you said. “Okay. Okay. That works. Yes!”
You flinch when he pumps his fist in the air, and then he tears out of the room so fast his chair is knocked over. You stare after him, bewildered.
“He wants to play the song he wrote,” Taro explains, sounding irked.
“He writes music?” You can’t help the marvel in your voice. It wasn’t unheard of for pirates–sailors from all walks of life played or at least enjoyed music to pass the long days at sea. You had even heard of a whole pirate crew composed solely of musicians. But it still felt strange. What kind of music did pirates like?
“Yeah, and he’s really annoying about it,” Taro says, “gets a big head because he can play more than one kind of instrument. Complains that we can’t. ‘I can’t bring my vision to life like this,’ he says.”
“How many of you can play?”
“Three of us. Mr. Momora plays string instruments, mainly. I play drums. Moony plays bass. That’s as far as musical talent goes on this crew.”
For three people, that was a good balance of instruments. “I don’t see the problem?”
“The problem is that he’ll go and write songs with multiple string parts, for example, and then get mad when no one else can play them. Like it’s our fault he won’t just write for what we already know.”
“Oh…” It seemed that Mr. Momora was as odd in mannerisms as he was in appearance.
Mr. Momora returns a little later, each hand full with a large instrument case (guitars, it looks like, but you’re not sure) and a stack of papers in his teeth. He sets the cases down carefully, then takes the papers and smacks them onto the table in front of you. 
“Can you read this?” he asks.
You look at the paper. It’s sheet music, clearly hand-drawn, though the staff lines are straight. He must have used a ruler. “Yeah, I can.”
That makes him excited, bouncing up and down for a moment before going to open one of the cases. As you thought, it’s a guitar, the rich, dark wood reminding you of chocolate. He places it into your arms without another word.
You look at the guitar, then up at him. “This is a guitar.”
“Yes,” Mr. Momora says, “her name is Shirley.”
That’s kind of cute, but he’s not understanding the problem. A ukulele has four strings, while a guitar has six. The change in string numbers changes the chord shapes and scale lengths, not to mention the tuning between the two instruments is different. You pluck a few strings and frown. The guitar strings are positioned for tuning from low to high–the ukulele is the opposite, with the highest string on the bottom.
“I know how to play the ukulele,” you say, “this is different.”
“You can’t do it?” Mr. Momora’s disappointment is a full-body thing, his posture slumping while his face is downcast.
Something about the way he says it tugs at your pride. "Hold on, now. I never said that.”
A few of the pirates chuckle.
Mr. Momora lights up. “Then you’ll play?”
“You’ll have to give me some time, first. I need to figure this out before I can sight-read anything.”
You start by tuning the guitar before testing the strings. They’re stiffer than what you’re used to, made of steel rather than the ukulele’s nylon, with a far tighter string tension. The size difference also takes some adjusting to. Even a tenor ukulele was much smaller than a guitar. The instrument feels gigantic in your arms, bulky and unyielding.
“They’re not so different,” Mr. Momora says. “I don’t currently own a ukulele, but I’ve played one before. Place your fingers on the four highest strings, and you’ll find it sounds similar. A G chord on a ukulele is a D chord on the guitar. Try it out!”
You do so, nodding to yourself when the sound comes out as he explained. Mr. Momora coaches you through the differences, taking out the second guitar to demonstrate (“her name is Rosanne,” he says) and you get the sense that he’s played a variety of instruments to be able to understand them so well. Spurred on by his enthusiasm, you keep going, eventually working up to practicing scales and chords.
Eventually you’re comfortable enough to try tackling the sheet music. Mr. Momora brings in a stand to hold it up, and you start out slow, not following the tempo but just getting the notes down first.
“I wrote this song as a two-guitar duet,” Mr. Momora says, “but no one else plays guitar–” he shoots a look at Taro, who flips him off–“so I’ve never gotten to play this with anyone.”
The way Mr. Momora watches you play is a little unnerving. He’s looking intensely between you and the sheet music, but you recognize it as elation rather than scorn. This is the first time he’s heard someone else play these notes.
“Alright. I think I’m ready,” you finally say, feeling a bit excited yourself. Even played slowly, it sounds like it’s going to be good, and that was with just one guitar.
“Yes? Yes! Okay, let’s do it, Marineling!” Mr. Momora exclaims, and you make a face at the peculiar nickname. “Hey, everyone! Shut up for a minute!”
A few crewmates tell Mr. Momora, in various ways, to go fuck himself. But they also listen, the whole room getting quiet. You’re not sure if it’s the pirates being strange again, or sweet, in their own way. Regardless, you would have preferred the background noise, discomforted by the attention now focused on the two of you. But it’s too late to back out now. And, to be honest, you find you don’t want to disappoint Mr. Momora.
He taps his foot in rhythm. “Five, six, seven, and…”
You begin the song. The first four measures of the intro are played by you alone, a momentary solo before Mr. Momora jumps in on the fifth. The verse is a string of six notes at a time, rising for four before settling for the last two.
You didn’t know what to expect from a pirate, but it wasn’t anything like this. You like the song immediately. Simple in structure, but effective, its tempo is slow and gentle, calling your own heart to relax. It feels like drifting. It feels nostalgic. Almost like a lullaby. If you weren’t glancing between the sheet music and your finger placement on the frets, you would have looked at Mr. Momora with awe.
By the time you get to the chorus, you can’t stop smiling. It’s such a peaceful, melodic tune. Uplifting the way sitting next to a loved one is. And maybe it’s just the harmony of the two guitars, but you feel linked with Mr. Momora as you play, the two of you working together to create something beautiful. A minute in, Mr. Momora starts whistling, accompanying the main melody with a slightly higher pitch. 
You’re not confident enough with the guitar yet to look away from your playing for very long. Just enough for a quick glance up. You’re sure most of the crew is watching you, but there’s only one person whose opinion you’re really interested in. Your gaze flicks to Scopper. His head is tilted down, so you can see his eyes–he’s closed them, soaking in the music.
You look back down, cheeks growing warm as giddy satisfaction washes through you.
The song is short, only lasting another minute before you and Mr. Momora wind it down to a swift but gratifying close, playing the last notes at the same time. The final notes echo together, resonating for a few seconds.
Suddenly Mr. Momora is bent over you, his guitar discarded in order to grab your shoulders and start shaking you vigorously back and forth. “Yes! Yes! That was almost perfect!” 
A few crewmates shout at him to stop. Your terrified yelp warbles from the strength of his actions, but it only lasts another second before Scopper intervenes, forcing Mr. Momora to stop and prying his hands off of you. The world spins, your disorientation growing with the booming clap of scattered applause. You cover your ears, dazed and overstimulated, until it passes.
“You okay?” Scopper asks, touching your shoulder, his grip far gentler than Mr. Momora’s was. “He rattled you around pretty good.”
“Um… Yeah. I think so.” You blink a few times to straighten out your vision, then return the guitar to its case. Your fingertips are sore from the tougher guitar strings.
“See, Taro?” Mr. Momora says, gesturing energetically. “See what you and Moony could do if you branched out?”
Taro rolls his eyes. “Just because it was a good song doesn’t mean I feel like learning a new instrument.”
“Why are you so agonizingly dull?”
“Man, fuck you. Crawl in a hole and die, Momo.”
“That’s MISTER Momo to you, chestnut-head! It’s not my fault you’re too stupid to play anything but drums!”
“Drums aren’t easy, asshole! You use all four limbs!”
You cover your mouth, caught between amusement and concern that another fight would break out. Just in case, you scoot your chair a little closer to Scopper’s, not thinking much of it until he rests his forearm on the back of your chair, grazing your shoulder.
“Don’t worry about them,” Scopper grins, “they’re loud, but they never go beyond shouting. And even if they did, I’m right here.”
Your heart thumps a little harder. His grin doesn’t subside for a second, and despite the shades, you get the sense that he’s focused on you. 
“What? What is it?” you ask.
“Look at you,” Scopper inclines his head toward the guitar case. “An artist and a musician… Multi-talented, aren’t ya?”
You bury your face into the folds of the sash, the heat beneath your skin spreading. “Stop…”
“Hah, alright.”
Earlier in the day, you had thought that maybe the roller coaster of emotions you had been strapped to was dying down now that the trip to the Marine outpost was underway. How vastly wrong you had been proven so far. How foolish of you to think otherwise. But when you looked past the moments of fright and tension, what remained… Maybe it wasn’t so bad.
You sneak another glance at Scopper. He’s still grinning. You look back down, smiling.
Not so bad at all.
The crew’s attitude toward you changes after that evening. Gone are the steely looks and stiff posture. Many of them start openly conversing with you at times, being as friendly, if not more so, than the Marine crew was. Standing up for yourself must have earned their respect. They’re still rough around the edges, and you’re still nervous around them, but the lack of hostility is a huge weight off your shoulders, and you sleep better that night than you have in weeks.
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Day Four.
You should have seen it coming.
Afterwards, you feel like an idiot. Because it happened on the Marine ship, you didn’t think it could possibly happen again so soon. But of course it would, of course the fear and stress these past few days would come to a head. You should have seen it coming, but you didn’t, and it catches you unawares.
You’re showing Shanks and Buggy how to mix paint when it begins. The dulling of sounds like someone’s put earmuffs on you, until you only hear the blood rushing in your ears. You trail off in the middle of your explanation of basic color theory, staring at the palette, the smears of colors blurring together.
“Y/n?” You hear someone say, but you don’t know which boy it is.
The air in the room is stiflingly hot, your body prickling with sweat. You peel off Scopper’s sash with trembling hands, but it doesn’t help. You need fresh air, you need to get on deck before you pass out. You try to get up but find the rest of your body is shaking, too, including your legs, and you stagger.
“Hey, what’s wrong?!”
Shanks and Buggy both jump to their feet, holding you up.
There’s an instant, deep-seated sense that something terrible is going to happen. You don’t know what, but the fear is instinctive, a gut feeling like you’re being hunted. Suddenly your chest gets so tight it feels like you’re choking, like you’re being held underwater with no way up for air.
“Can’t breathe,” you gasp.
“I’ll get help!” Shanks dashes out of the cabin.
Buggy supports you, helping you step and stumble toward the door. Even though your head is spinning, he keeps you from falling, strong for his age thanks to the rigors of pirate life. You make it outside, but the change doesn’t help. Chest heaving, panting like you’ve run for hours, and flooded with terror, you sink to your knees. Your heart is beating way, way too fast.
I’m going to die here.
Men are gathering around you now, looming presences and eyes that compound the panic. Your hand comes to your chest. None of the air you gulp down is getting to your lungs, and yet your heart is pounding so hard you’re certain you’re having a heart attack. Either that or the suffocation will kill you.
I’m going to die here and mom and dad will never know what happened to me.
“Get back! Give us space. Go back to what you were doing! You too, Buggy, Shanks.”
Roger’s voice. He crouches in front of you, pressing two large fingers to your pulse, and focuses.
“What–?” you breathe out, unable to verbalize the whole thought.  What is happening to me? Why am I dying?
“It’s going to be okay, Y/n,” Roger says, “you’re having a panic attack.”
Of course. A panic attack. None of this is a new experience, is it? But the knowledge helps like a knife in a gunfight. Recognizing it for what it is almost makes it worse, in a way, because you can’t stop it. Can’t use rational thought to convince yourself you’re okay, can’t tell your body that there’s no real danger. And you’re not sure that’s even true, because there’s no way you’re not about to have a heart attack. Your heart is beating a dent inside your ribs, like it’s going to burst out of your chest.
You teeter, about to collapse. Roger guides you down until you’re laying on your back.
“Gonna die,” you choke, barely able to get the words out.
“You’re not gonna die. I’m getting you back to your parents, remember?” Roger says. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you’re breathing.”
Roger sits down next to you. If any of the crew is watching, they’re doing it from far away enough that it doesn’t crowd you.
“Can I talk to you? Is that okay?” Roger asks.
You nod shallowly, gasping.
“Have you had a panic attack before?”
Another weak nod.
“Then you know that this is temporary,” Roger says. “This feels awful, but it will pass, like it always has.”
You grab onto the words, repeating them in your head. But your chest hurts so much, and your lungs are on fire, and you’re so sure you’re going to die.
“My chest,” you heave between breaths, “Dying… Alone.”
“You’re not,” Roger says, and then, realizing it’s not helping, switches tactics. “Besides, even if you  were  dying–you’re not alone. I’m right here. I know I’m not your ideal company. But I’m here, and I’m not leaving.”
Not alone. Head swimming, heart pounding, whole body in the grip of terror–but you’re not alone.
“Is there anything I can do? Does touch help?” Roger asks.
You can’t form a proper sentence anymore, so you hold out your hand in confirmation. Roger takes it, large hand wrapping around yours, not squeezing, not rubbing the back, but just holding it.
“Remember what I told you about the Oro Jackson? About the wood from the Jewel Tree, Adam?” Roger says. “Look at the hull. See the patterns in the wood grain?”
You turn your head. Beneath the gold-trimmed railing, the hull’s rich, syrup-brown wood has little waves and whorls.
“Tom said that type of hardwood is called ‘open-grain.’ Try and see how many stripes you can count in ten seconds.”
You try and focus, until your floating vision stills enough to count individual stripes in the wood. You aren’t able to keep track of the number, just look from one line to the next. A while later, Roger says, “Do it again, if you can. Ten more seconds.”
Unable to process time right in your current state, each interval seems to drag on for hours. Roger waits patiently, prompting you to count now and again. The external focus, plus the touch of his hand, is grounding. Slowly but surely, the symptoms start to fade, the cloud of panic thinning until it’s no longer clogging your lungs.
Gradually, existence becomes bearable again. Your breathing slows, though you can’t stop shaking.
“How’re you feeling?” Roger asks, his voice no longer sounding like it’s coming through a wall.
You blink at the sky. The salty ocean air is cool in your lungs. “...Tired.”
Tired is an understatement. You’re exhausted, in every sense of the word. All you want is to rest, but your muscles won’t stop twitching.
Roger takes you to bed. The height difference between you is too great for him to comfortably support you while walking, so he opts to pick you up instead, holding you against his chest like a child. You’re too drained to be embarrassed, only closing your eyes and leaning into him.
In the crew’s quarters, Roger helps you into a hammock. Even though your body feels like it weighs three times as much as usual, you don’t think you can fall asleep with how much you’re shaking. But your eyelids flutter closed, and the next thing you know, someone’s nudging you awake, the room now dark and your body now still.
You squint. A familiar pair of alluring eyes are watching you, their owner crouched down to your level.
“Scopper?” you mumble.
“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry to wake you, but Roger said you should eat,” he says. “Are you hungry?”
You sit up with a groan, a mild headache pulsing at your temples. “Yes… Head hurts, too.”
“Probably dehydrated. You were sweating pretty bad. Let’s get that taken care of, yeah?” Scopper stands up and offers his hand.
You can’t help but smile wryly, even though you take his hand. “Do you think I’m gonna fall?”
“I’m not taking any chances this time,” Scopper grins, helping you stand. He squeezes your hand before letting go, and you feel as if his fingers were gripping your heart itself in that moment, a brief ache in your chest from the action. “Oh, wait a second.”
Scopper picks something up off the floor–his sash. Someone must have brought it while you were asleep. This time, you don’t tense when Scopper wraps it around your neck.
“There you go, all set. Shall we?”
It’s past dinnertime. The night watch is out now, the rest of the crew lounging in various places on the ship. Scopper takes you to the galley, where a portion of that evening’s dinner has been set aside for you.
You elect to eat right there in the galley rather than in the mess room, not wanting to be around the rest of the crew for the time being. Scopper sits across from you. You’re not sure why, as there’s no one else around to bother you, but you appreciate his company nonetheless.
Your panic attack immediately comes to mind, and with it, the inevitable shame. You hate the loss of control more than anything, but even worse was having witnesses, people seeing for themselves that you couldn’t keep it together. These pirates already knew you were a wimp, but now they saw how far it went. Your eating slows until you stop entirely, staring through your plate, vision shifting as you start to detach from yourself.
“Don’t like it?” Scopper asks.
Your vision snaps back to normal and you’re back in your body once more. “What? Oh, no. No, it’s good. That’s not it…”
Scopper tilts his head. “You’re thinking about earlier.”
“Yeah,” you sigh.
He watches you, thoughtful. “Does that happen a lot? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“It’s fine,” you say. “Um… It varies, but I usually get them once a month or so. I had a really bad one after the Marines were killed, naturally. So I didn’t think I’d get another so soon. I should have known better…”
Scopper frowns. “You mean back before we found you?”
“Yes, two days before.”
“So you went through it by yourself.”
You bite your lip. Just like your most recent panic attack, during the one on the Marine ship, you had been certain you would die alone. Unlike the recent one, though, there had been no audience. “It wasn’t so bad,” you lie. “There was no one to see it, at least.”
“Does that make it better?” Scopper asks.
“It does. I hate when people see me like that. I just feel…” You try and think of the most fitting word. “...Pathetic.”
“Hm… I’ve heard that sentiment before.”
You give him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”
“Well…” Scopper says slowly, like he’s not sure if he should be sharing it, “I heard a crewmate say the same thing after his panic attack.”
You drop your fork. “Wait, wait. Someone on this crew gets panic attacks? A pirate? Who?”
“If I told you, he’d beat my ass,” Scopper grins sheepishly. “It’s not as frequent as yours, but yeah, it happens every once in a while. Surprised?” Your open-mouthed stare is confirmation enough, making Scopper chuckle. “You don’t have to worry about what the crew saw earlier today. They’ve seen it before. Pirates come in all shapes, sizes, and conditions. Did you think there was some sort of criteria to become one?”
“I guess so… From my parents’ stories, I always figured pirates were all nasty, heartless types.”
“And what do you think now?” Scopper’s gaze is intense.
“I think… they’re just people,” you say. “Maybe some are mindless killers. But it can’t be all of them. I mean, you guys are different... I’d have never imagined anything like this week could take place. Not in a million years. Pirates, going out of their way for someone like me? It wouldn’t happen in my wildest dreams.”
“If there’s anything I've learned from sailing with Roger,” Scopper says, “it’s that reality is often far stranger than anything we can dream of. It’s a wild world out there. One only needs to take to the seas to see it for themselves.”
You smile wistfully. “I probably won’t get to see anything like that, then. Since I’m not a Marine…”
“Why?” Scopper asks. “Why didn’t you become one? Seems like the logical conclusion, given your parents.”
“Why do you think?” you give him a look. “I mean, you’ve seen how I am. You saw me earlier. Even if I wanted to, Scopper, I… I don’t have what it takes.”
“Trust me–we’ve had our fair share of clashes with the Navy, and it doesn’t take much to enlist.”
“Well, I don’t even have that,” you say bitterly.
Scopper falls silent.
“I’m sorry,” you sigh. “It’s kind of a sore subject… I’ve always been anxious, for as long as I can remember. Nothing happened to make me this way. I’m just not cut out for the challenges of a life at sea.” Your voice lowers. “I’m barely cut out for life on land…”
For a while, Scopper doesn’t respond. He gets up, taking your cup as he goes, and your first thought is that he’s disgusted with you, that he’s had enough and is leaving. But all he does is refill your cup with fresh water before returning to his seat.
“Be that as it may,” Scopper says, sliding the cup to you, “it’s not so bad. There are plenty of hardships to this life that I’m glad you’ll never face.”
“Hm…” You take a sip, contemplating. “Why did you become a pirate?”
“Freedom,” Scopper says without hesitation. “Complete and total freedom, before anything else.”
You think of the pressure your parents lay on you to find a job they approve of, and how much you just want to make art and music and nothing else.
“It sounds nice,” you admit, before your thoughts turn to the fallen Marines. “But the fighting… The death… Is it worth it? I’ll never forget the sight of the bodies. The sounds of their screams. I never want to experience anything like that again. I can’t do it…”
Scopper nods. “It’s okay, you know? That you can’t.”
You stare at him, a little awestruck. No one’s ever told you that before. What a concept–you, acceptable the way you were…
“You saw it for yourself. Life can be wickedly cruel. A world like ours will never be wanting for gentle people.” Scopper reaches across the table, taking your hands in his. “These hands of yours create, rather than destroy. That’s worth something! Pirates like us are common. People like you–kind people, creative people–those are the ones who make the world a better place, if you ask me.”
At first, you’re too stunned to reply. Scopper’s thumbs idly rub the backs of your hands. Your face gets warm, and you tuck your chin into the sash to hide, but it only fills your nose with his scent. Then you smile, bashfully meeting his eye.
“There is nothing common about you.”
Scopper grins. “Oh? There isn't?” 
“No. Not you, not your Captain, and not your crew.” You glance away, heartbeat picking up. “I may never forget what I saw on the Marine ship. But I won’t forget about my time here, either. I won’t forget about the strange, frightening, yet oddly-considerate pirates who took me home. I won’t forget Roger or Rayleigh or… or you.”
When he doesn’t respond, you chance a look and see that the intensity has returned to his eyes. He glances at your hands, still grasped within his, and you follow his gaze. After a beat, you curl your fingers so you’re holding his hands back. The action sends butterflies flitting through your stomach, but you find that you don’t mind it so much. This type of anxiousness–it’s not all that bad.
What am I doing?
You look back up, and Scopper meets your eye. For a while–you don’t know how long, but it feels endless–no one speaks. His hands lightly squeeze yours, and you return the pressure. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks that spikes your heart rate once you notice.
“Um…” you giggle nervously. “If I told anyone back home about this week, no one would believe me.”
“Bah, who needs their belief?” Scopper tosses his head dismissively. “We’ll know that it happened. That’s good enough.”
“Yeah… You’re right.”
Another period of silence hangs between you, until Scopper clears his throat. “You should finish your meal. Keep your energy up. Also, Spencer’s a real bitch about food waste.”
You laugh. “Okay. I need my hands back, first.”
“Ah, I suppose you do…” Scopper lets go, but with reluctance. You’re not sure you can still eat with the little flips your stomach is doing, but you manage anyway. The rest of the conversation is light, mostly coming from him while you finish your food.
Scopper walks you back to the crew’s quarters. There are other crewmates getting ready to turn in, but you no longer feel self-conscious around them, now armed with the knowledge that your panic attack is old news.
“You’re not going to bed?” You ask as you settle into the hammock.
“I will, in a bit.” Scopper pushes your hammock so it’s gently swaying. “Sleep well, Y/n.”
“Thank you.” You say it softly, but the gratitude rings sincere. You aren’t just thanking him for his well-wishing, but for the entire conversation, for the compassionate words spoken when you needed them most. 
The smile he flashes tells you that he understands.
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[Part 3]
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