#its annoying to have to look through brown shinies since do few of them are maroon but its alright | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

creativeashproductions · 3 years

Text

Permanence // Luke Patterson

Summary: On the run for most of her life the reader had been accustomed to being a lone wolf in world with eyes everywhere. Living in the age of technology and life online makes it hard for a girl stuck in a permanent state at nineteen physically. All things change when the reader moves next door to a healing teenager and her ghostly band.

Warning: Swearing, loss of death, talk of injuries/hospital, angst, and fluff

Words: 5.1k (yikes)

A/N: Loosely based on the film Age of Adaline. Also includes a scene using the BBC show Call the Midwife as well. I’ve been MIA due to this fic. I love it.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

The love tingled in your lips as the taxi pulled away from the curb leaving behind the white-haired woman. Your hand raised to wave as the woman turned into a speck in the review mirror but never far from your heart and thoughts.

“Going on a trip?” The taxi driver questioned taking a right turn with a jarring sensation. His brown eyes speedily meeting yours, “Does your mom grandma live in San Francisco?”

A mournful smile appeared on the wrinkle-free complexion, “Something like that.”

The reply didn’t faze the driver in a big city he had chosen to make his living with for his family, he had heard worse. The airport reared its head with the big heavily populated by tourists and loud machinery of transport.

The royal blue wool jacket concealed the black blouse tucked into the grey, and black tartan fitted trousers. Paired with the black velvet kitten heels that had been in your possession for a very long time. Hair left down in the soft waves and makeup natural for the plane right.

The flight was over quickly for the young woman with her carry on, and purse collected you immediately headed to baggage claim. The suitcase was easy found and lifted off the conveyor belt with little trouble. Your expressive eyes finding the taxi, some may call you old fashioned for not ‘ubering’, but it was a nostalgic action.

“Where to?” The taxi driver asked with pretty blue eyes shadowed by the crows’ feet at the corner’s of her eyes. Swiftly you listed off the address to the house you had bought with your vast savings, “Half hour ride.”

You settled back into the leather seat as the city passed by with the memories staunchly kept in a locked box escaping. Los Angeles had been the location of the only family trip you had had in your late teens.

Los Angeles, 1936

“Darling! This Samuel, he owns the restaurant up the beach.” Theodore’s bright white smile gleamed as he returned to your side, “He’s personally invited us to celebrate the first night of our life together.

The pleated cark charcoal pants held up with black suspenders snuggle atop the button-down shirt of denim blue colour. The shirt left with the top two buttons undone revealing the white undershirt. Shiny polished black shoes on Theodore’s feet he was dressed as perfect as the day he caught your runaway hat.

“Oh, thank you.” You told the shy man as he led you up to the well-known restaurant with the gorgeous view of the water.

Samuel went further by providing his best table in the house, leaving the host annoyed at the interruption. The dinner was spent with Theodore listing off the itinerary for the week in the city. From visiting the museums to watching a film at the Los Angeles Theatre recommended by Theodore’s connection from work.

“You like to share a dessert Darling?” Theodore asked tenderly holding your soft hand in his smooth one. His smile never faded as you declined his offer satisfied with the large meal from the five-course dinner.

“I’d much prefer the comfort of our hotel room.” Your lips ended the words with a smile that paired well with the glittering eyes. Theodore’s heart expanded as his wife’s smile, he had fallen in love with first.

“The hotel placed a nice bottle of champagne in our room,” Theodore spoke once the bill was taken care of. He pulled your chair out to help you slip on the navy blue wool jacket on from the back of your chair, “You are absolutely beautiful.”

“Still as charming as ever.” You whispered gazing up at him with such love.

You had loved Theodore from the first chaperoned date at sixteen with the handsome eighteen-year-old that had saved your hat. The wind that day had been unbearable as you walked the beach of San Francisco with your mother. At seventeen, you wed; a mere few days previous. Theodore came from a well-off family but worked as an engineer for the city.

“We’re here.” The taxi driver spoke as the car pulled to a stop at a pretty house painted a blue with white accents.

Mumbling a thank you the driver took off once your belongings found ground on the sidewalk and the fare paid. The house door unlocked with a click revealing the furnishing you had sent and hired a company to build. The boxes of personal belongings had arrived in boxes the previous day and awaited unpacking.

The first order of business on your to-do list was changing the locks as well as testing the safety alarm. The next few hours you unpacked your kitchen and clothing as the locksmith took his time finishing up previous appointments.

Your hand hovered over the oval golden framed photo of your wedding day with Theodore with a smile on both your faces. You didn’t look a day older than the day you married Theodore even if it had been so long. The familiar clench at the sight of the man happened every time you saw the photo.

“You’d be so proud of Rosie.” Your index finger caressed the elegant picture of your first love with a mournful emotion.

Pulled from the sad memories as the doorbell rang signalling the arrival of the locksmith. The appointment was swift before you finished unpacking the living room from the bookcase to the picture frames. As the minute handle circled the clock face, you settled in for the simple meal.

“Tea on the porch.” You sighed curling into the cherry red Adirondack chair in the front porch watching as children went inside their houses.

It wasn’t how you had anticipated your life dreaming of a life with a family in a lovely home. You never expected to live in fear for your life, and your child’s as the second World War reared its ugly head. You never envisioned having to move every few years to keep safe. Lastly, you had never foreseen watching Rosie’s hair turn white before your own. You thought you’d be buried beside your husband after a long life. So far, it had been too long at this point with your childhood friends all dead.

“Hi.” The voice of a teenage girl spoke. Your gaze left your lukewarm tea for the girl at the bottom of your porch.

Strands of her curly textured hair pulled away from her face it revealed her clear tawney complexion. The most expressive brown eyes framed with thick lashes that took your breath away with the kindness in them.

“You just moved in right?” The girl asked as you climbed down the steps to the younger teenager, “I’m Julie Molina, I live next door.”

“Hello Julie, I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” You spoke, shaking the extended hand of the young girl inspecting her.

Her fashion was obviously of the current time whereas your own style was a mixture of different eras. The style fits in but touches to bring in the past decades you had lived through.

“Where are your parents?” Julie asked with a furrowed brow.

“I live alone.” You replied sighing as the confusion flashed in the younger teen’s eyes before you elaborated, “I’m nineteen. I bought the house, my parents live in my home state.”

They weren’t living, but they were buried in the cemetery with the other family members that had since passed. Unless a freak accident happened, your plot near your husband wouldn’t be filled. The only person who knew the truth was Rosie, she was your daughter.

“Wow! That’s cool.” Julie beamed glancing over her shoulder as her phantom friends poofed in behind her.

The sudden appearance startled you and while it was confusing you had become well acquainted with weird. You hadn’t aged a day since a stormy night on the country roads in 1938 heading to pick up Rosie. You barely flinched at the appearance.

“Oh damn, Julie’s neighbour is hot.” The leather jacket one spoke scanning the newcomer with an awed expression.

The boy with the sleeveless top sharing the same awed expression. Whereas the blonde in pink’s breath released in an exasperated sigh. Only a corner of your lips twitched up at realization this must happen quite a bit.

“I should head back inside. I have a few more boxes to unpack. It was lovely to meet you, Julie.” Your eloquent words taking the boys by surprise from the lack of modern language and slang. You didn’t use any of the terms that Julie and Flynn spoke in.

Luke followed Julie with glances over his shoulder to the back of the mysterious girl closing her front door. It wasn’t often Luke was intrigued by anything other than his music. Still, something about you was the most interesting thing. Not even touring some of his favourite bands’ personal homes was as interesting.

“C’mon Luke!” Reggie called out to the lingering teenage ghost. Unbeknownst to the retreating guitarist, your curtain had been pulled away as you peeked at him.

Over the next few weeks, you had become acquainted with Julie, even admitting to seeing the boys. It was a mess of Reggie blushing at your revelation of hearing his comments on your beauty. It wasn’t earth-shattering, but it was a friend group.

Two months later, over the course of a week, you withdrew from the group for the comfort of your living room. A garbage bin for used tissues as it sank in once more that the anniversary of Theodore’s death rolled around. 82 years since he was tragically killed.

You looked a mess and barely reacted when the four friends to it upon themselves to enter your home. Your hazy mind barely caught onto the arrival as Julie ushered your saddened form to the bathroom.

As Julie helped dress you, taking it from the extensive closet, the boys cleaned up the living room, and Alex poofed out. He returned with a pizza he began cooking coming to a stop at Luke’s gaping gaze at the mantel above the fireplace.

“What’s wrong?” Alex demanded rushing to the guitarist side equally shocked. Perfect timing as you came back into the living room with Julie.

“That’s Theodore.” The words came out gravely from the lack of use for the past few days. Your feet brought you to the side of the three boys, “It was raining the day. The sky broke when we left the church.”

“That’s you?” Reggie inquired frantically glancing between the old photo and your exact replica of the picture.

Julie gasped at the sight picking out the scar on the edge of your forehead barely seen in the photo but the matching appearance remarkable. The soft smile appeared as your hand came to grab the frame remembering the lovely day—the beautiful ceremony and the small reception before heading out for the honeymoon.

“Theodore Prescott was eighteen when I first saw him on the beach in San Francisco. Mother and I chose a windy for a walk; my hat blew away. Straight into the trousers of a young man that I would fall in love with instantly.” Your smile grew as your form settled back on the couch, having traded the frame for an old album. The four people were quiet.

“We married a year later in 1937, I was seventeen years old. Theodore whisked me off to Los Angeles for our honeymoon. We dined at fancy establishments, caught a film at the Los Angeles Theatre.” Your smile faded, leading Julie’s heart to clench as she knew that expression from seeing it in the mirror, “He was an engineer.”

“What happened?” Julie questioned grasping your soft hand in her own hand, focusing her eyes on your face. Your face remembering one of the most challenging times.

“Theodore was an engineer for the construction of the Golden Gate Bridge. A section of the bridge collapsed taking three men down. Theodore was one of them.” A lone tear travelled down your cheek, “It was difficult grieving my husband and caring for our daughter.”

Luke’s gasp was audible, “Are you a ghost?”

“No.” You told the seventeen-year-old guitarist, “I’ve been nineteen for the last 83 years.”

“Eighty-three years?!” Reggie exclaimed completely taken aback blinking fast to take it in, “Did you find a fountain of youth? Some special French creams?”

“Reg, shut up.” Alex elbowed the raven-haired teenager in the side with an apologetic smile, “I’d apologize and say he isn’t normally like this…but you know us too well.”

“It’s alright Alex,” You told the drummer fiddling with his ring as you returned back to Reggie, “It was storming in 1938, but I had promised to meet my parents and Rosie at the cabin. Visibility got worse, and I fishtailed right off the road into the ravine. I’m not sure the science but I know I died, and then I woke up.”

“This so weird,” Luke mumbled listening intently to the story with wide eyes that quickly matched his friends.

“Believe it’s shocking when your daughter graduates from college with her mother looking younger than her.” The bitter chuckle couldn’t be held back, remembering it as the first time you were retitled as Rosie’s sister.

“I just got used to being a ghost.” Alex sighed, settling into the armchair to the left of the couch. Luke sat on the couch next to you while Reggie took the armchair across from Alex.

As the sun rose higher and began to set, you enthralled the teenagers with stories of your long life. Luke was the most interested in the music you have seen evolve over the course of time, and the musicians you had met. In telling them stories, it allowed you to step out of the dark abyss of your mind.

“Freddie Mercury?” Luke asked from the other cherry red Adirondack chair turned to see you in the matching one.

“I had coffee with him in a little hole in the wall coffee shop in New York. He loved whip cream, but he didn’t like the dairy they used. The shop is now a Starbucks.”

The giggle escaped at Luke’s look of absolute awe, “That’s so rad.”

“Rad. Haven’t heard that in a long time.” The sparkle for sure would have sent Luke’s heart thudding like Alex’s drumming in Now or Never; if it still beat that is.

“…so do you think people can fall in love more than once?” Luke had been very undecided in asking the question. Everyone around could tell he felt something for you so unlike any other relationship.

You kissed your teeth, thinking about how to properly articulate your thoughts on such a heavy subject. It was clear that you felt something for the teenage ghost even if you had lived far longer than Luke had.

“I think it’s possible. Luke, I’ve lived a long time and while I’ll love Theodore for as long as I live that doesn’t mean I have been alone.” You revealed to the ghostly guitarist stepping back in a part of your history buried incredibly deep.

“The way you were torn up made me think-“

“I’ll always mourn Theodore, I had a year, and that was never enough. I worked as a midwife in England in the late 1960s.”

Poplar, London, England circa 1960s

The blonde-haired bombshell marched her way through the crowded Poplar district in London scanning the late-night Christmas shoppers. Beatrix, Trixie to her friends, had a young mother a mere street away. The only available midwife to help her happened to be off duty shopping for gifts.

Trixie was thankful for the American accent that distinguished the midwife from the crowd, pointing her towards a store window. Your eyes dragged away from the lovely young mother giving her thanks for delivering her baby a few months prior.

“Trixie!” You beamed, revealing a white smile that lit up your pretty eye colour. Trixie’s anxious expression dropped the smile, however, “Is something wrong?”

“Jenny Turner is in labour. Tom is with her right now, but I need help. Everyone is further away.”

In seconds you had pulled the charcoal cape secured by the bands crisscrossing your shoulders to properly rest. The cloak had armholes with material covering the holes, no sleeves seen. The cape covered the plain light blue nurse uniform with the white-collar and the maroon red cardigan.

Trixie led you to the small apartment housing twenty-one-year-old, Jenny, with Reverend Tom Hereward waiting. This would be Jenny’s second child with her husband Roger leaving the midwife’s nervous after her first pregnancy.

“Hello, Jenny.” You spoke stepping closer to the woman, “Trixie said you requested my presence.”

“You delivered my first baby. I want you here, Roger a county away for work.” Jenny heavily spoke as a contraction ended, “I’m not due for two weeks.”

“Baby Turner is too excited to meet their big brother.” You soothed settling beside the young mother, “You’re in great hands with Trixie. You are close to the hospital and the clinic if you’d prefer to move.”

“No. I want to stay.” Jenny was sure of that, at least. Her hand left yours to clench the white bedsheets as a contraction clenched her midsection.

“Then I’ll be right here with you.”

It was a promise you kept as Trixie delivered a healthy baby girl appreciating your help when you cleaned the baby. Trixie helped Jenny deliver the afterbirth and clean up the room just in time for Jenny’s mother to enter the room.

“I came as soon as I could.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” Jenny spoke with a small tired smile. The smile that made the job worth watching babies being born, of family’s growing.

Tom was waiting outside in the living room as you exited the bathroom. Your heart fluttered at the sight of the Reverend Hereward waiting for you with his patient smile and a tender look in his blue gaze.

“How is Jenny?” Tom asked, holding the door to the street open.

“Tired after delivering Cynthia. Cynthia is an eight-pound baby with no complications. Thank you for praying Tom.”

“Trixie informed me of Jenny’s first pregnancy, and I felt like I was needed. Do you happen to be free tomorrow night?” Tom asked, linking his fingers in yours with a smile that almost looked nervous.

“I am.” You responded as Tom walked you to Nonnatus House where the unmarried midwives resided. You stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, “Good night Tom.”

“I’ll meet you at the park,” Tom responded, waiting patiently as you entered the building before he turned on his heel to head to his residence. Unknown to him, you peered down from your bedroom window as he pulled something out of his pocket.

A small box housing a ring he would propose with the very next night. A ring that broke your heart. A ring that you’d never see up close as you handed in your resignation and left England as quickly as possible.

Luke’s invested gaze shuttered as you revealed you had run away before Tom could propose because it could never happen.

“He was going to propose, and you didn’t say goodbye?”

“I don’t know if I could have said no when he asked. I wish I knew what I would have said, but it was unfair. How could Tom, as a Reverend, accept that his fiancée or wife would never grow old? It went against everything he believed in.” You countered with a raised eyebrow, “He married the midwife that was hired a year after I left. Barbara Gilbert. Trixie sent me the letter.”

Luke’s perceptive eyes caught the tinge of sadness in your gaze recalling the second man you had loved. You loved with your whole heart and with that came a lot of heartbreak.

“Do you keep in contact with them?”

“I send a letter to Trixie every once in a while, to check up on her. She married a few years after I left and had a few children. I believe she had a step-daughter.”

Luke’s mouth went to open before a flash of light, and a slight gasp was heard from the blonde drummer. His eyebrows raised as the close proximity between his best friend and his new friend. He shook it off as he turned to face Luke fully.

“Did you forget? We have a gig.” Alex spoke amused as Luke’s eyes widened theatrically vividly recalling the excitement in Julie’s eyes.

You waved the duo off to disappear in a ball of light to the gig they had for the night while you entered your home. You didn’t hear Alex make a comment that Luke couldn’t deny.

“You’ve fallen for her,” Alex spoke just outside the coffee shop that housed the record execs with the power to change their afterlife. The quirk of a smile sealed Alex’s opinion of the girl.

Content to spend your time in the house you retreated to the kitchen. Your hand slipped into your pocket for the phone that had few contacts such as Rosie and Julie’s along with the number of Rosie’s doctor. Mostly pictures of Rosie and landscapes but never your face, not after the 1953 incident.

Living next door to the Molina’s you often shared recipes with Ray, he had taken you under his wing. He felt empathetic with the young neighbour he saw you as a daughter almost, unaware that it would the other way around. You had years on the widowed father.

The wooden spoon stirred the sizzling stir-fry that had been a fixture in raising a rambunctious little girl interested in skinny her knees. The stir-fry was the quickest meal while Rosie played outside or in the little play corner with her dolls. It seemed like the world knew when your phone rang.

“Hello, darling.” You spoke securing the phone between your neck and shoulder, “Did you teach Gladys poker?”

The silence was stifling, “Is this Y/N Y/L/N?”

A cold sweat broke out as the unfamiliar voice came from Rosie’s cell phone roused the deep-seated fear of loss. The wooden spoon in your hand clattered on the tile flooring of the modest-sized kitchen.

“Your grandmother Rosemary Prescott tripped over a cane. You’re her emergency contact.”

“Has she been admitted to the hospital? How extensive are her injuries? Let me get a pen and grab the address.” You rambled frantically scouring the kitchen for the notepad, “Was she alone?”

“She’s still being seen by the doctor, and I’m unable to reveal the details over the phone. Her friend Gladys was there, and she hasn’t left your grandma’s side.” The person responded in an even tone with the failed intention of soothing you.

“What’s the address?”

“I’m a nurse at Zuckerberg San Francisco General Hospital and Trauma Center.” The nurse prattled off, providing the address and visiting hours.

As soon as the call ended, you had quickly grabbed a quick bite from the meal before packaging it up. Next, you dug out the small suitcase to pack the essentials with the mental capacity of a zombie. The bag was stowed in the backseat of the car while you kept your purse on your shoulder.

You barely comprehended knocking on the Molina door or Ray opening it, “Hello Y/N.”

“Ray. Tonight, I made stir-fry, I’ll be out of town for a few days.” You told the man catching sight of both Carlos and Julie in the background.

“Are you okay?” Ray questioned taking the container from your shaking hands, “Do you need us to do anything?”

“Could I have a h-hug?” You stuttered feeling a smidge better than the older man tugged you in for a hug. Two pairs of arms joined with the Molina kids ambushing you.

“You’re coming back, right?” The question came from the concerned hazel-eyed guitarist watching the interaction with a particular look. A look he knew came from not being able to comfort you.

“I’ll be back once I know Rosie is okay.” You replied, locking eyes with Luke over Ray’s shoulder earning a tender smile from the male.

“I’ll pray for your Grandma,” Ray spoke, stepping back to let both Julie and Carlos say their goodbyes to their neighbour. Everyone but Carlos and Ray half-heartedly smirking at Ray’s belief that Rosie was older than you.

Unlike typical times you didn’t linger in the Molina home with the distracted thoughts of Rosie injured with her mother with her. Rosie is the only thing you would drop anything for, the love of a mother and her child. So distracted by your thoughts you didn’t notice Luke had appeared right beside you.

“Are you driving?” Luke asked, tapping his shoe on the porch step, bringing your sad eyes to meet his, “Or are you taking a plane?”

“A plane. It’s a five-hour drive to San Francisco from here not taking in traffic time. I bought a last-minute ticket.” You replied, heading straight for the car with Luke hot on your heels to the vintage car.

Half of you wanted to refuse his evident intention to join you, but a part of you yearned for the comfort. A stroke of luck had a plane seat beside yours empty, time didn’t exist, but it dragged on at the same time. So lost in thoughts you never noticed the brush on a pinkie on your skin.

While you stared off in the distance, Luke’s jaw was dropped at the silky feel of your skin. Words bubbled up his throat just before he knew it wasn’t the right time to bring it up. Instead, he chose different words to regale you with stories of his childhood.

“I begged for a dog when I was eight years old. Reggie had this golden retriever his family had before he was born. My dad was allergic in the end, so I was content with Reggie’s dog.” Luke spoke, “That didn’t mean I didn’t sneak in this stray one night. We kept him in the garage while we found him a forever home.”

“What was his name?”

“Fender.” Luke sheepishly spoke, catching the tweak of your smile as the clouds in your eyes cleared for a few minutes. Luke loved being able to ease your mind through the flight, not holding back on the embarrassing stories either.

“Thank you.” You told the easy natured teenager with a familiar flutter in your chest that terrified you.

You could name only one other time you had felt that flutter when everything was easy. 1936 with a man you thought would be your one and only. Feeling something that strong for a ghost was incredibly scary.

“Do you want me to come in with you?” Luke asked just outside the closed hospital door, separating you from your daughter. Your lips parted to deny his question but you couldn’t so you simply shook your head.

“Come in!” The voice was prompt after knocking on the door. Opening the door, you found Rosie’s grinning in her bed with Gladys at her side, scolding her.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” Gladys spoke shuffling by you out of the door with a quick hug. The second Gladys closed the door, your eyebrows furrowed.

“Rosemary Elspath Prescott. What were you thinking?” You crossed your arms walking closer to Rosie, “You know your ankle hasn’t been the same-“

“-since I shattered during a cheer comp in college. Mama, I know. It was an accident.” Rosie softly spoke just before her gaze met Luke’s with fear planted squaring in her blue gaze. Luke’s lips parted, “He knows?”

“Oh.” Luke blinked at the sudden new change in his afterlife with Rosie actually seeing him, “I’m Luke.”

“This is going to sound craz-“

“Mama, you’ve been nineteen for over eight decades. I think we’ve hit the crazy already, tell me. Before I get a bad heart.” Rosie joked with that twinkle you saw countless times over the years.

The first time you saw it was when you found her on the counter at age two when she learned how to climb. Other times included her sneaking out to a senior party with her friends and the teasing she started when she got her first grey hair.

“You better have taken our discussion about your salt intake serious young lady.” You pointed at her mere seconds before your shoulders dropped. You leaned down to kiss the crown of her head, “Luke’s a ghost.”

Rosie’s lips parted, staring down the boy before whispering very softly in your ear, “Well. At least he doesn’t age. You look happy with him Mama, I’m not getting any younger, and he’s really cute.”

“Don’t talk like that.” The low response came out broken at the horrible future where you would bury Rosie.

A cold hand landed on your waist as you stretched to place an ornament on the tree you chose with Luke. The wire hugged the branch a ghost of a kiss pressed against your cheek, a moment of quiet in the loud house. Reggie and Alex had been baking cookies with Rosie for the last two hours. Julie was finishing her family dinner at her home before she would come over.

“Merry Christmas,” Luke murmured tugging you in his chest. A flutter of butterflies moving in your tummy.

Once Rosie had been discharged from the hospital, she had been convinced to temporarily move to Los Angeles. For the first time since Rosie’s senior year in high school, you got to live with her. Subtlety had never been her strong suit with nagging you and Luke about getting together.

“Merry Christmas.” You replied, stretching to peck his lips once before cuddling into his chest with the thick sweater.

“Would you like a cookie…Dad.” Rosie teased, bringing a tray into the living room with the gooey chocolate chips.

Another revelation other than being able to touch the boys was that once Julie saved them from Caleb, they could eat small quantities. They couldn’t eat a lot, and they didn’t need it, but it was a comfort to the group.

“That’s so weird.” Alex chortled, taking in the shocked and uncomfortable expression Luke had. Reggie beamed with a mouthful of cookie. This was the first Christmas the boys had surrounded by only acceptance, love, and untainted happiness.

“How about we stick to Luke?” Rosie chuckled just as weirded out by the odd age gap and the forever youth the couple displayed.

While Rosie interacted with the arrival of both Flynn and Julie, you curled into Luke’s embrace taking in the room. Julie and Flynn listened to the rebellious stories Rosie carried. Alex had retreated to the kitchen with a guy with shoulder-length brunette hair. Reggie was involved in a conversation with Ray; another unexplained phenomenon after the Orpheum.

Your eyes found the mantle with the picture of Theodore and you. Right beside it a lovely photo with Luke dipping you in a kiss and besides that picture was the very last picture of Luke with his parents. How lucky you had been in the years you had lived to end up with a chosen family.

Tag List (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED! I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE ON THE LIST VIA POST COMMENTS!)

@safehavenmuse @siennanoelle01 @whiterose291 @mell-bell @blackhood5sos @ficrecsideblog @ifilwtmfc @deadpoolgirl23 @crappy-unicorn @sunsetcurve-h @elioelioeli0 @lovesanimals @popcrone818 @lolychu @deepsleepnat @tenaciousperfectionunknown @aunicornmademedoit @just-a-writer-here @simp4reggie @parkeret @faithiebrock01 @overlyhypedup @differentsoulrascalsalad @aesthetic-lyss @versaceapa @carleywhittaker @lostgirl219 @itsalexx21 @elllaoo4 @merxxleighann @mediocremunge @fantomlovesjuke4ever @dpaccione @oswin05 @kaylinfayezink @aberette13 @faithie-brock-gillespie01 @eharvey0218 @overlyhypedup @benstormy @auriandthepussicats @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @whothefuckstolemykeds @kcd15 @siriuswvrld @princessvader15 @xoxbloodreinaxox @heimdoodle @joshy-obx @lovesanimals @oopsiedoopsie23 @am3l1a-24 @flying-solo-without-you @jaskiers-sweetkiss @lostrandomfangirln @must-be-a-weasley-92 @jatp-holland @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @dxlanhxlland @dasexydevitt13 @ifilwtmfc @arianagrandes-things @kinda-really-lost @marinettepotterandplagg @ssprayberrythings @morgandamrose @thedarkqueenofavalon @zukoshonourr @crybabyddl @spooky-season-bitch @kcd15 @morganayennefertyrell @magnet-girl @all-in-fangirl @kinda-really-lost @tenaciousperfectionunknown @badwolf00593 @blowakissbabe @talksoprettyjjx @thesweetestsinner @kaitieskidmore1

#luke patterson imagines #julie and the phantoms imagines #luke patterson x reader #charlie gillespie imagines #jatp luke #jatp fanfic #luke patterson #caitsy and ash productions

264 notes · View notes

licieoic · 4 years

Photo

“Pour One Out” - Digital Oil Painting

Inspired by Suptober, theme: Pour One Out. Bartender/Patron AU! This one was actually inspired by a number of themes from Suptober including “Family Business” and “Favorite,” as shown in the ficlet below the cut. (It’s PG, though Dean is having some more adult oriented thoughts, LOL.)

Please see the pinned post at the top of my Tumblr for my links if you'd like to help support me in saving for a safe place to live!

“Hey.”

Looking up, Dean saw his brother, Sam, sticking his head into the brewing room. It had to be nearly time for his shift, he already had his abundant hair pulled back.

“Your favorite’s here,” he said.

Dean straightened up so fast, he nearly dropped the pitcher of beer he’d been pouring so carefully. “Trench Coat?” At least, that was the name he used with Sam; he didn’t want his brother knowing what he called the quiet man in his head. He’d never quite had the courage to ask the man’s actual name and since Winchester Bros was cash only, he couldn’t sneak a look at a credit card either. He’d considered asking for his ID, as that was perfectly acceptable in a bar, but since he was clearly over legal drinking age it would just make Dean look like he was stupid or an ass.

“Usual spot,” Sam answered before popping back into the main area of the bar.

He got up close to the shiny brewing vat in front of him and tried to check his appearance, but the metal didn’t make for a good mirror and left him looking deformed. Damn… He hoped there was nothing to worry about, like food in his teeth or crustiness in the corners of his green eyes, and that his light brown hair was just the right amount of tousled, leaning more toward ‘I woke up like this’ and less like ‘I use a lot of product.’ Then he reached into the pocket of his apron for the breath mint he always kept there, on the chance that his favorite patron would stop by.

It was easy to remember the first time he’d ever seen him, he doubted he would ever forget. Five months after he and Sam had opened the bar, they’d had to strike a deal with the Devil (Dean’s private name for their wealthy investor, Crowley) in order to save it from going under. It had always been their dream to start up a family business and they’d each quit lucrative careers (Dean as a mechanic, Sam as a lawyer) to open Winchester Bros. It had taken every penny of their life savings to do it, they just couldn’t give up so soon.

Pride still smarting with the knowledge that they’d be under Crowley’s thumb for the foreseeable future, Dean hadn’t exactly been the friendliest bartender that night. After being short with a small bachelorette party, Sam told him to concentrate on the solo patrons at the bar who usually weren’t the chatty types and leave the groups to him. Dean hadn’t argued, they needed as much patronage as possible, he could ill afford to turn what could be repeat customers into people who never came back just because he was in a mood.

Down at the far end of the bar, he saw a man with dark, messy hair hunched over the bar. He wore a slightly dirty trench coat over a deep navy suit and had a five o’clock shadow darkening his jawline. All in all, a fairly standard-looking barfly, if he were judging a book by its cover. Dean leaned both hands on the bar and tried not to sound too brusque as he asked, “What can I get you?”

Then the man looked up… and Dean forgot everything. He was lost in the bluest eyes ever to blue, bluer than the tie hanging crooked from the man’s neck. Dean’s mouth might have gone slack, he wasn’t sure. They were like angel’s eyes, almost too pretty to be real.

“I don’t know,” said the man, immediately dubbed Angel Eyes. He seemed kind of down, but that wasn’t unusual for a lone bar patron. “Do you have a menu?”

“W-we do,” said Dean, pulling over the list printed on laminated cardstock once he remembered how to speak. The line at the top read ‘Winchester Brews,’ which he’d thought damn clever at the time, now he worried it was corny. “Ahem… Everything on offer is brewed in-house, plus I can make you just about anything you like.”

“Anything, huh?” He looked at the menu, but didn’t really seem to be reading it. “I don’t know,” he said again, “surprise me?”

Something was really bothering this man, Dean could tell, his bartender instincts were jangling like crazy. His bi-dar, however, was all over the place. He never had a problem flirting with the ladies who came in, but it was always hard to tell if he was clear to make a pass at a man. That kind of thing could get dangerous, depending on who it was and what kind of attitude they had.

“Surprise you,” Dean repeated, reaching below the bar for a tumbler which he filled with a few ice cubes. “Well, you look like a man of… discerning tastes.” He followed this with a wink to test the waters. To his delight, Angel Eyes smiled. And Dean’s heartbeat doubled. He turned around and took a surreptitious breath in an attempt to calm it down, but it didn’t work.

From the back shelf, he retrieved a bottle of whiskey with a simple handwritten label on the front that read ‘Winchester Special #5’ and turned back to face him. As he poured, Dean said, “This here is our monthly special.”

“What makes it special?”

“It changes every month,” said Dean. “Afterward, we add it to the list of brews. And if you can guess the flavor, the inspiration behind it… it’s on me.”

“Has anyone gotten it right yet?” It was the nineteenth, he’d assumed correctly that some people had already tried Dean’s challenge.

He shook his head. “Not quite.” Gesturing at the tumbler, he quirked a brow and asked, “Care to try?”

Angel Eyes picked up the glass and took a sip. He tilted his head, appearing thoughtful.

“So?” asked Dean when he didn’t get an immediate answer. “What’s it taste like to you?”

“Hmm. Molecules.”

Dean laughed outright and Angel Eyes grinned. “Well, you’re not wrong!” he exclaimed. “Molecules, heh, can’t say I’ve ever heard that one before, but is that your final answer?”

Swirling the ice in the glass, Angel Eyes took a longer pull, maintaining eye contact with Dean as he rolled the whiskey slowly over his tongue. Dean’s mouth went dry as he watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down when he swallowed. Unconsciously, he licked his lips and those bluer than blue eyes followed the movement.

Angel Eyes clicked his tongue. “Blueberry…” he said, slowly. “But there’s something else… It’s sweet and… creamy?”

“No hints,” said Dean, but mentally he was cheering the man on, wanting him to make the right guess, and he was so, so close.

He took one last sip from the glass, finishing it off. “It’s good. I like it. It reminds me of a blueberry sour cream pie. Final answer.”

Dean grinned broadly. “We have a winner!”

He returned the smile with one of his own and it seemed like both of them had forgotten their problems prior to their meeting each other. “Really?”

Nodding, Dean poured him another. “On me. Since you’re the first correct guess.”

He picked up the tumbler and saluted Dean with it. “Cheers.”

Dean nodded, a little disappointed that he didn’t have an excuse to keep their conversation going, and turned to go back to work.

“Oh, and—”

Heart in his throat, he looked back. Angel Eyes hesitated.

“Thank you,” he said, finally. “This… really helped.”

“Yeah?”

He made a vague gesture. “I don’t want to get into it, I know bartenders aren’t therapists,” he said. “Just some family issues.”

Dean’s heart sank. He had a family. Of course he did. “Well, you’re not the first guy to come here to escape his wife for a while,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Oh, I’m not married,” Angel Eyes said.

“Girlfriend?” came out of Dean’s mouth before he could stop himself.

He shook his head. “One of my brothers is constantly going through a rebellious phase. Our father isn’t happy about it.”

“Ohhhh, well, I can definitely understand annoying brothers,” said Dean, aiming his thumb at Sam who was down at the opposite end of the bar, and forcing himself to swallow down any follow-up questions. He’d already said he didn’t want to talk about it, Dean wanted to respect that. “You should bring your family around,” he said, smiling. “It’s easier to open up after a few, you know?”

Angel Eyes chuckled. “I’m not sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing. Besides…” He thumbed the rim of his glass before glancing back up, hitting him with that blue gaze all over again. “I don’t know if I want them coming around here. Maybe I want to keep you all to myself.”

Any thoughts of pushing for more patrons to offset his and Sam’s massive debt had flown away. Dean could only nod like an idiot, he knew what the man meant, of course, but the unspoken implications in the statement were pinging around in his head like a super ball. He might have squeaked out an ‘okay’ or a ‘yeah’ as he headed back to work, he didn’t remember. He did remember almost tripping over his own feet and not looking back, knowing his face would be bright red. He pretended to not remember hearing another chuckle.

Since then, Angel Eyes came in at least once a week, always sat at the end of the bar, and always ordered the monthly special, even though he paid for each subsequent drink following his correct guess. He was never wrong about the flavor either, which amazed Dean, he even got the lemon meringue right. He’d been so sure that no one would get it – he’d heard lemon-vanilla, toasted marshmallow, all kinds of other things because who guesses ‘meringue’ for a whiskey anyway? Apparently, a man with gorgeous blue eyes in a slightly dirty trench coat. Three months in, he was the only person who’d figured out that Dean based all the specials on his favorite pies and it only made his guesses come that much quicker.

As he headed out to the front, he dropped off the pitcher of beer and grabbed #15 from the shelf. He almost couldn’t believe it had been ten months since his favorite patron had first come in. Tonight was the night, he resolved, he would ask for Angel Eyes’ actual name. Maybe in another ten months, he’d work up the courage to ask for his number. Dean internally rolled his eyes at himself. He was truly pathetic.

Angel Eyes perked up at the end of the bar the moment Dean emerged from the back, yellow light from a nearby neon sign on the wall reflecting off his dark hair, almost like a halo. They smiled at each other and Dean’s heart was immediately doing flips, seeing how obviously happy he was to see him. Could be the Crush Goggles, but still…

“Fancy seeing you here,” said Dean, filling the glass with ice and setting it down on the bar. “I was wondering when you’d be in to try the latest special.”

“I’m just hoping it isn’t Pumpkin Spice,” said Angel Eyes. Being that it was October, it was a fair comment. You couldn’t go ten feet without encountering something bearing that smell and/or flavor.

“I do like pumpkin pie,” said Dean, pouring the whiskey. “But I think it’s more of a November flavor.”

Dark brows lifted. “A hint? This is new. What did I do to deserve that?”

Dean laughed. “Maybe I’m in a good mood, that’s all.”

“Me too. It’s a good night.”

“Hopefully, about to be better,” said Dean, nodding at the glass.

“I don’t need to drink to have a good time,” he said, but picked up the tumbler all the same to have a sip.

“Your continued presence at my bar says otherwise,” said Dean.

Angel Eyes swallowed. “There are other reasons a person might come to a bar.”

“Such as?”

“Good ambience.” He took a longer sip and let his eyes wander over Dean before traveling back up as he swallowed. “I like the company.”

Dean hoped he wasn’t blushing but he couldn’t hold back a goofy smile. “You do get to meet all kinds of people in a place like this,” he said.

“Yes, though I was referring to one specific person.”

“Yeah?”

He finished the whiskey and set down the glass, meeting Dean’s eyes head-on. “Yes.”

Mouth dry, Dean cleared his throat. “So, uh…” He gestured at the tumbler. “Any guesses?”

“Maybe.” He trailed one finger around the rim of the glass. “If I pay for the drink, can I have something else as my prize? If I get it right, of course.”

“Uh.” He swallowed hard. “S-s-sure.” He could hardly manage the one word; he couldn’t even summon the brain power to ask what it was he wanted.

Smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Angel Eyes considered his answer. “This is a good one,” he said. “Definitely not pumpkin, but it has sweetness… and a note of tart as well.”

“Are you a sommelier?” Dean asked suddenly. “That would sure as hell explain a lot.”

He laughed, the bright sound so incongruous with his gravelly voice, it had quickly become one of Dean’s favorite things about him. So much so, that he would go out of his way to come up with a corny joke or allow himself to be a little clumsy, just for the chance to hear that laugh.

“No,” he said, still smiling. “Disappointed?”

“No. I just can’t figure out how you’re never wrong.”

“I haven’t made my guess yet,” he pointed out.

“And?”

Deliberately, he reached into his glass and retrieved a small ice cube. Before Dean knew what was happening, Angel Eyes was popping it into his mouth and sucking on it while he thought about what answer to give.

Guh. He has to be doing this on purpose! Dean thought. How does he make everything he does so sexy?

Still keeping eye contact with Dean, he bit down hard. Crunch! If he kept this up, Dean would need to run to the bathroom and readjust his jeans. To try and diffuse some of the tension in the air, Dean attempted to make a joke like he usually would.

“You, uh, you know what they say about people who chew their ice, don’t you?” he asked, almost tripping on his own tongue.

“No,” he said, to Dean’s surprise. “What do they say?”

Well, this backfired spectacularly, thought Dean. “They, uh… that they’re, well, you know…” Those clear blue eyes wouldn’t give him an inch, Angel Eyes sat patiently waiting to hear the punchline of Dean’s naughty joke like they were talking about the weather. He had no choice but to quietly stutter, “That they’re… s-s-sexually frustrated.”

“Oh.”

Really? That’s all you have to say, ‘oh’? thought Dean, incredulously. While he watched, Angel Eyes fished out another ice cube and crunched down on it viciously, all while holding Dean’s gaze, as if to punctuate his statement. Heat creeping up into his cheeks, Dean took a steadying breath. Curse blushing, he thought. Curse the noun, curse the verb, curse the act!

“H-have I finally stumped you?” Dean asked when his tongue decided to work again.

“Caramel apple rhubarb,” he said, definitively. “Final answer.”

“Damn!” exclaimed Dean, pounding one fist on the bar. “You did it again!”

All he did was smile in response, the handsome bastard. As he reached into his coat pocket, he casually remarked, “You know, your freckles disappear when you blush.”

He blinked. “They do?”

“Then I get to notice them all over again when they come back.” Retrieving his wallet, he pulled out a ten-dollar bill and placed it on the bar between them. “It’s what I’ve been calling you in my head all this time. Freckles.”

“Well, that’s kind of rude, how would you like it if my brother and I were calling you Trench Coat behind your back?”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Okay, good, because that’s totally what we’ve been doing.”

They snickered together.

“Out of curiosity,” said Dean, “what were you calling Sammy?”

“Manbun.”

Dean snorted. “I’m absolutely going to call him that.”

“So, his name is Sam? You don’t wear nametags, so I’ve only ever known your last name.”

“Nametags are lame.”

“They are. What’s your name, then?”

“Is this what you wanted instead of a free drink?”

“No, this is something I should have asked ten months ago.”

Fair point. Dean held out his hand. “Dean,” he said.

His fingers were cold from the ice but his palm was warm and smooth. “Castiel.”

“Wow.” It wasn’t a name he’d ever heard before; surprise mixed with his pleasure over finally learning the name of his long-held crush. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Not sure. Probably something anti-climactic, like Steve.” He picked up the ten with his other hand. “I’ll get you some change.”

Castiel tightened his grip when Dean would have let go. “Keep it,” he said. “Consider it a tip.”

“Okay,” Dean said, slowly, tucking the bill into his apron pocket.

“Have you eaten dinner yet?” asked Castiel.

“No.”

He grinned and it put all of the smiles Dean had received before to shame. It held a hint of mischievousness as he said, “That’s what I want.”

“You-you want—what? D-dinner? W-with me?” Dean couldn’t quite believe his ears. He’d barely been able to hope for a first-name basis tonight, he couldn’t possibly be so lucky as to score a date. But then, considering they’d been dancing around each other for ten months, maybe Castiel thought if he didn’t make the first move, it would never happen.

Bringing up his other hand, Castiel sandwiched Dean’s between the two as he said, very deliberately, “I don’t believe I’ve guessed wrong.”

Dean could be pretty dense sometimes, but he knew unequivocally that Castiel wasn’t talking about the whiskey. “I’m off in half an hour,” he said, smiling like an idiot.

“I’ll be waiting… Freckles.”

Okay… so maybe blushing wasn’t such a bad thing.

345 notes · View notes

cal-kestis · 3 years

Text

You Will Never Be Alone Again | Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

(Epilogue of The Aftermath of Losing Everything)

moodboard/sketch/gifs made by me, please don’t repost :)

Summary: Each morning, he’s there, holding you with his smiling lips pressed against your neck and his heart beating against your chest. (Set after S2) Rating: M Word Count: 3018 Warnings/Tags: Soft!Din, FLUFF, no use of ‘Y/N’, suggestive content

[PART I] // [PART II] // [PART III] // [Read on AO3] // [Series Masterlist]

xi.

It’s strange not waking up by yourself, strange to feel blanketed in a kind of warmth and comfort, not even the early morning suns could radiate.

Sometimes, you think this must be some wild fantasy, a sweet sublime dream that could evaporate into smoke if you dare open your eyes.

But each morning, he’s there, holding you with his smiling lips pressed against your neck and his heart beating against your chest. It’s no secret you love him, it’s written all across your face even with a peripheral glance. Falling for him happened fast and a long, long time ago. Yet in these quiet moments when you’re in the place between wakefulness and sleep, you think you’re still cascading over the crest — falling for the tiniest pieces of him that others would need a magnifying glass to see.

Like those delicate wrinkles that frame the corners of his brown eyes when he looks at you, the way they deepen as he smiles. It’s hard to describe how beautiful those lines are… what they mean. Wrinkles don’t develop overnight. No, he’s smiled enough times for those creases to permanently etch themselves into his skin. It makes your heart soar knowing that, despite all he’s been through, he’d allowed himself those sparse moments of happiness. You’ve hopelessly fallen in love with the lines beside his eyes, evidence that a bright side can exist even in the darkest of hours.

And still, perhaps something you love even more is the way he kisses you until you forget every night you’d ever lay awake feeling alone in the universe.

It’s all so strange in the best, most beautiful way.

Din has given you so much and you only hope he can see your heart, the words carved on it — poems about him, his eyes, the charming lines that tug at the corners. You hope he can see how you’ve kept every word he’s every whispered against your skin, how you’ve inscribed them onto your beating soul: secrets and promises only the two of you will ever get to know, your own name scribbled by his lips a thousand times. You’ll treasure the invisible markings forever. Your heart’s covered in him and you just hope he can see.

With Din, life seems more meaningful, peaceful, beautiful… full. And though frightening shadows still lurk, you know you don’t have to face them alone.

Of course, there are times you worry, moments when he still seems trapped in his head, sinking into deep waters with that silver ball clutched in his hand. But he has you now, his liferaft, one with patched up holes and dents that will always come to pull him back up to the surface.

On those nights when he gets lost in the treacherous tsunami of his mind, you try to give back to him everything he’s so generously offered you. And even as you draw rasped sighs and choked cries and broken moans from his lips, your fingers painting patterns across his body… you know what heals him most are the moments after: the way your breath slows down to match his, how your lips press so gently over his eyelids until they close and project dreams of you as he sleeps.

Meant for me, he’d once said. Or maybe, meant for you.

—

xii.

In the sacred moments you and Din have to yourselves — no quarry to chase, no demons to face — you find yourselves on beautiful secluded planets like this one, surrounded by towering trees and lush rolling hills and long blades of grass and calm creek cadences. Somehow, each new system is more stunning than the last, and every time he opens the ramp to his ship, he intently watches your wonderstruck reaction as your eyes take in a fantastical new planet and gorgeous environment.

Visiting new planets off-duty comes with its own routine. He walks with you as you explore with wide eyes, sits beside you when you find a colorful plant to draw, lifts his helmet ever so slightly when the desire to kiss you — your cheek, your temple, your shoulder — becomes too overwhelming. And when night falls, you both retire to his ship, where he can freely remove every piece of armor and kiss every inch of your skin until it’s all you can dream of.

Since the confrontation at the Imperial base, Din’s also taken it upon himself to train you. Not in the ways of the Jedi, of course. That, you’re learning to study on your own. Din trains you like a Mandalorian — a zealous approach to weapons and warriorship. He’s a patient and compassionate teacher, and it only ties your heart to his in a tighter knot. With his gentle guidance, handling a blaster is hardly an obstacle and it only takes a month or two before you become well-acquainted with the darksaber he’d hidden in his storage cabinet for so long.

When he’d finally told you the story of the ancient weapon of legend, gravity had seemed to press harder against his back, making his shoulders slope and his head hang even lower. Because, on the day he’d parted with his son, he’d not only removed the mask of his Creed, he’d also acquired the crown of a cursed planet. And he still doesn’t know which one weighs heavier atop his head.

After that, you’d dedicated yourself to training with renewed vigor — wanting to be prepared if ever the target on his back brought upon old Imperial enemies or new ones who sought to usurp him from the throne he never wanted.

Today, much like the other times you’d trained with him, it’s mostly just chopping at trees and bushes. You can’t deny how much stronger you feel just holding the Mandalorian weapon and knowing you can defend yourself even without the Force.

There’s a part of you, however, that feels like Din’s holding back. Whenever you’d asked when you’d be ready to spar with him, eager to test your newfound skills against something that can actually fight back, he’d simply readjusted your stance with gentle hands and asked you to show him the different sword strokes he’d taught you.

“Very good,” Din praises as you step forward and swing the darksaber through the air, slicing clean through a thin branch.

“Well, that tree had it coming,” you scoff, crossing your arms with over-exaggerated toughness. “I’ve had enough of your bark, tree. It’s about time you leaf.”

“Puns. You’re upset,” he says, not a question.

“I’m not upset,” you lie, trying to put on your best sabacc face. But his helmet tilts in a way that’s far too knowing for a darkened, T-shaped visor, and you sigh in defeat under his scrutinizing stare. “Fine. I just… I just think I’m ready to up the ante here. And I feel like you’re holding back.”

He stares at you for a moment, studiously looking you up and down.

“Your posture is too slouched,” he explains, changing the subject again. “Go back to ready position.”

“Don’t do that,” you heave out another exasperated sigh.

“Ner kar’ta...”

“No, don’t ‘ner kar’ta’ me. Just because you’ve got this shiny sword,” you argue, the glowing saber humming in your hand as you brandish it back and forth, “and you’re technically a king or whatever—”

“Mand’alor,” he interrupts. “And I’m not.”

“—doesn’t mean everything you say is law. I want you to fight me. I’m ready,” your voice softens, stepping closer to him as your pleading hands wrap around the back of his neck. “I want to really learn from you.”

“We’re not doing this,” he answers, despite willingly staying trapped in the cage of your arms.

But you don’t back down. Instead, you lean forward, lips barely a hair's breadth from his helmet before you boldly kiss the spot where his mouth would be, lingering and watching how the tinted panel fogs up. The print of your mouth marks the dark visor and it makes you grin.

“Fight me, Mando,” you whisper, all sultry bravado laced with a tease that prickles the skin beneath Din’s armor.

“Ready position,” he rasps like he’s annoyed at himself.

A metallic, musical sound rings in the empty forest as he unsheathes the beskar spear behind his back. And like a giddy child, you bounce on your feet and step backward, swinging the darksaber in your hands before taking your stance.

Din stands sturdy just a few feet away, spear gripped tightly in his gloves. He slowly lowers himself, knees bent just slightly, an air of strength and confidence surrounding him. Then, hardly perceptible, he nods.

You dig your heels into the soil, your boots squashing the grass below your feet. With your legs spread wide, you draw the darksaber up to the side of your head, the blinding glow casting a white halo on your cheek. Narrowing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you charge forward at lightning speed, zeroing in on the shiny armor in front of you.

At the last second, Din dodges your attack, stepping to the side and watching as you rush past him. You somehow manage not to trip over your own feet and hastily twirl around to face him again. But Din’s already got the point of his spear aimed at the side of your throat.

“You’re relying too much on your speed,” he explains, spear hovering just below your ear. “Size up your opponent first. Figuring out their weakness is more valuable than using up all your strength. Go again.”

You huff at him but get back into ready position, breathing deep in through your nose and out through your mouth. This time, you take a moment to assess him for weak spots. There aren’t many of course, not visible at least. But you decide the side of his stomach is your best bet.

The moment he nods his head, you take a leap forward and twist your wrist, swinging the blade toward his waist. His spear spins swiftly to block the strike, your weapons meeting in a clash of sparks and high-pitched whistles. You summon all your strength to push the saber against his spear, watching as the silver metal turns orange under the intense laser’s heat. And just when you feel like you’re gaining the high ground as Din’s body bends under your advance, he sweeps his boot beneath you and you fall backward, losing grip of the darksaber.

“That was better,” he says with approval, scanning your body as you lay on the ground and groan loudly. “You okay?” He gently wonders, coming closer and extending a gloved hand toward you.

With shaking fingers, you reach for him. And the moment you feel his grip tighten around your hand, an idea sparks. Without another thought, you yank him forward onto the ground beside you. He lets out a surprised grunt when he hits the dirt and you take full advantage of his shock, straddling his hips and trapping his arms beneath your legs. You extend your hand out to the side and, within seconds, the darksaber comes flying back into your fist. With a bright flash, you ignite the laser blade near his throat.

“That’s cheating,” he says, but you can hear the proud smile in his voice.

“I simply assessed my opponent’s weakness,” you grin, retracting the saber into its hilt and leaning down until you’re nose-to-nose with his helmet. “Just so happens, his weakness is me.”

“Good girl,” he says, and you can’t fight the way his praise sends a fluttering warmth to your belly.

You kiss his helmet again with an exaggerated smacking sound before getting off of him and saying, “Let’s go again.”

Din spars with you for nearly two hours, offering gentle advice each time he bests you (which is most of the time) and showering you with praises whenever you find a way to get the upper hand. It fills you with unmatchable strength and confidence.

“That’s enough for today, verd’ika,” he says, slightly breathless as he brushes dirt off your clothes. “It’s getting dark. Let’s head inside.”

You smile at him, filled with an intense urge to kiss him. So, you reach for his helmet, slowly, just in case. His head turns left and right, checking if the coast is clear, before nodding. You lift the beskar slightly, just enough to reveal his mouth and his neatly-trimmed mustache, and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Thank you, Din,” you whisper as you set his helmet back in its place. You can almost see the bemused look on his face as he stares at you.

And as you walk back to the ship, a re-energized bounce in your step, you decide to tease him one last time, turn around, and smirk. “Meet you in the fresher.”

—

xiii.

Din’s hair hangs in waves over his forehead as he gazes down at you, leaning on his left forearm to stay suspended over your body.

He smells delicious, like his herb-scented soap and the delicious meal he’d cooked for you tonight. His skin is glazed in a radiant sheen and his eyes somehow glow in the dim lighting of your shared quarters.

You’ve learned to appreciate rare nights like this, when there are no jobs to keep him away from you for days at a time. When your eyes get to unabashedly roam over the golden expanse of his skin, without heavy armor or layers of cloth in your way. When you get to listen to his voice for hours on end as his hand traces lines and circles into your skin.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask him, noticing how his entranced stare focuses on your lips when you speak.

He strokes a calloused finger over your cheekbone, then under the curve of your lips, until his thumb finds a resting place over your chin and gently swipes back and forth.

“You,” he answers honestly, leaning down to kiss you, tasting your smile on his tongue. He lingers there for a long moment, hanging from your lips like a man on the edge of falling though he’s already fallen countless times before.

“That’s all?” You whisper, feeling his hot breath brush against your mouth.

He rests his forehead against yours, his nose rubbing along the side of your own.

“And how much the kid would have loved this planet,” he continues wistfully. “Running through the grass and catching frogs or whatever he could eat.”

Your soft laugh is bittersweet as he reminisces over his son, the corners of his eyes wrinkling mere centimeters from your face.

“Thinking about how he would have liked watching us train together. He’d probably cheer for you to win,” Din chuckles when you scrunch your nose and shake your head doubtfully. Then, his face softens and his eyes glisten. “Grogu would have loved you.”

An errant tear falls from Din’s lashes and drops onto your cheek, and there's little you can do to keep your own from getting mixed in — a tiny melancholy river forming atop your skin. Your hands cup either side of his face, and you lean forward to kiss the spot where the tear had left a small trail right below his eye.

“In some ways, it’s like I know him now,” you murmur against Din’s cheekbone. “Because I know you. I can feel it — the pieces of you that will be part of him forever. I would love him too. I already do.”

He whispers your name again and again, and each time, it’s like he’s making a wish on a star.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” you whisper, kissing his lips sweetly.

When you draw backward against your pillow, he latches onto your mouth once more and kisses you until you’re breathless.

“There aren’t words, ner kar’ta, ” he says quietly, fingers brushing gently over your hair. “Nothing can explain what you mean to me.”

When Din makes love, you can feel nothing else but him — his body, his soul, his heart. Every touch and movement is energized by a deep intention to let you know what he sometimes struggles expressing in words. But you’ve become fluent in him, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt how each kiss translates to: I love you.

Each thrust of his hips means: I want you.

Each ragged moan reveals: I need you.

Each soft caress says: I’d do anything for you.

And each time his forehead meets yours, he declares: I have found my family.

As you both try to catch your breath, he flops back down onto the bed beside you. He hums happily when he feels you hold tight to him, squeezing his middle with your arms and placing a kiss over his heart.

“Good night, Din,” you mumble, yawning as you nuzzle your face against his chest and bury yourself deep beneath the covers.

“Sweet dreams,” he says, pressing his lips into your hair.

You tilt your chin up just slightly, wanting the last image you see before you drift off to be his beautiful face. But his stare is far away, lost in thought once again. You follow his line of sight, beginning at his shining eyes and landing on the collection of drawings hung beside his door. And the pictures that reflect in his glossy irises are the finished portrait of him beside the sketch of you and Grogu displayed proudly in the center.

Someday, you swear to yourself, those images will be more than just pencil scratches on parchment. Someday, your small chosen family will be whole.

When you close your eyes — your head resting over the warm skin of his chest, his heart marching steadily under your cheek — you dream of the day Din and his son finally reunite, with you standing by his side. And even if that’s still a far-off fantasy, you can rest easily knowing two things for sure:

Tomorrow, you’ll wake up wrapped in Din’s arms. And, for as long as you live, neither of you will ever be alone again.

End Note: Thank you to anyone who's read this story. It's been a labor of love for me and I'm especially grateful to readers who left encouraging feedback. As for me, I'll be around. I'm working on another Javi x Reader story (inspired by yet another TS song — off evermore this time). If you haven't read my other one, please check it out! It's called "If I Could Never Give You Peace." Talk soon! Mando’a Glossary: Ner kar’ta = My heart (kar’ta = heart [kah-ROH-ta]; ner = my [nair]) Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum. = I know you forever [nee kar-TILE garh dah-RAH-soom] ⎿ “It's the same word as 'to know,' 'to hold in the heart,' kar'taylir. But you add darasuum, ‘forever,’ and it becomes something rather different.” — Republic Commando: Triple Zero Verd' ika = Little Warrior (affectionately) [vair-DEE-kah]

Please reblog & comment to show your support! I’d love to hear your thoughts!!

Taglist: @sarahjkl82-blog @pedro-pastel @mavendeb @tailormotelkamzoil @unexistant @karkii @hwjdykqueillmjwkqu @httpwale @chiara-cannot-sleep @niiight-dreamerrrr

111 notes · View notes

gingersnappe-9 · 3 years

Text

Quisiera: Growing Pains (2)

Javier Peña / F!Reader; Post Narcos

Masterlist || Series List || Taglist Form || PREVIOUS || NEXT

1.9K words

Summary: You have a lot on your mind. You never expected Javi to be one of them. But that's nothing a good soak can't fix, right?

Warnings: mention of loss of parent & degenerative diseases, minor depictions of sexual thoughts, minor profanity

A/N: because I'm a major dork, and no one asked, I created the floor plan for the reader's house and my friend @followwhereshegoes designed it in Sims for me. The photos are at the end of the chapter. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

Your hair blew in the wind as you drove your work-beaten Ford F-250 home. Papers from a long day of checking up on animals and livestock fluttered beneath your now empty thermos for coffee. Your head bobbed with the familiar bumps and turns of the road as you drove home. The ride wasn’t unlike it had been any other day, but as you pulled into your driveway and peaked to the left and you knew he would be there. You had known for a few weeks now that Javi had been back. On a courtesy visit for Don Jesús -- Javi’s dad -- he had mentioned his son might be returning to Texas soon. That had to have been roughly two, maybe three months ago?

You never thought you would see him again. The kid who always thought he knew best. The one who was so sure of himself and that the world was his oyster. You weren’t surprised that he didn’t recognize you though. That was Javi you grew up with. This Javier was different. It was plain to see that he carried a weight with him. Knowing the things he knew, holding on to whatever he’d done in the back of his mind now and forever. He wasn’t the bright and shiny version of Javi you once knew, but he was still as golden as ever.

As you hopped out of the car and twirled the keys on your finger, you were beyond satisfied at your decision to postpone your reunion with Javi. Crossing the threshold of your house you recalled how panicked he looked. The quick flashes of “oh shit” in his eyes before he masked his uncertainty with precision and a charming smile. To others, he played it off fine, but you knew Javi before he was Agent Peña. You’d practically grown up with him so you were privy to those subtle tells.

Javi’s abuelos moved to be closer to their son and his family. His grandparents and your parents met in English class after they moved to America and the families stayed close ever since. Javi’s family was from Mexico, and yours came from Colombia. Each of your tíos and tías helped watch and raise you and your primos. While most of your blood relatives were still in Colombia, you loved your found family here in the States. All of the birthdays spent in one another’s backyards with copious amounts of candy that came pouring out of piñatas. Big Christmas gatherings with mountains of food like ponche, pozole verde, and dulcitos like your favorite manjar blanco. Above all, you remember the laughter.

You laughed so much as a child. Someone could look at you in such a way and you would have burst out into a fit of giggles and happy squeals. It was a bittersweet thing to recall. Things were just… different now. You grew up. Life changed, you certainly had.

This was the home your parents had built not too long after they came to America. You still felt like a little kid playing house sometimes. Being the sole occupant felt strange after the years you spent growing up with the place bursting with laughter, people, and above all love. But life changed. Your mother had died of a heart attack the year before you finished vet school. Ten years back, your father was diagnosed with early onset dementia and it was left to you to make the hard decision of placing him in a nursing home. You couldn’t care for him with the hours you worked at the clinic, and you didn’t think your heart could bear seeing the man you admired slowly fade away. It made you feel awful to admit, but there was only so much a heart could take. It could’ve been different if you still had your mamá, but it was just you.

Your body hitched a bit as you bent over to pull the dirt caked boots off your feet. Growing up is fun, they said. They never mentioned anything about rapid onset aches and pains once you passed thirty. You loved being a vet, you loved taking care of horses and all manner of livestock; being there for the folks who relied on you, but man alive was it taxing on the body.

As you padded your way into the study just to the left of the front door, you dropped the excess paperwork and lunch pale on your desk; your boots onto the old mat so as to not spread anymore dirt in the house. Trying your best to properly file away your paperwork, billing receipts and lists of future visits, you found your mind wandering back to Javier.

The wonderful way his bone structure had sharpened with age. Yeah he was a good looking teenage boy -- a bit on the thin side, but strong in body and mind -- but this version of Javi was a stud. His skin was naturally tanner than some, but it was even more bronzed by the sun from his time down in Colombia. A man with strong looking hands that wrapped the circumference of the tumbler glass filled with neat whiskey meanwhile yours could only manage to get around halfway. You were extremely annoyed at how he could pull off a damn mustache without looking like a creep. Finding that you were spending far too much time thinking about Javier Peña rather than getting your ass ready for bed, you set off on your nightly routine.

Pushing yourself up and out of the desk chair was more tiresome than you would have liked to admit, but not impossible. You then opened the door that led into your bedroom. It still felt a bit weird to call it your bedroom after all this time.

You had redecorated the place to your tastes. The main bedroom now had a beautiful four post bed with pleated gossamer drapes around the posts. The warm wood bureau and doors matched the deep trim of the window sills and frames throughout the house. You removed your everyday jewelry and placed them in the little wooden dishes you had bought in Colombia the last time you visited. You had just turned twenty two then, and didn’t care to remember how old you were now. Admiring the fine artistry of the delicately carved lines and lacquered scenery of a village always brought back fine memories, summers spent in a home away from home. Peeling off your work clothes proved a bit more challenging now that your muscles and bones had started to stiffen from the wear of the workday. You walked into your bathroom as naked as the day you were born, a small perk of having moved into the main bedroom since it had an ensuite bathroom.

After the long day, a shower just didn’t seem like it was going to cut it. You pivoted to the left and began to draw a steaming hot bath. A few drops of essential oil were splashed into the piping hot water. Your abuelita did always say, “Medicina cuando la necesita, pero los remedios naturales siempre son los mejores.”

Medicine when you need it, but natural remedies are always best.

Once the tub was filled as high as it could go and still accommodate your body, the taps were shut off, and you slipped into the warm bliss. The water worked its magic while you turned on a small radio that sat on the windowsill. It was tuned in to some station based in Mexico that always played música rancheras. You were a self-proclaimed “old soul” and loved your parents' generational music. It was a not-so-guilty-pleasure for you. Even when you were younger, some of the other kids made fun of you for not liking the more modern music. But your mom always reassured you it was because you were un romántico. A romantic.

The soulful melodies and elegant guitar echoed through the steam from the bath as your aches and pains were softly pulled from your bones. The sky outside the window was a dusty pink muddled with orange. The heat from the bath was wonderful. Your mind wandered ever farther as you sunk deeper into relaxation. Tonight was one of those evenings you imagined someone else in the tub with you, it was one of the reasons you’d thrown in a couple extra bucks when you redid the bathroom. You imagined leaning against their chest, them running their hands up and down the inner part of your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you wanted their touch the most.

Big and strong hands. Ones that weren’t afraid to leave an imprint, a reminder of their presence. Your cheeks flushed at the thought of them gently pressing and squeezing into your thighs, chest, and hips. The fantasy completed itself when you put a face to this mystery man.

Warm brown eyes, a well-defined jaw, somewhat pouty lips that practically begged you to kiss them with a fucking mustache of all things. You imagined the sound of his voice right next to your ear, whispering dirty things while he continued to paw at your body with confidence. The fresh recall of your most recent conversation made the day dream seem all the more real. It was intimate, enticing. You hadn't had any real boyfriend in a while and with the luscious way the water lapped over your skin, you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together unconsciously as his conjured words echoed in your mind.

You feel so soft, Armorsita. Do you like when I touch you here, baby? Oh, you do. I can tell. Mi dama. Tell me. Tell me how much you like it, how much you love being mine. Let me have you, all of you. Let me show you just how much I love touching you right…

Your mind snapped back when your head slipped from its perch on the back of the tub. The room felt steamier than it had before even as the water temperature had dipped to lukewarm.

Was I really just fantasizing about Javier Peña of all people?

It was official then. You needed to get into bed and sleep off whatever delusions these were and come back to reality.

Fully washed and dried, you finished your routine by lathering yourself in your favorite lavender body lotion. Your body felt much better without the thin layer of Texas dust smothering your skin. Something different, however, clouded your mind, or rather, someone. It was a bit alarming how easily Javier permeated your idle thoughts. The encounter suddenly became very clear.

Why did you say goodnight as sultry as you did? Was that even sultry? Why do I keep thinking about it being “sultry”?

Your mind recalled the brief moment your lips touched his cheek. It wasn’t unlike any other time you kissed a friend goodbye. You’d been doing it forever. It was how you said goodbye. You knew that, and so did he. So why did it carve out its own special place in your mind? Why were the sensations so clear and vidid? Why did you so badly want to do it again and again without pause?

Of course your mind would fixate on the person who had just recently come back into your life. It was only natural. Humans are designed to notice differences. It’s a survival technique. To pay attention to possible threats. And you had yet to make up your mind if you considered this version of Javier Peña a friend or foe.

Taglist: @hnt-escape @betti-book @mcueveryday @athalien

#pedro pascal characters #narcos au #narcos #narcos fanfiction #javier peña

32 notes · View notes

marvel-and-mischief · 3 years

Text

Daisies

Part of my Floriography Series

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader Words: 2700 Warnings: gambling, swearing, alcohol, rough handling by guards, allusions to prostitution (it’s part of a scam), lighthearted punishment in the stocks Synopsis: Pero seems to always be around at the wrong time to sabotage your scams and join in with your punishments. Enemies to Lovers (sorta)

Daisies: attachment, new beginnings

💐

“Now remember, ten or above wins you double your stake, below ten and your stake is mine.”

The scruffy drunkard sat opposite you let out a bellowing laugh, the nasty stench of his rotten teeth hitting your nostrils. His movements sloshed the tankard of mead in his hand, spilling some of its contents on the table between you. You had to hold back your look of disgust and smile through the uncomfortableness.

“I won’t lose. Throw ‘em, lady,” he slurred. You had to fight off the smirk threatening to show on your face as you shook the two, six sided dice in your right hand. You had nothing to worry about, the dice were weighted, favoring the lower numbers and therefore guaranteeing your win every time.

“Alright, but when you win you owe me a drink!” you winked cheekily at your mark, catching his eye whilst you threw the dice on the table. The more you distracted them the less chance there was of getting caught in your scam.

The dice came to a stop and you both looked down at the same time; a three and a four, earning a groan of disappointment from the few onlookers that had gathered to watch.

“Better luck next time,” you grinned, gathering up your dice and winnings as the man muttered something unintelligible and grumpily left the table, “anyone else want a go?”

“I will.”

You froze at the voice in your ear and saw the figure of a familiar man take the recently vacant seat opposite you. Pero Tovar always seemed to show up in your life when you least wanted him to. He was an annoying ghost and you could never shake off his haunting. You should gather up your earnings and leave but something kept you rooted to the table. And the longer you took to contemplate your next move, the more the drunkards in the tavern wanted to know what was going on. Soon you’d attracted quite the crowd.

“I said, I want a go.”

You looked into his brown eyes, the ones that sparkled with humor, always at your expense.

“It may be too difficult for your small brain to understand how to play,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Then let us play a different one. I will throw the dice, and if the total is lower than ten, I win every penny you have taken tonight.”

The bastard. The only reason he would suggest playing it that way was if he knew how you were cheating the game. You clenched your jaw in frustration.

“I think I am ready to take my leave-“

“But we have an audience!” Pero smirked, raising his voice and waving a hand at the tavern full of people who hurrahed, eager for you to throw the dice. You were cornered, physically by the wall of people around you and mentally by Pero who knew if you refused the game it would look suspicious.

“Fine,” you grumbled, faking an over the top smile, twirling the dice in one hand and clenching your other hand into a fist under the table. Stay calm, don’t show him how much he was getting to you, you told yourself. You’d chase him down afterwards and with a knife to his throat take your money back. That would show him.

You dropped the dice on the table and leaned back in your seat to see Pero staring at you. You didn’t need to see the dice to know you had lost, the weights that usually worked for you were against you this time, and the tavern goers yelled in surprise and delight, some were even joyfully patting Pero on the shoulder in congratulations. All the while Pero was smiling at you, self satisfied at playing you at your own game.

You pulled the drawstring bag off your hip and threw it across the table, hitting Pero in the chest.

“Better luck next time,” Pero mocked your earlier words, “would you like a drink to drown your sorrows in?” Pero threw the bag of coins in the air and caught it successfully.

“Oh bugger off, Pero,” you hissed, leaving the tavern in a huff. You didn’t want to see him again this night. You’d get him back next time.

The boy was young, still a teenager but old enough to know better. His clothes were of the finest materials, gold threads held the pieces together and added beautiful patterns to the front and shoulders of the jacket. He even had a long, shiny feather in his cap. He stuck out in the crown like a sore thumb.

You had been scouting the market for marks all morning and he was the only person you thought worthy of relieving of coin. He had a guard with him, who was more interested in looking at the women walking by, and his coin purse was dangling enticingly down by his hip. It would have been much easier for a child to run along and snip the string with a knife but the only ones you’d found were hand in hand with their parents. So you were on your own.

You were hidden down the side of a building, in the shadows and away from prying eyes. Or so you thought until you caught the flash of a grin out the corner of your eye.

Pero Tovar was mirroring your position on the other side of the marketplace, the wealthy man in the middle of you both. Pero moved his gaze to said man and it was then you knew he was after your mark.

It had been only a couple of nights since he took all your money at the tavern and you’d be damned if you were going to let him swindle you of even more coin. You had to get to the mark before Pero did, by any means necessary.

You tried to plead with him, subtly shaking your head but all Pero did was lean against the wall and offer you a warning glare.

The mark was buying a trinket from a stool, handing his purchase over to the guard to carry and looking around for where to go next. This was your only chance.

You untied the string at the top of your tunic, letting it open up to display your chest more than you would usually allow. But you needed a distraction and a way of getting close to the man without suspicion. You pulled out the small scissors from your boot and held them comfortably in your dominant hand, shaking down your sleeve to keep them out of sight.

You tried to ignore Pero but as soon as you slipped out of the alley he did the same, heading directly for the wealthy man.

Unfortunately whilst you were gaining speed through jogging movements, Pero’s purposeful strides were larger than yours, meaning you both reached the man at the same time.

“Sir, could I offer my services-“

“You seem too respectable to want the services of a harlot-“

“Harlot? Excuse me, I am so sorry, this ruffian-“

“Ruffian! You should show some respect-“

Your attempts to get close enough to grab the purse were scuppered by Pero subtly pulling you away with a hand around your waist. And as much as you tried to pry him off you, he was strong and stubborn, rendering your scam completely useless. The wealthy man’s guard dragged him away with a growl in your direction to stop you from pursuing them.

“What was that!?” Those words had been on the tip of your tongue but Pero spoke them first. You looked at him with a confused frown.

“What?”

“What were you thinking? That guard could have killed you.”

“Oh do not pretend you care for my health, you wanted that purse to yourself.”

“I did, but when I saw you were going to get yourself in serious trouble I had to come and save you instead of getting the coins for myself. You are welcome, idiota.”

You stared at Pero in disbelief. Was he expecting gratefulness? You couldn’t quite believe what he was saying.

“I have been doing this for years and I haven’t gotten caught once. I would appreciate it if you didn’t save me again,” you huffed, tying up the strings of your shirt before stomping away from him.

If you never saw Pero Tovar again it would be too soon.

You were mad. But you were mad that Pero was right more than you were mad at your actual predicament.

You had been playing a simple card trick on an unsuspecting traveller, one that you’d played hundreds of times, it had never gone wrong. Somehow the extra card up your sleeve (the one you used to cheat with) had slipped out and fallen to the floor and a guard that had been watching had spotted it and arrested you before you could run.

So that was how you found yourself in the stocks all morning, set in the middle of the courtyard of the castle grounds for everyone to laugh at. A few delighted children had thrown various rotten vegetables in your face, most adults had taken pity on you and walked on by. Your back was hurting from being hunched over, your feet were aching on the hard, stone ground. But none of that compared to the pain of seeing your foe being dragged towards you.

“Please, I beg you, this is punishment enough, do not put that man anywhere near me.”

“Anyone would think you hated me,” Pero grumbled, humor in his voice despite being guided towards his punishment.

You felt the top half of the stocks lifting off the back of your neck, a second of relief, as the guards situated Pero next to you. His hand was so close to yours you could touch him, not that you wanted to. The stocks were dropped down and locked in place and the guards left you alone.

“You bring me nothing but bad luck,” you mumbled, huffing as you shifted on your feet.

“Because I was not there to save you this time?” You could hear the smirk in his voice which irritated you.

“Because I have never been caught, and then you start showing up everywhere I go and I am caught, and to make things worse, I have to be punished next to you!” You laughed humorlessly, narrowly dodging a handful of what smells like horse manure. You shoot a glare over to the man who threw it.

“Carino,” Pero clicked his tongue and you felt his hand sweep against yours, “these rotten potatoes are preferable to your whining.”

You gasped and tried to flick at his hand but it only hurt your bruising wrists.

“When I get out of here I am going to find the biggest vegetable, fresh from the ground, and throw it at you.”

Pero laughed a large, belly rumbling laugh that surprised you.

“Why are you laughing?” you asked, baffled at his sudden turn of emotions, but it didn’t deter him from laughing more.

It was the second plop of manure hitting the top of your head that had you joining in with Pero. The ridiculousness of the situation, the bickering between you, and your damn hand kept knocking into his. It was all so silly.

You spent the rest of the morning in fits of giggles with the man you thought you hated.

You were thrown down the steps of the dungeons, your knees hitting the hard, dirty floor before you were hauled back to your feet to be taken to the cell that would be yours for the night.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” was the voice that greeted you. You saw him sitting in the corner of the cell, a growing bruise on his jaw and stripped of his leather outer garments. He looked softer in just a shirt and breeches, more vulnerable but also kinder. Like any ordinary man, not the pain in the ass you knew him to be. You chuckled at the sight of him.

“Your life would be boring without me,” you teased, but Pero nodded his agreement. You plopped down next to him with a sigh, stretching out your legs and feeling the soreness of your knees as you rested them. You rubbed at the tenderness over your skirts.

“Are you hurt?”

“Some scrapes, that is all,” you assured him, but his eyes lingered where you were soothing your burning knees, “how did you end up in here?”

“Not my fault,” you raised a sceptical eyebrow, “a drunkard started a fight with me.”

“And where is this drunkard?” you asked suspiciously, looking through the bars into the other cells, all of which were empty.

“He passed out. The guards did not want to drag his useless body in here.”

You hummed, clearly not believing his tale. He rolled his eyes at you, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing.

“And you?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you end up in here?”

You sighed, remembering what had happened.

“A noblewoman thought I was going to steal her purse.”

“You were not going to steal her purse?”

“No!” You feigned looking scandalised at the mere suggestion, before dropping the act, “I was going to steal her dog.”

Pero guffawed, not expecting you to say such a thing.

“Her dog?”

“It would have been worth more than the coins in her purse.”

Pero rubbed at his tired eyes. You listened to the sounds around you; the guards gossiping outside the dungeon door, a rat squeaking somewhere nearby, the rhythm of Pero’s breathing. It was the first bit of peace you’d had in a long time.

“If we get caught again they will not simply throw us in the dungeons,” Pero whispered ominously.

You couldn’t disagree with him, but there weren’t many other options for people like the two of you. You were wanderers and loners. You had no money, no home, no family. What choice did you have?

You glanced at Pero who was already looking at you. He looked defeated, with dark bags under his eyes and his lips turned ever so slightly downwards, he looked how you felt. Hopeless and alone.

“We keep running into each other. That must mean something,” you claimed, feeling stupid as soon as the words came out. You quickly looked away and waited for him to mock you.

“You think this is God’s will?”

You shrugged and began picking at the dirt on your skirts.

“Perhaps we should do something about it.”

“Like what?” you asked, allowing your tone to lift in hope.

“If we are meant to be, maybe we should get out of this town and find another.”

“Together?”

“Why not?”

You looked at Pero then. There was no teasing in his eyes or smirk on his lips, he was being deadly serious. Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of sticking with Pero from now on. However, you couldn’t make it too easy for him.

“Well for one, I’d be stuck with your ugly mug.”

Pero grinned and let out a deep, throaty chuckle.

“I would wager my ugly face is better than the hangman's noose.”

The room became sombre once more as you realised what your options were. You had to leave town, but you could either do that alone or with the man whose company you were beginning to enjoy.

You felt Pero nudge your side and you saw he was holding a single daisy up to you.

“Do you carry flowers at all times?”

“No, idiota, they are growing in the walls,” with an amused shake of his head he carefully placed the small flower behind your ear and leaned back to admire his work.

After your initial shock you smiled your thanks and he smiled back.

“Bonita,” Pero muttered and leaned his shoulder against yours as he settled back against the cold, damp wall.

You think you could get used to sticking by his side.

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog @phoenixhalliwell @computeringturtle

#Floriography Series #Pero Tovar #Pero #Tovar #Pero Tovar x Reader #Pero x Reader #Tovar x Reader #The Great Wall #Pedro Pascal

110 notes · View notes

m34gs · 3 years

Text

Encounter

Short Bleach fanfic; merperson au. Grimmichi. Merperson Grimmjow, human Ichigo. Grimmjow's point of view. Fluff. Fic under the cut.

Based on the prompt "message in a bottle" from the July Prompts List by creativepromptsforwriting.

Grimmjow peered at the object in his hands. It was transparent, and rounded, narrow at the top, wider at the bottom, and inside it had what looked like...a strange type of white leaf? He narrowed his eyes at the object and shook it. The white thing inside shifted as well. Chittering to himself, he took the object and swam to the surface. He poked his head just barely above the water and scanned the area. No more of those creatures-that-had-two-tails were present. Part of him felt relief that he wouldn't have to stay so quiet and stealthy, but another part wished a certain one had stayed. Namely, the one who threw this object in the water.

He brought his head fully above the water now, gills shifting closed to allow his body to change to breathing through his nose. He pushed long blue hair out of his face as he drifted casually over to some rocks that jutted out of the water like shark teeth. He hummed to himself thoughtfully and looked at the object in his hands, then back at the rocks. He swam right up to them and gently tapped the object against them. It made an interesting high-pitched sound at impact, and he tapped it again, a bit more firmly. His ear fins twitched at the resulting sound and he chirped happily, continuing to tap it gently against the rocks.

After a few more minutes of that, Grimmjow was bored. So he turned away from the rocks, examining his new toy again. And when he held it up to the sky, the light glinted off of it in interesting ways. He spent a few moments turning it this way and that, before ducking underwater with it. The contents of the object remained dry, even under water. He thought it must be because of the seal on top. He tapped it with his long fingernails and the seal made a tink sound. But he had no idea how to remove it without wrecking his item. Surely, the one who threw it in the ocean would know, the thought came to him, and he tilted his head. He'd seen that two-tailed creature a few times, with its bright orange hair and strange tails that let it walk about on the shore. His tail swished back and forth as he thought, finally coming to the decision that he would wait for the orange-haired two tailed creature to come back and then force him to show Grimmjow the mysteries of this object.

Grimmjow came to check the shore dutifully every day. And every day he was disappointed to not see the one he was looking for. Day after day, week after week. He swam up and hid, watched the shore for a few hours, and then left in defeat.

Until finally, four weeks later, he saw it again. The orange-haired two-tailed creature! It was laughing and chasing two other, smaller, two-tailed creatures along the shore, one with brown hair and another with black hair, splashing water at them and shouting. It reminded Grimmjow of how the guppies he knew when he was younger would play. But he didn't want two-tailed guppies. He wanted the orange-haired one, and only that one. So he waited.

Eventually, as the sun was setting, a voice called to the two-tailed ones on the shore. Grimmjow's ears flicked and he watched as they started making their way further inland, the orange haired one loitering behind to clean up several items they had brought with them. Seeing his chance, Grimmjow darted out of his hiding place.

The two-tailed creature was turning away, so he had to get his attention. Grimmjow let out a really loud, demanding chirp, not certain the creature would fully understand but hoping he would at least get its attention. It worked. The creature jumped slightly and turned around, eyes scanning the water before they landed on Grimmjow. Then its brown eyes widened and it dropped the stuff it was carrying. Grimmjow took this as a good sign and swam closer, calling out to the other creature. The creature blinked and glanced around, before moving closer to Grimmjow. Yes. This was good, Grimmjow decided.

He waited until the creature was close enough, and then started chattering at it, demanding to know what was in the object and how it got there. But, as he had suspected, the creature didn't seem to understand. Its brow furrowed and it rubbed its orange hair.

"Sorry, I don't know what you're trying to tell me," the creature stated. Grimmjow narrowed his eyes at it. He had no idea what it just said. "...I get the feeling you don't understand me either..." Grimmjow tilted his head, still not picking up what the creature was trying to communicate. He slid his tongue over his fangs and looked at his hands, which held the object under water. Then he looked up at the orange haired creature. The creature licked it's lips as well. "Maybe..." it pointed to itself in an exaggerated motion. "Ichigo." Grimmjow tilted his head. The creature repeated the motion. "Ichigo." Is it saying what it is? he wondered. When the creature kept repeating, Grimmjow decided this must be so. He looked up at the orange haired Ichigo and pointed to himself, before stating his species name in their tongue. The Ichigo's eyes widened at the series of clicks and chirping sounds. "Uh...." He did his best to replicate it, but Grimmjow still had to correct him several times. Eventually, he just gave up and nodded when the Ichigo made noises that were almost correct.

After trying for a while to communicate, Grimmjow decided he had enough. He wanted answers. He chirped in an annoyed tone and brought his special object out of the water. He held it up to the Ichigo. The Ichigo blinked, its brown eyes focused now on the object. Which was fine for now since Grimmjow wanted answers, but the Ichigo better look at him again after the object was solved. He rather liked the attention.

"Ah. Sorry. Yeah, I threw that in here...I shouldn't have. It's...well, you know the cliché of messages in a bottle?" The Ichigo spoke, but Grimmjow understood none of it. He just stared at the Ichigo with a deadpan expression. "Uh. Right. You don't understand." The Ichigo reached for the bottle, and Grimmjow hissed and yanked it back. The Ichigo stopped and blinked. "Uh. Sorry?" Grimmjow wasn't sure what that meant either, but the tone sounded apologetic so he decided not to kill the Ichigo for trying to take his possessions. The Ichigo pulled its hand back a little, then flipped it over, palm up and held it out with an uncertain gaze. Grimmjow watched it with narrowed eyes as he gently and reluctantly placed the object in the Ichigo's hands.

The Ichigo twisted the top of it, opening the seal and Grimmjow perked up, eyes brightening and tail swishing back and forth in the water. The Ichigo tilted the object and then reached in with its slender fingers to pull out the strange white leaf, unfolded it and showed it to Grimmjow. Grimmjow tilted his head. The white leaf was very thin looking, fragile, and he worried it would tear. It was covered in little black squiggles and for some reason, those squiggles looked important. "See, it's just a silly note...pretty much just a little wish for a friend. Maybe this is the universe answering me," the Ichigo spoke softly. Grimmjow didn't understand at all, but he liked the soft tone. It was nice and warm. He wanted to hear it more. Grimmjow held out his hand and chirped again, wanting the object back now that he knew how it worked.

The Ichigo blinked. "Oh. You...you want it back? I thought you were mad that I littered..." Grimmjow rolled his eyes. How many times was the Ichigo going to talk before remembering Grimmjow didn't understand. He made a grabbing motion at his object again. "Right. Right." The Ichigo put the white leaf back in the object and resealed it before giving it to Grimmjow. Grimmjow nodded and gave a happy chirp. The Ichigo smiled and Grimmjow liked that smile, even if its teeth were pathetically dull and not sharp at all. "Um. I'll see you later," the Ichigo said. It waved to him. Grimmjow tilted his head, clutching the object tightly in his one hand and returned the wave with his other. The Ichigo turned around and walked away, following a path that would lead it to all the other Ichigos.

Grimmjow looked at his object happily, excited that he knew how it worked now. He darted under water and dashed away to his little den, which was full of objects he'd collected from the shore over the years. He gently put the newest object in a safe place, and then began scouring through his collection. He looked for something the Ichigo...no, His Ichigo, would like. He'd seen many Ichigos on the shore over the years, so he tried to focus on items they seemed to enjoy. The smaller Ichigos tended to like shells, he knew, and all sorts of rocks. He wasn't sure if that changed as Ichigos grew. He had seen larger Ichigos with shiny rocks, but those ones looked more special than just a smooth stone. They were shiny...brightly coloured...Ah. There. His sight caught on a small blue stone, shiny and secured on a small chain. He had found it near the shore a few weeks ago, while waiting for his Ichigo to come back. This would be good. It would be perfect. He was certain his Ichigo would like it, because it was pretty and shiny.

Now all he had to do was wait until his Ichigo returned to the shore. Grimmjow chirped happily as he settled into his den to sleep for the night.

#bleach #bleach fanfic #merperson au #merman grimmjow #human ichigo #prompts #july prompts #just a little fic #grimmjow doesn't understand humans #and ichigo doesn't understand merpeople #message in a bottle #grimmichi

24 notes · View notes

taelme · 4 years

Text

Enemies-to-lovers!Jisung

request: - anon: Could you maybe write an enemies to lovers like the Chan one but with jisung?? It was so good 😔😔😭🥺💞💞💖💘💘💞💗💞💗💕💞 can it be fluffy and Angsty hehe 😖 maybe where they're both college students - anon: Can you do a Enemies to Lovers AU with chan!!! Where they're going to college and their families happen to be friends so they get an apartment together to save money, but the first time they meet it doesn't go well. Then yk, slowly w time they fall in love ahhaha... I love your writings btw!! 💓💞💓💝💓💞💓💝 (I recently sent the ask about the enemies to lovers au w chan that involved going to college.. since you literally just wrote an enemies to lovers au for chan if you want you can do my request (if u do it ahahha) with jisung!!) - anon: I really love how you write au’s/fanfictions. I just want to know if u can write something about han jisung?? maybe a cafe love story or another tattoo artist just like chan? or maybe a studio date night?

genre: enemies-to-lovers!au, college!au, roommate!au, tattoo apprentice!jisung lol (fluff, a bit of angst)

pairing/s: Han Jisung / Reader ( ft skz Bang Chan and nct/wayv/superm (lmao) Lucas )

word count: 18k

tw: I talk about like kind of sad stuff when jisung has like an artist’s block in this I guess

a/n: thank u anons for being so patient with this request!! I rly hope that I managed to do it well and that you guys are satisfied with the outcome n have fun reading it hehe, it was kind of inspired by the song sunshine!! by stray kids so I hope that it gives u the same good vibes I got from the song while writing this :( ok bye

If it were any other person standing in front of you, maybe you wouldn’t have regretted having an outburst in the café for the morning crowd to see.

The fight, or outburst (if you wanted to relieve him of any role in the exchange), had started rather simply. You were just having one of those days where it was raining outside, you were awake even before roosters were (in your opinion) and you had wanted nothing more than to just curl up in bed and sleep into the evening.

You had gone to grab your morning coffee, combating against the rain with your multi-coloured umbrella, as one does. Shoving the doors of the café open, you were met with shouts of names and storms of people squeezing to collect their orders. The whole ordeal would’ve made you pretty at ease if it weren’t for the coldness of your feet and the way your umbrella would cause someone to slip soon if you didn’t move.

Your shoes squelched against the shiny wood floors of the café, each step making you cringe as you waited anxiously to reach the front of the line, desperate to put an end to this experience. Thankfully enough, your order was pretty straightforward, so you’d collected it quickly, the small smiley face drawn on the cup by the staff serving to put you in a slightly less dreadful mood.

Stationing yourself at one of the empty tables you’d spotted by the exit, you set your still-dripping umbrella on the floor before you tried to get your tissues out to salvage whatever you could of your shoes. Shrugging off your coat, you’d draped it over the back of the seat.

Glancing at the time on your phone before you shoved your notes aside within your bag, you’d pushed your arm forward and opened your bag harshly, taking your box file out of your bag, almost nicking yourself against the broken corner of the file in your rush.

The next sequence of events happened quickly, and too ‘all-at-once’ for you to process. Upon taking out your box file, you’d heard a yelp behind you, followed by harsh footsteps and the splash of coffee on your box file.

Letting out a loud yelp of surprise as the person in question had stopped their fall with a loud thud of their hands against the pillar in front of you, they’d turned to you with wide-eyes, their eyebrows quickly furrowing into an expression that looked utterly ticked-off, their mouth already opening to speak.

You’d seemed to beat them to it, hurriedly grabbing your tissues to wipe down your file, checking for any brown-stains on your precious papers.

“What the hell,” you scoffed, casting a glance up at the boy. He had stood slightly taller than you, with rounded eyes and a defined nose, his lips pressed into a firm line.

He looked fairly young, from the way he dressed in brand-name basics to the way he was practically decked out in accessories. Call you biased, but if this was a senior or a child, you’d probably have let them off with it. But the way he was looking at you now was somehow successfully unnerving you, and you supposed admiring his annoyed features was about the last thing you should be doing at the moment.

“‘What the hell’?” He echoed your words, “who’s the one that chose to stand in the middle of nowhere to go through their damned bag?”

Your eyebrows raised in offence, your annoyance from before making itself known as you frowned, your grip on your bag tightening, “oh, and it’s my fault you have poor coordination?”

The boy had narrowed his eyes, mirroring your expression, his bracelets shifting on his wrist as he gestured at your umbrella on the floor.

“Your stupid umbrella was the reason I tripped in the first place,” he told you pointedly, strangely making you even more annoyed that he chose to attack not only you but your innocent umbrella too.

Your volume raised involuntarily with your frustration, “it’s so bright! It was basically screaming at you that it was there,” you defended, attracting a few customers attention with your outburst. You didn’t understand why you had to go through this so early in the morning when you were already irritable beyond belief.

The boy seemed to have noticed this as well, discomfort washing over him at the feeling of the crowd’s stares. Ultimately deciding he would rather give up the fight with the crazy stranger from the café and leave before he was late for his job at the tattoo studio.

“Whatever,” he huffed, leaving the café, the bells at the doors jingling loudly as it swung back.

Something about the apology just wasn’t enough for you, (maybe you just expected more because he irked you) but you were already late enough for class. Rolling your eyes, you’d slung your bag around your shoulder with a thump, gripping your cup in your hands tightly and picking your umbrella (that now had an evident crease in one of its panels) up before running to class.

Your mom had called you halfway through the day while you were on your way to classes, the gesture enough to make you huff good-naturedly at her insistence.

“Hello?”

“Hey, honey, is this a good time?” her tone was practically dripping with motherly concern, making you let out a breathy laugh, nodding even though she couldn’t see you.

“Yeah, It’s fine,” you told her, “but anyway, I think my umbrella’s broken. Some idiot at the café this morning practically destroyed it with their stupid combat boots.”

Your mom didn’t seem to pay much attention to your rant, cutting straight to the point that she’d called you for.

“Have you met Jisung yet?”

You sighed as you entered the auditorium for your next lecture, lowering your head slightly as you found a seat around the middle of the hall.

“No, not yet. I’m only going over to the house after my classes end, remember? But I heard my stuff already got moved there,” you explained to her, holding your phone between your ear and your shoulder as you took your laptop from your bag, setting it on the table gently.

“Oh, do you want his phone number? To make things easier for the both of you,” she offered, earning a disinterested hum from you.

 Your mom was more than excited about the fact that you would be 1. Not living in a residence within the school and 2. Living with the son of one of her friends from college. You figured your duty as her child now would be to appease her and at least try to live out her desires for you. Which in this case was sharing an apartment alone with some boy you didn’t even know. Maybe your mom was just a little more trusting than most.

You shrugged, “yeah, sure, just send it to me.”

Your mom let out a squeal, “I’m so excited for you to meet him, honey, he’s such a nice boy. You two are sure to get along. I’m so happy you agreed to this.”

Letting out a small sigh, you leant back in your seat as you held your phone with one hand, your other hand going to unlock your computer.

“I still feel like I’m imposing on them,” you hummed.

“Honey, it’s fine, Jisung’s parents insisted that you didn’t have to pay any rent.”

You hummed patronisingly, it wasn’t as if it was the first time she was telling you this, “yeah, uh-huh,” your attention was momentarily diverted by the tall boy that was standing next to you, gesturing to the empty seat with raised eyebrows.

“Sorry, is there anyone sitting here?”

Your lips parted, “okay, mom I gotta go I’ll call you once I’ve settled into the apartment.”

You did a once-over of the boy, who shook his head to get his bangs away from his eyes, giving you a wide smile. Gesturing for him to go ahead and sit down, he’d flopped down onto the seat with a sigh.

Letting go of his bag strap as he turned around, he gave you an appreciative nod as he opened his bag, pulling out a notebook and pen.

“First day, huh,” his voice was deeper than you’d remembered it to be from just seconds ago, his hand coming up to cover his growing smile as a little giggle escaped him, “I’m Lucas.”

“How’d you know?” You hummed, “and my name’s Y/N.” You swore you’d never seen a boy with such sparkly eyes before in your life.

Lucas shrugged, leaning his folded arms on the desk and turning his head slightly to observe you in your confusion, one hand shifting to play with his earring, “haven’t seen you around before.”

“You talk like you know everyone in the school,” you scoffed.

Lucas didn’t seem to sense your sarcasm, simply giving you a shrug, “possibly. And also because it’s my second time taking this stupid class so I should know an unfamiliar face when I see one,” he told you, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

Your eyebrows raised, hearing the doors at the bottom of the auditorium open, a short stocky man walking through and making his way to the speaker’s desk.

“Second time? Why?” You hummed, keeping your gaze on the man in anticipation for what he was about to say.

Lucas cast a glare towards the professor, “I thought he was boring so I didn’t really go much for his lectures the last time, you know, because I thought they weren’t graded. But he decided to include them as passing criteria way too late.”

Lucas pointed at the professor, his sleeve riding up slightly to expose a tattoo at his wrist. You were starting to wonder if everyone at this place had tattoos, the sight seeming fairly common from just your few hours in the school.

You winced, nodding, already getting the sensing that this man was someone you needed to be on good terms with.

“Alright, class, enough talking. From now on, I’m the only one that should be talking so I expect nothing but your full attention from here onwards.”

This was going to be a long lecture.

===

Your mom had texted you the Jisung kid’s number, and you’d dropped him a text saying you were on your way to the apartment, getting a reply from him that he was on his way there as well. You figured he seemed pretty polite, from the way he texted you, so you guessed that helped in making you dread the whole arrangement less.

When you’d reached, you’d ended up at an apartment building that looked fairly plain, walking in to the lobby and scanning the sparsely decorated notice board for residents, the last thing put up being a picnic for families that was 3 months ago.

Stepping into the lift, you’d noticed that though it was relatively well-maintained, it seemed rather dull, from the prison-grey lights to how the mirrors were covered for maintenance. Thankfully, your apartment itself was relatively well-maintained (you remembered your mom telling you the apartment was previously being rented out by Jisung’s parents), aside from the space being a little not-so conducive. But well, they were letting you live here for free, so you couldn’t complain.

Setting your things down onto the sofa in the living room, you moved to examine the respective rooms, frowning when you realised that whoever Jisung was, he’d taken the room with the bigger bed, his clothes either already hung up on the clothing rack or stacked up on his bed.

Walking into what you assumed was your room now, you tried to envision how you could make this space more conducive. From moving the bed aside to switching the desk out to the living room for more light, you tried out different permutations in your head, your time as an amateur interior designer cut short when you heard the rustling of keys at the front door.

Smoothing your hair down to make sure it was neat, you’d dodged the boxes of stuff as you leant over the sofa, curious to see what this Jisung kid would look like.

Jisung had done the same outside the door, making sure his hair and clothes were somewhat presentable before pushing the door open. And immediately wanting to close it back.

“You’re Jisung?”

“You’re Y/N?”

The two of you spoke simultaneously, disbelief and shock written over your features as you pointed an accusatory finger at him.

Like you mentioned before, maybe if the boy at the café this morning wasn’t Jisung, you would’ve regretted your actions a lot less.

Jisung gave you a look of disbelief, stepping into the apartment and folding his arms across his chest, his bag still hanging from his shoulder. He couldn’t wrap his head around how unlucky he must have been to have had such a bad encounter with someone he was about to spend probably his entire college life living with.

He sighed deeply, “now I don’t feel like paying the rent on your behalf anymore.”

You rolled your eyes, “your parents are paying the rent, not you. You have no say in it.”

Jisung made a sound of protest, shaking his head vigorously, his eyes widening in his aggravation.

“No, they aren’t. I told them to let me take care of it because I felt bad for them. But I don’t feel bad for you, so you’re gonna have to split the rent with me.”

Your lips parted, fumbling for a response.

Jisung’s expression was expectant, provoking you almost, “what? Would you rather get an apartment on your own? ‘Cause I’d be more than happy to let my parents know.”

You wanted to cry. It was already the start of the school term so staying in the dorms was out of the question for you already, the deadline having closed long ago. And you knew that finding another apartment in the school district that was within your budget was going to be a pain in the ass. So as much as you hated to admit it, splitting the rent with Jisung was your best option. You needed to get a job asap.

You rolled your eyes, “well…well then why do you get the bigger room?” You huffed, mirroring his stance as you folded your arms across your chest.

Jisung gave you a mocking pout, “simple, ‘cause I got here first,” he brought his hand up, inspecting his nails.

“You should be glad I’m not charging you extra for inconveniencing me,” he added.

Not being able to help but let a small gasp leave you, you were quick to respond, “inconveniencing you? You were the one that got coffee all over my file.”

Jisung shrugged, “potato, potato. Doesn’t change the fact that you made me late for work.”

You clenched your jaw, watching with a glare as he strolled past you, gesturing to the space in the living room which you’d been planning on using as a work area, “I have dibs on this space.”

You frowned, mumbling, “I wanted to shift the desk in my room out here, though.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Wanna consider moving out now?”

You inhaled deeply, brushing past him to grab your luggage that contained your clothes.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you huffed in annoyance as you walked into your room, his laughter echoing behind you.

===

“How can you say that? Jisung is a very nice boy,” your mother cried, making you roll your eyes, glaring at your phone from where you were hanging your clothes up.

“He’s the idiot that I fought with at the café, it’s not like I’m saying this without reason.”

You heard your mom sigh deeply, conversing with your dad about something in the background, “try to put your attitude aside for once, please, I’m begging you.”

You groaned, kicking your luggage aside before you made your way over to your bed, flopping down next to your phone with a loud sigh, wincing at the feeling of the springs in your mattress. You were so sure Jisung’s bed was more comfortable.

“It’s not me that has the attitude, it’s him,” you mumbled, sulkiness evident in your tone.

“Enough, Y/N," she said sternly, "If I hear anymore complaints you’re really gonna be in for it.”

You kicked at your blanket, “fine, goodnight. Love you.”

You hung up, staring at your desk as you contemplated on whether to move it into the living room now or tomorrow, distracted from your thoughts when you could hear the water running, not to mention the awfully loud sound of Jisung singing in the shower.

How thin were the walls? Your glare had shifted to your door now.

“Can you keep it down?” You shouted, hearing a silence on his end momentarily. Heaving a sigh of relief, you turned around in your bed only to hear him resume his singing, except this time, you swore it got louder.

Burying your head under your pillow, you kicked at your blanket, hoping this was the worst it could get. It wasn’t that bad, right? You could deal with simple shower concerts. Maybe living with him wasn’t going to be as hard as you thought.

===

Safely to say, you should’ve thought otherwise.

The very first time you realised you'd underestimated Han Jisung, was when you'd gone to the fridge to fix yourself something for dinner, only to find post-its on every single one of the items that read : 'property of han jisung! not for y/n'

You'd moved to look for something else to eat that was unlabelled, only realising then that he'd even gone to the (very petty) extent of labelling the snacks in the cupboard.

Huffing, you'd shrugged your coat on, grabbed your wallet and made a trip to the grocery store.

Cursing him in your head as you shoved your items into your basket, earning yourself looks of scandal from the elders who were for whatever reason still in the grocery store, though you couldn’t be bothered to look more amiable. You’d wanted nothing more than to throw out Jisung’s groceries, but of course, you were a nice person, so you wouldn’t do that. It seemed like you just couldn't get a break when your phone had begun to buzz in your pocket.

"Hey, mom," you hummed, trying not to sound too tired lest she started to drill you about resting. You brought your groceries over to the self-checkout aisle, heaving them onto the small platform with a grunt.

"Have you eaten dinner?"

You huffed, "we didn't have enough food, so I went to buy some groceries." Biting back your tongue, you rolled your eyes, scanning your items and bagging them angrily.

"How's finding a job been?"

You shrugged, Lucas had told you about various job openings nearby your house, (surprising you with how much he knew about the area) one of them you were looking into was a simple job at a café near your apartment. Thankfully, not the one that you'd had your little ‘encounter’ with Jisung at.

"Pretty alright, nothing too difficult,” you hummed, fumbling to pull out your card so you could make your payment, ignoring the stares you were getting from the people queueing up behind you.

"Alright, that's good to hear."

"Everything alright with you and dad at home?" you asked, shoving your card back into your wallet before slinging the bags onto your forearms, beginning to walk out of the supermarket.

"Yes, of course. Don't worry about us, we just miss you."

You sighed, something about the night air putting you in a drowsy mood, "me too. I never realised how much I liked living with you guys till now..."

"Don't tell me you're still having a hard time with Jisung," you heard her tone, your knew that this was her way of implying she didn't want to hear anything other than that you and Jisung's housemate experience was just peachy.

"Don't worry, mom, everything's... fine."

You'd tugged your coat closer to yourself, giving her whatever updates you figured she'd want to know before hanging up, enjoying the peaceful walk before you reached your apartment, figuring this was as much peace you were going to get before you returned to the apartment to be met with his stupid antics again.

And surely enough, the evening breeze accompanied with the sounds of faint conversation from the restaurants nearby had started to put you in a rather drowsy mood, making you start to contemplate if you were even still hungry, the lure of sleep starting to seem more tempting.

Reaching your apartment building, the lift lobby illuminated by a harshly bright lightbulb, you’d bumped into one of the ladies living on the same floor as you exited the lift on your floor, watching as her eyes widened in surprise, giving you a small smile as she enquired.

“Oh, are you the resident from apartment 19B?" you nodded.

If you were drowsy before, you sure weren't drowsy anymore.

You flinched slightly when her expression had changed in an instant, her once amiable expression now replaced with an annoyed glare.

"Can you please refrain from singing so loudly in the middle of the night? Some of us are trying to sleep."

Your eyebrows raised, shaking your head as you slot your keys into the keyhole, opening the door just a crack, "oh, sorry, that's not me that's my housemate—”

The middle-aged lady had narrowed her eyes at you, "you know, It's not ethical for someone as young as you to be living with a man when you're so young—”

"Okay, sorry, won't happen again!" you told her quickly in your attempt to appease her, shoving the door open and slamming it behind you, turning around only to see Jisung standing in the living room, dressed in loungewear with black gloves on his hands as he pointed at you in amusement, his shoulders shaking as he laughed.

"Aw, I'm not the only one that thinks it's not ethical for you to live here," he pouted.

You rolled your eyes, "I can't believe she thought I was the one singing," you huffed, going over to the kitchen to see yet more dishes in the sink.

Pointing at them with a look of disbelief on your face, "are you not gonna clean these either?"

Jisung turned around, looking at the sink with evident contempt, shrugging. He held his hands up to you, showing you that they were currently gloved.

"I'm a little busy, why don't you do me a favour this once? Consider it compensation," he grinned, making his way back to....your room?

"What are you doing in my room?" you asked, shoving the last of your groceries haphazardly into the fridge before you'd followed him into your room, shutting your mouth quickly when you saw that he’d practically set up a work station next to your desk, looking closer to find that he was using what looked like tattoo equipment.

“Practicing,” he shrugged.

You didn’t bother asking what his business using tattoo equipment was, simply huffing in exasperation, “and you had to do it in my room, of all places?”

Jisung nodded, pushing one of his sleeves up on his shoulder, revealing a rather big tattoo on his arm that was partially hidden by his sleeve.

“This is the only room with an accessible plug and a good enough space to work in.”

“Then why didn’t you just take this room as your bedroom?” You were dumbfounded at the way he was so nonchalant about his actions, the buzzing of the tattoo needle resuming as he practised on fake skin.

“I like to sleep in a comfortable bed,” he shrugged, leaning back to look at his tattoo.

“And you think I don’t?” You shot back, your hands going to your hips, his reply coming just as quick.

“Well, for $300 bucks above the rent maybe you can,” he smirked, using a tissue to rub at the fake skin, looking at you as he poked his tongue in his cheek, quirking his eyebrows before turning back to continue tattooing.

That night, you remembered asking Lucas if he knew who Jisung was, since he’d mentioned how he was pretty into tattoos, having a few of his own, his reply only making you wonder if the world was just small or you were just unlucky.

lucas wong

8:53pm - oh yeah I know him! he’s apprentice-ing at the tattoo shop I usually go to, he’s pretty good-

8:53pm - why? do u like him? I cld put in a good word for u-

You sighed deeply

8:53pm - no thanks im good-

Little did you know, the next time Lucas had visited the the tattoo studio, he’d spotted Jisung working on his designs at one corner of the room, going against your request and disturbing Jisung even despite how he looked like that was the last thing he wanted, too focused on the shadings of his chrysanthemum flower sketch on his tablet to have paid attention to Lucas' entrance.

“Hey, do you know anyone named Y/N?”

Jisung’s face scrunched up in distaste, looking up at Lucas and hoping desperately that he was joking, “don’t tell me… freshman Y/N?”

Lucas nodded, his eyes lighting up in excitement, “yeah! So you guys do know each other.”

Jisung made an uncertain sound, “I wouldn’t call it much of a relationship. Y/N’s my housemate.”

Jisung’s words had sparked a realisation in Lucas, the latter only piecing together your disdain towards Jisung with your stories about your ‘asshole housemate’

Lucas’ silence had caught Jisung off guard, making Jisung look up at Lucas expectantly, “sorry, you wanted to go get something to eat, right?”

Lucas nodded, masking his shock with a smile, recovering quickly.

“Wait, lemme go call Chan,” Jisung murmured, beckoning the boy who was currently snacking at the reception area.

“Where do you guys wanna go?” Lucas asked, earning a hum from Chan.

“I kinda wanted to get a smoothie,” Chan admitted sheepishly, though thankfully, Jisung and Lucas didn’t seem to have a problem with that.

 “Why didn’t you wanna go to the other café? They’ve got better smoothies,” Lucas wondered out loud, making Jisung snort.

“We’re only going there because Chan has a fat crush on one of the baristas.”  

Which was what ended them up at the café you worked at.

The moment they had entered, you noticed your colleague tense beside you, bending down to pretend to take something from below the counter.  

“Shit, they’re here. Oh my god, help,”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “who?”

“That cute tattoo artist guy I was telling you about!” She whispered harshly, standing up and greeting the boys with a smile, her heart eyes directed particularly at one of them with curly hair.

Only then did you realise Lucas and Jisung were there, receiving an overwhelming feeling of wanting to bang your head into the cash register. You already saw him enough at home, and now you had to see him at work too?

“Hi, how may I help you?” You smiled at the curly haired boy, casting a glare in Jisung’s direction, the boy looking equally as dismayed to see you here.

“Hello, can I get the berry smoothie?” He asked, and you stepped aside, letting your colleague ring up his order while you prepared his drink, giving it to your colleague to serve since she’d spent so long talking to him.

Lucas had mouthed a ‘sorry’ to you when he’d gone to sit at one of the tables with Chan, Jisung lingering at the cashier as your colleague went to the backroom to squeal.

“What do you want?” you wore a bored expression.

Jisung looked almost too focused, his eyes glaring at the laminated menu between the both of you.

“I changed my mind, I want a drink too.”

You suppressed your urge to roll your eyes, your finger scratching at the corner of the cash register, “you couldn’t have ordered it like five seconds ago?”

Jisung shot you a look, “yeah, well I didn’t want it five seconds ago.”

Inhaling deeply, you’d gestured to the menu, and now not only was your expression bored-to-death, but your tone was too, "what do you want?”

“I want an iced americano,” he told you, pausing before he added, “and ask your friend to make it. I don’t trust you not to spit in my drink.”

You gave him a sarcastic smile, “good call.”

Ringing up his order, you’d called your friend, dismissing any thought of ever having a normal encounter with Jisung.

Upon returning to his table, Chan had given him a look, "Lucas told me you know the cashier."

"Not the one you think is cute, don't worry,” Jisung sighed, glancing in his drink just for good measure.

Chan's eyebrows lifted in amusement, "so the one you think is cute?"

Almost instinctually, Jisung replied, "yeah," paying more attention to his drink than his words. Looking up when he heard Chan and Lucas struggle to stifle their giggles.

"What?"

Lucas clapped his hands together, his smile wide, "you just said Y/N was cute."

"No, I didn't, you did." Jisung shot back quickly. It was obvious that retaliation didn't always have to make sense for him.

Chan had a curious glint in his eyes now, the corner of his lips quirking up into a smirk, "I mean, you guys do live together right, and you've really never thought anything about her?"

“I did, I thought her nagging was annoying as hell,” Jisung shrugged.

 Chan narrowed his eyes at Jisung, an amused smirk on his face, “you know that’s not what I meant.”

Jisung gave Chan a pointed look, "I'd appreciate if you wouldn't stir shit, especially not in front of him." Jisung pointed at Lucas.

"You didn't answer the question," Lucas sing-songed.

Jisung scoffed, casting a furtive glance towards your direction where you were smiling as your colleague showed you something on their phone.

Jisung shrugged, it wasn’t as if you looked bad or anything, with his pride, he’d probably have told Chan that you were pretty if he squinted.

“Guess if they smiled more they'd be...decent."

 Lucas raised his eyebrows, enjoying the scene playing out in front of him very much, “decent, huh.”

Chan leant back in his seat, shaking his head at Jisung, "now I feel like I have to make you my apprentice for relationships too."

Jisung scoffed, regaining his usual confidence.

"If by that you mean you want me to stand at the counter giggling my ass off like how you did with that cashier then no thanks, I'm good on my own."

===

You'd tried your best to tolerate Jisung, especially after Lucas fed you some story about how he takes a while to warm up to people (which you totally bought).

This tolerance came in the form of things like waking up earlier to use the bathroom so the both of you wouldn't have to fight in the morning, or giving him reminders to do the laundry or clean the dishes but only doing them after he forgot the third reminder.

Jisung usually forgot to turn off the lights whenever he went to sleep (though sometimes he did it on purpose, not liking the eerie darkness of the house when the lights were off), so you would always end up waking from the glare of the lights that seeped into your room, stepping over the mess of clothes or socks (sometimes even shoes) in the walkways and turning them off for him instead of nagging him about the lights. See? Tolerance.

Call you a pushover or whatever, but you kind of prided yourself on how your well of patience seemed to run deep. Very deep. Deeper than the average human, you supposed, even.

However, days like the ones you were having now, just didn't seem to let you draw from that well of patience.

You'd started off your shitty morning when you'd slept through your alarm, needing your usual work clothes but realising that Jisung hadn't done the laundry, leaving you with no choice but to grab the nearest hoodie you could find on your bedroom floor and sprint to work.

If that wasn't enough, you'd landed cashier duty as punishment for being late, your social battery starting to empty not even halfway through the day. Your 'hi, how may I help you's slowly turning to 'what would you like's to eventually 'hi's and ending up with a small smile and gesture towards the menu.

It didn't help that Chan, the tattoo artist your colleague had an obvious thing for, had shown up halfway to try and strike a conversation with you about Jisung, much to no avail.

“Aren’t you wondering why Jisung isn’t here?” You remembered him asking, to which you’d shook your head.

“Not really,” you shrugged, earning a thoughtful hum from Chan.

“Really? You’re not even the slightest bit curious?”

You had shook your head at him then, remembering the way he looked so shocked to have made you even more curious about why he was asking you this in the first place.

By the time you were done with your work, you'd wanted nothing more than to just go home, take the longest shower of your life and curl up in your horribly uncomfortable bed. Except you couldn't even do that, because you had unfinished readings for your class the next day.

You figured if you sat yourself at your desk with no distractions you could be done sooner and go to sleep sooner, but your one distraction had just come home from the tattoo studio and was somehow getting on your nerves even more today.

Not only had he been acting as if he was the opera community's 'next big thing', he'd proceeded to seat himself on the sofa behind you, watching whatever show he was into loudly, seeming to find whatever the protagonist was saying to be too hilarious to just enjoy the show silently.

You figured you could handle that much, you know, having to live up to your preachings on tolerance, deciding to breathe deeply and suppress your urge to tell him to shut up, and soon enough, he'd disappeared.

But your joy was short lived, once again, when Jisung came back out, singing as he made a snack for himself and proceeded to eat it right in front of you, the smell growing more and more distracting.

Now, he was now lounging on the sofa in the living room, headphones on and connected to his laptop that rest on his stomach, but still typing away with his phone not on silent, the keyboard sounds distracting you from your reading. You figured, maybe your well of patience was just closed today.

“Hey,” you called. No response. If anything, the silence of the apartment had made his typing sounds even louder.

“Hey, oh my god, can you like put your phone on silent or something?" You tried again. Still no response, now, he was humming in between his pauses before he would type another burst of words on his phone.

Deciding you had to take matters into your own hands, you stormed over to where he was, your book still in your hands as you stood in front of him, making him turn to you with wide-eyes.

Pulling his headphones off of his head, he frowned, "what?"

“This,” you gestured pointedly towards his phone, “put your phone on silent, it's distracting me."

Jisung would've complied, though a part of him couldn't help but be annoyed by your nagging, his instinct prompting him to act defensively, “why don’t you just listen to some music or something? Then my typing sounds wouldn’t be a problem,” he told you dismissively, making you groan in frustration.

“I can’t study with music, it’s already hard enough for me to focus as it is.”

Jisung was annoyed, “It’s just a typing sound, what are you getting so worked up for? You’re always getting on my back about everything when I’m just minding my own business."

You let out a groan, "look, it's been more than a month, and i'm up to here with your shit," you held a hand way above your head for emphasis, any of your tolerance long gone out of the window (which he had also left open, making the apartment chilly and noisy).

Jisung's eyebrows knit in a frown, your outburst coming as a shock to him, "fine, whatever. I'll put my phone on silent, chill."

You shook your head, your gaze firm and unwavering, "no, I wanna make rules."

Rules? Jisung wanted to scoff. What was this, a second-grade classroom?

Jisung stared at you in shock, nodding dumbly. "Rules....oka-alright, yeah. Let's make rules."

You nodded firmly, "first of all, if you're gonna make food at ungodly hours in the morning, eat it in your own room."

"And the dishes, clean up after yourself," you added, gripping your book tightly in your hand.

“Stop leaving your shit in the corridors,” you continued, “and pack up your shoes it’s such a mess at the door way I can barely walk into the house,” you huffed, feeling as though with every rule you made you were finally letting your feelings be heard.

Jisung wracked his brains for a rule of his own, finding ways to regain control over the situation, "well, I have a rule too! You gotta stop nagging me to do shit," he sat up, setting his headphones on the sofa cushion.

You let out a tiny gasp, "excuse me? I only ask you to ‘do shit’ that you should be doing."

Before you could get carried away, you continued, "and as for the laundry—”

Jisung perked up, “okay, how about this. I do the dishes and you do the laundry," he suggested with a forced smile, bringing a hand up to run it through his hair, which fell back against his forehead gently.

"You know for a fact that that’s not the same, so we'll switch," you told him, "you do laundry on one week when I do the dishes, and the next week i'll do the laundry and you do the dishes. Fair, right?"

Jisung huffed, rolling his eyes, "whatever."

At the mention of laundry, Jisung glanced over at what you were wearing, frowning at the familiarity of his hoodie.

"Good, now that we have an agree—”

"That's mine," he pointed at your stomach, making you look at him in disbelief.

"Huh?" Your stomach? Your hands found their way to cover your stomach.

"The hoodie. It's mine."

You looked down at the hoodie you were wearing, a frown evident on your face. You didn't know what he was talking about, you had this hoodie since you were in high-school, it couldn't be his.

"No, it's mine. I had this since I was in high-school," you frowned, unsure if this was some sort of joke he was trying to play.

Jisung couldn't hide his amusement, letting a laugh slip from his lips, "yeah, so did I... which is why I know that that's mine."

You scoffed, "it was on my bedroom floor," you mumbled, seeing him nod patronisingly.

"Because I left it there," he told you, enunciating his words slower, shocking you when he'd reached over and grabbed you by the sleeve, raising your hand up for you to see.

"Look, this stain. It's tattoo ink. I would know because you're wearing the wrong hoodie. New rule, don’t wear my clothes.”

You stood silent, huffing as you removed the hoodie, leaving you in your shirt and sweats, tossing the hoodie at him in annoyance, the smirk on his face making you even more annoyed.

"Fine, take your stupid hoodie, I don’t wanna wear your stupid clothes anyway,” you huffed, “and you’re on laundry duty this week."

You didn't finish your readings that night.

===

You would like to think your rule system was working pretty well, seeing as you didn't find yourself butting heads with Jisung as often as before.

Halfway into the semester, you had grown busier with your assignments, which had managed to take your attention away from Jisung.

Though you were certainly more tired than usual, from attending birthday parties of friends to working, to rushing your readings during any free time you got (not to mention squeezing in any bit of sleep whenever you could), to rushing through your assignments just to meet the packed deadlines. But you couldn’t complain, this was typical for any college student you knew.

But of course, that didn’t mean you weren’t itching for a break, eyeing the semester break on your calendar that was fast approaching, letting yourself get carried away during classes with Lucas as you both planned on your pieces of scrap paper all the things you’d wanted to do during the break.

Similarly, Jisung had grown busier at the tattoo studio, and Chan had recommended him to a music producer that was interested in hearing Jisung's compositions.

Jisung was more than thankful that Chan had given him that opportunity, of course, but what was bothering him was the pain-in-the-ass creative block he was beginning to struggle with.

Not only was he struggling to find inspiration for a song he'd wanted to make, but the process seemed almost painfully slow, with how he'd fumble around with ideas that he would start on but eventually scrap, deciding that he 'wasn't feeling it'.

He'd started receiving commissions for tattoo designs, and you'd noticed he wasn't at home as often as he was before because he'd made it a point to coop himself up in the studio to try to churn out these design requests.

Fortunately, his customers were always satisfied (and he thought that was great, you know, with all the good words from Chan he was getting), but he wasn't.

Chan had seemed to sense this too, making sure to check in on Jisung more than usual during this period.

"Hey, I'm heading home a little earlier today, you'll be fine alone?"

Jisung's head lifted when he heard Chan's voice, pulling one of his earbuds from his ear as he nodded.

Chan glanced at Jisung's papers scattered around him, of half-done or halfway-abandoned sketches, giving him a look of sympathy, "don't work too hard, alright?" he huffed, glancing out of the window.

"I heard it might rain tonight, so make sure you get home before the rain hits, alright?"

Jisung waved Chan off, not paying any care to the impending rain as he bid Chan goodbye, continuing to tap his pencil on the table in his search for good ideas.

Maybe he needed to consult a lifeline.

"Hello, Lucas?"

The said lifeline was more than happy to hear Jisung's voice, having heard from you that he wasn't home as much recently, a part of him concerned as well.

"Hey, man, what's up?"

Jisung hummed, "wanted to ask if you had any ideas on what tattoos you think would be cool."

Lucas snorted, "you're asking me? You could draw a turd and i'd want to get it tattooed. Dude, you're too good, just go with your gut."

Jisung let out a whine, "my gut's not being very useful right now."

Lucas hummed, letting out an urgent grunt of surprise, "I know! Why don't you take a look at your older designs, maybe they'd give you some vibes or something."

Jisung shrugged, figuring this was probably the best advice he was gonna get, thanking Lucas before hanging up.

Picking up his tablet, Jisung had scrolled through his various sketches until he'd reached the very first few designs, sighing at the sight of the sketches, looking at his first sketch of a peony flower, with leaves dangling along the stem wedged between the budding flowers.

Jisung figured he wouldn't let his dissatisfaction subside until he tried doing a better rendition of the sketch, to refine the shading or the flow of the shape from what he'd learnt from Chan overtime.

Putting back his earbuds in, he turned his music up, beginning to work on the sketch, riding on the motivation he was afraid would disappear at any given moment.

Jisung was surprised at how fast he was done, ( only to look at the clock and realise he wasn't that fast and that it was already a little past midnight ). Removing his earbuds and going back to the sound of the whirring air conditioner and the loud sound of rain thumping against the gravel outside, Jisung knew he was done for.

He hadn't brought an umbrella with him, and the rain frankly didn't look like it was going to stop anytime soon, Jisung contemplated his very limited options.

Was a binder enough to shield him from the rain? Probably not. But was it better than putting down his pride to text you to come and pick him up? He thought the binder was better, honestly.

Deciding to try his luck anyway, he'd sent you a text.

Little did Jisung know, you'd dozed off on your bed while reading, the vibration of your phone next to your face having woken you from your nap, the sound of the rain outside harshly thumping against the window.

han jisung 12:37am -hello, housemate. it is your housemate, han jisung. its raining rly badly. wld u be so kind as to come to the tattoo studio with an umbrella for me pls :D-

You frowned in annoyance, your eyes barely open as you replied him. There was no way you were going to send yourself out in the thunderstorm like that.

12:37am - no. just wait until it stops raining-

Thinking that had settled your worries, you'd shoved your phone underneath your pillow, deciding you'd let yourself sleep in since tomorrow was a Saturday after all.

You should've known better, that this was Jisung, the 'i'm tougher than a little bit of rain' Jisung, so you should've seen it coming when you'd woken up to the sound of his incessantly ringing phone.

Rolling out of your bed with a grunt, you'd pushed yourself off of the bed, ready to confront Jisung about not answering his phone.

Walking across the corridor and pushing his bedroom door open, you'd been met with an empty room, frowning as you walked over to the bed, picking the phone up and stopping the alarm.

You noticed that he'd received a few texts from Chan, not being able to help yourself from reading them.

chan 1:20am - dude! why didnt u just wait for the rain to stop?- 1:22am - ure gna fall sick…-

Frowning, you made your way into the living room, spotting Jisung curled up on the sofa with his blanket at his feet, an instant feeling in your gut that something was wrong.

“Jisung?” You called, seeing his eyebrows furrow slightly.

In spite of yourself, you’d walked over to where he lay, your hand coming out to nudge at his shoulder with his phone.

“Hey, are you…alright?” You watched and waited as he opened his eyes slowly, blinking at you in a daze. There was perspiration beading at his temples despite the coolness of the apartment, giving you more reason to feel like there was something wrong.

As much as you didn’t like him, you couldn’t help but feel as though you were responsible for him, and it was kind of your fault that he’d walked back in the rain. You glanced at your brightly-coloured umbrella leaning against the wall, figuring there was something about this umbrella that always got you into trouble with Jisung.

You suppressed your hesitation, bringing a hand up to his forehead, Jisung not even daring to budge even an inch as you pushed his bangs back. The back of your hand pressing against his forehead gently, your breath hitching at the sheer heat of his body.

This was probably the most contact you’d ever had with him in your months of living together, and Jisung knew this too, not knowing how to feel about the concern you were showing him, feeling as though it was some kind of ridiculous fever dream.

“You walked home in the rain didn’t you?” You murmured, your feeling of guilt growing as you saw him nod at you.

You cursed inwardly, “do you have a thermometer?”  

Jisung shook his head, attempting to get up, “it’s fine, I can take care of myself, just give me my phone.”

You handed him his phone, ignoring his previous statement as you went into the kitchen in your search for any kind of medicine you could give him, cursing once again when you realised there was none. Trust the both of you to only care to buy groceries.

“We don’t have jack shit in this house,” you groaned, walking over to the bathroom, finding a cloth and a small pail to fill with cold water, bringing it over to the coffee table and setting it down next to the sofa.

“I’ve gotta go to work,” Jisung sighed, though he made no move to get up, a part of him just waiting for you to refute him so he could use you as an excuse to get off work.

You shot him a look, “no, you don’t. Shut up and lie down, I’ll go and buy your stupid medicine. If I come back and you’re not here I’ll kill you,” you warned, missing the way Jisung had complied happily, lying back down with his head on one of the sofa cushions.

Squeezing the water from the cloth, you may have slapped it a little harshly on his forehead, earning an annoyed glare from him.

Walking to grab your wallet, you cast one last look at his bored face, seeing him rush to close his eyes when he saw you glaring.

“I mean it, you better stay here.”

Jisung nodded, waving you off.

On your way to the pharmacy, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was a good thing that Jisung was sick.

In terms of your pros, if he was sick, he wouldn’t be able to annoy you, right? And him being sick meant that you’d basically had your desk and your bedroom to yourself, with him unable to practice tattooing in your room and use your desk as his sketching station.

In terms of your cons… well, you were planning on getting some rest today, and having to watch Jisung meant you would technically have to be near him, wouldn’t you? You were starting to wonder if that was even a con that he was basically giving you an excuse to laze around and watch tv.

“Hi, how may I help you?” The pharmacist asked.

You hummed, “uh…do you have those over-the-counter medicine and stuff for like someone with fever?”

The pharmacist nodded, pulling out the various boxes and pointing at each one, confusing you with the sheer amount of names she was listing, resulting in you just choosing the one you recognised your parents telling you to take whenever you were sick.

Making your payment, you swallowed whatever pride you had that was making you hesitate. You figured Jisung falling sick was karma for that text you sent him the night before, so you decided that you were going to see him recover for yourself.

Upon returning to the house, you’d shrugged your jacket off, making your way over to where he was, sitting on your heels next to where he was so you could gently peel the cloth from his head, replacing it with one that was soaked in colder water.

You’d drawn back slightly when you felt Jisung flinch as you laid the towel on his forehead, opening one eye to look at you, “that was fast.”

You rolled your eyes, shushing him as you took the medicine out, along with a glass of water you’d gotten from the kitchen, bringing it over to him with an expectant look.

Jisung took them from you wordlessly, swallowing them down as he averted his gaze from you, unsure why you were looking at him like some kicked puppy.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, reaching over to grab the television remote in an attempt to calm your nerves, “this is kind of my fault. Since I didn’t go over to the tattoo studio yesterday.”

Jisung took a moment to process what you said, wincing as he let out a (fake) cough, only serving to make you feel even more guilty than you already were.

“Are you actually…apologising to me?” Jisung’s smile was poorly hidden behind his hand, making you roll your eyes, your guilt ever-present when you looked at him.

Jisung sighed, deciding to let you off this once, “seriously, it’s no big deal. I didn’t expect you to come, anyway. I was just trying my luck,” he told you, making you frown, your mouth forming a slight pout.

“I was just being petty, I’m…” you trailed off, shaking your head, “yeah, whatever, I’m just really sorry.”

Jisung looked at you with a hint of a smile on his face, taking his lower lip between his teeth as he nodded. He wasn’t sure if it was his fever, or the way your gestures were exuding warmth, but Jisung swore just for a moment. A second, almost, he kind of thought you looked cute.

Jisung nodded, “I’ll let you know by the end of the day.”

You frowned, turning away from the television to face him, your back resting on the sofa slightly, “let me know about what?”

Jisung kept his gaze fixed on the television, bringing his hand up to scratch at his collarbone, hints of his tattoos peeking out from his neckline.

 Shrugging, Jisung’s gaze shifted to meet yours, “if your apology is accepted.”

You were sure that your mom would’ve just laughed in your face if you told her about your experience today, as you began to realise just how much you didn’t hate Jisung’s company when the both of you weren’t trying to fight each other.

In the few hours that had passed alone, you’d learnt much more about him than you had bothered to in your months living with him. You’d learnt that he was a music major, that wanted to pursue a career in music production, and that he’d gotten interested in tattoos when he’d met this kid named Changbin in his class, who introduced him to Chan for an apprenticeship.

As for Jisung? He was just learning that you weren’t as intolerable as he thought you were.

You’d ordered food for the both of you, Jisung having refused to eat porridge, and you were currently having an actual, comfortable conversation with him, the hallmark movie playing on the television long forgotten.

Jisung’s phone had started to ring, interrupting him mid-sentence as he told you about how the tattoo studio works, making you lean over to check who it was.

“It’s Chan.”

Jisung grimaced, “speak of the devil,” he scoffed. Shaking his head vigorously as you made to grab his phone, Jisung set his chopsticks down hurriedly to reach for his phone, only to grab air when you’d answered the call.

“Hello?” You heard Chan speak, an urgency to his tone.

“Hey, this is Y/N. Jisung is…not feeling so well right now.”

Jisung shot you a look, bringing his hands around his throat with his chopsticks held between his fingers, acting as if he was so sick he was about to pass out, making loud coughing noises in the background.

You couldn’t help but smile, scrunching your nose and waving him off in your attempt to get him to stop before he choked on his food.

Chan sighed, “Is he, now? Tell him I’m shifting today’s appointment to next Wednesday. Anyway, thanks, Y/N, bye,” he hung up promptly after.

You gave Jisung a grim look, setting the phone down slowly onto the coffee table, “Chan said he’s shifting your appointment to Wednesday.”

Jisung’s lips parted, almost forgetting his cheeks were full of food, tilting his head back to groan.

“Chan’s gonna kill me.”

“Why?”

Jisung shoved more food into his mouth, chewing slowly, “I totally forgot, I was supposed to do this girl’s tattoo today, but cause I’m, you know, sick,” he gave you a pointed look, “I can’t do it.”

“You do tattoos already? I thought you were still just…”

Jisung rolled his eyes, “what? Still just tattooing on fake skin?”

You nodded sheepishly, earning a sigh from him, though you didn’t miss the small smile on his face.

“I’ll have you know, I can tattoo people now. You know Lucas’ tattoo of the angel looking mermaid hybrid type thing?”

You hummed in thought, his description oddly specific yet successfully helping you visualise the tattoo, gesturing to your forearm, “the one he got here?”

Jisung nodded, “I did that for him.”

Your eyes widened, impressed at the scale of Jisung’s detail in his design, remembering how enamoured you were with it when Lucas had first showed it to you.

“Lucas’ been asking me to get a tattoo with him once the break starts,” you mentioned casually, earning a surprised hum from Jisung.

“Oh,” his eyes widened, as if he was still trying to process what you said, “really?”

You nodded, “still thinking about it, though. Haven’t really decided on what I wanted.”

Jisung scooped the last of his food into his mouth, giving you as nonchalant a shrug as he could muster.

“Well, uh, you know, if you want or something you could come one of the days during the break, I could show you some stuff I think you’d like.”

You nodded, the simple suggestion somehow exciting you.

That night, you’d gotten ready for bed, having made sure Jisung ate his medicine before he went to sleep.

Before you could move to switch the lights off, he’d stopped you/

“Wait, like…can you um… leave the lamp on?” You raised an eyebrow at him, but complied nonetheless, figuring this was your chance to repent while he was sick.

“Goodnight,” you murmured, stretching your arms above your head with a yawn.

“Yeah, night…” he murmured, inhaling deeply, “oh, and Y/N?”

You frowned, “uh-huh?” Looking at him expectantly, your breath hitched at the sight of the small smile that made its way on his face, the moonlight casting a calm glow in the room that mirrored his expression.

“Apology accepted.”

You smiled, nodding before you left. Hopefully this meant things were looking up for your relationship.

===

After that day, it was as if something in your dynamic had shifted, you found that Jisung was giving you lesser and lesser reasons to be annoyed at him.

Lucas had gotten a kick out of it when you’d told him about it.

“You guys finally realised it wouldn’t kill you to be nice to each other?” You remembered him telling you.

You would beg to differ, though, because with this shift in dynamic came a whole lot of awkwardness, especially when one of you had done something mildly nice for the other person.

Take this instance, for example.

You’d been sitting at your desk, trying to finish up on your essay that was due that week, not wanting to let your motivation subside without making full use of it (also because you knew if you didn’t do it now, you’d procrastinate and stress out when you realised you were behind time).

You’d been able to faintly smell Jisung’s noodles that he was cooking in the kitchen, making you sigh. You didn’t like eating things after you had your dinner, but you couldn’t lie and say that they didn’t smell great.

Expecting to hear his bedroom door shut and feel the smell of the noodles get fainter, he’d surprised you when he made his way over to you, setting a mug containing a hot drink on your desk.

Turning to him abruptly, he’d flinched back, looking at you with wide eyes as his hands flew up over his chest, making you laugh.

“I’m not gonna hit you, calm down.”

Jisung relaxed (albeit hesitantly), one of his hands coming up to grip the back of his neck, gesturing towards the mug with his other hand.

“Go ahead, I uh…didn’t poison it or anything,” a huff of awkward laughter left him.

You glanced from the mug to him, nodding slowly, “thanks.”

“Don’t, you know…sleep too late, and stuff,” he told you, earning a nod from you.

He nodded back at you, giving you a close-lipped smile before practically jogging back to his room, the door shutting a little louder than usual, a yelp of apology echoing after.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t try to to be nice to him either, but frankly, he wasn’t giving you many opportunities to do so.

 Jisung was still keeping his worries to himself, with his creative block seeming to have spiralled him into heavy feelings of anxiousness and a lack of confidence in his abilities.

You figured that things had been weighing heavy on his mind when you realised he’d been intentionally keeping the light on more often when he slept, or how the typing sounds of his keyboard would get more frequent as it got later into the night.

You’d even had Chan pleading for you to check up on Jisung every now and then once you noticed that he’d been sleeping a lot more and eating at irregular intervals. Listening out for his humming every now and then, you noticed the melodies seemed to have taken a more slow-paced, almost melancholic turn.

One night, you’d decided that if Jisung wasn’t going to give you opportunities to be nice to him, you would just create them for yourself. Making a determined trip to the kitchen, you’d boiled his favourite type of instant ramen, having seen how he made it so many times you knew just what to add in.

Padding over to his room, you’d knocked on the door before pushing it open slightly, watching him straighten up where he sat on his bed, setting his iPad down beside him, his thigh blocking it from your view.

“Hey, I uh…here,” you cut to the chase, Jisung was quick to find something to put under the pot on his bed, opening it and looking at you wordlessly.

“Figured the both of us could use a break,” you shrugged, oblivious to the way your words had stirred something within Jisung.

“What were you working on?” You asked, scooping some noodles into a bowl for Jisung and handing it to him.

He’d taken the bowl from you absently, his eyes widening at the mention of the sketch, unconsciously pushing it further behind him.

“Nothing, I was just doodling.”

Jisung had no idea how to explain that he had been trying to design something for you, something that reminded him of you. Because frankly, that was the only thing that seemed to be pushing his creative block aside at the moment.

“Can I see?”

Usually, Jisung would’ve fought you ( to the death ) before he’d let you see his unfinished designs, but there was something about your demeanour that made him feel like it was okay to show you. That it was okay to tell you that it wasn’t perfect because something inside of him just told him that you would understand.

In spite of any rational fibre in his being, he’d picked up the tablet, giving it to you as he continued to eat the ramen, his gaze never leaving your expression, oblivious to your scrolling as he was too busy gauging your reaction.

“These are all really pretty,” you told him, scrolling until you’d reached the bottom, clicking on one of the drawings and flipping the screen around to show Jisung.

“I love this,” you told him, earning a surprised hum from him.

He saw that you’d clicked on the sketch of the peony that he’d tried to refine that day he got rained on, wondering what made you choose that out of all his designs, since he was probably the least satisfied with that one.

“Are you sure? What about this one?” He took the tablet from you, scrolling back to the design he was working on, making you hum thoughtfully, eventually shaking your head no.

“I like the other one better,” you told him, earning a confused hum from him.

“Why?”

You scoffed, frowning at him, “why are you so against it? You’re the one that drew it,” you took the tablet back from him, holding it against your shoulder before shaking your head, setting it back down onto your lap.

“Besides,” you murmured, zooming in to admire the shading on the flower, “I think it’s beautiful.”

Jisung’s expression was unreadable, unsure how you had such strong appreciation for something he thought was his worst work, something about the way you praised it making a strange feeling that he couldn’t place build within his chest.

It was like before, the feeling of comfort, that he didn’t have to worry about any kind of creative block that could be thrown his way because you gave him a different perspective on his abilities.

You know, the cliché, hard-hitting feeling that ‘everything is gonna be okay’.

“Do you have anything happening during the break?” You asked, earning a shrug from him.

“I’ve gotta submit my song to Chan’s music producer friend.”

You perked up at the mention of Jisung’s song, “have you thought of what you wanted to do for it yet?”

Jisung shook his head, letting out a deep sigh, “it’s been kind of stressing me out, to be honest,” he admitted.

“I like…I don’t wanna give him something that doesn’t show what I’m capable of, you know?”

You nodded, “I understand…I wish I could help you but I don’t really, you know, know how,” you fidgeted with your fingers, hearing him grunt in dismissal.

“It’s fine,” he mustered a confident smile, “nothing I can’t handle.”

And for a moment, you really would’ve believed that he’d gotten it handled. Leaving him to continue with his work as you got ready for bed.

You had almost anticipated to hear typing sounds as you did every night these days. But unlike the other nights, Jisung didn’t very well feel like being alone with his thoughts that night, not even wanting to type them down. He craved the feeling of being okay, of feeling like he still had time and didn’t have to be anxious or feel shitty about his mediocre work.

So it had come as a surprise to you when you’d heard the gentle knock at your door that night just as you were about to drift into a half-asleep state, hearing the door open and watching as Jisung made his way hesitantly over to where you were.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You heard him let out a shaky breath, and you didn’t need to ask him further, giving him a small hum of approval as he’d pulled the small heated mat from under your bed and made himself comfortable next to your bed.

Jisung let his head hit the ground gently, a deep sigh leaving him as he closed his eyes.

“Do you want me to leave the lamp on?” You mumbled, hearing him hum.

“No, it’s fine,” he told you, strangely not feeling much of a need for it now that he had you near him.

The both of you knew better than to speak more, the silence seeming to have made you understand how he was feeling. And as he lay there, with your presence in the room, Jisung felt alright, and so did you.

That night, there were no typing sounds.

===

Contrary to yesterday, you'd started today on a good note. Having bumped into Jisung the next morning after he'd gotten ready, meeting in the hallway when you were still dressed in your sleepwear, you couldn't help but smile.

"Morning," he murmured, a small smile on his face as he gave you a little wave, leaving promptly to meet Chan at the tattoo studio.

You didn't have work today, and you'd arranged a meeting with Lucas to hang out, the boy not seeming to want to waste anymore time when he'd finally arrived at the mall, practically bounding over to where you were waiting at the fountain in the atrium.

"So, have you thought about it yet?" he asked you, extending a hand to help you up.

Frowning, your lips parted in confusion, "thought about what?"

Lucas gave you an unamused look, as if you should've known what he was talking about. Pushing his sleeves up to his elbows, he'd raised his hands as he gestured, "you know, about what tattoo you wanted to get."

You made your way to a bubble tea outlet that Lucas wanted to check out, pestering you to go with him as part of the things he’d wanted to do during the semester break.

You couldn't help but laugh at the realisation, feeling awfully giddy at the thought of yesterday.

It was just a simple interaction, yeah, whatever, but no one said there were rules on what could make your heart flutter and what couldn't. All you knew was that whatever happened yesterday, did.

"Yeah, I did," you confessed, huffing with a smile on your face.

Lucas didn't know whether to feel afraid or happy that you were so quick to decide this time, looking at you in concern, "okay...so, what did you decide on?"

You pursed your lips, your smile disappearing, "I don't have a picture with me, it's on Jisung's ipad. But it's really pretty, it's like this drawing of a flower," you explained.

Lucas' eyes widened, his hand coming up to cover his mouth in a poor attempt to conceal his growing excitement.

"Oh, it's one of Jisung's stuff?"

You nodded, not seeming to understand why he was so happy about that, "what?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, "you and Jisung seem to be on pretty good terms recently, huh.”

You scoffed, shrugging because it wasn't as if what he said was a lie.

Lucas leaned closer to you, "have you been smiling at him more these days?"

You frowned at his question, shrugging at him nonetheless, turning your attention back to the menu board, "yeah, I guess."

Lucas' giggles escaped him like bubbles, nodding at you knowingly, “perfect. You should definitely keep doing that.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “questionable advice, but I’ll take it. Anyway, when are you planning on getting it done?"

Lucas straightened up, lifting his phone slightly to check the date.

"I made an appointment for Chan to do mine next Tuesday," he told you, “have you asked your parents yet?”

You nodded, “they weren’t as supportive until they found out Jisung designed it, they just told me not to get anything I’ll regret.”

Lucas couldn’t miss his opportunity to tease you, “well, I’m sure if Jisung’s doing it, the last thing you’d do is regret it.”

Shoving him aside and ignoring the way he’d burst into a fit of giggles, you ordered your drink, and Lucas’ as well once he calmed down enough to point at what he wanted on the menu.

“Maybe you should text him and ask about when you can book him?” Lucas gestured to you with his drink, his leg bouncing absently as he looked around the small outlet, the group of high-school girls in their uniforms sitting next to your table giggling as he’d skimmed over their table.

“Do you think that’d be too much? Should I just ask Chan instead?” You glanced at him for a sign of approval, “but then if I ask Chan would it make Jisung think I don’t want him to do my tattoo?” You wondered out loud, your stream of thought proving to be fairly amusing to Lucas.

“Just text him, it’s not that deep,” Lucas sipped on his drink.

“Nah, you know what? I should just ask him later at home, I shouldn’t bother him when he’s at work,” you shrugged, earning a sound of dismissal from him.

“Texting him would be a lot faster, you know.”

You shot him a look, “why are you so insistent on me texting him?”

Lucas scoffed, “why are you so against it?” He shot back.

Giving him a look of feigned annoyance, you’d set your phone down onto the table, staring blankly as Lucas had turned it to face him, unlocking your phone and going to Jisung’s chat.

“How should I start? ‘hey baby’—”

Your eyes widened, about to snatch the phone back from him when he’d pulled it towards himself in time, shooting you a look of feigned confusion.

“What? Too mild?” He laughed.

Sighing as he calmed down from his laughter, he shook his head slowly as he typed out a message, “man, you’re so bad at this,” he murmured.

“What makes you say that?”

Lucas pressed something on your phone with finality, scrolling up as he showed you your previous texts with Jisung. Texts like:

1:09pm - dont eat my chips get ur own - or texts like

 10:11pm - keep it down! Im trying to study -

Jisung 10:11pm -well so am I!-

“All you guys ever text each other for is to ask each other to do things, how can you expect him to like you if you’re always telling him to separate his lights and darks?”

You took the phone back from Lucas with a huff, “leave me alone. And who said anything about wanting him to like me?”

Lucas looked as though you’d just asked him an obvious question, looking almost scandalised at your denial, “really? You went from ‘oh, I don’t wanna bother Jisung at work’ and ‘oh, heehee me and Jisung ate ramen together yesterday night’ to ‘who said anything about my big fat crush on Jisung’?”

You huffed, “that’s inaccurate.”

Lucas chewed on his tapioca pearls harshly, making sure you heard the smacking sounds of his chewing to unnerve you, shaking his head at you matter-of-factly, “it’s pretty much-what’s the word, ah! Verbatim. That.”

 You rolled your eyes at him, wondering how the high-school girls sitting next to you still managed to find Lucas an absolute dreamboat despite how intentionally ridiculously he was behaving.

The truth is, Jisung wouldn’t have cared if you’d ‘bothered him during work or not’. He probably would’ve jumped at the notification of your text.

After the night before, Jisung couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling of comfort that flooded him at the thought of you. Finally getting enough inspiration to work on his song when he’d gotten home, even despite the pounding in his head and the sheer fatigue from the day that had passed.

Call him whatever you wanted, but Jisung couldn’t shake the feeling of reassurance he got with you, and it was a feeling he never thought he’d be experiencing as deeply as he did now.

From how familiar it was to hear your voice (even if it was asking him to fold the laundry), to how the smell of your perfume would awaken him on certain days, just in time for him to start his routine for the day. In small things, like how whenever he was looking for a break from work, somehow he’d find it with you.

He’d been working on his song for hours now, though he’d kept letting his gaze wander to the door in anticipation, wondering what was taking you so long to get home. He couldn’t help but wonder if you were still with Lucas, his imagination running wild with all sorts of scenarios that could have taken place to warrant you coming home so late.

Jisung brushed the thought away quickly after he found himself going to your contact on his phone, setting it down quickly as if it burned him. It was fine, you were an adult (he figured), you didn’t need him to hound you about a curfew.

Deciding to work on his lyrics for the song, he’d typed away on his laptop his ideas, his mind seeming to always gravitate to thinking of you as he read what he’d typed down.

Satisfied with the amount of work he’d gotten done for that day, Jisung had let his head lean back against the armrest of the sofa, his legs bent as he lay on his side, letting his eyes rest from all that staring at his glaringly bright computer screen.

You’d gone for a late-night movie with Lucas to end off your day, having gone home later than usual, though you didn’t mind. It wasn’t as if you had a curfew anymore.

You managed to reach your apartment as stealthily as you could, since the walls were really that thin and you didn’t want the old lady from next door to get on your back for being noisy when she was trying to sleep or whatever again.

Shoving your keys into the keyhole, you frowned when you saw that the lights in the living room were still switched on, spotting Jisung lying on the sofa with his eyes closed, his head lolling to the side as he dozed off.

Going into your room (in stealth mode, again), you’d set your things down quietly, deciding to take a shower and get ready for bed before anything else. Suddenly everything seemed to be a thousand times louder than you were used to. You were sure Jisung hadn’t been getting much quality sleep recently, so seeing him dozing off on the sofa had only made you want to ensure that his sleep continued uninterrupted.

Once you were changed into your sleepwear, you’d gone into Jisung’s room, taking a soft blanket from his cupboard and bringing it over to where he was, draping it over him till it reached his shoulders. You couldn’t help but find how peaceful he looked to be rather endearing, wishing you could do more but knowing there wasn’t much else you could do.

Jisung considered himself a good actor, because on the inside he was far from peaceful. He’d awoken at the feeling of being covered by the blanket, the back of your fingers grazing against his arm slightly.

His heart had fluttered, extremely, at the gesture, though something in him was yelling at him not to open his eyes, wanting to savour the moment for himself. It felt warm, a comfortable kind of warmth, the kind you would want to bask in for hours after being in the cold for so long. Something like a ray of sunshine.

Jisung was convinced he was going mad.

Switching on the lamp at your desk so that the living room wouldn’t be in complete darkness, you’d switched off the lights in the living room, bidding a silent goodnight to Jisung in your head before you’d gone back to your room, leaving Jisung dumbfounded.

===

“What did you say the song was called, again?” Chan had asked Jisung on Tuesday morning, looking at him with an endeared smile.

Jisung felt shy for some reason, pressing his lips together firmly as he averted his gaze from Chan, preparing his equipment as he waited for you and Lucas to arrive.

“Sunshine,” Jisung told him.

Chan huffed, his smile growing bigger, “I like that,” he hummed.

“What’s it about?” Chan asked, pulling his phone out to check for a text, “also, Lucas says they’re nearby.”

Jisung shrugged, “what’s it about?” He echoed Chan’s question, as if not knowing for himself either, something about him seeming fairly preoccupied, “it’s kind of hard to explain.”

Chan nodded in understanding, glancing at the way Jisung fiddled with the practice sketch he’d done of Y/N’s tattoo, twirling it around in his hands and anxiously glancing towards the door.

“Nervous?”

Jisung’s head shot up to look at Chan with wide eyes, “huh?…” he nodded slowly, “yeah, kind of.”

A small smile played at Chan’s lips as the boy had finished up the stencil for Lucas’ tattoo. “Is it because it’s Y/N?”

Jisung let out a nervous laugh, “yeah, duh,” he mumbled, “I mean, yeah, I’m nervous because she’s the one getting the tattoo but more like…”

Jisung shrugged, “I still don’t understand why she chose this out of all the designs I had.”

Chan raised an eyebrow, the jingling of the bells at the door followed by a loud guffaw of laughter signalling to him that the both of you had arrived.

“You should take more pride in your work,” Chan pat Jisung on the back, almost sending the boy stumbling with the sheer force behind the hit. Though Jisung couldn’t very well pay attention to the pain in his shoulder once he saw you with Lucas.

Lucas was quick to shove you towards Jisung, going over to one of the beds with Chan as they discussed the placement of the tattoo.

Jisung was almost uncharacteristically tense, leading you over to the station across from Lucas and Chan, holding the stencil up for you to see, “you’re absolutely sure you want this?”

You rolled your eyes, nodding, “yes, I’m sure.”

Jisung nodded slowly, albeit hesitantly, at you, “have you figured out where you want it?”

Lucas had perked up at that, butting into the conversation despite being across the room, “we were thinking between two places.”

Jisung hummed as he’d gone over to take the tablet containing a form for you to fill out before he got started.

You shushed Lucas quickly, accepting the tablet from Jisung with a nod of thanks, “yeah, I was thinking between here,” you gestured under your collarbone, “or here,” you gestured to your shoulder, just above your shoulder-blade.

Jisung nodded, “which do you feel more comfortable with? I think both are alright.”

“I was thinking maybe here?” You held a hand over the space under your collarbone, earning a nod from him.

“Alright,” he murmured, taking the tablet from you once you were done and quietly gesturing for you to lie down.

In your haste to get it over with, you’d almost completely forgotten about the placement of your tattoo, Jisung quirking an eyebrow at you and letting a huff of nervousness escape him.

“Sorry uh, I hope you don’t mind,” he murmured, pulling the collar of your shirt down to expose the area you’d wanted tattooed, making Lucas (who was watching intently) snicker from where he sat.

You’d felt heat creeping up to your neck, making you stretch your neck to look elsewhere, deciding to focus on the black pipes lining the ceiling, your shyness reducing your voice to a mere mumble, “yeah, sorry.”

Your nerves had built up even more with how tense Jisung was, even as he had disinfected the area and transferred what looked like a blue-ish outline of his sketch to your skin, making you almost want to writhe in your place with how nervous you were growing.

However, once you’d heard the buzzing of the tattoo gun, it was as if you were transported into your room, the familiarity of the sound making you less nervous, simply anticipating the pain that you’d associated with the tattoo to occur.

It was a wonder you hadn’t even been able to think much about the pain of the tattoo, though, because you were too busy trying to ignore Jisung’s proximity to you.

He was a stark contrast from Chan, who was making conversation with Lucas throughout the process, whereas Jisung had simply loomed over you, a tense knit to his brow and his lips pressed tightly together. Just by your expressions alone, people would have thought he was the one getting the tattoo.

This was only so because Jisung was struggling, with the smell of your perfume making him feel more awake than ever, and not to mention the pressure to make sure the tattoo turned out well that weighed heavy on him. Everything about you was so familiar, yet everything about the experience was not, and it was driving Jisung crazy with the amount of tension it was making him feel.

“Are you okay?” He asked, gauging your face for any sign that you were in too much pain.

You wanted to laugh, “This is like the fifth time you’re asking me that,” you told him.

“Can’t help it,” he told you, and you swore you saw his cheeks start to tint pink, “just wanted to make sure you were okay, you know…since it’s your first tattoo, and all.”

You nodded reassuringly, “it’s fine, just keep going.”

Jisung nodded, “I’ll be done quicker than you know it, I swear.”

You continued to distract yourself with the sight of Lucas across the room, Chan having to bring the needle back whenever Lucas couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“I’m sorry, It tickles,” you heard him tell Chan, making you have to stifle your laughter.

“Can I ask you something?” You decided that maybe talking to Jisung would help time pass faster (and less awkwardly).

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, shifting his chair slightly to get into a more comfortable position.

“How many tattoos do you have?” You asked, earning a long, reflective hum from him.

“I got a few in the time after college started, I would say about 5 or 6 now?” He shrugged, “and if you’re gonna ask me what’s their meanings…I don’t really know how to explain it, I just like the feeling they give me when I look at them.”

“I get it, it’s expression after all.”

Jisung nodded, his focus returning and making him let the conversation still. You didn’t like that, the feeling of awkwardness that returned with his silence, making you wrack your brains to find any sort of other conversation topic you could think of.

“Are you seeing anyone?” You wanted to instantly hide your face once you heard the words leave your mouth, Lucas turning to you with a wide-eyed expression.

Jisung sputtered, pulling the tattoo gun away from your skin, shaking his head at you.

“Uh, no, I’m not.” He narrowed his eyes at you, trying to regain his confidence in the situation, “why’d you wanna know?”

Now it was your turn to flush, averting your gaze, “oh, you know, just…curious, is all.”

Jisung smirked, “well, don’t go getting any ideas. I already like someone,” he told you, feeling as though he was dangling a carrot right in front of you.

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise, “really? Who?”

Jisung shrugged, “it’s a secret.”

You frowned, wanting to get back at him but not quite knowing how, deciding to go with the first thing you could think of, “well, I like someone too, you’re not special.”

Jisung hadn’t expected you to retort with that, narrowing his eyes at you, “wait, really? Is it Lucas?”

“Oh my god, no way, never.”

“Then who is it?” He met your gaze, making you stick your tongue out at him, mustering your best impersonation of him.

“It’s a secret.”

You had almost thought you were imagining things, but you noticed Jisung’s mood take a turn from there, seeming awfully pensive as he did the rest of your tattoo, the both of you having maintained a silence after your failed attempt at a proper conversation with him. He’d already begun to do the shading for your tattoo, so you figured he was really going to be done quicker than you thought.

You tried to distract yourself by glancing towards Lucas and Chan’s direction. Jisung could see you staring in their direction from the corner of his eye, wondering why your gaze kept travelling there when he was right in front of you.

“Is it Chan?” He blurted out, making your eyes go wide in shock.

Your smile grew, shaking your head, “no, definitely not.”

Jisung frowned, “who could it even be, you don’t even know that many people,” he huffed.

You sighed, trust you to fall for someone as oblivious as him.

“Do you want a clue?” You asked, earning a grunt from him.

“They’re very oblivious.”

Jisung frowned, looking as though he were contemplating, his tissue going over your tattoo slower as he thought. His mouth formed an ‘o’ shape in realisation, a gasp leaving him.

“No way, it’s not that Felix kid from your department, is it?” He looked as though he was hoping you would say no.

You fought to suppress the urge to roll your eyes, yet not realising you were smiling at him, “no, it’s not him.”

Jisung sighed, “oh, good. I know I always say I’m the best looking but he’s a lot better looking than I am, don’t tell him I said that.”

“Good?” You questioned, wondering why he seemed so relieved that all his options had turned out to be false. Jisung had realised he may have made things a little too obvious, shaking his head vigorously.

“Nothing, you’re all done, forget I said anything.”

He pushed himself away from you, his chair swivelling far back as he tried to calm the racing of his heart as you sat up and stretched, your body tired from being in the same position for so long.

“What time is it?” You asked, earning a grunt from Jisung, not knowing either.

Chan had chimed in from the other side, having been done with Lucas’ tattoo way before yours.

“It’s 4:24,” he told you. Jisung had been busy putting an adhesive bandage over your tattoo to pay attention to your reaction.

You spent 4 hours lying there and you only got like what, two conversations with Jisung? This was a new low, even for you.

 You were snapped out of your disappointment when Jisung had spoken.

“Uh… yeah keep this on for like three to four days?” He gestured to the bandage, your breath hitching as he hiked the collar of your shirt up so it wasn’t still dropping off your shoulder.

“You can still shower and everything so yeah…” he told you, reciting from memory after having been told this a thousand times by Chan.

You tried your best to pay attention, though you knew you’d probably forget by the time you were home, making him stand up mid-speech and walk over to the counter, pulling out a little brochure to hand you.

“Honestly, just read this, it has everything you need to know inside,” he told you, walking away briskly to compose himself at his station.

You’d made your payment to Chan at the counter, Jisung having pretended to be busy with cleaning up, making Chan flash you an amused smile.

“What?”

He shook his head, dimples appearing as he gave you your receipt, “You two are just too cute,” he huffed, earning a loud hum of approval from Lucas.

“Aren’t they?” The tall boy chimed in, making you scoff.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, bye,” you waved, seeing Jisung turn around to give you a wide smile before turning back around, practically collapsing onto the bed once you and Lucas were gone.

“Those were the most excruciating 4 hours of my life.”

Chan’s laughter could be heard as he made his way over to Jisung, giving him a pat on the back, “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

Jisung let out a loud groan, “we were like this close!” Jisung brought his hand in front of his face for emphasis as he whined to Chan, “and I couldn’t focus at all I was so scared I was gonna screw up her tattoo because I kept zoning out,” he rambled, feeling as though his knees were about to buckle.

Chan shook his head with a feigned look of sympathy, looking at Jisung as though Jisung were his son, “I’m glad you’re feeling stressed.”

Jisung scoffed, shrugging Chan’s hand off of his shoulder and glaring at his mentor with a look of disbelief, “you’re glad? Aren’t you supposed to be feeling some sympathy for me? That’s sick, I can’t believe you.”

Chan wasn’t surprised at Jisung’s dramatic reaction, simply laughing as he shrugged.

“I’m glad because if you’re stressed, you’re gonna be pushed to do something about it soon. And then I can stop hearing you stress about it and just see the both of you together, instead.”

Jisung shot Chan a dirty look, “you’re mean, old man.”

Chan scoffed, “at least I’m not stupid in love.”

===

Jisung had been keeping himself fairly busy since then, the both of you having been busy with your own plans since the semester break had started. However, the both of you had somehow managed to enjoy suppers together, bonding over a (rather unhealthy) meal of snacks or instant food whenever it was late in the night and the both of you didn’t want to go to sleep just yet.

And speaking of sleep, you’d also noticed how Jisung had started to look brighter these days, seeming to have been overcoming that period of lethargy he was previously in.

Now, the brightness was heard in the songs he hummed, in how he smiled and laughed more whenever you were together. Even in how he'd started growing more comfortable with sleeping in the dark. You weren’t sure what exactly sparked this change in him, but whatever it was, you were glad it happened, yourself seeming to be all the more enamoured with this version of Jisung that had grown on you.

You’d planned with Jisung to have a day of celebration (or a pity party) once he’d submitted his song to Chan’s music producer friend.

Since you had work that day, you’d wanted to get up early to prepare breakfast for him, but you didn’t realise how late you were until you woke up and found that he had already left.

Making your way over to the kitchen to find some food for yourself after you’d gotten ready for work, you yanked open the door for the fridge, expecting to be met with all of Jisung’s snacks and cans of drinks that still had their post-its on them.

However, as you were scanning the fridge to see if you had anything you could eat, you spotted a different coloured post-it on a bundle of juice packets, peeling the post-it off of the packaging to inspect it.

‘y/n, I heard these are great to start the morning with, try them for me?’

You couldn’t help but smile, a hand coming up to your face to attempt to slap away the heat you felt in your cheeks, pulling out a packet of juice anyway.

You were starting to think the juice did have some sort of magical properties in them, because when you got to work, you’d been on drink duty, which was your favourite to do. Well, technically, anything other than cashier duty was your favourite but who’s keeping track here?

You knew Jisung's meeting with the producer was around the afternoon, so when Chan had shown up at the café alone, you didn't question it.

Now you were really glad you weren't on cashier duty today, giving your colleague more time to talk to Chan while he ordered.

"One strawberry smoothie for Chan?" you called to get his attention, seeing him stroll over to the pick-up point with a smile on his face.

"Sorry, Jisung's not here," he teased, sighing wistfully.

You scoffed, "yeah, yeah. I know where he is.”

“How’s the tattoo healing?” He asked, making your hand go up to your shoulder unconsciously, “It’s alright, looks really pretty now that it’s all healed.”

Chan gave you a thumbs up, opening the lid of his drink as he took a sip, your curiosity getting the better of you.

“Is he meeting your friend now?"

Chan’s eyebrows raised in confusion, “who?..oh,” he nodded in realisation, “yeah, just went to meet him. Honestly, if you asked me, he didn’t seem as excited about the meeting as he was to meet you for dinner.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “don’t put ideas into my head, old man.”

Chan simply gave you a shrug, “I’m not that old, you know,” he brought his drink up to his lips to take a sip, “and they’re only ideas if you’re in denial.”

You groaned, “go, begone, leave me alone.”

Chan giggled, nodding as his hand went up in surrender, “fine, I’m going. Have a good dinner later, Y/N,” he sing-songed.

Curse Chan for putting the thought into your head, now you couldn’t stop thinking about dinner.

Your shift only ended at 5:30, so that gave you just about enough time to go get groceries while Jisung prepared the things for your hotpot at home.

Deciding you would do what you were called to do, which in this case, meant to send Jisung a text wishing him the best of luck, you did as such.

2:31pm - hey, all the best for your meeting with the producer man!!-

Jisung’s reply had come quickly,

han jisung 2:32pm - thanks :( im waiting to see him now, I didn’t know there was gonna be a whole queue -

Setting your phone aside, you’d tried not to let yourself get too anxious while you waited for him to update you, busying yourself with washing dishes and even serving tables out of your sheer boredom due to the crowd starting to disperse at this time.

You waited, and you waited, you waited until the word ‘waiting’ itself felt weird to say in your head. You should’ve known better to have expected Jisung to update you over text, only receiving a text in the evening that read

han jisung 5:23pm - hey…i just finished meeting him…see u at the apartment?-

You’d texted him back, not knowing what to make of his text.

5:23pm - is that a good hey or a bad hey? -

Jisung hadn’t answered your question, his next text coming as more of a source of confusion for you.

han jisung 5:24pm - ill tell u in person -

“What happened? Is it Jisung?” Your colleague seemed to have sensed your inner turmoil, looking at you with concern etched in her features.

“Yeah, he told me he was done meeting the producer person…but he didn’t wanna tell me how it went,” you frowned, seeing your colleague hum in confusion.

“D’you think it didn’t go well?” She asked, mirroring your expression of uncertainty.

You typed out your reply to Jisung as you shrugged, “I don’t know, I’m hoping he’s just messing with me.”

5:26pm - my shift ends in like 4 minutes… I’ll go and get the groceries before I get back -

han jisung 5:26pm - okay, ill be waiting -

“All the best, then?” Your co-worker offered, giving you a look of sympathy.

“You too, enjoy the rest of your shift,” you returned her expression, sighing as you removed your apron, grabbing your bag from the back room before you left.

You’d tried your best to be quick in getting your groceries, making sure you’d gotten everything Jisung had told you to, your footsteps quick as you briskly walked to your apartment building.

Not knowing if it was because you hadn’t eaten in hours or if it was because you were just excited, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement in you, not so much because you were excited to hear how Jisung’s meeting went but more of because you were excited that you were going to see Jisung soon.

Finally reaching your apartment, you’d pushed the door open to spot Jisung coming out from his room, a towel on his head as he rubbed at his freshly-washed hair.

“Hey,” you breathed, a hint of a smile on your face, scanning his face for an expression as he glanced at you, his glasses resting on the bridge of his nose cutely.

Jisung had a whole plan for how he was going to surprise you with the news, he wanted to wait until the food was ready and when the both of you were seated across each other in the living room, wait for you to ask him about how the meeting went so that he could pretend to be upset about it.

And just like he’d seen in the romantic movie Chan was playing in the studio the other day, he would wait till you showed concern to give you a smile and tell you the good news, already being able to imagine the smile you would give him in celebration.

But seeing how you looked, a little bit breathless from rushing, carrying groceries in your hands as you looked at him with a smile that spelled nothing but relief, Jisung couldn’t help himself.

“He offered me a job,” Jisung confessed, his grip tight on his towel as he let his hand fall limp to his side, any perfect, fool-proof plan of copying the romance movie now long gone.

Your eyes widened, setting the groceries on the counter as you cheered, “oh my god, that’s great! I’m really happy for you!” You cheered, practically running towards him before stopping yourself halfway, realising you were almost about to hug him.

Jisung noticed you stop too, tilting his head at you as his hands had already begun to raise to welcome you into a hug, hesitating once he’d seen you stop.

“Sorry,” you huffed, shoving your hands into your pockets, taking a step back to create some distance between the both of you.

Jisung smiled, shaking his head, “don’t be.” Shocking you with his confidence, he’d taken a step closer to you, his arms going around your shoulders as he pulled you towards him, his head leaning against yours gently as one of his hands went up to pet your head gently.

“You really helped me through it, believe it or not.”

Your eyes widened, trying not to get too carried away with the way his hold felt too comforting for you to pull away, thankful that he’d let go first, his hands coming up to grasp your shoulders.

“You hungry? The soup’s almost done.”

You nodded, “can I uh…take a shower first? I’ll be quick I promise.”

You didn’t wait for him to reply before you’d escaped to the bathroom, too focused on showering quickly that you’d almost forgotten about the hug. Keyword, almost.

Once you’d changed into a comfortable shirt and shorts, you’d practically jogged over to the kitchen, seeing that Jisung had already taken out the ingredients to thaw the meat and prepare the veggies.

“Wow, who are you and what have you done with Jisung?”

Jisung turned around at your voice, rolling his eyes at your statement, flicking the water from the veggies at you as you dodged, “figured I’d do something while waiting, you know, make myself useful.”

You huffed, a smile on your face as you gestured for him to continue, “well, don’t let me stop you.”

“So how did the interview go?” You asked, watching intently as he brought the platefuls of ingredients to the coffee table, stopping you when you’d moved to help him get the pot of soup.

“It’s okay, you go sit down, I’ll do it.”

You couldn’t help the impressed pout from your lips, not wanting to let on that the gesture had made your heart flutter.

Once all the food was on the table, Jisung had taken a seat next to you, the both of you starting to throw your ingredients into the soup, Jisung turning to you looking as though he’d wanted to say something.

“What was I saying before? Oh, right,” he nodded, “I didn’t expect him to be so intimidating, I nearly pissed myself when I walked into the room.”

You’d burst into laughter, Jisung laughing along with you, “I’m not even joking. Chan gave me a completely different description of what he would be like.”

You’d tried your best to calm down from your laughter quickly, seeing him take a piece of food from the pot and place it into your bowl wordlessly, choosing to ignore the gesture for the sake of your heart.

“But I’m assuming he’s not that bad? Since he offered you the job?”

Jisung let out a sigh, “yeah, thank god he did, I was a stuttering mess. Even Iwouldn’t have hired myself.”

You let out a chuckle, “you’re lucky he judged you based on the song, then,” you teased, earning a harmless glare from him.

You’d scooped some food into your mouth, looking up at him to see that he’d already had his cheeks full of food, nodding at you expectantly.

“So does this mean you’re gonna work on that producer guy’s team?” You asked, earning a nod from him as he swallowed his mouthful of food with a wince.

“Yeah, he said I could intern at his company in the holidays and if everything goes well he’ll give me a contract once I graduate.”

You let out a low whistle, “wow, imagine all the exposure you’d get there…all the different types of genres and artists you’d be exposed to,” you marvelled, Jisung finding it amusing how you seemed more excited about it than he was.

You perked up in realisation, “speaking of which…I realised you’d never let me listen to the song yet.”

Jisung flushed, shaking his head, “did I? I swear I did,” he lied, making you shove him, a smile showing on his face as you did, nodding in surrender as he grabbed his phone from the coffee table.

“What’s it called?” You asked, seeing him nudge his glasses up with his knuckle, shaking his head to flick his hair from his eyes.

“Sunshine,” he told you quickly, not wasting anymore time and playing the song.

As he started to play the song, you were surprised at the light sounding melody the song had started with, the sounds of the city that he’d put inside, the feeling that you were…at home?

“Don’t look at me when you’re listening to it, I’m shy,” he brought a hand up to cover your face, making you yelp, your hands coming up to grab his wrist, pulling it away slowly as you grew more focused on the song, recognising his voice as he sang.

It wasn’t a love song, thankfully, you realised. You realised that the song revolved around a certain feeling of calm, with themes of getting away from the busy nature of your life and taking time for yourself, something you realised you and him both kind of needed.

You listened until the song had ended, looking at him with a big smile on your face, a smile that made Jisung want to cover your face in fear that it would make his heart burst with how giddy he felt.

“I love this,” you told him, “can you send it to me?”

Jisung scoffed, “no way, how do I know you’re not gonna sell it before I can get it copyrighted?” he huffed, leaning forward and resting his elbow on the table to support his head on his palm.

“I’m really impressed, how’d you get the inspiration to do this?”

Jisung shrugged, “my own life I guess, and the people that helped me get through that weird period of creative block that I was in,” he murmured.

You nodded, “well, whoever they are, you should thank them for me.”

Jisung nodded, facing the television as he contemplated in his heart whether to do what he wanted to do, turning to you with a small smile on his face, he nodded slowly.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Your eyes widened, not knowing what to make of his words. The song had started to repeat.

Jisung had shook his head, “I’m not just saying this because I like you or whatever—” he stopped himself with a small curse, “shit, that was not how I planned on telling you. Whatever, as I was saying…” he trailed off, his gaze landing on your tattoo, the neck of your shirt having started to slip off your shoulder slightly.

“Honestly, I really hated that drawing,” he told you, your gaze following his to look at your tattoo, looking back at him with raised eyebrows.

“This? Why? But it’s so pretty,” you insisted.

Jisung shook his head.

“It was my first design, and I wasn’t…you know, I just didn’t think it was that impressive, and all. Chan had told me to keep it in my portfolio but I was really close to just removing it.”

His gaze shifted to anywhere except your face, distracting himself by looking at the various things in the house, his gaze landing on the rainbow-coloured umbrella at the door.

Jisung sighed, shifting in his seat so he was leaning against the sofa now, his body angled towards you, making you unconsciously shift your body to face him as well, your breath hitching in anticipation for what he was about to say next.

“But then, you said you wanted it tattooed, and I honestly didn’t want you to get it but I had no choice, you know, blah blah customer’s preference first and all that bullshit,” he waved his hand for emphasis, “but then after I saw you with the tattoo more, I guess my perspective started to change? I mean, like, you kept insisting that it was so beautiful and all that..you know, seeing you with it kind of started to grow on me.”

Jisung paused, his gaze on a corner of the coffee table as he tried to find the right words to express how he was feeling, shrugging at you and just deciding to say whatever was at the top of his head and work from there.

“I guess it kind of made me love my work more, and like, trust myself, you know… because I realised how beautiful it could be.”

You looked at him wordlessly, your heart picking up speed at the tension in the room, something in you urging you to stand up, making you get up on your feet with no aim in mind.

So as not to look like a complete fool, your hands flew up to hug your arms, “oh, it’s a little um, chilly. Be right back,” you sprinted to your room, reaching in your cupboard for your hoodie and putting it on without a second thought, too preoccupied to notice how it stopped at your thighs and how the sleeves bunched up more.

Returning to the coffee table, you’d almost regretted your decision to put on the hoodie, feeling utterly warm from how flustered you were, especially with the way Jisung was looking at you with a hint of a smirk playing at his lips.

“Sorry,” you murmured, averting your gaze as you tilted your head down, not expecting Jisung to tilt his head down as well so he could search for your gaze, making you scrunch your eyes shut, wrinkling your nose as you let out a huff of laughter.

“You can reject me, you know. I remember you said you already liked someone,” he told you, and Jisung meant it, not wanting anything but to make sure you were okay, and happy.

You shook your head, “I don’t want to,” you murmured, finally daring yourself to meet his gaze, your heart skipping a beat when you saw the way Jisung had smiled.

“I can’t say I’m not happy to hear that,” he told you.

Jisung had brought his hand up, lazily removing his glasses and looking at you finally, since now the other things in the house weren’t as clear in his vision, all that was important being that you were right in front of him, and he could see you clearer than anything.

“Why’d you take your glasses off?” You murmured, seeing him shrug, giving you a lazy smile.

“What? You scared I didn’t wanna see your face?” He teased, the flush on your cheeks making him give in almost immediately, “I’m kidding. I just didn’t feel like being distracted anymore.”

Maybe it was the atmosphere of the living room, or the lingering feelings the song had left in you, maybe it was even the way you felt like you were finally getting what you were waiting for.

Whatever it was, there was an overwhelming feeling of giddiness in you, especially with the way Jisung’s gaze had flickered between your lips and your gaze, and yet he’d made no move to lean closer to you, as if he was expecting you to move first.

Leaning closer, you’d let yourself glance down, getting distracted by the stain of black ink on the sleeve of your hoodie, only realising then that it wasn’t your hoodie.

“Shit, sorry I’m wearing yours by mistake again, it must’ve gotten mixed up,” you murmured, knowing it wasn’t your week to do laundry duty.

Jisung stopped you before you could stand up, pulling your hand forward so the only thing stopping you from losing your balance was his grip on your arm.

“I never thought I’d be saying this but, you can wear it.”

You’d sworn if your heart were any weaker, you wouldn’t have been able to last this long, Jisung seeming almost teasing with the way he’d inched closer at a painfully slow pace, so his lips were barely touching yours.

Just before he could pull back, you’d groaned in frustration, bringing your free hand up to cup the side of his jaw, meeting your lips with his.

And there it was again, the feeling of relief that washed over, knowing that this was very much happening, and that you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Jisung pulled away first, his pupils blown and his eyes giving away his surprise, huffing at you and folding his arms, increasing the distance between you.

“I’m only realising this now, what do you mean I’m oblivious?”

You rolled your eyes, “I’ll explain it again later, I swear.”

Jisung huffed, more dramatic this time, making sure you sensed his sulkiness (as feigned as it was), looking at you with a pout on his lips, “give me a kiss and I’ll forgive you.”

He puckered his lips, making you roll your eyes, though you didn’t hesitate to cup his face again, pressing your lips against his as your thumb brushed over his cheek gently, pulling away before he would’ve wanted. You couldn’t help yourself from laughing at the way he’d leaned forward, chasing your lips, frowning at you with a soft sigh when you’d straightened up.

“Can we eat now? The meat’s getting overcooked.”

===

lucas 11:30pm - dude I told u it would work if you smiled at him more cant believe u didnt believe me smh -

1K notes · View notes

danihow · 4 years

Text

Golden letters

Soulmate AU

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: In a world where somewhere around your body you have tattoed in silver something related to your soulmate, it can be a number, a name, a phrase, a place, whatever that is related to your soulmate. When soulmates meet under the circumstances of the marks they turn into a golden tone and the special connection is made.

Warnings: Some swearing, attempt of sexual assault.

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: I saw this somewhere but I can’t remember where, perhaps I’m even mixing AUs but I don’t even care. I’m thinking to go on this soulmate au’s to every character you guys suggest (that I know, obviously hehe).

“What does your tattoo says?” “Can I see it?” “Aw it’s so cute.” “Where is your tattoo?”

Those phrases where always sounding around the halls of the school every first day when people made new friends or when new friends ran out of topics to talk about. But you weren’t like them, you understood that some people didn’t liked to talk about it for personal reasons so you didn’t wanted to be nosy and annoying, you understood because you were like them sometimes.

You didn’t knew what your tattoo meant, you remember having it since you were little like everyone else; it was placed on your ribs, right upon on your left and last rib, quoting “Spiderman”, as a little girl no one knew what it meant or what it was supposed to be so you didn’t paid too much attention to it, never. At elementary school people used to bully you when they got to know what the tattoo says because let’s be real, Spiderman is kind of a dumb thing, it’s enough if you think about it.

But the whole tattoo turned to be more interesting that you and your parents thought when this local hero appeared, being called just as your tattoo said. And the people that knew about your marks starting almost even stalking you with the idea that the superhero was her soulmate. And since that you stopped showing it to people, anyway not a lot of them asked to see it since it’s placed on a kind of a private place.

You walked through the hall until you finally arrived to your experimental biology class with all your new classmates. You sat on your usual place and slowly the class filled after the bell rang.

This curly-haired guy with brown eyes sat in the seat behind you, accidentally kicking him, you have seen him in the hallways a couple of times but you didn’t knew his name. You stared at him for as much two seconds before you looked back to the board where the teacher wrote her name.

The class went through as any other first day, the teacher presenting herself to the class and the assigning the pairs for the rest of the semester.

“Parker with Y/L/N.” She said and you looked around the class searching for the Parker-guy. Then you locked eyes with the guys behind you.

“Do you know who this Parker guy is?” You asked waiting for his answer.

“I’m the Parker guy you are asking for, are you Y/L/N?” He asks and you nod. “Guess we are partners.” He gives you a shy smile and you nod again.

“I’m Y/N.” You said giving him the smile back.

“Peter.” He says, taking the seat next to you and you can look at him better than before. “Nice to meet you.” You spot a little silver mark showing a little from the neck of his shirt, looking like half a letter but is hid quickly when he turns to you. ‘His soulmate mark’ you think and raise your eyes to meet his, feeling something weird tickling on your stomach.

“I can say the same Parker-guy.” You smile after a moment of silently staring at each other, before he says something you both turn to the teacher who started talking about the year you both had ahead.

The class ended and you didn’t had another chance to talk to Peter, you both gathered you stuff together to get to your next class so you didn’t talked much either.

Then the day passed by in its normal pace, you were almost asleep in history class when the last bell rang, indicating that you were finally free of school for the day.

You walked until the exit and started walking to your part-time job at a café, where you stayed in your boredom until the clock pointed at 8 and you were free to go home to your brothers and dad.

The streets were as troubled as they could be but compared to the one’s in New York City this one’s were calm enough.

By the time you reached the last five streets until your building you heard someone calling you from one of the alleys between buildings, you rushed your pace, ignoring the sound of heavy, sloppy and probably drunk footsteps behind you, coming really close and starting to scare the hell out of you.

Then someone grabbed your wrist and pulled you roughly to the alley behind the old bar named “Oliver’s place” that has been standing there as long as your dad could remember. The person that grabbed your hand slammed you back without any care against the wall of the alley and your eyes met with the eyes of a drunk man that walked towards you and grabbing your wrist against the wall, pressing your legs with one if his so you didn’t kicked his noble parts.

You tried to anyway, failing in the attempt. When this repugnant man grabbed your wrists with one hand and with the other he tried to touch you in a gross way, placing his hand on your waist and slowly dragging it down.

Before he could continue someone pulled him from behind and brought him down, almost bringing you with him if it wasn’t for the hand that took you wrist and separated you from the man’s touch.

You looked at your wrist ,still quite in shock, where the new hand was holding you just to find it covered in some red spandex. “Oh.” You thought, looking up just to find the freaking superhero in front of you. “Oh shit.” You thought out loud by an accident, Spiderguy was infront of you, looking at the men before turning to face you.

“Are you okay?” He asked while under the mask he inspected your face and body searching for any damage. “He didn’t hurt you right? He didn’t do anything?”

You denied, still looking at him, almost discarding the idea of him being your soulmate since you didn’t felt any of the connection everyone talked about. “He didn’t, thank you.” You said willing to get your wrist free until he made eye contact with you under the mask, you didn’t knew he was staring at you dare in the eye until you felt it. You felt like a warm full filling your chest suddenly, tickling were your mark was and seeing a little gold sparkle shining through the fabric of the suit, right in his collarbone. There were so many feelings running through your stomach, like a motherfucking zoo was doing a marathon in there but it wasn’t overwhelming at all, instead it felt... right, it felt like a weight less on your shoulders.

“Y/N, you...” He started, not being able to find the right words since the rush of feeling through his body as well.

Peter didn’t understood his mark very well neither, aunt May always told him that it was a place, the bar, that’s the only thing it could be. ‘Oliver’s, 20.30.’ Every day since he got his powers he started passing every night near 8 since Mr. Stark suggested the numbers being an hour, just as his.

Both of you couldn’t stop staring at each other eyes, or you at least where you thought his eyes were under the mask. Peter shot a web to the man when he tried to get up, blinding him and sticking him to the floor.

“Who are you? Why you know me?” You asked without processing your words, you slap yourself mentally after saying them, ‘He’s a superhero, he won’t tell you.’ Yet he proved you wrong.

Going against every coherent and reasonable thought in his mind his hand reached to the mask and pulled it away, revealing his shocked face to you, his potential soulmate.

Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped, the Parker-guy was Spiderman, the Parker-guy was, is, your soulmate.

“You... Shit, you are...”

“Spiderman.” He nods.

“My fucking soulmate?” You ask instead, looking confused and not giving the answer he expected. You separate your hand from his and take the border of your shirt, rising it enough so he could see the words now in a shiny gold lettering.

His hand involuntarily raised and with his covered hand he traced the mark, feeling a shiver run down his spine. “I think I am.” He says, nodding again, now his hand reaching for you. “Mine says ‘Oliver’s place, 20.30.” He mutters, looking back to your eyes as you took your phone out to check the hour.

“20 and 31.” You say, not knowing what to say know. “So...”

“Yeah...” He rubs the back of his neck, he actually never thought what would happen when he met his soulmate. “You sure you’re fine?” He asks again.

“Yeah Parker-guy.”

“Now you can’t tell-”

“Anyone, I know Mr. Superhero, I’m aware of that.” You smile a bit, making him chuckle under his breath.

“Where do you live? I can get you home faster.” He says giving you a sided smile before putting his mask back on.

“Some streets away, you mean like... Swinging?” You ask doing a weird expression with your hands.

“Yep, swinging.” He nods, and after a few seconds of considering it you nod back.

“Fine.” You say not noticing he was still grabbing your hand until he let go, feeling the cooldness of it absence. He was about to grab you by your waist but looked at your for approval, making you smile at his antics. “Go ahead, is no big deal.” You say and pass your arms around his shoulders, everything feeling very right in place and comfortable by his side.

“Hold on tight, you’ll guide me.” He warns before starting swinging, you grabbed your backpack against your chest just as Parker-guy swung between the buildings of Queens, this was probably a bad idea and yes the drunk man was left stuck to the wall.

#spiderman #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter x reader #soulmate #soulmate au #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot #marvel one shot

191 notes · View notes

sunshineandcybertronians · 4 years

Text

Heart Attack - Knock Out x reader

Word count: 3,670 Warnings: None A/N: This was one of the first TFP fanfics I wrote. I finished it in June 2019. Hope you enjoy! Song: Heart Attack by Demi Lovato

You hummed a song on the couch while watching the older two teenagers play a video game. Not truly paying attention with a big grin and a far off look in your eyes, daydreaming. about your secret friend. Knockout. You met him through your association with the Autobots. He decided to capture you, not too long after you were introduced to them, a few months after the other three kids were. Before the Autobots rescued you, you talked with Knockout. It was enjoyable and you both like to conversing. Thus, you been secretly scheduling time to get together. You loved being with him and talking to him.

Currently, your mind was sitting on a mental picture of him his finish shiny and a beautiful shade of red. His face snow white and handsome. Your imagination switch to him in his flawless alt mode rolling down the road against the sunset. Sighing, your imagination supplied the sensation of sitting in him at that high speed. Your heart began throbbing with a strange feeling. Realizing what you were thinking, you shook your head. No, you couldn't think that. You were just friends with him, that's all.

You were drawn back into the real world by Miko's victory celebration.

"Yes, I won!" Miko jumped up at her car knocking Jack's off the road.

Jack groaned before reminding Miko, "Okay, it's Raf's turn now."

"Right. Here," she handed him the controller.

"Miko, you've made the controller all sweaty," Raf complained, holding it by only his fingertips.

"Sorry," she replied in her cheerful way. "Not my fault my hands decided to do that while I was crushing Jack." She mimicked holding a controller and mashing buttons with one foot up on the cushion.

"How long has it been since you guys cleaned those off?" You asked, suddenly curious and slightly disgusted since you never recalled them doing that.

"Um, we're supposed to clean them?" Miko asked, sitting down and putting a finger on her jaw as if she was thinking.

"I... don't think we ever have," Jack slowly admitted as the realization came over him.

"Then I'll go get some wet wipes from the storage room. I'll be right back." You got up, began to clop down the hard stairs, and entered the Cybertronian sized corridor. "I'll come with," Miko called out while hopping up and running down the stairs with no regard for her own safety.

"Carefully!" Ratchet immediately snapped when he glanced her way.

"Sorry," you apologized for her, sinking into your shoulders.

Miko caught up with you and you both began running done the hall. You wouldn't normally have run, but you unintentionally mimicked your energetic friend, as well as doing so to simply keep up with her. Being in the corridor without someone usually made you feel uneasy, as if you felt that you didn't belong there due to your small size. Miko being beside you helped ease your insecurity.

She kept talking about some random things, like how she defeated Jack, that they need a new video game, and the monster truck rally she and Bulk went to. Most of the time you just nodded while she did the talking. You accidentally tuned out about half of it. Once you reached the storage area, you grabbed the box of wet wipes, cradled it in your arms, and began pacing back.

"So, do you like anyone?" Miko asked you out of nowhere, leaning forward while looking to you expectantly.

"What?" Your pupils became large and you almost froze from surprise.

"Do you have a crush on anyone?" she jumped out in front of you and walked backwards. "You've been acting more happy and daydreamy recently."

"I don't think 'daydreamy' is a word," you avoided the question.

"But who is it?"

"No one!"

She fell into step aside you again, pretending to examine her nails with a smug smile. "It's Knockout isn't it?"

That time you actually stopped in your tracks for a split second. "What?!" you said a lot louder than you meant to.

"Yeah! I saw the way you looked at him the other day when we had a run-in with the 'Cons. You were totally goo-goo eyed. If it were an anime your eyes would have had tons of sparkle and you would have been drooling."

"Quiet," you almost whispered.

"You were! Do you like him?" Miko was the most persistent girl you've ever known.

"No," you firmly answered louder than you meant to. You managed to stop yourself from shouting that you didn't know, feeling frustrated. "Look, I can't like him, he's a Decepticon. I barely know him. So stop asking," your voice had an unintentional edge. Miko even looked shocked and slightly scared for a millisecond.

In reality you didn't care that he was a Decepticon, you just didn't want to have to deal with a crush. They could be so annoying. Plus, it would be hard to do that considering you were on opposite sides, the Autobots might object, and he may not like you back. That last one could ruin your friendship which you valued so much.

"Okay," Miko shrugged and focused on the open room you were approaching. Although you could tell she wasn't convinced, even more so with her sudden calm and cool attitude. She was actually pretty good at acting when she wanted to, provided she's not lying, to the point only someone who truly knew her would be able to see through it.

"Here, think fast," you tossed the box to her as you ran into the wide area with most of the Autobots' presence.

Her pace quicken like yours and she rushed up the stairs. Your course, however, was aimed at the yellow Autobot scout. You slowed and stopped in front of him.

"Hey, Bee!" you called to him, "Can I get a ride back home? I think there's a report I left at home, so I'll just finish it there." With Miko being onto your secret- you mean, her thinking you liked Knockout, you had to get out of there as fast as you could before she told everyone her suspicion. Primus knows she can't keep a secret. You did NOT want to be around if she did so.

Bumblebee beeped in agreement and transformed into a yellow Urbana 500. The passenger door popped opened and you climbed inside.

"Thanks, Bee," you said as he clicked the seatbelt over you.

He buzzed, probably saying, "No problem," and drove through the tunnel and out into the Nevada desert. It was a quiet ride back, the light brown terrain blurred past you. You began thinking about Knockout again. They hadn't figured out that you were friends yet, in fact, all Miko suspected was that you liked him. This meant you were in the clear for now. Although if Miko told everyone, it would not only be embarrassing, they might keep a closer eye on you which would prevent you from being around Knockout.

Deciding you should tell him, you pulled your phone out and your fingers began flying across the digital keyboard.

Me: Wanna go for a drive? I'll be back home in a little bit, but don't go just yet. And be careful, the yellow Urbana's dropping me off.

You tapped send and leaned back in the seat. Normally you wouldn't have referred to Bumblebee like that, but it would make it easier for Knockout to know who you were talking about. Plus, it sounded like something Knockout would say and every now and then you found you were picking up his talking habits.

A buzzing against your skin made you look back at your phone and see the reply.

Knockout: Sure. I'll stick around, unseen, until you give the thumbs up.

You wanted to comment that it was almost impossible for him to be 'unseen' with his shiny, red paintjob and his gorgeous alt mode, but you knew what he meant. Blood rushed to your cheeks and you felt warm when you realized you just mentally called him gorgeous.

"Buzzz, chirp chirp, buzz?" Bee seemed to ask a question and pull you out of your thoughts.

"Huh." Being back in reality you suddenly realized you were only two or three minutes away from home.

Bumblebee repeated himself, but you still had no idea what he was trying to say. "I'm... sorry. I don't understand you."

The seatbelt moved on its own like it was alive. The part that was previously on your shoulder tapped your cheek, then stayed on your shoulder again like it never moved.

"Oh," you let out when you realized what he was asking. "It's just warm today, so that's why my face is turning red," you lied, although it was a warm day and you were grateful he cared enough to ask.

Before you could say thank you, the AC became cooler and the cool air felt pleasant on your skin.

"Thanks, Bee," you smiled.

He beeped another, "No problem," or "You're welcome." You didn't really need a translator to know that.

In no time, you were in front of your house. You waved and gave another thanks before running inside. Once inside, you secretly watched from the window and waited until Bumblebee was gone.

Pulling out your phone again, you typed:

Me: He's gone now. Just left.

You considered painting your nails red while waiting, to look better for him, but would it dry in time? Before you could decide, fifteen seconds after you clicked send, Knockout pulled up and you rushed as fast to him as you could, almost forgetting to close the door on your way out. The door opening, you promptly got in. It closed behind you and he began to drive.

"That was fast. You didn't even give me time to brush out my hair or anything," you joked while reaching for the seatbelt out of habit, but it automatically went over you and snapped into place.

"You still look just fine," he replied somewhat slowly in his suave voice.

"Thanks," you smiled and forced yourself to stop thinking about it before you could begin blushing.

"What's wrong?" he asked when he noticed you were slightly less happy than usual. You had been friends and spent enough time with each other that he could read you fairly well.

"Miko might be onto me."

"She's the girl that's Bulkhead's pet, right?"

"Partner, or charge, whatever you want to call it," you corrected. "But yes."

"She knows about us," there was a slight growl in his words. You could just be kidding yourself, but it might have been fear, in an angry way. Like he was scared of the possibility. "About us being friends and meeting each other, I mean," the red interior lights flashed as he spoke.

"Well not exactly, she..." you paused, looking for the right way to word it. You didn't want to tell him that Miko thought you had a crush on him, because you didn't, you mentally added. "She noticed how I... seemed happy when I saw you the other day. She may guess that I've been meeting up with you, or someone else will if she tells them."

"Would she tell them?"

"Oh yeah. That girl can't keep a secret. Except for the fact that cybertronians exist, maybe she's just bad at keeping secrets from her friends. Anyway," you regained your posture and decided to get back on topic, "even if they don't figure it out, they might think that I'll approach you and get captured or... join the Decepticons," you waved your arms out, careful not to hit Knockout, as you exaggerated. "The point is they can worry and keep a closer optic on me which would restrict me from seeing you." You leaned back with your arms crossed, staring down. "I could always text or call you. But I have no idea how long the house arrest would last. Plus they may wonder who I'm texting so much and see, and I would miss riding with you and seeing you in person."

Knockout stayed quiet as he processed it, wondering what he should say or how he should respond to all of that information. The only sound was the hum of his engine giving the necessary energy to glide across the concrete in the open desert while you waited for a reply.

"Hmm. Wouldn't want that to happen. If the 'Bots learn, Megatron might too. That would be painful. But the chances of him figuring out are slim, so I'd be more worried about you right now." He thought about it. "Maybe if that happens you could run away with me," he suggested.

You laughed, "As tempting as that is, I can't do that. That would be a little irresponsible and only make it worse. If they worry about me being captured or defecting, running away wouldn't ease them, it would make them more desperate. And they're my friends too. But thanks for the offer," you added.

"What should we do then?"

"I think we should just roll with the punches and hope for the best. There's no guarantee they'll find out. Although, we should be more careful." It scared you to think that you could lose Knockout, however you had to hope for the best. That was all you could do, so you hoped you wouldn't be prevented from being with him. The thought of being torn apart from him made your heart ach- you mean, it would be sad. No, you gave your head a small shake. You didn't love him, you convinced yourself.

"If you say so," he sounded a little unsure himself.

"Knockout!" a deep, scary voice burst through the speakers making you jump.

"Yes, Megatron," Knockout tried to mask the fear in his response, not wanting to be caught slacking off with a human.

"Knockout, where are you?" he demanded.

You froze and unintentionally held your breath. You didn't know if the Decepticon leader would hear you if you said anything, but you didn't want to find out.

"I was... just scouting for energon deposits."

"Well you're in luck," Megatron became strangely calm with a bite, like he was attempting to suppress his anger. "Because we have detected an energy signature near your location. Scout out the area and report your findings, IMMEDIATELY!"

"Y-yes, my liege." He turned off the comm. "Sorry, (Y/n), I have to go check it out," he said quietly, as if he was afraid the comm was still on.

You nodded. "It's alright. I understand."

None of you had to mention it to know that you were both terrified that Megatron would find out about your secret, despite only speaking through the comm channel. Your heart was still racing. By the way the engine rattled slightly, while driving off the road to scout the requested site, you could tell he was still shaken up.

Knockout stopped by a rock wall and opened the door for you to get out.

"It would probably be safer if you stayed here and wait for me. No telling if the site is going to be unstable or if Lord Megatron has already sent other Decepticons," he mentioned.

"Right," you hopped out, "I'll wait here." You watched him drive away, turning right and behind the orange-ish brown rock formation you were standing by.

Sighing, you wondered what you should do while waiting. Your feet kicked up some rocks and dirt out of boredom. Your mind wandered and you began to think about Knockout, then Miko's earlier claim. A warm feeling fluttered in your chest. You immediately forced yourself to stop thinking about it to remove the feeling and decided to distract yourself by putting in ear buds and listening to songs on your phone.

Several songs played that you danced or bobbed your head to. Then a song, that sounded strangely similar to your situation, began playing.

Puttin’ my defences up 'Cause I don’t wanna fall in love

Upon hearing that you knew it was "Heart attack" by Demi Levado.

If I ever did that, I think I’d have a heart attack

Never put my love out on the line

You nodded, since you knew that you wanted to never to risk your heart getting broken or putting yourself in a bad situation when it came to love... want being keyword. You can want one thing, but another thing can happen.

Never said yes to the right guy Never had trouble getting what I want But when it comes to you, I’m never good enough

A laugh escaped your mouth, recollecting that you often never felt good enough for Knockout. He was gorgeous, how could you ever compete or be good enough for his standards? This time you forgot to notice you called him gorgeous and argue with yourself that you didn't think that as your thoughts moved on with the song.

When I don’t care, I can play 'em like a Ken doll Won’t wash my hair, then make 'em bounce like a basketball

But you make me wanna act like a girl Paint my nails and wear high heels, yes you Make me so nervous, that I just can’t hold your hand

A hum vibrated in your throat as you began humming the song at the pre chorus. You remembered when you considered painting your nails for Knockout.

You make me glow, But I cover up, won’t let it show, So I’m puttin’ my defenses up 'Cause I don’t wanna fall in love If I ever did that, I think I’d have a heart attack I think I’d have a heart attack I think I’d have a heart attack

Your heart seemed to have taken note of what feeling it produced when you usually thought about Knockout and replay it while listening to the song. This time you didn't fight it and let the nice feeling flood through you.

Never break a sweat for the other guys When you come around, I get paralyzed And every time I try to be myself It comes out wrong like a cry for help

You were so into the song and relating to it so much that at the last line that you began singing along while dancing more vigorously, knowing that no one would see.

It’s just not fair Pain’s more trouble than love is worth I gasp for air It feels so good, but you know it hurts

But you make me wanna act like a girl Paint my nails and wear perfume, for you, Make me so nervous, that I just can’t hold your hand

You recalled how you'd be so much more happier being with and thinking about Knockout, but you'd never let it show because you didn't want anyone else to figure out. Thinking about it now, you didn't want yourself to figure out. You thought that if you kept denying it, then you wouldn't fall for him.

Dummy, you heard a part of your brain or heart say, how could you not fall for him?

The feelings got lost in my lungs They’re burning, I’d rather be numb

It felt really weird suddenly admitting you liked him, that it had become too powerful to deny, like the song was giving it energy. The emotion overpowered you in a way you almost felt weak, yet it somehow had a pleasant sensation.

And there’s no one else to blame

Sighing, the song reminded you that there was no one else you could blame for making you feel like this except for yourself. You let this happen and decided to meet him all the time.

So scared I take off and I run I’m flying too close to the sun And I burst into flames

A spin was the next move you decided to perform. While doing so, you spotted an all too familiar red mech leaning against the rock and white face smirking. This startled you so much that you lost balance and fell down on your bottom, facing Knockout.

Oh I think I’d have a heart attack

Your cheeks heated up, feeling embarrassed that he heard you singing and what you were just thinking about. His arms were crossed, causing the sun to reflect off of his doors, and an optic ridge was raised that didn't help your blush.

I think I’d have a heart attack

You stopped the song as it ended and pulled out the ear buds. "I... didn't hear you. How... much did you hear?" you tentatively asked while getting up.

"Oh, just the beginning of, what I assumed is, the second chorus up until now." He stood up straight and walked closer to you.

You stood still and wondered what he was going to do. An awkward smile played on your mouth while you pretended everything was normal. Although you moved your legs closer together and held your arm, giving you the appearance of being someone shy.

"So, do you have a heart attack?" he asked.

Your heart started beating so fast you thought it would burst out of your chest and your brain stopped functioning. "Umm... Uh, ummm."

Your flustered reaction seemed to please him. He tenderly placed a digit over your mouth to stop you from talking. He leaned down so you were eye to optic. A smile graced his faceplate while you stared into his deep optics.

"I have a spark attack too."

#TFP #Knockout x reader #Knock Out x reader #Knockout #songfic #tfp x reader

128 notes · View notes

lluvguts · 3 years

Text

extra sugar // reddie

pairing: modern! richie tozier / eddie kaspbrak

warnings: none!

word count: 1964

summary: Richie has been going to the same coffee shop for a week now but the barista still won't get his name right.

Richie’s stomach did a little flip when he opened the cool glass door into the coffee shop. Not because of the menu, showcasing their outrageously priced drinks, but at the young barista behind the counter. Richie couldn’t seem to shake that jittery feeling, he got his coffee from the same place every morning and still that kind face smiling back at him sent a new shiver of want every time.

The first time they’d met was a week before. A Friday, filled with Richie scrambling to get his stand-up act written on time in the early hours in that secluded coffee shop before his theatre class started. Richie had noticed between sips of a sugary mocha latte that the barista was sneaking careful glances at his hunched, furiously typing frame from behind the bakery display case. An older woman had taken Richie’s order before he sat down, but that didn’t stop the younger boy from hiding behind the large glass of pastries so Richie might be led to believe he wasn’t staring. But today, it was him taking Richie’s order, like it had been ever since he’d decided to return for some good coffee over the weekend—and to see those warm brown eyes again.

The barista did a small wave, inviting Richie into the comforting blanket of coffee smells and churning espresso machines that he’d grown to appreciate. Richie’s wallet, however, was not as happy. Each drink was eight dollars or more.

When he’d stepped up to the register his heart did that annoying jumpstart again, almost surprised to see the familiar face. The name Eddie was written with a practiced hand on one of the pins tied to his apron, among other buttons and colorful patches. Of course he knew his name , but he’d never stopped to examine the array of shiny pins across his chest. Richie took note of the newest addition to Eddie’s pin collection: a rainbow pride flag nested under his name tag, its colors glinting bright and well, happily in the golden house light.

“What can I get you?” Eddie’s voice brought him out of his head. He flashed a grin, making Richie’s heart lose it. “The usual?”

“If by ‘usual’ you mean whatever sends me into heart failure the quickest, then yes ,” Riche replied, gaining enough of that on-stage confidence to smirk back, earning a blush from Eddie.

“How about I surprise you?” Eddie turned to the screen in front of him, punching in a few details to the order, giving Richie the perfect amount of time to realize how many freckles spanned across Eddie’s softened features. And maybe even imagine how delicate his fingers would have to be if he’d let his hands brush across those flushed cheeks. Or what else his long fingers could brush over...

Nope. He saved those thoughts for when his classes were over and for nights spent in bed alone, after rehearsing his lines while inhaling microwaved instant ramen. Not right now when he was standing in front of him.

They’d only made small talk at the register, and every time Richie’s hands touched Eddie’s to get his coffee (knowing now was really the only time to say something) his mouth wouldn’t open. He’d remain frozen in place, the only sign of life chugging through his sleepy system being his wide eyes as he read the name on the cup. Or rather, the misspelled name . He had been keeping track of Eddie’s butchered attempts at writing Richie Tozier, finding it to be a constructive use of his free time—and a wonderful reason to flirt back.

Just Rich. Chee. Mr. Toziér. Richi Tozeer.

At that point he wanted to yank the coffee cup from Eddie’s hands and write his own damn name for him. Just to have an excuse to see if his palms were calloused and weathered, or warm and plush like he fantasized them to be.

Richie dug into a pocket of his skinny jeans for his wallet. “Go ahead, surprise me. But extra sugar .” Eddie nodded at this but was still focused on the register.

“Roger that. I’ll bring it to your table,” Eddie said with a wink.

“Thanks Eds,” Richie said back and handed over the money. Eddie lost all of the teasing glint he’d had before, instead he fell into his repertoire of shy little smiles. He was flustered and Richie found it very adorable.

“Oh, it’s just Eddie.”

“I know, I just like seeing that look on your face.”

Eddie stiffened, ignoring the other customers waiting behind Richie. “ What look?”

He chuckled and went over to an empty couch. He plopped down with his backpack while Eddie scooped a shaky cup of coffee beans into a grinder, trying not to blush and look his way.

Richie watched Eddie make his drink, peering down the edge of the counter to see that despite the growing overcast outside he was wearing shorts—ones that hugged his upper thighs and made Richie curse him to the depths of hell for even thinking of wearing them. His mind started to go south so he quickly slipped his backpack over his lap to hide his excitement at the sight of Eddie crouching down to rummage for new coffee syrup in a low cupboard—it was a serious effort to tear his longing gaze away from those painfully visible legs. He got out his phone instead, opening up some mindless puzzle game with a pounding heart so he’d stop thinking about the stupid barista with the cute ass only a few feet away. But that stupid barista was all he could think about ever since he saw him...

A to-go cup was set before him on the little rustic table, followed by a voice. “Mind if I join you? I’m on my break.”

Richie stopped sorting bright, pixelated candies and looked up at Eddie’s hopeful smile and the waft of steam peeking out of the plastic coffee lid. Before he said anything back he turned the coffee cup around until he could see the name scrawled in sharpie.

“‘ Riche Tisher ?’ How are you further off than yesterday?” Richie laughed, then nearly choked. Written after this was a phone number. Eddie’s phone number.

Eddie shifted on his toes, blinking nervously at the floor. “I know your name. I just liked seeing your reaction every time. It was um, kinda cute.”

Richie cleared his throat and hoped his next words didn’t sound too idiotic. “ Oh . Well, thanks, I guess.” Richie made room on the couch then hesitantly lifted his backpack off his jeans to set it on the floor. He kept his eyes level with the table so he wasn’t too tempted to glance down at Eddie’s bare legs dangerously close to his. He screamed at himself to say something other than his default of: a flirty insult or half-heard blubbering, but Eddie pointed to the cup.

Richie almost visibly sighed in relief and reached for his drink. “What‘s in it?”

Eddie smirked. “Surprise, remember? You tell me.”

Richie stared at that shiny rainbow pin on Eddie’s apron as he took a sip, consumed with the sweetness of honey and lavender.

“It’s my favorite thing on our menu. And the least pricey,” Eddie said.

“Well that’s good, cause I’m going to go broke after all these coffees.”

Eddie pondered over this. “You do come here often. Do you live in the area?”

“Actually, I go to the college a few blocks down. But the dorms suck.”

Eddie’s brown eyes livened at that information. “What’s your major?”

“Performing Arts. I wanna do comedy, but for now I’m stuck doing acting.” Richie said and returned that interested stare.

“Yeah, the dorms really do suck.”

Suck was an understatement. Half the time Richie’s roommates only showed up at the crack of dawn, tripping over themselves they were so wasted, to collapse onto—usually—Richie’s available bed and wouldn’t move for the rest of the morning. Even if Richie was still under the covers, fighting to breathe under their immense weight.

“You go there too? How come I never see you?” Richie tried not to sound overly eager.

“I take night classes...So I can still work,” He said with a tentative smile.

His face fell. “Oh. Sorry, I don’t know why I didn’t realize that.”

“You know, to be a great comedian you have to be able to pay attention,” Eddie teased.

Richie had been paying attention, but maybe not to all the right things.

He exposed the side of the coffee cup with Eddie’s number on it. “Well, if I’ve been reading my audience, it looks like someone is trying to get me to call them.”

Eddie let his eyes wander to Richie’s backpack, where he too had a rainbow pride flag pinned to its front. His eyes widened and the color faithfully returned to his cheeks.

If Richie thought he had it bad, Eddie outshone his awkward attempts at conversation in the very attractive, breathless, asking-a-guy-out category. “Yeah, you definitely hit the mark on that one. Maybe, if you want to, of course...We could um, get dinner sometime? If you’re not busy— or if you aren’t seeing anyone! I totally didn’t realize. Well, if you want to?...”

Richie hadn’t really been listening, ironically enough. He was too caught up in that warmth on Eddie’s face, almost able to feel the heat of his embarrassment from across the couch. Eddie sat waiting for a reply, and in place of one Richie leaned forward with a delicate hand, just to let his fingertips touch the curve of Eddie’s jawbone. Only briefly, the slightest feel of his cheek, his racing heart, trailing a finger down to his chin, then hesitantly returning to his lap. Though bold, it was the only way to communicate with his actions what his stammered words had failed to say for the last week. Hey, I think I like you. You’ve got a cute face, too. See how soft it is?

Eddie’s breathing was reduced to a short little stutter in his throat, eyeing Richie’s hand with surprise as it was no longer against his cheek.

“Y-You certainly a put on a good show,” Eddie said when he could use his lungs again, shifting to stare at Richie’s dark eyes. It was like the rest of the coffee shop fell away, and Richie found himself stuck in a scene he didn’t know the lines to, with no stage directions to rely on. There were no wings, no gaping audience—only his own feelings to drive him forward. Only Eddie next to him.

Richie took the empty cup, swirling around the last dregs of honeyed coffee before examining the number so he could type it into his contacts. “This is only the first act, Eds. You could come by my dorm before your classes start? We’ve got pizza. A five star meal, of course.”

He grinned. “It’s Eddie . So is this... play, a comedy or a tragedy?”

Richie pretended to be deep in thought. “I was thinking something along the lines of a romance , but it’s totally your call. We could Romeo and Juliet this bitch and both die in the end.”

Eddie playfully bumped Richie’s shoulder, then glanced at his phone for the time.

“I gotta get back to work, but...dinner? Around seven?”

“Perfect.”

“And, if this is only the first act, ” Eddie toyed with one of the bracelets on Richie’s wrist. For a shy little barista of a man, he sure could flirt. “How many scenes are we talking here?”

Richie gave him a knowing smile. “You’ll have to wait and see. And thanks for the coffee, Eds.”

He frowned at Richie’s expectant grin, fighting the urge to smile through his irritation. “That’s not my name.”

“‘Riche’ isn’t mine either!”

#it movie fanfic #gay richie tozier #gay eddie kaspbrak #modern au #coffee shop au #reddie #reddie fanfic #reddie one shot #fluff #flirting #pining #fluff fic #reddie fic

19 notes · View notes

dustofbrokenheart · 3 years

Text

The Lost Boys: A Good Night

Word Count: 2,071

Summary: Sometimes Dwayne feels the need to wander Santa Carla by himself. On one such night, he comes into some money, gets in a fight, and picks up an upgraded bike all while looking good. It’s hard to know how a night will go when it starts, but this one looks like it’s shaping up to be a good one.

Dwayne had been a calm, passive personality for most of his long life. That’s not to say he didn’t have moments of mischief or violence, because he certainly did both as a human and a vampire. But someone in their gang needed to ground the energy and that was a role he was comfortable filling.

Sometimes he wondered if he would have turned out the same if he had been born different. Maybe he would have been more assertive, or playful, if his brownness wasn’t a factor.

But it wasn’t something he liked to dwell on since wishful thinking never changed anything.

That particular night Dwayne was eager to leave the cave. The other boys were moving slower than usual that evening and he struggled to wait for them. Finally, he made eye contact with David.

“I’ll meet you guys later,” he promised quietly.

David looked at him for a moment then nodded once in assent. Dwayne flew out of the cave’s rocky mouth doing a few aerial flips before reaching the top of the bluff. Still airborne, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

He could no longer enjoy the warmth of the sun on his face, but the feel of the wind playing with his hair and the salty ocean spray that tickled his nose were nice substitutes that he made due with.

The longer hair was a newer development. For the first time since early childhood, he was growing out his hair and the nearly shoulder length strands would his around his face when he flew. He had considered braiding it, or at least tying it back, but figured the length didn’t warrant that quite yet.

Dwayne had also recently become the proud owner of a new motorcycle after he had taken it from a victim about a month back. Seeing as how it was new, he was still in a protective mode towards it and tried his best to take care of it. So when he had wanted to upgrade some parts, he brought it to a mechanic shop to make sure everything was done as right as possible.

He was scheduled to pick it up tonight and he was excited to get it back after missing it for a few days. But before that happened, there was the matter of payment.

There would be more potential targets to choose from at the boardwalk, but most who frequented at this time of night were young people who weren’t exactly rolling in money. On the other hand, there was a ritzy social club just up the street from the boardwalk that was popular with Santa Carla’s upper class.

The stakes were higher, but so was the reward.

And not only was Dwayne a seasoned pickpocket, he was also a professional, which meant success was all but guaranteed. Plus, it sounded like more fun to rip off the rich.

Mind made up, he flew towards the restaurant and dropped down in an unlit alley behind the building, landing with a muted thump. He staked out the parking lot with his arms and hands loose, ready to make a move when opportunity presented itself.

His brown eyes tracked a couple exiting the social club, a young woman in her twenties and an again man with a pronounced gut, the latter pulling a wad of dollar bills from his pocket to hand some to the door boy. He put the money straight back in his jacket pocket instead of using a wallet.

Bingo.

Dwayne stayed back until the couple was a couple of feet away. Squeezing his way between two cars, he sauntered up the lot, making sure he was on the side closest to the man.

In the immediate moment preceding contact, Dwayne curved his body in such a way so as to make sure he would hit as much of the other guy he could. He bumped into him, hard, simultaneously snatching the money from the jacket pocket, faster and lighter than a normal human could sense.

The transaction was over in less than three seconds. Dwayne expertly stashed it in the waist of his jeans then turned, raising both of his hands with open palms to convince the other two that it was an accident.

The man made a surprised noise during the jostling, his eyes focused on Dwayne’s long, dark hair and his buck skin vest. Now that he had a clear look at who had run into him, distain showed on his face. “Never expected to see one of your kind at a place like this. Better watch where you’re walking boy.”

Dwayne’s face remained neutral.

He was dismissed by the couple and they continued onto their car, none-the-wiser that the jacket was lighter than it had been.

Dwayne walked calmly, but purposefully away into the darkened alley to count how much money had lifted. He was pleased to find he now had $60 in his possession.

He smirked at the couple’s car as they drove away. What a bunch of suckers.

He made sure the cash was secured and wandered down the sidewalk, deciding that he would go to the boardwalk next. Technically, there was still a little time left until he had to pick up his bike, and now that he had some extra cash, he was eager to check out the booths and tables at the boardwalk.

The blinking lights glow fantastically against the black skyline and the joyful screams of riders are audible even before entering official boardwalk limits. This spot has always drawn lots of people, locals and tourists alike, no matter the time.

Dwayne weaved through the thick crowds, which got thicker the further in he went, and found his way to the booths he was interested in. For the most part, they were all lined up in a row on either side of the wooden walkway. The things people were selling were fairly typically—art, clothes, and physic services, to name a few. The jewelry tables featured mostly handmade items that glittered under the streetlight.

One spot in particular, really caught his eye. Dwayne paused while he took in the heishi necklaces made with delicate fragments of shell, shiny silver earrings with bold turquoise pieces, and the selection of intricately beaded chokers. He looked at everything, picking up the cool ones to properly admire them.

The traditional influences of several tribes were represented: the Navajo, Kewa Pueblo, and Cherokee, among others. Other than the fact that they were North American tribes, there wasn’t any discernable theme that he noticed so the booth likely wasn’t run by someone with ties to a specific group.

He was proven right few moments later.

“The turquoise is really popular right now,” said a young blonde from behind her wispy bangs.

In his mind, Dwayne answered with a sarcastic no shit remark, but all he did on the outside was nod. Turquoise had been an important color, full of spiritual connotations, for the better part of the last couple hundred years in a lot of different tribes.

So, yeah. Popular.

Although, Hendrix wore that beaded fringe shirt with some turquoise to Woodstock last year… maybe the mainstream thought it was a trend.

“Ghost beads are also cool,” she continued. She lifted up a necklace with chunky round beads that were neutrally colored. “They’re supposed to protect you from evil.”

He could use some peace in his life, but he doubted this would help him out considering he was the evil spirit, the ghost, the nightmare, that it was supposed to ward off. Instead, he pointed to a white beaded choker with a turquoise centerpiece.

“What about this one?”

“I’ve had it a while. No ones been that interested in it.”

He rubbed it between the pads of his fingers. It was smooth to the touch and seemed durable when he tested its flexibility. “How much?”

The lady seemed surprised, then contemplative.

“Fifteen dollars,” she said in her best business voice.

Dwayne countered, “How about you accept five and then I’ll take it off your hands.”

She opened her mouth, but made the mistake of looking into his compelling dark irises. She readily agreed and he handed over a twenty, the smallest bill from his stack of borrowed bills. An illuminated clock post showed that he had fifteen minutes to get to the mechanic garage. He thanked her and left with his change and a brand-new necklace hanging from around his neck.

The flow of traffic had become even more packed in the short time he had been there, especially as he moved closer to the exit. He was nearly out when he accidently bumped into a random guy, this time entirely on accident. He had seen the run-in coming and tried his best to angle out of the way, but with so many people around, his shoulder still clipped the guy in the chest.

Since it was an accident, and because he had somewhere to be, he planned to shake it off and continue on. The other guy didn’t take it well.

Dwayne felt a hand grab his shoulder from behind and was pushed into a small alley between two stores. His back was slammed against the wall, his head taking a pretty good knock. A forearm pressed against his chest.

“Watch where you’re walking!”

It was easy enough to assess the easiest way out of the situation.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, throwing in a noticeable wince for good measure. People like this tended to back off faster if they felt he had learned his lesson.

It was annoying to be waylaid like this, but he kept that emotion absent from his face. He was much stronger than them physically and their attempts to hurt him were barely painful. With any luck, this one would get over it sooner rather than later.

“You should be, you redskin,” he yelled while poking the necklace.

F for creativity.

To stop from rolling his eyes he closed them in mock fear. Redskin was hardly the most creative slur that had ever been hurled at him.

But then the guy had the balls to spit at him.

Dwayne couldn’t stop his jaw from clenching as the spit soaked into his vest. Maybe he did have enough time to take care of this. Before he could make the guy sorry, a bloody hand burst through his soon-to-be-meal’s chest unexpectedly.

The hand retracted and there was confusion on the guy’s face at the gory hole in the center of his chest cavity that was pumping out a steady river of blood. Within seconds the body dropped to the wooden floor, dead.

Marko stood there with his vamped out face, shaking his hand to get some of the flesh out from under his claws.

“Racist dick,” he sneered. He turned to Dwayne, his features melting back to their soft human version.

“Hey man,” he grinned, waving.

Dwayne looked at him unimpressed. “I was taking care of it.”

“I know,” the blond admitted, sucking on his bloody fingers. “But I hate when they talk to you like that.”

Dwayne huffed but didn’t push the issue; the boys were all protective of each other, they were brothers after all, but they were extra sensitive with Dwayne. He appreciated the back-up most of the time, but in this instance, he was a little peeved that he had been robbed the satisfaction of the kill.

He toed the corpse with the bottom of his boot. “You made the mess, then you clean it up.”

Marko pouted but didn’t argue.

Dwayne patted the cash to settle himself. “I have somewhere to be.”

“Go. I got it. And don’t worry, we’ll find you someone to eat,” Marko waved him off.

He slapped the blonde vampire on the shoulder and left him to it.

A small bell jingled when he pushed the door open to the front office of the garage. A teenager with kinky hair was working the desk. He pointed at Dwayne’s choker.

“Cool necklace,” he complimented genuinely.

Dwayne nodded his head in thanks and watched the kid go bring the motorcycle out front.

The night was shaping up to be a pretty good one. He was getting his bike back, his new jewelry looked good, and his friends would have someone waiting from his to eat when he joined back up with them.

Yeah. A pretty good night indeed.

_______________

Thanks for reading!

I wanted to get this out in November since it’s Indigenous Heritage Month and a decent amount of fans headcannon Dwayne as being Native. Or at least not strictly white. Tribes had a Red Power Movement following Civil Rights era so I imagine this sometime in 1970.

Also partly inspired by how the boys jumped to defend Dwayne in the opening scene of the movie.

#the lost boys #the lost boys dwayne #imagines

34 notes · View notes

catlordewrites · 4 years

Text

Where the Roses Grow: Chapter Two

The compound on Arvala-7 didn’t house one bounty, but two. Elsi Nokk is an enslaved nanny with more than a few tricks up her sleeve. She’ll do anything to protect her charge, even if it means standing against - and then with - a certain Mandalorian. Rated M.

This story can also be found on fanfiction.net and Ao3.

@killtherandomness

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Mild violence, strongly implied child abuse, slavery and associated themes.

Chapter One - This Chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter Two

It was hot.

The walk hadn't started out horribly. Despite her trepidation, she was still able to appreciate a change in scenery after being penned up in the compound for so long. Thankfully, they'd only been in direct sunlight for about a half hour. After that, they walked in the shade offered by the maze of shallow canyons that stretched out around the compound in every direction.

The baby was having the time of his life. He perched in his bassinet, happy as a clam as he watched lizards skitter in and out of cracks. Life in the compound had been boring for Elsi, but it had been even more frustrating for him. Elsi had done everything in her power to keep him entertained and happy, but a child needed more than his nanny to play with while locked in the same building for so long.

There had been so many games of hide-and-seek.

To him, the change in scenery was magical. He would communicate this to his caretaker, who would humor him by nodding and forcing a smile. He also tried talking to his new friend - the Mandalorian - who ignored him entirely.

Elsi, mindful of annoying a new master - even if it was only a temporary arrangement - had to repeatedly reinforce their little 'be quiet' signal. Each time she held her finger over her lips, the baby would dutifully copy the motion and fall silent, only to forget a minute or so later and go back to chittering for attention.

Not that she blamed him. Their joint existence had been a lonely one.

. ~0~0~0~

Elsi didn't dawdle.

'Daddy's special quests', as Hetta so eloquently put it, was a not-so-discreet euphemism for 'Underworld Contacts'. Like almost every nobleman that managed to cling to power through the rise of the Empire, Lord Burkisn made deals - most under the table, some not - with Imperial officials and dealers. Elsi didn't hold it against him; he was a politician, and that's what politicians did. But now that the Empire had fallen, Lord Burkisn was scrambling to appease the New Republic while still managing old promises.

Although the Empire was technically gone, the power and influence of the Imperial Underworld remained. When an Empire Remnant called in a favor, you did your best to accommodate.

Elsi's soft shoes were soundless on the shiny tile floors as she bustled through the ornate halls, keeping to the walls in order to avoid other servants and the odd protocol droid that bumbled past.

Lord Burkisn had a wide range of servants in his household - approximately a third of them were slaves. Droids could do a slave's work, but weren't nearly as fashionable. House slaves were much harder to replace; you couldn't program them or fix them when they broke. They had to be taught. Fed. Like most pets: a potentially expensive long term investment.

She bypassed the main study - where New Republic representatives were often hosted - and down a set of stairs into the lower levels of the house. Lord Burkisn's private study was well-cushioned and unassuming, but Elsi couldn't help but feel the very air had been tainted by the people that had been hosted there over the years.

If you thought there was nothing worse than a nobleman that both owned slaves and had the gall to manipulate the New Republic system into letting him keep them - you'd be very wrong.

The prospect of a baby was troubling. Why would Underworld entities have a baby in the first place? Let alone a sick baby? Even then, why the hell were they bringing it to HER? Surely they had deep enough pockets to buy their own doctors and nannies to care for it.

She reached the polished oak door and took a moment to straighten out her cotton dress, ensuring she was prim and every hair was in its proper place. This gave her a moment to eavesdrop.

The conversation came in bits and pieces, muddled by the door.

"... Hays Minor. They won't…"

"...sold… from spice dealers on… delivery."

"We couldn't take it to… when it's…"

Lord Burkisn's voice rose above the others, shrill and irritated. "Where the hell is that damn nanny? I paid twelve thousand credits for that overpriced whore…"

Elsi grimaced, realizing that she'd already pushed her luck too far, and knocked.

"Enter!"

Elsi eased her way into the room, head down with her eyes politely on her toes, hands folded chastely in front of her.

"About fucking time," he swore at her, which wasn't out of the ordinary. However, it WAS uncharacteristic of him to do so in front of business associates. Lord Harl Burkisn was tall and on the back side of middle aged with charmingly light blue eyes, chestnut hair streaked with grey at the temples, and impeccable jawline; handsome, really. He took great pride in his appearance. His usual suave, put-togetherness was a huge part of his professional image. "What took so long?"

Elsi lowered her head further in the perfect imitation of shame. "I came as soon as I was told, sir."

He growled under his breath, "Hetta…"

Elsi did nothing to confirm or deny the inference.

Thankfully, Burkisn moved on. He flicked his fingers to summon her closer. She obeyed without question.

Though her eyes were down, she quickly surveyed the room through her eyelashes. Her master was accompanied by two other men, a human and a twi'lek. They were reasonably well-put together, but their dark, closefitting clothes suggested mercenaries, not anyone high-ranking. They were all looming around Lord Burkisn's desk, upon which sat a large metal storage container.

Lord Burkisn led her to it and gestured for her to peer inside.

When Hetta had said that there was a baby, Elsi had assumed that it would be the child of another nobleman - perhaps a bastard that they didn't want their spouse to know about and were secreting away to live somewhere else.

She couldn't have been more wrong. Or confused.

It was a child, alright. A tiny green baby with massive bat ears held flat against a dirty brown sack of an overcoat. It was short, squat, and unlike anything Elsi had seen before.

The little creature was beyond pitiful; curled up in on itself like it was trying it's hardest to be swallowed up in the dirty sack that it wore, which was already much too big for it. It sat with its back to it's audience, pressing the front of its tiny green body into one corner of the box like it desperately wanted to hide.

It was awfully, awfully still.

Elsi's heart broke for it. She looked to her master for instructions.

Lord Burkisn seemed troubled. "Can you care for it?"

Elsi didn't like making promises. "I've cared for many children."

He scoffed and dragged a hand through his hair, making it stick out in every direction. "Yes. Yes. But this one?"

"I don't see why not. But…" She hesitated. "Is it alive?"

Burkisn whipped back around to study the child more closely. His eyes glittered nervously as his less practiced gaze caught what Elsi had seen at once: the unnatural stillness, how quiet it was. Children weren't supposed to act like that.

He turned and fixed the two couriers with a glare.

"Err…" The twi'lek shuffled nervously, very much out of his comfort zone. "Should be…"

"When did you last check?"

"This mornin'," the human said defensively. "It's been sluggish since we got it, but it hasn't done much since midweek. It just sits and stares."

"What changed then?"

"Nothin'! We kept in the landspeeder, just like always - "

"On Hays Minor? It's freezing there! And you just left it in the speeder?" Burkisn accused, dark eyes thunderous with disgust. "This precious, EXPENSIVE asset? And you've treated it so carelessly? Can you even BEGIN to understand what they'll do to m… to YOU… if it perishes? Do you change it? When's the last time it had anything to eat? Have you bathed it recently?"

Rich, coming from a man that hadn't done any of those things for a child in his life. Elsi wasn't fooled by the righteous tirade. It had nothing to do with the baby's welfare.

"Is it alive or not?" He went on to demand. He was worried. While coming to the 'rescue' of something valuable could be beneficial, having the asset die while under his roof would be very, very bad indeed.

The courier closest to the crate reached out a gloved hand and gave the box a sharp shake. Elsi was no stranger to cruelty; her expression didn't change.

The baby gave a barely audible squeak as it was loosened from its makeshift safe spot. Other than that, it's only response was to weakly shift to press its face back into its corner.

"See?" The twi'lek said triumphantly. "It's alive."

The poor thing was half frozen. Lonely and terrified. No wonder it was sick.

Elsi grit her teeth, anxious to be rid of the other adults so she could take over.

"If it's sick, shouldn't we take it to a medical facility?" The human courier piped up. His eyes ghosted over Elsi's form appraisingly. "No offense, but why're we just giving it to a house slave?"

Burkisn sniffed. "You've lost the right to make those decisions. And do you think I'd let my daughter, my own flesh and blood, be cared for by any less than the best?" He prodded Elsi roughly in the shoulder. "Your credentials."

Elsi's collar felt tighter than usual. It was the same practiced spiel she'd given to potential buyers since she was twelve, and she delivered it with less emotion than a droid. "Educated by the Flirkgen Order of Servitude, First Class. I am trained in all forms of childcare from birth to adulthood, including, but not limited to: childbirth, nursing, emergency first aid, education, and nutrition. To date, I have cared for…"

Burkisn silenced her with a wave of his hand. "You see? We can't risk calling for a doctor, anyhow. The asset doesn't exactly blend in, does it? And if they found out it…"

He cut himself off. Elsi didn't bother wondering who 'they' were.

"Can you care for it?" Burkisn repeated. "Nurse it back to health?"

"I'm not a doctor, master," Elsi said warily. She wouldn't know the full extent until she'd had a chance to look it over properly, but the poor creature already seemed half dead to her. "But I will certainly do my best."

"Good. It's settled." He clapped his hands with an air of finality. "You'll make it your top priority. All of your other duties are suspended till further notice."

That was fine by her, so long as she didn't have to be the one to tell Hetta. The child did NOT like sharing anything, especially the slaves that were at her beck and call. There were other childminder's in the household that were more than qualified to care for the master's child, but none of them were Elsi.

Elsi bowed deep. "Yes, master."

We waved her away. "Take it, then. I'll inquire later as to your progress."

With a final curtsy, Elsi bustled forward and picked up the crate, closing the lid in hopes of making the little creature feel a little safer. The metal was icy cold against her skin. Without a moment to spare, she hurried out of the room.

~0~0~0~ .

Elsi was exhausted.

The skin under her collar still burned, the already tender skin actively being rubbed raw by the collar every time she moved her head. Every muscle in her body threatened to give out at a moment's notice. She moved in constant fear that the next step would be the one to send her sprawling to the ground.

She wasn't sure she wanted to suffer that brand of embarrassment today. Not that she had much pride left after a lifetime of humiliation and servitude, but she already had enough to worry over.

She stumbled a few times, but didn't fall. She kept walking.

After several hours, their pace had begun to slow. With every step, a little of the strength she'd pretended to have was leached away. It took everything she had to put one foot in front of the other.

The Mandalorian didn't comment, but Elsi noticed how the brisk, utilitarian pace he'd originally set had dwindled to something that was clearly designed to accommodate her. She appreciated, yet hated it.

Being thought of as weak was usually a good thing. But it wasn't in this case because it was the truth. Being underestimated gave her an edge, one that - staring at the tattered, dirty cloak of the silent wall of armor that stalked silently ahead of her - she wished she still had.

The baby finally settled down, tired from the day. He sat in his bassinet, nibbling his cloth frog and peering out at the changing scenery. His dark eyes flickered as he sought out the lizards that occasionally darted across their path.

Elsi knew he must be getting hungry. She was, too. Their last shared meal had been that morning, and it was well into late afternoon now. Elsi was used to functioning on very little; years of being fed the bare minimum had taught her to ignore the empty gnawing in her gut.

She didn't want the baby to have to learn the same way she did, but had a feeling that the Mandalorian wanted to get somewhere specific before nightfall. The canyons weren't exactly the best place to spend the night. Too many places for an enemy to hide.

She would wait until then before asking for a brief respite to feed her charge.

As if to confirm her suspicions about the canyons, the Mandalorian suddenly came to a halt. He lifted a gloved hand, cautioning Elsi to do the same. It was unnecessary, of course, because she'd heard it as well.

A near-silent footstep. The soft clink of a rock being kicked out of place and knocking into another. A quick, panted breath.

Then silence.

Elsi cast a warning glance at the baby, who didn't need to be directly told to stay silent. The adults' sudden tension was more than enough. He gripped his frog tighter.

Elsi watched the Mandalorian closely, taking note of the tension in his shoulders, waiting for some kind of signal.

She saw the Mandalorian's hand ghost over his blaster.

When the first bounty hunter exploded out of the shadows, Elsi was already on the move. While the Mandalorian met the threat, both of them, head on, Elsi made a beeline for the bassinet.

Sand flew as the sound of battle echoed throughout the narrow canyon. The baby whined when she scooped him into her arms. She hushed him, giving him a little reassuring bounce before slinking away from the conflict.

The baby cried out, distraught. He'd tried to take his frog with him, but dropped it. Elsi cast a glance backward to see it lying prone in the sand, only a few meters away from where the bounty hunters fought.

She went on, melting into the shadows and through a passage in the canyon walls. Worst case, she could make him another.

Elsi turned twice down different paths before deciding they'd gone far enough. She leaned her back against the stone, tucking them away in a dip in the rock face. The sounds of the fight had faded, leaving the pair washed in a heavy silence. Elsi struggled to quiet her breathing, which rasped loudly in her throat as she fought to catch her breath.

The baby buried his face against her chest and grumbled.

"Froggy's fine," she sighed, tipping her head back against the rock and closing her eyes. "We'll get him in a minute."

From what she'd seen, the Mandalorian had been holding his own fairly well, so hopefully they'd be able to go back to the bassinet in a few minutes. Not that she wanted to go with the faceless hunter, but for now she preferred him to the others. At least she was almost certain that he didn't have any immediate plans for killing her or the baby.

Also, he had her fob. She couldn't go very far without it.

Suddenly, the Mandalorian was there. He appeared without warning, scaring the shit out of Elsi - though she'd never show it.

He was more or less unscathed except for a gash in his upper arm. It looked nasty, but he seemed unbothered.

His helmet ticked forward minutely. "You good?"

Elsi's response was collected and emotionless. "Yes."

The child chirruped to say that he was fine, too, thanks for asking.

The Mandalorian cocked his head slightly, then held something out to him. The baby's ears perked forward when he recognized the beloved patchwork frog sitting in the warrior's hand. He gave a squeal of delight and all but threw himself out of Elsi's arms to get it.

Elsi almost dropped him, but was able to adjust fast enough to prevent him from falling. With a weary sigh, she moved to place the baby back in his bassinet, which still floated obediently at the Mandalorian's elbow.

The baby hummed happily and snuggled down in his blankets, squishing Froggy against his cheek.

Elsi's quick eyes went back to the gash on the Mandalorian's arm, then lowered submissively, fixing on the diamond shaped indent on his cuirass. "Your injury looks painful. I can dress it, if it pleases you."

His shoulders settled back; in surprise, Elsi thought.

"It's fine," he rasped. "We need to keep moving."

Elsi didn't argue.

. ~0~0~0~

Despite the awkwardness of the box, Elsi took the steps of the narrow servants' staircase two at a time, doing her best not to jostle the baby.

She winced and murmured an apology when she accidentally bumped it against a wall as she turned a corner, feeling the occupant slide from one corner to another.

Elsi bumped the door to her room open with her hip, and then closed it with her foot. As the head child-minder of a prestigious household, she had been granted her own quarters. She was still a slave, so it wasn't much: a small bed, a fireplace, a couple of chairs, a minuscule refresher, and a table that was covered with her current sewing projects.

She swept the half-finished articles of clothing off the table without a second thought, no longer caring if they got trampled and dirty, then sat the crate gingerly in their place.

Finally alone, Elsi flipped open the lid. Now she was closer, she caught a whiff of what could only have been the child; an unpleasant mix of bodily waste and mildew.

A distraught sigh hissed between her teeth. Elsi cautiously moved to pick up the baby.

The baby seemed to know she was coming and pressed itself more firmly into the corner. She crouched beside the table so that she was level with the box, reaching out tentatively towards the cowering child to smooth the fuzz on the back of its head.

The baby squeaked weakly, somehow succeeding in making itself look smaller. Elsi recoiled. Time was at the essence, but the last thing it needed was to be frightened even more.

"It's okay," Elsi hummed in her most reassuring voice, the same tried-and-true one used to soothe nightmares. She settled back just enough to kneel in the chair and rested her forearms on the edge of the crate.

The baby whined.

"Hey, hey. Shhh," she murmured, reaching out again and brushing her knuckles gently down the baby's spine. It quivered. She repeated the motion, "It's okay. You're okay. Shh."

The baby gave a plaintive squeak that was muffled by the side of the crate.

"Yeah, I know you're cold," she crooned. "Will you let me warm you up?"

The baby didn't comment, but it did turn its head, daring to peer at her with dark, watery eyes. Elsi noted the crusty discharge that had dried at the corners. Then the dampness of its nose.

"Can I hold you?" She asked, holding out her hands to it expectantly.

The baby squeezed its eyes shut.

Elsi figured that it was the closest thing to permission she was going to get. She gingerly wrapped her fingers around the baby's middle and lifted. He weighed next to nothing; she could wrap her hands all the way around him. She immediately transferred him to her chest, tucking his fuzzy head under her chin. Tiny claws curled into the fabric covering her collarbones.

Holding him in place with one hand, she bustled around the room, humming softly for the baby's sake as she unearthed cloth diapers, towels, and wash rags.

She took the supplies to the refresher, where she spread out one of the towels on the counter next to the sink, which she then filled partway with warm water. The child was far too small to consider using the tub.

Careful to cradle his head, Elsi eased the baby down on the counter. His sallow green skin stood out starkly against the fluffy white towel. The child stared up at her blankly through half-closed eyes.

"We're gonna get you clean, m'kay? The water's nice and warm for you. Then maybe you'll feel a little better. That sound good?" She explained to him kindly, but he only blinked in response.

The baby was heartbreakingly easy to manipulate out of his clothes, making her suspect that he was used to being handled roughly. She made a point to be as gentle as possible.

"Do you like bubbles?"

Before his bath, Elsi wiped him down and checked for injuries. He didn't react much to the water, leaning heavily into the hand that was keeping him propped up while she smoothed his skin with the gentlest soap she had and ran a kitten-soft washcloth over his ears.

After, she wrapped him in a small clean blanket instead of redressing him. His tiny robes would need to be cleaned before she would even consider putting them on him again, and even then, they were past use.

She would make him others, but that would take some time.

She laid him against her chest, lifting one of his little three-fingered hands to her lips to press a kiss to his knuckles. Elsi toed off her shoes and settled down on her bed. The baby snuffled a little, but otherwise stayed quiet as she tugged the other blanket over top of them both.

He felt much warmer now, at least. Elsi nuzzled the top of his head, breathing in the gentle smell of flowers from the soap. The baby mumbled softly before blinking his eyes closed.

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep. Elsi rubbed her hand up and down his back. Pressed kisses to the top of his head. Stoked his ears. Hummed a lullaby. Then another.

It seemed that he had given up, but children could be dazzlingly resilient. As awful as he seemed now, he could be up and playing in a day or two. She'd seen it before. Hopefully, a little love and attention would be enough to breathe a little life back into the poor little runt.

She wasn't optimistic, but that wouldn't stop her from trying.

~0~0~0~ .

The trio walked well into the evening, not stopping until the canyons were far behind them and they were surrounded by nothing but flat, rocky plains.

Elsi saw the logic. Out here, nothing could sneak up on them. The Mandalorian would see or hear anything a long time before it became an active threat.

Though she appreciated the strategic value of the decision, she loathed the bounty hunter for forcing them to travel so far before resting.

The last of the sun's rays were fading below the horizon, painting the desert in a myriad of lovely violet hues. The Mandalorian chose a flat-ish expanse of rock to kneel down, producing a collapsible lantern. He set it down at the center of the space and turned it on, casting them all in an orange glow.

"We'll camp here tonight."

Music to Elsi's ears. She all but collapsed to the ground, disguising her exhaustion as productivity by immediately starting to dig through the russack bag. She found the water and two jerky ration packs that she and the baby would share. She uncorked the water and drank, nursing it to make it last.

"Muu?"

The last few hours had them walking directly into the setting sun, prompting Elsi to close the bassinet shutters so as to offer the baby some shade. He'd been quiet for the most part, but now that they'd stopped moving, he seemed to have enough reason to draw attention to the fact that he still was still secluded.

"Muuuu?" Muu? A soft, drawn-out squeaky sound, always turned up at the end like a question. It was the baby's name for his caretaker. It was cute, really. So much better than Nan.

Elsi forced herself back to her feet, ignoring the screaming of her aching muscles in favor of retrieving the baby. When the shutters peeled away, he rewarded Elsi with a wide, toothy grin.

Mood slightly improved, she got him out, but also tugged the bassinet over to where she'd been sitting: away from the Mandalorian.

The baby trilled conversationally at the bounty hunter, who continued ignoring him. In the time it had taken Elsi to get the baby and sit back down, the Mandalorian had removed his cuirass and sat prodding at its inner workings with a tool from his belt.

The baby was entranced by the occasional shower of sparks tossed into the air as the Mandalorian worked, but not so much that he was distracted from consuming every morsel of food Elsi placed in his greedy little hands.

She figured that she ought to hurry. While she was no expert on Mandalorians, she was vaguely aware of the limitations regarding the helmet. He hadn't been able to eat or drink all day, and while Elsi didn't really care much for his welfare, she knew she would if he became frustrated and decided to take it out on her. He could also die from heatstroke, which would essentially trap her and the baby in the middle of the desert.

Until a better option presented itself, he was their best bet.

Elsi didn't give two shits about seeing his face. She had better things to worry about than satisfying basic curiosity - especially curiosity that could end with him killing her out of rage. If he simply asked her to not look, she wouldn't. As her (temporary?) owner, he could also order her not to look, and she'd have no choice but to obey.

But she didn't think he would do either. The Mandalorian would probably wait until they'd both fallen asleep to remove his helmet; which was absolutely no problem for Elsi - she was already half-asleep sitting up. The baby was a little trickier. Elsi would have to make sure he was asleep before settling down herself.

Luckily, the baby hadn't slept much throughout the day. By the time he finished eating, he was snuggling into Elsi's shoulder, making the soft little grumbling noises he made when he was tired.

Elsi hummed to him, soft enough that only he could hear, rubbing his back in time with the melody. It was an old slave song, one she distantly remembered her mother singing for her when she was fussy and small.

The humming also kept the baby from hearing the sounds that the Mandalorian was making. Forgoing Elsi's offer to clean and dress the wound on his arm, he'd settled on cauterizing it with the same tool he was using to repair his armor.

It looked painful. She almost insisted that he stop and let her tend him, but then remembered that she didn't care.

Elsi tucked the sleeping baby in the bassinet, ensuring he was snuggly wrapped in his blankets and clutching his stuffed frog before she closed the shutters.

Confident that he would sleep through the night, Elsi lay down on the stony ground with the russack bag tucked under her head. Mindful to keep her back to the Mandalorian, she allowed her exhausted and abused body to finally rest.

~0~0~0~ .

42 notes · View notes

seizethesam · 4 years

Text

Ode to an Angel-Chapter 1

Summary: You had been alone in this apocalyptic world since you got seperated from your old group and lost your brother. You were on your way to an old metal factory in the hopes of finding your former group when a herd of walkers dragged you in to the woods. You took refuge in a hut, where you met him. You have got a long road ahead and some reckoning to do.

A/N: Hey guys! the first chapter of my brand new Daryl series is finally here. I wrote for Sam Drake for a short period of time and took a looong hiatus. But it is finally time for reunion. I hope you will all enjoy it. Happy reading!!! xx seizethesam

Pearing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

This chapter’s recommended song is “My Least Favorite Life from “True Detective” by Lera Lynn.

Youtube Spotify

---------------

"So he took his wings, and fled;

Then the morn blushed rosy red.

I dried my tears, and armed my fears

With ten thousand shields and spears. "

-William Blake

The forest was not acting on your behalf. Every tree you dodged was slowing you down, which was the last thing you wanted. The herd of dead was gaining on you, limping their ways towards your direction. You assumed that there were at least thirty of them —and let's be honest, you could not take all of them.

You were exhausted, the only thing you wanted the most right now was laying on a comfortable bed, eating whatever snack you would wish to have. But no... Those days were over a long time ago. Now the only things you had were starvation, exhaustion, loneliness, and a bunch of walking dead that were hungry for your soft flesh.

You had been trying to push your happy remembrances to the back of your memory for a long time now that you started to fear if you had forgotten them. Your mom, dad, brother—No, you would never- could never forget him. He had been your rock since the world went to shit, he had been doing everything in his power to keep you safe.

Now you were alone in god knows where. You were making your way towards the old metal factory outside the city where your former group could’ve settled when the herd came out of nowhere and led you into the woods.

You glanced back at the herd and saw that you have outrun them enough to catch your breath for a second. You stopped and leaned your back against a tree, trying to stabilize your fast-paced breathing. The loud growling of the herd was filling your ears and the smell of the rotten flesh was starting to water your eyes, making your vision blurry. For split second you close your eyes, take a deep breath to motivate yourself to continue running.

Growling sounds of the herd were exploding among the trees and meeting with your ears in a raucous matter. I need to move, now... The earth was rough under your feet despite your shoes. You could not remember how long you had been on the road like this; an excruciatingly uncomfortable backpack on your back, a gun around your thigh, and a knife attached to your belt… The blisters forming on the soles of your feet told you that it had been a long time, real long time.

You began walking through the dark green trees. The Georgian sun was shining through the tree branches, falling on your skin to warm your flesh. Your legs were failing to carry the weight, and eyes were struggling to stay open due to the lack of energy. You didn’t even remember the last time your belly was full let alone remembering eating something decent. For the past few weeks, your menu consisted of energy bars and crappy canned food.

Today on your lunch was half a can of beans and two sips of water. The sun was getting closer to its horizon as reddish sun rays reflected upon the shiny green tree leaves, the scenery imitated a thousand sunsets all at once. Your heart leaps up at the beauty of the moment. There still are good things. That was what you wanted to believe.

“There still are good things” you whispered to yourself, a faint smile appeared on your lips as you admired the view.

While drinking the beauty of the wild, reckless nature, you spotted a brownish-black silhouette from the corner of your eye. When you turned your head towards the figure, you could not help the soft chuckle. It was a cottage. Without thinking twice, you made your way towards the small wooden building which looked like a single room shelter built for hunting trips. You stopped your tracks at the front of the tiny porch. There could be walkers inside, or maybe people.

You needed to be smart, careful, and needed to make most of your weapons; A 9mm with two bullets in its clip, and a hunting knife. You still did not trust yourself with the gun, but you could handle your knife just enough, enough to keep you alive this far.

Slowly you approached to dusty stairs of the porch, carefully you stepped on the first stair. It did not squeak. You take two more steps for the other two stairs. When the last wooden step raised a surprisingly loud squeal, you heard a familiar snarl inside the old shed.

Automatically your hand reached for the handle of your knife, taking it out of its holster. You raised the knife in front of you with a defensive pose and slowly made your way towards the tiny window near the door. The window was failing to serve its purpose as it was covered with dust and dirt, you could not see through it. If there was an unfriendly person inside, he could see you wiping the window. You crossed looking through the window off the list.

You leaned your back against the wooden wall, held your breath, and just listened to what was inside, but you didn’t hear anything other than the dead’s annoying snarl. After a few moments, deciding that there is only one biter inside, you reached for the doorknob.

To your surprise the door was not locked, so you gladly stepped inside. Across the door was a sofa slightly covered with dust, and to your left was a small counter with two small cabinets behind it. The tiny area on the left resembled an unfunctional kitchen, but still, it was something. There behind the counter, a walker was standing, mindlessly trying to move but hitting against the wall.

When you entered the cabin, it turned its attention to your direction and took a few shambling steps towards you. Your knees were shaking, heart pounding against your ribcage. Being face to face with a walker in a tiny space as this cabin sent shivers down your spine. Just like he had taught me, no time to be scared. With that thought, you wrapped your hand around the biter's neck and pushed it against the wall as a contained gruff escaped your mouth, carefully maintaining it at arm's length. You forced the knife with your other hand to its dirty, glassy grey eye, and towards its brain. The moment that its brain had greeted your knife, the body fell on the ground with a thud, allowing you to let out a comforting sigh.

Without wasting any time, you moved to the kitchenette hoping to find something to eat, but more importantly, water. Your half bottle water was not going to last any longer than a day, even though you were drinking no more than needed.

You started with the drawers beneath the counter. In the first drawer were rusty scissors and four pieces of nail. The second drawer- empty. The third times the charm- empty. The fourth drawer, well the fourth drawer was bliss. There were two cans of mushroom soup, a can of cooked rice, and a whole bottle of water that will help you another two days. You persisted with the cabinets, but your luck did not. You only found a short black worn-out rope, you did not know how to use it, yet you took it anyway.

You laid all your belongings on the counter deciding on an inventory check. All you had were five canned food including the new ones, two energy bars, a full bottle of water and your half-full bottle, a pack of tampons, rope, a flashlight, half a box of painkillers, one roll toilet paper, toothpaste and toothbrush, a detailed map of Georgia, a box of matches, a swiss knife, sterile compress, a hunting knife, a gun, and two bullets. If you did not return to the highway of anywhere near the city, you would not make it any more than three days in the woods. The city was dangerous but there was more chance of finding food and water.

You put your stuff back to your backpack without wasting any more time. You locked the door of the cabin and dragged the body of the walker to another corner. The stench was not unbearable but still uncomfortable. You did not have any other choice other than keeping it here. Otherwise, there was a chance that someone with ill intentions could spot the body and assume that someone was inside the cabin. You could not take that chance. After securing the door, you slowly turn to the dirty sofa, its designs are no longer recognizable because of the dirt.

You lightly took one of the cushions and turn it over to reveal the clearer side. It had brown and red plaid patterns. You could not help but remember the similar ones from your family's house. It was just like the sofa that you and your older brother used to play card games. Your heart sinks at the thought and you turn the other cushion as well.

When it was all done and well, you laid on the sofa letting out a deep sigh. Your feet hanged from the end of the sofa and instantaneously all the exhaustion of the past few days sat on your whole body like an ox as your eyes slowly gave in to sleep.

"No! One more!" thirteen-year-old you shouted at the older brother. He had just returned from college for the summer break, "You think I'm cheating?" he said disapprovingly.

"I know you're cheating," you said raising one brow at your brother. "You haven’t lost a game since we started."

"That's 'cause I'm a pro. Don't be such a sore loser," he said mockingly. He got up from his seat and made his way towards his old room, while you were venting to your mother about the game. A few minutes later he exited the room with one hand hidden behind his back.

" Whatcha got there? " You asked. He revealed his hand and swung a little red piece of rope. "Here, take this," he said giving you the piece. "For your luck," You took it from his hand and realize that it was a bracelet with a four-leaf clover in the middle.

"Very funny," you said smiling at the older boy, "Help me with it."

He grasped the tiny piece of rope and gently tied it to your wrist. You lifted your head to face him, he was much taller than you now.

"So much for a cheater," you said with a grin.

Throughout childhood, you and your brother were as close as a brother and a sister could be. But you had never known what your brother thought, what was going on his mind, his dreams.

You abruptly opened your eyes to see a man towering you with his tall figure. He was wearing a sleeveless flannel shirt and dirty, ripped pants that seem a little big for his figure. His one foot was on the small coffee table and had a crossbow aimed at your face. Shit. His piercing stare was making the situation even more fearful for you. Your heart was pounding like a drum set in a rock concert when you raised your arms to level your head in a surrendering pose. He still did not speak but you spotted a change in his stance. He must've noticed that you were afraid as he hesitantly lowered his crossbow just an inch, his shoulders stiffened.

"Look, um…I-I don't want any trouble," you say when the man maintained the silence. His eyes were fixed on yours; it was almost like he was trying to read your thoughts. "You can take whatever…" Silence. "I don't have much, but…" You were slowly sitting up.

"Stay put!" he finally spoke. His voice sounded like more of a gruff, demanding but not a yell." Put your gun and knife on the table,” he said pointing at your gear.

"No-I'm j-" you refused to give your gears that have been keeping alive.

"Ain't gonna ask again," his voice was dangerously low. It was then you realized that he had a southern accent.

"Okay," you say with a voice no louder than a whisper, and reluctantly put the knife and the gun on the table. He took and tucked them in his belt after checking the clip. He completely lowered the crossbow and made his way towards the kitchenette with hurried steps. He quickly checked the cabinets before he moved towards the drawers, in which you had left three of your canned food. He stopped for a second, then continued. You could tell that he was filling his bag with your food.

"The hell ya doin' here?" he asked you, still busy with the bag.

"What?" You don't understand why he was curious all of a sudden.

"Ya alone in tha' woods just with two bullets." he said disbelievingly.

" I was on the main road when a herd dragged me here," you said not knowing if it is safe to share your plans with a total stranger. "I was waiting for the herd to spread out."

He let out a growl as a response, but you couldn’t really figure out it meant.

"Do you know how I can go to the old metal factory,” You debated for a moment whether to ask him where the factory was. Your former group had always talked about moving somewhere outside the city where they could be away from the walkers and draw in more survivors.

"What's there?" he asked drawing his eyes from his bag to you.

"I-I don't know," you genuinely did not know what to expect from the factory, but you were willing to give it shot. This was the least you can do for your brother. He moved away from the counter when he was finally finished and stopped on his tracks to get a good look at you.

You hadn’t seen yourself for a long time, but you could guess how bad you looked; greasy hair to the tips, hollow cheeks, dark under eyes, skin covered with dirt and blood…

"Ya ain't too far", he finally said and made his way to the little window. "About twenty miles south, down this way" he continued pointing his finger out the window. “Ya got a map?” he asked.

You nodded as you slowly took out the map from your backpack, laying it on the table. He knelt down across you and began to examine the map. After a few seconds, he traced a route with his index finger.

“Ya need to go over tha’ river, there should be a bridge,” he said. This man just had taken half your food and now he was helping you. You did not know why but you were not interested in questioning his kindliness.

At this point you didn’t even know who to trust, this man could even lead you into a trap for that matter. But you knew that the factory would be somewhere near the area he was showing you.

“Thank you,” you said turning your head to face him.

He got up from his knees as he let out a humming sound as a response.

--------------

“Ya gonna need more than just two bullets if ya gonna take tha’ route,” he said putting your gun and knife back on the table and left the cottage closing the door behind him.

Chapter 2

Author’s Note: The first chapter is here you guys! I must admit that it is a little longer than I’ve planned but please bear with it. I hope you all enjoyed reading it. It feels so great to finally share something with you. Feedback is always appreciated. Please send me your opinions about the story.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead #reader insert #negan #rick grimes #the walking dead imagine #daryl dixon icons

83 notes · View notes

itseivwhore · 4 years

Text

|Ezio Auditore x reader|(Modern)

I was at the beach for an entire day,from morning until evening:with the sun and the impossible heat (plus my pride and the thought of being invincibile to everything and everyone),didn't exactly help the stay...so I ended up to have billions of sunburns all over my shoulders and face (who would have thought...I've been spending 17 years at the beach every damn Summer,yet I never got such a bad sunburn like this one.Invincible my ass). And I was stuck on my bed,I couldn't even move...so how better to spend all this free time if not to write something?

Have a little modern au imagine with all of the Assassins,and at least but not last,with the reader comforting Ezio struggling and being a bit dramatic with the big sunburns he got.

Because I was annoyed,and it was the only idea I got.Oh and it won't be like all my other long imagines:this one will be quite short...maybe.(Oh x 2,I would like to point this out:the writing style will be a little bit different from all the other one shots I have written,since this will be a modern one,so don't really expect philosophical speeches).

~~~~~

Summer.

Probably the most awaited season of the year,where everything changes and the world takes on a new and youthful aspect:longer and warmer days,holidays,exciting and fun experiences,countless of new opportunities to spend free time with friends;maybe spending a few weeks in a beautiful house right in front of a lake,in the middle of nature,away from the city and its continuous noise...and this is what Ezio organized:three weeks in that beautiful large wooden house,where he would celebrate his birthday.

Everybody knew that the Italian boy had always-always-organized fantastic parties,with hundreds of people,inviting almost the whole school and all the people he knew,celebrating all night long.Everybody knew about his famous,big parties.But the group of his closest friends was shocked and amazed,to say the least,when Ezio declared that for this year there would be no big and crazy party:just a few weeks,all together,a sort of summer holiday,near a lake,in the middle of a forest.

And everyone,of course,expected that Ezio had rented an ultra-modern and very expensive house,but when they all arrived at the place of residence,they remained amazed:that infamous house,which the Italian had so long mentioned,was nothing more than a large,simple,two-storey wooden chalet.The outside of the house was surrounded by a thick layer of grass,decorated with many small colorful flowers,overlooked by large trees that partially covered the large lawn with their shade.A hammock had been tied right in the middle of two trees,and was slightly moved by the warm summer breeze.

The interior was spacious and furnished in a very simple way with wodden fornitures,and everything was more cozy and soft thanks to that small touch of vintage everywhere in the house:pendulum clocks,antique paintings hanging on all the walls,huge windows that illuminated immensely the large living room.The second floor was just where the numerous bedrooms were,as well as having a large and spacious balcony overlooking the majestic lake,giving a truly beautiful view.

In short,a truly delightful house,reserved and discreet,away from towns and cities.

Everyone,on the other hand,had found various activities and amusements to do:who,like Edward,Jacob,Ezio and Desmond,as soon as they arrived at the chalet,had lost no time and immediately dived into the lake,swimming and playing in the cool water;who,like Connor and Altaïr,had decided to take a walk in the woods near the chalet,looking for silence and peace,away from Jacob's screams,Edward's dirty jokes and Ezio's curses;who,like Evie and Arno,sat in the shadow of the mighty tall white poplars reading books,sometimes muttering something to each other;who,like Leonardo,spent most of his time painting the landscape around him.

Y/n instead spent the hours of the day alternating between being in everyone's company:swimmimg with the four boys in the lake,or walking together with Altaïr and Connor in the middle of the woods,or simply chatting with the two readers,or watching the painter paint his masterpieces.And,during the last hours of the evening,being together with Ezio,cuddling him,spending sweet and almost infinite moments with him,laying in the hammock next to him,laughing at his flirty comments,shivering at his reserved and gentle touches and blushing at his tempting and allouring glances.

The whole group was having fun,no one was bored,the days went by fast,and Ezio's birthday was getting closer and closer.Everything was normal.

Until...

"Santo Dio!" a heartrending scream of pain,coming from inside the chalet,interrupted the quiet of that mid-June afternoon.All of them had gathered in the large living room,standing around him.Curses and cries of pain had little to do with all that fuss:the real reason why the whole group had gathered in the living room was-as one might have imagined-for Ezio himself.

Once he was finally back from a full day at the lake,most of it spent sunbathing,everyone noticed how incredibly reddish his face had become-noticing however that he was wearing his t-shirt again.But he just shrugged it off,reassuring everyone by telling that it was 'completely normal',as if nothing happened.But the hours went by,and with them grew-more and more-the pain that became unbearable,impossible to ignore,the realization that became more and more vivid in his mind.And consequently,even his complaints and pain only grew:starting from barely audible groans to loud shouts,catching the attention of the whole group...who tried to do everything to help him,but in vain.

"Don't...don't touch me!" Ezio intimidated with a threatening voice,pointing a finger at all his friends who,a little surprised,a little worried-and even a little amused-were in front of him.

"Please,you need to take of your shirt off,Ezio!" Y/n prayed him for the umpteenth time in an exasperated tone,slowly taking a few steps towards the guy,spreading her arms,wanting him to understand that she didn't have any bad intentions.

"I don't need to do anything!Leave me be!" Ezio shouted again with eyes burning with rage,backing away when he saw his fiancée approaching him,his flashing gaze wandering quickly over all his friends' faces.

"You are shouting like a girl,mate.Quit it" Edward's loud,bored and singing voice came from the kitchen,too busy rummaging through the fridge to turn around and look at the poor boy.

"Zitto Kenway!" the Italian apostrophied him,panting heavily,red in the face,drops of sweat running over his forehead,while he walked quickly back and forth in the living room,trying to avoid the looks and comments of everyone.

"Be a man and take that shirt off,you are complaining for nothing" Jacob replied in a careless,nonchalant voice,passing next to Ezio and then placing a heavy hand on his shoulder,purposedly giving some loud pats:smirking in a purely amused way when he saw the Italian hissing and groaning in pain.

"Don't.Touch.Me." Ezio repeated in a cold sharp-edged whisper,violently swatting the Bitish' hand away from his shoulder,watching Jacob chuckling and throwing himself on the couch,sitting beside Arno,who was silently observing the scene.

"Ezio please,try to be reasonable" even Leonardo tried to persuade his friend,thus beginning to talk to him,sometimes even murmuring something in Italian,gesturing from time to time.

Desmond,who in the meantime had returned from the kitchen and was holding a beer in his hand,entered the living room,confusedly looking at Ezio for brief moments,and then sitting down next to Arno

"So that's what Italians are like when they're angry,huh?They shout and insult you?" he asked in a whisper,raising an eyebrow,trying not to be heard from him,receiving instead a furious look that,if he had the power to kill,the young Miles would find himself lying on the wooden floor,dead.Desmond simply cleared his voice a couple of times,then opened his beer and drank a few sips,turning to his French friend when he heard him hide a mischievous smile.

"Not only when they are angry.They're always like that" Arno said,raising a corner of his lip in a bitterly amused smile when he looked up at Ezio,seeing him respond to the artist in a rather nervous,impatient manner.Y/n,meanwhile,had gathered all the patience and strength she could have in herself;she knew that the boy could be dramatic when these things happened:she knew him too well,and she knew she had to use gentle manners with him,not forcing him to do things he didn't want to do.

So,walking slowly towards Ezio once more,with a small,pure smile on her rosy lips,she stopped in front of him,looking into his fervent,deep,dark eyes:and when his shiny eyes met and locked with her e/c ones,the violent fire burning inside his gaze disappeared immediately,returning to the warm,calm,soft brown eyes that she loved.She sighed lightly,looking up at him.

"You have to take off your shirt,you'll only make things worse" the girl explained in a serious tone,but not scolding him and,rising on her tip toes she grabbed his head,slowly took the sunglasses out of his hair,placimg them on a small table next to the sofa."Let me help you,alright?" she proposed to him with a sweet,loving,caring smile,starting to raise the edges of his shirt.

He couldn't do anything.How could he refuse the help of the person who endured him and loved him most of all?He simply couldn't.So he got help from her,but some loud hiss and painful groans,while she tried to get ridd off of that shirt,couldn't miss.Once the girl finally managed to get the shirt off from him,she stepped backwards,e/c eyes widening,bringing her hands on her mouth,staying silent in front of him,amazement and genuine disbelief that formed in her face.

"Oh my God" Y/n couldn't help but let out a shocked sigh at the view of his body:he was completely and totally red,to say the least,burned.Ezio didn't seem to perceive how much he had been burned also,and above all,on his torso and abdomen:but the pains and burns only increased when he took off his shirt.The Italian began frantically to ask questions on questions to his friends who,either too shocked,or too amused,didn't answer him.

Desmond suddenly stood up on the sofa and looked for Connor,who had been sitting on a chair with his arms resting against the backrest until now,and then beckoned him to come closer:

"Hey Connor...come here and stand beside Ezio" Connor,for as much as he was a little reluctant and confused,did as he was asked,got up from his chair,and walked to the center of the living room,stopping next to Ezio.

Everyone watched the two boys in silence,until the young Miles suddenly burst into a loud and hilarious laugh.

"LOOK!He's the same color as your shirt,you could blend in Ezio!" he exclaimed,pointing at the poor guy,looking at his arms and chest and then squaring from head to toe Connor,who was wearing a bordeaux t-shirt:and,not exaggerating at all,all of Ezio's skin in his whole body was exactly of that dark red color.This joke unleashed the hilarity of the whole group,who began to laugh loudly,who more openly and who adding more jokes,who giggling confidently.

"Cosa?Fammi vedere!Non c'è un cazzo di specchio in questa cazzo di casa?!" Ezio shouted loudly,looking around frantically, tarting to speak Italian -probably not realizing it because of the fury and embarrassment he was feeling at the moment-he started to rum around all the rooms to find a mirror in which he could see himself;leaving everyone alone in the living room,he ran to the bathroom,and after a few moments another 'cazzo!' echoed in the chalet.

He returned from the bathroom,mumbling lowly,keeping on cursing and talking Italian,panting,completely and utterly red,tired and angry eyes glaring at everything and everyone around him.

"What are you laughing at,Altaïr?!" Ezio suddenly asked angrily,turning to the Syrian when he heard him laugh silently.He did not even deign to turn around and look at the guy,he just looked over his shoulder,grimacing when he saw all the sunburns on the Italian's body,for then returning to watch outside the window.

"You are getting angry with everyone here.It's only your fault." Ezio took an expression to say the least shocked,when he heard Altaïr blame him so blatantly.

"Why should it be my fault?When I was about to take the sun cream it was empty" Ezio defended himself promptly and assuming an authoritative tone,frowning."And I really wonder who consumed it all" he added,raising his voice,turning to Jacob and glaring at him.All of them followed the Italian's gaze,and the whole group focused on Jacob who,still sitting on the sofa, looked around confused.

"What?It's not my fault if Evie is bloody pale!" he suddenly replied,opening his arms theatrically,pointing to his sister who was sitting right in front of him on another armchair.Laughing cunningly,he quickly dodged the slipper she threw at him.

"Yes,I agree,it's only Ezio's fault" Desmond agreed,taking yet another sip from the beer,getting more comfortable on the couch. "I mean,you are Italian,dude"he replied back,leaning forward and resting both elbows on his knees,giving him a disappointed look.

"And what does it has to do with it?" Leonardo asked,purely curious.

"Shouldn't he be used?You know,all tan,Italy' sun,the heat,Mediterranean people" explained Desmond with a careless voice,gesturing a little with his hands,receiving yet another frosty and furious look from the Italian.Ezio rarely did become nervous,there were few times when he became angry:but he was not offended with his friends or by all the jokes they were telling him;he was just annoyed,tired by the burning that was all over his body.The pain was so acute and so strong that he couldn't even make a single simple move.He appreciated that everyone wanted to help him,but he had to admit that all that talking,all that chaos,didn't help him at all.

"It's no one fault,okay?" Y/n said,slightly impatient,looking at the whole group and then giving a serious look at her boyfriend.But Arno didn't seem to hear her and,softly scoffing,put the book he was reading on the coffee tablet in front of him.

"Do I have to remind you that you yourself have said:'Oh I don't need the suncream'?" he replied in a decisive way,trying to imitate his friend's Italian accent at his best,looking straight into his flaming eyes.

Ezio remained silent,spechless:what the French guy said was nothing but the truth.Hours before,back in the morning,almost everyone-most of all Y/n-tried to convince him on putting some suncream on.But he didn't want to know anything about it,laughing and joking about how the others were so fragile in the sun's rays,bragging a little and feeling proud,proclaiming that he,Ezio Auditore,had no need of sunscream:and so,after swimming in the lake a couple of times,he lay in the sun,and stood there for hours,not moving,even falling asleep...only to find himself,later,in such a state.

"Don't be a smartass with me" Ezio threatened again,lowering his voice in a sharp sigh,pointing a finger at him.

"Otherwise?" Armo challenged him with his natural-old-boldness,quirking an eyebrow as he raised from the couch and took a few steps towards his friend.Ezio of course did not remain silent,to suffer the lecture of Arno,and began to respond fiercely against the provocation of the Frenchman.

"Can't we just try to solve this out without arguing for once?" Y/n suddenly exclaimed in a purely exasperated tone,putting herself between the two men and pushing them away,but receiving a hiss and a painful grunt from Ezio.

"Don't we have some medicenes here?" Evie then asked cautiously,interrupting the silence that had taken hold in the living room after the heated argument between the two guys.

"The only medicine it's alcohol" Edward answered blantatly,coming out of the kitchen with two cold beers in his hand. "Here you go mate" and threw one of the bottles at Ezio,who grabbed it quickly,looking confused and annoyed at the beer that the Welsh had thrown at him.

"I think we should go to the hospital" proposed Connor in a murmur,crossing his arm to his chest,taking on a genuinely worried look when he looked-again-at Ezio's body.

"Perfect!I'll drive.Let's go,shall we?" exclaimed Jacob cheerfully,clapping his hands loudly and smiling,excitement glistening inside his eyes,quickly taking the car keys from the coffee table.

"Yogurt," Desmond said seriously from all of a sudden,silencing everyone.

"What?" Y/n asked,wrinkling her eyebrows in a confused expression,approaching and kneeling next to him.

"We should use yogurt on these sunburns.It helps" continued the young Miles with a firm tone,showing to the young woman his phone,pointing at the screen.

"How can this help?" Altaïr asked in a skeptical tone,turning around and finally taking an interest in the matter.

"Yogurt refresh the sunburns,soften them and have a pleasant moisturizing effect" Y/n read aloud the information she read from the screen,scrolling on it for some more moments,for then giving it back to Desmond.The Syrian guy kept on giving a plain,cold and diffident glance at Miles,shaking his head in the mean time.

"Don't look at me like that,I found it on Internet" concluded Desmond showing his phone,for then shrugging,returning to lay his back on the couch.

"We can try.Do we have some yogurt left in the fridge?" Leonardo asked with curiosity,hoping for the best.

"If the big giant didn't eat them all..." Desmond joked loudly,raising from the couch,giving a playful pat behind the shoulder of his friend when he passed beside him,entering in the kitchen and opening the fridge.

"I only ate the coconut ones..." Connor justified himself in a low murmur,leaning his shoulder on the frame of the kitchen's door,lowering his eyes on the floor.

"You can find a lot of false thing on Internet though" the oldest Frye said,thinking about what Demsond read about using yogurt and other things as an help with sunburns.Jacob scoffed loudly,rolling his eyes in a dramatic way.

"Oh come on Evie!At least we'll be able to help that stubborn dumba..." but Jacob was suddenly and not a little violently interrupted by Ezio's loud and hoarse voice:

"BASTA!" the Italian yelled,making the silence return into the chalet and among his friends once his shout stopped echoing in the house.Everyone was motionless,nobody dared say anything,even Jacob refrained from making one of his jokes.Everyone looked at him in amazement,to say the least,intimidated,sometimes exchanging and casting fugitive glances.Ezio was there,motionless,eyes burning brightly,rapid breathing,red in the face,passing and placing his glare on everyone around him.

"Pasta?" Desmond asked confusedly,frowning and making a grimace.

"We are not going to the hospital,no one is going to put yogurt on me,I won't take any medicine!" Ezio proclaimed authoritatively,higly and stubborly denying any kind of help and refusing any kind of purposes.Taking his sunglasses from the coffee table,placing them on his head,he started to walk towards the door. "And you..." he stopped near the treshold of the kitchen,where Edward still was,before standing im fromt of the Welsh."You can keep your beer Edward" e,taking his hand,he forcefully gave the beer he threw at him before,for then storming out from the chalet.

Y/n-who since the moment Ezio began to shout had been silent as everyone else-was trying to reach him,but she felt a hand grasping her wrist and tugging her slightly,stopping her.Turning around,she found Arno beside her,his hand now resting on her shoulder,squeezing gently.

"Leave him be.He is angry,there's no way to let him reason now" he said to the girl,giving her a bitter and soft smile,nodding towards the window and letting her see that Ezio was outside,laying on the hammock...at least,trying to lay on it,for the sunburns he got all over his body didn't allow him to move,swearing and cursing for at least another hour.

~~~~~

A few hours passed by all what Jacob jokingly called an 'Italian tragedy'.It was late evening by now,almost midnight,and Ezio was still outside sitting on a chair near a wooden table not far from the front door:no one had dared disturb him,for fear of increasing his anger,or of unleashing something infectious.The Italian hadn't even come home for dinner,or for any other reason:he had stayed there for the rest of the day,first lying in a hammock,perhaps asleep,then sitting in a chair staring at nothing,occasionally trying to touch his shoulder or back to see if the pain still persisted.

No one seemed to care so much about him anymore.Apart from Y/n who,of course,was the most worried of all of them:she always turned her gaze towards the windows,trying to catch a glimpse of his form,trying to understand if he was still upset or if he had calmed down,but she certainly couldn't stand there,motionless,looking at him,doing nothing.So she decided to finally get out of the chalet,and try to let him reason,and calming him

Once outside,she gently closed the door behind her,looking for her boyfriend with her eyes,finding him sitting with his back to the chalet,eyes looking at the big,calm lake.The girl took a few steps forward,starting to walk as quietly as possible towards him.But he heard her.

"If there's somebody else then you all can go away," he coldly proclaimed in a loud and decise voice,not turning around and continuing to look at the lake.It was really a beautiful evening:sky full of stars,moon high in the sky,the water reflecting its dull and cold rays on its small waves,a light and fresh breeze made the branches of the trees move gently.

"I'll go away then" Y/n replied in a neutral tone,getting closer and closer until she found herself standing behind his reddish-shoulders.He turned around as soon as he heard her voice,looking at her in an astonished and tired way.

"You're the only person I want next to me even when I'm upset" Ezio murmured in a soothing,low voice,soft and warm brown eyes pleading her shiny e/c ones,her heart almost melting when she heard such a gentle,and utter loving phrase leaving his lips.Her Ezio was back.

"Vieni qui" he whispered,opening his arms,stretching an arm out,gently grabbing her by her waist and delicately letting her sit on his lap.Muscular arms wrapped around her form,pulling her closer,not caring about the pain that action was causing him,just holding her as close as possible,face buried in her chest,snuggling his stubble against her soft flesh,smiling against her skin when he heard her giggling.

She deteached away from him,looking at him before giving him a smile when,as she was caressing his cheek,he leaned his face on her palm,almost wanting to be lulled after such a long,tiring day.He opened his eyes after a while,fixing some strands of h/c hair that were falling in front of her.

"I'm sorry" the Italian whispered suddenly,giving his beloved a look full of guilt and embarrassment.One of the things Y/n adored about Ezio was his honesty and humility:he knew when he was wrong,he knew when to apologize and he knew perfectly well when to do so."I wasn't angry with you all...I was just tired and nervous because I got all thesw fottute sunburns" he explained in a serious voice,squeezing her hips.He could read in his deep eyes how purely sorry he was.She gave him a small smile,leaning in and leaving a chaste kiss upon his lips.

"I,we know,Ezio.No one is mad at you" Y/n reassured him in a soothing and quiet voice,leaning down to kiss him again,with more passion,paying attention to where she put her hands,so as not to hurt him.

Ezio still was whispering apologies near her ear,caressing her,kissing her,thanking her.But she got up from his highs after a while and,after looking at him seriously,the girl leaned towards the table next to them,holding an object that Ezio had not noticed until now.

"It's yogurt.Desmond tried to see if it could really help,and apparently,it could," Y/n explained,raising the yogurt jar in her hand and showing it to him,who in response sighed loudly and deeply,throwing his head back,almost looking in defeat.But despite his reaction,Ezio sat down composedly on the chair and nodded.

The girl laughed purely amused and,opening the jar,she took some yogurt on both hands,and began to smear it on his shoulders and on his red,scalded back;at first groans and hiss,his skin still too sensible and damaged,but after a while,when she started to delicately massage his shoulders with the fresh,cold yogurt,he sighed,relieved.He hummed,closing his eyes,throwing his head back.

"Quanto posso amarti?" he asked in Italian,sounding so hoarse when he-once again-groaned when her small hands slided down from his shoulders to his warm chest.

"Shouldn't you be giving a message to me?" Y/n asked him back in a sarcastic tone,leaning down,whispering that near his ear,hearing the entrance door being opened and closed.

"But it's my birthday today" Ezio answered in a mellifluous tone,claiming to be offended,giving a sad grimace to his lover,who just laughed loudly,for then suddendly returning serious.

"Who told you I don't have a gift for you?" Y/n inquires with a low and semsual voice,leaning more near him,her hands sliding down on his torso,almost tickling him,her lips on his definite jaw,feeling him almost shivering.

And just when he was about to answer her,he stopped when he saw all the others walking towards the table,singing the infamous song:it was,in fact,midnight,and it was Ezio's birthday.Jacob walked in front of everyone,holding a large pizza in his hands,on which were added candles.Once they arrived near the birthday boy,the British placed the pizza on the table in front of Ezio who,with happy eyes,looked at what was to be his birthday cake.

"We didn't have the time to go in the nearest city and buy a cake,so we make a true Italian pizza..." Connor explained with a ghostly smile on his lips,nodding towards the plate.

"For an angry,burnt italian man" concluded Arno with sarcastic voice,raising a corner of his mouth in a cheeky grin,smiling at Ezio.

"I tell you,we aren't even sorry" added Edward with a proud smile,placing his hands on his hips.

"Pizza cake" Desmond said,spreading his arms in a theatrical gesture,but Jacob promptly interrupted him,raising a hand and shushing the young Miles.

"We talked about this before,Des.It's birtday pizza.No discussion," Jacob replied,speaking seriously to say the least. "It is law!" he then proclaimed,roughly smashing his fist in the table,making the flame of the candles tremble.

Ezio heard Y/n laughing behind him,her hands were now wrapped gently around his neck.Pressing a long,chaste kiss on his bearded cheek,she whispered to him:

"The surprise has to wait"

~~~~~~

°°°¡TrAnSlAtIoNs!°°°

"Santo Dio!" = Good God;

"Zitto" = Shut up;

"Cosa?Fammi vedere!Non c'è un cazzo di specchio in questa cazzo di casa?!" = What?Let me see!There's not a fucking mirror in this fuckint house?!;

"Basta!" = Enough;

"Vieni qui" = Come here;

"Quanto posso amarti?" = How much can I love you?

70 notes · View notes