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mt-oe · 13 days

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its finals season (again..) and huge projects for classes right now. can we get a stressed reader x modern mizu where reader is like actually tweaking out? like I mean pulling our energy shots, shivering hands, 'gotta lock in', hysterically crying on snapchat video and sending it to their groupchat for moral support type of tweaking out and the reader is going BANANAS over all the final papers, and studying for finals and mizu helps comfort reader?? i hope this would be a silly little write but also helpful to anyone going through finals season right now. much love! xoxo <3

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Hey dears!

To start this, I am absolutely sorry for being gone for so long. I had my thesis defense, practicals, laboratory works, deadlines, and my finals all in the span of two weeks AND I fainted twice, got sick twice, and nose bled a LOT.

I was chugging 3 cans of energy drinks a day, eating one meal per day, sleeping minutes less than how long I showered, and smoked quite a lot. Someone even caught me sleeping on the fire exit stairs (istg so embarrassing ;;). Honestly makes me wonder how I'm not six feet under by now.

To those who are going through their finals, please don't follow my lead. Vomiting at 3am from how dizzy you are while some Sepultura song plays in the background is NOT the experience you'd think it was. Try to plan when you'll tackle your work and get some sleep as much as you can, on your free time, on your commute. I swear, answering tests are SOO much easier when your vision isn't spinning or tunneling.

Chose to do this request first to remind you all to take care amidst your finals (or as a reward if your finals are finished, good job dear!).

Hope you enjoy! Mwa mwa <3

warning: not proofread, my corny jokes, she/her for mizu, implied afab reader

Blue orbs watched as you cracked open another can of Red Bull. A small grunt leaving your throat as the fizzy caffeinated drink went down your esophagus. Was this your second? third..no wait..fourth?

Damn.

How are your blood vessels surviving this onslaught of caffeine you've been shoving down your system? She had no clue. But what she did know was that you've had enough. This wasn't healthy at all. Your lips were already as pale as the palms of your hands which were trembling to the point where you couldn't stop writing because that meant you'd feel the quivering of your hands even more.

The two of you had decided to slave off at Mizu's apartment for your finals. It was mostly Mizu dragging you there since your friends have been bombarding her to take care of you since she had the closest to what was considered a free schedule. T'was something about you freaking out and crying over the finals. She didn't have a Snapchat account so she didn't know.

Usually, she wasn't even interested in these stuff, but when Akemi showed her a picture of you with a thumbs up, holding a can of Monster, dark circles under your bloodshot eyes, tear streaks on your face, with the caption 'Boutta pull another Kay Chung tonight', concerned didn't even begin to describe what she felt.

Boutta pull a Kay Chung?

What or who was this Kay Chung anyway?

She knew you were a hard worker, probably one of the most studious people she knew, so she already expected you to be busy studying. What she didn't expect was the mess you were in.

The moment she stepped into your unit, cans of energy drinks, bottles of energy shots, cups of coffee, and random paper strewn randomly littered your apartment. The only source of light was your window and a small dim lamp you had.

Was that cup noodle container growing mold?

Ew.

It was like the Capital Wasteland in here, and she was the lonesome wanderer, awaiting the dangers to come.

And you were a radiated ghoul hunched over your desk with the emptiest gaze she has ever seen. Your head in your hands, as you scrunched your eyebrows together, trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with your equation.

Now she understood the bombardment of messages from Akemi and the others, and damn was she grateful for the heads up because you looked like you were at death's door and death... Death just thought you looked too pitiful to let in.

The two of you were now sitting on Mizu's carpet, books, papers, and gadgets on the smooth wood of the coffee table. In her mind, she thought a bit of companionship would comfort you like it usually did. But she was wrong.

The shaking grip you had on your pen and the occasional 'what the actual fuck?' or 'the hell?' already told her that you were too locked in to relax even just a bit. You looked like you were losing it.

Her eyes peered over your review sheet before she raised an eyebrow at how scattered your handwriting looked, numbers and symbols italicized to the left and to the right as if they were dancing and your solutions scattered. Add this value here..derive the formula there..problem 3's solution is somehow on the back of the paper even though problem 5 was solved on problem 1's spot. It looked like a shit show.

"What...problem is this for? You did it wrong." Her tongue clicking as a slender finger encircled a formula you derived wrong, making you look at her with a mildly bothered look. Your eyes tiredly scanned your review sheet, looking away to the side to blink the heaviness of your lids away, then looking back at it before letting out a strangled sounding groan, shoulders slumping back onto the sofa as you covered your eyes with your hands before looking at your own solutions again. "I don't fucking know..maybe it's for..umm..for..fuuuuuck," you sighed defeatedly, realizing that you couldn't understand your own handwriting either.

You wanted to strangle yourself so bad right now or like, strangle your professor until they give you a passing grade. Maybe the threat of arson would scare the university admins into passing everyone for the semester???? The prospect of being a sugar baby is starting to sound better than trying to finish this degree.

It wasn't like you were an absolute idiot. You could solve these problems no problemo. However, your vision was already lagging and tunneling. Whenever you tried to read the problem or your own handwriting, it was like your vision was hyper-focusing on one spot and the areas around it were...spinning or it'd focus on everything else EXCEPT the ones you wanted to focus on.

The amount of caffeine you had consumed wasn't even helping anymore. Instead of waking you up, you just felt jittery like a hyper-charged toy. Before you were sleepy and slow, now you were still sleepy but faster.

And when was the last time you even ate anyway? Was that moldy cup noodle your last meal? You didn't even know anymore at this point. You could barely feel anything aside from the fear of your impeding academic doom. Not even hunger was strong enough to stop you.

Mizu's eyebrows furrowed at how miserable you looked before sighing and pulling a sheet of paper out of her own notebook. "Here," she sighed out, sitting beside you and scanning each problem you had printed out before re-writing each question you looked like you struggled with. Her eyes occasionally glanced at you, unseen worry rising with every hitch of your breath and every twitch of your eyebrow as you looked at the questions she rewrote.

"Mizu..I don't want to do those all again," you groaned frustratedly, ruffling your hair own hair aggressively, strands falling to the carpet below. A hand held yours firmly, preventing you from tangling the ends of locks even more. "I'm going to teach you, dumbass. We can't have you failing and dying at the same time," she huffed, grabbing your calculator and placing it in front of both of you. She leaned closer to you, hand on your waist to pull you closer before taking the pencil and pointing to the first problem she rewrote.

"I'm not going to repeat my explanations, so listen well,"

...was what she said.

However, Mizu was a big softie when it came to you. Every time she caught you spacing out or having a hard time in general, she took her time and explained it to you again, even explaining it slower, simpler, or more detailed as needed. She really made sure that you understood the principle of the problems and the process of solving them, handing the pencil and calculator to you to make sure you actually understood her.

After a while, you were slowly starting to understand you earlier mistakes, and with her help, you were able to finally solve the review sheet. Thank god for hot smart women.

A look of amusement crossed her face as she watched you slump back onto the sofa with a loud sigh of relief. Shaking her head with a small lop-sided smile, she took the pen again before grabbing your laptop and searching for similar problems. "Here," she said, turning the device towards you. "Solve these. I'll be back in a bit."

You looked at her in confusion before letting out a tired groan. The exhaustion was starting to let itself be known through the heaviness in your lids. Another problem set was the last thing you wanted to do right now.

Oh wait.

Fuck, you still had to edit your methodologies and results, and you haven't even started on the discussion yet. Oh god...

'Better get started, I guess,' you thought with a defeated sigh. Muttering a string of curses under your breath, you picked up your pencil and calculator and began solving yet another set of hellish questions while the dark-haired woman stood up and walked off somewhere in her apartment. Silence filled the room aside from the aggressive scritching and scratching of lead against paper and the sound of clacking from your calculator.

Every now and then, Mizu would come back with something to comfort you. May it be a cup of water, a bigger pillow, a hair tie, or to charge your phone for you. She didn't really speak though, fully wanting you to focus on your work.

It was like her quiet little way of telling you that she was here and that she cared for you.

Amidst your problem solving, the smell of something being fried hit your nose, making you look up. It was a bit oily, but at the same time, homely and savory. Your stomach growled slightly at the smell, reminding you of that uncomfortable feeling of hunger that you were somehow able to ignore during your study sessions.

Just as you had finished writing your answers, Mizu came out of the kitchen with a bowl of rice and a plate of what seemed to be fried fish. Kinda burnt but maybe that's a charm point...or something. At least she tried.

She set it down on a clear space on the coffee table and gently urged it towards you. "Here," she mumbled, looking at you expectantly. You stared at the food she prepared, snorting a bit at the charred skin, some bits missing which obviously stuck to the pan while she was frying it. "Err..Mizu...?"

"Don't mind how it looks just..just eat, okay?" she groaned, sounding a bit embarrassed, a bit of pink dusting her cheeks. Her eyes looking away as her hand went up to cover half her face. You couldn't help but laugh a bit. Mizu? Embarrassed? God that woke you up, didn't it?

The sound of your laughter made her feel even more embarrassed but at the same time relieved. Your laugh was so fucking cute. She was glad that you were starting to sound a bit more like your usual self. Hell, you were smiling now. A big improvement compared to the face of misery you were making earlier.

Eventually, your laughter subsided upon the realization sinking into you. She really did all this just to take of you. Dragging you to her apartment, tutoring you, fetching things for you, cooking for you...

She really does care. Doesn't she?

Your hands picked up the chopsticks before breaking into the soft flesh of the food in front of you, picking off the bones before taking a bite. It was salty, the char even made it a bit bitter, and for god-knows-why, even a bit spicy?? But it tasted so good to you. Heavenly, dare I say.

As you continued to eat, bite after bite and scoop after scoop, the shakiness in your hands slowly calmed down. You couldn't help but look up at your friend who was now checking your answers, the ghost of satisfaction making itself known through the barely visible smile she had. "Mizu..."

She looked over at you, raising an eyebrow to indicate that she was listening. "Thank you for uh..taking care of me," you said shyly, giving her a small smile. A low chuckle escaped her throat as she shook her head slowly as if in amusement. "At least you're not shaking like a leaf anymore," she joked, followed by you letting out a small 'hmph!', making her chuckle yet again.

Though she wouldn't tell it to you right now, she'd be more than happy to take care of you anytime you wanted or needed it.

The sound of your pen tapping on the paper filled the room again as her eyes narrowed at your answers, checking it carefully. After a while, she handed the paper back to you, looking very much satisfied. "Looks good," she said, eyes watching the proud smile on your face. "How 'bout a reward?...Some rest I suppose?"

Your smile faltered at the sound of rest. "I can't...my manuscript is due in a couple of days and I haven't even finished editing my methodologies and results," you explained, opening the files for each of your chapters. "The data isn't even tabulated in the required format. It looks like shit."

She stood up from her spot and sat next to you, placing a hand on your head to pat it gently as she looked at the screen. Her eyes narrowed again while you scrolled up the file for her before she sighed. "Yeah, it does look like shit," she agreed before suddenly grabbing your laptop and setting in front of her. "Go and take a nap or something. I'll do whatever I can to...whatever this is."

"But Mizu, this isn't even your field. I can't—" She cut you off with a finger to your lips before gesturing towards the sofa behind the both of you. "Nap," she ordered firmly. You sighed before standing up and laying down on the sofa. You knew there was no use arguing. When Mizu makes up her mind, she's deadset on it.

Her eyes scanned your figure for a moment, taking in every curve of your body and the way your face relaxed. Then, she took off her jacket and draped it over you, before giving you a small loving pat. Before you could even open your mouth to protest, she immediately shushed you and turned to your manuscript, scanning over it.

Your eyes observed the way her eyebrows furrowed and the way her eyes darted from word-to-word. The sound of her typing and clicking filling the room, oddly relaxing you.

It didn't take long for you to drift off to sleep. And for the first time since hell week started, you finally relaxed.

No frustration, no stress, just...sleep.

You did nap for hours longer than expected though.

Don't worry.

Your methodologies were now updated, results properly formatted, and ideas in bullet points for your discussion were laid out in a new file. Even your references were fixed.

Damn, you really wanted to smooch Mizu reaaal hard after this.

#bes #bes mizu x reader #blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai x reader #mizu #mizu x reader #bes mizu #bes x reader #blue eye samurai mizu #mizu imagine #mizu x you #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x fem!reader

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jpitha · 7 months

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You can have a little lye as a treat

“I want to make Maya her favorite food, can you help?” Limmie looks over the table in the canteen at Peggy, the only other human she knows here.

“Uh, maybe Lim, what’s her favorite food? Also, you know that most human foods…”’

“Are toxic to me, yes I know. This one doesn’t seem to bad though? It’s mostly wheat. I can eat wheat, though I shouldn’t eat too much. It’s just wheat and water, some sugar, yeast and salt.”

Peggy thinks a moment. “Some kind of bread?”

Limmie’s nod is so vigorous her ears flutter. “Yeah, something called a pretzel”

“So… that’s not all that’s involved in pretzels.” Peggy stands. “But, I think we can work something out. Come on, let’s sign out a kitchenette.”

A few days later, Limmie comes to the kitchenette that Peggy signed out. They get it for a whole day, which surprised Limmie. “It’s just bread right? Why do we need it for a whole day?”

“Well, we have to give time for the yeast to work.” Peggy is wearing an apron that says “Let’s Get Baked!” And has a cartoon of a bread loaf with bloodshot eyes. She’s getting bowls out and arranging things on the steel table in front of her. “Her favorite is German pretzels?”

“That’s right. She said that she misses them because only her Grandmother makes them right. She sounded so wistful.” Limmie washes her hands, and as she dries them, Peggy hands her a smaller apron. On the front is written “Made from Scratch!” And has a cartoon K’laxi showing their claws. Limmie looks at Peggy who is trying very hard not to laugh. She puts the apron on and flicks her ears in a grin.

Peggy spend the time showing Limmie what to do to make the dough, but she doesn’t do it. It’s for Limmie’s girlfriend, so she does the work. She mixes the flour and the water and the yeast and while is proofs, Peggy explains how the yeast works and what it’s doing. Limmie leans in close and smells the yeasty smell and is amazed that human foods can get this… complicated.

Soon enough the bread has risen and been punched down and shaped and… Peggy is putting on a large rubber apron, heavy gloves and a face shield. Limmie stands back “Uh, Peggy, what are you doing?”

“Oh, the pretzels aren’t done yet, they need a Lye bath.”

“What’s that?”

Peggy’s voice is slightly muffled from the shield. “Oh, Lye is a human word for Sodium Hydroxide, a very strong alkaline chemical. It is quite caustic to organic tissue.”

Limmie takes an unconscious step back. “But, what are you doing then? You’re going to ruin our bread!”

“No no, this is an important step. The pretzels won’t look or smell or taste right unless we dip them in lye.”

“You’re going to DIP the pretzels into a strong alkaline solution?”

Peggy turns, holding another rubber apron, gloves, and face shield. “No. You’re going to.”

“This isnt’ a joke? You’re not trying to make fun of me for not understanding human cookery? You really have to dip the pretzels in that caustic chemical?”

Peggy lifts up her face shield. Her eyes are kind. “Limmie, I would never do that to you. I promise, this will make the pretzels just like how Maya remembers them.”

Tail flicking, Limmie takes the PPE from Peggy. “How do I put this on?”

“I’ll show you, come here.”

****

“Oh gosh Limmie, these are perfect! Where did you get them?” Maya’s eyes are squeezed shut in bliss as she chews the warm pretzels. “They taste just like the ones Nana made!”

“Peggy helped me make them. She showed me exactly what to do, but I did the work.”

Maya swallows and looks at Limmie, eyes wide. “You made these? You made German Pretzels with the lye bath and everything?”

Limmie falls into Maya’s arms and snuggles down into her chest. “Of course I did. I had to wear some personal protective equipment, but Peggy showed me how to be careful and she explained we needed the lye to get it just right. I wanted to make something just for you that I knew you’d love.”

Maya squeezes Limmie and strokes her ears. “They’re wonderful hon. Thank you.”

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #writing #jpitha #sci fi writing #humans and aliens #humans are space australians #humans are space capybaras #Cooking #humans eat anything #Pretzels really do need lye to get them just right

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powderblueblood · 6 months

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No.16: “if you don’t take care of yourself, then i will.” for Steve please

SENTENCE PROMPT TIME BABY

content warning: i don't actually know where this fits, but it feels a little conman!steve if you squint. there also might be a cum joke if you squint but i'm not sayin nothin for sure. mostly fluffy, a little sultry. hope you enjoy, nonny!

word count: 617

"One, two, cha-cha-cha, three, four, cha-cha-cha."

Steve's nose is nestled right behind your ear, his large palm resting right in the square of your back. He had descended on your place in a haze of low-voiced I wanted to see what you were up tos about an hour ago. You, for your part, had been elbow-deep in paperwork. Grad school won't apply for itself.

He took one look at your bloodshot eyes, bleary and half-closed from squinting at type and fixed you a Manhattan. Or as close as he could get to a Manhattan with your limited liquor supply-- which actually just ended up being an Old Fashioned, because who the hell keeps sweet vermouth on hand? But however he did it, however he shook it or stirred it, it was the best thing you'd let coat your tongue in ages.

Well. Since the last time you'd seen him.

The man knows a flavor profile.

One drink down, and you were sufficiently distracted enough from your pursuit of further learning that you let him convince you he could teach you how to dance. Despite your two left feet. Despite insisting you just have to finish one last thing. Despite not entirely understanding why he's here.

"Why are you here?" you murmur over his murmured instructions, feet only barely tripping over one another. You hadn't expected your voice to sound so sleepy.

You can feel his lips curl into a smile, right against your neck. A shock of warmth runs under your skin, so pronounced and pleasurable you swear he can feel it.

"To make sure you don't work too hard," he says, movements slowing to a sway. Good. That took a little less brainpower-- not that you had much to spare.

"'m not working hard enough, actually," you counter, eyelids drooping as his mouth presses ever closer to your skin. God, if he'd just pucker up, he'd be kissing you there, but Steve likes to linger. Likes to draw it out. Likes to make you ask.

"Bags under your eyes beg to differ."

"Hey--" you start, just as he reigns his neck back. You almost shiver from the absence of him. His gaze on you is heavy lidded, close and comfortable yet you crave him closer still.

"You are beautiful," he puts the point on, "but you are exhausted."

"I-- I am exhausted."

Steve runs his finger along your hairline; it's a gesture so intimate, given how little time you've known one another. Anyone else and you'd be wary, but he seems... genuine. An open book. No ulterior motive that you could possibly think of.

"And if you don't take care of yourself," he whispers, and before you know it, he's walking you backwards-- a languid step or two through your tiny apartment, towards your bedroom, "I will."

Nose to nose with him, you sigh. It's all you can manage, competing with the sensation of his hands on your hips, his breath warm on your mouth.

"Would you like that?" he asks, stopping against your doorframe. Steve's eyes have darkened some; he lobbies the ball into your court, so to speak. Say the word, and I'll go. Let you brew a pot of black coffee and get back to it.

He always gives you a chance to walk away.

You wonder why that is.

But he is, and you never thought this could be true of a person, irresistible.

Your hands, eager hands, rub over his shoulders. Your lips, eager lips, don't dare kiss him first. But God, you want to.

"Yes," you say, a whisper so high and fleeting that he'd miss it if he didn't catch it in his own mouth, "Yes, I'd like that."

#powder room talk #Anonymous #s. harrington by powder #blurbs #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #conman!steve x reader #possibly............

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tastybluesprite · 1 year

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Sick snow day (rottmnt x reader)

Hey, Hello, though it would be cute to write a fic with the turtle bros taking care of a sick reader. I was in the middle of watching a show but my adhd really said “this is more important.” Anyway hope y’all enjoy! I had fun writing this.

Also btw I think I wrote reader to be gender neutral so anyone can read it from their own POV but I’m not exactly sure to if there’s a mistake regarding that please let me know. As I am a girl I usually end up writing x reader fics in female POV.

Warnings: Fluff overload

Summery: Reader falls sick on their first show day and the turtles take care of them ❤️

“SNOW DAY!!!!” All four turtles shouted as they bursted through your apartment. Since you had moved in from Miami just a few months ago, right before winter, you had never seen snow physically and in person before. This was, in other words, your first snow day ever. This would be the first time you’d ever get to even touch snow.

“AaaaCHOO!!”

Well… almost first time.

The boys excitement got cut off the moment you sneezed. It was then they realized you looked terrible. Your face was pale and your eyes were bloodshot. You also seemed to be shivering.

“Ohhh no.” Donnie deadpanned as if to say ‘but of course this would happen’

“Oh boy… Y/n are you sick?” Leo asked nervously.

“Was it that obvious?” You joked, attempting to grin, only for it to be cut off with another sneeze.

“It seems that your body is still getting used to the change in climate.” Donnie commented. “It has been pretty cold for someone who’s only ever lived in mostly warm temperatures. I guess it only makes sense that you’d end up getting sick. Must be flu.”

“But what about snow day!!!” Mikey whined. “Now, now dear brother, our friend is sick!” Leo told him.

“Ugh, guys I’m so sorry. Maybe I can take a quick Tylenol and we can still go?” You asked hopefully.

“Not a chance, Y/n.” Donnie told you sternly, “if you go out in the freezing cold like this you’ll only get worse. You need to get warm and rest.”

You sigh grudgingly, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right… you guys have fun.”

“Woah, no way are we gonna just leave you here to suffer! We’re staying!” Raph protested defiantly.

“B-But..”

“Tsk tsk tsk, no if, ands, or buts, we will stay here to take care of you, and make sure you rest.”

“What about the snow?” You ask, “you guys seemed so exited. I’d feel terrible to keep you from having any fun.”

“Who says we can’t have just as much fun inside?” Leo demanded.

You look down, “Alright then, if you guys really insist then I suppose I can’t change your minds.”

And from there they all went right to work.

Mikey made his special ‘Jupiter Jim’ hot chocolate while Raph and Leo went to get blankets and pillows.

Meanwhile Donnie got a thermometer and checked your temperature, which read 102. “Wowzah! you have some fever.” He said with a worried surprise in his voice. “You’re sicker than I originally thought.”

“Thanks.” You mumble sarcastically.

“But not to worry Y/n, as I have the perfect antidote for your ailment!” He said with rare enthusiasm in his voice.

He got you Tylenol tablets and water, which you gulped down with some difficulty.

“We got blankets!!!” Leo cheered as he threw them onto the couch. You immediately grab the softest one in the pile gratefully and wrapped yourself in it, sighing with relief as your shivers somewhat lessened.

Mikey came in with the hot chocolate and placed it on the coffee table.

They all sat down on the couch, huddling around you, with you in the middle. Leo picked up the remote and began to switch on the TV.

“So what will it be Y/n? It’s your turn to pick.” Leo told you. You look around at the other turtles, who all smiled in agreement with Leo.

“Can we have a Jupiter Jim rewatch marathon?” You ask.

Leo’s face lit up, “coming right up!!!!”

You didn’t know what life would’ve been like for you if you hadn’t met these guys.

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cursedwriter · 3 years

Text

Dancing with your Ghost - Fushiguro Megumi

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist

Warnings: Deals with death, Megumi has various breakdowns, it’s just really sad over all... sorry for making you cry in advance!

Words: 4.9k

Author’s Note: Kind of inspired by this song: Dancing with your Ghost - Sasha Sloan // Also, when they dance, I kinda imagined them to dance to this: Technicolour Beat - Oh Wonder

“Is he still in there?” Yuji pointed at the door by the end of the hallway. Gojo was walking in his direction, his expression unreadable.

“No matter what I tell him, he won’t come out.” His voice sounded tired, almost worn out. The sight must’ve been hard for him to bear. Itadori gulped. He wasn’t sure if he could take it. “You should try talking to him. Maybe he will listen to you. We both know he would regret it if he missed the ceremony.” Gojo patted Yuji on the shoulder, hand lingering for a few additional seconds in silent comfort.

“I’ll try my best,” Itadori nodded, though, he sounded more hopeful than he was. This was going to be rough.

Soon after, Gojo disappeared behind the corner and out of sight. His shoulders were slouching and his head was hanging low as if he couldn’t walk upright. This was hard on everyone. But the person who had it the worst of all was…

“Fushiguro, can I come in?” Yuji knocked on the door three times. No answer. He tried again. This time more forceful. “Hey, Megumi! It’s me, Yuji! Do you mind if I come in?” Still no answer. Itadori sighed, but he pushed the door open anyways, peering into the dimly lit library of the Jujutsu Tech High school. Admittedly, he’s never been in here before. Yuji wasn’t really the non-fiction reader… or anything that wasn’t manga, really. But upon entering the room, he couldn’t help but gawk. The shelves were stacked to the max, piling up above his head in a seemingly endless supply of books. There were books everywhere. The amount of knowledge that was stored in here was immense. And all about curses and jujutsu? Incredible! Maybe he should’ve come here sooner. He bet that there had to be at least a dozen books about Sukuna here somewhere.

“It doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t make any sense.” Itadori was pulled out of his thoughts by the repetitive mantra that was coming from somewhere behind a shelf. He followed the sound that was mingled with quiet sobs and he had to force himself to keep walking. This was more terrifying than facing all the curses of this world together.

“Megumi?” He peered around the shelf, finding his friend sitting on the old wooden floor, frantically flipping through a book with yellowed pages that seemed to be falling apart at the seams. It must’ve been ancient.

“No sense, no sense, no sense,” he repeated over and over again as if that phrase was the only thing keeping him sane.

“Megumi?” Itadori tried again and finally Megumi’s head snapped up and he looked at Itadori like a deer caught in headlights… only way worse. His eyes were bloodshot with dark purple circles underneath them. A stark contrast to his sickly pale skin. Briefly, Yuji wondered if Megumi had slept at all since it happened. Tears were streaming down his face and it felt like they would never stop. An endless river of sorrow and despair. Yuji was sure he heard his own heart shatter in his chest as he looked at his best friend. He wished he could take some of the pain away. Even if it was just a little, but of course that was impossible. “The ceremony will start soon and-“

“That’s stupid!” Fushiguro cut him off harshly, his voice hoarse and quieter than usual. “Why would there be a freaking ceremony when she’s coming back?!”

“Megumi, she-“

“No! Stop it!” He yelled, throwing the book he was reading against the opposite wall. “Stop it! Shut up!” He pressed his palms against his temples as if he wanted to crush his own skull. “I’ll do it, you’ll see! All of you! You’ll see! I’ll bring her back! I’ll bring her back, okay?! I will – I will!” He repeated it over and over again and it was apparent that he wanted to proof himself right more than anything else. Maybe making him believe would help ease his pain? Should he encourage him? No. Despite wishing that he could provide some words of comfort right now, Itadori knew that false hope would be the cruelest thing he could offer. No matter how much it hurt, but Megumi couldn’t go on like this… searching for something that wasn’t real.

“Megumi, please. You’ll regret it if you don’t come,” Itadori tried again, picking up the book that Megumi had thrown away. He flipped through the first pages and he could already tell that the answers Megumi was searching for weren’t in this book. It was mostly about how sorcerers could reincarnate as curses if their dead bodies weren’t handled properly. If they died you had to make sure that the last hit was infused with cursed energy. Usually, that took care of things. However, if they died of natural causes, diseases or accidents there was a special ritual, a ceremony that made sure their bodies were put to rest accordingly. Kind of like a funeral, but then again, not quite. This was the ceremony Fushiguro refused to attend, even though it was highly valued among sorcerers. It was a way to pay your last respects, value their accomplishments and thank them for their sacrifice. He probably refused to go because that would make her death final and he would be forced to move on, no matter how hard it would be… and it was going to be very hard.

“SHE’S COMING BACK, DAMMIT!” Megumi yelled at him, reaching for another book that was stocked in a pile he’d built himself. The tower crumbled with the way he yanked it out, dozen books falling to the ground, scattering to their feet. It was eerily quiet for a second, Yuji didn’t dare to speak. The atmosphere so thick, he doubted even Maki’s demon blade could cut through it. And then, right when he wanted to say something, anything really to get rid of the suffocating silence in the room, Megumi started sobbing. Not like before. Impossibly, it was even worse. His whole body shook with the action, hands that were clinging onto the book were trembling and despite him hanging his head low, Yuji could see the frequent tears that were hitting the old worn out pages of the book, blurring the ink further, making it almost unreadable.

Hesitantly, he took a step forward, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Should he hug him? What could he even say? Should he call for someone? Gojo-sensei? Would he know what to do? Or Nobara? Or, wait! Y/N always knew what to do when it came to him… Oh, right…

Yuji slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. How could he forget?! It really didn’t feel real yet, huh? Itadori tried to swallow the big lump in his throat as he crouched down and gently took the book out of Fushiguro’s shaking hands. He looked so fragile, as if a single slap to the wrist could break his arm.

“I just don’t get it,” Megumi whispered. His voice sounded far away, as if he was underwater or as if Yuji had cotton in his ears, muffling his voice to a point where it was almost incomprehensible. “It’s just so unfair.”

Yuji placed the book on the ground beside him, skipping over the title “Resurrection and the balance of the world”, it read. He gulped again. Could it be possible?

“I know it is.” He laid a comforting hand on his shoulder and another muffled cry escaped Megumi’s mouth. Yuji had seen a lot over the course of just one year, but not once has he witnessed such utter despair. The sight pulled on his heart strings in ways he couldn’t even explain.

“She fought against the most heinous creatures every day and you’re telling me she died because some fucking asshole thought it was a good idea to drive while being absolutely shit faced?!” Some of his words were swallowed by his sobs, but Itadori understood him well enough. “I refuse to believe that! I refuse to accept that!”

Momentarily Itadori was thrown back to the moment they got the call, he remembered it all too vividly. The shock, the confusion and his scream…

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the nurse led them into the room. The air was chilly and it smelled like disinfectant. The stench so unbelievably strong, Megumi thought he might throw up. It burned in his eyes and nose and he distantly felt his cheeks getting wet. He couldn’t tell if it was because of the smell or of what was to come… at this point, it still felt like a sick joke, some twisted game or prank. Just not real, like a dream, a nightmare he would wake up from any second.

There was a single bed in the middle of the room, the body underneath covered by a white cloth. Gojo, Nobara and Yuji gathered around it, hands clutched together in front of them as if they were silently praying. Megumi hesitated. He stood in the doorframe, looking at the scene in front of him and nothing seemed to make sense anymore. Everyone was crying. Even Gojo seemed more tense than usual and he was sure he saw a stray tear slip from underneath his sunglasses.

The room was silent, except for the door falling shut behind him as the nurse left them to mourn in peace. This was a dream, right? A nightmare? How could it be anything else?

Megumi’s footsteps echoed off the walls as he hesitantly approached the bed covered in white sheets.

This is just a dream. This is a nightmare. You’re going to wake up any second now. Just wake up. Wake up! Wake up, dammit!

But he didn’t wake up. Not even as he reached for the white cloth. And he didn’t wake up as he slowly lifted it up. He didn’t wake up when everyone sucked in a sharp breath. And he didn’t wake up as Nobara’s knees buckled and she fell to the ground sobbing. He didn’t wake up as he laid his eyes on your peaceful but lifeless face.

Megumi didn’t wake up. But God did he wish he did.

He stood there for what felt like an eternity. Studying your features. How your hair was softly flowing on the pillow, how your lips were slightly parted as if you would wake up at any given moment and tell him something important. But he also noticed that your cheeks lacked their signature pinkish tint and your lips were more blue than their usual vibrant red.

His hand inched closer to your face, connecting to your cheeks and adoringly caressing it. It was cold underneath his touch. Your skin feeling more like wax than it felt alive.

No one said anything, the only sound was Nobara’s quiet sobs that she tried to stiffle to the best of her abilities. Everyone watched Megumi and no one knew what to do. Neither of them has ever felt so helpless. Even Gojo was rendered speechless at the heartbreaking sight in front of him.

And then, everything slowly started to sink in…

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s really gone! You’re not waking up! Why aren’t you waking up?! Wake up!! No, no, no. This can’t happen. This can’t happen. This isn’t happening! Tell me this isn’t happening?!

Didn’t I just talk to her this morning? Didn’t we talk about going to the beach as soon as it got warmer? Didn’t we make dinner plans? Didn’t she boast about a new recipe she wanted to try? Didn’t this just happen? And you’re telling me that all of that is just… gone? Just like that? In a moments notice… poof?! Evaporated into thin air? You’re telling me that?

“Wake up, dammit! Wake up, dammit! WAKE UP!”

Everyone stared helplessly at Fushiguro. At first no one knew if he was talking to himself or you, but then he started desperately shaking your shoulders, repeating the words over and over again. “We wanted to go to the beach, remember? You told me you couldn’t wait! Come back, and I’ll drive us right now! Come back! Come back to me, please! Please!”

Gojo couldn’t bear the sight anymore. The way he shook your body as if that would change anything. With a few long strides he closed the distance between him and Megumi and pulled him away from the bed. He was thrashing at him, screaming in his face to let him go, but Gojo didn’t listen. He gladly took a hit or two if that meant Fushiguro could get at least some of his frustration out of his body. To Gojo, the room itself was a hard place to be in – for obvious reasons. The energy here made him feel uneasy and on edge. The amount of cursed energy gushing out of Megumi was immense and almost unbearable. He had to get his emotions in check or else…

Megumi continued to yell and thrash. “Let me go, you bastard! Let me go! I need to see her! I need to see her!”

“I understand that this is hard for you, but you need to calm down!” Gojo’s voice was stern. This was probably the first time ever that he actually put on the façade of a responsible adult. Nobara and Yuji watched the two with wide eyes, but didn’t interfere otherwise. “If you keep this up, you might end up cursing her! Do you want that?!”

“Let me go! Let me go!” Megumi wasn’t listening.

“Megumi, snap out of it!” Gojo’s palm connected to Megumi’s cheek, his flesh burning hot where it had connected. For a moment, the room was silent again. Only Megumi’s labored breaths broke through the thick tension.

“You bastard!” Megumi launched himself at Gojo with all his strength, but that was exactly what Gojo intended. It was better if he directed all his energy towards him than having it leak out of him uncontrollably. Otherwise he had the potential of manifesting a new special grade curse that neither one of them wanted to deal with, especially if you were to be reborn as said curse.

Megumi stopped his relentless attacks, knees buckling under his weight as a single agony filled screamed echoed off the walls…

Megumi slowly opened his eyes. His head was aching, blood soaring in his ears. What happened? He looked around himself. The room was dark, only illuminated by the moon light that peered through his partially closed blinds. He was laying in his bed, the room a mess just like he remembered. That was unlike him. Well, ever since that day he hasn’t been himself at all. Now, he more or less felt like an empty shell, existing but not alive.

He groaned, sitting up while he rubbed his temples, hoping to get the relentless throbbing to stop. Ah, that’s right. A few flashes of the previous events reminded him of what had happened. Megumi’s frustration and anger had gotten the best of him and he started throwing books, ripping them out of their shelves and even tearing some of them apart when he couldn’t find the answers he was looking for. Yuji had to call for Gojo and he in turn had knocked him unconscious.

Megumi huffed. Great. Now he was probably not permitted to go to the library again. He should really start thinking before lashing out like this. No, matter, though. If push comes to shove he’d find a way in and if it’s the last thing he did. He didn’t really care anymore anyways. What’s the worst that could happen? Expulsion? That was nothing.

He peeled the covers back, his shirt sticking to his body uncomfortably. Maybe he should take a shower before he went back again.

Reluctantly, he got up and walked towards his bathroom, mindful not to trip on anything that was scattered on his floor.

Once he was there, he turned the shower faucet on, letting the water heat up while he stripped out of his clothes. His head was still killing him and his whole body ached. He shivered, even as he got into the shower and the hot water burned his skin. He was still cold. For some reason he didn’t seem to be able to get warm anymore, as if you took all of his warmth with you, when you left him.

“Ew, stop doing that,” you laughed wholeheartedly as Megumi shook his wet hair in your face after coming out of the shower. “Seriously, are you a dog?”

“No, but I love hearing you laugh.” Megumi wrapped his arms around you, pressing your back against his naked chest as you both watched your reflection in the mirror. “I really love you, Y/N. So much,” he whispered in your ear, not taking his eyes off the mirror. He could see the faint blush on your cheeks and he placed a soft kiss to the nape of your neck to emphasize his words.

“I love you, too.” The smile on your lips and the way your eyes sparkled with joy, filled his heart with warmth and light. He could bask in it for all eternity and he would never get tired of it.

Megumi turned the water off, still shivering. It was to no use. His skin was burning red, though, and the whole room was filled with steam and yet, he had goosebumps all over his body. His teeth started clattering as he dried himself and he put on new clothes.

The clock on his bedside table told him that it was three in the morning. He felt like he forgot about something… something important. What was it again?

And then his eyes widened in shock. No, no, no.

“Hey, look!” Megumi felt your slender fingers wrap around his wrist, your warmth immediately warming his cold skin. You tugged him gently and he followed you. It didn’t take long for you to reach your desired destination and you stopped, eyes shining with awe in them as you watched over the city, lights sparkling and illuminating the darkness. Megumi couldn’t deny that the view was breathtaking, but he couldn’t keep his eyes from constantly looking at you instead. The way your face lit up, the way the lights danced on your face and how your cheeks were always tinted in their usual pinkish color, made him fall for you all over again. His heart hammered in his chest and his pulse picked up. Butterflies assaulting his stomach in the best way imaginable and he felt like he was floating above ground. Never has he felt so happy. “There! It’s starting!” You beamed at him as the first flash of light painted the night sky in a bright blue color, then it changed to red and then green. The sound of other fireworks being set off rang through the otherwise silent night. Here, on top of the mountain away from anyone, it was the most peaceful place he could imagine. But he wasn’t sure if it was only because of the view and the fact that no one was around or if it was because you were here. Whatever it was, he didn’t dream to fight it. The feeling so foreign yet so welcomed.

Suddenly your hand appeared in his line of vision and he didn’t hesitate to take it. What he didn’t expect was you starting to spin around. It took him a moment to catch up. “C’mon, Megumi, what are you doing? Don’t just stand there so stiffly! Dance with me!” You urged him on and Megumi felt his cheeks heating up in embarrassment. He could only hope that you couldn’t see it.

“There’s no music, though,” he said, trying to find an excuse to not make a complete fool out of himself. You see, Megumi wasn’t a dancer. Give him a choreographed fighting formation and he could do that no problem, but moving his feet to the rhythm of a song? Nope. That was sure to end in him tripping over his own feet and in the worst case break his leg or arm.

You rolled your eyes at him, but instead of saying anything, you reached into your back pocket to get a hold of your phone. It didn’t take long and the sound of the fireworks was mixed with the soft tune of a song that he didn’t know. “Better?”

Well, not really… Megumi scratched the back of his head, unsure. Better to come clean, I guess. “You see… I can’t really dance… like at all,” Megumi stammered.

“So what? I can’t dance either,” you laughed, spinning around and jumping up and down like it was the most normal thing to do. The smile on your face never faltered and you did another spin, throwing your hands up in the air, moving them around awkwardly. Megumi couldn’t help but laugh at your awkward movements. You looked so silly, it was hilarious. “See? Now it’s only fair that you make a fool out of yourself, too. You can’t leave me hanging like this!”

What the hell, right? Megumi started moving his feet, still super stiffly and anything but graceful, but he did it. He looked at you, following your movements and it didn’t take him long to get the hang of it… well, somewhat at least. He still looked really awkward and helpless, so you reached both your hands out for him again and he grabbed them without hesitation, just like before. You started spinning both of you in circles, giggling at the way his face lit up slightly. He joined your laughter, looking at you with the most adoring smile in the world. It felt… so easy. Everything with you felt so easy.

So now it was just the both of you, spinning around in fast circles, laughing at the night sky filled with stars while in the distance the sound of fireworks slowly died down. The music playing softly in the background, but you didn’t even care that the rhythm of the song didn’t match with your movements at all. Nothing mattered in that moment. Just the two of you. Together. Forever.

“Ah, I was wondering when you’d show up.” Gojo scratched the back of his neck, smiling apologetically. “Maybe I was a bit too rough, when I knocked you out. Sorry about that.”

Megumi stared at him sitting in the front row of lined up chairs. The room was only dimly lit by the candles at the other end. The soft light they cast illuminated a picture of you in a black frame. It was the same one he had saved as his phone background. Megumi gulped, feet moving on their own as he approached Gojo, though, he felt his knees wobble unsteadily. The air became thicker and thicker with every other step he took. It felt excruciatingly hard to breathe. It was suffocating.

Megumi sat down on a chair next to Gojo, forcing himself to tear his eyes off the framed picture in front of him. If he didn’t he was afraid he might break down again. So he shifted his attention to the man in the chair next to him. He was already looking at him, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, as usual. There was a slight frown in his features, though, and his mouth was pressed into a thin line, a stark contrast to his normally giddy self. So Gojo could be serious, huh? Who would’ve thought? Bet you would’ve loved to see him like that…

“Megumi,” Gojo broke the silence first, his tone soft, but there was a certain sternness behind it that Megumi didn’t know he had until now. It left no room for interpretation. This was going to be a serious talk and Fushiguro didn’t know if he was ready for that yet. “I know that losing someone you care about is not easy and I’m not trying to pretend that I know exactly what you’re going through right now, but I’m telling you as your sensei and as a friend… you have to move on. And that means you have to stop looking for ways to bring her back.”

Megumi opened his mouth to tell him off, but Gojo just held a finger up to show him he wasn’t done yet. The crease between Megumi’s brows deepened, but he kept his mouth shut regardless. “The world works under a few distinct principles. Rules that cannot be broken, if you will. Like we know that after the sun sets, dawn will come. With darkness, there is light and no matter how harsh a winter might be, spring will always come next. And the pinnacle of those rules will always be that with life there comes death. We don’t get to choose when this’ll be or how it’ll happen, but from the moment we’re born we know without a doubt that we’ll have to leave this place at some point. Death is certain. It’s but one part of life and disrupting that cycle, breaking one of the unbreakable rules, would cause the whole system to fall apart. It would level the ground for mayhem and destruction, nothing would make sense anymore. The world would crumble. As sorcerers you know that we protect the ones who cannot protect themselves, but we also maintain balance and Megumi… while I do understand your desire to see her again, I have to warn you… even if there is a chance, I won’t let you do it at the expense of everyone else’s life.”

Silence fell between them again. Megumi had a hard time believing that these words really just came out of Gojo’s mouth. Deep down, he knew he was right. He knew it was a futile plan to bring you back. It was selfish and irresponsible, but he was so… desperate. So desperate to hear your voice again, so desperate to listen to you laugh or complain, so desperate to feel your delicate and warm touch on his cold skin. He was so desperate for these things; he couldn’t think straight. His mind felt foreign to him without you there. He didn’t know who he was, who he would be without you by his side. He didn’t know if he wanted to be in this world anymore with his source of warmth and comfort gone. They said, time healed all wounds but as of now that seemed impossible. Just a thing people told themselves to keep moving forward. A lie that was supposed to protect oneself from the cruel and harsh truth that the world didn’t stop spinning, that time passed by and that dawn always came… no matter what. The world moved forward regardless if you were here or not and it felt like a cruel joke to him. Nothing seemed the same. He didn’t recognize anything, looking at the world with different eyes. How could there be a world without you in it? Why was everyone moving forward while he was left behind? And how could they? How could they move on? Why didn’t the world stop spinning? It should. Because nothing felt right. Nothing was the same. And yet… that only held true for him.

Megumi wiped away his silent tears with the sleeve of his shirt. “But I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” he croaked out. It was the first thing that came to his mind. He replayed the morning with you over and over again and he couldn’t remember if he said goodbye to you when you left that fateful day. Did he? Did he not? In any case, he would’ve never thought how final of a farewell it would’ve been in the end. “I don’t even remember the last thing I said to her,” he sobbed.

He felt beyond guilty for not being able to recall it clearly. Did he say ‘I love you’? Did you say it back? He wanted to believe he did, but he just wasn’t sure and it drove him insane.

“She knew that you loved her very much, Megumi. I’m sure she knew until the very end.” Gojo patted his shoulder a few times, before he got up. “Take all the time you need.” He left the room, closing the door behind him, but not before he turned around one last time, looking at Megumi with worried eyes. “But remember, Megumi… You have to move on eventually, no matter how hard it is. For her sake and your own… Just know that you have people in your life that you can rely on any time, okay?”

Megumi nodded and Gojo let the door fall shut behind him. The silence that ensued was almost deafening. Finally, Megumi let his tears fall freely, sobbing like a child and sucking in air after shallow breaths.

Everything hurt with you gone. How could he ever move on? How could he ever love again? Megumi was scared he might break in half. How much pain could someone even bear? Though, deep down he knew that he didn’t have a choice… He had to try. And he would try his hardest to keep moving forward, holding on to that tiny glimpse of hope that one day he’d see you again. And when he did, he swore to himself to never stop telling you how much he loved you. Always and forever.

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pascalpanic · 3 years

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Burning The Midnight Oil (Javier Peña x gn!Reader)

Summary: Javier has been burning the candle at both ends. He just needs some rest. Luckily, you’ve got your husband covered.

W/C: 3.4K

Warnings: oh boy um. language, non sexual nudity, brief sexual jokes/innuendo, lots of talk of sleep deprivation bc that’s a plot point here, brief mentions of alcohol and guns (maybe once each), mostly talk of food/eating, eating meat/pork (Javier does, not reader) otherwise I’d say it’s fluffy for the most part

A/N: ☄️ anon, god bless your soul for this idea!! I really love it so I banged it out in one night and here we are!!

You haven’t seen your husband in days. You know he’s exhausted, only ever showing up at home when you’re off at work. It’s a terrible situation, the only contact you’ve had with him being at odd hours over the phone.

The DEA has been all hands on deck this week, requiring their men to be there at all times unless they’re at home and sleeping; even then, they only get about six hours off at a time, many of them too wired to sleep. Javier only gets to come home every other day, usually during the middle of the day. He’s been staying up for a dangerous amount of time, in your opinion, leaving you just about ready to find the heads of the cartel and beat their asses yourself.

During the work week, you can’t complain. You have no right to. You knew when you and Javier had eloped and married that the man’s job was a baggage you’d be forced to carry as a couple. You normally didn’t mind, but when it goes into the weekend, that’s when you get mad. Not just that you don’t get your husband at home with you, but that he doesn’t get to be home. He deserves it. Javier hardly relaxes during the weekends, and essentially does not relax on weeknights until he’s fallen asleep with his head on your chest.

Saturday found you running errands, expecting Javier home by midday at the very latest. Returning home with a pep in your step and finding no Javier there, your mood and smile fell instantly. It’s Saturday; your husband should be home. They should be letting them go home, you thought angrily as you took your anger out by chopping the vegetables to go into your dinner. Surely Javier will be home by dinnertime.

Nothing. 6 P.M., 7 P.M., no Javier, just a dinner growing cold and your heart sinking. You knew Javier had got his break yesterday, and had been in the apartment while you worked, but a slightly rumpled bed was the only evidence he was even there.

At 8, you walk to the phone and dial the DEA office, specifically Javier’s extension.

Your husband picks up and his voice wrecks your heart. “Peña,” he mumbles, his voice crackly. It sounds like his morning grumble after a long night of sleep next to you.

“Javi,” you coo, heart breaking. “Baby, when are you coming home?”

Javier perches on the edge of his desk, phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder. “Fuck, cariño, I don’t know,” he admits, rubbing his face. “I just woke up, I got an hour nap in the break room office. We have to keep going. We’re so close, I can tell.”

You understand his desperation, but you know exactly what he looks like now, a stubble growing thanks to his time away from home, his eyes bloodshot and drooping. His hair is probably messy and his shirt is probably all wrinkly; you’re absolutely certain he’s holding a mug of the sludgy black coffee the office brews. He’s most definitely the picture of exhaustion, and even though you can’t see him, you know your husband. He is a wreck. “I can let Saturday slide, but you’re coming home tomorrow, I don’t care how long. I need to see you and you need to be taken care of.” “I’m doing just fine,” Javier shakes his head and you can hear a flick of a lighter as he’s most likely lighting a cigarette.

“You’re not, and don’t try to pull that card with me. I know you. You’re a disaster; I can tell from your voice. You haven’t eaten and you haven’t slept and you can’t deny it. I want you home as soon as you can tomorrow, you got it? Don’t you even fucking dare try it, Javier Fernando Peña.”

The full name: ouch. He sighs and exhales the cigarette smoke, then takes a sip of his coffee before answering you. “God, I fucking love you,” he chuckles softly. “Okay.”

Another sign of Javier’s exhaustion: how easily he gives in. Javier is a stubborn man, but over your years together he’s learned that you’re just as hard to budge. When both of you are set, neither of you can be moved. Your sarcasm and wit and willpower was what drew him to you in the first place; Javier could never have a compliant, submitting partner. He’d be a mess. He needs you to ground him, he knew and still knows it. It’s why you’re married now.

“I love you too, handsome. Call me before you come home, okay baby? I want to be awake for you,” you say, a soft smile on your face. Your voice is much warmer, less jagged and rough.

It’s the way you always get Javi, the thing that makes him melt the most: when you’re snapping one second and gentle the next. God, he fucking loves you. You understand him, you don’t question him when he comes home and doesn’t speak. You read him and then you hold him, and all of his fears dissipate with his calming breath. “Okay. I love you,” he repeats again, more earnest and purposeful. He wants you to know it; he worries you haven’t felt it in the past week. It’s also another sign of his exhaustion.

“I love you too, Javi,” you remind him as you chuckle and stand. “Don’t fall asleep on the job. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Javier groans and cracks his neck after hanging up, sliding the typewriter back to the beginning. Just a little longer, he tells himself, then he gets to come home to you.

The phone rings around 5 in the morning, waking you from a restless slumber. The sun is just starting to rise, making the sky lighter and colorful from its previous midnight blue. Knowing Javier would be calling, it was impossible for you to sleep fully, leaving you in a dozing state more similar to a daydream than to any form of REM.

“Hello?” You answer with a groggy voice, hoping it’s Javier. Who else could it be, at this hour on a Sunday morning?

“Hey, dulzura,” Javier sighs into the phone. “I’m packing up my shit now. We didn’t get Escobar, but we got one of his big guys late last night. They’re bringing in some Search Bloc guys and giving us tomorrow off.”

You nearly cry in relief at his words, making a noise between a sigh and a squeal, heavy and happy. Javier laughs softly at your noise of relief, allowing himself to smile. His vision is hazy from the lack of sleep, but he’ll be cognizant enough after this last cup of coffee kicks in. “Get your ass home, Javi,” you tell him with a voice just as sleepy as his own. “You got an ETA for me?��

There’s a moment of silence as he looks at his watch. “5:45.”

Your eyes haven’t even opened yet, and you finally let them as you look at the clock. That’s soon, really soon, and it makes your heart speed up a little as your body forces you awake. “Great. I’ll see you then. Drive safe. If you’re too tired-”

“Steve will not be driving,” he cuts you off with a grumble. It makes you giggle a little, his adamance that Steve could never possibly do something better than him, more competently.

“Just reminding you. I’ll see you,” you tell him and hang up before he can make another sarcastic comment.

He’s glad you hang up so fast. He doesn’t have the brain power for a classic witty retort.

Javier goes to unlock the apartment door about half an hour later, but finds that his keys aren’t necessary: you’ve left the door unlocked for him.

He’d be ashamed to admit it to anyone but you, but it really does happen: Javier’s eyes water as he walks inside to the smell of cooking, the stream of soft light through the kitchen window, the sound of soft Sunday morning music drifting from the radio.

You’re at the oven, cooking, and turn when you hear a noise, grinning to see Javier. “Hey, handsome,” you squeal and rush over, wrapping your arms around him.

Javier buries his face in your hair, throwing his arms back around you. You smell fresh and clean, so soft in the fluffy robe he bought you for your birthday a few months ago now. You’re surprised to feel warm water drip from his eyes to your neck, and you pull away with a frown, cupping his face. “Are you okay, love?” You ask, wiping the tears from his eyes.

He nods. “So tired,” he admits and swallows hard. “So glad I’m home. So lucky I have you.”

You have a feeling he doesn’t have the energy to kiss you. Instead, you press your forehead to his and squeeze him tight in your arms. “Okay. I cooked breakfast. You need it. Why don’t you go take a shower?” You ask, breaking away and rubbing his arms.

He shakes his head. “My arms feel like lead. I don’t know if I can even wash my hair,” he admits, his voice a low rumble from his chest. “Just let me sleep, baby.”

“I’ll come with you, then,” you offer, already unbuttoning his shirt and working it off of him purely for comfort. You know your way around your husband’s body by now. You could unbutton his shirts blind; in fact, you have. “Come on, cariño,” you murmur and pull him along to the bathroom by the side of an unbuttoned shirt.

Once in the bathroom, Javier blinks and squints at the bright vanity lights, overwhelmed. You turn on the shower, the bathroom filling with warmth as the water heats and steam fills the air. Even in his tired state, Javier loves to undress you. He tugs the belt from your fuzzy robe, sliding it off your shoulders and tossing it on the counter. You then strip off your respective clothes, and you’re the first to step into the stream of the warm water.

Javi doesn’t have to say anything; you can tell his thoughts from your gaze. His eyes rake your body, taking in the sight of his most beloved person on the planet in all of your naked glory. He climbs in after you, and you grab a bar of soap and get to scrubbing, covering all of Javier’s body with the cucumber-scented suds. He leans his head back against the shower wall, loving your warm hands and the hot water. If he wasn’t standing, if his back wasn’t aching so hard, he’d fall asleep here and now. He’s never been more blissful.

You rinse his body then work his shampoo into his thick hair, your fingers scratching his scalp and massaging his head. “You’re the fucking best,” Javi mumbles sleepily. You just chuckle and work the soap into his hair, stripping it of the grime and cigarette smoke of the office, until he’s wiped clean, ready to start anew.

Later, you wash yourself and let Javier enjoy the hot stream of the water. He’s so zoned out you can’t even tell if he’s awake. You have to actually check. “Javi, baby?”

“Hm?” He mumbles

“Did you fall asleep on me?” You chuckle as you turn off the shower, which makes Javier frown at the loss of warmth.

“‘Course not,” he grumbles, taking the fluffy towel from you and wiping his face.

After the two of you have dressed in fresh clothes, you sit on the edge of your bed and wait for Javier to finish. He pulls a worn t-shirt over his head, then comes and sits next to you, kissing the side of your head. “You’re so good to me,” he mumbles into your temple.

He goes to flop back but you put an arm around him, catching him. “Excuse me, Agent. I made breakfast,” you chuckle and sneak a kiss from his lips, chuckling at the way his mustache is still a little damp. “When was the last time you ate?”

Javier stares off as he considers it. It takes a while for him to respond. You nod at that. “Exactly. Come on, I made breakfast just the way you like it.”

The food is still somewhat warm when you find your way to the kitchen. Javier loves the local cuisine, always has, but something about an American breakfast makes him weak at the knees. He sits at the kitchen counter and sighs as you hand him a plate of buttered toast. “There’s your appetizer,” you chuckle and head back to the stove. Half-cooked bacon, which you turned off when he came in, sits in a pan, and you turn it back on to finish. You crack a couple of eggs into another pan, making sure they sit just right so they’re the way Javi likes them: fried. You sprinkle them with salt and pepper, humming to the radio as you cook.

The sizzling bacon makes Javier’s stomach grumble. The toast isn’t even that warm anymore, but the carby goodness fills Javi’s mouth and suddenly he’s never felt so ravenous. The two pieces of buttered toast are devoured in a heartbeat.

Bringing him a mug, you pour some coffee and his favorite creamer in. “You’d better tip me later,” you tease him with a wink as you return to the stove, flipping the bacon and putting some onto a plate.

“I will tip you anything you want, I swear,” he murmurs before sipping at the ceramic mug, the warm coffee going down like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, warming him from the inside out. The A/C blasts in the apartment, making his dripping hair feel even colder.

In yet another pan, you start pouring the premade pancake mix you’d prepared before he got home. “All of this and the sun is barely up,” He muses, wandering to the other side of the counter and stealing a strip of bacon.

“Quit,” you whine and smack his hand, making the bacon fall back onto the plate. “Your order isn’t ready yet, sir. Stop harassing the cook.” When his arms wrap around you, your defenses fall. “Go sit down,” you say weakly as he kisses your neck.

At least he obeys. Javier sits in his chair and watches you intently, downing his coffee in a short amount of time.

Finally, the feast all comes together, and you present it to Javier on a large plate: bacon, fried eggs, fruit (which you know he won’t eat, but it’s worth a shot), and heart-shaped pancakes. “I wanted to make a pistol, but I’m not super artistic,” you chuckle as you refer to the fluffy cakes on the plate.

Javier shakes his head but smiles. “Thank you, dulzura,” he manages out before he digs in, devouring the plate at a breakneck speed. You’re content to watch, standing across from him. You go to refill his coffee and come back to find the pancakes completely gone.

It doesn’t take much time at all before the plate is wiped clean, the entire thing in Javier’s stomach. Food has never been the biggest concern for him; he skips meals often for work, and you suspect he hasn’t done much more than snack here or there over the past week. His eyes droop even further now that he has a full stomach, and it warms your heart. You’ve got your husband cleaned and fed; now all you need is one last step before you have your beloved Javi back.

“Alright, handsome,” you smile as you drape your arms across his shoulders. “Nap time.”

He can’t deny that. He stands, letting your arms fall off his shoulders. He pulls you around to his front and wraps his arms around you; you know what comes next in this routine. Your feet slide on top of his and Javier walks the two of you to the bedroom, you backwards and being led by him. Javier is not an overly affectionate man: kisses and sex, primarily, hugs if one of you really needs it. This is his one little act he insists on, since you don’t let him carry you.

As you waddle along, you kiss along Javier’s jaw, giving him all of the affection he missed out on in the past week. When you finally enter your bedroom, you stop as you feel the backs of your calves against the bed. You know this routine all too well. It’s usually reserved for when Javier can’t get his hands off of you, when you desperately need him on top of you, surrounding you, kissing your neck. “Wait,” you murmur and step off of his feet, going to pull back the covers.

You return to the end of the bed, standing on top of his feet again. “There,” you say with a grin, and Javi has no choice but to grin back then kiss you. “Okay, continue.”

Then your routine resumes: you fall backwards onto the bed and Javier falls on top of you. You both grunt with the impact but you smile, wrapping one arm around Javi while the other grabs the sheets and blankets and pulls them over the both of you.

Javi’s cheek is nestled against your chest, listening to your heartbeat, his eyes already shut. “Real cute. Get off of me now,” you tease and nudge his side.

His body beneath yours is all he’s needed, all he’s dreamt about while half-consciously dreaming on the apartment couch. He can feel your chest rise and fall, his head going with it. “No,” he simply mutters, his face squished against the skin encasing your beating heart. “M’comftrble.”

You can’t deny him that, you chuckle, your hands reaching down to entangle your fingers in his dark brown hair, nearly black from the dampness it holds. “Fine,” you sigh, whispering the word to him. “I love you so much, Javi. Missed you. Missed my man.”

“Missed you too, dulzura,” Javi mumbles back, but it’s clear he’s almost already out.

“How long were you up, minus that nap, Javi?” You ask.

He thinks on it for a minute, and you think he might’ve fallen asleep until he responds. “36.”

“Hours?” you exclaim quietly, massaging his scalp. “Baby.”

“I know. Had’ta.”

“Well, you can sleep as long as you need to now, love,” you murmur and kiss his forehead. He makes a soft noise of disapproval. “Just a nap. Wake me in like an hour.”

“Okay,” you lie, knowing you’ll let him sleep as long as his body needs it. “Rest now, baby.”

Javier nods and you exhale deeply, holding his head to your chest. He’s back now, your husband, and you know he’s safe, know he’s healthy and well taken-care of: you did it yourself. His breathing slows. You can feel it against your chest, the way the steady rise and fall becomes slower and slower and you know you’ve won when you hear a soft snore, his parted lips smashed against your chest.

You stay like that for a while, Javier lying on top of you and resting. It’s a comfort to have him pressed against you, to feel your husband’s body and know that he’s here. It’s even better to know he’s resting well, deeply, from the way he slumbers against your body. You intermittently kiss his head, continuing to rub his head in hopes it’ll loosen the tension he’ll surely have when he wakes.

About an hour passes, and you find yourself drowsier and drowsier as the sun rises higher and higher in the sky. Scooting out from beneath Javier, you replace your chest with a pillow to support his face. Rolling him slightly to the side, you cuddle in behind him and spoon him, your arms around him.

The quiet Sunday morning is all too perfect. You drift off too, then wake up an hour or two later and proceed about your household chores. You burn some pretty candles, clean, listen to the radio.

Javier doesn’t wake until 10 P.M. that night, 15 hours after he fell asleep.

Some nap.

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nhlandotherimagines · 3 years

Text

Family isn’t Always Blood-Part 2

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

Summary: Kinsey and Elias’ relationship gets put to the test. Will Elias’ family accept Kinsey? Guess you’ll have to read and find out :)

Author’s Notes: Part 2 let’s go!!!

Word Count: approx. 5.1 k

Warnings: all the same as part 1, also this part likely won’t make much sense unless you read the first part, there is also a a gender reveal in this part so if you really don’t want to read it for that reason I understand and I will add that I do know they are problematic however it was just part of the plot and I felt the need to write it

———

“Can we get an apartment together?”

My question catches Elias by surprise. “Are you seriously suggesting we move in together right now?” He asks laughing in disbelief, but his face softens.

“Well I mean yeah! But, mine is definitely too small, and yours is a bachelor pad. We are probably going to want something a bit bigger.” An unsure smile spreads slowly across my face, as I watch Elias attempting to wrap his head around what I’m saying.

“My apartment would be fine for us, but if you’d rather something different we can look into it.” He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead, and I can tell he’s even more confused about my sudden desire to live with him.

“I mean it’s great and I wouldn’t mind living there with you, but we will need more room for the baby don’t you think?”

Elias slowly pulls away from me, staring down at me, his mouth slightly agape. My eyes begin to water and the smile returns to my face. “Y-you wait? You’re really?” Elias is a sputtering mess, trying to wrap his head around what I’m saying, trying to keep his own emotions in check as he likely waits for me to break down.

I nod, tears falling down my face now. “I’m pregnant Elias.”

“Oh. Okay um, wow.” He pauses, eyes falling briefly to my stomach, but they quickly snap up to meet mine again. “How do you feel about that?”

I grab his wrists that are gently resting on my hips, and guide them to sit gently on my stomach. I then reach up and hold his face in my hands and take a deep breath. “I’m terrified. I don’t know how to be a mom, but I guess no one really does know how until they are one. All I know is this baby, it’s-“ I let out a small chuckling trying to hold in the sob trying to escape my throat. “This baby is ours Elias. We made them, and I wouldn’t want to learn how to be a parent with anyone else.”

I can feel Elias’ hands trembling against my stomach, his touch is feather light as if he’s scared to hurt me. I wait patiently for him to respond, but suddenly he just falls down to his knees and rests his forehead against my stomach. He’s muttering to himself in Swedish, and I’m unable to make out any of it. “Elias?”

As he lifts his head to look up at me, his eyes are bloodshot and tears are streaming down his face. If it weren’t for the show stopping smile on his face, I would think he was upset. “We are having a baby!” He chokes out, tears still steadily flowing across his now reddened cheeks. He places a soft kiss on my stomach, and in that moment I know that everything will be okay. I can do this. We can do this. Together. Our little family.

———

“How are you feeling?” My obstetrician, Dr. McLean, asks as she enters the room.

“Nervous.” Elias answers, his leg continuing to bounce like it has been since he sat down.

“I’m pretty sure that question was meant for me Pettersson.” I giggle, placing my hand on his knee. “I’m feeling better than him apparently.” I joke as I turn back towards Dr. McLean.

She laughs along with me, before explaining how the ultrasound will work.

Elias watches closely as the doctor puts the gel on my stomach. As she presses the wand to my stomach Elias’ eyes snap to the monitor. As curious as I am, I can’t take my eyes off of my boyfriend. He looks like a child on Christmas morning, not knowing yet what the gifts will be, but excited nonetheless. His baby blues swirl with emotion, and his blonde hair falls perfectly over his forehead.

“There they are! That’s your baby!” Dr. McLean announces, and my eyes quickly find the screen. I follow the doctors finger as she points out the different body parts, a whole new wave of emotions washing over me. Excitement courses through me, and when my eyes find Elias again, he’s staring down at me, tears falling silently down his face.

Dr. McLean excuses herself to print off the sonogram photos we asked for, but I can’t focus on her. All I can focus on is the beautiful man in front of me. The man I love. The father of my child.

“You’re incredible.” He breathes out, running the back of his hand across his face to get her the tears that had fallen. “That’s our baby.”

It’s my turn to cry now as Elias places a soft kiss to my forehead. “It really is. Thank you Elias for giving me a family.”

“No, thank you.” He smiles brushing away my tears.

——-

“Do not even think about lifting that box!” I groan rolling my eyes.

“Pettersson! This box weighs 15 pounds at most and I’m hardly even pregnant!” I yell back, not even really sure how he could see me anyway as he just steps through the apartment door. There is a long pause followed by a muttered profanity.

“Pregnant? You’re pregnant!?” Brock. Fuck, this is not how we intended on telling anyone. Of course I forgot Brock was coming over. When I turn around, Brock’s chin is on the floor and Elias’ hands cover his face as he grumbles inaudibly to himself.

“No?” The uncertainty in my voice a dead give away he didn’t need. Brock’s smile grows and he’s clapping Elias’ shoulder. “Brock we just found out, you can’t say anything!”

“My lips are sealed. On one condition!” The smirk on his face causes Elias and I both to roll our eyes. “I get to be Uncle Brock!”

I can’t help the laughing tumbling past my lips, or the soaring feeling in my heart. I’ve always loved having Brock around, and the thought of having another great man around for this baby to look up to makes me so happy. “I wouldn’t have it any other way Uncle Brock.” I add a little wink at the nickname as he gathers me into a hug. He whispers congratulations into my ear, and places a kiss to the top of my head.

When he pulls away, Elias is smiling at us, a look of happiness similar to the one I’m wearing, on his face. I walk over to him and pull him in for a quick kiss. His hands instinctively find my stomach, like they have many times since last week at the hospital. Sure I was only 2 months pregnant, and not even showing, but Elias doesn’t care.

“Is that why this move is happening so quickly?” Brock asks, and my smile falters a bit. It certainly would seem that way to most, and I guess it kind of is that way. I feel a little guilty about it, like I’m using the baby to tie Elias down, but that had never been my intention.

Elias must sense my mood shifting, because he speaks up. “It certainly helped it along, but Kinsey’s lease was almost up and I wanted her to move in before we found out anyway.”

Reaching up, I place a small kiss on his cheek. The questions that will come along with this pregnancy are inevitable, and they scare me, but somehow Elias makes everything seem easier. With him I feel like I can do anything.

“Have you told anyone else?” I shake my head, cheeks tinting a light shade of pink. We were planning on waiting another couple weeks to tell anyone, but now Brock was the first to know. “I’m honoured!” He chuckles, smiling at us as Elias throws one arm over my shoulder. “I’m so happy for you both.”

So am I Brock. So am I.

———

Today was the day we are telling Elias’ family about the baby, and to put it nicely, I’m shitting bricks.

“Just breathe.” I shoot Elias a glare that is mostly uncalled for, but my anxiety is through the roof right now. This could change everything. Sure, Irene liked me before, and wants grandbabies, but like this? “Kins. You’re going to stress out the baby. I promise you it’s going to be okay.”

I send him a forced smile, and nod pressing a kiss to his cheek. Elias opens his laptop and places it gently on the coffee table in front of us. I had wanted to make the surprise memorable for the Pettersson family, and knowing they couldn’t be in Vancouver when we were going to tell them, made it slightly more difficult. I spent weeks planning the surprise before we shipped the box to the family home in Sweden.

In the box was an individual package for each family member who would be present during the FaceTime call. In Elias’ father Törbjörn’s package was the tiniest pair of skates we could purchase. Elias’ older brother Emil’s package held a Vancouver Canucks jersey. The number 1 on the back, and a name plate above it that reads ‘Uncle’. Irene’s package, by far my favourite one, is a gold necklace with a small locket. Inside the locket is a tiny sonogram of the baby.

“Can we open it now?” Irene asks excitedly, foregoing a regular greeting. I giggle, and Elias smiles brightly beside me.

“There is an individual package for each of you. Make sure you open them at the same time!” Irene’s eyes light up in excitement as she hands Emil and Törbjörn their packages.

“Go ahead.” Elias instructs, and my heart beat picks up slightly. The nerves coursing through me, causing my hands to shake and knee to bounce. Elias’ hand comes to rest gently on my knee, and he rubs his thumb in soothing circles across my bare knee.

I watch closely as Elias’ family open their gifts. Emil is the first to open his eyes widening as he reads the nameplate on his jersey. His smile grows as he stares through the screen in disbelief. Elias squeezes my knee in response, and I look over at him briefly, his eyes watering as he watches his family.

Törbjörn inspects the tiny skates, seemingly oblivious to the significance of their size. I giggle as he thanks us both, and comments on how cute they are.

My gaze settles on Irene as she pulls the locket from its box. Her smile grows as she looks at the small gold heart shaped locket. “It’s beautiful!” She gushes, and I can’t help the tears forming in my eyes.

“Open it up Mom!” Elias practically yells at her, his patience growing thin.

Irene slowly opens the locket taking in the small photo inside. I watch her closely, waiting for any indication that she has caught on. After a few moments the smile on her face falls, and so does my heart. I knew this was going to be too soon for her. Elias and I are still so young, and we haven’t even been together that long. Hell, I’ve only met the woman once in person.

“Mom?” Elias’ voice cracks, and I can now see the nerves he’s been hiding, as the tears in his eyes threaten to spill down his cheeks.

“Is-is this a baby?” She asks pointing to the locket. Elias and I both nod in response. “Your baby?” Her voice shakes, as she asks the question. Her face is devoid of any emotion. No sadness, happiness, confusion or anger, and I honestly would prefer her screaming at me than this awkward back and forth.

“Yes. We are having a baby.” A single year falls down Elias’ cheek as he forces a brave smile. I hate seeing him like this. I know he’s excited about this baby, but if his family isn’t he will be crushed.

When I finally peel my eyes away from Elias and back to the laptop screen, Irene is crying. Not just a few tears, this woman is in full on hysterics.Törbjörn holds her to his chest, and Emil rubs her back gently. I feel sick. Scratch that, I’m going to be sick.

Immediately springing to my feet, I run as fast as I can to the bathroom. Elias calls after me, but I can’t stop. I quickly part ways with the nice breakfast Elias made me this morning, as I sit on the bathroom floor. “I’m sorry.” I cry, rubbing small circles over my stomach. “I’m so sorry.”

———

After probably 20 minutes of sitting on the bathroom floor, I pull myself up. I brush my teeth and fix my hair in the mirror. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I make my way back toward the living room. I stop at the end of the hall, watching Elias speak with his family. The conversation is now completely in Swedish, and they’re speaking so fast there is no way I can keep up.

Elias’ eyes meet mine across the room, and he smiles brightly. “There she is!” He muses in a much more cheerful tone than that I’d left him with. “Feeling alright beautiful?”

All I can do is nod in response, and walk towards him. Instead of taking my seat next to him, I position myself behind the couch running my hands over his shoulders and down his chest lightly. I press a kiss to his lips when he turns to smile up at me.

“Kinsey?” Irene’s voice sounds a little hesitant when she speaks, but when I turn my attention back to the screen she’s smiling. “Thank you.”

My brows furrow slightly, and I’m about to tell her she has no reason to thank me, but she speaks first. “Thank you for giving me a grand baby. We are all so excited and so happy for you! But mostly, thank you for loving my Elias. Welcome to the family dear.”

She is smiling brightly back at me, her necklace now displayed proudly on her chest. Emil is now sporting his jersey, and I’m almost positive Törbjörn placed the tiny skates above the fireplace in the background. Tears are flowing down my face now, and Irene’s face fills with worry. “Oh dear! I didn’t mean to make you cry!”

A watery laugh escapes my throat, and I shake my head as I swipe at the tears on my face. “Just hormones. Thank you Mrs. Pettersson, that means a lot to me.”

“You can call me Mom dear, if you want that is. Irene or Grammy works now too.” A few tears slip down her face as well, but the smile she is sporting lets me know she is happy.

“Thank you,” I pause briefly, taking a deep breath. This is the moment I always dreamed of, having that mother daughter moment, and revealing I was going to be a mom too. The issue was I’ve never had a Mother I felt close to like that. My mother doesn’t care about me, or my baby, unless there is something in it for her. Watching how wonderful Elias’ family is, and how welcoming his Mom has been to me and now this baby has me crying even harder. “Mom.”

My voice is weak when I choke out the last part, and immediately Elias is on his feet gathering me in his arms. “It’s okay Kins, it’s okay sweetie.” He rubs my back, and I cry into his chest. I hear him speaking softly to his mother before he ends the call. “Kinsey? Talk to me.”

“Y-your mom. She’s so wonderful, I love your family Elias.” I manage to get the words out without lifting my face from where it’s pressed against his chest.

“And they love you, so why are you upset?” He chuckles a little bit, and a small smile cracks on my face momentarily at the sound.

“I’ve never had a Mom Elias.” I breathe out, and Elias places a hand under my chin tilting it up so I’m looking at him. His brows knit together in confusion. “Well I do I guess. I have a woman who gave birth to me and kind of looked after me while I was growing up, but she has never been a mother. I’ve always craved that mother daughter relationship. I used to dream about telling my Mom I was having a baby, until I realized we didn’t have that kind of relationship. It made me think I could never do this, that I’d never be a Mom. So having your mom be so happy to have me be the mother of her grandchild, to call me family, and ask me to call her mom. It’s just so much, and I don’t know that I really deserve it, but it feels so nice! I’m just- I’m so happy right now.”

With that Elias kissed me. It was a rushed kiss, fast and passionate, but not heated, nor was it intended to go farther. The kiss was more like his attempt to communicate how loved I was, and how happy he was too. I smile against his lips, our teeth clashing a few times, but I don’t care. My hands thread through his beautiful hair and tug gently as his cold hands sneak up under my shirt to rest on my stomach.

“You are family y’know?” Elias speaks as he pulls back so we can both catch our breath. My hands scratch lightly through his hair as I smile at him. “You’re my family now. Me, you, and our beautiful baby.”

“I hope they have your hair, and your eyes.” I giggle. I’ve never known happiness like this. This is my family.

———

“Shit!” I groan flopping back on the bed in defeat. I’ve always been a girl who loves skinny jeans, and now here I am unable to fit in almost every pair of pants I own. Minus my sweats and a singular pair of yoga pants that have holes in them.

“Everything okay out there?” Elias asks poking his head out of the ensuite bathroom. He’s seriously been the best, but his constant worrying tends to be a bit suffocating at times. It is very sweet though, seeing him care so much for me, and this baby.

“I have nothing to wear! None of my pants fit!” I whine out, sounding like a child myself. This wasn’t the time though. Today is the day we tell all of our friends, and I have nothing nice to wear.

“Baby blue sundress in the back of the closet, wear that.” Elias’ head pops back in the bathroom to finish getting ready, and I lay on my back in complete bewilderment. How does he even remember that dress, let alone where I keep it? He’s right though, it is the perfect outfit.

Slipping it over my head is easy, and it flows around my body perfectly. The bump is completely undetectable, and I’m comfortable. It’s perfect.

“You look beautiful.” Elias smiles, placing a gentle kiss to my cheek.

“You don’t look too bad yourself Pettersson.” I smirk, my hands finding the back of his neck as his find my waist. He’s wearing a pair of dark jeans, a pale blue shirt, and a black ball cap sits backwards on his head.

“Ready for this momma?” He asks with a smirk. The nickname isn’t one he’s used before, and the effect it has on me is embarrassing. My face heats up, heart rate increases, and my smile grows.

“Momma huh?” I giggle, and Elias’ hands once again find my stomach.

“It suits you.” He winks, and kisses my forehead. His hands drop from my stomach as he steps away grabbing his wallet and keys from the top of the dresser. His hand finds mine as he leads me out of the apartment and to the car. Today should be interesting.

——-

Nerves course through me the entire drive. Elias’ right hand never leaves me, as it moves from my hand to my thigh and then finally settles on my stomach. A smile settles on his face when it does, and I find myself fighting back tears.

“Your stomach is growing a lot!” He gushes, and I can’t stop the laugh that tumbles past my lips. The nerves forgotten momentarily.

“Jeez thanks babe!” I joke back, placing a hand over the one he has on my stomach. The way his arm is stretched out across the center console can’t be comfortable, but Elias seems completely content.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” He chuckles, as he pulls into the Horvat’s driveway. “Ready for this?”

I nod, not trusting my voice.

Before I know it, Elias is guiding me into the Horvat’s living room, his hand low on my back. Bo and Holly are quick to greet us, Bo pulling Elias off to talk hockey, and Holly drags me to the kitchen. “Red or white?” She asks, holding two bottles of wine in front of me. Shit.

“Oh no thanks, I’m good. I told Elias I’d drive.” I stutter out. The heat rising in my cheeks sure to give away that I’m lying, as Holly cocks her brow at me.

“One glass won’t hurt right? You’re staying awhile aren’t you?” She’s watching me closely as I try and find Elias in the crowd. My hands shake lightly, and I absentmindedly press them on my stomach to settle them. “Oh. My. God.” Holly’s hand immediately wraps around one of my wrists as she pulls me down the hall and into Ava’s bedroom. “Spill!” Her demanding tone cracking slightly as a smile forms on her face.

“Damn, okay we were going to make an announcement later, so you’re going to have to act surprised.” I pause, and she quickly nods, her smile growing. “I’m pregnant.”

The words leave my mouth barely above a whisper and are quickly cut off by the squeal that leaves Holly. “I knew it!” She bounces on the balls of her feet excitedly like a child. “How far along are you?”

“13 weeks.” The smile on Holly’s face, mirrors the one on my own. She pulls me into a hug whispering more congratulations in my ear, before pulling me back out to the party.

———

The party goes on without incident, not that I would ever expect any less from the Horvat’s. The food is wonderful, and of course the people surrounding me makes the night that much better. The house around me is littered with hockey players and their families, children all huddled into the backyard climbing on the playground, as the adults laugh amongst each other about everything and nothing.

“What’s wrong babe?” Elias asks as he snakes an arm around my waist.

“Wha- nothing! Why?” I ask, looking up at him as he smiles softly down at me. His blonde head towering over me.

“You’re crying.” He chuckles, sweeping the pad of his thumb across my cheek bone. “Again.”

“Stupid horomones.” I grumble wiping at my face aggressively. Crying has become a frequent occurrence in the first trimester of this pregnancy, and Elias seems to find it quite entertaining most of the time. As long as I’m not actually sad of course.

“Can we tell them now?” I can practically feel the impatience radiating from him, as his eyes search mine for any hesitation.

“Of course we can babe! Honestly I’m surprised you and Brock have managed to keep it to yourselves this long.” The groan that leaves my boyfriend has me laughing as he rolls his eyes. Despite the attitude, a smile grows on his face as his hand finds mine before he drags me into the backyard where everyone has congregated around the small fire pit.

“Nice of the lovebirds to join us finally.” Bo chirps as we take two free seats just next to him.

“Be nice Bo, or we won’t tell you.” Elias shrugs nonchalantly.

“Tell me what?” He asks, looking between the two of us. I glance at Elias and giggle, causing Bo’s eyes to grow wider. “Tell me what!?” His voice slightly louder and more frantic as he repeats the question.

Elias’ eyes find mine silently asking me if he should. “Go ahead.” I smile at him, and he squeezes my hand lightly.

“Yeah Petey! Go ahead!” Bo, leans forward in his chair excitedly.

“Okay! Okay!” He chuckles, shaking his head at his teammates. The crowd that has gathered around also listening intently, all eyes on Elias. “Wow. This is awkward isn’t it? Well I guess it’s about time we told you all that Kinsey and I are having a baby.”

His hand tightens even more around mine as the words leave his lips. He’s nervous, I can tell. The moment of silence that follows seems to last forever, even though I’m sure in reality it’s only seconds before someone reacts.

“You’re pregnant!?” I’m not sure who breaks the silence, but I’m immediately bombarded by congratulations, cheers and hugs. All of the WAGs gather around me and I giddily share all of the information they’re dying to know, as Elias gets pulled aside by his teammates.

It’s in this moment that I realize this is family. Listening to, supporting, and just genuinely being excited for the people you care about. Maybe the people who raised me couldn’t wrap their heads around what family is meant to be, but I can. It’s this, it’s a feeling of belonging that I will try my hardest to ensure this baby feels every day of their life.

———

“Kins, sit down. Everything is perfect, and has been since 5 am. Can we just relax for a while before people get here?” Elias whines, as he flops onto the couch.

“Fine!” I huff, adjusting the two stacks of napkins sitting on the table for what must be the twelfth time this morning. Elias is right, I’ve been wide awake since 3:30 and have been obsessively setting up for the gender reveal party ever since.

“You have to stop stressing babe. It's not good for you or the baby.” Elias lightly scolds me, as he shuffles over to give me room to lay down with him. As I settle in next to him, his hand finds my stomach and he rubs it lightly.

“I can’t help it! I’m nervous, I just want everything to be perfect.” I roll onto my side as best as I can to face him, my hand running through his hair.

“It already is babe. We are having a baby remember?” The goofy smile on his face, has me relaxing into him. My eyes flutter shut as he places a light kiss to my forehead, and I can feel my exhaustion slowly creeping up on me. “Have a nap babe I’ll wake you up in a little while.” The words are hardly out of his mouth before I’m drifting off to sleep.

———

“Look at you two!” Holly gushes, pulling me into a hug, continuing to mutter about our outfits. Elias and I decided to wear Canucks jerseys. His, a regular Canucks jersey with the number 1 and ‘Daddy’ printed across the back, and mine, a pink Canucks jersey with the number 1 and ‘Mommy’ printed across the back. I’m quite proud of them if I’m honest.

As the rest of the guests arrive, I greet them and make sure they all sign the guest book. Elias has set up shop in the kitchen offering everyone a drink, and pointing them towards the large array of snacks. I certainly never thought I’d end up here. Surrounded by so many amazing people, who all showed up to celebrate a baby. My baby. It’s surreal.

Once everyone has arrived, I take a moment to admire the space around me. Blue and pink streamers hang from the ceiling thanks to Elias, who refused to let me climb the ladder. Balloons litter the apartment, many of them now being thrown around by Elias and his friends. The laughter and chaos bring a smile to my face as my gaze settles on my favourite decoration of all.

In the far corner of the room was a tiny replica of a players stall, very similar to that in which you’d find in the Canucks locker room. Hanging in the stall is a small jersey inside of the tiniest little black garment bag you’ve ever seen, and the nameplate at the top of the stall reads ‘Welcome to the Team! Who Could You Be?’. I was quite proud of the idea really, and Elias was quick to volunteer to make my vision a reality.

“This may just be the cutest gender reveal party I’ve ever been to!” Holly gushes as she gently bumps my hip. The smile on her face screams excitement, and it makes me feel warm inside. “So what’s the deal with that?” I giggle when she gestures towards the stall across the room.

“Well,” I take a breath, placing a hand on my stomach. “Inside that little bag is a tiny Pettersson jersey. Could be pink like mine, or blue like Petey’s. We are going to open it together.”

“So do you already know what it is?” She asks, eyes never leaving the stall as she examines it a little more closely.

“No idea. We had it sent to us just like that.” The fact I’m minutes away from knowing even the smallest, and probably most insignificant about this baby, is making me nervous. Sure, its just the sex of the baby, it means very little about who they will be in the future, and it won’t affect how I care for them. However, it is making it feel that much more real, as the insecurities i’ve managed to keep at bay seem to resurface all at once. This is terrifying.

------

“Alright and action!” Brock yells from behind the camera, and everyone erupts into laughter. The smile on my face hopefully hiding the fear in my heart.

“Ready Momma?” Elias asks, kissing my cheek. All I can do is nod, and the countdown starts. The energy in the room is so intense, but in the best way possible, as our friends yell loud enough to warrant a noise complaint.

3…

2…

Elias’ fingers find the zipper on the garment bag, and I place mine gently over his. His hand shakes under mine, and although I know it’s mostly excitement, I can tell he's nervous as we slowly pull down the zipper together.

As the garment bag falls away, my heart stops. There is no way this is happening, not right now! Elias’ hand drops from mine as he steps back slightly, as the people around me seem to let out a collective gasp. Tears burn my eyes, and before I can stop them, they’re falling down my face. This is NOT what I expected.

Tagging: @anastasiyaigorevnadobrodevskaya @heatherawoowoo

I hope y’all liked it! Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in the next parts!

#FiAB #Elias pettersson #elias pettersson fanfiction #Elias pettersson fanfic #Elias pettersson fan fiction #nhl fan fiction #nhl fanfiction #nhl fanfic #hockey fanfic #hockey fan fiction #hockey fanfiction #vancouver canucks #hockey writing #nhl writing

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growup-thatbeautiful · 3 years

Text

drive is out now!! It’s a Post Season Harringrove Hurt/Comfort and I’m pretty proud of it. Read it on ao3 here or below the cut. Likes and comments are very very much appreciated :))

Billy doesn’t drive after starcourt. Something about being behind the wheel makes him sick with memories that he can’t understand. They’re abstract and totally unreliable.

But it’s kind of always been like that for him. He's used to having gaps in his memories, except most of the time it’s because of trauma. Or that’s what Joyce tells him and the rest of them whenever they have nightmares about things they don’t remember happening.

He's been living with the Byers and El. He tries to be useful around the house, doing whatever he can because he really doesn’t have anywhere else to go. It’s hard, though. It seems like everything he does, he does wrong. He never had to learn how to fold sheets or clean dishes. Not only was neil hargrove terribly homophobic, but also misogynistic, which is a word joyce taught him because she teaches all her kids that stuff. And he’s one of her kids now. So, yeah. Neil never had Billy do the chores because “he’s not a true man, but he sure as shit isn’t a woman.”

It's alarming how quickly this odd family replaces his old one. Neil seems miles away. Neil doesn’t try to look for Billy, and that’s fine as far as Billy's concerned. He's got scars to cover up the ones Neil made. no need to dwell on that when he has so much other trauma to process., right? Kind of.

He does check up on max. Asks her if neils pulling any of the shit he used to get from his dad. double checks for bruises hidden under makeup or long sleeves, and never finds any. Good.

Joyce is good. great, even. She doesn’t blame him when he breaks a dish because he heard a noise. She listens when he says he needs some alone time, and she knows when he’s just saying that. She gives good hugs and has no problem giving him Jonathan's old room to stay in while he’s off at college. leaving Hawkins behind him, calling every night anxiously awaiting the return of It. Nothing happens, and eventually they relax. Or they try to. That part of billy’s been broken for a long time, though.

So Joyce starts fading into memories of his mom, and he tries not to blame her.

Again. He's never had a great memory anyway. He does remember his mom telling him that boys don’t marry other boys when he was five and told her he wanted to marry his best friend. Then she told him never to tell his dad. It's strange, because he can’t remember her saying that she loved him, even though he’s sure she did. Did she? Huh.

At least the painful memories he gets to keep. Neil beating’s. Beating up on Harrington that night he didn’t know what was going on. The car crash before his mind was taken from him. Max’s terrible scream of “Billy” mixed in with the ear-ringing pain. Waking up in a hospital with starburst scars across his body. Skin that isn’t his. They remind him not to get to comfortable, remind him that the kindness he’s being shown isn’t well earned.

Because Billy knows he wasn’t worth those hospital bills and sleepless nights. All he’s done to the people here is hurt and scar and he’s seen them with the deepest kind of fear in their eyes. Fear because of him.

Everytime he goes down a path like this, he tries to stay clear of everyone. Because. They all tried to hide how much hurt he’s caused. They don’t blame him like they should.

He didn’t know any of them well before. But he knows El didn’t always carry around that police badge or look up at every siren, praying for a familiar face only to be disappointed and try not to show it. Because if Billy survived, couldn’t the more-deserving Hopper? Apparently not.

He knows Joyce didn’t always search for Will in every setting and have those folded up pictures of the two men that died because of all the shitty things that happened. Because she can’t stand to forget their faces or not carry that burden for just a second.

Will didn’t always get quiet every time a draft went through the room or refuse to go out that front door first. Because so many things have been ruined for him.

The rest of the kids didn’t always jump at every noise or bunch together for every corner, carrying lucky momentous and items. Because God forbid they have a break.

He doesn’t see them a lot, but Nancy and Jonathan definitely didn’t carry around an emergency kit everywhere they went, packed with medical supplies and Nancy’s choice gun. Because they’re going to be there to help if anything tries to take another person they loves away.

Some part of Billy reasons that it’s not all his fault. He wasn’t one of those scientists or government agents that started the whole thing.

But he did enough. Enough to warrant all the shit that he’s going through. It’s not the healthiest way of thinking, he’s aware of that, but it helps him get by.

No matter how hard he tries, though, there’s always someone at the house that finds him. Curled up into a ball, dry hitching sobs and no tears because “Hargrove men don’t cry.” Billy gets damn close sometimes, but the fear that Neil’s going to come out from the cracks in the wall and kick him where he lays is too real.

There are usually soft words.

“We don’t blame your here, honey. That wasn’t you, that did all that stuff. And I’m not going to let anything else bad happen to the people under this roof.” Joyce’s strong and sure voice, only breaking at the edges.

“I know what it’s like to have him control you like that. I know better than anyone else, and I know how scary it is. Mom says it’s over now, though, and I can’t feel It anymore. I would tell you first if It came back.” Will never says anything more than that, which is comforting in itself. It’s nice to have someone else.

“They lost. You’re here. I’m here. Will’s here. It is safe.” El’s statement is simple, but she makes it easy to believe.

He believes them until he gets another new memory of what he did. The Mayors blood on the floor. Heather’s petrified screams. Standing before that thing and feeling nothing but a perverse sense of but awe and, buried beneath that, a screaming sense of horror and the constant feeling of slipping in the sand.

There are times, like right now, when he doesn’t want someone to make him feel better. He wants someone who can drive him away from here and sit in an empty parking lot and smoke away the thoughts. Someone like Steve.

He would do it himself. He would. But he can’t. Can’t get over that fucking gas pedal. So he calls Steve.

They’ve done this enough times for it to make sense for Billy to have Steve’s number memorized. And his work schedule. And to know when he with Dustin or Robin or any of the others on one of those group outings Billy can’t bring himself to go to. There are too many sad faces, too many broken homes.

It doesn’t matter what he wears. It’s just Steve, and they’ve gotten past the point of caring about things like that.

Which. Is obvious to anyone who looks at Billy, not that he sees anyone. He’s lost a lot of weight. Muscles that used to be defined are gone, replaced by scars. He can’t get them back yet, because he’s not strong enough to lift any of them. And because muscles like that can hurt and hit. His eyes are surrounded by heavy bags, bloodshot and tired. The new callouses on his hands are mostly scars from anxiety ridden breakages, and the pained nails are because El wanted to try the new dark blue out. His hair is greasy and flat, nowhere near what it used to be. It hangs around his shoulders in curled waves, so far from where he used to be.

He doesn’t even try to smile to the sad reflection in the mirror.

Steve doesn’t honk when he arrives. The first time he did that and the noise sent Billy spiraling, and Steve had felt terrible, cussing up a storm that actually helped Billy out of it. Luckily, it was just Billy home and no one else was there to witness they’re collective train wreck.

Before he leaves, Billy grabs something from the bathroom and stuffs it in with the rest of the random shit he brings.

Billy slides into the passenger seat, leans his head back against the headrest, and says, “So, Harrington, how you been?”

Steve, mercifully, looks the same as always. He looks good, the asshole. It’s a relief that he’s still able to feel that fire Steve lights up. Different than all the other King’s from California. A few more scars, but they all have that. His shades are pushed through his hair, brown strands flopping over lazily.

“Same as usual, so fairly shitty and on the brink of breakdown. You?” It would be a normal conversation if Steve wasn’t completely serious, corners of his mouth only ticking up when Billy reaches over and bats at the band-aid charm hanging from the mirror. A joke from Billy to say sorry for, you know, almost beating him to death for no real reason.

“Oh, you know.” He doesn’t need to say more for Steve to get the idea. It’s the same way they’ve been feeling for months now.

“Yeah.” The car ride over isn’t far from the Byers’ house, and they spend it in almost silence. Some pop station is playing low on the radio.

“This the shit you listen to, pretty boy? I expected more than this.” It’s an attempt at normalcy, something that they’ve slowly been working up to.

“At least I don’t blast out my eardrums every time I want to listen to music,” replies Steve quickly, smile evident in his tone.

And it’s normal. It’s them. The way they were before it all got so messy. For that brief moment, there’s no winter night or july 4th. For a brief moment Billy can entertain a reality where he went to the find Steve instead of a fight. A world where Steve, with those pretty eyes and snap remarks, could hold his hand and stop him from doing all the bad things in the future.

But the moment passes. Steve clears his throat and looks forward at the road.

They arrive to the quarry, water at the bottom glinting, tossing, teasing. The car doors slam shut, and they slide up on to the front of the car. Billy pulls his last minute grab out of the bag and hands it to Steve.

“I want you to cut my hair.” Steve takes the scissors and towel in his hand, looking at Billy.

He doesn’t ask if Billy’s sure. Billy figures that Steve knows at this point he wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t real. If Billy wasn’t sure. Steve cards a hand through Billy’s hair. It feels. Good. Real good.

Steve starts cutting, and Billy winces at the sound of the scissors closing around his hair. His past.

“I like to think it isn’t just part of me.” The comment comes out of nowhere, surprising Billy more than it surprises Steve.

“What?” Steve’s voice is calm, the sniping of the scissors is methodical.

“The anger. The aggression. The tendency to hurt. I like to think it’s not in my nature, but my nurture.”

“I don’t think you’re violent.” It’s a laughable statement.

“You’re joking. Did you forget most of last year? I’m the one with the bad memory here, Harrington.” Billy can practically hear Steve’s disapproving mother’s frown behind him.

“That wasn’t you.”

“Right, sure, whatever, bullshit. But what about…you know. Last winter.”

“What happened before that?” asks Steve patiently.

“Jesus, you’re worse than Joyce. My dad sent me after Max. Found her at Byers’ place with you. Hurt you a whole fucking lot.”

“Is that all he did? He just told you to go after her?” Billy ignores the way his stomach does flips when Steve runs a hand through Billy’s hair, straightening it out.

“So you’re my fuckin’ therapist now? What do you want me to say? He kissed my head and sent my on my merry way? That’s now how he works. I’ll admit, I was saved by his new wifey. He can’t use me as a punching bag when she’s standing right there, not like he did with mom. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Nothing worse than what you’ve done to me. And the insults weren’t too bad either. He forgot to call me a fag.”

“Oh. Shit, Billy, I-“

“It’s fine,” cuts in Billy, hating the pity in Steve’s voice. He’s not the one who should have it.

“You didn’t deserve that.” This time it does make Billy laugh. It’s a hollow and haunting sound, an echo of his charming boyish laugh.

“Sure I did, dipshit. You’re probably one of the people who knows best why I did, in fact, deserve it.”

“So then I’m the best person. to tell you that you aren’t that person. You haven’t been that person since you left him and all of that shit. Let me ask you something. Do you want to hurt people now?”

“No!” Billy startles himself with his sudden enthusiasm, and Steve jumps a little behind him. Steve is quicker to recover, though, and he runs a hand through the hair he hasn’t cut yet. It’s soothing. Billy barely resists the urge to lean into it. Ask for more.

“Did you ever want to hurt people? Like really, truly want to see them hurt?” Billy has to think about the question. Steve deserves an real answer.

Flashes fly through his mind, bringing on too familiar emotions. Anger, a need to make someone, anyone, feel the way that he’s feeling. Fear that not having this power over people would make him weak. Horror at what he’s about to do. Detachment, painful as he grinned and laughed.

“I just wanted to have control. Take some of the hurt I was feeling and give it to other people. It was a rush that I was addicted to. The thrill of the fight, the feel of flesh against my fist, the look of blood on my knuckles. I liked fighting, still do. I didn’t like hurting people.” Steve puts the scissors down on the car hood, fluffing Billy’s hair and sliding down next to him.

“I’ve been on the wrong side of the fists of two people I’m now okay with,” admits Steve. “Believe me, I know now to take a beating. I’ve been heartbroken by two other people I’m close friends with. I forgive too easily.”

“So you’re a compulsive truster and I’m a compulsive fighter. What a pair we make, huh Harrington?”

“Yeah.” agrees Steve, bumping his shoulder against Billy. “What a pair.”

Maybe it’s the haircut. Maybe it’s the sunlight confessions. Maybe it’s how carefree and happy Steve looks. But Billy feels lighter. Like there was this unspoken weight he had been carrying around that no one knew about. Or everyone knew about, but couldn’t help.

The thing is, Steve didn’t even say anything. He didn’t promise a better future, he didn’t say that he was safe. He shared some of the personal pain they all carry around.

“I don’t think I ever said sorry. I am sorry, you know. I. I didn’t-“

“I know. I’m sorry too. Someone should’ve known. About you.” Steve leans closer, and Billy chalks it up to the night chill as the sun settles below the glistening rocks.

“I was good at hiding things I didn’t want people to see.”

“Yeah, well you’re not alone there either.”

“You good at hiding, pretty boy?” Billy’s eyes flick down to Steve’s lips, and, is Billy imagining it or is Steve looking at him the same way?

“Apparently not good enough,” jokes Steve. His smile falls off of his lips, and he leans minutely closer. If Billy wasn’t paying attention to all of Steve…

The way his hair glows white and gold in the sunset. That wrinkle between his brows. The way one of his eyes is a little darker than the other. How he smells like cigarette smoke and that fancy hairspray, even when his hair is blown from the wind.

The way he looked that night. Cool and collected, then terrified and fighting for his life. So beautiful in the harsh starlight and then so abstract in the broken kitchen light.

Before he knows what’s happening, Steve is filling that gap. Kissing Billy like he’s trying to sooth the pain from their past. Maybe he is. Billy wouldn’t put it past him.

His hand finds a way to Steve’s hair, the same way Steve’s been running his through Billy’s now shorter hair. He curls it into the strands, holding on tightly. Soft.

The way Steve sighs his name takes Billy away from it all. The pain. The memories. The lack of memories.

They lay out under the stars for a few minutes, but Billy knows Joyce will freak out if she can’t find him. Not because she doesn’t trust him, he has to remind himself, but because she doesn’t trust others.

On the drive home Steve plays that pop stuff again, and Billy gives him the appropriate shit for it, a smile on his face the whole time. His fingers laced through Steve’s.

They arrive at the house, and Steve declines to come in. Gives the excuse that his parents will be waiting up when they both know it’s not true. Billy can’t blame him. Billy understands needing to be alone, needing to get away.

Billy leans through Steve’s window and wished that he could kiss him goodbye. Well. The teasing will have to do.

“Night, King Steve.”

“Goodnight, Asshole.”

If Joyce gives him a knowing smile at the door, Billy doesn’t smile back. Probably.

He definitely does. Maybe he deserves the smile. If Steve thinks he does.

#steve harrington x billy hargrove #harringrove fan fiction #harringrove #harringrove fanfic #harringrove fic #harringrove fandom #harringrove stuff #harringrove au #stranger things #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove #steve harrington fic #steve harrington #stranger things fic #stranger things post season 3

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ptergwen · 3 years

Text

right place, wrong time | p.p.

w/c: 1.3k

warnings: mostly angst and mentions of breakup

a/n: hi i’m so so sorry for barely being here lately :/ my posts keep getting hidden from tags and i don’t know i’m trying to figure it out, but i did write this and it’s kind of random honestly? i liked the idea tho i hope y’all do too

━━ °:･。.

only peter looks pretty when he cries. happy tears, sad tears, all kinds of tears. you told him once. it was to cheer him up, but you meant it. you ended up getting a laugh from him. he even smiled while you dabbed at his eyes with a tissue.

sometimes, he needs more than words. peter is a naturally emotional person. he doesn’t just feel things. he embodies them. for example, he’ll bounce up and down if he’s excited. the tips of his ears turn red whenever he’s nervous. it’s like he takes an emotion and becomes it. that isn’t the worst habit to have. he’s really empathetic because of it.

it becomes a problem when you can’t help him. there aren’t many times he’s gone to someone other than you for support. you’re his best friend in the world. you usually know how to make him feel better. the rare times you don’t always crush you both, and right now is one of them. peter is dealing with something you’ve never experienced before. it’s a breakup.

heartbreak, sure. you’ve had your share. it’s the relationship part that separates the two of you.

he texts you asking to come over at eleven on a thursday. it has to be serious. the fact that it’s a school night and he asked first tells you everything. you’re surprised to hear him knock at your apartment door instead of your window. you tiptoe out of your room so your parents won’t hear. peter’s bloodshot eyes are hidden in the dim hallway lighting.

he’s silent while you two sneak back into your room. he takes a seat on the bed. his lip instantly starts quivering and tears fill his eyes. you have your back to him because you’re shutting the door. “no suit tonight? i thought you were gonna ask for-“ you turn around. your chest tightens at the sight of him.

“peter, what’s wrong?” you coo, sitting down next to him. your eyebrows are knitted into a concerned line. he doesn’t say anything. he just lets the tears roll down his cheeks, biting his lip to hold in a sob. “peter,” you keep your voice light. you take one of his hands in yours. it feels limp, but he eventually laces your fingers together.

“what’s wrong?” you repeat. “it- it’s mj,” he chokes out, watery eyes meeting yours. the intensity of his gaze almost makes you look away. you squeeze his hand. “did something happen to her? is she okay?” he breaks the eye contact. there’s a beat of silence before he speaks, his voice quieter.

“she broke up with me.”

that was one of your own heartbreaks. the two of them dating. you wanted to be happy for them, and you tried to. they’re your friends. if they liked each other, then you liked them together. you’d even helped peter plan their first date. the jealousy kicked in after the next few.

they started spending so much time away from the rest of the group. everyone knew you were closest with peter before him and mj became a couple. you were never mad at her particularly for changing that. that’s how boyfriends and girlfriends are supposed to be. it was the fact that you couldn’t fill the spot.

their relationship made you come to terms with your feelings. worst timing ever, but that’s your luck. you’d be an awful friend to both of them if you ever said anything. so, you didn’t.

when mj made a ‘save me’ fave every time peter touched her, you looked the other way. when peter told you about some grand gesture he came up with, you said it sounded nice. all good friend things. that’s you.

“wait, what?” you ask, the shock in your voice making peter whimper. “please don’t make me- me say it again.” he drops his head down so you can’t see him anymore. a frown takes over your lips. “no, i-“

you’re not sure what to say, actually.

“i’m so sorry, peter.” you let go of his hand so you can put yours on his back. “i’m sorry.” his whole body shakes under your touch. silent tears drip down his cheeks. they’re the kind of tears that come when you have no more energy. you just open your eyes and let them fall out.

“it’s okay. i mean it’s no- not, but thanks,” he gets out. your hand rubs up and down his back now. “do you know why?” you have your own idea, but this isn’t a good time to be right. “if you wanna tell me,” you add.

“she said it was too- too much for her. she- she didn’t like all the touching,” he sniffles, sitting up again. “apparently, we’re better as friends.”

you had a feeling. mj hates the typical romantic stuff that peter loves. he kind of smothered her with affection. she’s still your friend, and you could tell she wasn’t ready. but, peter is also your friend. you need to help him through this.

“how was i supposed to know? she never told- told me until today.” he locks eyes with you again. his are pleading. “i feel so- so bad. i never wanted to make her uncomfortable.” you shake your head and press your palm into him gently.

“you can’t blame yourself, pete. besides, i don’t think mj is mad at you.” he licks the tears off his lips and exhales. “then why would she break up with me?” “she just...” you let out a breath. “you both want different things, you know? there’s nothing wrong with that.”

peter lets his head fall onto your shoulder. you try to ignore your heart fluttering. again, terrible timing.

“i really liked her, y/n,” he nearly whispers. you put an arm around his neck. he nuzzles his cheek against you with a sniffle. “i know you did.”

“remember that, um, that deal we made last year?” peter asks quietly, glancing over at you.

it’s been crossing your mind a lot recently. you honestly thought he’d forgotten about it. the whole thing was a joke, really. you’d made it when you were both sleep deprived and laying on a random rooftop somewhere.

both of you were extremely single at the time, not that that’s changed. the deal was that if neither of you were married by the time you turned thirty, you’d marry each other. you’re still more than a decade away from that point, so you aren’t too sure why peter is bringing it up.

“yeah, why?” you murmur. he sighs and hides his face in your shoulder. “can i take you up on it?” you wish he wasn’t kidding, but he probably is. you’ll just do the same. “you have to get may’s permission first.” peter moves off of you suddenly.

“i wanna be loved already. i’m probably too young to say that, but i can’t wait anymore.”

this is the perfect moment. he’s basically asking you to confess to him. well, he’d take anyone. that’s not the point. you’re here, and you love him. all you have to do is say it.

you swallow your spit. “i... i love you.” “yeah. i love you, too,” peter replies with no hesitation. he sniffles, but only because he just finished crying. he’s not saying it in the same context as you. you don’t think so, at least.

“i’ll look for a promise ring in the morning.”

he sounds too serious. your hand falls from around him, eyes blown wide. peter mindlessly takes it in his. he traces his fingers over your open palm while you sit in silence. you’re watching him. he eventually closes your hand and puts his on top of it.

“are we still joking?” you finally speak. peter lets a long breath out of his nose. “i don’t know.”

#tom holland #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine

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zekeluvr · 3 years

Note

Hiii cherry! I already followed you in tetsuhous and I just love your writing also big brains think alike (tetsu is my fav and Jean for AOT) and since I'm hyping with AOT new season I can't help but to step into you inbox ( hope you don't mind ^^)

Could I possible reque a scenario in which Jean has a huge argument with his S/o and they keep pretty distanced from each other for some time until they are both send to a mission and she is almost killed by a titan?

Hope you like it and you enjoy writing it baby! Also here to give an impulse and a shout-out! 😊

Love, Mer.

heyyy!! aaa thank you so much for being so kind!! ive seen your request on tetsushous and im working it so hopefully it comes out soon!! sorry for making you wait so long !! <3 ily stay safe and healthy !!

vvv angst under the cut vvv

you loved jean. you really did. you watched him grow up through the years. from introducing yourself to him when you first signed up to the scouts, to trying to help him get with mikasa, to falling for him yourself. your heart ached for him and every time you went on missions you couldn’t help but worry over him. he was your yellow, your sunshine and you were not letting this cruel reality take him from you.

some say you’re too protective. almost mirroring how mikasa acts with eren. but you didn’t care, you’d do anything to protect him. that was probably the reason of the argument you had with him last night. his friends, mostly conny, teasing him, calling him a damsel in distress whereas you were the night in shining armour. of course at first he didn’t mind it, going along with the joke. but it got tiresome for him, causing him to snap from the stress and pressure of responsibilities and how annoying the supposed joke got.

you didn’t speak to eachother since. hurtful being thrown around without a care in the world. you both silently suited up, ready for the next mission beyond the walls. you both had always reassured eachother with ‘i love yous’ before each mission since you never know how they go. today was different. he left without a word. your heart dropped. did it hurt him that badly?

you shook your thoughts away. you had to fight for humanity, and that’s what you’re putting your mind to.

however, what you didn’t expect was the amount of titans. more than usual. you cursed to yourself. probably the beast titan. you looked around for jean but you couldn’t see him. fuck, he must’ve been further in front. regret settled in from yesterday as tears pricked in your eyes at the memory.

that was your weak moment. you never have those. you were one of the most strongest cadets, something that jean adored in you, something that brought you and mikasa closer together. yet that single moment, nearly costed you you’re life. you were swept up in the hands of a titan, eyes bulging out of your sockets and panic bubbling through you. you can’t believe this. are you really going to die?

the shock must’ve gotten to your head, causing your eyelids to droop shut as you accepted your fate.

“y/n! y/n! what the fuck, where is she?” a voice yelled, causing your senses to awaken. your head was pounding, you felt like your brain was about to combust. the last thing you remembered was being at the hands of a titan but now? you were on top the wall, laying down. you gazed at the clouds and the pretty blue of the sky. you seemed so calm, so at peace for someone who nearly became titan food.

“y/n! holy fuck, you’re okay, you’re okay!” you recognised that voice. jean’s arm wrapping around your form. you looked towards him: eyes bloodshot, fingers trembling.

“jean..” you breathed out, bringing a hand to run your fingers through his hair soothingly. he sobbed. hot tears running across his face at the sound of your voice.

“im sorry.. im so fucking sorry.” he managed to choke out, holding you tighter. hange signalled everyone to move away, giving you both some space.

“i know, it’s fine.” you croaked out, pressing your lips to his softly. nothing could separate you and your yellow. not the titans, not the universe and not even fate.

#jean kirschtein x reader #jean x reader #jean krischtein #angst #attack on titan x reader

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shadowayne-deactivated · 3 years

Text

dancing with your ghost

Melinda stands in the open doorway, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder with nothing in it but a collection of Polaroids, a ring, and his shirt.

Artificial light filters into the room from the hallway, bathing what is in the doorway’s path with a dim yellow light. The unmade bed is illuminated, untouched since she left a week ago.

It has been two seconds and also three months since she’s been gone, yet she knows she’s aged a hundred years.

Melinda’s exhausted, but she can’t curl up into the sheets, achingly alone, laying in cold sheets without the sound of his weak breathing in and out next to her. Not without his hand gently held in hers, fingers twitching occasionally.

She hasn’t slept in weeks. She spent every second listening to his heart beat and falter and beat and falter and beat, until it didn’t do anything at all.

The idea of laying in bed with no soft, strenuous beating under her hand- it feels more vast and empty than even the nights she spent in the tiny apartment after Bahrain; ghosts and guilt and hate replacing the spot where Andrew used to lie next to her.

Melinda closes the door behind her, the door that separates her and her ghosts from everyone else.

She has thousands of ghosts haunting her, but none of them are Phil.

The room is pitch black, but she doesn’t turn on the light. She lets it sit, the inky darkness swirling around and seeping into her body as she closes her eyes and breathes in deep, faltering slightly when the memory of his bloodshot eyes and rapid loss of speech float through her mind.

She uses vague muscle memory to light the same, unscented candle that has been sitting on her small desk since early in their time in the Lighthouse. Daisy found a short break day to deliver them each a small gift soon after they returned from the future.

Daisy’s gift for Coulson was a boy hula dancer, to match the other one sitting in a storage building with Lola. Daisy joked about finally being allowed to drive the precious car, and Coulson just shrugged with a small smile and an odd look on his face.

Now Melinda knows what the look meant. He already knew, even then.

She drops the bag on the cement floor and it lands with a hollow thunk. She pops open the bottle of beer that was pressed gently into her hands when she stood in the center of the common room on shaky legs barely holding her up as Daisy clutched her. She didn’t cry, just held on tight like Melinda would blow away.

Maybe she will.

Her stomach is full of rocks and she sits down on the chair next to her desk, gripping the back of the chair with her free hand, looking down at the ground because she can’t see her room without being hit with a memory of him.

Everything has Phil in it.

He is in Daisy’s earnest face. He is in the maroon couch where he explained to the team that he was leaving for good. He is in the small collection of cooking utensils hung on the wall in the cafeteria area from when he insisted to cook them a meal at least once every couple of days for morale, even when the world was falling apart around them.

Now she knows, can see what he was doing. He was trying to hold onto something he loved to do because he knew he was running out of time. He knew, so he tried to spend that time with them while he could.

Once, Daisy and Jemma joined him. The three tried making lasagna but it was mainly Phil cooking while Daisy and Jemma ate the ingredients and messed with him. They were going through their own personal hells, yet they were smiling and giggling, the unfamiliar sound of joy ringing through the lighthouse and lifting the mood of the entire base.

It was one of the only times she saw him smile recently, before Tahiti.

He smiled a lot in Tahiti, at least when he was awake.

Melinda still marveled. He smiled until the end. He smiled when she talked, when she laughed, when she brushed soft kisses to his lips as she cradled his head when he couldn’t stand anymore.

She asked how he could smile when he about to see nothing ever again. Be nothing.

“I won’t be nothing, Lin,” he replied. “I’ll be your memories of me. And I smile because I see your love, for me and for Daisy and for the team, and I know that you will live. And that’s all that matters.”

He said it so simply, so matter of factly.

Melinda wonders if he’d be smiling if he would know she can’t live without him. Won’t.

She’s nothing without him, nothing without her better half holding her away from the edge of the pit of mania and darkness and sickness, the kind that creeps over your mind so quickly that you don’t notice it until you’re gone.

Without him, she is silently drowning, thousands of hands grabbing at her skin and ears and eyes, rough, unlike his careful caresses.

Without him, she is dying.

Melinda takes another sip of the beer and rests her forehead on her desk, for the first time noticing the sheen of sweat that is sticking some of her hair to her face.

There aren’t five stages of grief. Whoever came up with that was wrong.

Everyone experiences loss differently, but the one thing that stays the same for every person is that the loss never leaves. It stays heavy inside a person, creating a chasm of emptiness. Every new loss adds to it, making it deeper and wider until there is more emptiness than there is human.

Melinda is nothing but empty.

They danced together, before he was barely able to tell her he loved her.

The radio was playing faint tunes as he sat at the dining table, reading a book. (Not Ulysses. They didn’t have enough time to get it for him.) He had a cannula running up around his ears and tucked inside his nose, trying to feed to him the oxygen he fought every day for.

A song came on that Melinda recognized. It had played at her 19th birthday, her first one celebrated at the academy. Phil had dragged her out to a club near the base, and slow songs had played over the speakers as he got her a sundae and offered to pay but she refused to let him.

The lyrics played, but she didn’t pay attention to what they said, not back then.

Oceans apart day after day

And I slowly go insane

Phil, with his endless energy, had bounded up and held out his hand. “Dance with me, Cadet May?” he had asked in a teasing tone.

She’d grinned. “Sure, Cadet Coulson. Show me your moves.”

If I see you next to never

How can we say forever

In Tahiti he’d gotten up, less energy than even a few weeks before, and held out his hand to her, his giddy smile exactly the same as thirty years ago in that club, somehow untouched by time. “Cadet May?” he prompted.

She suppressed a grin. (She wishes she hadn’t. She wishes she let herself be free with him, be happy without any boundaries, but she still wouldn’t, couldn’t.) She took his outstretched hand and got up.

Wherever you go

Whatever you do

I will be right here waiting for you

They stood together, her mostly supporting him, and they were barely moving, simply swaying, but Melinda was looking in his bright blue eyes that were getting hazier by the hour and felt like she was back in their undercover missions, getting spun around and twirled so quickly she was lighter than air.

Whatever it takes

Or how my heart breaks

I will be right here waiting for you

The song ended, and Melinda was brought back to the present, where the sun was setting and Phil was sagging in her arms. She murmured that he needed to sleep, and helped him into their bed.

He didn’t get up again.

Waiting for you

The whole time they were in the magical place, he promised her that the pain was bearable, but when her back was turned he’d grimace and make fists so tight his knuckles would turn white.

He’d never been good at hiding things from her.

He hid the scar tearing through his soul, though, for months. Maybe she couldn’t read him as well as she always thought she could.

The middle of their first night he woke up still half asleep, crying that he didn’t want to die. The opposite of seven years ago, when he’d pleaded with Fury to let him.

She held him, softly kissing him on the head as she soothed him back to sleep, his head on her thigh as she sat against the backboard of the bed.

“I don’t want to die either,” she whispered in the dead of night, after he’d fallen asleep and couldn’t hear her anymore. After nobody could hear her anymore.

waiting

“I will love you for the rest of time,” he always said. “You won’t hear it, you won’t see it, but you will feel it, and you will know.”

She remembers his words, but she’s sitting alone in a tiny room lit by a scented candle and the alcohol in her throat doesn’t burn enough to abate the emptiness.

She isn’t angry anymore. Or sad, or upset, or even scared.

She isn’t anything at all.

“You will feel my love, even when I’m gone,” he said.

Melinda sits and she drinks until the bottle is empty and the wick of the candle burns down into the molten wax and extinguishes the flame, leaving her in the dark black well of grief.

“You will feel my love,” he said.

And she doesn’t say out loud what she knows deep down.

Because the darkness already knows too; knows because of the glistening tracks on her cheeks and the empty bottle clutched tightly in her hand, soon to be replaced by another.

She doesn’t feel it.

And she’s not waiting anymore.

#daisy johnson #Melinda May #phil coulson #philinda #philinda fic #aos #aos fic #agents of s.h.i.e.l.d #mine #my fics #angst #angst fic

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poormeowmeowcollector · 3 years

Text

We would name our children Jackie and Wilson

Relationship: Loki/Female Reader (Hozier did the gender first, don't @ me)

Warnings: Major Character Death, Mourning, mental health, alcohol.

Summary: Your relationship reminds you of a nice soft song. But things are not always so sweet.

Notes: this is part of a somewhat Collab with @lucywrites02, her part is done and can be found here, read it to soften the pain. I would say that I'm terribly sorry for the pain ahead, but I'm not. Meaning of the song can be found here, I used it for reference

Read On AO3

So tired trying to see from behind the red in my eyes

Loki fights for a deep breath.

It's just your face, you idiot. What are you afraid of? This mean voice from the back of his head asks.

They manage to draw a shaky inhale and puff it out, finally opening his eyes and staring at the reflection.

But those hateful crimson eyes staring back is too much, even though they look at them behind tears.

"Maybe another day…" he sighs and wears the illusion again. But the bloodshot eyes stay, this time not because of the Jötunn form.

No better version of me I could pretend to be tonight

For how long will you hide from the monster you are? This same voice asks in the dead of the night.

Once again, it's not mistaken.

"I can't walk amongst mortals like this. This illusion helps me avoid some of the staring," they respond. It's a beautiful lie, Loki almost believes it.

Still, it will break down. Like everything does.

This argument stays and torments him for the rest of the night.

Soul deep in this swill with the most familiar of swine / For reasons wretched and divine

Stark had suggested another night out on a bar. Loki usually declines, but comes to this one.

Soon enough, everyone is drunk and happy. Alcohol from Midgard is like a beverage for Æsir, and Loki can barely get tipsy. But Loki still decides to drink.

This period had some very successful missions, and the avengers are celebrating it by drinking. Little do they know that Loki drinks for a whole more different reasons…

She blows out of nowhere, a roman candle of the wild

It's late. Loki's surely past the tipsy phase, but still has control. So, they just sit on a bar and watch the others have fun.

"Would you mind some company?" you yell from a part of the crowd. Loki tries not to flinch, loud sounds do no good at him.

Then they see you, all smiling and beaming like a firework, drink in hand as you walk closer and point at a stool beside him.

They have to admit, you look ravishing.

"You're free to sit, if you want to," he smiles back and nods at the seat. You grin and slide there, placing your drink in the bar and having your attention to them.

"Are you not afraid someone might drug the drink?" Loki winders, eyes on the cocktail.

"Sitting beside an Avenger is safe enough, don't you think? And it's rubbish anyways, I probably won't finish it,"

Midgard has different communication patterns, and Loki's inability to catch up in time has made their silver tongue rusty and useless. But you make a conversation with him out of nowhere, like it's the most easy thing.

Laughing her way through my feeble disguise/ And Lord, she found me just in time

A few days later after the night out, the sparks of happiness you casted on Loki's heart have died out. But Thor insists that being out of the four walls of their chambers will do good to him, and Loki gives in. They wear an illusion to hide the mess that he is in and join Thor on their afternoon walk around for some food, mostly.

During the hours long conversation, you didn't mention that you work for Stark, in the Tower. They smile and call your name the sparks igniting inside his heart once again. It gets stronger when you give them this glowing smile and walk closer.

"Brother, will you mind if I get stolen for a moment?" he turns to Thor.

"Have fun, brother," he smiles before greeting you and leaving.

"You know, there's a nice coffee shop with a big tea collection, what do you think?" you beam, knowing it's an offer Loki cannot resist.

It's not far away, and truly a sweet little place, crammed between the offices. You order your drinks and settle on a table nearby. You give Loki the chair with the view on the passers by, sitting so you can only see them and the wall behind him.

"You didn't say you work for Stark," they hum, taking a testing sip of the dandelion tea that caught his attention.

"That's cause I work for the Avengers, technically, not Stark. Mission support agent, Romanov brought me here," you shrug one shoulder. Loki can't hide a smile, they always had a soft spot for humble warriors, for they're so rare on Asgard.

"Odd, I don't remember you in any field," he mutters.

"I haven't gone on a mission with you. I find it insulting for a God to be supported by someone who learned how to tie their shoelaces at age 12," you laugh. Loki doesn't share the enthusiasm for the 'joke'.

"You'll be the best support, if you ask me," they smile, and change the subject. And then, you throw this damned question.

"So, how are you doing?" you trail off.

"Just fine," he scoffs. You see through it like they're the worst liar ever.

"I know we're somewhere public, but you are allowed to be honest," your eyes scan him.

He takes a deep breath and makes an illusion of you and them just talking. Then, he lifts his own.

Your face stays almost unreadable as the green glow reveals the mess of them. Expect for the eyes that speak of sympathy.

Underneath the table, you cup his right hand, your thumb petting it. "If you want to, we can go somewhere more private. Your call,"

"Only you can see this. Don't worry, I'm not making a fool out of you," they laugh without humour, voice almost breaking. You now squeeze the hand.

"You'll have to actively try to make a fool out of me, your highness. It's your boundaries I'm worried about," the playful tone leaves you as you speak.

You've barely done anything, but Loki is already determined to kill for you.

Cause with my mid-youth crisis all said and done / I need to be youthfully felt 'cause, God, I never felt young

"Forget it, I'm not doing it. It's stupid!" he tries hard not to yell at you.

"But it's going to be fun! Come on, you can cast an illusion if you're embarrassed. Didn't you have fun as a teen?" You grin, pleading for them to come.

Little do you know that the last question feels like a knife in the guts.

"No," he whispers.

"Okay then. I'll be there with Sam, you can pop up if you change your mind," you sigh. It takes some minutes for them to realise what you just said.

"Allow me to rephrase it. No, I didn't have fun as a teen, I had to prepare myself for the throne I wouldn't take. And… this park will do nothing but remind me what I've lost. I'm sorry but I can't come nor change my mind," he fights against tears as he talks, your eyes on them. You walk closer and cup one cheek, letting them rest their head.

"Society says that you must have certain experiences at certain time frames. It's wrong, especially for someone who will live for as long as you. There's always time to replace things you've lost, the question if if you'll do it or not,"

Loki gazes at you and takes a deep breath, in, holding it, and out. Almost like he's smoking the air.

"Fine. But don't force me to stay if it's too much," they smile weakly, but it's genuine.

"Have I ever forced you?" you grin and place your forehead against his. "And anything critical to your physical health doesn't count,"

They laugh before nodding a no, a small kiss being blown in your nose.

Lord, it'd be great to find a place we could escape sometime / Me and my Isis growing black irises in the sunshine

Out of all the things Loki expected his fallen heart to do, daydreaming was last on the list.

They're a realist, always have been.

But the image of him and you in a nice stone castle in the middle of the woods is too perfect to resist. How you two would wake up and sleep together, have no one and nothing to make you feel anything but bliss. The two Monarchs in your little kingdom of two residents

Norns, they haven't even talked to you about these feelings. And he's already scheming his retirement with you.

How are you doing this to them?

Every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside / We'd sit back and watch the world go by

"That's it, Laufeyson," he's glaring at the mirror, one finger pointing at the glass, "no more lies. Fuck those illusions and games and just say the damned words!"

They sigh and run their fingers through the hair, testing if the smell of smoke is still in there, after five sessions with the shower. He has noticed that you don't like the smell, when you keep some distance on his bad days. And stinking on a moment like this is the least they want.

"Alright… into the battlefield…" he conjures his weapon, a bouquet of black irises, your favourite flowers. They finally teleport themselves on the field, outside your door.

Goal of the mission: be vulnerable.

He rings the bell, fixing his already perfect posture before you open the door. This smile they know and love so much is on your lips.

"You didn't have to! Come in," you exhale, beaming as you make space for him to walk in.

They call your name, the tone making your smile drop. "I have to tell you something I've been hiding from you for a while…" he sighs.

You nod, the agent face on. A green shimmer makes the flowers rest in a vase on the coffee table, Loki's hands now free to pick on each other.

"I appreciate your friendship, more than you can ever imagine. You're the only person who has reached out to me like this for eons. But, my heart has started to yearn for more. I've fallen for you, hard. And I can't keep the illusion anymore," they recite, eyes scanning your unreadable face. You stay dead serious, making Loki's nerves eat him up.

"Took you long enough," you grin and bring them down to a kiss.

It's nice and warm and slow, one devouring the other while also offering the best you can. Then, a salty taste makes you break the contact and cup Loki's face.

"Love, why are you crying?" you whisper, wiping away the thin paths the tears have crossed. He hasn't even noticed he's been crying.

"You can't imagine how happy you make me… I love you," they whisper.

You barely have time to say anything before he pulls you into the tightest hug possible, tears streaming down to your shirt and those three words coming out of their lips again and again like a prayer.

Loki has no idea how many lifetimes he washed off within just one hug, but a weight they never noticed they carried was gone when you break the embrace and stare deep into his now puffy eyes.

"I love you too,"

She's gonna save me, call me baby / Run her hands through my hair

"I'm telling you, you have to be more careful in the missions. Yes, you are a God, but don't be so reckless," you groan as you rinse them with water and try to remove the blood and dirt from their hair.

Just the right amount of strikes, and he now can't lift his hands enough to wash his own hair. If you weren't so good at it, they would refuse to stoop so low.

"It was supposed to be abandoned. How would I know that it wasn't? I'm a God, not a prophet," he sighs, holding his sides. Even talking is making their scattered ribs pierce him… "And I did call you to save my arse, that's the exact opposite of recklessness,"

"If you say so. But what will I do if one day my baby comes home with something more than a wretched ribcage?" you laugh.

They try to answer but both the pain and the pleasure from your fingers on his hair, massaging his scalp with shampoo, are making his tongue a knot and his throat release one moan of pleasure after another.

She'll know me crazy, soothe me daily / Better yet, she wouldn't care

You walk through broken mirrors and scattered furniture, reached out to Loki, who's hiding their head between their knees.

You don't say anything, you just play with his hair. It's cold, much colder than usually. But you don't care.

"Leave, please. You'll get hurt," their voice is growly from the smoking but weak.

"Forget it. I'm not leaving you alone in this state," you declare matter–of–factly. A sound comes out of his throat, something between a chuckle and a cough.

They snap their head up, blue and scarred cheeks wet with tears and flaming red eyes with blue veins all over them drilling holes in you. "Do you dare say this in my true face? Declare that you care about a monster?" He spits, lips shaking as they try to hold back another crying fit.

You face stone, you grib his cheeks to stop them from breaking eye contact. "I am not leaving you alone like this, because I care about you and I love you. And, I don't give a fuck what others have made you think of yourself, you're anything but a monster," you keep your voice steady, trying to physically pin those words in his mind.

They sigh and lean against your hands, eyes closed and breaths slow as tears start rolling down his cheeks again. They turn to kiss your palm, now the rest of his body relaxing and hands bringing you close to a hug. "Thank you," they breathe out against you, the weakest of smiles forming slowly.

We'll steal a Lexus, be detectives / Ride 'round picking up clues

"Feet off or I'll chop them off and put them in the truck," you snap, eyes on the road as you try to find a place to park.

"Relax, it's not ours," Loki brushes off the threat. You sigh and park the car among some trees on the edge of the road, hoping no one will see it. He tries to mask it, like always, but you can see how the pain is making their features harsh.

"You can drop some spells, we're well hidden," you point out, watching as the pale skin starts melting and dark azure replaces it. Your skin crawls, you don't know if it's the cold or the awe. Loki breathes out, head resting back on the seat. "I didn't know the illusion is so painful," you think out loud.

"When running so low on rest, everything is painful. Now, where are those files…" they mutter and turn around, searching for the yellow case in the back seat. "Here. Do you have any idea?" he asks, giving you the file.

"I'll probably find something to milk. Now get that rest before you pass out on the field," you glare at them with that Look. He grins and nods before laying against the window, a thin layer of frost already forming.

Then, they start laughing.

"What's so funny?" you ask, not looking up from the report you're reading.

"Before I even talked to you, I had the honeymoon trip already planned in my brain, with too many versions to count. This wasn't even on the list," he straightens up and smiles. You laugh too.

"Well, it's not exactly as bad as you make it sound,"

"Norns, are your standards so low or are you so disappointed in me?" They raise one eyebrow.

"Neither, love. Now get rest before I have to knock you out," you smile through threatening him.

"Kinky, might try it later," they wink and lay back down, his breathing deepening some minutes afterwards.

We'll name our children Jackie and Wilson / Raise 'em on rhythm and blues

You're laying against them, smiling like an idiot as he runs a hand on your stomach and feeling this new anomaly.

"Are you sure?" you ask, watching a small wrinkle from between their brows.

"Yes. Two of them. Perhaps boys but I can't tell yet," he whispers, hand still resting there even though the spell is over.

"Twins… we will become parents," you smile, breathing out and laying against their shoulders.

Loki calls your name. You turn around and he rests his forehead against your own. "I love you so much, you know that? All three of you," they grin. You chuckle and close your eyes, accepting the kiss that's definitely coming.

"You know, we'll have to name them something," you point out after they break the kiss.

"Narfi and Vali," he's… quite fast on picking up the name.

"No way,"

"Why?"

You freeze. "It's silly…" you mutter.

They cup your face, glowing green eyes on yours. "It's bothering you,"

"It's the myth… how Narfi and Vali suffered in the myth because of your… because of Loki's mistakes… I don't want this to happen to the little guys," you sigh.

"Then, do you have to suggest another name while I'm trying to think of a second choice?" he smiles.

"It's even more silly," you giggle.

"At least it won't be your mythological dead kids,"

You take a deep breath. "Jackie and Wilson, from the song," you are ready to hear them laughing at you for the suggestion. But he just smiles.

"Jackie and Wilson…"

Cut clean from the dream that night, let my mind reset / Looking up from a cigarette, she's already left

Loki has no idea how long they've been staring blankly at the ashtray, the suit in front of him mocking him.

It's maybe the first time they're so hesitant about wearing all black.

It was supposed to be a small mission, nothing dangerous. You were supposed to be back, safe, within an hour.

You were supposed to raise your sons and retire in that castle in the middle of the forest.

Why was he so foolish to believe that he deserves a happy ending?

"You have to collect yourself. You have to say the farewell, a fucking thank you for all you've got from it, you coward!" they spit at the mirror opposite to them, hand tensing and breaking the cigarette in half.

A deep breath, in and out, a tight squeeze on the wedding ring hanging from his neck, and they stand up to put the damn suit on.

I start digging up the yard for what's left of me in our little vignette / For whatever poor soul is coming next

The funeral is over, the farewell has been said. But there's a small dinner coming afterwards.

Out of all the public appearances, this is by far the worse. Malevolence is something Loki has learned how to deal with a long time ago. But these eyes of pity are unbearable.

The strangers, probably reporters or Stark's acquaintances, coming to express their "condolences" are at least few enough to allow Loki to slip away to the bathroom.

He sits on the cold floor, this numbness drowning him. They hoped you had made it go away, but you just suppressed it. He wants to cry, to scream, to beg to whatever cruel Deity did this to bring you back. But their mind cannot give the order.

He takes your phone out, opening the music app and wearing your earphones. They press play on the last song you listened to, only to hear some familiar chords echo from the small device.

You were muttering this song all the time since you found out about the pregnancy, it's no wonder it's the last tune you listened to. But the upbringing melody of the song and the dark emptiness in Loki's heart are painfully opposite.

He sits there and listens to the whole song in silence, trying to milk some happiness out of it.

But they only manage to whisper along the last two lines, or an alteration of them. Just before he starts weeping at the tile floor until Thor finds him.

"We would name our children Jackie and Wilson, Raise 'em on rhythm and blues,"

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years

Text

drunk!geralt

I’m hopelessly hung up on this repressed mess. I have no decent excuse.

Warnings: drinking, heavy drinking, nothing else, unless you dont like tickling?

Summary: Geralt is a cute little goofball when hes drunk and I will fight everyone over this. He. Is. A. Happy. Drunk.

__________

“One, two, three, four, five, six, uh… seven, eight… nine. No! Ten.” Geralt proudly counted out how many drinks he’d had for the night on his fingers. You’d only sat down at the bar two hours ago.

You just shook your head in amazement, raising your voice to be heard over the rather pitchy bard in the corner, “You forgot the one in front of you.”

His face lit up as if you’d just told him a salacious secret, “Eleven?”

“There it is.” you raised your own glass, only number four, in salute to his mathematical accomplishments.

He toasted you back and chugged the full mug before you could take a sip, “Let’s make it twelve!” he rumbled.

You frantically signaled to the bartender not to listen to him and grabbed his hand, “How about we drink water for a little bit?”

“Water in these parts tastes like clay. More alcohol.”

“Only if you go upstairs and drink some clay water.” You bargained. You knew as soon as you got him in the room he would forget about his next drink. Getting him there was the tricky part.

He flattened both hands on the table, leaning back and squinting his eyes at you, “No.”

“Oooookay.” you wracked your brain for another way to trick him, but he’d played this game with you before and he was getting much better at it. You were also considerably tipsier than the last time you tried it.

The bard switched to a familiar jig and Geralt forgot about your battle of wits, “Lets dance.”

“Dance?” you asked, honestly not sure if you’d heard him right.

He had a huge goofy grin on his face as he stood and pulled you up with him, “Yes! I thought you liked dancing?”

You nodded and let him lead you to a semi clear area of the room. He spun you around and held both your hands in his then froze.

"What are you doing?" You asked, glancing behind you to check he hadn't seen something.

He leaned in and whispered in your ear, "I don't remember the dance." He looked so worried and sincere that it took everything you had not to hold his cheeks and tell him how adorable he was.

You nodded solemnly, playing along, "I'll teach you. Follow me."

You guided him up the stairs, nearly having a heart attack when he stumbled into you and almost sent the two of you over the railing. It took some shoving and a few obscene swear words to achieve, but at last, Geralt was safe in your room.

You sighed in relief as Geralt sat in front of the fire and watched it intently. You took your hair out of a bun and changed into your night dress, keeping one eye on him the whole time.

He turned around to face you with a worried look, "Who is Emeel?"

You spun to see if he was joking, "Who?"

He looked heartbroken, clearly reading too much into your reaction, "The name," he moaned, "The na-" he was interrupted by a hiccup, "The name- the name in a heart on your fireplace!?"

You crouched next to him to investigate, "Darling this is a shitty inn." You assured him, resting a hand on his shoulder, "I don't know Emeel."

"I knew that."

"Of course you did."

"I did!" He insisted, pulling you onto his lap and burying his face in your hair.

You giggled, "You're very drunk."

He nodded and took a deep breath in, squeezing you a little tighter, "Your hair is so soft."

"Thank you." You rubbed his back in soothing circles as he held you. These were some of your favorite nights with Geralt. When he relaxed (and drank) enough to stop brooding for a little while and just be. Sometimes he'd get intensely affectionate, others he'd turn into a giant puppy, but mostly he was just happy.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, leaning back to look at you. His yes were not quite bloodshot, but certainly not clear and focused, and there was a bewildered quality to his expression.

You knew what he meant but this wasn't a conversation for his drunken giddiness, "I'm cuddling with my white wolf, what does it look like to you?" You placed a quick kiss on his nose and he blushed.

That was another thing you loved about drunk Geralt, he stopped stifling his responses.

"I don't want any of that self loathing nonsense from you tonight." You instructed, wriggling out of his grasp to stand and offer him a hand up, "Plus, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried."

He took your hand, standing up rather unsteadily as drinks nine through eleven were probably just making their way to his brain.

"Are you dizzy?" You asked, lacing your fingers through his to keep a better grip on him.

He nodded, and giggled.

Now that was your favorite sound. It struck you as odd the first time you'd heard him giggle because the sound was so uncharacteristically high in his register, but you'd made it your life's work to hear it as much as possible. Yes, his voice did things to you when he growled sweet nothings in your ear or woke you with a low, hoarse 'good morning'. But this was pure and innocent and you wanted to hear it every damn day you lived.

You placed your other hand on his shoulder and made to give him a quick kiss. Instead, he placed his hand on your waist and tried leading you in a dance he had forgotten along with his sober self-consciousness. His steps were messy, and you trod on his toes at least twice, but he didn't seem to notice, eyes shut and grinning. You could just barely hear that the music coming from the dining room was definitely not suited for this type of dance but you certainly wouldn't point it out. As the song ended Geralt stumbled back into the bed and lost his balance, taking you down with him when he fell.

His laughter was as intoxicating as the surprisingly strong liquor you'd consumed earlier and you laid your head on his chest, wanting to be as close as possible, as you giggled along with him.

You propped yourself up with one arm on the bed to look at him, "Very graceful. Tell me where did you learn to dance?" You teased.

He tilted his chin to look at you, a lazy smile on his face, "It's required at Kaer Morhen. You can't leave until you can turn heads at the finest courts."

"Mmm… what a fine finishing school that must have been." Your sarcasm drawing another giggle from him as you trailed your fingers over the scars on his collar bone.

"Don't do that," he gasped, swatting your hand away, still giggling.

"Do what?" You knew exactly what you were doing and you moved quickly to pin his arms under your knees to continue.

He let you, heaven knows you had no physical powers over him, "Stop! It tickles!"

You rolled off him so you could get a better angle and attacked his ribs, "Never."

He squirmed and laughed, trying to get away but get his revenge simultaneously. Of course he did this quite quickly. Your arms were pinned above your head in seconds and he tickled you mercilessly.

"Ger-alt!" You squealed, trying to get a solid breath in between your uncontrollable laughter, "Not- fair!"

He stopped and placed a quick kiss on your forehead, "It absolutely is, you had the advantage to begin with."

You managed to get a hand free and push his hair out of his face, "Your disarming beauty made it null and void." You argued.

He rolled his eyes and pulled you close, tucking your head under his chin, "I love you." He sighed.

You wrapped an arm around his waist and squeezed, feeling the cold metal of his medallion pressed against your neck, "I love you too."

"Hmmmm… glad we're on the same page." He kissed the top of your head one last time before his heartbeat slowed and you heard a soft snore as he fell asleep. You joined him not long after, the happiest you'd been in a long time.

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virgojeons · 4 years

Text

true love (jjk)

summary: you and jungkook spend your first christmas together.

alternatively, a merry love story based on the lyrics of true love by ariana grande.

genre: fluff, humor, college au, established relationship, holiday series, jeon jungkook x reader

word count: 4.6k

warnings: cursing, implied sexual content, excessive use of pet names

wattpad version here, ao3 version here

a/n: well, here i am!! pls be gentle with me, this is the first time ive ever posted my writing on here and ive been debating it for months lmao. i truly truly hope u enjoy!!

on the first day of christmas when you gave me all them kisses, boy you showed me things, come hold me please and never let me go.

"Five days until Christmas and you're still decorating the tree?"

You yelped at the sudden sound of your boyfriend's voice, dropping your over-accessorized ornament and watching helplessly as it shattered against the floor.

Immediately, you whined. "Jungkook!"

Jungkook suppressed a grin at the furrow of your eyebrows and the pout of your lips, kicking his shoes off and tossing his coat onto the couch. He didn't mean to scare you, really. You even knew he was coming over. It's just that you left the front door unlocked (as you always did when he was on his way, despite him constantly scolding you for it) and there was no way you would've heard him come in over the sound of Jingle Bell Rock blaring through the house.

"Sorry, baby," He chuckled, bending down beside you to help pick up the remnants of your best ornament. "I didn't mean to scare you."

You glared at him in between collecting the shards of glass in your hand. "I spent hours making that."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Hot glue gun burns, sparkles stuck on my face and everything."

Jungkook took the pieces of glass from you with an amused look on his face, standing from his kneeling position to toss them in the trash can you had earlier moved to the living room for easy access. "I'm sorry. I'll make you another one."

"It's not the same." You sulked, finding fun in being stubborn and giving him a hard time. It was getting increasingly difficult though, with his rosy nose and ears and that little gleam in his eyes.

It was then that he made his first move of the night, tugging you by your oversized Rudolph sweater so quickly that you had to latch onto his shoulders for leverage with a squeal. His grin only seemed to grow once you were officially in his space, taking notice of your lack of pants and the snowflake stockings that appeared to be in their place instead.

"You don't look too sorry," You chuckled, heart stuttering at the way he was gazing down at you in such close proximity.

Jungkook shrugged, nudging his nose with yours. "I'm just happy."

They were such simple words, but it was the way he said them, the way he looked at you when he said them. You couldn’t lie, the excitement of spending your first Christmas together, completely alone, was incredibly infectious. It was gross and it was corny and everything else you swore you would never be, but you were in love with Jungkook. Devastatingly so. You from nine months ago probably wouldn’t even recognize the present you; a fact that friends, family, and even Jungkook alike loved to tease you about. Cracking the so-called ice queen was a feat to be celebrated, apparently. Whatever. He was yours and you were his so you didn’t quite care about the technicalities of it. Even if the story went a bit differently, in your opinion.

The brutal snow and temperatures of February were beginning to fade into spring when you met Jungkook.

You and Jimin had been attempting to finish your economics homework together in your favorite coffee shop; a hidden treasure that was a ten minute walk from campus and ticked all your aesthetic boxes. You two were sipping from your respective hot drinks, neglecting your heaps of bookwork in favor of discussing the new season of Stranger Things. Jimin was deep into his theory of Hopper still being alive when his eyes flickered to the door at the sound of the bell, widening slightly in recognition before a bright smile took over his face.

"Jungkook!" Jimin called, waving whoever it was over.

You followed his gaze and turned your head in the direction of the entrance, growing curious when the boy walking towards your table wasn't familiar to you. It took you less than five seconds to realize that the boy in question was attractive.

Like, extremely attractive. The kind of attractive that should not be subjected to the way you look right now.

It took you even less time to whip your head back around, glaring at Jimin with wide eyes and a panicked expression.

He met your glare with a confused scrunch of his eyebrows before it slowly transformed into a smirk, quickly catching on to what your pointed look was for. The night before had been a late one. You, like any other normal millennial, had impulse bought a pretty yellow Nintendo Switch solely for the new Animal Crossing game. As soon as it arrived on your doorstep you were retreating into your room, tearing the package open with squeals of excitement.

Maybe you completely lost track of time and played until your eyes were bloodshot and you heard birds chirping outside. Maybe you got an astounding two hours of sleep. And maybe you had fallen asleep without setting an alarm and woke up thirty minutes later than usual.

The details were insignificant though, because you were throwing on a pair of leggings and the first sweatshirt you saw, brushing your hair and your teeth, and hastily sprinting to your car all in record time.

No sleep. No makeup. No breakfast. And worst of all, no coffee.

And so, it was blatantly clear you had no desire to let a boy that beautiful even glance at you in that state, let alone introduce himself. But it didn't look like you had a choice in the matter, because moments later he was towering over your table with a stupidly handsome smile.

Jungkook grinned, reaching out to do that Weird Bro Handshake with Jimin. "Hey, Chim."

You were already plotting various methods of painful revenge in your head.

"Hey, Kook. What are you doing here?"

"I kind of work here," He chuckled. "Well, as of like, yesterday. Today's my first day."

"Oh, so this is the new job you were telling me about," Jimin nodded in realization, then his eyes flickered mischievously to yours. You’re rapidly shaking your head. "You know, this is my friend ___'s favorite coffee spot."

A scowl immediately takes over your face, only to be wiped off and replaced by a sickeningly sweet smile when Jungkook turns his head to look your way. The instant your eyes meet his you quite literally want to melt into the floor.

Jungkook smiles at you. Like, really smiles. "Hey, that's cool. We'll probably be seeing a lot of each other then, right?"

Across the table, Jimin snorts, which only adds to the way your cheeks are absolutely flaming. You send a harsh kick to Jimin's leg as inconspicuously as you can, all while batting your eyelashes at Jungkook.

"Uh, yeah! We probably... will."

Jungkook looks positively amused, but if he notices Jimin rushing to clutch his leg, he doesn't say anything.

"Sweet," He grins again. There's a brief few seconds where you two are just gazing at each other, stupid and shy, until Jimin loudly clears his throat. "Right, well, I should probably go clock in. Let's chill sometime this week, Chim."

"Sure thing." Jimin sings, smugness plastered all over his face.

Jungkook waves, already backing away from the table with his eyes on you. "Nice meeting you."

You feel yourself flush again and you absolutely hate it. "Nice meeting you too."

With a final smile, Jungkook disappears behind the employee doors. The moment he leaves your eyes are screwed shut and you're slamming your head against the table. The silence speaks for itself. You don't even need to see Jimin's face to know that he's either smirking or stifling his laughter.

"Don't." You warn.

"You just blushed," He says anyway. "Like, four times."

"I most definitely did not blush."

"You did. You still are."

"I'm embarrassed!" You wail. "That's literally the only reason why. I look like I got ran over and dragged for three blocks."

"Jungkook sure doesn't seem to think so," Jimin hums, snickering as he sips his coffee.

"Stop."

"He likes you." He insists.

"He was just being polite." You defend.

"That is literally my childhood best friend. I think I would know."

This makes you pause. Then you sigh. "He doesn't even know me."

He doesn’t disagree. But then again, "Not yet."

"Stop trying to play matchmaker, Jimin. He said five words to me," You spoke firmly, exasperated as you downed the final sip of your latte. "Plus, I'm just focusing on me and my degree right now. No distractions."

Jimin knew that you were already worn out, and even though he was mostly joking around, he wouldn’t want to push you any further. He’d drop it.

"Fine. We'll see who's right in the end, though."

For now.

"I will dump that hot coffee over your head."

As it turns out, Jimin was kind of right.

It takes a grand total of four visits to your favorite coffee shop before Jungkook asks you out. The first time you were by yourself, nose buried in a book as Jungkook was clocking in. He wasn't able to speak to you until about an hour later, when the morning rush had passed and you had finally lifted your head from whatever was in that book.

You were honestly dreading facing him again, but you were prepared and actually presentable this time. Also you were kind of starving. And so, you hesitantly approached the counter. Jungkook took your order, both of you all fidgeting hands and sheepish smiles. You mentally patted yourself on the back when you spoke without any real mess-ups, and prayed that the cool girl aura you always tried so desperately to maintain was being transmitted.

Not like you were trying to leave a lasting impression, or anything.

He hand delivered you your coffee and muffin with a beaming grin, all while his new boss glared at him from behind the counter. He didn't have to know that you knew cashiers weren't supposed to serve the food.

The second visit was a few days after. You were with Jimin again, shooting down every jab he made about you only wearing a pretty dress because you knew you would be coming here. Jungkook joined you both during his break. As soon as he untied his apron and sat himself directly across from you, it struck. You knew you were screwed. You just couldn't stop staring at him. The chin in the palm of your hands and sparkles in your eyes type of staring. You would be much more ashamed if you couldn’t see the way he was staring right back. Jimin found this hilarious, of course, and would subtly find ways to connect you two in conversation. You weren't sure if you loved or hated him for it.

It was that visit that Jungkook insisted on sharing his slice of strawberry cake with you, claiming he wasn't that hungry. The both of you were embarrassed, whacking his arm and dismissing him as Jimin complained about being the third wheel. By the end of his break, Jungkook was positively smitten, you were begrudgingly infatuated, and Jimin was awfully smug. He reluctantly said bye to you both, and you were slouching forward with your head in your hands the moment he disappeared from visibility.

Jimin looked extremely pleased. "Believe me now?"

"Focusing on school," You protested. It was a weak one, but. Well.

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" He mused.

And suddenly, you were frantic. Panicking. This was definitely not a part of the plan.

Quickly packing up your things, you groaned loudly. "You. Maybe me. Or both. I can't think in this place anymore."

"You'll be all over each other by next week."

"Shh!" You were childishly covering your ears and speed-walking out of the café.

Try as you might, you couldn't help yourself and returned the very next day after all your classes had finished. Jungkook was already there when you walked in, taking a customer's order but doing a double take and flashing you a smile when you appeared in his line of sight. This visit consisted of nothing but pretending.

Pretending to be studying. Pretending you weren't listening to him take orders just to hear his voice. Pretending you weren't sneaking glances at him. Pretending that the way your eyes kept meeting wasn't making your skin prickle. And you were just fine pretending, until suddenly he was in the seat across from with you his apron off and a steaming hot chocolate in hand. You tried your hardest to remain indifferent, you really did. But then he was pushing the beverage towards you with gentle eyes and his smile hopeful, telling you it was his treat because he noticed how hard you were studying. And then you were melting right along with the marshmallows in that mug.

The two of you talked about your majors, your families, your favorite shows, even Jimin. You asked about his tattoos and he explained them with ease. You also may have pulled out one of the oldest tricks in the book at the sight of his knuckle tattoos, gasping in feigned wonder when you pulled his hand against yours to measure the size difference.

His hand could swallow yours whole and still have some leftover, you discovered. It was a very rewarding experiment.

You made each other laugh and blush down to the very last second of his break. Scarily enough, being in each other's presence was so annoyingly addictive that you found yourself hesitant to watch him leave. You could tell Jungkook felt the same by the way he dragged out his goodbyes. I work again on Thursday, maybe I'll see you then? Your fingers brushed as he softly took the mug from you. It was really fun talking to you. You were biting your lip to keep from smiling embarrassingly big. You look really pretty today, by the way. And then he was off.

You made a strangled noise the second you were outside with your fingers frantically beginning to type a message to Jimin.

promise not to say i told you so :///

Jungkook asked you out on your fourth visit. As soon as you approached the counter, he just blurted it out. As if it was something he couldn't hold on his tongue any longer. You couldn't hear yourself say yes over your brain malfunctioning and the powerful thumping of your heart, but you knew you did. His heartbreakingly gorgeous grin told you so.

On his break, Jungkook brought you a latte with a heart carved in the cream. You just couldn't conceal the coo that escaped you, which quickly resulted in his cheeks reddening.

Cute, you thought.

He quizzed you on your personality and the type of activities you liked to do, admitting that he would use the information to conjure up the best date you would ever go on. Six days later, Jungkook stayed true to his word. Not only was it the best date you had ever been on, but you were completely certain it would ruin any other dates for you moving forward, unless they were with him. Much to your annoyance and also utter delight, you were so sure of Jeon Jungkook and your brief but striking time together that you kissed him. Right on the swings of your favorite childhood playground, first date rules tossed aside.

He was so caught off guard that his eyes expanded to twice their normal size and your teeth banged together. You drew back, slightly mortified and ready to jump to your death from the tallest slide on the playground, but Jungkook was huffing a laugh onto your lips and grabbing your face like it was nothing. Then you two got it just right, and something clicked. The earth fell off its axis and you were rendered breathless and all that nauseating cliché shit you chastised as a myth. And from that day forward, you two were completely, tooth-rottingly, inseparable.

"Easy," Jungkook proclaimed, pecking your lips. "We finished the tree."

He set you back on the floor gently, releasing a dramatic breath of air as if lifting you to place the star on top of the tree had actually winded him. As if he wasn't a muscle pig. You rolled your eyes and told him as much.

"Don't be a baby, muscle pig," You shoved at his bicep, only proving your point further when he didn't move an inch. ‘And I finished the tree.”

Instead, he caught the hand that you nudged him with and pulled your back to his chest, caging you between his arms. "Muscle pig, huh? That's what you think of me, baby?"

You flushed at the teasing lilt in his voice, suddenly very eager to escape his hold. But try as you might, he just wouldn't budge. A loud laugh left your throat as you flailed in his grasp, his muscled arms bulging in the turtleneck you bought him for his birthday a few months ago. Suddenly, you decided that you would be returning it for your own personal peace.

A high pitched whine left your mouth, one that lost all its seriousness once it was drowned out by your giggles. "Jungkook, let go of me!"

You would just not stop wiggling, and Jungkook could not stop laughing. He could live the rest of his life like this, his brain pauses to think. He's so happy.

And when you're thrashing so violently that your heel kicks his pocket with a force that has an object clattering onto the floor, Jungkook has never reacted faster in his life. Instantly your imprisonment is gone, and Jungkook is on your floor in a flash. Your eyebrows draw together at the sight of him scrambling for whatever it is, and all you're able to see is a sleek black case before he's quickly stuffing it back in his pocket.

You're eyeing him when he rises back on his feet. "Feel like sharing?"

Jungkook whistles noncommittally. "Not particularly, no."

There's a drawn-out beat of silence where you're just gazing at each other, neither one of you backing down. And then you're crossing your arms, and he's looking at your nose and your forehead and anywhere but your eyes, and then you're arching an eyebrow. He looks at you and breaks. Defeat.

"It's your present," He lets out a heavy sigh. "Well, the main one anyway."

You positively squeal. "Ooh! Can I see? Please?"

"Baby, it's the 20th."

"Can I have a hint?"

Jungkook blinks. "No, you cannot have a hint."

You're instantly pouting, but Jungkook expects that, because he knows you better than anyone else. Which is why he knows that you're a little spoiled, with a bit of a bratty streak, with just a dash of calculated charm that you use to your advantage to get just about anything you want. He's never seen it as a bad thing. In fact, he finds it cute. A little hot, too, if he's being truthful.

Anyway, he came prepared. Just as you're opening your mouth to no doubt make him spill the surprise, he's hushing you with a bruising kiss to your lips. The kind of kiss that makes you go pliant against him, the kind that makes you make a little noise in the back of your throat. The kind you've been waiting for all night.

It’s the trick that never truly runs its course.

And Jungkook is melting, too. Melting, turning to mush at your very feet, until you're moving backwards and clutching at his shoulders, ready to push him onto the couch.

"Mmm," He's humming against you, before he reluctantly draws back. He lets you chase his lips once, twice, before he chuckles lowly. "Hold on, angel."

You're suddenly feeling warm all over after his kisses, wanting nothing more than to cuddle into him into the couch and feel him next to you. Or maybe above you. With that chain you always tugged on dangling in your face. You really weren't picky.

You watched Jungkook break away from you and rummage through his bag with a frown and a newfound heat at the pit of your belly. "It can't wait?"

Like he said, he knows you, which means he knew kisses alone wouldn’t be able to satiate you nor get you to stop asking questions for the entire week. No matter how mind-numbing they may be.

"One second," He promised, and you definitely counted at least five, but he quickly found what he was looking for all the same. "I brought a surprise. Well, two surprises."

He was holding both of his hands behind his back with this stupid grin on his face. You squinted for a few seconds, suspicious, before breathing out a laugh. "Are you ever gonna show me?"

Jungkook looked way too happy with himself.

"The most important surprise is mistletoe, obviously. Gonna have to find a way to glue it on to the ceiling above your bed." And there was that mischievous little smile that told you he had every intention of carrying that out.

You folded your arms over your body and scoffed. Even if you were trying and failing to keep your lips from quirking up and possibly, maybe finding it a little harder to breathe all of a sudden. "You're unbelievable, Jeon."

He just winked and held up his other hand, pulling a gasp from your lips the second you realized what it was.

"The Polar Express!"

"I had to check like, four different stores in the mall to find it. That's why I got here a little late, by the way. But I thought we could make some hot chocolate like in the movie and watch it together and," Jungkook pauses to think, licking his lips. "There's a 'ride my train' joke in here somewhere but I don't know how to say it."

He's snorting at his own delivery before you are, and once your giggles permeate the air he's invading your space again with a lovesick smile.

"You are the sweetest boy," You praise, holding his pretty face with both hands and peppering small kisses all over it the way he secretly likes. "But you make me sick to my stomach sometimes."

If anything, this makes him smile even wider. "I love you too, baby."

You and Jungkook are in complete darkness besides the light coming from the TV in your room playing Polar Express. His head is on your shoulder with his arm strewn across your waist, and his entire leg slotted between yours. He's soft. He smells like the lavender body soap you keep in your shower. His gentle breaths hit your neck every time he exhales and you're now cliché enough to believe that the heart underneath you beats in tandem with yours.

Both of your stomachs are filled from the takeout he ordered for dinner and the peppermint hot chocolate you made while he was in the shower. You're still mentally replaying the moment he stepped back in your room, towel wrapped around his waist with droplets of water cascading down his body. His prominent abs and tattoos and wet hair had you scrambling to sit up, clearing your throat as you tasked yourself with handing him his mug. If he noticed you ogling him, he surely didn’t react to it.

Made us some cocoa, you said.

He brought the beverage to his nose and sniffed once, twice, before his entire face bunched up. Peppermint is nasty. Then he was gulping it down.

I thought it was nasty, you laughed in disbelief.

Nothing you make me can be nasty. Thank you, baby.

And now you’re thoroughly warm from the tips of your fingertips down to your toes, and you figure it has less to do with the cocoa and more with the way Jungkook so obviously loves you. The way you love him.

Feeling a tugging at your shirt, you look down to see him peering up at you with a dazed twinkle in his eye. "You're not hot in this?"

You purse your lips and pause, knowing what was coming. "No. Are you?"

He has the decency to look a little clueless. He was always doing that, in a playfully childish way you grew to love.

"Actually, yeah I am," Jungkook furrows his brows, like it was something he was just now realizing. And then he's sitting up and pulling his shirt over his head, and you're instantly staring at his back and remembering the way it feels to rake your fingers up and down it, and he's turning back to you with a lazy smirk. "You don't wanna take yours off, angel?"

You swallow. "I'm okay."

Jungkook starts to laugh, that cocky laugh that is equal parts douchebag-ish and sexy. He's most definitely turning you on and he most definitely knows this, which is why you're glaring at him until he reaches over you and picks up the mistletoe from your bedside desk. He dangles it over your heads, makes sure to wriggle his eyebrows suggestively when he does it, and you want to laugh, you really do. You would probably roll your eyes and call him a nerd too while you were at it, if it weren't for the way he was changing his position and starting to lean over you. Crowding your space in your favorite way.

Jungkook hears your breathing pick up once you're directly under him, watches the way your lips part and your eyes change for him, and decides to go for the kill.

Nothing about the kiss was soft or gentle. Jungkook clearly had a point to prove and knew how he wanted to do it. The dangling mistletoe was soon forgotten in favor of holding your face by your chin, landing with a chime on your wooden floors. He worked your mouth open in that sloppy, messy, dirty way he only exhibited when he was feeling particularly desperate. Saliva pooled at the corners of your mouth and you were trembling underneath him, clutching at the warm skin of his back. It was nasty, absolutely obscene the way his tongue was in your mouth like his life depended on it. And you loved it. You couldn't stop making these little sounds, and Jungkook was groaning into your mouth right along with you. You were seconds away from pleading for him to do anything he wanted, to make you his, when he's abruptly pulling from you with a wet pop and a string of saliva between you.

Your ragged breaths fill the air, both of your chests heaving as you take a second to attempt to drag yourself out of the haze he's built around you two.

The asshole has the audacity to laugh. "Hot yet?"

"You don't have to bring out the mistletoe to kiss me, you know." You eventually say instead.

"I know," He pants, still smiling like the all-consuming beauty he is. "But you love Christmas. And it's our first. Wanna do it right."

You feel the need to close your eyes, let his words sink in, and so you do. You let the statement blanket over you until you're positively beaming, and when you open your eyes, he is the same. You are so irreversibly in love and you think he might be perfect. You tell him as much.

"You're perfect," You say, all soft and starry eyed. You're nodding when he starts shaking his head, and when the tips of his ears begin to turn red and he's putting his head down, you're giggling and putting both hands on either side of his head to get his eyes back on yours. "I love you a lot."

Jungkook is so happy. "Love you most."

And then he's leaning down again. This kiss is much less frantic, more steady, but still passionate and still with Jungkook, which means it fills your body with heat all the same. Your head is floating and you're squirming under his hold again when you break apart for air.

There's no point in trying to resist him anymore. You never can.

"I'm gonna take my sweater off now."

Jungkook scrunches his nose, and grins. "Okay."

read part two here!

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